Hearth Song

by Lois Greiman

  She gave him a look.

  “Cuz I might spontaneously combust.”

  She shook her head at his theatrics and felt her troubles fall cautiously away. So what if he had purchased a new car? He was right, he had to get around. And it was good to have him back, to have him home. Leaning across the console between them, she slipped her hand onto his chest.

  They careened onto Carver Road.

  “Be careful,” she warned, but he grinned as they roared up the final stretch toward home.

  She was laughing as they squealed to a halt on the gravel outside their house, gasping as he pulled her into his arms and carried her toward the stairs that teetered down from a rickety porch.

  “Mmm, you feel good,” he said, and kissed her. Their lips met with a clash. Heat roared between them. He clattered up the steps, tripped near the top, and laughed at his own impatience. “Get the door, baby.”

  She fumbled to do so. The loose knob wobbled in her hand, but in a moment they were through. He let her feet slip to the floor and then he was kissing her full bore, fingers busy on her buttons. Cool air touched her skin, but in a moment it was replaced with his lips. He was already pushing her toward the floor.

  “No. Dane. Not here.” Desire roared through her, but this felt wrong. “The bedroom.”

  He swore in frustration, then hustled her backward. They laughed as they stumbled up the stairs, kicking off shoes, shedding clothes. By the time they reached the hallway, they were both panting. The backs of her knees hit the mattress. He peeled off her blouse, exhaled in reverent delight and cupped her breasts in both hands. “Man, I missed these.”

  “And me too, right?”

  He lifted his face and smiled. “And you too,” he said, and kissed her again, but this time the caress was warm and slow, full of the promise of forever.

  “Are you really going to be home now?” She breathed the question.

  “How could I leave you when you look like this?” he asked, and kissed his way down her neck.

  “You left before.”

  “I’m home now, baby.” He pulled her closer. “Let’s make the most of it.”

  He was right, of course. He was so right, she thought, and kissed him with everything that was in her.

  Desire and need and loneliness raged through her so hot and hungry she barely heard the sound that trickled up from downstairs. It took her a moment to recognize it as music, longer still to realize it was the ringtone that signaled a call from Hunter Redhawk.

  “Oh.” She pulled back a little, listening. “I’ve got to get that,” she breathed, but Dane tightened his grip.

  “What?” The word was little more than a panted gasp.

  “The phone. I left it in my jacket.”

  “They’ll call back,” he said, and eased her toward the mattress, but she struggled against him.

  “No.” She wriggled out of his grasp and twisted around. “It’s Hunt. There might be something wrong.”

  Seated on the mattress now, he scowled up at her, hands still on hers. “Baby, you’ve only been away from her a few minutes. We’ve been apart forever.” His lips tilted up beguilingly, and he tugged gently on her fingers. “At least it seems that way.”

  He was right. Lily meant the world to her, but he was important too. The phone rang again, tearing her apart. “I’ll be right back,” she said and, pulling out of his grip, rushed downstairs.

  “Hunt?” She breathed his name into the phone.

  “Vura?” His voice sounded scratchy and distant.

  “Is Lily all right?” She tried to smooth out her tone, but worry rippled through her.

  There was a pause, a bit of garbled dialogue, then silence.

  “Hunter?”

  “… will be well.”

  “What! What did you say?” She tightened her hand on the tiny phone. Worry turned to panic in the sharp beat of her heart. “What happened?”

  “She … fault. I should not have allowed—”

  Static filled the endless air between them.

  “Is she okay? Hunt? Is Lily okay?”

  “I do not … on our way … doctor …”

  “Doctor?” Not again. Her head felt light. “What?”

  “… Custer Medical …”

  “I’m on my way,” she said, and headed for the door, phone still pressed to her ear. It took her a moment to realize she’d left her blouse upstairs. She spun toward the steps.

  “I am …”

  “Hunter! Hunt! Let me talk to her,” Vura demanded, but the phone had gone dead.

  “What’s wrong?” Dane sat upright as she rushed into the bedroom.

  “Lily’s hurt!” She hit Redial as she searched for her hastily discarded clothes. “I’ve gotta go,” she added and grabbed her bra from a sawhorse, her shirt from the floor.

