His Woman, His Child (8 page)

Deputy Holman met them at the emergency room door. Susan thought he looked like a man who'd been to hell and back. His uniform was stained with dried blood. His hair was disheveled and his face lined with worry.

"Caleb asked me to wait down here for y'all," Richard Holman said.

"Where's Hank?" Susan demanded as she rushed past Sheila and Donna.

"He's in surgery, Mrs. Redman," Richard explained. "Caleb's upstairs in the waiting room. Come with me and I'll take y'all straight on up."

The three women fell into step alongside the deputy as he made his way to the elevators.

"How seriously was Hank wounded?" Susan asked as the elevator doors closed behind them.

"He took a bullet in the side," Richard said. "One of his lungs collapsed."

"Oh, no." Susan crumpled as her legs weakened.

Sheila and Donna, who flanked Susan, grabbed her by the elbows and kept her on her feet. Sheila gave the deputy a censoring glare.

Richard cleared his throat and said, "But the doctors say he'll be just fine. Honest to Pete, Mrs. Redman. You don't have to worry about Sheriff Bishop."

Susan willed herself to be strong. She hadn't fallen apart when Lowell was killed and she wasn't going to come to pieces now. Hank wasn't dead. He had been shot, was undergoing surgery and would come through just fine. Surely the good Lord wouldn't take away both of the men she loved. Not Lowell
and
Hank. No compassionate God could be that cruel, could He?

The minute they reached the waiting room, Caleb Bishop stopped pacing, turned and opened his arms to Susan. She went gladly into his comforting embrace.

"He's going to be okay," Caleb said. "I talked to him for a minute before they wheeled him out of ER and up to surgery."

"He was conscious when they brought him in?" Susan asked, pulling out of Caleb's arms.

"Oh, he was conscious, all right," Caleb said. "I thought the doctor in the ER was going to have to knock him out to work on him."

Susan smiled, remembering how bossy and take-charge Hank had always had been. "I suppose he thought he knew more than the doctor."

Caleb chuckled. "Partly. But mostly he was worried about you, about how you'd react when you found out he'd been shot. He kept telling me to make sure you didn't get too upset."

Susan glanced meaningfully at Deputy Holman. Caleb nodded his understanding.

"You know how protective Hank is of you, your being Lowell's widow and all," Caleb said. "He was concerned about the baby."

Tears filled Susan's eyes. Caleb led her over to a vinyl sofa in the corner. When she sat, Sheila and Donna closed in ranks to sit on either side of her.

"Have you had a chance to call Tallie?" Sheila asked.

"Yeah, I put in a call to her a few minutes ago," Caleb said. "She and Peyt should be here in a couple of hours."

Time passed slowly, agonizingly. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours. Tallie and her husband, Governor Peyton Rand, arrived and joined the vigil. Richard's wife, an R.N. at the hospital, stopped by frequently, as did Kendra Camp, who worked upstairs in the obstetrical ward. Sheriff's deputies and city policemen trickled in and out, concerned about Hank. Businessmen and farmers, friends and acquaintances called to check on the progress of Hank's surgery. Susan's neighbors, Mrs. Dobson and Mrs. Brown, brought in sandwiches and coffee and offered their prayers. The whole county was breathing a collective sigh of relief that Carl Bates had finally been apprehended and was behind bars. And every citizen of Crooked Oak and the surrounding towns knew who they could thank for capturing the man who had killed Lowell Redman.

"The Bishop family?" the doctor in green scrubs inquired as he halted outside the waiting room.

Everyone jumped, almost in unison. Caleb walked over to the doctor, Tallie fast on his heels. Susan stood slowly, walked across the room and waited behind Hank's siblings.

"Hank came through surgery just fine," Dr. Hall said, and went on to explain Hank's condition quite succinctly. "He's in SICU, but I expect we'll move him into a private room by tonight. If there are no complications—and I don't expect any—he should be able to go home by the end of the week."

"When can we see him?" Caleb asked.

"A couple of family members can go in and see him in a few minutes," Dr. Hall said, then disappeared down the hallway.

