The Bargain Part 23

"I'll try," he'd promised.

He really was making the effort, but Tara could see how painful every contact was for him, how he nearly dreaded it. Knowing he did it for her made her heart ache twice as much.

How awful that his love for a tiny life he'd thought he'd created has been brutally destroyed by a few careless but well-chosen words.

The whole situation was still a ticking time bomb. The older Molly got, the more she'd sense Cole's feelings for her and wonder at the distance he created. What new problems would that bring? Tara could see herself placed squarely in the middle of a no-win situation.

In the midst of all her newfound happiness, she wanted to weep at the unfairness of it all, at the legacy of a spiteful woman.

d.a.m.n Maggie, anyway, for bringing such pain to such a wonderful man.

At last, sighing, she drained her coffee cup and placed it in the dishwasher. The answer was some place. She'd just have to be clever enough to find it before it destroyed them all.

Time seemed to be pa.s.sing so swiftly now with the activities that consumed each day.

Before they knew it, their first anniversary was approaching and Cole wanted them to do something special.

"Not go away," he said quickly. "I know the timing isn't right for that. But think about some place you've always wanted to go for dinner. Or something we can do that's always been on your wish list."

"You spoil me." She kissed him. "I'll give it some thought, okay? And try to come up with some suggestions."

At that moment, though, she was so tired nothing appealed to her. And deadlines were looming. The house was nearly complete. All it needed were the last finis.h.i.+ng touches. Then they would call the movers and put her house up for sale. They'd decided to take their time shopping for furniture, using hers in the interim. She knew Cole was anxious to actually be settled at last, and she was doing her best to get ready.

Tara was so relieved he was willing to wait on the furniture she could have wept. The thought of more shopping, more choosing, exhausted her. A fatigue enveloped her that she just couldn't seem to shake. She'd felt it for days. Then one morning, she woke up and couldn't drag herself out of bed.

"I think I have the flu." She had just thrown up for the third time. "It's been going around.

Remember when Nicki had it? What with all the moving around and everything, I just realized I forgot to get my flu shot. I don't think I'll be up to much celebrating on our anniversary. I'm so sorry."

Cole, concern lining his face, brought her some tea and made her lie down with a cold cloth on her forehead. "The important thing is for you to get well. You've worn yourself out with moving and working on the new house. I should have seen what was happening and put the brakes on."

"It wasn't a big deal," she protested. "If I had just gotten that stupid flu shot, I'd be all right."

Molly was bouncing up and down in her crib, babbling her familiar sounds.

"I have to get up." Tara tried to sit up without much success. "Molly needs to be dressed and fed."

Cole forced her back down to the pillow. "I'll manage. You're in no condition to do anything."

"But you don't..."

"I can do it." He smiled at her thinly. "I run a company with ma.s.sive projects.. I should be able to take care of one small child."

"Come get me if you need help," she called in a weak voice.

He headed down the hall, his body unnaturally stiff. She worried about how he'd deal with being forced into the situation, but she was too sick to care. She put her head on the pillow and fell asleep at once.

When she woke, she was nauseous again and stumbled to the bathroom. Cole must have heard her because he was upstairs and beside her in what seemed like seconds. He helped her back to bed, wiped her face and gave her some water to drink.

"Can you hold anything in your stomach?" he asked. His face was taut with worry.

"Some tea, maybe. I'll come downstairs if you'll help me."

"Not on your life. I can fix a cup of tea and I'll bring some crackers-one thing my mother was always good at was treating the sick. Crackers and tea, her cure for everything. Then I'm going to take you in the shower with me, and when we get out, I'll change the sheets. You have to feel sticky."

"Where's Molly?" she asked, her forehead creased with anxiety.

"In bed asleep."

"Did you find everything for her okay? What did you do about breakfast and lunch? And how did you handle her all morning?"

"Everything was fine. She's very good, which helps a lot. I may not have fed her what you would have, but we made out all right. And look." He gave her a weak grin. "I haven't had a nervous breakdown."

She tried to smile at his mild attempt at humor. "Nicki can come in after school and help,"

she reminded him.

"Let's wait and see how you feel tomorrow. If you're still sick, I just might call her."

The shower felt good. She was grateful to have the sour feeling of nausea washed away.

Cole was very gentle with her, holding her while he bathed her, sitting her on the vanity so he could dry her and put on a fresh gown. He placed her in the slipper chair while he did a hasty job of bed making then carried her over and laid her down with the pillows fluffed under her head.

"I know I'll be better tomorrow." She tried to subdue the nausea that never seemed to leave her. "And you have to go to work. I know how busy it is when you take on new projects."

