Forgotten Lullaby. Rita Herron

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      He nodded. “Thanks, Kate.”

      “Did you reach your folks?”

      “Yeah.” He stood, never taking his eyes off of Emma, and thrust a hand through his hair, not caring that the ends spiked haphazardly. “They don’t have the money to fly from Boulder. I offered to pay, even told them the airlines give emergency discount rates, but Dad’s job is in limbo already…” Grant hesitated, aware he was admitting his parents’ financial circumstances.

      “I’m sure they’d come if they could.” Kate chewed her bottom lip and he realized he and Kate were actually being civil to each other. They seemed to have called a silent truce in the wake of the accident. Kate stayed with Carly at night. He’d go home long enough to shower and rock his daughter. His stomach twisted painfully as he remembered Carly’s tears the night before. She had never been away from Emma for more than a few hours. She missed her mother, and once again he’d felt helpless.

      “I’ll relieve Martha,” Kate said, as if she’d read his mind. Martha Greer was Grant and Emma’s housekeeper. “She’s been great, keeping Carly all day.”

      “Yeah.” He saw the sympathy in Kate’s eyes and felt a ridiculous sense of relief to have her there. “Thanks, Kate.”

      She gave him a tentative smile, then squeezed his hand. “I love her, too, you know.”

      Tears pricked his eyes, but he averted his gaze and swallowed the emotion. Kate brushed Emma’s hair away from her forehead and placed a soft kiss on her temple. “Get well, sis. I’ll treat Carly like she’s my own.”

      Grant flinched at the lone tear that streaked down Kate’s cheek. When she closed the door behind her, he slumped in the chair again and took Emma’s hand in his, raking his gaze over her unconscious body. The soft gurgle of the humidifier grated on his frayed nerves. Even knowing the equipment attached to her body was meant to help her, he hated that she needed it. He hated the oxygen mask, the IV needle in her arm, the strong smell of antiseptic and other hospital odors that permeated the room.

      He was going crazy counting every breath she took. But it was the only way he could make himself believe she was alive. One breath at a time.

      A severe concussion, the doctor had said. Possibly brain damage. They were battling a head wound, the most dangerous and least predictable injury a body could sustain. No one would know the extent of Emma’s injuries, not until the swelling in her brain went down. But she couldn’t have brain damage. Not his Emma.

      Still, every hour passed in unconsciousness dimmed the outlook. His fingers trembled as he gently touched the bandage on her head. They’d shaved a small area, stitched the head wound and bandaged it. Ugly purple and yellow bruises marred her face, but the scrapes and cuts would heal. She would live, the doctors said—they just didn’t know when she would wake up.

      A wave of cold engulfed him when he remembered the condition of her car. It was a miracle Emma was alive. When she woke up, maybe she’d be able to tell them what happened. The police had been by to say they’d found a witness, a young boy who’d seen a Jeep sideswipe Emma’s car, then saw her veer off the road. He claimed the Jeep’s driver had stopped and gotten out to look in Emma’s car, then almost immediately driven away. But why would someone want to hurt Emma?

      “Please wake up, Emma,” he begged as he jolted up and paced beside her bed. “Why won’t you come back to me? Give me another chance.”

      But she lay still and silent.

      DRIP…DRIP…. BEEP…beep…beep.

      Emma tried to move her limbs, but they felt too heavy. Her body refused to cooperate, even her eyelids. What had happened to her?

      A dull low pain throbbed through her nerve endings. Even thinking tired her out. So easy to keep her eyes closed. So hard to open them. The bright light shone in a lone radiant beam that called to her, urging her to lose herself in the calm glow. To be swallowed up, away from the pain. To drift away, at peace…forever.

      The constant dripping and beeping in the background faded in and out. The voices. Sometimes a woman’s. Sometimes the husky rumble of a man’s. Sometimes distressed. Sometimes low and soft. Rolling over the pain and wiping it away. Soothing her into contentment. Drawing her away from the intense pull of the light.

      Somewhere in her subconscious, she realized she must be asleep. In a realm so far away no one could reach her. A place where she no longer had to be afraid.

      Sometimes the husky voice begged her to stay. Begged her to fight, to come back to him. But she didn’t know how. Didn’t want to leave the haven where she’d settled.

      A sharp grating sound drifted through her reverie, and she tried to turn her head toward the sound, tried to lift her fingers, but again heaviness weighted her down. She strained to open her eyes. Was it the woman’s voice this time? Or that calm lulling baritone?

      Suddenly her peace was shattered by a shrill eerie voice, “You should have died. You have to die.”

      Her pulse stirred, her reflexes jarred to life. Not again. No, not again. She tried to run toward the light, strained to hear the other voice, the soothing voice of the man who begged her not to leave. But pain stabbed through her limbs and she couldn’t find the other voice. It was dark. Black, suffocating emptiness tried to swallow her. She couldn’t breathe. She struggled to move, to twist her head from side to side, to free her arms from their leaden state. But something powerful closed around her neck, trapping her, pressing hard, cutting off her air. And the last sound she heard was another voice, gravelly and low, telling her she had to die.

      PANIC BOLTED THROUGH GRANT the second he walked back into the room. “What the hell’s going on?” The heart monitor was going crazy. “Nurse, Doctor, hurry! Something’s wrong!” Grant squeezed Emma’s hand, his heart stopping when he felt her cold clammy skin. Emma’s oxygen had been removed, her IV stripped. Blood dotted her arm and the bedclothes, and her pillow lay on the floor.

      Two nurses ran in and instantly checked her vitals.

      “What happened here?” one nurse asked, looking at the torn mask and blood suspiciously. The other nurse quickly reattached the oxygen tubing, mumbling orders and statistics that set his teeth on edge.

      He felt like shaking them. “Is she okay? Tell me something!”

      “She’s all right,” the first nurse stated calmly. “Was anyone in here with her when this happened?” She indicated the torn mask.

      Grant shook his head, his heart racing.

      “We’ll get her IV reconnected in a minute,” the other nurse added.

      The doctor hurried in. “Will you wait out in the hall, Mr. Wadsworth?”

      “No, I’m not leaving her—”

      “It’ll just be for a minute,” the first nurse said softly, coaxing him outside. “She’s all right now.”

      He leaned against the wall and was surprised to see Emma’s former boss, Dan McGuire, and Martha Greer approaching.

      “How’s Emma?” the housekeeper asked, her brows knitted in worry.

      He shook his head, too emotionally wrought СКАЧАТЬ