tape away from his mouth. “Now.”
Pearce took his breath, coughed, and the doctor pulled. Pearce coughed again, and the nuisance was out. His throat felt raw, but so much better without the constricting tube. He uttered one raspy word, “Gracie?”
The nurse gave a bright smile and squeezed his arm. “Mr. Taylor, Gracie is fine. She’s with your wife.”
“My wife?”
“She’s fine, too. I’m sure she’ll be in soon to see you.”
Pearce racked his brain trying to remember. Did he have a wife? He thought of Rachel. She was gone. He didn’t think he’d remarried. How hard had he hit his head?
“You had a head injury,” Doctor Summerville said. “A concussion. You should be fine in a few days.” He chuckled. “You’re a lucky man that your wife is a nurse and did some quick first-aid.”
There it was again, his wife. It hurt to think. He went back to the nightmare—the deer, the tree, the crash. Then there she was, the red-haired angel.
“Mr. Taylor,” the nurse said, “I’m going to put an oxygen mask on your face, then we want you to rest. I’m giving you something for pain.”
She placed a transparent green mask over his face. It was tight and uncomfortable, but a grateful alternative to the tube that had obstructed his throat. He caught the faint scent of alcohol and he was drifting again.
Somewhere in a semi-dream state, he remembered the angel, remembered her helping him, remembered begging her to take care of Gracie. His eyelids were so heavy, his body was floating, but as he sank deeper into sleep, he remembered her promise to pretend to be his wife.
Pearce woke to a commotion in the room. Besides the blip of the heart monitor, he heard footsteps, and then voices.
“He’s sleeping. I’m sure if you speak to him he’ll wake up.”
One voice he knew, his nurse, the other was female, familiar. The memories it brought were unpleasant. He forced his eyes open. She was there beside the bed. She was talking, saying Gracie’s name. No. He couldn’t let her take his child. He struggled to get up.
Pain shot through his body. His left leg felt like an uprooted stump, and when he tried to move it, pain shot from his ankle to his hip. He saw her retreat from the room. “Gracie. Gracie.” He had to get up. He had to find Gracie before she took her.
“Mr. Taylor,” the nurse said. “You can’t get out of bed. You need to stay where you are.”
“Gracie.”
“Gracie is fine.”
“I need to see her.”
He shook his head, then twisted his body. The pain became intense. He smelled the faint scent of alcohol. Then he was drifting again. The pain eased, and he stopped fighting.
Chapter 5
“Gracie, finish eating. You need to get dressed.”
“Then we’ll go get Daddy,” Gracie announced.
“Well.” Molly’s jaw tightened. What should she tell the child?
“Yes. We have to get Daddy.” The child stamped her foot. “We have to get him now!”
Where was the child’s grandmother? Not that she looked like the most empathetic person to be looking after a child, but she was the girl’s grandmother. And as soon as she gets here, I can be on my way.
Gracie tugged her T-shirt. “Molly Mommy.” The child cocked her head. “I want to see my daddy.”
The phone’s ringing startled Molly, and she raced to answer it. Finally, the grandmother was calling. About time.
“Mrs. Taylor?” a voice that wasn’t Mrs. Nesbitt asked.
Molly paused, hoping the lie wouldn’t be detected. “Yes.”
“This is Rita. I’m Mr. Taylor’s nurse.”
“Is he okay?” Molly’s breath caught in her throat and she felt liked she’d stepped into a frigid lake. Worst-case scenarios raced through her brain. Had Pearce died? Was he in a coma?
“He’s awake. The doctor has taken the breathing tube out.”
Molly sighed audibly.
“He’s demanding to see his daughter. He wants to know that she’s okay.” The line was silent for several seconds. “We told him you would bring her to the
Pearce took his breath, coughed, and the doctor pulled. Pearce coughed again, and the nuisance was out. His throat felt raw, but so much better without the constricting tube. He uttered one raspy word, “Gracie?”
The nurse gave a bright smile and squeezed his arm. “Mr. Taylor, Gracie is fine. She’s with your wife.”
“My wife?”
“She’s fine, too. I’m sure she’ll be in soon to see you.”
Pearce racked his brain trying to remember. Did he have a wife? He thought of Rachel. She was gone. He didn’t think he’d remarried. How hard had he hit his head?
“You had a head injury,” Doctor Summerville said. “A concussion. You should be fine in a few days.” He chuckled. “You’re a lucky man that your wife is a nurse and did some quick first-aid.”
There it was again, his wife. It hurt to think. He went back to the nightmare—the deer, the tree, the crash. Then there she was, the red-haired angel.
“Mr. Taylor,” the nurse said, “I’m going to put an oxygen mask on your face, then we want you to rest. I’m giving you something for pain.”
She placed a transparent green mask over his face. It was tight and uncomfortable, but a grateful alternative to the tube that had obstructed his throat. He caught the faint scent of alcohol and he was drifting again.
Somewhere in a semi-dream state, he remembered the angel, remembered her helping him, remembered begging her to take care of Gracie. His eyelids were so heavy, his body was floating, but as he sank deeper into sleep, he remembered her promise to pretend to be his wife.
Pearce woke to a commotion in the room. Besides the blip of the heart monitor, he heard footsteps, and then voices.
“He’s sleeping. I’m sure if you speak to him he’ll wake up.”
One voice he knew, his nurse, the other was female, familiar. The memories it brought were unpleasant. He forced his eyes open. She was there beside the bed. She was talking, saying Gracie’s name. No. He couldn’t let her take his child. He struggled to get up.
Pain shot through his body. His left leg felt like an uprooted stump, and when he tried to move it, pain shot from his ankle to his hip. He saw her retreat from the room. “Gracie. Gracie.” He had to get up. He had to find Gracie before she took her.
“Mr. Taylor,” the nurse said. “You can’t get out of bed. You need to stay where you are.”
“Gracie.”
“Gracie is fine.”
“I need to see her.”
He shook his head, then twisted his body. The pain became intense. He smelled the faint scent of alcohol. Then he was drifting again. The pain eased, and he stopped fighting.
Chapter 5
“Gracie, finish eating. You need to get dressed.”
“Then we’ll go get Daddy,” Gracie announced.
“Well.” Molly’s jaw tightened. What should she tell the child?
“Yes. We have to get Daddy.” The child stamped her foot. “We have to get him now!”
Where was the child’s grandmother? Not that she looked like the most empathetic person to be looking after a child, but she was the girl’s grandmother. And as soon as she gets here, I can be on my way.
Gracie tugged her T-shirt. “Molly Mommy.” The child cocked her head. “I want to see my daddy.”
The phone’s ringing startled Molly, and she raced to answer it. Finally, the grandmother was calling. About time.
“Mrs. Taylor?” a voice that wasn’t Mrs. Nesbitt asked.
Molly paused, hoping the lie wouldn’t be detected. “Yes.”
“This is Rita. I’m Mr. Taylor’s nurse.”
“Is he okay?” Molly’s breath caught in her throat and she felt liked she’d stepped into a frigid lake. Worst-case scenarios raced through her brain. Had Pearce died? Was he in a coma?
“He’s awake. The doctor has taken the breathing tube out.”
Molly sighed audibly.
“He’s demanding to see his daughter. He wants to know that she’s okay.” The line was silent for several seconds. “We told him you would bring her to the
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