Warrior at Willow Lake (2 page)

His gaze scanned the river walk as his emergency radio crackled with a spattering of messages. Nothing important—everything seemed to be in order. After managing the streets of Chicago, he’d welcomed the much quieter pace of Willow Lake. It was good to be home again. Sure, the town had grown since he’d hightailed to the concrete jungle nearly eight years ago; shops lined Magnolia Street, blending old and quaint with new and flashy. His favorite hang-out was Dom’s Deli, next door to the bookstore named Posts and Pages. Dom’s toasted pastrami on rye slathered with spicy Dijon mustard was to die for. But, despite the growth, Willow Lake’s atmosphere had the same mellow flavor, which almost made him wonder why he’d once been so eager to escape.

Almost.

All the changes made it easy to feel like the past was merely an illusion—that he hadn’t once lost a baseball scholarship as well as his dream of playing in the major leagues.

And that Josh MacLaren hadn’t died.

Hunter forced the thought away as he rounded the band shell and made his way across the grass. Just like Willow Lake, he’d changed, too. He wasn’t that person anymore—the one who’d coasted through the summer following high school graduation without a care in the world, looking forward to a full ride to Tennessee State, compliments of his gifted pitching ability.

Life had thrown him a curve ball, and he’d struck out. But now he was back at the plate, and this time he’d hit the grand slam he’d always dreamed of—just not in a way he’d ever imagined.

The breeze kicked up, drying a line of perspiration that trailed across the nape of his neck and disappeared down his back like fingers skimming over his spine as he reminded himself he was no longer Hunter Stone, Willow Creek Warrior’s star pitcher and switch-hitter. That person had died along with Josh. Now he was—

“Open your eyes. Talk to me, Ali.” The sudden urgent, high-pitched voice was a knife slashing through the air. Hunter’s senses launched to full alert as he turned toward the deck at the rear of the band shell. Beneath floodlights, a flurry of black and white flashed against the brown of deck wood, followed by the flutter of a golden-red wave, like flames whipping in the breeze. “Somebody call 911!” The voice was frenzied.

Hair prickled down Hunter’s arms as he bolted toward the commotion. His pulse kicked into overdrive while his heart launched into a double-time cadence. Without missing a step, he radioed for the event’s on-call ambulance to pull around and stand ready.

As he reached the deck, he found a woman splayed supine across the wood, her pregnant belly a mountain rising to the dusk-kissed sky.

A second woman knelt over her, shaking her limp body. “Ali.” The woman with long, copper hair gave another shake with no response. “Ali, wake up.”

“Easy there.” Hunter nudged the kneeling woman aside. She was the source of the flames—her hair was the most startling shade of red he’d ever seen. “Her name’s Ali?”

“Yes. Ali Hawkins.”

The name punched Hunter in the gut. So, she’d married…

His gaze flew to Ali’s face. The growing, purplish bruise above her right eye had thrown him off. She must have bumped her head when she passed out. Her hair was shorter—a lot shorter—than he remembered, too. And, the added pregnancy weight distorted her features.

That last detail—her pregnancy—got his EMT gears moving and launched him into action. “How far along?”

“What?”

“When is the baby due?”

“About three and a half weeks.” The woman leaned in, bathing Ali’s face in water from a bottle another musician had handed her, mindless of the dirt that marred her sleek black skirt. “She shouldn’t have come here in this heat. This pregnancy’s been hard on her, and she’s been so busy at the inn. I don’t know what she was thinking.” The woman’s eyes, the color of stonewashed denim, glistened with tears. “She was talking and then, in the middle of a sentence, she just went down. I tried to catch her, but she bumped her head on the deck rail pretty hard.”

“It’s going to be OK.” Hunter should be immune to tears by now. He’d seen enough of them in his years running emergency services on the streets of Chicago. But, somehow hers managed to do a number on him. He dropped to his knees beside her. “Let me take a look.”

“Are you a doctor?” Her gaze skimmed his navy EMS shirt, scanning his name badge as tears spilled over to streak clear, porcelain skin. “Mr. Stone, don’t you think we need an ambulance?”

“
Hunter
Stone, and we had one on call for the concert. It was on its way back to the station when I radioed, but it’s turned around. It should be here any minute.” As if to affirm his statement, sirens wailed. A moment later the ambulance turned the corner and rushed down the street, its blue lights flashing. It jumped a curb and crossed the lawn, making tracks to the band shell. Seeing the panic in the woman’s eyes, Hunter made an effort to distract her before he had two patients on his hands. “What’s your name?”

