Tara said. “My guess is he’s headed to see his son.”
Her words were like rocks thrown on the surface of a peaceful pond. They rippled after Lane, pushing him closer to his destination, showing him how quickly reality could be altered.
DJ cursed, his voice like a shot in the quiet hall. “This isn’t really happening, is it?” he asked.
No one answered him. They didn’t have to. It would have been a waste of breath.
* * *
A GOOD NIGHT’S sleep gave Amanda rest, but her dreams brought back all her worry. Early. The baby was early. Too early? Amanda tried to keep her thoughts ordered, tried to focus as she awoke.
The medications and leftover exhaustion didn’t help. All she could do was run through her own mind again and again. What had she done wrong? What should she have done differently? Would the baby have long-term problems? Would he be okay? She glanced down at the IV still in her arm. Would she?
Panic tried to take over, but she fought it. Barely succeeding, barely able to think.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the tile floor. Boot heels. Her hopes irrationally rose before she could tamp them down. Even if it was him, what should she say?
Was that relief or disappointment she felt when Wyatt appeared in the doorway instead? “How you doing?”
“I don’t know.” Wyatt was one of the few people Amanda couldn’t lie to. It had been the hardest thing she’d ever done over the past months, not to confide in him. But if he’d known the truth, he’d probably kill Lane. And she needed her son’s father to be in one piece, at least for a while.
Instead of talking, she looked down, focusing on the blanket’s pattern as if it were the most important thing in the world.
“Hey.” He stopped beside the bed. “You up for another little trip?”
Her head shot up. “Is it okay?” She’d been confined to bed except for the one short visit to meet her son. And that seemed a lifetime ago, almost like a dream.
Wyatt nodded. “I checked with the nurses. You’ve rested enough. Time to take you to see the little guy again.”
But she didn’t want to move. It hurt to move. Hurt to think about seeing him again. Seeing her son, the little one with all the tubes and wires attached to him. “I’m scared.”
“I know.” Wyatt rolled the over-bed table away and walked to the corner where the wheelchair sat. He smiled. “Your chariot awaits.”
A nurse arrived just then and smiled her own encouragement as she gave Wyatt a hand.
Slowly, carefully, Amanda shoved the blankets and sheet back. Wyatt helped her lift her legs over the edge of the mattress and to the cool floor. How could such a big man be so gentle? He’d always been that way, though. She’d been four when their dad had died, and at fifteen, Wyatt had become the closest thing to a father she’d ever known.
It seemed to take forever for him and the nurse to help her stand and take just a couple of steps to the vinyl seat. Between the three of them, they got her up, with the IV bag hung on the pole attached to the back of the chair. She was exhausted before she was settled.
How was she ever going to take care of a baby, much less herself, when she couldn’t even get out of bed alone? Her panic returned.
“Just relax. You’ll be fine.” Wyatt slowly turned the wheelchair toward the door and they headed to the elevators.
The NICU nursery was down a floor and at the end of what felt like an eternal hallway. It seemed so far away. She couldn’t even get there on her own if she wanted. Her eyes burned as her limitations sunk in.
Wyatt took her through myriad different doors. He seemed to know his way, for which she was thankful, since none of it looked how she remembered it from her last trip to see her son. Had she dreamed it all?
Finally, he stopped next to a tiny glass cube that did look familiar. “Oh!” she cried. “There he is.” She couldn’t see him well from where she sat. “Can I stand up? Or get closer?”
A nurse stepped around the tiny bed and smiled at her. “I have a better idea. Do you want to hold him?”
The woman’s face blurred and all Amanda could manage was a vigorous nod. She felt Wyatt’s presence behind her, but he stepped away to give them room to move her around and get them settled.
She hadn’t been able to sit up more than a few minutes before, so holding him hadn’t been an option. Now, as the tiny bundle of blanket and baby nestled in the crook of her arm, she realized that while she was weak, she was stronger than she’d been that first day. And then she stopped thinking about anything except the sweet, warm bundle sleeping in her arms.
So tiny. He looked so small. So helpless. And yet so beautiful and perfect.
Fewer “things” were attached to him today, though a couple of wires and cords had to be arranged around her. Finally, no one was there. No one hovered, as if not trusting her. It was only her and... Lucas? Max? Dear God, she couldn’t have forgotten to name him. Panic set in again. No. Lucas. Lucas Maxwell. Relief eased the panic some.
Suddenly, the nurse was back and Wyatt crouched beside the chair, a proud smile on his face. She looked up at the clock. Where had the fifteen minutes gone?
That was it? She wanted to hold him forever.
“Time to get you back.” Wyatt put a comforting hand on Amanda’s knee, reassuring her.
Amanda was tired. And by the time Lucas and all his paraphernalia were settled back in the bed, Amanda struggled to stay awake. While returning to her room was a disappointing prospect, she knew it was for the best.
She expected Wyatt to push the wheelchair back to her room. She was surprised when he turned it into the small lounge just off the nursery. The Family Room, they called it. It was filled with homey furniture, a large rocking chair and soft piped-in background music.
She knew what this room was usually used for. For the families who had to say goodbye. Her heart hitched in panic.
“Don’t go thinking too hard, Mandy,” Wyatt whispered as he settled in the huge rocking chair and pulled the wheelchair close. Trapping her. He waited patiently for her to finally look up. She was nearly as stubborn as he was. Nearly. But Wyatt had more patience than any person she’d ever met...damn it.
“Tell me,” she finally spat out, expecting him to tell her something awful that the doctors had shared with him that they wouldn’t tell the mother who was exhausted and too sick to even take care of her own child.
Wyatt carefully took her hands in his. His big strong fingers were rough from the hard hours of work he put in at the ranch every day. That roughness had always been comforting when she was a kid, and that comfort came back now.
“Everything’s fine. Your little guy is doing great. Better than you, I think. I just wanted to talk.”
“About?” She let the silence stretch out as she let her relief soak in.
“So.” He paused.