  “Hang on. Hang on!” Dane said. “You don’t think I’m gonna let you go alone, do you?”

  She hadn’t even considered an alternative. “I just … I didn’t …” She shook her head, mind reeling. “Thank you,” she breathed and found his eyes with her own.

  His fingers felt warm as they encompassed hers. “She’s my daughter, too, Vey,” he said, and kissed her lightly. “And you’re my wife. Of course I’m going with you.”

  She nodded, realizing she didn’t have to go it alone. Didn’t have to be superwoman. Not anymore.

  Chapter 6

  “Let’s go,” Dane said and, grabbing his own shirt, tugged it on as they hurried toward the door.

  Their feet tapped a frantic duet down the stairs. In a matter of moments the Viper’s engine growled to life, and then they were flying up the driveway, gravel spraying in their wake.

  “Where to?” Dane’s expression was tense.

  Still struggling with buttons, Vura steadied herself against the dashboard. “Custer Medical.”

  He nodded, no-nonsense. She had never loved him more. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.” Worry scoured her like a plague. It wasn’t as though Lily was a stranger to the ER. She had sustained enough lacerations, abrasions, and contusions to open her own hospital wing, but at least Vura had been present for each emergency. “Just hurry. Please.”

  His face was grim as he glanced toward her. “I thought you could trust those people.”

  “I can. I do.” But her mind was racing with doubts, clouded with guilt. She shouldn’t have left Lily, should have been clearer about her daughter’s propensity to find trouble, her heart-stopping ability to escape the house without so much as a whisper, her astounding need to climb on things that were not meant to be climbed. “Accidents happen.”

  He shook his head but kept silent as they careened around a corner. Still, it seemed like forever before they were pulling up beneath the emergency canopy. Vura was out and running before the Viper came to a complete stop, pushing through the door before another word was spoken.

  “Lily Lambert.” Her daughter’s name felt desperate and raspy against her throat. “Where is she?”

  “Excuse me?” The receptionist goddess behind the front desk looked peeved by Vura’s very existence.

  “A little girl, five years old, has she arrived yet?”

  “Vura.” Sydney appeared beside her suddenly.

  Bravura turned, breath held, body stiff with panic as she shot her gaze down the hall and back. “Where’s Lily?”

  “Honey—”

  “Where is she?” she snapped, and trying to forget her grandmother’s last days here, twisted toward the hall that yawned like a dark maw into terror.

  “Vura!” Sydney grabbed her arms, fingers tight, expression no-nonsense. “Lily’s fine.”

  “What?” She yanked her gaze back to her sister’s and tried to breathe, but her throat was tight with worry, raw with guilt. “What?”

  “She had a little …” Sydney paused, expression taut beneath troubled brows. “She had a little accident. But she’s fine.”

  Vura scanned her face, searching for truth, for hope.
“Then why is she here?”

  Syd exhaled carefully. “Before you see her, I want you to remember that it looks worse than it is.”

  “Worse than what is? What happened?” she asked, and tried to jerk away, but Sydney snagged her back.

  “Quit it!” she snapped.

  Vura stilled.

  Sydney inhaled slowly, exhaled audibly, reminding Vura with that one small motion that she had nearly died from a horse-related injury not so long before they had met. “Just breathe, honey. Breathe.”

  She did so, slowly, cautiously.

  “It’s not going to help if Lily sees you panicked.”

  Vura nodded, drew another shaky breath.

  “There.” Sydney inhaled with her. “Hunt’s in the exam room with her.”

  Vura winced, finally remembering that in this little troop of walking wounded, Hunter was, perhaps, the most seriously injured. Not too long ago, he, too, had had a daughter. “How’s he holding up?”

  Sydney nodded, a tacit sign of approval. Funny, Vura had never quite realized she needed her sister’s endorsement. “He’d walk through fire for her. You know that.”

  “I do.” Vura let her shoulders relax a little, exhaled heavily. “I know. What room are they in?”

  Worry echoed in Sydney’s eyes. “I’ll take you there.”

  They turned together.

