In Firefly Valley (23 page)

“Sure, I liked it, but let's let Heidi tell you what she thinks. Hang on.” Blake heard a click, a second or two of silence, then Jack's voice. “You there, Heidi? Great. I've got Blake on the line.”

“Is it true that you're holed up somewhere in Texas?” Blake's editor asked. While Heidi never put much emphasis on social niceties, this was abrupt, even for her.

“Yes, it's true, but why are you asking?” Blake had thought she would say something about the book, not about the location where he'd written it.

“Stay there.” Heidi sounded like a drill sergeant issuing a command. “Whatever it is about the place, it's working. Blake, your book is incredible, and you know I don't say that lightly.”

Blake inhaled slowly, trying to control the emotions that had begun to run wild. Pleasure and excitement combined with the fear that he would be unable to re-create the same enthusiasm for a second book had set his heart pounding at what felt like twice its normal pace.

“I didn't think you could surpass Cliff Pearson, but you did.” Heidi was still speaking, her voice now warm with approval. “This has the action and intrigue of the Pearson books, plus what I'm calling heart.”

Blake's own heart skipped a beat, then began a slow thudding. This was what he'd hoped for, that both his agent and his editor would approve his change of direction. He stared into the distance for a second, his eyes drinking in the beauty of Firefly Valley. Heidi was right. Being here was why his writing had changed so dramatically. Jack's and Heidi's enthusiasm confirmed what Blake had thought, that this was the kind of book he was meant to write.

“I'm glad you like it.” That was a major understatement, but though Blake made his living with words, he could think of nothing else to say.

Heidi took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It only needs one thing to make it a perfect package.”

Blake hoped he was wrong about what she was going to say. “And that would be . . .”

“Promotion. I'm not asking you to go on a tour, but if you'd reveal your identity and do a couple talk shows, your sales could rival J. K. Rowling's.”

That was a gross exaggeration. The Logan Marsh books might be good, but they wouldn't have the audience Harry Potter did, even if Blake went on a worldwide tour.

“I'm sorry, but the answer's the same as it's always been: no.” Although his grandfather's disapproval was no longer an issue, Blake had Marisa to consider. If they were going to have any kind of relationship—and he hadn't given up hope that they would—he knew it would be more difficult if every time they went somewhere, he was recognized and asked for his autograph.

He heard Heidi's sigh.

“Blake and I'll discuss this off-line,” Jack told her.

Blake shook his head. “There's nothing to discuss.”

D
r. Santos slid his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall rather than taking the chair behind his desk. Though his posture was casual, the expression on his face told Lauren she wasn't going to like his words. She'd been concerned when the nurse had ushered her into the doctor's office rather than leading her to the treatment room where Fiona was waiting. Lauren's worries increased when she saw the furrows between the doctor's eyes. This was the man who'd delivered Fiona and who'd treated her few ailments. Never before had he looked so concerned.

Lauren had refused Marisa's offer of a ride to the small clinic that was Dupree's only source of medical care, telling her friend that kids broke legs all the time and that she was perfectly capable of driving herself. This wasn't a big deal, or so she'd thought. Now she was reconsidering.

“I'm not going to sugarcoat this,” the doctor said. “Fiona has a serious fracture. I could set it for you, but if I do that, I can't guarantee it'll heal properly.”

He walked to the desk and swiveled the computer monitor so Lauren could see it. “Here's the break,” he said, pointing to a line on the X-ray. “This isn't a hairline fracture. It's a complete break.”

Dr. Santos rattled off a few medical terms that meant nothing to Lauren. She was still trying to register the fact that Fiona's injury was serious.
It's not life-threatening
, she told herself, remembering the day she and Patrick had sat in this office, hearing the diagnosis that had changed their lives.

“I've given Fiona a shot for the pain,” the doctor continued, “but I didn't want to do anything more without talking to you.”

Gripping the sides of the chair as if they were lifelines, Lauren looked up at the kindly man who'd reassured her so many times in the past. “So what do I do?”

“First of all, take a deep breath. I don't need you fainting. One patient per family is my limit.” Doc punctuated his words with a smile. “I think you should take Fiona to an orthopedic specialist.” He handed Lauren a business card. “I've already called, and they can fit you in this afternoon. They're among the best in Texas.”

A specialist. That was the way it had started with Patrick. Lauren took another deep breath, reminding herself that, while serious, a broken leg was not in the same category as cancer.

She glanced at the card. As she'd feared, the address was in San Antonio. Fortunately, the map on the back showed that it was on this side of the city, which meant she wouldn't face too much traffic.