"I do believe they're learning how to get along without me." He grinned. "What a blow to my ego. Jake doesn't miss a beat, just picks up whatever slack he needs to. I told them to expect me when I show up. Quit worrying about everything, and let me take care of things. That's an order."

She sank back on the pillows, thankful to leave everything in his hands. She drank another cup of tea and promptly fell asleep again.

But the next morning, she wasn't any better. The nausea hit her as soon as she opened her eyes. Cole held her head, wiping her face and holding a gla.s.s of water so she could rinse her mouth. She kept down tea and crackers then slept. She couldn't seem to keep her eyes open, which was a blessing because when she was asleep at least she didn't throw up.

In moments of wakefulness, she wondered how Cole was surviving with Molly. He was out of bed instantly each morning when he heard her voice, his face set in granite but determination in every line of his body. He had taken her advice and called Nicki, who blessedly came in each day after school.

Tara strained to hear the noises of the house, expecting disaster, but all she heard was Molly's familiar giggle and Cole's deep voice. She wanted to get up and help, but she barely had the strength to make it to the bathroom and back. Nicki was now coming in right after school and staying until Molly was in bed for the night.

"Are you doing okay with her in the morning?" Tara asked one evening, full of anxiety.

She had been sick for four days now and didn't seem to be getting any better. She knew Cole was increasingly worried about her.

"We haven't had any disasters yet," he told her. "Everything is fine."

She knew what a supreme effort it was for him and ached for the internal struggle she was sure he was having. What a situation.

By the fifth day, she was beginning to feel a little better. She wasn't racked with nausea all the time, and she could keep down some broth as well as tea and crackers. She was lying on the pillows in the late afternoon, wondering if she should try and get up, when she heard a crash and a scream from downstairs. Her blood chilled and panic clutched at her. The scream was Molly's.

She forced herself up from the bed, found her robe and made her way downstairs, clinging to the banister and hoping she didn't pa.s.s out. Molly was still screaming and over that sound she heard Nicki's scared voice and Cole's, tense but in command.

She leaned into the doorframe in the kitchen, supporting herself and shaking at what she saw. The highchair was lying on the floor, gla.s.s and blood were everywhere, and Cole was holding Molly. Blood was spurting from her arm at an alarming rate. Nicki had grabbed dishtowels and was trying to apply pressure.

"That's arterial blood," Tara whispered, her voice shaky with fear. "She needs a tourniquet."

Dizzy and weak yet somehow finding the strength to move, she grabbed another towel and twirled it to form a wide strip. With Cole helping, she placed it around Molly's arm, tying it over the other towels to form a pressure pad.

"Hold her arm up," she ordered. She tried not to look at the long, deep cut on the little arm. "Did you call 9-1-1?"

"I'm taking her right to the emergency room," Cole said, his jaw clenched. "The hospital isn't very far."

"I'm coming with you," Tara told him.

"Tara, you're sick and you can hardly stand up. Besides, you can't run around in a nightgown. Please get back in bed."

"Nicki." She turned to the terrified teenager, forcing a strength she didn't feel. "Grab my raincoat, would you? It's spring, for heaven's sake. It's already balmy here. And my shoes, too.

Hurry. I'm going. I want to be with her. Nicki. Go now." Somehow, she found the strength to hold it together, but barely.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Ca.s.sidy," Nicki said, twisting her hands. "It's all my fault."

"No, it's not," Cole insisted. "I was here, too. But right now, we need to get to the emergency room. Help me get them both in the car. You'd better come, too."

Cole drove like a madman, honking his horn at every vehicle in his way. Nicki was wedged in the front seat between them, helping Tara with Molly, keeping the bleeding arm raised. They both tried not to notice how pale the little girl was. Tara's own discomfort was forgotten for the moment as she focused on the emergency at hand.

"I was irresponsible," Cole said, anguished. "I should have paid better attention. We had her in her highchair, but I didn't check to make sure she was securely strapped in. I know she tries to stand up in it all the time. I've seen her do it."

"Did she just fall?"

"I had a gla.s.s of soda on the counter," Nicki said miserably. "Molly reached for it. Lost her balance, and she and the highchair both fell, pulling the gla.s.s with them. When she landed, a jagged edge cut her arm." She was caressing the little girl's face, wiping her tears, trying to soothe her. "I'm a terrible baby-sitter. I wouldn't blame you if you fired me."

"Nicki, accidents happen with children." Tara tried to sound rea.s.suring, but she was fighting back a new wave of nausea and dizziness. "You do the best you can and pray about everything else."

Cole pulled up to the emergency entrance, slammed the car in Park and ran around to take the baby from them. He was already racing into the reception area when Tara struggled out of the car.

I will not faint. I will not be sick. .