  “She’s okay, Vura. She’ll be all right. I promise. Her face is entirely unscathed. But …”

  “But what?”

  “There is some damage to her left ear.”

  Vura nodded, steeled herself.

  “And there’s quite a bit of blood.”

  “Blood?” The single word sounded faint to Vura’s own ears, which was strange. She was no wilting violet. While other little girls had been wardrobing their Barbies, she had been building size-appropriate stables for her Breyer horses. And as teenage prom queens were primping in front of their full-length beveled mirrors, she’d been scooping up ground balls by the dozen. She’d been shortstop for the Black Diamond softball team for four consecutive years; she was no stranger to the emergency room. Still …

  “But it’s nothing life-threatening,” Sydney added.

  “Life-threatening!” The floor wobbled beneath her feet.

  “She’ll need a few stitches, though.”

  Her knees actually buckled.

  “Don’t!” Sydney’s fingers clutched her arm again. “Don’t lose it now. I’m not sure how much more Hunt can take.”

  “Hunter …” They were sisters … well, half sisters really, bound by the ties of blood. Still, Hunter Redhawk was the glue that held them together. “How’s he doing?”

  “He blames himself.”

  Vura winced. Guilt … so useless. So ubiquitous. “You’re sure she’s going to be okay.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right.” She squared her shoulders, ready.

  “Vey!”

  Dane rushed through the door behind them. “What’s going on?”

  “She’s going to be okay,” Vura said.

  “Thank God.” He nodded, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and thrust a hand toward Sydney. “You must be the long-lost sister.”

  “Yes.” The upper-crust stiffness had returned so suddenly to Sydney’s voice, it was difficult to remember the warmth that had imbued it only moments before.

  He grinned a little. “You’re almost as pretty as my Vey.”

  “Thank you. Lily’s this way,” Syd said, and led them down a hallway that echoed with worry. In a moment they were opening the door to a miniscule exam room.

  A woman straightened and turned toward them, trendy, horn-rimmed glasses reflecting the light. “Hello, Bravura.” Behind her, Hunter looked as if he had been turned to stone, eyes glassy, features chiseled. Lily was entirely hidden.

  “Dr. Shelby,” Vura said, and stepped inside.

  “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You too,” Vura said, and in that moment the good doctor stepped aside.

  That’s when the floor lurched beneath Vura’s feet. Lily’s face, perpetually dirty, was all but covered in blood.

  “Hi, Mama.”

  Vura steadied herself with one hand on the exam table and made her lips form the appropriate words.

  “Hey, baby.”

  Lily grinned. Her teeth were pink.

  Dane gasped. Lily’s eyes went round as she raised them to her father’s horrified face. “Papa?”

  “She broke a tooth?” Dane snarled. “You people let her break her teeth?”

  “No! No.” Vura shook her head, keeping her voice even. “She lost that one weeks ago.”

  “Then what happened?”

  The doctor scowled. “We’re ascertaining that right now, Mr… .”

  “Lambert.” He shifted his gaze to Hunter. An odd glint of territorialism shone in his eyes. “I’m the husband.”

  Dr. Shelby nodded. “I’m still examining her, Mr. Lambert, but I don’t believe there has been significant damage to anything but the auricle of her right ear.”

  “Look,” Lily said, and twisted sharply toward the wall. Her ear, that tiny innocent swirl, drooped toward her lobe like a sodden flag. “Hunk says I’m a warrior now.”

  Dane swore.

  A muscle jumped in Hunter’s cheek.

  The doctor’s brows dipped. “Perhaps it would be best if you waited outside, Mr. Lambert.”

  “Maybe you—” Dane began, but Sydney was already nudging him sternly back toward the hall. They were out of sight in a moment. The door closed quietly behind them.

  The world seemed as silent as a tomb.

  Vura drew a steadying breath. “Are you okay, baby?” she asked, and knelt beside Hunter’s massive thigh.

  Lily reached up to touch her ear, but Hunt curled a hand around her arm and tugged it gently back into her lap.

  “Let it be, little warrior,” he said.

  She nodded, sighed, and turned her gaze back to Vura. “Black Angel’s a good mama, Mama.”