"I'll feel a lot better when I see for myself that he's alive," Tallie said, then hugged Caleb.

Caleb glanced at Susan and said, "I think you should go in with Tallie and see Hank."

"No, that's all right—" Susan said.

Tallie glanced back and forth from Caleb to Susan, her eyes questioning. A look of annoyance wrinkled her forehead. "What's going on? What don't I know?"

"Nothing, smarty-pants," Caleb said. "Absolutely nothing."

"Caleb knows how much I've come to rely on Hank since Lowell died," Susan offered as an explanation. "He was just being considerate offering to let me go in and see Hank first."

Sheila and Donna eased gradually closer and closer to Susan and she noticed her two friends exchange a questioning glance. Great. Just great. No doubt Sheila had just realized Donna knew that Hank had fathered Susan's baby. She decided that it was unfair to continue keeping the truth from Tallie. After all, Hank's baby sister had been her friend as long as Sheila had.

When Tallie grabbed Susan's arm and pulled her off into a corner, Donna and Sheila followed.

"What's going on between you and Hank?" Tallie asked. "And don't try to tell me nothing. Remember I was around when we were teenagers. I know what a crush you had on Hank. You didn't hide your feelings for him quite as well as Sheila hid her feelings for Caleb."

Quietly and calmly, Susan explained the whys and wherefores of her baby's conception to Tallie. No one said a word until Susan finished speaking, and then Tallie groaned loudly.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Tallie spoke quietly but firmly. "What was Hank thinking? You're pregnant with my brother's baby. And we all know that the big lug is scared senseless of becoming a father. Hank remembers what things were like with our irresponsible father and although he is the most honorable, responsible man on earth, he's always been afraid that poor parenting is hereditary."

"As far as the world knows, this baby is Lowell's," Susan said. "Hank will be my child's godfather and that's all."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Tallie rolled her eyes heavenward. "Tell that to somebody who doesn't know Hank the way I do."

"Will you lighten up?" Donna slipped her arm around Susan's shoulders. "Don't you think Susan's been through enough without you trying to make her feel guilty?"

"I'm not trying to make her feel guilty," Tallie said. "I'm just trying to—"

"Then you should sound a little more supportive and a little less critical," Sheila suggested.

"I'm not being—" Tallie began, then was interrupted by her brother.

"Tallie, you and Susan can go in and see Hank now," Caleb said.

"What?" Tallie rushed toward the door, then stopped abruptly and glanced back over her shoulder at Susan. "Well, come on. Let's go."

Five minutes later when Susan stood at an unconscious Hank's bedside, her eyes swimming in tears as she held his limp hand, Tallie grabbed her other hand and squeezed it.

"You're still crazy about him, aren't you?" Tallie whispered.

"Yes," Susan said softly.

That night around eight, when Hank was moved into a private room, the whole family circled his bed as he came to groggily.

"I told this bunch of weeping females that you were too mean and ornery to die," Caleb said.

"How about some water?" Hank asked.

Everyone in the room made a move toward the water pitcher on the bedside table, but one by one, they halted and watched as Susan lifted the plastic jug, poured the water into a matching aqua-green glass and inserted a straw. She held the glass with one hand and put the straw to his lips with the other. He sipped the liquid slowly, all the while watching Susan closely.

"Thanks," he said after he'd drunk all he wanted.

Susan made no move to leave his side and no one tried to usurp her position. "I—we were very worried about you."

"I'm fine, honey." He glanced around the room at the others, each with their eyes diverted from Susan and him, and he realized that sometime between yesterday and today someone had told Tallie and Peyton and Donna Fields the truth about Susan's baby. It was there in all their faces, in the way they couldn't bring themselves to look directly at him. Obviously, everyone was aware of the bond between him and Susan—the bond that went beyond the fact that she was carrying his child. These were their friends and family, the people who knew them best, and they'd all made a unanimous judgment call. They all knew just how much he cared about Lowell's widow. And apparently Susan wasn't able to hide her feelings for him, either.

