She wasn’t sure, at first, if she was just hearing things when a strum wafted through the air. Still not used to the quiet of a night that allowed even the softest sounds to travel, she tried to make out what she’d heard.
Some kind of bird? Wind?
It came again. One strum. And then two.
Afraid to move, though she couldn’t say why, she sat completely still. Waiting.
A couple of chords followed. Called to her.
Spencer was out in the darkness. Playing his guitar.
Remembering that night months before, she knew it had been the night she’d begun to fall in love with him. She’d been so hurt that he didn’t want her to be friendly with his kids. Hurt beyond what a producer would feel toward her employee.
The kids had already had a part of her heart then. That quickly. She’d never known love could just...happen.
That it could descend without warning. Take possession so quickly and completely.
Soft chords filled the air now. She wasn’t sure if they were coming closer. Or if he was playing louder.
As though in a trance, she stood. Followed the sound.
Once she was in the yard, she knew where the sounds were leading her. Back to that first night. His father’s truck.
Only now she knew it was Frank’s truck. Not Gerald’s.
Knew, too, why the truck was still there.
He missed her friendship. He’d told her so. She missed his, too.
Walking closer, slowly, so slowly closer, she wanted to be able to be friends with him.
Wondered if time could take care of that.
She could see the truck. Could see a shadow of the man sitting atop it, strumming his guitar. She recognized every nuance of his shape in the darkness. The tilts and angles.
Her heart would know him anywhere.
And then she heard his voice. As though he knew she was there. And he was speaking to her.
“‘But it’s your world now I can’t refuse.’”
She froze. Just stopped cold.
She knew the song. Anyone growing up in her generation had to have heard it. Country-music lover or not.
Garth Brooks, the singer and songwriter of that piece, was a legend.
And this particular song... Women all over the world longed to have a man sing it just for them.
Or at least, Natasha always had.
He was singing about having a lot to lose.
No. For the first time ever, Spencer Longfellow had nothing to lose.
But he continued on. Calling to her. He called his life his own. Was in control. Until she’d come along.
Now he was shameless in his love for her. Just like the song said.
Like he was saying.
He didn’t have original music. But the music he sang spoke for him. She knew that now.
Natasha started to back away.
There was just one problem with all of that.
He wasn’t singing to her, calling to her. He didn’t know she was there.
She’d let her heart get away from her. Get in the way of her focus. She took a deep breath with every backward motion she made. Focused on facts. Spencer’s growing up. The lack of nurturing he experienced. His inability to...
He wasn’t on the truck anymore. She’d watched his shadowy frame slide down off the hood. He was still singing. Softly. Hadn’t missed a beat. The same song. A second time. But with every line he sang, he took a step closer. Matching hers.
For every step back she took, he took two steps forward. Until she just quit stepping back.
And he stopped singing.
* * *
SPENCER DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. He didn’t have any words to give her. Or the ability to deliver them.
Not without his guitar and another man’s song.
“Spencer?”
She needed something from him. He held up his guitar. Held open his arms. And knew complete and total happiness when she came into him, wrapping him up tight.
“It might take me a while,” he whispered into her hair, just above her ear.
“The song. Do you relate to it?”
She didn’t loosen her grip on him. Or look at him.
“I do.” An admission about a song he sang. He got it out.
“Who do you think of when you sing it?”
That was easy. “You.”
“Then you go ahead and take as long as you need, Spencer. Take forever. Just don’t stop singing your song.”
She was crying. He could feel the shudders against him.
Inside him.
And he was crying, too. Just a couple of tears. Filling his eyes. Not falling. Tears of joy. Of thankfulness.
And that was when he looked up and saw the twins...gazing down at them from the second-story window of Justin’s bedroom.
His son who couldn’t fall asleep—and the twin sister who always had his back.
Their grins seemed to spread across the state of California. Justin gave him a thumbs-up. Tabitha nodded. She looked like she was crying, too.
There was nothing more to say. No plans to make. No agreements or agendas or paperwork to tend to.
Just raw, naked truth exposed.
Bared and fragile souls finding each other.
His lost cowboy heart had finally found its way home.
* * * * *
Be sure to check out the other books in Tara Taylor Quinn’s FAMILY SECRETS miniseries:
FOR LOVE OR MONEY
HER SOLDIER’S BABY
Both available now from Harlequin Heartwarming.
And look for the next FAMILY SECRETS story from Tara Taylor Quinn, coming soon!
Keep reading for an excerpt from MENDING THE DOCTOR’S HEART by Sophia Sasson.
