Roz Fox - Married in Haste

She eased away from Ben, rubbing her upper arms. “His belief was a bone of contention between us for years. Now—” Abby faced Ben with wet eyes and trembling lips “—it’s as if Elliot’s sent a message back to me from…you know…” Shuddering, she eyed the cross, then glanced quickly away. “Perhaps Elliot’s right and I’m wrong.”

“Like hell, Abigail!” Uncaring that he was in a place of worship, Ben punched a fist into the air. “You, not God, will look Elliot’s kids in the eye tonight. It’s you who’ll wipe their tears, chase away their nightmares and stumble around trying to find a way to explain their incomprehensible loss. Whose merciful plan is that?”

In all the time she’d known him, Abby had never seen Ben get so worked up. She pulled her jacket tighter, and considered the bleak truth of his statement. As always when faced with hard facts, Abby dug deep for a resolve that had never failed her yet in times of need. “Then…if I’m all those poor kids have to hang on to, Ben, I’d better pull myself together. I—uh—thank you for providing a shoulder to cry on. But I’d better let you go. I’m sure you’re needed elsewhere, by other injured children.”

Ben saw determination replace the gut-wrenching pain in Abby’s tear-drenched eyes. Hopelessly in need of courage himself, he closed the gap between them and cupped her pale face. The freckles he loved were never more pronounced than now. He kissed the ones scattered across the bridge of her nose. Then he let his thumbs trace the blue shadows beneath her lower lashes. “I wish we had more time to spend together today. But…” He hauled in a deep, shuddering breath. “I need a word with Kirk…uh, my father, before I go back to my trauma unit. You’ll want to see him, too, about your nephew.”

Abby curled her fingers around Ben’s solid wrist. Something she’d found immensely attractive about Ben from the outset—his masculine hands. Some doctors had effeminate hands, she’d noticed. Not Ben Galloway. She could as easily see him paddling a kayak in an open sea, or tossing a log on a burning campfire. Yet his touch was gentle the few times she’d seen him cradle a baby or wipe away an older sibling’s tears.

“I’ll never be able to express how much it means to me that you were here when I most needed someone, Ben. In a way, you were an answer to my prayer.”

“Don’t.” He dropped his hands away from her face. “We can talk later. For now, it’s enough to know we’re both okay.”

“Right. I need to see how Sam is. I can’t believe I forgot to ask what kind of surgery he’s having. He’s so little. Oh, Ben! None of this seems real. I know it’ll all crash in on me when I least expect it. Right now, I feel as if I’m operating in a fog.”

He placed his hand on her back, and guided Abby out of the dim chapel. “I know where my father is operating. There’s a small waiting room in the wing. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll go see what I can find out for you.”

“Please.” Abby might have said more, but her throat tightened again.

As it turned out, Ben’s father had just stepped out of the surgery theater, a nurse informed Ben when he inquired. They spotted the elder Galloway, his surgical mask still dangling around his neck. He walked soundlessly toward them on blue booties. Impassive gray eyes surveyed his son. “What brings you to my neck of the woods? Aren’t you the one who insists they work your butt off in munch-kin land?”

“I know nothing’s quite as important or glamorous as what you do with bones,” Ben said edgily. “Rather than argue, let me introduce Abby Drummond. She’s the aunt of the boy you had in surgery.”

“Have in surgery. We’re at the halfway mark. My assistant is setting some of the minor bones.” The doctor’s demeanor changed abruptly as he paused to study Abby. Which was only fair, as she also assessed him. Any similarity between him and his son ended with the comparable height and breadth of their shoulders. What struck Abby about Kirk Galloway was that he seemed to be a man attempting to recapture his youth. His tan was far too dark, both his hair and mustache shouted salon blond.

“Ms. Drummond.” He clasped Abby’s hand between soft, perfectly groomed fingers. His professional charm clicked in automatically. “You’re lucky, my dear, that Benjamin phoned me. I assume he’s told you I handle only the most difficult cases. After surgery I’ll give you a rundown on the new technique I’m using on Sam. It’s one I developed while on tour in Vienna last year.”

Realizing he hadn’t released her hand, Abby jerked hers away. “You’re only half done with Sam?” Her stomach rolled. “I’ll…have to make a call. To arrange care for his brothers.”

Ben grabbed his father’s elbow. “Would you excuse us a moment, please, Abby? Kirk, we need to talk privately.”

The gray eyes flashed. “Can’t it wait? I’ve got a patient waiting. I came out to change into fresh scrubs.”

“This is important. As you said, I have work piling up back at Children’s Health.”

“Very well. Walk with me.” He spared a stiff smile for Abby. “If all goes well, I should have Sam in recovery by six o’clock.”

“I’ll go make my call,” she murmured. But she stood there a moment and watched the men walk away. Body language said a lot. Ben had jammed both hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks. His father threw back his shoulders. Ben said something and the older man whirled on his son. Abby could almost see the sparks flying during their brief exchange. Ben thrust out his chin. His dad waved his arms and kept shaking his head from side to side.

Abby wondered what they were saying. Were they discussing Sam? Her worry grew, especially as their argument came to a close and Ben slammed a fist into the wall before stalking off. Instead of coming to find her, he stiff-armed his way through the door to a stairwell and disappeared without a word.

His father continued down the hall in the opposite direction.

Abby didn’t see Kirk Galloway again until almost six-thirty. She was exhausted, hungry and intermittently weepy. The noted surgeon appeared brittle and tense.

“I understand Sam has siblings?” he said without preamble.

“Yes. Four brothers,” Abby murmured. “Two sets of twins, nine and seven.”

Galloway processed that information. Or maybe not. Abby couldn’t tell.

“Sam will be in recovery another hour. He’ll be under heavy sedation most of the night. I suggest you go home and settle his brothers. Come back in the morning. I’ll make rounds at six and update you at seven. Is that too early?”

“No. May I see him before I go? I imagine he’s upset and frightened.”

“Don’t baby the boy. He needs to be tough if he’s going to find the will to walk.”

“You mean—he m-might not?” Abby breathed in deeply to stem a threatening expulsion of fresh tears. She wished Ben had stayed. About now, she could use less of his father’s brusque manner and more of Ben’s TLC.

A nurse, obviously overhearing, stepped up to them. “You’ll owe Sam’s ability to walk entirely to Dr. Galloway’s surgical expertise.”

“Nonsense.” But Galloway preened. “If the boy walks, it’ll be because he thinks he can. His right leg, hip and ankle were crushed by his mother’s seat. I’ve straightened his lumbar spine. It remains to be seen if we’ll need to go in later and do any fusing. I repaired the boy’s right hip, knee, tarsal and metatarsal bones. What saved his life very probably is the fact that he was in a sturdy booster seat. Even though paramedics had to cut him out, his parents should be commended for adhering to the law. As robust a child as Sam is, some parents might ignore the law and declare him big enough to use a regular seat belt.”