An Accidental Hero (6 page)

Cammi looked down as tears filled her eyes. “Oh, no,” she whispered, “no….”

“Georgia,” Reid bellowed, scooping Cammi up in his powerful arms, “call the emergency room. Tell them we’re on the way!”

Ordinarily, the feisty older woman would have balked at being ordered about that way. But one look at Cammi, and Georgia nodded. “You bet,” she said, grabbing the phone.

“By the time an ambulance could get here,” he told Cammi, backing out the door, “we’ll be halfway to the hospital.”

Somehow, he managed to get the pickup truck’s passenger door opened with one hand, then gently deposited her inside. “Don’t look so scared, pretty lady,” he said, buckling her seat belt, “everything will be all right.”

Leaning against the headrest, she closed her eyes.
Stay calm,
she told herself.
Steady breaths, take it easy…because the Father is with you….

Reid turned on the headlights and the hazard lights and put the truck in gear. “It’ll be all right,” he said again as the tires squealed onto the road.

“I hope so,” she admitted. But already, she’d bled
another puddle on the truck’s bench seat. “Miscarriage,” she sighed.

Reid reached across the seat to squeeze her hand. “Keep a good thought, okay?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Pray, Reid,” she managed to say. “Please, pray for me…”

I
f he thought for a minute it would do a lick of good, Reid would ask the Good Lord to halt all the other traffic between here and the hospital. Would ask to be delivered directly to the emergency room.

The childish wish quickly faded when he took a look at Cammi and saw her lovely face contorted with pain and fear. He couldn’t even put his arms around her, hold her close and promise to stave off anything and everything that might harm her…not if he wanted to get her safely to the E.R. as fast as humanly possible.

Reid patted her hand, feeling like an idiot each time he repeated “Don’t worry” and “It’ll be all right.” She needed solid support, not empty assurances. If he had the power, he’d move heaven and earth to spare her this torment.

Anger made him squeeze the steering wheel tighter.
He
didn’t have that kind of power, but
God
did. Didn’t the Good Book say “Ask and ye shall re
ceive”? Cammi had asked, no,
pleaded
was more like it, for Him to spare her baby. Yet, as the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes steadily mounted, she grew paler and weaker…and still her precious Lord hadn’t acted.

Barely half an hour had passed since she’d sat across from him in Georgia’s Diner, sipping tea and calmly telling him how four months ago, in the space of a few hours, she’d become a widow and learned about the baby. He didn’t think it strange that she’d glossed over the particulars of the accident that killed her husband; Reid had never been the type to dwell on the gory details, either. But she’d been downright happy to talk about the baby. “This kid changed my whole life for the better,” she’d said, joy in her voice and glittering from her dancing brown eyes. “I can hardly wait to meet him…or her!”

Though Cammi had hardly made a sound since they’d left the diner, he knew she was in pain—physical and emotional. Rather than cry out, instead of whimpering, she sat quietly, alternately holding her breath and panting—something else they had in common: he’d handled the broken bones, muscle pulls and torn ligaments in exactly the same way. Reid didn’t think for a minute that she’d adopted her stoic demeanor just for his benefit. Her behavior last night—taking full blame for the accident—told him she was made of sturdy stuff, the “no point cryin’ over spilt milk,” “grin and bear it” type. Just one more reason to respect and admire her.

“It’ll be all right,” he said yet again, wishing he could turn back the clock to a time when she had reason to grin.

Last time he’d spoken those words, Cammi had whispered, “I hope so.” She obviously hadn’t intended him to hear her greatest fear, whispered on the heels of what appeared to be another severe cramp: “Miscarriage…” Much as he hated to admit it, he thought so, too.

Seemed unfair, comparing a li’l gal as gorgeous as Cammi to a pregnant mare, but it was the only parallel he could draw from. He’d spent years around the stables, and knew the signs when he saw them: Cammi was losing her baby, if she hadn’t already. He’d succeeded in saving a few foals in his day…and had failed a time or two as well. It had been hard, mighty hard, watching the mamas nuzzle limp, leggy newborns, determined to bring them ’round with soft, loving snorts and whispery whinnies. He’d risked being stomped more times than he could count, going into the stalls to carry the lifeless critters away. But the “out of sight, out of mind” theory, he’d learned, didn’t heal the hurtin’ any quicker in the four-legged world than in the two-legged kind.

Most times, thankfully, after a few rough days of searching for their young’uns, the fillies came to grips with the cold, cruel facts. But sometimes, the heartbroken mothers were never the same again. Cammi seemed strong enough to survive her loss, but then, every mare that gave up after the death of a foal had surprised him….