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Mending the Doctor's Heart
by Sophia Sasson
CHAPTER ONE
FIVE YEARS, TWENTY-SEVEN DAYS and ten hours since she left and swore never to return. Anna watched the swirls of aquamarine, green and royal blue surrounding the little patch of island she once called home. A tiny drop of land in the bucket of the great Pacific Ocean. At ten thousand feet, the view was breathtakingly beautiful, but as the helicopter dropped, the serene vision gave way to the carnage of
broken buildings and debris-littered streets. She swallowed hard.
Anna was the only passenger on board, so as soon as they touched down, she unbuckled, grabbed her duffel bag and hopped out. Her boots hit the muddy ground with a squelch. She pulled down the sunglasses parked on top of her head and raised her arm to shield her face from the stinging wind kicked up by the still-revolving helicopter rotors.
This was the golf course where she and Nico were married. It looked far worse on the ground than it did from the air. The pristine green lawn with perfectly planned hills and flower beds was gone. Tree branches were everywhere, strewn about with random garbage. This is the least damaged part of the island? A crushing vise gripped her heart. Is Nico alive? She hadn’t been able to get through to their house on Tumon Bay; the landlines and cell towers were out.
“Captain! You okay?”
Anna turned to see the pilot carrying a box. He tilted his head toward the rest of the cargo, which he had unloaded from the helicopter and set on the ground. How long had she been standing there? She looked toward the medical camp. Tents were set a hundred feet from where she stood, their dull beige forlorn against the calm blue sky.
Anna swung the duffel on her back, looping the handles around her shoulders so she could carry it like a backpack. Her arms protested as she lifted a heavy box. It had been more than a month since her last deployment, and her muscles were a little out of shape.
She carried the box to a waiting staff member, then set down her bag and helped the pilot carry the rest of the supplies from the makeshift helipad. When they were down to the last box, the pilot stepped back into the cockpit, waving to her as he started the rotors.
The helicopter rose and disappeared from view. There was no way off the island now; she was stuck here. Again. The permanent ache in her heart gnawed at her.
Picking up the remaining box, she walked back to the bright-faced staffer. His crisp uniform, regulation lined badges, and chipper hello told her it was his first deployment. She nodded to him and handed over the box.
“Where do I report?”
He pointed her to the medical command tent. She unzipped the outer pocket of her bag to remove her papers. As she entered the tent, her eye caught the big digital clock that hung from a wire. Forty-five hours and twenty-two minutes. That’s how long ago the tsunami had struck. It was also the clock that would determine when she could leave. Around the time it struck 168 hours, the actively wounded would slow to a trickle, mostly limited to those hurt as a result of the rescue efforts. When the red digits ticked to 381 hours, the rescue operation would be over and the focus would turn to recovering bodies. By then, plenty of relief organizations would crowd the small island with their staff outnumbering the injured. She’d be replaced by social workers who would stay here for months dealing with the mental trauma that would haunt people for generations to come.
“Took you long enough to get here.”
She whirled to come face-to-face with a woman dressed in blue scrubs. Rear Admiral Linda Tucker was Anna’s height, around five foot six, and had red hair streaked in spots to faded copper. Her face sagged with exhaustion but her gray eyes sparked as she surveyed Anna.
The Public Health Service was a uniformed division but worked more like a health care service than a military unit, so Anna didn’t salute and was happy to note that her new supervisor was wearing scrubs. Some PHS field commanders insisted they wear their uniforms, which inevitably made the days uncomfortable. Yet despite this concession, she knew Linda Tucker’s reputation and braced herself.
“I got here as soon as I could,” Anna replied evenly.
“I expected you yesterday.”
Anna had flown from Washington, DC—where she’d been visiting with her sister, Caro—to Japan, where she had to wait for the long-haul military transport helicopter to bring her to Guam. She’d been traveling for twenty-three hours and fifty-three minutes straight.
Shrugging, she settled for a nonchalant. “I was delayed.” What she didn’t say was that she’d come close to being discharged from the PHS for defying orders to board the first transport to Guam. It had taken a call from the surgeon general’s assistant with a plea from the SG himself to get her on board. She was the only PHS officer who spoke Chamorro.
“Well, get changed and meet me back here, we have a lot to do.” Dr. Tucker turned and bent over the newly arrived cardboard boxes, efficiently slicing through the tape. Anna handed her papers to the clerk, a young man with a pockmarked face who looked pained to be there.