Tara clenched her jaw and exerted as much control as she could muster. Cole could worry about her later. The baby came first.

Nicki helped her inside, and she collapsed into the chair nearest the door.

The emergency room was in chaos, people hurrying everywhere, voices raised. Although the seating area was full of people waiting their turn, rules and regulations didn't exist for Cole Ca.s.sidy. People seldom argued with him about anything. With his usual expectation of compliance, he carried Molly up to the desk, corralled a nurse who yelled at once for a doctor and they all disappeared into a curtained area.

Tara sat huddled into the chair, letting the noise swirl around her, holding her coat to her for warmth. Nicki stood next to her, wringing her hands, unsure what to do next. Tara could see the teenager was running on nerves at this point. She wondered if anyone would come and tell her anything.

The combined odors of illness and medicine were threatening her fragile hold on her heaving stomach. She kept her eyes closed, calling on what little strength she had to survive this without pa.s.sing out or throwing up on the hospital floor. Cole was right, she shouldn't have come, but she couldn't have let him take Molly without her.

All she could think was what a mess.

Tara was leaning back with her eyes closed, willing the nausea to go away, when a gentle hand touched her arm and a soft voice said, "Mrs. Ca.s.sidy?"

She pried open her eyes.

A nurse was beside her with a wheelchair. "Mr. Ca.s.sidy is worried to death about you. He says you have a bad case of the flu. It's sure been going around. He wants a doctor to take a look at you. Come on, let me help you into the wheelchair." She smiled rea.s.suringly. "If you pa.s.s out on the floor here, it doesn't make us look too good."

"Molly?"

"Your little girl's being taken care of. The doctor's with her and so is your husband."

"The bleeding?" Tara was almost afraid to ask.

"They've got it under control. I'm just going to get you into an area here, then tell them where you are. Someone will come and let you know what's happening real quick."

"Is it all right if I go call my mother?" Nicki asked, after helping the nurse with Tara. She was fighting back the tears that threatened to spill out of her eyes.

Tara nodded as she was wheeled away. In a minute, she was lying down in a treatment area, being covered with a blanket, the privacy curtain pulled around her. She felt the nausea rise again and with great effort fought it back. She was trying to get herself under control when someone pulled the curtain aside, and Cole was there with the doctor.

"Where's Molly?" she asked, her voice thin and thready.

"She'll be fine," the doctor said. His nametag read R. Moreland, M.D. "The nurse is with her at the moment. We've stopped the bleeding and put an inflatable tourniquet on her. I gave her some light medication for the pain so she's more comfortable. While she's calm, I thought we'd come here and bring you up to date. Nasty, nasty cut, but we're taking care of it."

Cole stood next to Tara and gripped her hand. She could feel the nervous tension vibrating through his body.

"We have a plastic surgeon coming to st.i.tch her up," Dr. Moreland continued, "so she won't have much of a scar. We will want to give her a general anesthetic, though. Otherwise, the suturing can be quite traumatic for her, since the cut's so deep. Your husband wanted me to check with you before he signed the papers."

Tara could only nod.

The doctor handed Cole a clipboard with forms attached, and Cole scrawled his name.

"We also will need to give her some blood. She's lost quite a lot, and we don't want to run into other problems during the surgery. We prefer to check the parents first before using our own supplies. We always prefer family, if possible." He looked at Tara critically. "Not you, my dear." It was apparent he was unaware of the situation. "I think right now you need all you've got."

"Molly isn't my biological child anyway," Tara told him, "although our blood type might be compatible. I've never checked."

Cole's face tightened in embarra.s.sment that he didn't know this simple fact. "I'm sure it's in her medical records at the pediatrician's, but I never paid attention enough to ask."

"No matter. You're wife's in no shape right now to be a donor under any circ.u.mstances.

But the lab tech is right here, so Mr. Ca.s.sidy, I guess you're it."

Cole opened his mouth to say something, closed it and swallowed hard. "Actually I'm not her biological parent either," he said, harshness edging his voice.

"Then this is an adoption?" the doctor asked. "Well, let's test you anyway. If you have the right blood you can still be a donor."

He nodded, his face rigid, and Tara squeezed his hand weakly, trying to give him a.s.surance. He looked so uptight she was afraid he'd break apart any minute.

A technician entered with all his paraphernalia. He was quick and efficient and, in just seconds, handed a vial of Cole's blood to a waiting lab messenger.

"I'm going to see if the surgeon's come down yet." Dr. Moreland looked at Cole. "The nurse has been with your daughter since we sedated her, but you might want to come with me, Mr. Ca.s.sidy, in case she's at all aware. Just to rea.s.sure her until we take her to surgery."

Cole was torn, wanting to be two places at once.