“Yeah, pretty bad, but Mr. Kingsley said he’d be all right. He just won’t be able to fly for a while.”
Jeff had been injured, badly enough to land in the hospital. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Listen, Blake. You’re going to have to close up for me. I’ve got to go into Whitehorn.”
Jilly rushed through the lobby doors of Whitehorn Memorial Hospital, stopping just long enough to ask the volunteers at the front desk where she could find Jeff Forsythe.
In room 204, she was told.
She must have been white as a sheet when she strode through the door of his room, because the first words out of Jeff’s mouth were, “Jilly? Are you all right?”
“Me?” She studied the wounded man lying in bed, his arm in a castlike thing, a white, bulky bandage on the side of his head. “Look at you.”
“This?” He nodded at his arm. “Just a little inconvenience, that’s all. You’re the one I’m worried about. Shoot, Jilly, I don’t know anything about pregnant women, but I’d think flying into my room like a demon out of hell wouldn’t do you or the baby any good.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I wasn’t conscious until this morning. Then they stuck me in ICU for a while, as a precaution. I just got into this room about twenty minutes ago. I called the shop and talked to some kid who said he worked for you.”
She crossed her arms, willing her heart to still and her nerves to settle down, but to no avail. “What happened?”
The expression on his face grew pensive, and he paused, as though struggling to find the right words. “Cain was injured—critically.”
“I heard.” Her voice came out soft, like a whisper. She tried to feel something, to react. To cry. But for some reason, she’d lost Cain a long time ago. And her tears had already been spent.
“He didn’t make it, honey.”
She merely nodded, a flood of emotions swirling in her mind. Had the grief finally surfaced? She wasn’t sure, but she hoped so.
Again guilt reared its head, forcing her to face the fact that she’d been far more affected by Jeff’s injury than Cain’s death.
What kind of heartless person was she?
Cain was her baby’s father, her old lover. She’d cared for him once. Deeply. He might have reacted badly yesterday, but he would have come around with time. Probably.
She placed a hand upon her womb, caressing the baby and offering comfort, or so it seemed.
Jeff studied her with sorrow-filled eyes, suggesting that he thought he’d somehow failed her. “I tried to bring him home—”
Jilly sat in the chair beside Jeff’s bed, then trailed her fingers along his cheek. “I heard that you were part of the rescue team.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “We did what we could.”
“I know.”
Why couldn’t she cry? Show some compassion for her child’s father, her one-time lover?
She’d been angry when she last talked to Cain, yet she didn’t feel anger right now—or grief—just an overwhelming numbness. Normally she’d been able to share everything with Jeff. But not this weird sense of nothing.
“How long will you be here?” she asked.
“They’re keeping me for observation until tomorrow morning, although I suspect it’s only because my aunt is on the hospital board and was so insistent.” He rolled his eyes as though embarrassed by Carolyn Kingsley’s connections.
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