her. Becca had realized years ago that Mary Jane had a core of strength she could only hope to equal someday.
“Have you called Barry?” Mary Jane asked.
“He’s out of town today,” Becca answered as she sat. “In Denver on family business.” She wished he was here. His steady presence and rational thoughtfulness were exactly what she needed right now.
Mary Jane gave her another quick hug. “Maybe you can get in touch with him later. We’ll wait with you. Where’s Brittnie, by the way?”
“Gone for coffee.”
Shannon shuddered as she sat down. “That should bring back some unpleasant memories,” she commented with a touch of irony. She tossed her long black hair back over her shoulders and looked at her sister with sympathy in her dark eyes. “It’s the worst coffee in the world, but we drank gallons of it when Dad was in here.”
“How well I remember,” Becca agreed quietly. Her hands fell to rest loosely in her lap as she stared morosely at the floor.
Hal Kelleher had died of cancer three years ago in this very hospital. In many ways it had torn his family apart even as it had drawn them closer together. They had all gone on with their lives. Mary Jane stubbornly clung to their ranch, working it alone, with the occasional help of her daughters, a few members of her extended family, and any good hand she could hire. Both Brittnie and Shannon had finished college and Becca....
Thinking of her firm, no-nonsense father, Becca was fully aware of what he would say if he knew her marriage had broken up. He had adored Jimmy and would have been incensed at the potential harm the divorce might cause the boy. He’d thought the world of Clay, though the two men couldn’t have been more different. Hal had been a man with no guile and few secrets. Everyone knew where they stood with him. He had always said that once a person started something, that person had to keep on until it was finished. He wouldn’t have approved of the way she had given up on her marriage. And he really wouldn’t have approved the argument she’d had with Clay just before he’d pulled out of her driveway.
Mary Jane sat beside her and lightly rubbed her shoulders as Becca propped her elbow on the arm of the uncomfortable sofa and put her forehead in her palm as she relived the horror of the moment when she’d seen the Monte Carlo heading straight for Clay. She had thrown her front door open and sped down the walk before the two vehicles had even made contact, frantically yelling Clay’s and Jimmy’s names. Brittnie had heard her and run from the kitchen.
The instant the accident was over, Brittnie had phoned for the police and paramedics while Becca had wrestled Jimmy’s door open to find him crying and disoriented. She had checked the cut on his head, then climbed in beside him to examine Clay, who had been unconscious, his side of the windshield crumpled into his lap and the water from the Monte Carlo’s radiator shooting like a fountain into the air, soaking them both through the broken window. Inanely, she noticed his beloved Stetson lying on the floor of the vehicle. It was crushed, soaked, and probably ruined.
Becca looked down at the stains of water and engine coolant that still marked her dress, wondering vaguely if they could ever be washed out. Not that it mattered when she thought about the injuries Clay had suffered.
For an unspeakable moment, she’d thought Clay was dead, and a welter of emotions had blasted through her terror before she had found his pulse, then bone-melting relief when she had realized he was alive, followed by tenderness when he had groggily awakened, rolled his head against her supporting arm, smiled, and said, “Hi, babe. What’s the matter?” Then he’d passed out again.
Clay had drifted in and out as the neighbors had rushed from their homes, Joey Emerson had stumbled, unhurt, from his car, and the emergency vehicles had arrived with sirens blaring and lights flashing.
That had been more than an hour ago and this was the first moment she had found to think about the full impact of what had happened and what could have happened to her son and husband. Ex-husband, she reminded herself, realizing that it was an easy label to pin on Clay, but it wasn’t nearly as easy to hang that label on her feelings for him—especially after today’s trauma.
Becca looked up as she heard Brittnie bustling back into the room, grateful for the interruption of her troubled and confusing thoughts.
“Hi, Mom, Shannon,” she greeted them as she set two cups of coffee on the low table that stood in front of the sofa. “Here, Becca. Try some of this coffee. I know it looks like axle grease, but it might help perk you up.”
“Either that, or she’ll be awake all night,” Shannon responded, eyeing the black stuff.
“She will be anyway,” Brittnie pointed out.
She sat beside Shannon. With her dark blonde hair and lively gray eyes, she looked like the smaller, sunnier version of their father. She liked short skirts, music and dancing and fun of all types. If there was any fun to be had, Brittnie would be in the center of it. She had recently graduated from college with a degree in library science, but she certainly didn’t fit the stereotype of a librarian. She was far more likely to be the one making noise than the one quieting the noisemakers.
Becca took a sip from the foam cup. It tasted as bad as she remembered, but at least it gave her something to do with her hands. At the sound of footsteps, she looked up to see Dr. Kress approaching. Setting the cup down shakily, she stood to meet him.
Frank Kress was a tall, affable man in his fifties. He had a warm manner, but when he was worried about a patient, he became brisk and blunt. Becca braced herself and searched his face to see if it betrayed his mood. She remembered the staccato rap of his voice when he’d told them Hal Kelleher couldn’t live through the night—and the tears in his eyes when he spoke the words.
“Ah, Becca, there you are,” he said, spying her.
She felt herself relax when he gave her a slight smile and sat down in one of the chairs. He flexed his shoulders, rolled his head from side to side and gave a great sigh. “Well, honey, your menfolk have been mighty lucky. Jimmy’s going to have a headache for a couple of days and will probably whine about it the whole time. Clay has a concussion that needs to be watched carefully for at least a week and his leg is broken in two places. I’ve casted it, but he’d better take care of it or risk permanent injury. He’s got to stay here for a few days, then he can go home.”
Becca stared at him. “Home?” Clay had no home. He’d given up the apartment he had in Boulder. His furniture had been put in storage, the few belongings he carried with him from job to job had no doubt been packed and shipped to Venezuela. She knew exactly what arrangements had been made because she had been part of such moves for five years.
Becca shot a quick glance at her mother and sisters whose concerned expressions matched her own.
“Yes, home,” Dr. Kress continued gruffly. “I don’t know where that is for him, and I’ve already told you my opinion of this damned divorce. If your dad was alive he’d probably tan both your hides.”
Becca did, indeed, know his opinion. He’d expressed it in great detail when he’d treated her for bronchitis in January, then again when she’d had her annual physical last week.
“Don’t worry, Frank,” Mary Jane said, stepping forward and touching his shoulder. “We’ll take care of it.”
The doctor stood and gave a satisfied nod. “Good,” he said. “I was hoping I could depend on you. You can see Clay in a little while.”
After
