Within My Heart (27 page)

Rand held up a hand. “I’m fine, really. It’s late, and I’m sure you and the boys need to be getting to bed. I figure it’ll only take about an hour to go over the details of Ben’s surgery.” He glanced at his bag on the couch. “I’ve got some diagrams in my satchel that I’ve drawn to help illustrate what I hope we can accomplish.”

What
we
can accomplish. He made it sound as though she was actually going to take part in the procedure, instead of simply handing him instruments and administering chloroform. A weariness she hadn’t noticed before edged his eyes, along with a sincerity that put her to shame. Whatever kind of relationship Rand might, or might not, be seeking with her—he was her friend. Plain and simple. But she wasn’t treating him much like one. “Have you had dinner yet?” she asked softly.

“I’m fine . . . really.”

Hearing the truth in his noncommittal response, she smiled, remembering word for word what he’d said to her the other night. “Sometimes, Dr. Brookston, it’s all right to simply say yes and accept the gift.”

The slow smile he gave her threatened to fan that tiny, dangerous spark into flame. But she guarded her heart closely, ever mindful of the cost if she didn’t.

In the kitchen, Rachel fixed Rand a plate of dinner and set it inside the oven to warm. She peered into the main room. “Your dinner will be ready in—”

Rand wasn’t there.

Hearing voices coming from the boys’ bedroom, she tiptoed down the darkened hallway, feeling more than a little silly. She paused outside the open door.

“So you have a microscope too?” Mitch asked.

“Yes. It’s an older one, but it still works well. I’ll show it to you both the next time you’re in town. Each of you can choose a leaf, and we’ll look at them under the lens.”

“What will they look like under there?” Kurt’s voice sounded different somehow, but Rachel couldn’t pinpoint why.

Rand laughed softly. “Very different than they look on the tree. The microscope lets you see all the details the human eye can’t detect.”

“Details like what?” Mitch asked.

“The veins of the leaf, and the tiny little bugs that you can’t see just by looking.”

“Bugs?” Kurt’s voice rose with excitement. “I like bugs!”

More soft laughter. “I like bugs too, Kurt. Wait until you see them under the microscope. It’s amazing how many intricate parts they have.”

“Kurt’s good at catching bugs.” Mitch’s tone held quiet pride. “And snakes and mice and frogs and lizards and . . .”

Rachel smiled at the list Mitch rattled off, her heart warming at his affirmation for his brother.

“You guys better get on to sleep now. I don’t want to get in trouble with your mother.”

“You’re smart, aren’t you, Dr. Brookston?”

Rachel smiled at Kurt’s comment, knowing how rarely the boy praised anything or anyone, and wondering if Rand knew how big a compliment he’d just been paid.

“I’ve studied a lot, that’s all. I like to read too. I learn a lot by reading.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, remembering the stacks and stacks of books piled high in the man’s bedroom.

“I like to read too.” Mitch sighed. “But I’ve already read all the books we have here. And Miss Stafford won’t let us take books outside the schoolhouse. She says they’re too important and might get ruined. But she let Amanda Spivey take some home.”

Rachel gritted her teeth.
That’s not fair!
Miss Stafford allowing her niece to take home books while the other children couldn’t. Talk about playing favorites. Of course, Kurt
had
ruined a book, thereby forfeiting his—

She heard Rand’s boot steps, and panicked. She turned, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.

“About those books, Mitch—”

Rand paused, and Rachel did too, her heart pounding.

“I’ve got some books at the clinic. A lot of them probably wouldn’t be of interest to you, but I’ve got some from when I was about your age, and I’d be happy to let you borrow them. Kurt too, if he wants.”

“You mean . . . we could bring them home with us?”

“Of course you can. Books are meant to be read. I think that’s why writers write them.”

Rachel could picture the smile on Mitch’s face. Rand’s too.

“Can I ask you one more thing, Dr. Brookston?” Kurt’s quiet tone hinted at the question’s importance, and Rachel leaned closer to the door.

“Sure thing, buddy.”

“Do you know why the sky turns all red and orange at night?”

Closing her eyes, Rachel leaned back against the wall, loving her younger son more than words could capture. Rand’s quiet footsteps sounded, only they weren’t moving toward her. She heard the creak of a bed and felt the sting of tears.

