Lawman (24 page)

Garon had been out with the men, moving the bulls out of summer pasture. It was a blazing hot day. He'd come inside stripping off his shirt, his hair damp with sweat. And there stood Grace, in the hall, her hands folded at her waist.

“Are you having an affair with Jaqui?” she'd asked bluntly.

He'd laughed. It was unforgivable, but it was a ridiculous question. Here he was with a very pregnant new wife, living in a town of two thousand benevolent gossips.

“Are you nuts?” he'd asked, grinning at the picture she made in a jade-green maternity blouse with white maternity slacks. “Barbara would skewer me and serve me to you on a hot bun!”

She'd looked sheepish then, and her eyes had dropped helplessly to his broad, hair-roughened chest, at the play of muscles. Her thoughts had been as plain as a statement of desire on her lovely face.

With a wicked smile, he'd tossed his shirt onto the hall table, swept her up in his arms and kissed her with such passion that she moaned and clung to him.

Just as he entertained forbidden thoughts of easing her down on the floor and doing what he felt like doing to her, the phone rang. It was a call from the office about a high-profile case back east. The SAC had him slated to go help with it. He only had minutes to pack and get to the airport.

He'd glanced at Grace with a rueful smile, and she'd smiled back, dazed. But when he came back a week later, she was quiet and withdrawn. Miss Turner said she'd had a long talk with Dr. Coltrain and it had depressed her. He'd asked what about. But Miss Turner didn't know, and Grace and the redheaded doctor passed over it as if they'd just been discussing labor and Grace was nervous about it.

Now, weeks later, Garon knew what they'd talked about. Grace had risked her life to bring this child into the world. She knew how much Garon wanted a child, and how much he'd have worried if he'd known about her heart. So she'd sworn everybody around her to secrecy, and she'd carried the secret, the burden, all these months.

He drew her small hand to his mouth and kissed it hungrily. He felt the hot mist in his eyes and lowered his head to hide it. If she died…if she died, what would he do? How would he go on living without her? And he'd never even told her what he felt.

 

T
HERE WAS A TEAM
waiting at the hospital when the helicopter landed. Coltrain had told Garon what would happen when they arrived. They'd examine her. They'd schedule a heart catherization to see the extent of the damage and decide on the procedure. There was a heart surgeon in Houston, Dr. Franks, who was world famous in his field. He'd already agreed to take the case. Coltrain had phoned him from Jacobsville. The surgery would take several hours.

It was a recipe for a nightmare. It got worse when the surgeon, Dr. Franks, and Coltrain told him what could go wrong. Grace's pregnancy was advanced enough that they could take the child. But a C-section or natural childbirth compounded the risk. Dr. Franks made the terse statement that she should never have been allowed to conceive knowing this condition was already working up to open-heart surgery.

Garon had been crushed when he heard that. Coltrain snapped to his defense, informing him that Grace had refused Coltrain permission to tell her husband, adding that nobody had expected that Grace could even get pregnant in the first place.

Dr. Franks apologized, but Garon was beyond guilt. If he'd only known, he kept thinking. If she'd just told him!

 

C
ASH CAME INTO
the waiting room sometime later. Garon was in a seat by the window, staring out onto the hospital grounds. People walked along sidewalks, came in and out of buildings. Garon didn't see them. He was remembering his first sight of Grace, when she came to his house looking for help with her grandmother.

He felt Cash's big hand on his shoulder.

“What's happening?” Cash asked, dropping into a seat beside Garon. He was still wearing his uniform, and a family in the waiting room gave him curious looks.

“They're doing a heart catherization,” Garon said dully. “They don't know which is riskier, to induce labor or do a C-section. She could die before they ever get to the valve.”

Cash took a deep breath. He knew how his brother felt. He'd almost lost Tippy in the early days of their relationship. And he certainly remembered when Christabel Dunn was shot and almost killed by one of the notorious Clark brothers, before he and Tippy had become involved. He'd been crazy about Christabel. The anguish of her ordeal grew fresh in his mind as he realized the odds against Grace.

“If I lose her,” Garon told his brother, “there isn't anything on earth worth staying for.”

“That isn't what she'd want,” Cash replied quietly. “She values life. You can see it in the way she fusses over those rose bushes.”

He bit his lip. He was remembering Grace teasing him about talking to the roses for her. She did love growing things.

“Did you call the SAC, about the shooting?” Garon asked after a minute.

“Yes. He said some of the guys will be up tonight to sit with you.”

Garon only nodded.

Cash smiled. “I'd forgotten how close-knit you guys are,” he remarked. “Most of my life, I worked alone, or with a spotter.”

“That's not the case now, is it?” Garon asked.

Cash chuckled. “No. When the city fathers threatened to fire two of my officers because they arrested a drunk politician, the whole police and fire departments threatened to resign if I got the boot. It was a life-changing moment. Suddenly, I went from being an outsider in Jacobsville to being part of a big family.” He shrugged. “I like it.”

Garon had felt some of that closeness when he'd first become obsessed with Grace. So quickly it had ended, when he'd savaged her and pushed her aside. He was never going to get over the way he'd treated her. Especially now that he knew the whole truth.

“If they tarred and feathered family, I guess I'd qualify,” he told the other man. He drew in a long, weary breath. “I didn't know she had a bad heart. I kept pushing her to go to college, to learn a trade, to live up to her potential. She told me she couldn't manage a high-stress job, and it never occurred to me that it could be because of a health problem. I just thought she needed more than high school to cope in the modern world.” He glanced at Cash ruefully. “Then I took her to work with me and left her in the waiting room. When I came back, she was happily chatting away in Arabic to a Jordanian murder witness, translating for him. She speaks several languages,” he added proudly.

