Karen Whiddon - The Texas Soldier's Son

Stunned, Kyle didn’t move. “Search for what? Don’t I have the right to know what it is I’ve supposedly done?”

“It’s all in the warrant, sir.” Motioning to another uniformed officer, the deputy let his hand hover near his holstered weapon. “Now, please. Step aside.”

With a shrug, Kyle did as he was told.

While the two officers searched his small rental home—which wouldn’t take them very long since Kyle had very few belongings and only the basic furniture that had come with the house—Kyle read the search warrant. The reason given, and approved by a judge, was listed as Bill Mabry’s murder.

Which made absolutely zero sense. Kyle hadn’t even been in town when the guy had died.

Aware that arguing with the deputies wouldn’t change anything, he wandered out to his small back deck to wait until they’d finished their search. He only hoped they didn’t trash the place too badly.

“Sir?” The urgent tone of the deputy’s voice had him jumping to his feet. “Could you come in here please?”

Kyle hurried inside. The two deputies stood near his gun safe, one of the few purchases he’d made before driving back to Anniversary.

“Could you open this for us?”

He wondered if he could refuse. Probably not. A search warrant would definitely include firearms. Heaving a sigh, he dialed in the combination for the lock and opened it. He let the door swing wide and took a step back. “Please handle with care,” he said. “Those pieces were chosen carefully and I can’t afford to replace them.”

To his eternal relief, they treated his small gun collection with respect. All of his weapons were clean and well taken care of, something he’d learned to do while in the army.

“Great condition,” one of the deputies commented.

“And none of them have recently been fired,” said the other.

Kyle simply waited until they’d finished. When they moved away from the safe, he closed the door and locked it. “Anything else you need?” he asked.

“No. I think we’re done.” The two men left.

Once he’d watched them drive away, he inspected his living space. They’d been thorough, he saw, straightening a sofa cushion. But not unnecessarily messy. In fact, if he weren’t so meticulous about his home, he wouldn’t have even known it had been searched.

He had to wonder why anyone could possibly believe he’d been involved in the murder of a man he hadn’t even known. Simply because he’d visited Nicole? Did that mean she was under some sort of surveillance? Or were they probing her past for any kind of connection that might have compelled her to kill her husband?

Her husband. The words stuck in his craw. It was always supposed to be the two of them—Kyle and Nicole. Anyone who’d known them prior to one year ago would understand this. And might suspect that underneath the thin veneer of civility, strong emotions swirled and seethed.

It wouldn’t be too great of a leap of faith to wonder if he had returned home to Anniversary to find his woman married to another man, whom he’d killed in a fit of jealously. Kyle supposed he ought to thank his lucky stars that the timing was all wrong. The day Bill Mabry had died, Kyle had been in Mississippi. He had motel receipts to prove it. And Nicole had still believed him to be dead.

The sheriff had his deputies barking up the wrong tree.

His cell phone rang. “Kyle, it’s Bret. I’m at the hospital ER with Heather. She’s fine—it was false labor so we’re heading back home. I thought you might want to know I saw Nicole come in with her baby.” He paused. “If I’m bothering you, I’m sorry. I don’t know how things are between the two of you. But from what I can tell, Nicole is all alone. If you’re truly friends, I think she could use your help. Especially if something happens to the baby.”

The baby. Possibly his son. Though his gut clenched, Kyle forced himself to breathe deeply and calmly. “What happened? Was there some sort of an accident?”

“No idea. But judging from the way they rushed her and little Jacob into the back, he’s in bad shape.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Kyle said, and ended the call. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure why exactly Bret had decided to call him, but figured his old friend would guess Kyle still hadn’t sorted out his feelings about Nicole.

And the baby. Who might or might not really be his son.

Snatching up his car keys, Kyle headed to the hospital. He didn’t bother analyzing why. He just knew he had to go. Whether or not Nicole wanted him there.

* * *

By the time Nicole had pulled up in front of the emergency room, Jacob had begun wheezing, as if he couldn’t suck in air.

Forcing down the panic, she’d managed to unbuckle him from his infant carrier, snatch him up and run into the ER, shouting for help. The triage nurse had taken one look at Jacob and paged for help.

She’d hustled Nicole through the double doors into the actual ER and a nurse came running. Nicole had handed over her precious baby and the nurse hustled him into a room, Nicole right on her heels.

Now someone came and asked for her insurance card, which she handed over. The doctor appeared, helping the nurse get Jacob’s clothing off, including his diaper. “Nurse,” the doctor ordered. “Use Broselow Tape to quickly get his weight and dose out epi based on that.”

As the nurse hurriedly complied, Jacob wheezed, his eyes huge, his face red with welts. He alternated between trying to breathe and attempting to cry. Frantic to help him any way she could, she watched the doctor as he accepted the syringe and injected it into Jacob’s thigh. “It’s epinephrine,” he told Nicole. “The nurse will start him on an IV with Benadryl and steroids.”

Terrified, Nicole nodded. While the nurse bustled around, carefully inserting an IV in Jacob’s wrist, the doctor turned his attention back to the infant, who squirmed and still appeared to be having a hard time breathing. His struggle broke Nicole’s heart. She realized she’d never truly known abject terror until this moment.

“Help him, please,” she implored the doctor.

“We’re doing everything we can,” he responded. “Look. He’s breathing better. And those hives will subside, too.”

Relieved, she clutched the side of the hospital bed to keep her knees from giving out.

“It’s already working, ma’am,” the nurse said, her tone soothing. “Look at him. We’ll have him back to normal soon.”

“Thank goodness,” Nicole said, swaying with relief.

“Was he bitten by something?” the doctor asked Nicole, his voice curt, all of his focus still on Jacob. “Or did you give him something different—formula or juice? This is definitely an allergic reaction.”

“There’s been no change in his diet. As for a bite, I don’t know,” she answered. “One minute, he cried out, then the hives appeared.”

“Sounds like a bee sting,” the doctor said. “Let me see if I can find the stinger.” He began a thorough search of Jacob’s skin, which was still covered in welts.

Careful to keep out of both the doctor’s and the nurse’s way, Nicole moved as close as she could to her baby. To her immense relief, Jacob’s wheezing disappeared. Once he could breathe again, he began crying, a confused and hurt wail that tore at her heart. She ached to gather him up and hold him close to her, but the ER doctor was busy inspecting him, searching for a sting or bite mark.

While he did this, the nurse finished hooking Jacob up to the machines. Gradually, his wailing turned into sniffles, and then little snuffling sounds. He latched his little hand on to her finger, holding on tightly. Chest tight with love, she gazed at her baby boy, aware she’d never survive losing him.