Within My Heart by Tamera Alexander Page A

narrowed. “The last eight years or so.” He rubbed his forehead, then his eyes.
    “Does your head ache?”
    “No, it’s fine.”
    Somehow Rand knew he wasn’t being completely truthful. “I’ve got willow bark at the clinic. I’ll bring some by as soon as we get you situated at home.”
    Staring up at the ceiling, Ben sighed. “I’d be much obliged, Doc.”
    The moment stretched long, its silence hindered only by a clock’s steady ticktock drifting toward them from somewhere down the corridor. Rand wasn’t bothered by the silence. Quite the contrary. He had matters he wanted to discuss, and early on in life he’d learned that remaining quiet often lent the greater advantage. None too surprisingly, he learned so much more that way.
    “My wife,” Ben finally said, his voice tender, “she worries about things enough as it is. Especially after what happened to our children.”
    Ben looked over at him, and though he hadn’t asked a question, Rand sensed one. He recalled what Esther Calhoun had once told him when he’d stopped by to check on her as she was suffering from a bout of bursitis. Mrs. Calhoun, a widow for eighteen years as she reminded him every time he visited, had a kind nature and knew everything about everybody who attended church in Timber Ridge. She’d shared the heartbreaking story of the Mullinses’ children, which happened long before he’d come west.
    Rand met Ben’s steady gaze and nodded, wishing now that he’d said something to Ben and his wife about their children before today. But the moment had never felt right, and everyone knew it wasn’t proper to speak of the dead to loved ones left behind, unless invited. Still, that excuse felt flimsy when faced with the gut-wrenching truth in Ben’s eyes.
    “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ben,” he whispered. “It must have been horrible for you and Lyda.”
    “I appreciate that, Doc.” Ben’s voice hovered somewhere above a whisper. “Lyda and me . . . we both still carry a burden inside us over it. Always will, I guess. Some hurts don’t heal, even given time. But hers . . .” His jaw muscles corded tight. “Hers is different. It’s harder to bear in a way, I think. Which is saying an awful lot, because at first, right after it happened . . . there were days I thought I’d die from the weight of it all. Days when I wanted to.”
    Ben winced, but Rand sensed the ache he felt wasn’t from his heart. Not from his physical heart, anyway.
    Rand worked to loosen the tangle of emotion lodged in his throat.
    “What I’m trying to say, Doc, is that I’d be obliged if you’d keep the worst of what’s going on with me between the two of us. Just for a while. I’ll tell my wife, soon, when the time is right.” Ben sniffed at unshed tears. “What happened today is due to my own foolishness. I’ve been overdoing things here at the store. I knew better and I did it anyway. I’m not a young man anymore.” He shook his head. “Haven’t been for some time. But I know now what all this work is costing me, and I won’t push myself like that again.”
    Rand didn’t doubt the sincerity of Ben’s request, but what the man was asking went against everything within him. “It’s long been my belief, Ben, that when a husband or wife has an illness, especially something as serious as a heart condition, it’s best for them to share the prognosis with their spouse. So they can have support, a helpmeet.” He measured his next words. “And also . . . so their spouse will be able to prepare for the future.”
    Ben didn’t flinch. Not even a little.
    The clock down the hall ticked off the seconds.
    “You ever been married, Doc?”
    Ben’s voice was gentle, but Rand felt the subtle jab. “No . . . I haven’t.”
    “You ever loved a woman so much that you’d gladly give every last ounce of your strength to make sure she’s cared for? To make sure she knows without a doubt that her life has made a difference, even if it didn’t turn