“You mean when the sun goes down?” A short pause. “Well, it’s really all about light. You already know that light comes from the sun, and as the sun begins to set, the light has to travel farther through the atmosphere before it gets to us. More of that light is scattered and reflected and as less of it reaches you directly, the sun appears less bright. When it’s really red, like it was tonight, that’s because the air contains dust or water particles that reflect the light in all directions, making the sunset . . .”

Wiping her eyes, Rachel scooted back down the hallway into the kitchen. She had Rand’s dinner waiting on the table minutes later when he walked in.

He took the chair opposite hers, where she’d set his plate. “Your boys ask a lot of questions.”

“Especially the closer bedtime gets,” she answered with a wry smile. Looking at him again, she noticed how tired he seemed.

“Thank you for dinner. I don’t want you to think I expected this, because I didn’t.”

“I know. And it’s no trouble. I’m glad to do it.” And she was.

“But just so we’re clear . . .” He leaned forward, a gleam in his eyes. “Don’t think this counts for that roast beef dinner you owe me. I’m not lettin’ you off that easy.”

She grinned.

He reached across the table, and it took her a second to realize he was reaching for her hand. She slipped hers into his and bowed her head as he offered thanks. God forgive her, but she couldn’t think of anything but the warmth of his hand around hers. Keeping her head still, she risked a glance up at him. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, and though his lips moved, she could only stare at their hands. Whereas Thomas’s hands had been thick and rough from farm work, Rand’s were long and graceful, made to hold a scalpel.

“Amen,” she whispered, echoing him, aware he’d let go of her hand. She drew it back into her lap.

“Excuse me.” He rose. “Let me get those sketches and we can go ahead and cover some of this while I eat. I’m designing an instrument for the procedure and am eager to see what you think.” He returned with several pages in hand. He ate a few bites, obviously hungry, before beginning. “I know from working with you before that you’re already familiar with surgical procedures, but—” he took a drink of water—“for both our sakes, I’ve made a list of everything we’ll do . . . before, during, and after.”

Rachel listened and studied the diagrams across the table, impressed at the detail with which he’d drawn them, and the time he’d taken to prepare for Ben’s surgery. She brewed a pot of coffee, and they moved into the main room. The room was cooler than the kitchen, but not enough to light a fire in the hearth.

He took a seat on the sofa and gestured to her cane across the room. “I see you’re using that less frequently.”

She nodded. “I still need it on occasion. But I’m feeling stronger every day.”

“And the incision?”

“Still healing very well, thanks to you.”

Rand welcomed her queries and answered each one with an enthusiasm that made her feel as though her questions were important. As though
she
was important.

When she next happened to look at the clock on the mantel, she was shocked at the time. After midnight. She couldn’t believe how quickly the hours had passed.

Seated on the sofa, Rand arched his back and stretched. “I can’t thank you enough for assisting me like this, Rachel.” His voice went soft. “As I said, there’s no way to reverse the damage to Ben’s heart, but I do think we can buy him more time. I’d like to start the procedure at eight o’clock on Saturday morning, so if you could be at the resort by seven thirty, that would work best.”

She nodded.

“I’m transporting Ben out there tomorrow afternoon. Lyda’s coming too. She’s arranged to have some women help her in the store for a few days.”

“Do you need help moving Ben?”

He shook his head. “Angelo and Mr. Daggett are helping me. We’ll be fine. We’ll take it nice and slow. The main thing is to keep Ben comfortable, keep his pulse from elevating. Or dropping too low.” He began gathering his papers.

She helped him, then straightened the lace doily. “I still can’t believe Brandon Tolliver agreed to let you use the resort’s facilities. All I’ll say is watch out for the man. He may offer you something, but his price is always higher than you bargained for.”

Rand paused. “Have you had dealings with him?”

“Not personally. But his reputation precedes him. Lyda’s told me, more than once, that he’s had Ben order something special for him, only to cancel the order once it’s already shipped from Denver. Ben’s been stuck paying for shipping costs several times.” She shook her head. “I told Lyda to stop placing orders for him unless he pays ahead of time, including the shipping.” She softly scoffed. “Only a fool would get involved with that man.”