"No one outside this room ever needs to know the truth," Hank said. "That's the way Susan and I want to handle the situation. As far as anyone else knows or will ever know, the child Susan is carrying belongs to Lowell."

Silence hung heavily in the room, like a thick, anesthetic fog that had rendered everyone speechless. Caleb pulled up a chair alongside Hank's bed, then gave Susan a gentle nudge. She didn't protest in the least.

After she sat, she glanced around at the somber faces and said, "Hank and I don't ask for your approval, but we do ask for your support."

Hank lifted his left hand, the one not connected to a tube, and reached up toward Susan. She clasped his hand in hers.

He tried to squeeze her hand, but he didn't have the strength to do more than weakly grasp it. His head hurt. His side ached. And he was feeling a little sick to his stomach. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with anyone, least of all his own family. He knew that Tallie probably felt just the way Caleb did—that if he didn't claim his child, he would live to regret it.

"I think it's time we all left and let Hank get some rest," Peyton Rand said. "We shouldn't forget that he was shot less than twelve hours ago."

"Peyt's right," Caleb agreed. "Let's clear out. We can all come back tomorrow."

"I'll be back tomorrow," Tallie said. "And sooner or later, Hank Bishop, you and I are going to have ourselves a little talk."

"I never doubted that for a minute," Hank told his sister. "I didn't expect you'd let me off the hook that easily."

"Come on, Susan," Sheila said. "I'll take you and Donna back to the animal shelter to pick up your cars."

"You go on," Susan said. "Take Donna. I'm going to stay."

"No, you're not!" Releasing Susan's hand, Hank glared up at her. "I don't need for you to stay. I've got a hospital full of nurses at my beck and call. You should go home and rest."

Susan looked directly at Sheila. "Go ahead. I can call a cab, if I decide to go home before morning."

Sheila nodded agreement and she and Donna left without saying another word.

Susan snapped her head around and said, "You're in no condition to make me leave, so just shut up! I'm staying."

"Why the hell won't you leave?"

"Because … Please, Hank, don't ask me to go."

"I don't need you. Go home."

"No, I'm staying."

He clenched his jaw tightly. Damn stubborn woman. Didn't she realize that if she stayed at his side all night long, people were bound to notice? "Why do you want to stay when I don't want you here?"

"Because … I can't leave you." She spoke the words so softly, so quietly, that for just a second he thought he hadn't heard her correctly. But when he looked up into her misty eyes, he knew that he had. Damn, how did she do it? How the hell did she turn him inside out this way?

"If you're determined to stay, ask the nurse to have a cot set up for you," he said tersely. "You're pregnant, for God's sake, you don't need to be sitting up in a chair all night."

She batted away the tears that escaped her eyes and then smiled at him. "All right. I'll go ask for a cot." She got up, walked across the room and paused just before she opened the door. "Oh, and one other thing—for your information, Mr. Bishop, I don't care who notices that I'm concerned enough about you to spend the night here." Without a backward glance, she left the room.

Seven

Everyone Hank knew in Marshall County thought Susan's devotion to him was admirable. The way she stayed at his side the night after he'd been shot. The way she came by the hospital morning, noon and night to check on him. The way she had insisted that he come home with her so she could personally take care of him while he recuperated. He'd even overheard a couple of hospital volunteers discussing their take on the situation.

"You know she couldn't look after Lowell, nurse him back to health and all. Poor girl, she's doing for her husband's best friend what she couldn't do for her husband," one lady said.

"So sad—isn't it?—that she lost her husband while she was just barely a month along in her pregnancy," the other lady said. "And then she almost lost the man who stepped in to fill Lowell's shoes. What would that sweet girl do without Hank Bishop to see her through these next few months?"

No one, except for his family, seemed to suspect that there was anything between Susan and him. Nothing more than the bond formed by their mutual love for Lowell Redman. And of course, that bond was in and of itself a very strong one. And so was the bond created by the child she carried. But what truly united them and yet at the same time kept them at arm's length was mutual desire. He could not—would not—make a move on Susan, knowing how vulnerable she was. He wasn't the kind of man who took advantage of women. Least of all a woman who deserved nothing less than a lifetime commitment.

