by Tina Beckett
Greg dragged her to her feet, still kissing her. In a second he’d scooped her up in his arms. “We’ll have to go to my room. My parents’ room…”
She laughed. “It’s okay. I’m sure they’d appreciate it if they knew.”
“I think they already might. When I called to ask about the keys, my mom’s voice turned kind of hopeful.”
“What did you tell her?” She wasn’t talking about the twins exactly, she doubted Greg would have mentioned the pregnancy to his mom.
“That I wanted to bring a friend up here to talk.”
“Does she know what happens when you try to do that?” She nipped his chin. “All kinds of naughty things.”
He gave a mock shudder. “Let’s not use the words mom and naughty in the same conversation.”
“Fine by me.”
He carried her into the house, and Hannah gave the lights in the distance one last look, noticing the brilliant colors were just beginning to fade, as if they knew there was no longer anyone to witness their display.
Greg kicked the front door shut behind him, and the warmth of the interior of the house washed over her. Halfway down the hall, the phone rang again, but this time the sound was different. This one carried ominous undertones.
A trickle of fear went through her when Greg stopped dead. “What is it? Is that your cell?”
“I programmed a different ring tone for the hospital’s number.”
She stiffened. “Put me down. You have to answer it.”
He did as she asked, striding to the credenza in the foyer and glancing at the screen as he picked up the cell. “Hello?”
His expression quickly darkened, until it matched the fear that had filtered through her a moment earlier. Something was terribly wrong.
Within a few seconds she had her answer. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, but I’m an hour and a half out. Call Dr. Calhoun to handle it until I arrive.” He clicked a button on the phone and then dragged a hand through his hair, a soft curse erupting from his lips.
The same ones that had kissed her a minute ago. “What is it?”
“We have to leave. It’s Claire Taylor.” He wheeled around grabbing his keys. “Perforated appendix. It’s spewed bacteria into her abdominal cavity.”
“Oh, God.” For someone with an immune system already weakened from chemotherapy, a burst appendix could be catastrophic. “Let’s go.”
She paused just long enough to scoop up her purse and her coat. Greg waited, but didn’t say a word.
Neither did he talk the whole agonizing way home. Hannah tried to boost his optimism with little anecdotes about other chemo patients who’d suffered massive infections and lived. Claire could be one of those.
She had to be. Because if she wasn’t…
Hannah didn’t want to go there. Instead, she thought about Claire’s bubbly personality, which had persisted even while sick. Her excitement about starting the breast reconstruction process.
She’d be okay. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as Greg thought. Maybe the appendix hadn’t actually burst. But she knew that chemotherapy could mask the symptoms of appendicitis. The body’s immune system wasn’t strong enough to mount a good attack on the infection, which was where the pain from appendicitis often arose. So Claire might not have even known something was seriously wrong until it was.
No. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be.
The outcome would have been the same no matter where she and Greg were.
Something crossed her mind. If they hadn’t been together at the cabin, one of them would have still been in Anchorage to get that call. One of them would have been within a stone’s throw of the hospital.
Only they’d both been out of the area. And because of it, a woman’s life could be in danger. The house phone had rung. They’d ignored it, figuring it wasn’t anything work related. But would the ten-minute lapse from one phone to the other really make that much of a difference? Who knew?
The hospital had other doctors. Brilliant ones, like Dr. Calhoun. Professionals who were every bit as capable as Greg. He couldn’t carry the weight of every single patient on his broad shoulders.
But wasn’t she carrying some of it? She was riddled with guilt over not being in Anchorage, and she wasn’t even Claire’s primary doctor. The buck didn’t stop with her. It stopped with Greg.
And from the tight, closed expression on his face, the whitened knuckles as he gripped the steering-wheel, he knew that all too well. If something happened to Claire, he’d never forgive himself for coming away to the cabin.
And because of her part in it, neither would she.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SHE made him miserable.
Just like his sister said he’d be if he tried to become someone he wasn’t. Like a commercial fisherman. Or a family man.
Claire was in Intensive Care, fighting for her life, and although Greg had come out a couple of times and squeezed Hannah’s hand, she could see it in his face. The abject misery. The hopelessness.
If it wasn’t for her, they both knew he’d have been in Anchorage to receive that call. He’d have never gone to that cabin by himself. He’d done it for her. Trying to be someone he wasn’t.
In fact, he’d talked about needing a good enough reason to cut back on his patients, patients that were as important to him—no, more important—as eating or breathing. At the time she’d been thrilled, hoping she might be that reason.
And now he was paying the price. Would continue to pay the price each time he looked at her or the twins. How long before he couldn’t stand it anymore?
Hannah had known who he was from the very beginning and yet time and time again she’d asked him for more. And when he tried to give it, she’d begin her trek up the mountain of hope, only to slip back down the icy slope as soon as she neared the summit.