Cammi’s raspy, trembling voice broke into his thoughts. “Reid. Please…pray for me?”

Pray? he thought. To the God who had let her husband die, who had let
this
happen to her—all in the space of a couple of months? Reid couldn’t believe
his ears. He blamed her blood loss, delirium, panic…what else could make her spout such gibberish?

He chanced a peek at her, at the tears glistening on her long dark lashes, at the hope emanating from her big frightened eyes, and realized she’d meant it, right down to the last syllable. Foolish as it seemed, Reid couldn’t refuse her anything, especially at a time like this. If prayer would bring Cammi even one moment’s comfort…

Reid cleared his throat, tried to remember something—anything—Martina had taught him, tried to conjure any of the hundreds of passages he’d memorized under his stepfather’s brutal hand. Isaiah 49: 13 seemed as good as any: “‘Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth; and break forth into singing, O mountains,”’ he recited, “‘for the Lord hath comforted his people, and will have mercy upon his afflicted.”’

Eyes closed, Cammi heaved a shaky sigh as Reid continued with Revelation 7:17. “‘For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.”’

He saw her slowly nod as a peaceful smile kissed the corners of her mouth. “Perfect,” she said softly. “And now, will you pray?”

The breath caught in his throat. If chapter and verse wasn’t praying, what was?

But even as he asked the question, Reid knew that what Cammi wanted, what she needed from him now: A heartfelt, plainspoken plea, not for herself, but for her baby.

He felt like a hypocrite for giving so much as half a thought to the idea of asking
God
for help. A lifetime of unanswered prayers and bitter disappointments had taught him that the Lord, if He even existed, had turned His turn back on Reid, on Martina and Billy, on so many good people Reid had known.

Still, the Bible verses had definitely calmed her, as evidenced by her now regular, shallow breaths. He’d heard enough from-the-heart-pleas in his stepfather’s fire-and-brimstone church to know how it should be done. Wouldn’t help, he thought again, but what could it hurt?

“Lord,” he began, “You taught us that with faith, nothing is impossible, so bless Your daughter, Cammi, now.” She’d need strength of the superhuman kind, Reid acknowledged silently, to accept what the E.R. doctors would say about her pregnancy. “She believes You’ll help her, believes You’ll keep her baby safe and sound, right up to the moment You’ve chosen to bring it into this world.”

It was hard to continue, because when she squeezed his hand, a tiny sob issued from her, causing a hard lump to form in his throat. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to keep her safe and sound! “And Lord,” he added, “keep
Cammi
safe and sound. We ask these things in Your name….”

Together, they uttered a quiet “Amen.”

One second, then two, ticked silently by before she said, “Thank you, Reid,” and nodded off.

Dread wrapped around him like a cold wet wind. “Only a few more minutes,” he said, squeezing her small hand. “I can see the E.R. entrance sign.”

It reminded him of the last time he’d been to this
hospital, when he’d visited his mother. She lay pale and gaunt against flowery bedsheets provided by the nice hospice ladies. He’d barely stuck a boot tip into her room when she ordered him to leave, to stay away until after she’d gone to meet her Maker. “I don’t want you to remember me this way,” she’d whimpered, turning her face to the wall. Fiery rage had burned inside him, because he’d childishly—foolishly—expected medical science to do what God had refused to do. Despite the torturous treatments they’d put her through, the cancer continued to grow, until one day, mercifully, she slipped into a coma.

That’s when he went back to the rodeo, and he didn’t return again until Martina called to say Billy had arranged everything—the wake, the funeral, the headstone. Reid was alone at his mother’s grave when he swore the next time he set foot in a hospital, it would be feetfirst—with a tag wrapped around his big toe.

Unfortunately, he’d seen the inside of too many hospitals across the country. The risks he took riding savage, untamed beasts told the rodeo world that Reid Alexander, “All-Around Cowboy,” had no fear. In truth, he flat-out didn’t give a hoot what happened to him. How ironic, he thought, that having nothing to live for had made him a star.

At the moment, though, Reid cared very much, because this small, helpless woman beside him
needed
him to care. He stomped the truck’s brakes outside the E.R.’s double-wide entry, leaped from the cab without bothering to close the driver’s side door, and bolted into the hospital. “I’ve got a woman out
there,” he bellowed, pointing frantically, “and she’s had a miscarriage. She’s bleeding badly, and—”

The nearest nurse looked up from her clipboard, peered over black half glasses at his shirt and blue jeans. He followed her gaze. Until that moment, Reid hadn’t realized how much of Cammi’s blood had soaked into his own clothes.