With a cold beer in one hand and the remote control in the other, Hank sat in the overstuffed chair in his living room, watching a program about hunting on one of the local stations. He'd been home from the hospital three days and he was bored out of his skull. His side still ached some. The incision itched. And his head throbbed. Everybody from one end of town to the other had called him this morning. Checking on him. Concerned. Caring. He'd finally unplugged the phone, after Susan had called for the fourth time today. Why the hell couldn't she just leave him alone?

His family had been at Susan's to welcome him home three days ago, and Tallie had even threatened to take him back to Nashville with her if he didn't behave himself. He'd had to fight the whole damn bunch for the right to come back to his apartment alone. Susan had practically pleaded with him to stay in her home and allow her to play nursemaid. The last thing he needed was Susan hovering around him, looking at him with those big blue eyes, touching him with those soft hands. The two of them under the same roof would be tempting fate. And he wasn't a guy who took unnecessary chances when he knew the odds were against him.

If he could survive until Tuesday, then he could go back to work and end the boredom. And after Christmas, he'd move into his new apartment. Maybe seven miles separating him and Susan would be enough to quell his desire for her. He couldn't go on seeing her every day without betraying Lowell's memory, without betraying Susan's trust and without betraying his own principles.

The soft rap on the door was barely audible over the television, and he tried to ignore the sound. He figured it was Susan. Again. She'd brought his lunch over on a tray, then had come back an hour later and retrieved the tray. No doubt she was here now with his dinner. These mealtime visits had become routine since his return from the hospital.

The knocking grew louder. He grunted. Go away and leave me alone! He wanted to shout at her, to warn her to stay the hell away from him. But she wouldn't leave him alone. She wouldn't stay away. Her constant attention was driving him up the wall. Couldn't she understand that he didn't want her sympathy, her concern, her damn chicken potpies! He wanted
her.
Naked. In his arms. Moaning his name as he buried himself deeply within her.

"Hank? Hank, are you all right?" Susan called through the closed door. "Please, Hank, answer me."

He shot up out of the chair. A sharp pain sliced through his right temple. He groaned inwardly as he stormed to the door, swung it open and glared at Susan.

"Hi," she said in that soft, sexy little voice that made his whole body tense with awareness of her. "I've brought your supper. Pork chops. Scalloped potatoes. Butter beans. Corn muffins. And lemon icebox pie." She held a large tray, covered with a striped cloth.

"Susan, you don't have to do this, you know. Keep fixing my meals." He leaned casually against the door frame, bracing himself with one hand. "You have to be running yourself ragged trying to work every day and take care of me, too. I'm just fine. You can stop worrying about me."

She nudged his chest gently with the tray. "You need to eat this while it's still hot."

He eased aside and allowed her entrance. She swept past him, across the room and to the small dining table in the corner, near the one side window. She placed the tray on the table, whipped off the protective cloth and pulled out the chair.

"Sit down and eat. I'll put on a pot of coffee," she told him.

He grabbed her wrist as she reached up into the cabinet toward the pack of coffee filters. She turned and smiled at him.

"I can fix coffee, if I want it," he said. "And I'm perfectly capable of fixing myself a sandwich or opening a can of soup or zapping a frozen dinner in the microwave."

"Of course you are." She stroked his cheek with her free hand. "But I have to cook for myself anyway, so it's no trouble to fix enough for two."

His jaw tensed when she touched him. Why did she have to touch him? Didn't she know what that did to him? "Susan, I don't want you to keep bringing me my lunch and dinner every day. Do you understand?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't understand." The smile faded from her lips. She glanced down at her wrist manacled in his big hand. "What are you trying to tell me?"

He released his hold on her wrist and stepped back, putting a couple of feet between their bodies. "I'm saying that I don't want you going to so much trouble to—"

"And I just told you that it's no trouble. It's my pleasure."

