The Best Man's Baby (16 page)

Prologue

Grace Matheson needed to grow up.

It was time to face the facts—she couldn’t be a single mom, hold down a job, and pursue her dreams of becoming an artist. Her paintings weren’t bringing in any money, so she couldn’t afford to spend the time on them anymore.

“I promise it will never happen again. My babysitter canceled at the last minute and I had no one to watch my son,” she whispered into her phone. Her eyes focused on the road ahead, cringing as the office manager gave a long sigh on the other end of the line.

She cursed herself for staying awake almost the entire night to finish a painting. When she’d finally stumbled to bed at five in the morning, she’d forgotten to set her alarm, and had woken up two hours late for work, in a complete panic.

“Grace, this is the last time. I think you’re a very nice person, but I need a reliable receptionist in Dr. Harris’s office. One more chance. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Thank you, Cynthia.” She breathed a long sigh of relief, easing her foot off the gas as she approached the turnoff to the highway. Her heart squeezed painfully as she glanced in her rearview mirror at her son, who was sleeping soundly. Being a single mother was harder than she ever could have imagined, and she’d naively thought she could still pursue her art, hold down a job, and take care of her son. Christopher had never been planned, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was her first priority.

She looked away from the rearview mirror to the road ahead, just in time to see the eighteen-wheeler take the highway on-ramp too fast directly in front of her. Her heart slammed up against her ribs with the painful realization that she wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time. She pounded the brakes and veered the steering wheel to the left.

Her car, the truck, the road, blurred and slowed until they floated in only a silent, throbbing bubble. The ominous, thunderous drone of the truck turning on its side and slamming onto the road, mingling with Christopher’s shrill cry, were the last sounds she heard before everything turned black.

Voices, no,
a
voice was calling her. Where was she?

“I’m going to get you out of here, sweetheart. Can you hear me?” the voice whispered again. It was familiar. It was gruff, strained and filled with…worry. It was a man’s voice. She tried to lift her head to nod, but it was as though she were trying to lift a sandbag. Sirens hummed in the distance, slicing through the fogginess that held her mind captive.

“Mommy,” whimpered a voice she knew instinctively, and kicked her adrenaline into high gear.

“Christopher,” she tried to yell, but her voice only made a soft whisper. She needed to get to her son.

“He’s fine. He’s going to be okay,” the man said again. The reassurance was all she had to cling to. There was shuffling. Christopher was whimpering and she struggled to push against whatever it was that was pinning her down.

“Where are we?” She tried to blink, but whenever she opened her eyes they burned. She squeezed them shut and tried to breath but her lungs were heavy. Smoke. There was smoke.

“You were in a car accident. Help is on the way. I’ve got you and your son almost out, okay? I need you stay calm and just do as I say. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Grace,” the man said. His hands reached across her waist and she felt him tug. Strong arms moved across her body as he pulled at the seat belt. There was something about him, a familiarity. She tried to stay awake, to open her eyes, but it was useless.

“The car is filled with smoke and that truck is going to light up. We’ve got to get out of here. Can you move?” he asked as he continued to pull the seat belt. Adrenaline and panic raced through her and she prayed for strength as she tried to move, to lift her limbs. Nothing moved. Or worked.

“Mommy,” Christopher cried and then coughed. He needed to get out of the car. She needed to save her child.

“Christopher, it’s okay, Mommy is here,” she said, willing her voice not to waver.

“Just get my son out, okay? I’ll be fine. Get him out,” she whispered, the man’s head hunched close to hers.

“I’m getting you both out,” the man said, his voice rough and sure. There was strength in it.

“Get him out. Promise me—”

“Are you sure you don’t feel anything?” he asked again, ignoring her plea and pulling on her seat belt again. Her seat belt finally unlatched and she felt his sigh. “Got it. I want to wait for the paramedics to get here before I move you. I don’t know how long we have. Your car is sitting right under the truck.”

Panic swam through her body. The smoke was thick and she began coughing. Everything ached and she fought desperately to stay awake.

“I’m going to get you out of here, sweetheart.”

“Mommy,” Christopher cried and then coughed, the fear in his little voice jarring her back to the present.

“We’re going, just hold on.” She forced the words out of her mouth, trying to sound strong. Maybe she could close her eyes for a minute.

Seconds later, minutes later, hands were lifting her. Voices were talking. She listened for the man’s voice. There were different voices. Something about a fire and getting out. Grace struggled to break through the fog in her head, and the sleep that was drowning her, the heat that was stifling her voice. Christopher. Where was Christopher? The man?

“Christopher,” she tried to yell as her body landed on something soft and cool.

“He’s coming,” a woman’s voice said as she placed something hard against her neck.

Her son’s shrill, distraught scream mingled with a man’s roar of pain shot through the haze she was engulfed in. Her eyes sprung open and a striking blaze of orange was all she saw until sleep claimed her.

About the Author

Victoria James always knew she wanted to be a writer and in grade five, she penned her first story, bound it (with staples) and a cardboard cover, and did all the illustrations herself. Luckily, this book will never see the light of day again.

In high school she fell in love with historical romance, and then contemporary romance. After graduating University with an English Literature degree, Victoria pursued a degree in Interior Design and then opened her own business. After her first child, Victoria knew it was time to fulfill the dream of writing romantic fiction.

Victoria is a hopeless romantic who is living her dream, penning happily-ever-afters for her characters in between managing kids and the family business. Writing on a laptop in the middle of the country in a rambling old Victorian house would be ideal, but she’s quite content living in suburbia with her husband, their two young children, and a very bad cat.

Victoria loves connecting with readers, and you can find her online at www.victoriajames.ca and on Twitter: @vicjames101.

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