Not that I cared about that. Being with Megan was all that mattered to me – but perhaps that was part of the problem where Michael was concerned.
In the early days of our marriage, when we were passionately in love, he was the center of my world. Maybe he couldn’t accept the fact that I had a new hero now, and there were things in life I revered more than his success at the firm or our expensive dinners out.
These were things he didn’t understand.
“They’re just clouds,” he would say when I wanted to lay on the grass and watch them roll across the sky. He would frown at me as I shook out the blanket. “Don’t be so emotional. It’s ridiculous.”
Or maybe that was the heart of the problem. Maybe he couldn’t handle the complexity of his own emotions. We had come very close to losing our daughter, and sometimes it felt like we were still standing on a thin sheet of ice with a deep crack down its center.
What if it happened again? What if Megan relapsed? What if we had another child and the same thing happened? How would we cope?
It had been so difficult the first time. I couldn’t imagine going through anything like that again.
I understood his fear. I felt it, too, but it didn’t keep me from loving Megan or spending time with her. It only intensified our bond.
I wanted to be closer to Michael, but he was always too tired, not in the mood, or too busy.
Once, I suggested that we try therapy together – surely a child with cancer was enough to warrant a few sessions with a professional – but he was worried that someone at the firm might find out, and he was determined to stay strong. He was a partner now and couldn’t afford to be weak.
His behavior saddened and angered me, and I regret to say that this wedge in our relationship only grew deeper over time. I felt more and more disconnected from the love we once shared.
Consequently, when the next bomb hit, our foundations were unsteady. As a couple, we were damaged and vulnerable, and it all went downhill from there.
Chapter Ten
On a snowy late November afternoon in 2005, I was putting away the dishes, and Megan screamed in the bathroom. As soon as I heard the terror in her voice, I dropped a plate on the floor. It shattered into a hundred pieces on the ceramic tiles, and my heart dropped to my stomach.
Please, let it be a spider, I thought as I ran to her.
When I pushed the door open, I found her sitting on the floor with blood pouring out of her nose. She was slumped over, trying to catch it in her hands.
Quickly I grabbed a towel, held it under her nose and helped her up. “It’s all right, honey. Mommy’s here now. Everything’s going to be fine.”
But I knew it was not that simple. She was not fine. She’d been fatigued for the past week and had lost her appetite.
I don’t know how I managed to think clearly as I helped her out to the front hall. All I wanted to do was cry or yell at someone, but I could do none of those things because I had to focus on picking up my purse, locking the door behind me, buckling her into the car, and driving to the hospital.
* * *
After two years in remission with normal blood counts and an excellent prognosis, Megan suffered a relapse in her central nervous system.
The doctor explained that this type of relapse occurred in less than ten percent of childhood leukemia patients, and that Megan would require frequent spinal taps to inject chemotherapy drugs directly into her cerebrospinal fluid.
I tried to call Michael on his cell phone, but he wasn’t answering and the receptionist couldn’t tell me where he was.
I was enraged. I remember thinking, as I stood at the nurses’ station and slammed the receiver down, that I wanted to divorce him. Why wasn’t he here with me? Why did I have to shoulder all of this alone? Did he not care? Didn’t he love his daughter? Didn’t he love me?
I sat down on a bench in the hospital corridor and struggled to calm myself before I returned to Megan’s bedside, but my heart was throbbing in my chest and I was afraid I might, at any second, start screaming like a lunatic.
Why was this happening? Recently, I had begun to feel some security that Megan was going to be all right and live a long, happy life. She would go to high school, college, get married and have children of her own. I was certain that one day, all of this would be a distant memory, because we had fought hard and beaten it.
But the cancer was back. The treatments had not worked. The leukemia cells were infecting her blood again.
I stood up and ran to the nearest bathroom, where I heaved up the entire contents of my stomach.
* * *
Sometime after eleven that night, Michael arrived at the hospital. I had no idea where he’d been all day or why he hadn’t answered his phone. I didn’t ask. All I did was explain Megan’s diagnosis in a calm and cool manner, because by that time, I had reached a state of numbness. Megan was sleeping and I couldn’t seem to feel anything. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t yell. I couldn’t even step into Michael’s arms to let him hold me.
I suppose I had been enduring this alone for such a long time that I didn’t need him anymore. I didn’t need anyone – except for Megan, and the doctors and nurses who could keep her alive.
When Michael absorbed what I told him about the nosebleed and the fatigue over the past week, and the spinal taps and radiation she would require, he pushed me aside, marched up to the nurses’ station, and smacked his palm down upon the countertop.
A nurse was seated in front of a computer, talking to someone on the phone. “I’ll get right back to you,” she said, then set the receiver down and looked up at him. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”
“Where the hell is Dr. Jenkins?” Michael asked. “Get her out here. Now. She has a lot to answer for.”
I rushed forward and grabbed hold of his arm. “It’s not her fault, Michael. She’s doing everything she can for Megan.”
He roughly shook me away. “Everything? What kind of hospital is this? Why didn’t anyone see this coming?”
