Debra Kastner - Daddy's Home

He gave me a rose at the altar. A single, beautiful white rose. I’ve pressed it into this Bible as a keepsake—the only one I really have of my wedding day.

It all happened so fast. No photographer. No wedding cake. No guests. Except for Gram, who stood up for me, and Christopher’s brother from Texas, his only living relative, for him. Jasmine was there in the back, but she didn’t say anything.

Jasmine cringed inwardly. She’d only gone because she thought it would be spineless not to. And she wanted to show them she was bigger than that.

Oh, she was bigger, all right. Pouting in the back and glaring at everyone. She’d never even wished the couple happiness.

She shook herself from her thoughts and continued reading, picking up where she’d left off.

But at least I can keep this rose. I know what he was trying to communicate with a white rose rather than a red one. He doesn’t love me. He loves Jasmine, and he always has.

But he’s committed himself to me, now. Me and my baby. And Christopher is an honorable man. He won’t go back on his word.

I hope, in time, he’ll learn to love me, though I know it will never be the kind of love he has for Jasmine. But no matter how he feels about me, he’ll love the baby. And he’ll be a good daddy. If there was ever a man who was meant to be a father, it’s Christopher.

Jasmine barely restrained herself from crumpling the piece of paper in her hands. She’d found it tucked into the page with the family tree, where Jenny had carefully written hers and Christopher’s names on the appropriate lines. She’d drawn a heart where their baby’s name would go.

She tucked the paper deep into the binding and closed the Bible with a pop. Her throat constricted until no air could pass through, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t breathing anyway. Constrained air lodged squarely in her chest, throbbing mercilessly against her rib cage.

Christopher still loved her, even when he married Jenny? Oh, sure, but Jenny was carrying his child.

She was more confused now than ever. Nothing Jenny had written made sense! She stared at the Bible for a moment, then tossed it away with a frustrated groan.

Jasmine nearly launched herself off the bed at the sound of her pager. Placing a palm to her chest to slow her rapidly beating heart, she reached her other hand for her pager and turned it off.

The sweet strength of adrenaline pumped through her, clearing her head. While she wasn’t like some of the residents she’d linked up with when she was in Denver, to whom the excitement of the moment was their reason to serve, she couldn’t deny the pulse-pounding anticipation of being needed. It thrilled her to have something to give back to the little town that had given her so much.

She reached the phone and dialed the clinic number. Jill, the county nurse, gave Jasmine a quick rundown. A man had called from a mountain cabin just above Horn Lake. He’d been fishing, apparently, when he slipped off a wet log and fell.

“He’s all alone, and he’s afraid to drive. And Jasmine—he says he doesn’t have insurance and can’t afford a hospital. Or a doctor.”

Jasmine made a noise from the back of her throat that signaled her compassionate understanding of his situation.

She pictured a gray-haired widower finding solace fishing in a mountain lake, afraid even to call the clinic because of the expense. An old man, all alone, with a broken leg and no one to help him.

The picture in her mind was too much for her heart to take. She’d work for free if she must, knowing that her actions would open a whole other can of worms should she be discovered dispensing her charity.

“What are the coordinates?” she asked, balancing a pad of paper on her hip so she could write them down.

Jill gave her the exact location of the cabin, someone renting the old Wallaby place. Then she paused expectantly.

“I’m going up there,” Jasmine said, answering Jill’s unspoken question. She reached into her jeans pocket for the keys to her four-by-four. “I have my bag with me. As long as it’s not too major, I can handle a broken leg on my own. If it’s too bad, I’ll drive him back to the clinic myself. An ambulance crew wouldn’t want to hike up into the lake area anyway.”

“It’s starting to snow, Jazz. The weather forecast says we might be in for a blizzard,” Jill warned. “You never know how bad it’s going to be. Maybe you ought to let Wetmore’s EMT take care of it.”

There was more than one EMT, and they were all men. Jill didn’t have to say it for it to be true. And she was probably right.

But this was Jasmine’s call, and an inner prompting was telling her to go.

“No, it’s okay. I can get there faster. The poor old guy is probably in a lot of pain.” And it would give her something to do to keep her mind off Christopher and her problems, she added silently. “I have my cell phone. If I have any problems, I’ll give the guys in Wetmore a ring. I promise.”

“Jazz, I didn’t say—” Jill began, but Jasmine didn’t let her finish as she put down the phone and raced to her car. Checking her sports utility vehicle for gas and equipment, she quickly got on the road. It took her half an hour to drive the dirt road as far as it ran toward Horn Lake.

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