Ruth Schmidt, according to her name badge—another good old Pennsylvania Dutch name, like Unger—picked up the telephone and had a cryptic, low-voiced conversation with someone. She hung up and gave Andrea a professional smile.
“Your sister has come through surgery fine, and she’s been taken to a private room.”
“What were her injuries?” She hated digging for information, as if her sister’s condition were a matter of national security. “Where is my grandmother? Isn’t she here?”
The woman stiffened. “I really don’t know anything further about the patient’s condition. I understand Mrs. Unger was persuaded to go home, as there was nothing she could do here. I’d suggest you do the same, and—”
“No.” She cut the woman off. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve seen my sister. And if you don’t know anything about her injuries, I’ll talk to someone who does.”
She prepared for an argument. It didn’t matter what they said to her, she wasn’t leaving until she’d seen Rachel, if she had to stay here all night.
Maybe the woman recognized that. She pointed to a bank of elevators. “Third floor. Room 301. But she’ll be asleep—”
She didn’t wait to hear any more. She made it to the elevator in seconds and pressed the button, the fear that had driven her since she left Philadelphia a sharp blade against her heart. Rachel would be all right. Grams wouldn’t have gone home unless she was convinced of that. Still, she had to see for herself.
A quick ride in the elevator, a short walk across the hall, and she was in the room. Rachel lay motionless in the high, white hospital bed. Both legs were in casts, and hospital paraphernalia surrounded her.
Light brown hair spread out over a white pillow, dark lashes forming crescents against her cheek. Rachel looked about sixteen, instead of nearly thirty. Her little sister, whom she loved, fought with, bossed, protected. Her throat choked, and the tears she’d been holding back spilled over.
Cal picked up a five-month-old newsmagazine and slumped into a molded plastic chair. The dragons guarding the third floor wouldn’t have let him in, obviously, so he’d just wait until the sister came back down again. Maybe tonight wasn’t the time, but he had a few things he’d like to say to Andrea.
He frowned, uninterested, at the magazine, seeing instead the face of the woman who’d just gone upstairs. On the surface, she’d been much like he’d expected from the things her sister and grandmother had said and from the photo on Katherine’s mantel.
Glossy, urban, well dressed in a rising young executive way, with silky blond hair falling to her collarbones in one of those sleek, tapered cuts that every television newswoman wore now. Eyes like green glass, sharp enough to cut a man if he weren’t careful.
Well, he was a very careful man, and he knew enough not to be impressed by Ms. Andrea Hampton.
Not that her sister or grandmother had ever bad-mouthed her, but the picture had formed clearly enough in his mind from the things they said, and from her absence. Her elderly grandmother and her sister were struggling to get their bed-and-breakfast off the ground, and Ms. Successful Young Executive couldn’t be bothered to leave her high-powered life long enough to help them.
Not his business, he supposed, but despite his intent to live in isolation, he’d grown fond of Katherine and her granddaughter in the time he’d been renting the barn on the Unger estate. He’d thought, when his wanderings brought him to Lancaster County, that he just wanted to be alone with his anger and his guilt. But Katherine, with her understated kindness, and Rachel, with her sweet nature, had worked their way into his heart. He felt a responsibility toward them, combined with irritation that the oldest granddaughter wasn’t doing more to help.
Still, he’d been unjust to accuse her of careless driving. She’d been going the speed limit, no more, and he had seen the flash of her brake lights just before she’d rounded the curve.
Her taillights had disappeared from view, and then he’d heard the shriek of brakes, the crunch of metal, and his heart had nearly stopped. He’d rounded the curve, fearing he’d see a buggy smashed into smithereens, its passengers tossed onto the road like rag dolls.
Thank the good Lord it hadn’t come to that. It had been the car, half on its side in the ditch, which had been the casualty.
Come to think of it, somebody might want to have a talk with young Jonah’s father. The boy had said he’d just pulled out onto the main road from the Mueller farm. He had to have done that without paying much attention—the approaching glow of the car’s lights should have been visible if he’d looked. All his attention had probably been on the pretty girl next to him.
He didn’t think he’d mention that to Andrea Hampton. She might get the bright idea of suing. But he’d drop a word in Abram Yoder’s ear. Not wanting to get the boy into trouble—just wanting to keep him alive.
Giving up the magazine as a lost cause, he tossed it aside and stared into space until he saw the elevator doors swish open again. Andrea came through, shoulders sagging a bit. She straightened when she saw him.
“You didn’t need to wait for me.”
He rose, going to her. “Yes, I did. I have your things in my truck, remember?”
Her face was pale in the fluorescent lights, mouth drooping, and those green eyes looked pink around the edges. He touched her arm.
“You want me to get you some coffee?”
She shook her head, and he had the feeling she didn’t focus on his face when she looked at him. His nerves tightened.
“What is it? Rachel’s going to be all right, isn’t she?”
“They say so.” Her voice was almost a whisper, and then she shook her head, clearing her throat. “I’m sure they’re right, but it was a shock to see her that way. Both of her legs are broken.” A shiver went through her, generating a wave of sympathy that startled him. “And she has a concussion. The doctor I spoke with wouldn’t even guess how long it would be until she’s back to normal.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice roughened. Rachel didn’t deserve this. No one did. He could only hope they caught the poor excuse for a human being who’d left her lying by the side of the road. If he were still an attorney, he’d take pleasure in prosecuting a case like that.
Andrea walked steadily toward the exit. Outside, she took a deep breath, pulling the tailored jacket close around her as if for warmth, even though the May night didn’t have much of a bite to it.
“I’ll just get my things and then you can be on your way.” She managed a polite smile in his direction.
“How do you plan to get to your grandmother’s? I called to have your car towed to the Churchville Garage, but I don’t imagine it’ll be drivable very soon.”
She shoved her hair back in what seemed to be a habitual gesture. It fell silkily into place again. “Thank you. I didn’t think about the car. But I’m sure I can get a taxi.”
“Not so easy at this hour. I’ll drive you.” He yanked the door open.
“I don’t want to take
