clamoring with chaos. A rash of blackout-induced traffic accidents and storm-related injuries had strained the ER’s resources to the breaking point.
Peggy, who’d been wheeled to a curtained examination area, was distressed when her twins were immediately whisked away. She struggled to sit up, was overcome by a wave of dizziness and managed only to prop herself up on one elbow.
A flurry of activity bustled just beyond her cubicle, uniformed personnel rushing with purpose while civilians wandered aimlessly like shell-shocked soldiers.
One civilian caught Peggy’s eye, a bewildered gentleman with glazed eyes. His handsome face was expressionless, and he shuffled back and forth, eyeing the activity around him as if it were the most perplexing thing on earth.
A nurse appeared and took hold of his arm. “There you are, Mr. Smith. We’ve been looking for you.”
The man focused, then frowned. “Smith?”
“For the moment,” the nurse mumbled, distracted as a gurney encircled by medics whizzed past. “At least until we locate your family and find out who you really are.”
“Family?” The man’s confused expression broke Peggy’s heart. He touched the bandage on his head and flinched. “Smith,” he murmured. “Martin Smith.”
“That’s right.” The nurse sighed and ushered him away before Peggy could get her attention.
When another uniformed woman appeared just beyond the cubicle’s open drape, Peggy waved weakly. “Nurse! Please, can you help me?”
The woman glanced around, issued an empathetic smile and hurried over. Peggy clutched her frantically. “Where have they taken my babies?”
“Up to Pediatrics,” the nurse replied, peeling Peggy’s fingers from her wrist.
“But they’re all right, aren’t they?”
The nurse managed a frazzled nod. “I’m sure they’re perfectly healthy, Mrs. Saxon, but we need to examine them. It’s routine for newborns.”
“Why can’t I go with them?”
“Dr. Dowling wants to see you first. He’s with a patient right now, but he’ll be down shortly.” She patted Peggy’s hand, then rushed off in response to a colleague’s call.
Peggy lay weakly against the pillow. Her body was drained, but her mind was a frantic contradiction of fear and relief. It was over. Her babies were safe and healthy, thanks to a certain cab-driving cowboy with puppy brown eyes. She shuddered to think what might have happened if he hadn’t been there.
She bit her lip, shaking off the frightening image. It didn’t matter what might have been. All that mattered was that he had been there, a stoic stranger who’d saved her babies’ lives, probably her life, as well. And she didn’t even know his name.
“Peggy?”
She turned her head and recognized Marsha Steinberg, a member of the city council’s administrative staff. They didn’t know each other well, but their paths had occasionally crossed at city hall where Peggy held a clerical position before taking maternity leave.
The portly woman hurried over. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. “My stars, child, what are you doing here?” Her bloodshot gaze shifted, then her lips thinned into a weak smile. “Why, you’ve had those babies. And so soon, too.” She clucked her tongue and bit her lip. “Time goes by so fast. In the blink of an eye, things change. Lives begin. Lives end.” Her voice quivered, choked to a sob. “So fast.”
Peggy felt a chill. The woman was clearly distraught, and this was a hospital. “Is something wrong, Marsha? Your family…has there been an accident?”
She shook her head, sniffed and forced a smile. “Gracious, look at me, all teary-eyed when this is the best day of your entire life.” She forcefully patted Peggy’s hand, rattling a jangle of bracelets encircling her thick wrist. “Now, where are those beautiful babes of yours? I just can’t wait to see them.”
“Upstairs,” Peggy murmured, following the woman’s gaze to where a familiar, bleak-eyed man was speaking with an equally grim physician. “Is that Hal Stuart?”
A fresh spurt of tears beaded the older woman’s lashes. She nodded and snatched a tissue from the box beside Peggy’s bed.
Peggy frowned. “I thought he and Randi were leaving for their honeymoon right after the wedding.”
Marsha’s face crumpled like a wet shirt. “There wasn’t any wedding,” she wailed, then burst into tears.
Stunned, Peggy didn’t know what to say. The marriage of Hal Stuart and Randi Howell had been touted as the social event of the season. It had been front-page news for months, and since Hal was the mayor’s son, half of city hall, including Peggy, had been involved in finalizing preparations at Squaw Creek Lodge, which had been braced for the biggest nuptial bash in Grand Springs history.
Marsha blew her nose, snatched up another tissue and frantically dabbed her eyes. “It was horrible, simply horrible. The guests were seated, the organ was preparing to play the Wedding March, and then—poof!”
“Poof?”
“The lights went out.”
“Oh. The blackout.” Peggy relaxed slightly. “Well, they’ll have to reschedule, I suppose….”
“No, no.” Shaking her head until her gray curls bobbed, Marsha clasped a palm over her mouth, struggling for composure. After a long moment, she straightened, wiping her palms on her suit skirt. “The bride is gone.”
“Gone where?”
“No one knows. She just…disappeared.” Marsha clasped her hands and angled a compassionate glance toward Hal Stuart, who was still engrossed in somber conversation. “The poor man,” she murmured. “Poor, poor man.”
Exhaling, Peggy shoved a tangle of hair from her eyes and tried to grasp what she’d learned. Or more important, what it all meant. She’d seen Randi Howell a few times, usually at city hall when she and her fiancé, Hal, had dropped in on the mayor. As Peggy recalled, Randi was stunning in an outdoorsy kind of way, with dark blue eyes and a wild mane of curly black hair that seemed ready to explode from the braids she favored.
Peggy had thought her rather shy, because she rarely spoke unless spoken to, and avoided eye contact. It seemed odd that a meek, apparently pliable young woman would be drawn to a man of such opposing temperament. Certainly no one had ever accused Hal Stuart of being timid. Brash, yes. Perhaps even controlling. But never timid.
As much as Peggy liked Hal’s mother, Olivia, she’d never much cared for the mayor’s ambitious offspring. There was something, well, furtive about him. Shifty.
And, of course, to Peggy’s way of thinking, Hal Stuart had one other fatal flaw. He was male.
Peggy didn’t exactly dislike men; she simply didn’t trust them, and with good reason. Still, there were exceptions. A certain heroic, cab-driving cowboy came to mind—”Poor Hal,” Marsha murmured again. “He’s devastated, positively devastated.”
Pushing
