Another Chance for Daddy

At last, Becca looked up and met Clay’s eyes. They were still full of fire laced with accusation that was aimed at her. He had picked his hat up from the coffee table and was slapping it against his leg, his gestures so controlled she knew he was still seething.

From nowhere, guilt washed over her. This time, she couldn’t convince herself that she had done nothing wrong.

“Are you okay to drive, Clay?”

He gave her a look that asked if she was kidding and said, “We’ll be back Saturday night.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a slip of paper. “Here’s the number where you can reach us.”

She took it from him. “All...all right. Thank you.”

Becca looked at him as Jimmy opened the front door and began dragging his duffel bag onto the porch and Brittnie slipped away to the kitchen. Probably to see if it was still standing, Becca thought.

This is the place where, in the past, she would have thrown herself into Clay’s arms and clung to him, hating the weakness in her that seemed to demand that everything be smoothed out between them before he left. This is when he would have kissed her until she was breathless and promised to be home as soon as possible.

They couldn’t do that now. They were divorced so such displays were out of the question. Also, there were too many bad things crowding out whatever good had been between them.

She clasped her hands in front of her and rocked on her boot heels as she broke eye contact with him. “Well, I’ll be seeing you on Saturday, then, Clay.”

With a nod, he placed his hat on his head and strode outside. She followed, watching as he stowed Jimmy’s bag in the back of the Explorer, then buckled their son’s seat belt securely and climbed in behind the wheel. Jimmy waved excitedly as they backed out. Her answering wave was as cheerful as she could make it. She mouthed “I love you’s” to him.

Clay lifted his head suddenly, his eyes locking with hers as the Explorer rolled into the street. He was looking at her, at the way she addressed her love to their son, and that’s why he didn’t see Joey Emerson’s Monte Carlo as it broke over the top of the hill and raced down the street toward them.

CHAPTER TWO

THE hospital waiting room doors flew open and Becca looked up to see Mary Jane and Shannon Kelleher rushing toward her, anxiety in their faces. Relieved, but shaking, she stood to be folded in her stepmother’s arms. Although Mary Jane was only thirteen years older than she, Becca, who couldn’t even remember the woman who had given birth to her, had always thought of her as her true mother, and her best friend. Her half-sister, Shannon, crowded close. She was taller than the other two women. She put her arms around them both so that the three of them were held tightly together.

Becca gave her sister a welcoming look. She had recently begun a new job with the county government’s soil conservation office and she had a very tough boss. Becca was grateful her sister had been able to get away.

“Brittnie called,” Mary Jane said, pulling away to look into Becca’s pale face and tear-bright eyes. She touched her stepdaughter’s cold cheek. “She told us everything. How is Jimmy? And Clay? And the Emerson boy?”

Becca took a trembling breath, beginning to feel steadier now that her family had arrived. “Jimmy bumped his head on the door. He’s got a lump above his right eye and he’s shaken up, but he’ll be fine. Dr. Kress is keeping him here overnight to watch him. They’re getting him settled in his room, which is why I’m out here. And Joey Emerson wasn’t even scratched. I don’t know how that happened. Clay is hurt the worst because Joey’s car hit directly on his side. He seems to have a concussion and his left leg is broken, but we won’t know how badly either of those injuries is until the X rays are finished.” She looked around vaguely. “It should be pretty soon.”

Mary Jane put her hand on Becca’s arm and gently drew her back to the sofa. Becca went willingly, grateful for her mother’s calm efficiency. Nothing much seemed to rattle her. Becca had realized years ago that Mary Jane had a core of strength she could only hope to equal someday.

“Have you called Barry?” Mary Jane asked.

“He’s out of town today,” Becca answered as she sat. “In Denver on family business.” She wished he was here. His steady presence and rational thoughtfulness were exactly what she needed right now.

Mary Jane gave her another quick hug. “Maybe you can get in touch with him later. We’ll wait with you. Where’s Brittnie, by the way?”

“Gone for coffee.”

Shannon shuddered as she sat down. “That should bring back some unpleasant memories,” she commented with a touch of irony. She tossed her long black hair back over her shoulders and looked at her sister with sympathy in her dark eyes. “It’s the worst coffee in the world, but we drank gallons of it when Dad was in here.”

“How well I remember,” Becca agreed quietly. Her hands fell to rest loosely in her lap as she stared morosely at the floor.

Hal Kelleher had died of cancer three years ago in this very hospital. In many ways it had torn his family apart even as it had drawn them closer together. They had all gone on with their lives. Mary Jane stubbornly clung to their ranch, working it alone, with the occasional help of her daughters, a few members of her extended family, and any good hand she could hire. Both Brittnie and Shannon had finished college and Becca....

Thinking of her firm, no-nonsense father, Becca was fully aware of what he would say if he knew her marriage had broken up. He had adored Jimmy and would have been incensed at the potential harm the divorce might cause the boy. He’d thought the world of Clay, though the two men couldn’t have been more different. Hal had been a man with no guile and few secrets. Everyone knew where they stood with him. He had always said that once a person started something, that person had to keep on until it was finished. He wouldn’t have approved of the way she had given up on her marriage. And he really wouldn’t have approved the argument she’d had with Clay just before he’d pulled out of her driveway.

