“Now, why wouldn’t I be here, Emma?”
Arguing with him would have been pointless. It was their code. Whether as cowboys or soldiers, they stuck together. They took care of their own. She had become theirs when Andy died.
He followed her into the hospital room, where a nurse was setting up to draw blood. Samantha still sat next to the bed, Jamie’s hand in hers. Her grandfather came in, not minding that the small room was crowded. He moved in close to his great-granddaughter and patted her hand. Jamie smiled up at him.
“Hey, Grand-girl, you sure do look pretty.” He touched her nose.
Jamie managed a weak attempt at a smile and touched his bandaged hand. The gesture undid something inside Emma. She hadn’t thought to ask him what happened. How exactly did he get hurt? How bad was the injury?
“You were working on the tractor, weren’t you, Granddad?” she asked, watching as he moved his hand from Jamie’s reach.
He winked at Jamie and then glanced up at her, his look a little more serious. “Just a little cut from that tractor.”
“I told you...” She shook her head. Daron moved in behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. She breathed deep and relaxed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
And he was a grown man. He didn’t want her telling him what he could or couldn’t do.
“You don’t always have to be there, kiddo. And I can get cut with or without your help. Boone and Daron came out and got me all fixed up. So right now let’s worry about my ladybug.”
Just like that, the room cleared. Boone and Daron slipped into the hall. Samantha smiled down at Jamie, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and told her she would check on that brownie. Then it was just the nurse drawing the blood, Jamie, Emma and her grandfather.
“We’re going to put her on oxygen.” The nurse said it quietly. “She’s doing fine, but a little won’t hurt. Also, we’ve got a line in and we’re starting her on antibiotics and fluids.”
“Thank you.” Emma sank into the chair next to her daughter. “Do you feel better?”
Jamie nodded, her eyes scrunched, her cheeks pink from the fever. “I like brownies.”
“Yes, you do.” Emma swiped at a tear that rolled down her cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, Mommy.”
Never had any words meant so much. Except maybe when her grandfather told her everything would be okay. She always believed him, trusted him.
Movement outside the door caught her attention. And then she heard the scrape of a chair on the tile floors. She glanced that way as Daron placed a chair next to the door and took a seat, a cup of coffee in his hand and his cowboy hat pulled low. He crossed his right ankle over his left knee and leaned back. It looked like he planned on being there for a while.
She should tell him to go home. But she couldn’t. Not today, when it felt better knowing he was there. He’d managed to enter her circle of trusted people. She hoped he didn’t let her down.
* * *
Daron woke with a start, rubbing his neck that had grown stiff from sleeping in the waiting room chair. He’d pulled it into the hall, next to Jamie Shaw’s room. It was late. The halls were quiet, the lights dimmed for the night. The quiet whisper of nurses drifted down the hallways, but he couldn’t make out their words. He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes after midnight.
Standing, he stretched, rolling his shoulders and neck, and managed to feel almost human again. His back ached, but he could live with it. He’d been living with it for a few years. He took a careful, quiet step and peeked into Jamie’s room.
Emma was asleep, like him, in a chair not made for comfort. Her head rested on the hospital bed. Her hand clasped her daughter’s. Jamie was awake. She glanced his way, her eyes large in her pale face. He silently eased into the room and lifted the cup of water next to her bed. She shook her head and her smile wobbled. He hadn’t been around too many kids in his life, but this one had his heart. She had from the moment he first saw her through the window of the nursery at this very hospital. She’d been pink, fighting mad and none too pretty.
He guessed she knew she had him wrapped around her finger. And that was okay by him.
Not wanting to wake Emma, he brushed a hand through Jamie’s hair, then raised a finger to his lips. Her stuffed animal had fallen to the floor. He picked it up and tucked it in next to her. When she seemed content, he turned his attention to Emma. She had to be cold, curled up the way she was in the vinyl hospital chair. Looking around the room, he spotted a blanket folded on a shelf and returned to cover her with it. She didn’t stir.
With a wave, he headed toward the door. Jamie watched him go, snuggling into her blanket and closing her eyes. He walked down the hall, not really sure where he was heading. Of course he wouldn’t leave. He was used to pulling all-nighters. Sleep wasn’t typically his friend, because in sleep the nightmares returned.
A soft light shone from a room at the end of the unit. He headed that way, curious. When he got there and peeked in, his curiosity evaporated. The chapel. The light came from a lamp illuminating a cross. On a shelf beneath it lay a Bible. A plaque hung on the wall next to the display, with the words “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. Psalm 119:105” engraved on it.
Out of habit, he took off his hat. After all, this was church. It was small. There were no pews. A minister didn’t preach here on Sunday. But the room had a comforting feeling, as if Jesus might walk in at any moment, clasp a hand on a man’s shoulder and tell him to let go of his burdens.
It was hard to let go of the burdens he’d been carrying for several years. He’d grown too accustomed to the weight.
When he thought about letting go, he wondered who he’d be without them. Without the burdens. He guessed it was wrong to think of Emma and Jamie as burdens; they weren’t. They had actually become his anchor, keeping him grounded. Because without them, he might not have wanted to survive the last few years.
He might have given in to some other ways of easing the guilt. He had plenty of friends who had found comfort in the bottom of a bottle. He also had friends who relied on faith. They seemed better off, if he was being honest.
He focused on work, and on keeping Jamie and Emma safe. Fixing a fence from time to time when she’d let him, buying Christmas gifts that he had delivered to their house, so she wouldn’t turn them away.
He eased into the seat by the window of the chapel. A picture hung on the wall with a verse about comfort. This room was meant to comfort.
He bowed his head, hat in his hands. He hadn’t prayed in a long time. He guessed he’d never been much of a praying man. He hadn’t been raised the way Boone had, going to church, having faith, believing it above all else. When he’d filled out the paperwork to join the army, he checked the Christian box because if anyone had asked, of course he believed in God.
He’d prayed for Andy to live. Now he would pray for Jamie. And God had better be listening. Because she was a little girl. She was three years old with her whole life ahead of her. She had a mom who would do anything for her. And she had a granddad who loved her “more than the stars in the sky.”
That was what Art had told her when he said goodbye to Jamie, before Boone gave the older man a ride home.
Daron hadn’t been raised going to Sunday school. He’d been to church a few times with the Wilders. That was the sum total of his experience with prayer. But he felt as if he had the basics down. Petition God. Ask the Almighty to spare a little girl.
When he heard a noise, he looked up, heat flooding his face. He stood, nearly knocking the chair over in the process. He jammed his hat back on his head and faced the person standing just inside the doorway.