“All right,” she said. “I think we should tell Fiona together, and then I need to make a couple calls.” Lauren wouldn't trust herself to use the phone while she was driving her daughter to the city. She'd need all her attention focused on the road and minimizing Fiona's pain.

“I'm sorry, Drew,” she said after she'd told Marisa of the diagnosis and that she would be late getting home, “but I have to cancel our dinner tonight.” In return for all the meals Drew had provided, Lauren had invited him to join her and Fiona for supper tonight. “Fiona broke her leg, and I'm taking her to a specialist in San Antonio.” Lauren hated the way her voice wavered, but she couldn't stop thinking about how painful the injury must have been. According to Alice, they'd both heard the bone crack.

Lauren heard Drew's intake of breath. “The poor kid doesn't need this, and you don't either.” Without so much as a pause, he added, “I'll drive.”

She shook her head before realizing he had no way of seeing the gesture. “You don't need to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” he countered. “The alternative is staying here and worrying about you being on the road. You can't tell me you wouldn't be a distracted driver.”

“That's true,” Lauren admitted. With her maternal instincts in overdrive as they were now, she had trouble thinking about anything other than her daughter.

“Besides, my rental's more comfortable. That'll be better for Fiona, so just tell me where you are and I'll be there in five minutes.”

When he arrived, Lauren wheeled Fiona out of the clinic. Doc had stabilized her leg with a splint, leaving Fiona unable to bend her knee, but he'd assured both her and Lauren that the worst of the pain was over.

Though Fiona was more subdued than normal, perhaps because of the meds, she grinned when Drew asked if she'd been swinging. “Yeah, how'd you guess?”

“Just lucky. The question is, did you get to touch the sky?”

Lauren's eyes widened at the realization that Fiona had confided her dreams to Drew. It had been Patrick who'd told her that if she swung high enough, she could touch the sky, and for years Fiona had pumped her legs harder and harder, hoping to reach the top of the swing set frame. That, Patrick had said, was where the sky began. Since his death, Lauren hadn't heard her daughter mention reaching for the sky, but it appeared that she had told Drew about it.

Fiona's grin was weak but triumphant. “Yeah. It was cool.”

“Then give me five.” Drew held up his hand for a slap.

After settling Fiona onto the backseat, Drew climbed into the driver's seat. To Lauren's amazement, he practically ignored her, spending the entire drive to San Antonio regaling Fiona with tales of his skiing, surfing, and dirt bike accidents. Though Lauren
suspected they were exaggerated if not downright imaginary, she wasn't complaining, because the wild tales of injuries and the almost miraculous recoveries that followed them were helping Fiona relax.

When they reached the clinic, Drew refused to wait for a wheelchair but carried Fiona in, then insisted on getting a cup of coffee for Lauren once Fiona had been admitted.

She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “This is awful.” Strong, bitter, and overly sweet, it was the poorest excuse for caffeine she'd had in a long time. “I didn't think it was possible, but this is worse than the Sit ‘n' Sip's.” Though the food at Dupree's only diner was excellent, everyone in town knew to avoid the coffee.

“That's by design.” Drew settled into the chair next to Lauren, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You're supposed to concentrate on the coffee and not think about what's going on behind those doors.”

If that was the goal, it didn't work. “How long do you think it'll take?”

“There's no telling. You heard Dr. Talbot. It can vary by hours, depending on what they find. But you don't want them to rush, do you?”

Lauren shook her head. “Of course not. I just want Fiona to be well again.”

“In the meantime, you need to relax.” As if he knew that wasn't going to be easy, Drew leaned forward, wrapping his hand around the cardboard coffee cup. “This is my first time in a hospital waiting room, so I don't know the protocol, but I'd suggest we talk about anything other than broken bones.”

He stared into the distance for a second, then returned his gaze to Lauren. His expression was gentle, and she saw what appeared to be genuine interest in his eyes. “We've talked about a million things,” he said slowly, “but you've never told me how you got started quilting.”

And so Lauren found herself recounting stories of her grand
mother and how she passed on her love of needle arts to her granddaughter. “Next to Marisa, my sewing machine was my best friend,” she admitted. “I love creating things from pieces of fabric.”

The time passed more quickly than Lauren had thought possible as she and Drew discussed everything from sewing to scuba diving, from picnics in the park to parasailing over the Pacific. Some of the topics were silly, others serious, but throughout it all, Lauren found herself entranced by the man who against all odds was keeping her from dwelling on what was happening to her daughter.

