if deep down she wondered if she’d picked the short straw in the sister pool of life. Grace was one hell of a control freak.
Of course, he’d heard people say the same about him, but that was different. He had a business to run. People who relied on him to get things done right, and that meant the first time.
“I still think you could have saved the marriage.”
Grace’s silky words hit his back and, temper spiking, Bishop edged around. He set his hands on his hips to keep from making fists.
“First, redundant observation, Grace. There isn’t a marriage anymore. Second—” steam rising from his collar, he strode back “—are you trying to have me think you want Laura and me to get back together? Because I’d sooner believe in the Easter Bunny.”
Fingers unlacing, Grace found her feet, too. She always came across as so damn perfect—hair, nails, prissy platinum blond French roll. He’d love to rattle her cage, but this wasn’t the place. Already, interested people were staring.
“You’re wrong,” Grace said, “if you think I want to see Laura unhappy.”
Grace wasn’t interested in anything but being right. “You never wanted us married.”
“I didn’t want you to marry so soon. You both needed time to think things through. You didn’t give yourselves a decent chance.”
“And you’ve been gloating about that ever since.”
Her head tilted as her gaze searched his. “Have you considered using this time in a positive way? This might be an opportunity to do things differently. To listen to her this time. Try to understand.”
Bishop only glared. Even now she was trying to manipulate. Grace knew nothing. She hadn’t lived in their home during that turbulent time. He’d done his best. From the start, when Laura had said she’d changed her mind and wanted to have a baby of their own rather than adopt, he’d tried to understand. Their downfall wasn’t due to his behavior but to Laura’s conscience; she’d made the wrong decision and had never gotten over it.
Her hopeful look dissolving, Grace sighed.
“I’ve said goodbye to Laura.” She collected her handbag and headed toward the wing’s exit. “Take good care of her.”
He almost called out; where the hell did she think she was going? Grace had always been so ready to ingratiate her presence into Laura’s life before. Now, when Laura really needed her, she was walking out? But the question marks on their curious audience’s faces roped back any choice words. As uncomfortable as this would be with his ex, having Grace around would only make the situation ten times more difficult. If Laura’s parents were alive, he was certain they would step up, but both her mother and father had died long before Laura met him.
Like it or not, this was his problem, as well as Laura’s, to work through.
Resigned, Bishop returned to the private hospital room. When he entered, Laura was standing by the window, her arms wrapped around her middle. She rotated back. Her delicate face was pale. Clearly she wanted to go to him, but after his earlier reticence, she hesitated.
“I spoke with the doctor,” he said.
“And?”
Bishop considered his reply. He thought about Grace’s opinion—a second chance—then the doctor’s remark regarding rare instances. Might Laura never regain her memory? Could this accident give them another shot at their relationship? After all the anguish, a full year apart, was there any piece of him that even wanted that? He didn’t love her. Not anymore. Too much water under that bridge. For now, however, he could only take one step at a time.
Willing the bite of tension away from between his shoulders, he came to her, offered his hand, and innocent hope flickered bright in her eyes.
“Get dressed,” he said with a small but encouraging smile. “The doctor says we can go home.”
An hour later, as Bishop steered up that familiar spiraling mountain road, Laura gazed out the window, a warm smile tugging her lips. She wanted to roll down the window and enjoy a good long lungful of that fresh, clean air. The glorious cloud-wisped sky, those endless forests of eucalypt and pine, so many colorful birds swooping between branches … Everything looked somehow brighter.
She’d loved this part of the Blue Mountains countryside from the moment Bishop had first driven her to his estate two weeks after they’d met. Now, almost six months on, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Or being with, and loving, anyone else. Although …
Laura stole a curious look at the driver.
Bishop looked somehow different this afternoon. Tired from a busy week at the office most likely. Worried about her, of course. But she hadn’t noticed those fine lines branching from his eyes before. And he’d seemed so distant all the drive here. She didn’t need to be Einstein to know he was avoiding the subject she’d brought up in the hospital. He didn’t want to discuss the possibility of renegotiating what they’d decided upon before taking their vows.
That night four months ago, when he’d suggested adoption as their safest bet, a rush of emotion had stung her eyes and hurt-filled tears had brimmed. But he’d assured her that he was only being practical. Sensible. Yes, he understood that her own condition was easily managed, but there was no guarantee that a child might not inherit a more severe form of cardio impairment. Surely the most important thing, he’d said, was to be together and raise a healthy baby. An adopted child.
She’d respected his concerns—still did—but she’d come to realize that he needed to respect her feelings, too. Feelings that weren’t about to go away. From as far back as she could recall, she’d wanted her own family, particularly in her late teens after her parents had passed away. She had her Arts History and Literature degree—her parents had been big on education—but her dream was to be a homemaker, a good wife and great mother. She wasn’t career-minded in the twenty-first century sense, and she didn’t care who knew it. She wanted to bestow upon her children the same kind of love and support she’d known and valued growing up. Never had she considered the possibility of raising another woman’s child.
But she did want a healthy baby, and she most certainly wanted to marry Bishop, so she’d agreed to his suggestion. Over these past months, however, the weight of that decision had pressed on her heart like a stone. More and more she’d begun to believe there must be a thing as being too cautious. It was far from certain that any child they conceived would inherit her disorder. And there was always medication and a simple operation to implant a defibrillator to regulate the heartbeat if need be. Of course, if a child were severely affected, more involved surgery might be needed. A pacemaker. Even a transplant.
But in this age of high technology and information, parents-to-be were aware of so many frightening things that could go wrong in vitro. Then there were the concerns surrounding keeping a child safe later on, from disease and accidents and predators. But most people didn’t let those fears beat them. A husband and wife hoped for the best, knowing they’d be there for one another, no matter what.
As long as she was fertile—and there was no reason to believe that she wasn’t—she wanted to try. The reward would be well worth the risk. Was she wrong to want what so many women longed for?
A child of her blood. A child of her own.
Deep in