  Vura’s stomach roiled, though she could no longer see the ravaged ear. Reaching up, she placed a hand over Hunter’s, effectively touching him and her daughter simultaneously. “What, honey?” she asked and, exhaling carefully, found Lily’s eyes. Those perfect, undamaged eyes.

  “That’s why she bit me,” Lily explained, schoolmarm voice firmly in place. “She was just trying to protect her baby.”

  Hunter clenched his jaw. Against Vura’s arm, his thigh felt as hard as granite. “Brandon Coby stopped by with his mare.” His voice was low and graveled. “She’d just dropped a foal a couple weeks ago.” A tic jumped in his cheek. Self-condemnation shadowed his eyes. “I thought Lily was still filling the hay bags.” He swallowed, mouth pursed. “Still inside the horse trailer. I should have …” He paused, fought for control. “I should have—”

  “It’s okay, Hunk,” Lily said and, lifting one blood-smeared hand, laid the palm gently against his dark-skinned cheek. “It’s just an ear. ’Sides, it doesn’t hurt much.”

  Vura raised her gaze to the doctor.

  “Fortunately, there aren’t many nerve endings in that portion of the ear. And …” Shelby scowled a little, assessing her tiny patient. “She could be a little shocky.”

  Hunter’s lips twitched. His eyes were unusually bright.

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have a cosmetic surgeon on staff. But I’ve had a good deal of experience since coming here.” She smiled, not voicing the fact that a surprising amount of that experience had been practiced on Lily. “I’ve treated everything from blisters to gunshot wounds, so I could stitch it up myself. Or we can call in a specialist.”

  “How long before the surgeon could get here?” Vura said.

  “It’s impossible to say. At least an hour. More if other patients are waiting.”

  Vura nodded, winced. “And what about …” She paused. Now wasn’t a good time to bring up finances, but in her experience, poverty was rarely convenient. “What a
bout the cost difference?” Guilt flared up like a bitching ulcer. What kind of mother didn’t have the necessary funds to treat her own child? “I’ll do whatever’s best for Lily, of course, and I have insurance,” she rushed to add. “But my deductible’s pretty—”

  “I’m paying.” The rumbled words were almost inaudible.

  “No.” Vura shifted her gaze back to Hunter. “You’re not,” she said, but when he turned toward her, she saw that one diamond-bright tear had escaped the dark barricade of his lashes.

  “Listen, Hunt …” Her chest physically ached at the sight of his anguish. “This isn’t—”

  “Please.” The tear traced a groove beside his full lips.

  “All right,” she said. “Okay.”

  Hunter nodded, cleared his throat, and lifted his gaze to the doctor’s. “Can you contact the surgeon? See how long it would take him to get here?”

  “Her,” she corrected, and smiled. “I’ll do that.” In a moment she had left the room.

  Vura forced a smile and rose to her feet.

  Hunter stood up beside her. For one elongated moment, he held the child against his heart like a fragile blossom, but finally he handed her over.

  Lily wrapped her spindly arms around Vura’s neck, sending a shiver of gratitude skittering toward her heart. But she forced herself to meet Hunter’s gaze.

  “You don’t have to pay,” she said, but he shook his head.

  “You are wrong,” he said simply, and left.

  The room went silent.

  Lily sighed, distractedly twirling a finger in Vura’s disheveled hair. “Do you think I’ll have a scar, Mama?”

  Careful not to jostle her battered daughter, Vura settled carefully into Hunter’s just-abandoned chair.

  A scar, she thought. They were lucky she still had an ear. “I don’t know, honey. But try not to worry about it. I’m sure the doctors will do everything they can.”

  “I hopes I do,” Lily said, and sighed. The sound whistled quietly through the gap in her incisors. “Cuz then for the rest of my whole entire life, everyone will know I’m a warrior.”

  Chapter 7

  It took three hours for the surgeon to arrive. By then, Vura had said a hundred prayers, read Buffalo Knees a dozen times, and brightened her daughter’s day considerably by telling her of Tonk’s intention to bring his horses by. When they escaped to the lobby, forty-seven stitches had been sewn into Lily’s battered ear.