A Lantern in the Window
Page 10
"Has anyone called Thea yet, Alex?"
She nodded, still resting against him. "Susan did. Thea's out on a shoot over in West Van somewhere near the canyon, they weren't sure exactly where. Her agent's gone to pick her up and bring her here."
Wade had lived with exotic Thea Calhoun for more than two years now. The dramatic six foot fashion model wasn't the kind of woman Alex might have chosen for her younger brother.
Thea struck Alex as somewhat superficial, obsessed with her job and the intrigues of its milieu. Alex couldn't help but wonder how she would handle this calamity.
"What about your parents?" Eleanor and Bruce Keenan were in San Diego, where Eleanor, a psychotherapist, was attending a conference.
"Oh, God. I'd better call them right now." Dread filled her, and again the ever present nausea rose in her throat, along with a sudden fierce and unreasonable anger at her parents. They'd always been so critical of Wade. If he died now, it would be without ever once having heard them say they were proud of him, proud of anything he'd ever done.
"I'll call them for you," Cameron said. "They're staying at the Half Moon Inn on Shelter Island, right?"
Alex nodded, enormously relieved to have him make the call.
"You come and sit down in the staff lounge. I'll tell Helen where you are so they can find you as soon as the operation's over." He loosened his arms, leaving one looped around her shoulders, walking her down the corridor. "I'll be back the minute I've talked to your folks."
To Alex's relief, the lounge was empty. As usual, it smelled of burned coffee and stale egg sandwiches. Her knees felt weak, and she collapsed on the sagging brown sofa. She was still shaky, and icy cold now, as well. She couldn’t control the shivering.
Shock, her medical training automatically diagnosed.
The last, awful glimpse she'd had of Wade was vivid in her mind, and now that she was alone, the tears came. She bent forward, head on her knees, at first fighting the need to cry and finally succumbing.
"Alex, sweetie." Like a minor explosion, the lounge door burst open and a small, slender young woman still in operating room greens, booties on her tiny feet, hurtled into the room and threw herself onto the sofa, hitting Alex in the rib with an elbow as she wrapped her arms around her and hugged her close, the fierce embrace both clumsy and endearing.
"Oh, God, Alex. How awful for you." The words were filled with compassion, spoken in a rich, deep contralto that should have belonged to a Valkyrie instead of this diminutive, redheaded lady. She was half smothering Alex, pressing her nose into a shoulder that carried the sharp and distinctive odor of the delivery room.
"I just this minute heard about your brother. I'm so sorry. I talked to Cameron in the hall, and he said they're still operating."
"Hi, Morgan." Alex returned her friend's embrace, absorbing the love and compassion and caring that Dr. Morgan Jacobsen exuded like a rare perfume. It was suddenly easy, held close in this young woman's arms, to let the flood of words and feelings loose.
"Oh, Morgan, it's so awful, it's—it's horrible to be a relative, just waiting to hear what's happening," she wailed. "I—I didn't even know it was Wade at first. The ambulance brought him in and I looked down and—and then when I went into the OR, John Bellamy made me leave. He hollered at me and said if I didn't go he'd have me carried out, but I wanted to stay. He's my brother, Morgan." For a second, sobs choked her. "I'm so afraid he's not going to make it. There were—" Her throat closed at the memory of the unspeakable damage done to Wade's beautiful young body, and the tears came with a vengeance, cutting off further words.
One part of Alex was astonished at the sounds that came from her throat, high, keening cries and guttural sobs that she couldn't remember making since she was a very small child. Her chest hurt and her nose ran, and she laid her head on her friend's smelly shoulder and cried as if her heart would break.
"That's it, sweetie, that's it, let it all out." Morgan patted and hugged and consoled her during the worst of it, at last absently lifting the hem of her surgical gown to mop at Alex's face, impervious to the suspicious stains that covered most of the garment.
The action, so typical of Morgan, who'd never once in her life had a tissue when she needed it, finally brought a watery smile to Alex's swollen face. "God, Morgan, get that away from my nose. You know, you've got blood on your face. And is that amniotic fluid all over you?"
Morgan glanced down at herself, totally unconcerned. "Probably. I just delivered the most beautiful little girl you've ever seen."
Alex sniffled and wiped at her nose. "You say that about every single kid you deliver, Morgan."
"Well, it's the truth, every single time." Pleased at having made her friend smile, Morgan's all encompassing grin lit up her pleasant features. "Now, is there anything at all I can do, people you want me to call, anything you need to be picked up or delivered or paid?"
Alex shook her head. "Cam's gone to call Mom and Dad in San Diego. Someone's gone for Thea."
"Well, if you need me to meet your parents at the airport or take that cat of yours home with me or phone aunties in Alaska or anything, just let me know."
"I don't have aunties in Alaska, you nutcase." Alex took Morgan's small, chapped hand in her own and squeezed it. "And Pavarotti would get you evicted. But thanks, pal." They smiled at each other, all the years of their friendship a strong bond between them.
The door opened again, and this time it was the tall, stoop-shouldered figure of surgeon John Bellamy who entered the room.
Morgan's grasp on Alex's hand tightened, and they both stood up. Alex's eyes flew to Bellamy's face, knowing from personal experience that good or bad news is always signaled first by body language, the lack of expression on a carefully neutral face, the tired smile that telegraphed success.
Bellamy was smiling.
"He's come through the operation with flying colors. He's a tough young man. I don't have to tell you that the next day or so is crucial, Alex, but I think he's going to make it. I'd bet money on it, in fact. I called in Ben Halsey to take a look at what plastic surgery needs to be done on his hands and face, he'll start the procedures as soon as your brother's strong enough." He sobered and cleared his throat. "Now, about his spine..."
Alex felt her heart begin to hammer, and dread seeped through her all over again. Was her brother, her beautiful, tall, strong brother with his athlete's body, doomed to never walk again?
End of Excerpt
Book List
How Not To Run A B&B
A Legal Affair
Full Recovery
The Baby Doctor
Grady’s Kids
Every Move You Make
Follow A Wild Heart
About The Author
Bobby Hutchinson was born in a small town in interior British Columbia in 1940. Her father was an underground coal miner, her mother a housewife, and both were storytellers. Learning to read was the most significant event in her early life.
She married young and had three sons. Her middle son was deaf, and he taught her patience. She divorced and worked at various odd jobs, directing traffic around construction sites, day caring challenged children, selling fabric by the pound at a remnant store.
She mortgaged her house and bought the store, took her sewing machine to work, and began to sew a dress a day. The dresses sold. The fabric didn’t, so she hired four seamstresses and turned the store into a handmade clothing boutique.
After twelve successful years, she sold the business and decided to run a marathon. Training was a huge bore, so she made up a story as she ran, about Pheiddipedes, the first marathoner. She copied it down and sent it to the Chatelaine short story contest, won first prize, finished the Vancouver marathon, and became a writer. It was a hell of a lot easier than running.
She married again and divorced again, writing all the while, mostly romances, (which she obviously needs to learn a lot about,) and now has more than fifty-five published books.
She decided she ne
eded something to do in the morning in her spare time, so she opened her first B&B, Blue Collar, in Vancouver, B.C. After five successful years, she moved home to the small coal mining town of Sparwood, where she now operates the reincarnated version of the Blue Collar.
She's currently working on three or four or eight more books. She has six enchanting grandchildren. She lives alone, apart from guests, meditates, bikes, reads incessantly, and writes.
She likes a quote by Dolly Parton: “Decide who you are, and then do it on purpose.”
Bobby loves to connect with her readers. Visit her online at her:
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER ONE
Book List
About The Author