She didn’t want him to have to choose between being with her and doing his job. Didn’t want him to give up something he’d devoted his entire life to. And he would. Whether it was out of responsibility or because he loved her, the outcome would be the same.
He’d be miserable. For the rest of his life.
She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a few minutes as she tried to come up with some kind of solution, but her mind kept leading her back to the same place over and over. Even here at the hospital Greg had been torn between his patient and Hannah, as evidenced by him having to leave his post to bring her news.
There was no flicker of relief when his eyes met hers, only a deep-seated guilt that might never go away.
Unless she did.
The whispered words slid through her mind so quickly she almost missed them—had to call them back.
Unless she did.
The terrible ripping sensation inside her had nothing to do with the babies and everything to do with the pain that sometimes came from doing the right thing.
And it was. If she went away, Greg could go back to the life he was meant to have. He’d never have to face choosing between her and his job. He’d never sit at home when he wanted to be at the clinic. Never feel that spark of love slowly turn to hate as the years rolled by.
And the babies?
No. She never wanted them to wonder if they were the cause of their father’s unhappiness.
Hot tears spilled from her eyes, coursing down her cheeks. She scrubbed them away but more followed, until there was an endless river. Oh, God. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Didn’t want to give him one more thing to feel guilty about.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she moved away from her perch near the double doors of the emergency room and stepped onto the pad that caused them to swish open. Then, putting one foot in front of the other, she walked away into the night.
* * *
Where was she?
Two weeks and no word from Hannah. He’d gone back to the emergency room for the fifth time, only to find her gone. The fight for Claire’s life had consumed most of his time and had kept him f
rom really searching the hospital. He’d assumed she’d gone home, knowing she couldn’t do anything more for him or their patient, but never in his wildest nightmares had he imagined her walking away from him. From the clinic.
He fingered the note he’d found on his desk the day after the emergency.
Sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I’ll let you know when they’re born. Hannah
He closed his eyes as the pain squeezed around his heart again. She couldn’t do what? Spend one more day with someone who was married to his job? Couldn’t watch any more patients suffer? Couldn’t bear the constant reminders of what she’d once lived through?
After two weeks he was no closer to deciphering the meaning behind those words than when he’d arrived at his office that Sunday night and found the neatly folded piece of paper. He’d stared at it uncomprehendingly for several puzzled moments before he’d realized it meant goodbye. And not just for a week or two.
Forever.
He’d contacted Dr. Preston but she hadn’t heard from Hannah, and even if she had, she couldn’t tell him where she was.
Stella had pulled Hannah’s personnel file for him. It was still splayed open on his desk. The phone number for the house in Anchorage was there, as was the address. He’d swung by to find her things were still there, as was her car, but there’d been no sign of Hannah’s vibrant presence. Instead, the place was dark and empty, as if she’d disappeared off the face of the earth.
She hadn’t. He even had a pretty good idea of where she might have gone.
Idaho.
There was an emergency phone number and address listed but until he could figure out the meaning of her note, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Maybe she’d be back.
His fingers trailed across the indentation of her handwriting, the paper cold and lifeless under his skin. She wouldn’t be back. Not unless he went and got her.
But if she didn’t want to be here?
Damn.
A knock sounded at the door. For a second his hopes leaped, only to crash again when Stella’s voice came from the other side. “Greg?”
“Come in.” He flipped the note over, not wanting her to see what a colossal fool he was for wanting a woman he couldn’t have.
She stalked through the door, holding a sheet of paper and waving it at him. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”
“What do you mean?” He tilted his head, trying to see exactly what she was so riled up about. The schedule?
“I thought you told her you were going to slow down.”
He realized what she was talking about and bristled. “Hannah’s not here anymore, so it’s business as usual. You don’t have to stay past six o’clock. I’ve already told you.”
“She quit, didn’t she?”
“You know as much as I do.”
Her eyes went to the desk and landed on the sheet of paper his hand still rested on. She gave a knowing grunt. “I don’t know what you did, but Hannah loved it here.”
His jaw tightened. “Not enough to stick around, evidently.”
“Does her leaving have anything to do with Claire Taylor?”
Claire. The woman who reminded him so much of Bethany. And she was better, the surgery and antibiotics had worked their magic.
Surely Hannah didn’t blame him for leaving the cabin early to treat the woman? He could have sworn Hannah cared for Claire, as well. But what else could the “I can’t do this anymore” mean, other than she was tired of his work pulling him one way and then the other?
But it pulled her, as well. She’d left her house to come and help him with the computer on her day off, had knitted hats in her spare time for patients—in fact, there was an unopened one on the coffee table right now—so wasn’t it a little hypocritical of her to be miffed about their time together being cut short?
Greg looked up at Stella. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Did you ever think maybe she cares about you?”
If so, why did she leave, just as he was acknowledging his own feelings for her?
He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter at this point, does it?”
She sucked down a deep audible breath, her exasperation obvious. “You two are like stubborn little kids.” She nodded at the desk. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“Excuse me?” He stared at her, wondering if he’d worked her too hard.
