Within My Heart by Tamera Alexander

Lyda realized.
    The urgency of the moment had passed, but the dire circumstances hadn’t.
    He slipped the stethoscope back into his bag. “The digitalis seems to be having the desired effect. Your heart rate has stabilized. I’d like to wait a little longer, though, to be sure, before moving you. I’ll enlist some help, and we’ll get you home so you can rest more comfortably.”
    Rachel smiled and whispered something in Lyda’s ear, too low for him to hear, and Lyda gave Ben’s hand a pat. “We’ll be right outside, honey,” she whispered, and rose to follow Rachel into the hallway.
    Prone on the floor, Ben slowly drew up his legs. “Getting off this hard floor and getting home to bed sounds mighty good, Doc. But I think you and I can manage it alone. Lyda can help us, if we need it.”
    Having no intention of letting Ben Mullins walk out on his own accord, Rand sat and leaned up against the wall beside him, unwilling to argue the point and confident in his ability to control the outcome.
    Ben cradled an arm beneath his head. “I take it by your silence you don’t agree with my suggestion.”
    Rand stretched out his legs, appreciating the chance to do so. “I make it a strict rule, Ben, not to argue with patients who have heart conditions.”
    Ben chuckled, then coughed and struggled to catch his breath.
    “Deep breaths. Slow and steady,” Rand urged softly, watching for signs of a recurring episode.
    Exhaling, Ben held his chest and made a face. “I’m about as tired . . . and sore ”—he managed a chastising look that Rand knew better than to take personally—“as I can ever remember. But a good night’s rest should remedy that, I think.”
    A good night’s rest? Rand glanced at Lyda and Rachel still huddled together in the hall, their voices hushed, and decided to take advantage of the private moment with his patient.
    “Ben,” he said softly, “your heart stopped beating a moment ago. Getting a good amount of rest will aid in regaining your strength . . . but rest isn’t going to remedy this. I’d be doing you a great disservice if I allowed you to believe that the condition of your health is anything other than grave.”
    Ben’s expression grew reflective, and his smile came easily, too easily, and seemed out of place considering the news he’d just been given. Ben opened his mouth as though to say something, then glanced toward the door, where Lyda stood watching them from the threshold.
    “Rachel’s gone to check on her boys,” she said, gesturing. “They’ve been waiting up front for her all this time, the sweet things.” Her look turned tentative. “How are you feeling, honey?”
    Ben raised his head a little more. “Good. A mite tired, but a lot better compared to a few minutes ago.”
    She gave a soft laugh, love for him shining in her eyes. “I’m so glad. And grateful.” She directed the latter to Rand. “How does a glass of tea sound to you both? Dr. Brookston, if I remember from Christmas dinner, you’re partial to my sweet tea.”
    “That I am, ma’am. I’d appreciate a glass. Thank you.”
    Lyda’s steps faded down the hall and Ben heaved a sigh, lowering his head back to the floor. Beads of sweat trickled down the side of his temple.
    “You’re feeling good ?” Rand asked, eyeing him and knowing better.
    Ben’s eyes closed. His expression turned sheepish. “All my life, Doc,” he whispered, “I’ve had what you might call a . . . peculiar rhythm to my heart. Same as my father, and his father before him.” He shrugged. “A little twinge here and there. A pain every now and then. The episodes—that’s what the doctor back east labeled them when I was younger . . .” He glanced back at the door. “I’ve had them all my life. Lyda knows I used to be troubled by them, but I haven’t wanted to bother her with it for a while now.”
    Already guessing the answer, Rand asked the obvious question. “Exactly how long is a while ?”
    Ben’s eyes