“Maci Ferguson.”

“Help me here, Maci.” Hunter skimmed his fingers along Ali’s wrist and felt for a pulse…found one steady but edging toward a sprint. “Tell me everything you remember. From the very start.”

“Like I said, we were talking.” Maci leaned in, hiking up her long black skirt to free her legs. Hunter tore his gaze away from calves he was sure had spent plenty of time in a gym and focused on the patient. “The heat was getting to her, and she said she was feeling a little dizzy.”

Hunter gulped as he smoothed a hand across Ali’s forehead, down one cheek. Her skin was clammy but not overly hot. “What else?”

“Humming…she thought something was wrong with the sound system because she heard a high-pitched humming.” Maci shook her hair away from her face and cupped one ear with long, delicate fingers. “But there’s nothing like that. I don’t hear it, though. Do you?”

“No.” Hunter’s danger radar spiked as he performed triage, and his heart pounded with each new piece of information. He delved further. “You two are friends?”

“Best friends.”

“Has Ali had any problems with her blood pressure throughout the pregnancy?”

“None that I’m aware of. She saw the obstetrician a week ago, and has another appointment tomorrow.”

A week…Hunter knew from his training what kind of dangers could pop up in late pregnancy during the course of a week. This had all the signs of a classic case of preeclampsia. If that was indeed the case, the baby—and Ali—were in serious danger.

“Here comes the stretcher. We’ll get her to the hospital now.” Hunter turned from Ali as his co-worker, Jared, approached, though he continued his conversation with Maci. “Have you called her husband—Ryder?”

“How do you know they’re married?”

“It doesn’t take a genius.” Carefully, Hunter helped Jared stabilize Ali. “I used to live here.”

“You know Ali?”

“And Ryder, too.” Hunter and Jared carefully loaded Ali onto the stretcher. Hunter was thankful only a few stragglers remained from the enthusiastic concert crowd. Nothing stuck in his craw more than a mob of gawkers. He turned to Maci. “We all used to be friends.”

“Used to?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, Ryder’s—” Maci’s cell phone chimed and she checked caller ID. “This is him.” She answered in a flash. Hunter continued to work at the rear of the ambulance while she quickly relayed information. With Ali safely loaded and stabilized, they were ready to pull out. The quicker Ali got to the hospital, the better the chances for her and the baby.

“Wait. I’m coming with.” Maci grabbed her violin case and rushed to the rear of the ambulance as Ryder began to climb in. “I won’t leave her alone.”

“We don’t allow passengers in rescue vehicles.” Hunter eyed her performance attire. “Only patients.”

“You do today.” Maci marched past him, her chin tilted toward the sky and her blue eyes shimmering with tears. Hunter’s resolve turned to mashed potatoes when her lips began to tremble. “Like I said, she’s not going alone.”

“She won’t be alone.” He crossed his arms, struggling to maintain authority. “I’ll see she’s taken care of.”

“And so will I. Ryder’s coming from Chattanooga, and even speeding he’s going to be at least another hour. If Ali’s in labor she’ll need me there.” Maci’s teeth tugged at her trembling bottom lip. She clutched her violin case to her chest as the tears spilled over. “You look like a reasonable guy, Hunter. Give me a break and bend the rules a bit…just this time.”

The tears did him in. “Well, I guess it’s OK…just this once, though.” Ryder reminded himself it was Ali in the ambulance—not just a stranger from the street. He’d hurt her once, and he wouldn’t let that happen again. Maci was right—Ali would need a friend at her side if the doctors decided to take the baby—or worse. He sighed and nodded slightly toward the ambulance. “You ride shotgun. I’ll take up the rear.”

2

“How are you holding up?” Hunter slipped next to Maci outside the NICU nursery where little Rory lay in an isolette, recovering from his journey into the world. Through the viewing glass, Hunter saw the baby’s tiny body, twined with tubes, clench in a fit of rage over…

What…? Was he cold…hungry…hurting? How did one know what a baby needed when all he could do was squall? It was a frightening thought, and the high-pitched wail tore at Hunter’s heart.

