“But you’ll need my help,” he said.
“No, really, Barry,” she said, casting a glance at Clay. She could just imagine what her ex-husband would have to say if her fiancé showed up to help her and her family care for him. “It might be better if I don’t see you until I’ve decided what I’m going to do. Clay will need someone to take care of him for a few days at least, and I don’t know where that’s going to be....”
“But he won’t want me around,” Barry finished for her.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but it’s true,” she admitted. “Clay isn’t the easiest of men,” she said, dropping her voice even more, though her ex-husband still showed no sign of waking up.
“Which is why you’re marrying me.”
Barry’s tone wasn’t smug, or triumphant, merely matter-of-fact, which bothered Becca somehow. “Yes, well, that’s true,” she answered. “But it’s not the only reason I’m marrying you.”
Barry was silent and she knew that he was thinking about what they both knew—that she didn’t love him the way she had loved Clay. She also knew he was too tactful to point that out. She could think of no reply.
Barry finally broke the silence by saying he would call again later and that he would be home in two days.
Becca hung up and sat for several minutes staring at the phone. She felt as though she had somehow disappointed him, but what she had said was true. At the best of times, Clay wasn’t an easy man. With multiple fractures and a concussion, he was going to be impossible. She and Barry would soon be sharing the “for better or for worse” of marriage. As far as she could see, there was no reason to start out “for worse.”
Quietly setting the phone on the nightstand, Becca turned to look at Clay. It seemed as though she could barely see the movement of his chest as he breathed and she thought of all the times she had worried and feared he was going to be injured on a job site. He’d never received so much as a scratch. Now he’d nearly been killed backing out of her driveway. Shakily, she sat down beside the bed and resumed her vigil.
As she watched, his eyes fluttered open, skimmed over her blankly, then closed again. After a moment, they opened again and stared at her for several seconds. A chill of fear washed through her. It was as if he didn’t recognize her, she realized as he drifted off again.
She thought suddenly of how he’d greeted her when he’d momentarily regained consciousness after the wreck. He’d called her “babe,” though he’d never been one for endearments. It touched her now and tears filled her eyes.
When he stirred again, she stood, bent over him, and rested her fingers lightly on his cheek. This time his eyelids snapped open and he focused on her with a clear and lucid gaze. Recognition leaped into his eyes, then joy such as she had never seen filled his face as he looked at her, studied her expression, then seemed to delve deeper into her eyes. Then he gazed at each of her features, lingering on her mouth, the hair loosening from her French braid and falling around her face, and then the curve of her cheek. For an instant, it was as if he had been stripped of all pretense.
The pleasure and relief on his face made her think of a time they’d gone exploring in a cave that Clay had sworn was safe. She had twisted her ankle and he’d had to carry her out. They’d both been overjoyed when they had stumbled outside and found light waiting on the other side.
Becca shivered at the memory. She didn’t know exactly why she had connected that with the look on Clay’s face just now.
Heat washed through Becca, flooding her with the same joy she saw in him.
She was reaching for his hand when something in his gaze seemed to click into place. All expression faded. His eyes swept the room and came back to her.
“Becca,” he said in a voice that cracked. He tried to clear his throat. “Can I have some water?”
“Of course.” She hurried to get him a glass of water, then eased his head up so he could sip it from a straw.
Satisfied, he turned his lips from the drink and said, “What are we doing here?”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes again. Her lips trembled and the tears poured out. “I’m...I’m sorry, Clay....” She didn’t know if she was apologizing for crying or for being responsible for his injuries.
“Are those tears for me?” he asked in a faint voice. “I haven’t seen you cry since you....”
Becca’s eyes snapped to his, unexpected grief washing them. There was no need for him to go on. Either of them could have finished the thought.... “Since your last miscarriage.” Becca took a breath and looked away. This wasn’t the time to think about that.
Besides, the truth was, she had also cried plenty over Clay in the past couple of years, but she’d never let him see her at it. Even now, she willed her tears away.
Becca fought to control the tremble in her voice and lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been run over,” he said dryly, looking at her from beneath the edge of his bandage.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Yeah, I was backing out,” he answered in a grim tone. “And I got hit. Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?”
She gave him a rueful look. “It wasn’t a truck. It was my neighbor’s teenage son in his Monte Carlo.”
“That settles it. We’re never letting Jimmy....” With a groan of shock, he tried to struggle up onto his elbow. “Jimmy! Where...?”
Her hands sprang out to keep him from climbing from the bed. Even with the huge cast on his leg and the supporting sling suspended above, he would have tried it. “He’s all right,” she insisted, urging him back. Quickly, she told him what Dr. Kress had said about Jimmy. “He wants to see you, though,” she concluded. “I told him he could if you felt up to it.”
Clay gave her a fierce glance. “Of course I’m up to it. He needs to be reassured.”
“I’ll go see if I can bring him here.”
It took her a while to find Dr. Kress and get him to agree to let her take Jimmy in a wheelchair to see his dad. Finally, the doctor approved the idea saying it would do Jimmy good and he might continue to rest if he wasn’t worried about his dad.
“In fact,” he suggested, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, I don’t see any reason the two of them can’t share a room until Jimmy is released.”
“Share a room?” Becca asked, eyeing him warily.
“Sure. This is a small hospital, not many patients right now, we can accommodate a boy and his dad. Besides,” he added gruffly. “It’ll be easier on you than running back and forth between the two rooms.”
Becca didn’t point out that she hadn’t really intended to run back and forth. Since she was no longer Clay’s wife, she didn’t feel responsible to watch out for him. He was an independent man—boy, was he independent—and he didn’t like being coddled. She didn’t say it, though, because