Mary Jane sat beside her and lightly rubbed her shoulders as Becca propped her elbow on the arm of the uncomfortable sofa and put her forehead in her palm as she relived the horror of the moment when she’d seen the Monte Carlo heading straight for Clay. She had thrown her front door open and sped down the walk before the two vehicles had even made contact, frantically yelling Clay’s and Jimmy’s names. Brittnie had heard her and run from the kitchen.

The instant the accident was over, Brittnie had phoned for the police and paramedics while Becca had wrestled Jimmy’s door open to find him crying and disoriented. She had checked the cut on his head, then climbed in beside him to examine Clay, who had been unconscious, his side of the windshield crumpled into his lap and the water from the Monte Carlo’s radiator shooting like a fountain into the air, soaking them both through the broken window. Inanely, she noticed his beloved Stetson lying on the floor of the vehicle. It was crushed, soaked, and probably ruined.

Becca looked down at the stains of water and engine coolant that still marked her dress, wondering vaguely if they could ever be washed out. Not that it mattered when she thought about the injuries Clay had suffered.

For an unspeakable moment, she’d thought Clay was dead, and a welter of emotions had blasted through her terror before she had found his pulse, then bone-melting relief when she had realized he was alive, followed by tenderness when he had groggily awakened, rolled his head against her supporting arm, smiled, and said, “Hi, babe. What’s the matter?” Then he’d passed out again.

Clay had drifted in and out as the neighbors had rushed from their homes, Joey Emerson had stumbled, unhurt, from his car, and the emergency vehicles had arrived with sirens blaring and lights flashing.

That had been more than an hour ago and this was the first moment she had found to think about the full impact of what had happened and what could have happened to her son and husband. Ex-husband, she reminded herself, realizing that it was an easy label to pin on Clay, but it wasn’t nearly as easy to hang that label on her feelings for him—especially after today’s trauma.

Becca looked up as she heard Brittnie bustling back into the room, grateful for the interruption of her troubled and confusing thoughts.

“Hi, Mom, Shannon,” she greeted them as she set two cups of coffee on the low table that stood in front of the sofa. “Here, Becca. Try some of this coffee. I know it looks like axle grease, but it might help perk you up.”

“Either that, or she’ll be awake all night,” Shannon responded, eyeing the black stuff.

“She will be anyway,” Brittnie pointed out.

She sat beside Shannon. With her dark blonde hair and lively gray eyes, she looked like the smaller, sunnier version of their father. She liked short skirts, music and dancing and fun of all types. If there was any fun to be had, Brittnie would be in the center of it. She had recently graduated from college with a degree in library science, but she certainly didn’t fit the stereotype of a librarian. She was far more likely to be the one making noise than the one quieting the noisemakers.

Becca took a sip from the foam cup. It tasted as bad as she remembered, but at least it gave her something to do with her hands. At the sound of footsteps, she looked up to see Dr. Kress approaching. Setting the cup down shakily, she stood to meet him.

Frank Kress was a tall, affable man in his fifties. He had a warm manner, but when he was worried about a patient, he became brisk and blunt. Becca braced herself and searched his face to see if it betrayed his mood. She remembered the staccato rap of his voice when he’d told them Hal Kelleher couldn’t live through the night—and the tears in his eyes when he spoke the words.

“Ah, Becca, there you are,” he said, spying her.

She felt herself relax when he gave her a slight smile and sat down in one of the chairs. He flexed his shoulders, rolled his head from side to side and gave a great sigh. “Well, honey, your menfolk have been mighty lucky. Jimmy’s going to have a headache for a couple of days and will probably whine about it the whole time. Clay has a concussion that needs to be watched carefully for at least a week and his leg is broken in two places. I’ve casted it, but he’d better take care of it or risk permanent injury. He’s got to stay here for a few days, then he can go home.”

Becca stared at him. “Home?” Clay had no home. He’d given up the apartment he had in Boulder. His furniture had been put in storage, the few belongings he carried with him from job to job had no doubt been packed and shipped to Venezuela. She knew exactly what arrangements had been made because she had been part of such moves for five years.

Becca shot a quick glance at her mother and sisters whose concerned expressions matched her own.

“Yes, home,” Dr. Kress continued gruffly. “I don’t know where that is for him, and I’ve already told you my opinion of this damned divorce. If your dad was alive he’d probably tan both your hides.”

Becca did, indeed, know his opinion. He’d expressed it in great detail when he’d treated her for bronchitis in January, then again when she’d had her annual physical last week.

“Don’t worry, Frank,” Mary Jane said, stepping forward and touching his shoulder. “We’ll take care of it.”

The doctor stood and gave a satisfied nod. “Good,” he said. “I was hoping I could depend on you. You can see Clay in a little while.”

After Dr. Kress had left, Becca gave her mother and sisters a despairing look, then sat down heavily on the sofa. “Clay can’t go back to Boulder. He gave up his apartment. He has no family to take care of him while he recovers. He is due to leave for Venezuela at the end of next week.”

“Doesn’t sound like he’s going to make his flight,” Brittnie said in a dry tone.

Mary Jane looked at all three of her daughters, then focused on Becca. “He can come out to the ranch. I’ll take care of him.”

Becca stared at her. “Absolutely not You’re right in the middle of calving, soon you’ll be moving the herd... There’s no way you could take on a patient—and believe me, Clay is not the best of patients.”