“Your note. You show me yours—” she reached in the pocket of her scrubs and pulled out a slip of paper “—and I’ll show you mine.”
“Where did you get that?” He’d torn the office apart, looking for any other notes she might have left. He could have sworn there’d been none.
“Remember the computer that goes on the fritz periodically? It wouldn’t start up on Monday morning so I reached down to wiggle the cord, and there it was. She knew I’d find it.” Stella unfolded the note while she continued to talk. “You never got that computer fixed. Just like you never fixed whatever was wrong with you.”
“What was wrong with…” He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She glanced down at the paper and began to read. “‘Stella, I’m so sorry to leave you in the lurch, but I can’t stay. I’d just end up making him unhappy if I do. Please make sure he eats. But above all, don’t let him kill himself.’” She looked up again and met his eyes. “‘My love to you and the rest of the staff. Hannah.’”
He swallowed hard. I’d just end up making him unhappy. Was that what she really thought? Hell, he couldn’t remember a time he’d ever been more unhappy than these past two weeks.
“Do you know where she went?”
Stella shrugged. “I imagine she’s gone home to Idaho.”
Exactly what he’d thought. “Her car is still in her driveway.”
“So you did go over there. I wondered.” She glanced again at his desk. “What did yours say?”
A hell of a lot less than hers did. He flipped the note over and turned it so Stella could read it.
She nodded as if she understood exactly what the words meant. “And that bag?”
He glanced at the coffee table where the gift bag sat. “Hannah’s been knitting hats for the patients.” He hadn’t been able to bear to look inside it.
“Who’s it for?”
“I don’t know. There’s no tag.”
That was strange. Hannah had tagged each of the gifts, just like Martha Brookstone had done.
Stella went over to the table and undid the tie that held the decorative rope handles together. She pulled a brown hat from the interior of the bag. Greg couldn’t even look at the thing. Hannah had turned her back on him and walked away without a single word of explanation—other than a damn note that said nothing at all. Suddenly furious, he crumpled the paper in his fist and chucked it into the basket that sat beside his hideous desk.
He vaguely heard Stella gasp and turn toward him.
Alarmed, he stood. “What is it?”
She brought the hat over to the desk. There hadn’t been a tag on the package but there was one dangling from the item itself. This hat wasn’t all fluffy like the others, with floaty little strings that danced when you walked. This was a sensible woolen affair made of dark brown yarn with some kind of beige diamond pattern running through it.
Stella handed it to him. “Read it.”
He didn’t want to touch it but as she’d thrust it into his hands, he didn’t have much choice. Turning the little tag with a flick of his finger, the same handwriting that had been on the note came into view. Everyone should have a special hat. I was worried you might be cold.
When he looked back up, he noted that his normally stoic receptionist’s eyes were suspiciously moist.
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t.” Stella sniffed. “She made it for you, you knucklehead.”
He turned the hat over and over in his hands, still not comprehending. She’d made several hats for different people. Then he remembered telling Annie
, his young patient, that he didn’t have a special hat to keep him warm—Hannah had been in the room at the time.
She’d made him one. The special hat he’d said he didn’t have.
Suddenly it didn’t matter that he didn’t understand why she’d done it. And it wasn’t going to do him a lick of good to keep sitting here brooding about why she’d left. The fact that she’d mentioned letting him know when the babies were born was telling. She didn’t mean to cut him out of her life entirely. She certainly could have made that note a lot harsher and a lot more final: don’t bother contacting me again. Instead, she’d left him a hat—a little piece of herself—worried he might get cold at some point.
“Stella, what does our schedule look like this week?”
She raised her brows. “Exactly like it did before Hannah came into our lives, remember?”
And that was the problem. As much as he might try to go back to the way things had been before, it wasn’t going to work. Because Hannah had come into their lives and nothing would ever be the same again.
“Can you book me a flight?”
Stella smiled. “Now you’re talking. For what date?”
“We need to reschedule or refer all our patients. After that, I want the first available flight.” He picked up the hat and tucked it under his arm. “Oh, and somewhere in my paperwork is the number for the storage unit where my old desk is. See if you can get them to bring it back here, will you? And donate this one to charity.”
* * *
Hannah slid her left foot into the stirrup and swung herself into the saddle. Poncho nickered and tossed his head, ready to get home to his warm stall and the flake of hay that was waiting in his feed crib.
Leaning down, she rubbed the quarterhorse’s neck. “Thanks for the ride, boy. Sorry there aren’t any more cows to wrangle.”
Her dad’s time of working the cows had ended last year when his Parkinson’s had begun to affect his time in the saddle. The cattle had been sold off, but her mom kept two of the horses, including Hannah’s mount. Now pushing seventeen, the gelding had come a long way from the green-broke four-year-old he’d been when they’d bought him. Hannah had trained him herself as a teenager.