“Keep your voice down,” I said. “You’ll wake Megan. She’ll hear you.”
A baby started to cry somewhere down the hall.
“I don’t care if she hears me! She needs to know that at least someone is looking out for her.”
My stomach muscles clenched tight. I could feel my blood rushing to my head, pounding in my ears.
“Someone?” I replied. “Like who? You? Pardon me for saying so, Michael, but you’ve done nothing for Megan over the past two years. I’ve taken care of her every minute of every day, while you find other more important things to do. So don’t you dare pretend to be her savior tonight. I won’t let you make enemies out of the very people who are trying to save her.”
I gestured toward the nurse – though I didn’t even know her name – and she slowly stood up.
She was a tall, broad-shouldered black woman with plastic-rimmed glasses and a fierce-looking gaze. “Is there going to be a problem here, sir?” she asked. “Do I need to call security?”
Briefly he considered it, then turned his back on her and faced me. A muscle twitched at his jaw as he spoke. “I told you we should’ve gotten a second opinion.”
Michael reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a business card, and tossed it onto the counter. He pointed a threatening finger at the nurse. “See that? Yeah. You’re going to hear from me.”
He walked out and left me standing there with my heart racing, perspiration beading upon my forehead.
Not because I was afraid, but because it had taken every ounce of self-control I possessed not to punch Michael in the face.
I took a few deep breaths to calm myself.
“Was that your ex?” the nurse asked.
I glanced at her nametag. “No… Jean. We’re still married.”
Jean removed her glasses, pulled a tissue from the box on the counter, and proceeded to clean her lenses while she strolled out from behind the counter.
She approached me, slid
her glasses back on, then laid a hand on my shoulder. “You look like you could use a Popsicle.”
Not knowing what else to say, I simply nodded and followed her into the lunchroom.
-End of Excerpt-
Julianne MacLean :: Home
THE REBEL
A Highland Short Story
By Julianne MacLean
Excerpt - Copyright 2011 Julianne MacLean
All rights reserved
November 13, 1715
On the field of Sherrifmuir, six miles northeast of Stirling Castle
At the sound of the bagpipes and the roaring command of his chief, Alex MacLean drew his sword and broke into a run, charging up the north face of the hill.
A wild frenzy of bloodlust exploded in his veins and fuelled his body with savage strength and determination, as he and his fellow Jacobite clansmen advanced upon Argyll’s left flank. Their lines collided in a heavy clash of bodies and weaponry, and suddenly he was thrashing about in a red sea of chaos. Men shouted and lunged, shot each other at close range, they severed limbs and hacked each other to pieces. Blood splattered onto his face as he spun around and swung his sword at one soldier, then another. Adrenaline fired his instincts. The fury was blinding. His muscles strained with every controlled thrust and strike.
Keenly aware of all that was happening around him, he raised his targe to encumber the piercing point of a bayonet. Dropping to one knee, he dirked the offending redcoat in the belly.
Eventually, in the distance, beyond the delirium of combat, the Government Dragoons began to fall back, retreating through their own infantry. The fury was too much for them. Alex raised his sword.
“Charge!” he shouted, in a deep thunderous brogue. “For the Scottish Crown!”
He and his fellow clansmen cried out in triumphant resolve and rushed headlong at the breaking enemy ranks, while the Jacobite cavalry thundered past, galloping hard to pursue the Hanoverians into the steep-sided Glen of Pendreich.
Moments flashed by like brilliant bursts of lightning. The battle was nearly won. The redcoats were fleeing….
Before long, Alex slowed to a jog and looked about to get a better sense of his bearings. He and dozens of other clansmen were now spread out across the glen with precious space between them and clean air to breathe.
It was over. Argyll’s opposing left flank was crushed. They were retreating to Dunblane.
Stabbing the point of his weapon into the frosty ground, Alex dropped to his knees in exhaustion and rested his forehead on the hilt. He’d fought hard, and with honor. His father would be proud.
Just then, a fresh-looking young redcoat leapt out from behind a granite boulder and charged at him. “Ahh!”
He was naught but a boy, but his bayonet was sharp as any other.
Rolling across the ground, Alex shifted his targe to the other hand to deflect the thrust of the blade. The weapon flew from the soldier’s hands and landed on the grass, but before Alex could regain his footing, a saber was scraping out of its scabbard, and he suddenly found himself backing away defensively, evaluating his opponent’s potential skill and intentions.
Blue eyes locked on his, and the courage he saw in those depths sharpened his wits.
Carefully, meticulously, they stepped around each other.
“Are you sure you want to do this, lad?” Alex asked, giving the boy one last chance to retreat with the others in his regiment. “I’ve done enough killing this morning. I don’t need more blood on my hands. Just go.”
But why was he hesitating? The dark fury of battle still smoldered within him. What difference would it make if he killed one more? All he had to do was take one step forward and swing. The boy was no match for him. He could slay him in an instant.
“I’m sure,” the lad replied, but his saber began to tremble in his hands.
Alex wet his lips. “Just drop your weapon, boy, and run.”
“No.”
