“Come away. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, you know that.” He stood up, now alarmed by her tone. “You sound…” He hesitated, worried about pushing her and maybe changing her mind about coming. Bea would kill him. “Are you sure it’s the right thing to do—leaving Buck by himself at such a…well, such a delicate time? He’s suffered a loss, too, you know.”
“We’ll talk about that when I get there. I just needed to let you know before making any flight reservations. I’ll probably be discharged tomorrow morning. Once I get home, it’ll take me a while to pack. I don’t know which flight or my arrival time, but you needn’t worry about meeting me at the airport. I’ll rent a car and—”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” he told her. “I’ll pick you up no matter what time it is, day or night.” He glanced at Beatrice, who was nodding eagerly, pointing to herself. “We’ll both be at the airport. Just let us know when.”
“I appreciate this, Dad,” Anne said in a husky tone. “I know it’s short notice, but—”
He heard the catch in her voice. “Anne, a miscarriage can be emotionally devastating. You and Buck—”
“I need some time away from Buck, Dad. Don’t ask me to explain just now.” And before he had a chance to say more, she hung up.
“What’s the matter?” Beatrice asked urgently. “Tell me.”
Still holding the phone in his hand and looking troubled, Franklin shook his head. “I’m not sure, sweetheart. She wouldn’t say anything except she needed some time away from Buck.”
“And she’s coming here?” With a stunned look, Beatrice put both hands to her cheeks.
“That’s why she called. She was apologetic as it’s short notice, but she’s made up her mind.” He frowned. “She’s in an emotional state, Bea. I wonder—”
“I knew we should have left last night! The minute her friend called, we should have gotten a flight. We’d be there for her right now, Franklin. She’s all alone.”
“Hindsight,” Franklin said.
Beatrice stood at the window, looking out. “I know this is an awful thing to say and I grieve for her loss, but I’m thankful for an opportunity to have her visit. I had only a few hours with her on our wedding day before Buck whisked her back to St. Louis.”
“He sure doesn’t spend any time in his hometown if he can avoid it,” Franklin said, rising to go to her. “And even though the circumstances aren’t ideal, it’s—as you say—an opportunity for you to get to know her.”
With her hands clasped and pressed against her heart, Beatrice looked ready to cry. “I want that so much.”
“I know, my darling.” He went to her thinking to comfort her with a hug. Only when he tipped up her chin to kiss her did he see the tears.
Two
It was midmorning that same day before Buck made it to Anne’s room. She was awakened by a light kiss on her forehead. She opened her eyes to find him leaning close, fumbling for her hand. She evaded his touch by clutching the blanket.
“Hi,” he said.
She felt oddly detached, studying his face. One cheek was bruised and he had a black eye. Above it was a sizeable bandage covering what she assumed was the blow that caused his concussion. Day-old stubble darkened his jaws, giving him a rakish look that the nurses probably found sexy. “Hello, Buck.”
“Finding a way to visit my wife around here is harder than trying to finagle a pass to get out of jail,” he said with a smile. “Good thing I know some people.”
He was going to play it with humor, she thought. Okay. Whatever. “Should you be walking around? Monk seemed concerned about your knee.”
“Like they say, I feel like I’ve been rode hard and put up wet.” His smile was a little off-center, aimed at charming her. “But I’m okay. How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine.” She turned to look out the window. “How’s the Porsche?”
“Totaled,” he said wryly. Then a pause. “Anne, I—”
“The staff at the hospital’s buzzing over you being here.” She watched a couple of birds—blue jays, she decided—quarreling in flight. “More than one person has told me we’re both lucky to be alive.”
“Yeah. It was a close call…and stupid on my part. I was speeding and I didn’t have my seat belt on. Thank God you did.”
“The Jacks will no doubt think of some way to exonerate you.”
“But will you?”
“I don’t know, Buck.”
He put out a hand and caught her chin. “Anne, please look at me.” Reluctantly, she raised her eyes to his. “I’m sorry. I know those words won’t begin to be enough for you, but I am so sorry. I wouldn’t have this happen for the world.”
“You wouldn’t?” Her eyes locked with his. “Really? Even to rid yourself of a baby you didn’t want?”
He was shaking his head. “I know that’s how it sounded and I wish I had those few minutes in the hotel to live over again. I wish I’d left when you asked me to. I wish I hadn’t driven so fast.” He made a distressed sound. “I…you…I guess I was just floored when I heard you were pregnant. I know that’s no excuse—”
“You’re right. It’s no excuse.” She turned away again. “So what’s the point of talking? I’ve miscarried. The baby’s gone. I accept that you’re sorry. It’s just—” She shrugged. “I guess it just seems…too little, too late.”
“I need you to forgive me for this, Anne,” he said. “I want us to go home and spend some time talking. I want us to—”
She made an impatient sound. “It’s always what you want, isn’t it, Buck? Well, right now I really don’t care what you want. I don’t think you even begin to suspect what has happened to us—to our marriage. I know you made it plain that you didn’t want a baby, but I honestly thought that you’d come around once you knew we had created a child. I was wrong about that and you can rest easy that you won’t have to cope with my silly wishes for a baby ever again.”
She felt a wild urge to throw the covers aside. She wanted to go at him nose to nose to tell him exactly how completely beyond redemption he was to her now. Instead, she made an effort to draw a calming breath. “I want you to leave now, Buck, before we both say things we’ll probably regret.”
His face had gone pale at her attack. Shaken, he said, “I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“Too bad.” She sighed then and gave him a sad look. “Are we strangers, Buck? After six years of marriage, do we actually know each other? Did you really not realize how important it was to me to have a child?”
“I don’t think I did,” he said slowly, looking like a man walking a path through a minefield. “I know that sounds selfish and egotistical, but we can work this out, Anne.”
“I don’t know if I want to work it out.”
“You don’t mean that.” He paused, choosing his words cautiously. “I mean, you’re upset and you have a right to be. When we get home and you’ve had a chance to rest and…you know, sort of recover, we’ll talk.”
She gave him a straight look. “Recover from losing my baby? Just like that?”
“Not ‘just like