“Poor little guy.” Maci placed a finger on the glass and leaned in, her perfume drifting to tickle Hunter’s nose.

A hint of citrus and lavender…or was that lilac? Hunter was no expert on flowery scents but he liked what wafted, none the less. A slow burn ignited in the base of his gut and whispered through his chest, warming him. How did she look so good—so neatly put-together—when he felt like something a Rottweiler had dragged in? He rubbed a hand across his chin, feeling a scratchy carpet of stubble as Maci continued.

“Rory’s worked so hard today that he’s simply tuckered out. I think he’s lonely, as well. Imagine, Hunter, being all warm and cozy, nestled in the warmth of your mom’s belly...”

Hunter imagined feeling warm and cozy, but it had nothing to do with his mom and everything to do with the woman beside him. Maci was the perfect blend of strength and fragility, captivating beyond words with her wave of cinnamon hair and long, delicate fingers that emphasized every word as she spoke. Her proximity tied his tongue and made it difficult to focus on what she said instead of the supple curve of her lips as she spoke. Groaning inwardly with the struggle, Hunter turned from her and paced toward the wall to gather his composure. What was going on? This longing that swept through him like the wind gust of an F-5 tornado was completely foreign and highly disturbing.

Maci’s heels clicked along the tile as she crossed over to him. Her voice drifted through the storm. “Then, imagine you’re ripped from the warmth and yanked into blaring lights, cacophonous noise, and the chill of a stark birthing suite. Add to that being whisked from your mom and then mercilessly poked with tubes and needles. It’s…almost inhumane. And poor Rory’s lungs…he needed a little more time. They’re not yet fully developed.”

“They sound pretty strong to me.” The high-pitched squalling continued, and Hunter told himself those wails were the reason for the skip in his pulse—that and sheer exhaustion. He and Maci had been together at the hospital going on a dozen hours, and he’d ingested at least half-a-dozen cups of coffee. He eased away from her, away from the subtle halo of her perfume, and rubbed the sleep-deprived glaze from his eyes. “He’s got the other babies going now. Sounds like a chorus of angry chipmunks.”

“It does.” Maci laughed and her eyes sparkled like smoky-blue sapphires beneath the muted lobby lights. “But, considering the recent events, it’s such a sweet sound—a miracle, really.”

Hunter digested the statement. Miracles happened every day. He’d witnessed them on occasion during the countless emergency rescues he’d manned over the past several years. But this one struck his heart like a walk-off grand slam. The beginning of a new life…the newborn son of his best friends.

Former
best friends. Could they be again—was
that
miracle possible? They’d welcomed him back. The miracle of birth could heal any hurt, Hunter supposed, but could they all be best friends again? He still could hardly fathom that the past—and all the hurt that came with it—seemed to have been washed away by this single event.

“Imagine, Hunter, the other side of the coin—what might have happened if you hadn’t come strolling along behind the band shell when you did.” Maci’s voice hitched, and he sensed her emotions were as tangled as his. “If you failed to respond to my cries for help and weren’t there to take the situation in hand—”

“I’d never fail to respond to someone who needed my help.” He strode past her, slapping the thigh of his slacks with one hand while he gripped a Styrofoam cup in the other. He’d never fail to respond, but that was no guarantee he’d be successful in aiding. Events of the past were solid proof of that.

The past is gone,
he reminded himself as he lobbed the empty cup into a trashcan.
You can’t change what happened. There’s only today…and the future.

“Besides”—he fought back the sour taste that rose like bile in his throat—“as an EMT and Director of Willow Lake’s Crisis Management Team, it’s my job—and my sworn duty—to help people.”

“Nonetheless, tonight you’re my hero.” Maci tossed back a wave of coppery curls that slipped across her face, skimming her porcelain skin. A dusting of freckles danced across the bridge of her nose. “I assume, from the way they were both gushing, that Ryder and Ali feel the same.”

He fought the urge to brush his knuckles across Maci’s cheek as he asked, “And, tomorrow?”

“Technically,” she glanced at her watch. “It
is
tomorrow, as well.” She winked, kicking his pulse into overdrive. “But, we’ll see…”

Hunter’s gaze drifted to the digital clock hanging on the opposite wall. Four AM had come and gone. Even with the emergency C-section the doctor had performed to save both Rory and Ali, whose blood pressure had spiked off the charts, he had no idea giving birth could take so long.