Regret Not a Moment by Nicole McGehee Page A

Laurel and Chase when he heard the peeved quality of Devon’s voice. Your daughter is strong, his look told them. She is already fighting. She’ll be fine. He had been reluctant, until now, to be overly encouraging because he had feared the Richmonds would be disappointed by the slowness of Devon’s recovery. And it would be slow, no doubt about it. In addition to the broken bones, she had suffered internal injuries.
    He was surprised that she was already awake, since it was only the second day following her accident. That was a good sign. He was relieved. He had treated all the Richmonds since he had been old enough to join his father’s medical practice thirty-five years before, and he felt tremendous affection for the family.
    He was also surprised that Laurel had shown so much more strength than her husband throughout the ordeal. Chase Richmond was usually a congenial, back-slapping man’s man; a family man, of course, but not one given to displays of emotion. Yet he had wept like a baby as he waited outside the doctor’s office while his daughter was being treated. Laurel had been much more stoic, her anxiety evident only in the sickly paleness of her face and the handkerchief she had wrung and wrung until it was no more than a tight wrinkled little ball of linen.
    Once Devon had been transported home in a makeshift ambulance devised from the Magraths’ Bentley (for the nearest hospital was fifty miles away in Washington, D.C.), Dr. Hickock had expected Chase to return to normal. Instead, the doctor and Laurel had listened, with a feeling of helplessness and sadness, to Chase’s broken-voiced entreaties to God to spare Devon’s life and make her whole again.
    Laurel found herself hugging Chase close to her and cradling his head against her shoulder, as she had once done with their children. She murmured soothing words of comfort.
    Dr. Hickock could not help but interject his own words of comfort into the highly personal scene. “She won’t die, Chase. She’s strong and she’s young. She’ll recover. It may take a while, but she’ll recover,” he had said quietly.
    Laurel and Chase had looked at him gratefully upon hearing those words, but had not for one minute relaxed their vigil since that conversation, almost forty-eight hours ago. Now, as Devon’s eyelids fluttered against the bandages, and her mouth worked to form words, the three bystanders looked at one another with elation.
    Devon was unaware of the intensity of emotion in the room, but she heard a long sigh of relief. A sweet smell, like orange blossoms, followed the sigh. Her mother’s scent. Mixed with it was the tweedy, tobacco smell of her father. The familiarity of these things comforted her.
    “Do you remember what happened to you, Devon?” asked her mother.
    “No,” she croaked.
    “You had a hunting accident, darling, but you’re going to be fine. Sirocco fell on you. Not squarely, thank the Lord. But you have a broken arm and leg and several broken ribs/’
    Devon was silent for a few seconds, trying to remember the accident. Then an agonizing thought crossed her mind. “Sirocco… ?” She wanted to say more, but didn’t have the strength. Her beautiful Sirocco. Was he dead? She had raised the horse from a foal, then trained him herself. They had a special bond. If anything had happened to him…
    “He’s fine,” her father soothed, recovering himself now that he saw that Devon was well enough to talk. “He landed on his side, so he didn’t break any legs. He’s bruised, but the vet says he’ll recover nicely.”
    “Laurel, Chase, Devon needs her rest,” said the doctor firmly.
    “Go back to sleep now, darling,” said Laurel, lifting Devon’s good hand and kissing it. Devon squeezed her mother’s hand feebly. Her father stroked the blanket over her ankle, as though afraid he would cause her pain if he touched her. She could feel the blanket stir and she moved her foot slightly so as to make contact with his hand. It