“Ms. Ahrens.”

Lauren rose as the surgeon entered the waiting room, her blonde hair still covered by her surgical cap, her expression inscrutable.

“How is she?”

“She's sedated,” Dr. Talbot said, “but you'll be able to see her in a few minutes. In the meantime, I want to discuss what we did. Dr. Santos was right to send her here. The fracture was comminuted, which means the bone had broken into more than two pieces, and since it was her femur, I was particularly concerned about proper healing. That's why we have her in traction.”

As images of ropes and pulleys flashed through Lauren's mind, she started to tremble. Drew wrapped his arm around her and guided her back to the chair.

“How long?” Lauren asked when the blood returned to her head.

Dr. Talbot's eyes radiated compassion. “The good news is that it's not as long as it would have been twenty years ago. The bad news is that I want her in traction for at least two weeks. I can recommend a couple of rehab centers that have experience with children.”

Lauren closed her eyes for a few seconds, praying for strength. The thought of nursing homes brought back memories of Patrick's final month, when he'd been too ill to remain at home. Though closer than San Antonio, the nursing home had still been a half hour away. Lauren and Fiona had made the drive every day, wanting to spend as much time with Patrick as they could, but hating the fact that he was in an institution.

“I don't like the idea of leaving her there,” she admitted.

Dr. Talbot nodded. “There are hotels practically next door to each of the facilities I've suggested. If you stayed at one of them, you could be with Fiona all day long.” But it would still be an institution.

“Is there no other choice?” Lauren couldn't imagine how Fiona would cope with being in a hospital-like environment. Ever since Patrick's death, she'd refused to even watch TV shows set in hospitals, and she'd been trembling with fear when Drew had carried her into the clinic.

Though her expression said she wished there were another answer, Dr. Talbot shook her head. “I'm afraid not. Without the traction, we're risking her leg not healing straight.”

And that was a risk Lauren wouldn't take. No matter how difficult the next two weeks would be for both her and Fiona, she had no choice.

Drew slid his arm around Lauren's shoulders and gave them a little squeeze. “What about renting a hospital bed and the traction equipment and hiring a nurse so Fiona can heal at home?”

Dr. Talbot was silent for a moment, obviously considering his question. “That could work. You'd need to transport her by ambulance and hire an expert to set up everything, but after that you wouldn't need a full-time nurse. The important thing is to have someone stay with Fiona. Kids her age are restless and inquisitive. Even the best behaved will try to get out of traction. That's why she needs adult supervision.”

“I can provide that.”

Lauren stared at Drew, astonished by the offer. “But . . .”

He looked up at the doctor. “Would you give us a few minutes alone?” When Dr. Talbot left, he turned so he was facing Lauren. “We both know you and Fiona would be miserable staying here. At least if she's in Dupree, her friends can visit. We also know you have commitments to meet if you're going to keep your business alive. You can't afford two weeks without work.”

Lauren couldn't dispute anything he'd said. It was true she had to work, and she couldn't help worrying about how much of the nursing home costs would be covered by insurance. Though it was awful to have to worry about costs when her daughter's health was concerned, Patrick's illness had taught Lauren the high price of being sick.

“You're right, but I can't ask you to play nurse.”

Drew reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “As I recall, you didn't ask. I volunteered. If I stay with Fiona during the day, you'll be able to keep your store open. Didn't you tell me this is one of your busiest times of the year?”

She nodded. “What you're proposing solves my problem, but what about you? You must be busy with your business.”

A spark of something that looked like annoyance flitted across Drew's face. “I never said I was working.”

It was possible he was taking an extended vacation, but Lauren didn't think so. The town scuttlebutt said that though he had a month-to-month lease on Marisa's former home, he'd indicated that he planned to stay in Dupree indefinitely. “I assumed . . .”

“Incorrectly. The truth is, I'm unemployed.” When Lauren gasped at the unexpected revelation, Drew tightened his grip on her hand as he said, “The official story is that I'm devoting myself to other ventures, but the reality is that the new owners and I had very different expectations. Greg tried to warn me, but I was too stubborn to listen. It turns out he was right. When the differences became irreconcilable, I was fired.” Drew clenched his free hand. “Oh, I got a nice severance package, but the result is the same. I'm not working and haven't been since a couple weeks before I moved to Dupree.”

Lauren couldn't imagine that. The few times they'd discussed work, it had been clear that Drew thrived on being busy. That was why she'd thought he was telecommuting, although now that she thought about it, he'd always used the past tense when speaking of his job.