Rand’s smile came slowly, and had a sheepish look about it. “Well . . . then, I guess that makes m—”

“Mama?”

Rachel glanced down the hallway. “That’s Mitchell.” She rose. “It’s probably his legs again. He wakes up some during the night with leg cramps.”

“Do you need me to help?” Rand started to rise.

“No, that’s all right.” She gestured for him to stay. “I’ll be right back.”

Sure enough, Mitchell was sitting up in bed, holding one knee against his chest. “It’s hurting again, Mama.”

“Let me rub it for you. You just lie down.”

Rachel gently massaged the calf muscle, feeling Mitch relax, while also feeling the effects of the past few hours of conversation. Once Mitchell was asleep again, she covered him back up and checked Kurt in the bed beside him. She tucked his little hand back beneath the blanket and left the bedroom door ajar.

“I’m sorry that took so long, Rand. I—”

She stopped midstep and smiled at the scene. Leaned back on the couch, Rand was fast asleep, papers in his grip. “Rand,” she whispered.

He didn’t move.

She started to try again, then looked at the clock. Almost twelve twenty. If he left now, it would be nearly one o’clock by the time he got his horse saddled and reached home. Knowing morning would arrive all too soon, she pulled the blanket from the chair and draped it across his legs. That would keep him warm enough, even without a fire in the hearth.

She took the opportunity to look at him, unhurried and without the risk of being caught. His head tilted slightly to one side, his pulse beat solidly in the strong curve of his throat. Dark hair fell across his forehead, begging to be brushed away, but she didn’t dare. Had there really been a time when she hadn’t considered this man attractive? She sighed, unexpected emotion tightening her chest.

She’d missed evenings like tonight. Evenings spent talking with someone . . . No, not just someone. She missed a
man’s
presence in her life—the companionship, the laughter, the comfort of familiarity and of being known. It made her feel like a woman again.

And she hadn’t felt like a woman in a very long time.

Eager to get to bed, and knowing better than to give the notions inside her further encouragement, Rachel made sure the front door was locked. She paused in the hallway and admired the man on her sofa, one last time, before extinguishing the flame in the oil lamp.

21

R
achel awakened with a start. She bolted upright in bed, blinking in the darkness, wondering if she’d dreamed the noise or if she’d actually heard something. Still so tired and her eyelids heavy, she knew she couldn’t have been asleep too long.

She sat perfectly still, listening for what seemed like a long time, then she exhaled.
Nothing.
Relaxing, she lay back down again and yawned, unable to remember the last time she’d had that vivid of a drea—

There it was again. She sat up. A definite thud this time, then the shuffle of footsteps. Perhaps one of the boys was up. Or maybe it was Rand. What she heard next propelled her from bed. The sound of something—or someone—falling.

Reliving one of many nights following Thomas’s passing, she grabbed her robe and hurried down the hallway, not bothering to light a lamp. She’d awakened before to the same sound—of Kurt having a nightmare. And more than once, he’d fallen from bed. She’d thought he’d grown beyond having these awful dreams. Or at least she’d prayed he had.

After Thomas died, Kurt would awaken screaming, terrified something was outside the cabin trying to break in and get him. At times he’d been so frightened, so convinced he’d heard something, she’d hardly been able to go back to sleep herself.

The boys’ bedroom door was ajar, as she’d left it. Shadows draped the room in darkness, but she could just make out the contours of their sleeping forms. “Kurt?” she whispered, waiting for the telling rustle of sheets or those deep, choking breaths. He didn’t stir. Neither did Mitch.

A loud
thunk
came from the front room, followed by the sharp fracture of breaking glass, and she turned back to the hallway.

“Mama? Is something wrong?” Mitch stirred and sat up.

She crossed to his bed and brushed a kiss to his forehead. “No, everything’s fine, sweetie.” She glanced behind her, hoping that was true. “I was just checking on you and your brother. Go back to sleep.”

Not needing to be told twice, Mitch nestled his face back into the pillow.

Rachel closed the boys’ door behind her and only then realized how cold the floor was on her bare feet. A draft of air whooshed down the corridor and up her robe. She pulled it tighter, shivering as she picked her way down the darkened hall.