Her pretty eyes widened. Had he surprised her that much? She unzipped her good-size purse and started digging through the contents. “It depends. I think I have a price list in here. There are different rates depending on the level of care you want and size stall, feeding plans, training and exercising, that kind of thing.”
Her hair was unbound, and it was full of light, falling to cover her face as she rummaged past a worn leather wallet and a glasses case. He took his time looking his fill, while she was busy and wouldn’t notice him gawking at her.
She was prettiest this close, he decided. He could see the scatter of light freckles across her nose and cheeks, probably brought out by the summer sun, on skin golden brown and as smooth as satin.
“Here it is.”
He jerked his gaze to the floor at her scuffed white sneakers, as if he hadn’t been looking anywhere else.
The rattle of paper drew his attention. He straightened up, all business. It was hard holding back his emotions, but he was a disciplined man with a plan. He admired the cut of her hands, slender and suntanned, callused from her work, with neat short nails painted a shimmering pink.
It dawned on him that she was waiting for him to take the neat brochure. “Uh, thanks.”
“I didn’t know you had a horse.”
He opened the trifolded lavender paper and stared at numbers that made no sense. His brain couldn’t seem to work right. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. Don’t back out now, man.
He cleared the nerves from his throat before he spoke. “I don’t. Yet.”
Now there was a dazzling show of his mastery of the language.
She didn’t seem to notice. If she did, then she managed to keep her pity for his sorry conversational skills to a minimum. Her voice was as warm as her smile. “You can ask me if you have any questions.”
“Or I could just pull you over the next time you drive through town.”
“Aren’t you funny? Abusing your power as an authority figure.” She teased him in return—she couldn’t help it—as the doors opened to the maternity wing. “Have a good night, Cameron.”
“You, too. Congratulations on becoming an aunt again.”
He was gone; the doors slid shut before she could answer, leaving her alone. The chug and chink of the elevators echoed in the quiet. She turned around, eyes down because she knew what was ahead of her.
The viewing window of the nursery where newborns slept tucked tight in their blankets and beds, their dear button faces either relaxed in slumber or screwed up in misery as they cried. A nurse was lifting one tiny unhappy baby into her arms as Kendra passed by.
Don’t look. Keep moving.
Her feet refused to work, leaving her trapped in front of the window. It hurt to look. It hurt not to look. She admired the tiny babies, their perfectly formed miniature hands, their sweet faces, and envied their lucky parents.
How was it possible to feel happy and sad at the same moment? Happy for the precious new babies and sad because she would never have one of her own.
How could she? She wasn’t ever going to date. Never going to marry. Never trust a man that much.
There would be no babies for her.
The grief struck her as it always did like a boxer’s blow to her sternum. It was her choice, her decision. She couldn’t complain. She wouldn’t feel sorry for herself, but when would this consuming longing end?
She turned away before the ache within her could crescendo. Before regret and loss could swallow her whole.
Her sisters were waiting beyond those imposing double doors. Why were her feet dragging? What was holding her back?
It was hard to face how different her life was, from what she’d always thought it would be. That’s what. She’d wanted to be a wife and a mother. A horse-woman, yes, but, oh, to be truly and deeply loved by a good man. To have her own children to love and nurture. What could be more important than that?
Don’t think about what might have been. She closed her eyes, hoped the Lord would help her find the strength to face her family behind those doors without feeling sorrow over the what-ifs in her life. As hard as it was to see what she might have had, she was truly happy for her sisters and their families. To the depth of her soul.
It wasn’t as if she was alone. She was an aunt; she would always have children in her life. She would count the wonderful blessings the Lord had given her.
Not dwell on the ones missing.
She squared her shoulders, forced every piece of grief from her heart. She was ready. Behind that door were her sisters and their husbands and their children. Her warm extended family she loved with all her being.
She refused to feel sad, not tonight. Not when there was so much to celebrate. So much to be grateful for.
Cameron couldn’t stop thinking about the brochure he’d folded and tucked into his shirt pocket. His mind was half on it all during the time he made sure Mr. Anderson had what he needed for the night. Those prices were reasonable. Better than what he’d expected.
I can do this. Excitement zoomed through him as he gave Anderson the number of the hotel his family was staying at. Optimism gave him extra zing as he punched the elevator call button and waited for an empty car in the quiet hush of the corridor.
Money had been tight for a long time, what with Debra’s medical costs and funeral expenses, and selling their house, he’d had to come up with the cash to pay for the closing. He’d worried that buying a horse might be a much more expensive proposition than he could afford, now that his finances were evening out.
The elevator doors opened, the empty car waiting to take him downstairs. He hit the Lobby button and pulled out the brochure as the elevator descended, clicking off the floors.
It had been a long, hard road taking care of Deb, not as hard as the road she walked with her illness. It nearly killed him having to say goodbye to her. Faith saw him through that tough time and after. He’d only been existing, not living. How did a man live with only half of a heart?
Memories tugged him back in time, when he and Deb were newlyweds. Their budget was tight. It had to be. She was finishing up her legal-assistant course at the technical college while he was hoofing it through the academy. Part-time jobs kept them in a small one-bedroom apartment not far from the campus in Bozeman. They had to work to make ends meet, but Deb had made it fun. She was so easy to laugh with. They laughed all the time.
He missed that. He missed the dreams they would talk about over doing the dishes by hand in the cramped kitchen. Deb wanted a sprawling house just out of town, so she could see trees instead of neighbors.
He’d wanted enough land to graze a horse or two on. She’d liked that idea, and wove more dreams of how it would be when times were better, riding their horses in their fields. What a great life they were going to have. Together.
Grief weighed down his soul.
The