Cash smiled. “I don't suppose she's told you that she belongs to MENSA?”

His indrawn breath was audible. “MENSA?” It was an organization whose members had extremely high intelligent quotients, far higher than the average college graduate.

He nodded. “Marquez mentioned it. He had a flaming crush on her when he was younger, but her intelligence intimidated him. She has a photographic memory. And there's this secret project she's been working on all year that just hit the big time.” He glanced toward Garon, who looked as if he'd been hit in the face with a pie. “She didn't tell you?”

Garon's eyes narrowed. “Why do you know more about my wife than I do?”

“Because Barbara likes
me,
” he emphasized.

“My God. Barbara!” he groaned. “I didn't call her…!”

“Relax. I called her. She's getting together a prayer group tonight.”

In years past, when he was still hating God for Annalee, Garon would have scoffed at that idea. But now, with Grace's precious life hanging by a thread, he only nodded gratefully.

Garon stood up and went to the phone. He pushed the buttons that would connect him to the chaplain's office. They'd offered help if he needed it. He did. He asked if someone could tell him how the catherization was going, and they gladly agreed to find out. In potentially fatal cases, such as Grace's, there was no agency that surpassed the chaplain's service. They provided liaison between the doctors and patients' families, as well as comfort and companionship when people faced such anguish over the lives of their loved ones.

The chaplain's office didn't call Garon back. One of the staff came to find him, a middle-aged woman with short blond hair who reminded him of Barbara. She wore the identity tag of the chaplain's service, and her name was Nan.

“They're almost finished,” she said gently. “She's doing fine.”

“Thank God,” Garon said heavily. His eyes were tired.

“The cardiologist will be along to see you shortly,” she added. “They're discussing options. The decision will depend on what they see in the catherization. Is she taking blood thinners?”

Garon's face went white. He didn't know. This was a question that might mean life and death for his wife, and he didn't even know what medications she took. He was ashamed.

Before he had to admit that he didn't know, Coltrain came down the hall with a man dressed in surgical greens.

Garon walked to meet them, with Cash beside him. His eyes asked the question.

“What are you going to do?” he added.

“This is Dr. Franks,” Coltrain introduced them.

“This is Garon Grier, and his brother, Cash. Garon is Grace's husband.”

“Pleased to meet you. Sorry about the circumstances,” Dr. Franks said as he shook hands. His expression was solemn. “Dr. Coltrain has been giving me your wife's case history. You didn't know about her heart?”

“She refused permission,” Coltrain said shortly. “I couldn't tell him.”

“Protecting you, was she?” Dr. Franks asked gently.

“Yes,” Garon said tautly. “I lost my first wife and child to cancer, when the baby was five months along. Grace knew.”

Cash gave him a wide-eyed stare. He hadn't known that. It was indicative of the distance that had existed between the brothers.

Dr. Franks grimaced. “A kindhearted young woman. But now we must decide how best to proceed. You must realize that the child complicates things….”

“Grace comes first,” Garon interrupted, dark eyes narrow with feeling. “No matter what.”

Dr. Franks smiled. “I'm hoping to save them both. We must decide whether it will be more stressful to induce labor than to perform a caesaerean section,” he added. “I tend to…excuse me,” he said, pulling out his cell phone. He spoke into it, listened, replied and closed it. “That was Dr. Morris, our cardiologist. He's looking after your wife. She's gone into labor. Please excuse me, I'm needed.”

“She comes first,” Garon repeated.

“Yes,” the surgeon replied.

“I'll go along and do what I can to help,” Coltrain told Garon with unusual kindness. He smiled at the chaplain. “You'll stay with him?”

“Of course,” Nan replied, smiling back.

Cash's cell phone rang. He excused himself and went outside the building where the reception was better.

Garon watched the surgeon and the physician walk away and his heart felt like a lead weight. Everything depended on them, now, on medical science. But if Barbara was praying, and there was a chance that prayer might help…

He turned to the chaplain. “Is there a chapel?” he asked very quietly.

She nodded. “This way.”

 

I
T FELT ODD
, being in a chapel after all the long years that he'd turned away from faith. After he lost Annalee, he never expected to rely on it again. He'd prayed about Annalee. It hadn't saved her.

But he was older now, less confident in science. He'd seen so much death. Today, he'd dealt it himself. He remembered the killer talking to him, remembering a childhood that must have resembled hell. He would have killed Grace. Garon had no choice but to fire and hope his bullet didn't miss.

Now, in the silence of the chapel, he felt the twin impact of Grace's desperate situation and the reality that he'd taken a human life. Despite the situation, he had killed a man. It was a struggle to try to cope with it now. There were counselors that he could ask for through his office, and there would of course be an investigation. He hadn't spoken to the SAC, but he knew that he'd be on administrative leave while the shooting was investigated by both the county sheriff—since the ranch was out of the city limits—and the FBI. He had no doubt that it would be sanctioned. But it was a complication he couldn't handle right now. All he wanted was for Grace to live. He'd pamper her. He'd spoil her rotten. He'd make up for all the missed dinners, all the thoughtless things he'd done that had given her the idea he didn't care about her. If only he had the time. If only God would spare her!

He'd been through this with victims' families. How many times had he gone to intensive care waiting rooms to talk to survivors and heard them trying to bargain for a loved one's life?

I promise never to say anything hurtful again, if you'll just let her/him live,
they would say aloud.
I'll go to church every Sunday, I'll give to the poor, I'll volunteer time, I'll do charity work, I'll cut off my arm if you'll just spare her, if you'll just spare him, if you can just let this person live!