Alex paused. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you? Or maybe you’re just stupid.”
All at once, the young soldier let out a vicious battle cry and attacked with a left-handed maneuver that cut Alex swiftly across the thigh.
He gaped down at the wound in bewilderment.
Musket fire rang out in the distance. The morning chill penetrated his senses, steeled his warrior instincts.
The next thing he knew, he was whirling around with a fierce cry of aggression. He swung his targe and struck lad in the head. The young redcoat stumbled backward. His saber dropped from his grasp.
Then, as if it were all happening in a dream, the soldier’s hat flew through the air, and long black tresses unfurled and swung about. The boy hit the ground and rolled unconscious onto his back.
Alex’s eyes fell immediately upon a soft complexion and lips like red cherries. All thoughts of war and the Jacobite triumph fled from his mind as he realized with dismay that he had just struck a woman.
-End of Excerpt-
About the Author
Julianne MacLean is a USA Today bestselling author of 15 historical romances, including The Highlander Trilogy with St. Martin's Press and her popular American Heiress series with Avon/Harper Collins. She also writes contemporary mainstream fiction under the pseudonym E.V. Mitchell, and her most recent release THE COLOR OF HEAVEN was an Amazon bestseller. She is a three-time RITA finalist, and has won numerous awards, including the Booksellers' Best Award, the Book Buyers Best Award, and a Reviewers' Choice Award from Romantic Times for Best Regency Historical of 2005. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and daughter, and is a dedicated member of Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada. Please visit the author’s website for more information.
Books by Julianne MacLean
Harlequin Romances:
Prairie Bride
The Marshal and Mrs. O’Malley
Adam’s Promise
Sleeping with the Playboy
The American Heiress Series:
To Marry the Duke
An Affair Most Wicked
My Own Private Hero
Love According to Lily
Portrait of a Lover
Surrender to a Scoundrel
The Pembroke Palace Series:
In My Wildest Fantasies
The Mistress Diaries
When a Stranger Loves Me
The Highlander Trilogy:
Captured by the Highlander
Claimed by the Highlander
Seduced by the Highlander
Writing as E.V.Mitchell:
The Color of Heaven
Read on for more bonus content…
THE LOOK OF LOVE
By Bella Andre
(Chase & Chloe - The Sullivans Book 1)
Excerpt copyright 2011 Bella Andre
All Rights Reserved
Chloe Peterson is having a bad night. A really bad night. The large bruise on her cheek can attest to that. And when her car skids off the side of a wet country road straight into a ditch, she's convinced even the gorgeous guy who rescues her in the middle of the rain storm must be too good to be true. Or is he?
As a successful photographer who frequently travels around the world, Chase Sullivan has his pick of beautiful women, and whenever he's home in San Francisco, one of his seven siblings is usually up for causing a little fun trouble. Chase thinks his life is great just as it is - until the night he finds Chloe and her totaled car on the side of the road in Napa Valley. Not only has Chase never met anyone so lovely, both inside and out, but he quickly realizes Chloe has much bigger problems than her damaged car. Soon, Chase is willing to move mountains to love - and protect - her, but will Chloe let him?
Chloe vows never to make the mistake of trusting a man again. Only, with every loving look Chase gives her - and every sinfully sweet caress - as the attraction between them sparks and sizzles, she can't help but wonder if she's met the only exception. And although Chase didn't realize his life was going to change forever in an instant, amazingly, he isn't the least bit interested in fig
hting that change. Instead, he's gearing up for a different fight altogether...for Chloe's heart.
Chase Sullivan rounded a curve in the narrowing road that lead to his brother's winery in the Napa Valley wine country. For the next four days, he was going to be doing a photo shoot for Jeanne & Annie, a quickly growing fashion house that combined haute couture with homegrown style. The models and his crew would be staying in town, but Chase would be staying in a guest house on the property.
A bolt of lightning lit up the sky and if there had been enough of a shoulder on the road, Chase would have pulled over to take some shots of the storm. Chase loved the rain. Big weather changed the way things looked, could transform an ordinary field into a marsh full of a thousand birds making an impromptu pit stop on their trip south for the winter. Conditions that sent most photographers into a tizzy-especially if they depended on the perfect sunset to nail their pictures-were exactly what got him going.
It was in those moments when everyone was cold and nothing was going "right" that magic would happen. The models would finally drop their guard and let him see all the way past their put-on beauty to who they really were. Chase believed there needed to be a true emotional connection with the camera for real beauty-along with the beauty of the clothes or jewelry or shoes that they were wearing-to really shine through.
The thick hail raining down on his windshield almost had him missing the flickering light off on the right side of the two-lane country road. In the past thirty minutes, he hadn't passed one car. On a night like this, most sane Californians-who didn't know the first thing about driving safely in inclement weather-stayed home.
Knowing better to slam on the brakes-he wouldn't be able to help whomever was stranded on the side of the road if he ended up stuck in the muddy ditch right next to them-Chase slowed down enough to see that there was definitely a vehicle stuck in the ditch.
Taken by the Cowboy Page 24