“Bring her inside and take a seat,” the nurse droned, pointing at two empty chairs in the waiting room.

Eyes narrowed and lips thinned by fear and frustration, he took a step closer, thumped a forefinger on the form she’d been filling out. “Sprained ankles and upset stomachs can wait,” he growled. With each word, his voice escalated in volume and vehemence. “but the lady outside
can’t.
”

She must have heard hundreds of similar speeches. Shrugging, she went back to her scribbling. “Like I said, take a seat and we’ll get to you when we—”

Reid spotted a gurney behind her and, stomping toward it, he snarled, “When I get back in here, there had better be a doctor standing where you are.” He didn’t wait for her to protest, didn’t tell her what he’d do if his order wasn’t carried out. Instead, Reid blasted the wheeled cot through the doors and parked it alongside Billy’s pickup.

One look at Cammi, slumped against the window, was enough to turn his red-hot rage into ice-blue fear. She’d been pale as a ghost when he’d left her mere moments ago; in the short time he’d been inside, she’d gone whiter still.

“Cammi, honey,” he said softly, “we’re goin’ inside now, okay?” He eased his arms under her, ten
derly lifted her from the passenger seat and lay her on the gurney. Reid draped his jean jacket over her, then hurried toward the E.R. entrance, taking care to avoid cracks in the sidewalk that might jar her.

“Hey, buddy,” an orderly said, “you can’t leave your truck there. We need that space for the ambulances when—”

He tossed the man his keys. “Be my guest,” he snapped. “I’m kinda busy right now.”

“Easy, Reid…” Cammi whispered.

Was he hearing things?

“…unless you want the E.R. docs to admit you, too, after you’ve had a stroke—or someone punches your lights out.”

That she’d be concerned about
him
at a time like this said a mouthful about the kind of human being she was. From the instant their eyes met last night, he’d felt compelled to protect her from anything and everything that could harm her. What she’d said just now made him want that even more.

He was about to say something comforting, something consoling, when he spotted a man in a white lab coat. “Doc!” he shouted. “Hey, Doc!”

Brows raised, the fellow pointed to himself.

“Yeah, you,” Reid hollered, pushing the gurney toward him. “This li’l gal is having a miscarriage. She’s lost a lot of blood and—”

One look was all it took. Immediately, the doctor took control, barking orders to nurses and aides as he steered the gurney through the “Staff Only” doors to the emergency room. “Did you see the gal with the clipboard?”

Reid ran alongside him. “Nurse Ratchet, y’mean?”

The doctor grinned slightly. “Tell her I said you’re to provide whatever info she needs on this patient.”

Cammi could barely keep her eyes open. Who would defend her if he wasn’t with her?

“Do it
now,
” he insisted. “Name’s Lucas. Brandon Lucas.”

Reid grasped Cammi’s hand, brought it to his lips. “I’ll be right back, promise.”

She nodded weakly, and in a barely audible voice said, “I know. I’ll be fine….”

“’Course you will.” She
had
to be, because—

“The nurse?” Lucas reminded him, then snapped shut the curtains surrounding Cammi’s cubicle.

Reid stood there a second, unable to decide whether to burst in, or to do what the doctor ordered.

“Sooner you get it done, buddy,” Lucas said through the pastel-striped material, “the sooner you can come back and hold her hand.”

He pictured her, weak and alone, small and vulnerable, and realized there was no place on earth he’d rather be. But Lucas was right—the sooner he provided that nurse with whatever facts might help in treating Cammi, the sooner he’d be with her, making sure no one overlooked a single detail.

Lord,
he prayed as he ran to the waiting room,
watch over her.

Cammi hadn’t so much as moaned through the tests and procedures. Watching the way she endured it all reminded him of the wild filly Billy had brought home from auction a decade or so ago—uncomplaining, no matter what paces they put her through. It made him chuckle to himself, realizing that twice,
now, he’d compared Cammi to a horse. Ridiculous for a lot of reasons, starting with how petite she was.

He sat beside her as he had in the E.R., as he had while they prepped her for surgery, as he had in post-op…right arm resting on her hospital bed, fingers linked with hers. Now and then, when she shifted, the dim overhead night-light glinted from her wedding band. It was a cold, hard reminder of her connection to another life, another love. He knew, even as jealousy surged inside him, that he had no reason—no right—to feel this way.
You barely know the woman,
he reminded himself.

But that wasn’t true. For a reason he couldn’t explain, Reid felt as if he’d known Cammi all his life, as if some higher power had deliberately caused their paths to cross.

Better, smarter, safer, he decided, to focus on the small stuff, like the fact that she rested more peacefully when he wrapped his hand around hers.