Anna scanned the tent while the clerk typed her details into the computer. The tent looked like every other medical command center she’d seen. Every available inch of space was being put to use. Corners were stacked with cardboard supply boxes, the center dominated by U-shaped desks cluttered with laptops and assorted materials. A large fan blew in fresh air from a makeshift window, but the heat was still oppressive. She ran her finger under her collar and twisted her neck, trying to get some air between her sticky skin and the wilted cloth of her once-starched khaki uniform. She scanned the faces in the room but quickly stopped and chided herself. Why would he be here? Nico would be out in the community, helping people defy the odds of survival. If he’s alive. Closing her eyes, Anna took a breath. She’d have to go to the house in Tumon Bay to check on him, find out for sure. From what she’d seen in the air, the roads weren’t passable by car, so she’d have to walk the five miles there. At her typical walking speed, she could do it in an hour and fifteen minutes, but given the condition of the terrain, she figured she’d have to budget at least four hours to get there and back.
“I’ll show you to your tent. That way you can get changed while I process your paperwork,” the clerk said suddenly. Anna turned to see Dr. Tucker motioning to him to hurry things up.
“I need you to get to work.” She bent over the boxes again before Anna could ask when she might be able to go check on Nico.
Anna followed the fast-walking clerk out of the tent and down a narrow pathway. No matter where she went, the sounds of the aftermath of a disaster were always the same. Moans of people in pain, shuffling of fast-paced boots, generators and battery-powered machines rumbling to life, the smell of wet earth and the incessant buzzing of insects.
Nico has to be okay. I’d know if he wasn’t. Wouldn’t I?
The clerk led her to the tiny tent that would be her living quarters. She groaned inwardly at the paper sign in the plastic sleeve on the door-flap indicating she would be sharing the tent with Linda Tucker. So she wasn’t going to get a reprieve on this deployment.
She changed quickly and found Admiral Tucker waiting for her outside the tent. She motioned for Anna to follow. “We don’t have enough wound care supplies or topical and IV antibiotics, so we need to ration them. I understand this isn’t your first deployment?”
“No, ma’am, I’ve been through twenty deployments in five years. My last one was in Brazil for the Zika virus after I returned from Liberia, where I was dealing with the Ebola outbreak.”
The rear admiral’s eyes widened with respect. “Good, then I don’t have to orient you. Feel free to call me Linda.” She continued her brisk pace, weaving through the narrow gaps between tents, dodging pieces of machinery and carts carrying supply boxes from one tent to another.
“The locals are just now mobilizing, so we get about ten new patients an hour. Tent space is at a premium. Anyone who doesn’t need to be monitored gets sent to the high school, mall or the hospital, where they’ve set up shelters.”
Anna’s throat closed. “Is the hospital operational?” she choked out. The last time she’d been at the Guam General Hospital, she’d lost everything she ever loved. She hadn’t used her pediatrics training since then, staying as far away from children as she could.
Linda shook her head. “Not as a medical facility, but the building is still standing so they�
�re using the space to house people.” Linda slowed and turned to make sure Anna had heard her.
“A local stopped by a few hours ago to say someone’s managed to set up a field hospital in one of the newer buildings. A local physician is helping them, but they have over a hundred people there. If we get through our current patients, I’d like you to go. They can’t get those patients to this side of the island.”
Anna nodded. It would give her a chance to go to Nico’s house, her old house, and make sure he was okay. “Did they tell you where on the island?”
“Talofofo. It’s on the Pacific side, so I’m not sure how well it fared.”
A brick fell through Anna’s stomach. Talofofo. That’s where Nico had bought land. Right after they’d buried Lucas, the piece of herself that would forever be in Guam. Nico had tried to convince her it was the way to heal, a desperate attempt to get her to stay. What happened to his plans? Had they washed away like the rest of their life together?
“Dr. Tucker, I have a request.” Before she could continue, Linda stopped abruptly and Anna almost bumped into her. One of the patients had come out of a tent screaming at her.
“I’m going to die!” A man scarcely over five feet tall stood in front of Linda, his chest puffed out.
“Sir!” Linda’s voice was firm and laced with annoyance. “I’ve told you already—you’re not getting pain medication, so stop the racket.”
Linda turned to her. “He’s yours. Sixty-some-year-old male, leg laceration, five stitches, prior undiagnosed first-degree heart block. He’s been having arrhythmias, which is why he’s still here. Not even close to the worst of the wounded.”
Anna took in the broad, wrinkled forehead, the firm purse of the man’s lips, the gray in his hair and the slight stoop to his back. He was an elder, a man used to getting what he wanted. She stepped up to him and bowed slightly, making her frame smaller so she wouldn’t tower over him, then spoke softly in Chamorro. “We don’t have supplies, the hospital is damaged, we’re saving the pills for people who are badly hurt.”
The Cowboy's Twins Page 23
