I do like to get as close as I can get to my subjects. It’s one of the signature elements in my photos. It’s how I keep working.”
“Which do you like most—the danger or the travel?” Her question wasn’t meant to be a challenge. She was really interested.
“I don’t know if I can separate them. As I said, it’s not the danger than I crave, it’s my interest in my subject that takes me where I need to be.”
“I can’t believe that you and Julia were so different. She liked being a teacher, going to school every day. That must seem boring to you.”
“Julia felt safer with a definite schedule. That came from having our lives torn apart. She liked her day structured from the outside, I just organize mine from the inside. My life seems random but it’s not. I know exactly what I’m doing and where I’m going.”
As they were talking, Shaye couldn’t help but admit that Dylan was a fascinating man. She couldn’t begin to understand why she was attracted to him because she knew she shouldn’t be. Maybe she reacted to him so strongly because they’d been thrust into a high-crisis situation and bonded because of it.
After a few long swallows of coffee, he suggested, “Maybe we should go back upstairs.”
She knew what he was thinking. If they were upstairs, they’d be closer if anything went wrong with Timmy. She was praying nothing would go wrong.
When they returned to the floor where the NICU was located, Shaye greeted the nurses they passed as they walked along the hall.
“You said your father is a cardiologist. Do you run into him much here?” Dylan asked.
“No, just now and then. He’s usually in an operating room or consulting. Dad doesn’t see Randall much, either, even though they both spend a lot of time here at the hospital. It’s just not Dad’s way.” Shaye wished her father could be more in tune with all of them, but he wasn’t and she’d gotten used to that.
In the waiting room, she tried to concentrate on a magazine rather than another conversation with Dylan. However, he paced and she couldn’t help but watch him as he did. She couldn’t help but picture him in the wild, riding an elephant, camouflaging himself in the brush, hiking where other men wouldn’t go.
When they heard footsteps in the hall, Shaye hoped they belonged to Dr. Carrera. The middle-aged neonatologist came into the waiting room with a slight smile on his face. It was the first Shaye had seen since this whole situation had begun.
“How did it go?” she asked, worry sticking in her throat.
“He’s breathing on his own.”
Dylan moved close to her then, so close their arms brushed. “Can we see him?” he asked.
“For a few minutes. The lab results are promising, too.”
Shaye experienced such relief she almost felt dizzy with it. To her surprise, Dylan settled his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
The contact felt right and she didn’t stop to analyze why.
As they sat with Timmy, they reached to touch him. Sadness gripped Shaye when she thought about Julia and Will never holding their son, never feeding him, never kissing him good-night. Shaye couldn’t wait until she could actually hold Timmy in her arms and she wondered if Dylan felt that way, too.
They didn’t talk much except to comment on a monitor or readout, but their gazes met often and quiet understanding passed between them. They both had this child’s best interests at heart.
When their allotted visiting time was up, they returned to the waiting room again, which had become a second home.
“Are you hungry?” Shaye asked, feeling pangs of hunger for the first time in several days.
“Actually, I am,” Dylan responded with a smile as if he were surprised.
“If you’d like to come back to my place, I can make us something to eat. I thought you might like to see where Timmy will be living. All the hours I’ve been waiting here, I’ve been planning what I’m going to do with my spare room.”
He took a few moments to respond, as if he was coming to grips with her guardianship of his nephew. “Do you have groceries at your place?” he asked. “We could stop on the way.”
“Grocery shopping is probably a good idea. We can call the hospital once we get to my town house to make sure everything is still okay.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They both drove their cars to the grocery store and Shaye was glad of that. Being cooped up with Dylan inside a vehicle would be altogether too nerve-tingling. However, the trip through the store was almost as bad. They only used one cart, and he pushed it. The sensation of shopping with Dylan should have seemed strange, but somehow it didn’t. Their hips bumped as they walked down the canned goods aisle.
When Shaye glanced at Dylan, he was looking at her.
As she moved ahead of the cart, she left him to navigate on his own. But he was always right there beside her. Their hands tangled as they reached for the same apple. Their fingers brushed as they realized they both liked the same kind of salad dressing. When Dylan insisted on loading the grocery bags into his SUV, she helped him, the sleeve of her jacket rubbing against his, his hands coming to within a few inches of her body when he took a bag from her grasp.
Sliding into her car for the drive to her town house was almost a relief, yet a disappointment, too. She was glad Dylan had agreed to go to her place for lunch.
The older streets of Wild Horse Junction were lined with larch and aspen. Pines decorated backyards and towered high over decades-old houses. Shaye, however, lived in a newer section of town where the western Victorian flavor wasn’t as prominent. The groupings of duplexes had high-peaked roofs with modern trim. With tan siding and blue shutters, they announced that Wild Horse Junction wasn’t just a small Western town, but rather a growing town. Retirees who didn’t mind the volatile winters moved here every year. Tourists on vacation who fell in love with the town sometimes relocated whole families into the area. Wild Horse Junction fostered a sense of community and that’s what Shaye liked most.
“Nice section of town,” Dylan commented as Shaye opened the front door and they went inside.
“I like it. Gwen lives in a ranch house on a street behind this one.”
“Is that by design or coincidence?” he asked with a smile.
“By design. She lived with her father for a few years after she got her training, but then decided it would be better for both of them if she was on her own.”
That decision hadn’t been an easy one for Gwen, Shaye knew. Her father, an alcoholic, had played on her sense of responsibility for years until finally Gwen realized she was enabling him. That was when she’d moved out.
After Dylan set the bags on the table in the kitchen, he scanned the downstairs.
“This is nice,” he remarked, his gaze passing over the rust, brown and turquoise Southwestern design on the sofa, the light oak tables, a sculpture of The End of the Trail, as well as a landscape painting of the Rocky
