Within My Heart by Tamera Alexander Page B

out like she thought it would?”
    Feeling less like the physician and more the patient, Rand shook his head. “No, Ben,” he whispered. “I haven’t.”
    “You ever held a woman in your arms through the night and knew—” Ben’s voice gave way. He took an unsteady breath, his lower lip trembling. “And knew you were holdin’ everything you ever wanted? Or ever would want?”
    Rand didn’t respond this time. He knew Ben already knew the answer.
    “I just need some time, Doc. That’s all I’m asking for. I’ve known this day was coming. Granted, I didn’t expect it to come so soon. . . .” He arched his back, no doubt weary of the hard wood floor.
    “I’ll get someone in here to help us move you.” Rand started to rise, but Ben caught his arm.
    “I never knew my grandfather, Doc, but I heard the stories. And I watched my father die the same way. A little bit at a time and leaving my mother with too many mouths to feed.”
    The responsibility pressing on Rand earlier as the sole physician of Timber Ridge took on a viselike grip. He should have insisted Ben come to him sooner. “If I’d known about your condition, Ben, I would’ve done everything I could to keep this from happening.”
    Ben’s sigh came out in a chuckle. “That’s just it, Doc. I’m sure you’re a fine physician. One of the best, from what I hear.” He nodded toward the hallway. “And that’s from Rachel Boyd’s own lips, which is praise that doesn’t come lightly, in case you haven’t figured that out already. But unless you can find a way to put a new heart in this old body of mine, then, as I see it . . . there’s not much else to be done.”
    For the first time the thinnest sheen of fear clouded Ben’s eyes, though his steady tone belied it. Yet on closer observation, Rand wondered if he was mistaken. Perhaps it wasn’t fear. Perhaps Ben was simply coming face-to-face with his own mortality, something every man or woman did eventually. Rand remembered that sobering moment in his own life, and a reverent shudder stole through him.
    He wanted to argue with Ben, try and change his mind. But he’d been caring for people long enough to recognize a mind set on something, and Ben’s mind was set firm.
    “You’ve got fluid pooling around your lungs, which is complicating your condition. There’s a procedure I can perform, a surgery, to remove some of that fluid,” Rand whispered, deciding now wasn’t the time to mention that he’d never performed that particular surgery by himself. “It will buy you more time. And as your condition worsens, as it will,” he added gently, “I can keep you comfortable. With proper care, that could mean several weeks. Maybe even months. There’s no way to know for sure.”
    “Or it could mean days,” Ben said, looking up at him. “Remember, Doc, I’ve seen this play out before.”
    Wishing now that he’d studied more about the heart instead of focusing on obstetrics, Rand gave a single nod. “The digitalis will help, but without removing the fluid”—if his prognosis was correct—“the chance for a longer term holds far less hope.”
    “When would you do it? The surgery, I mean.”
    “I’d want you to rest up, get some of your strength back. But we’d do it as soon as possible.”
    Ben’s expression went solemn.
    Feeling helpless and loathing that feeling, Rand studied the plank floor, combing through years of experience and training in search of other possible remedies, only to have medical science dismiss each as futile.
    “Take it easy there, Doc. . . .” Ben reached over and briefly placed a hand on Rand’s arm. “I can feel your mind working all the way over here, and it’s tuckering me out.”
    Despite feelings of frustration and inadequacy, Rand smiled. He searched for a response and came up short.
    “Buy me however much longer you can, Doc. That’s all I’m asking. And don’t tell me to go lie down in a bed and wait to die. I won’t do it. Not when I