She was looking at him, all soft and feminine and tempting. The subtle approach wasn't going to work with Susan. Why was she doing this to him? Why couldn't she just walk away and leave well enough alone?

Frustration overrode his common sense. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her a couple of times—gently, but with enough force to get her attention. "I'm sick and tired of your hovering around me, showering me with all this T.L.C. I'm not your husband. I'm not your lover. I might have taken over Lowell's job—temporarily—but I'm not taking over his role as the man in your life."

"I—I never thought that you were taking—"

"If you think showing me what a loving, attentive little wife you can be is going to make me want to stick around and be the kind of husband Lowell was, the kind of father he would have been, then think again, honey. I don't want to take Lowell's place as your husband. And I never wanted to be a father."

She glowered at him for a second, then reached out and slapped his face soundly. Tears welled up in her eyes. She sucked in a deep, agonized breath, then turned and ran.

Hank stood there, stunned by her physical attack. He rubbed his stinging cheek. All right. So maybe he'd been a little too brutal. But it had been her fault, not his, that he'd had to be so blunt.

He stared at the open door. Listened to her footsteps as she dashed down the wooden stairs.

Don't go after her, you idiot. Don't you dare run after her!

He rushed out onto the stoop at the top of the stairs. "Susan!"

She slammed the back door when she entered her house.

"Susan, dammit!"

He raced down the stairs, across the yard and up onto the back porch. Lifting his hand, he started to knock on the door, but thought better of the idea and reached for the doorknob. Surprisingly, it turned and the door opened. She hadn't locked the door. She'd been too angry and hurt to think rationally, he told himself as he entered the kitchen.

"Susan, honey, where are you? We need to talk."

Fred and Ricky met him in the hallway, both mutts yapping at his heels. In the corner Lucy eyed him as if he were a trapped mouse, and from behind him, he heard the hiss of Ethel's breath. Great! That's all he needed—to have Susan's animal entourage attack him.

"Susan? I'm sorry. Okay?"

No response.

"I had no right to say those things to you. I
am
sorry."

Hank searched the downstairs, but didn't find her. Where the hell was she? He climbed the stairs, two growling dogs and two evil-eyed cats following him. He opened the first door he came to and found the small room empty, except for buckets of unopened paint and rolls of wallpaper and border lying on the floor. Suddenly he realized that he'd stumbled into the room Susan was planning to use for a nursery. He exited quickly and went down the hall to the next room. The door stood wide open, revealing a large bedroom that he instantly knew must have once belonged to Miss Alice. An enormous, ornately carved antique bed dominated the room, which apparently was, as was the room next to it, being redecorated.

Susan lay across the bed, her shoulders trembling as she sobbed quietly. How was he going to handle this situation? He hadn't wanted to hurt her, hadn't wanted to make her cry. But what choice had she given him?

"Susan?" He called her name from the doorway.

She lifted her head a fraction, glanced over her shoulder and stared at him, her eyes red, her cheeks flushed and damp with tears. A hard knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He didn't think he'd ever made a woman cry. He deliberately avoided circumstances that would create this type of emotional display.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, gasping between sobs.

"I came to apologize," he told her as he took a tentative step into the room.

Susan's snarling mutts followed him. The two cats crawled up on the bed, flanking their mistress in a protective manner. He didn't like the idea that her animals thought they had to guard her against him. He wasn't going to hurt her.
No, you dope,
his conscience reminded him,
you've already done that, haven't you? You've already hurt her.

I was just trying to save both of us some major grief, he told himself silently, hoping she would understand without his explaining any further about how dangerous they were to each other.

"You don't have to apologize." She sat up on the side of the bed and looked directly at him. "I didn't realize what you thought … how you felt. I never meant to crowd you. I don't expect anything from you, Hank. I know you didn't volunteer to take Lowell's place as a husband and father."

"I shouldn't have said that." Hank took a few more hesitant steps toward the bed.

"Yes, you should have. You had every right to say exactly what you meant. I'm the one who … I overreacted." She stood, her movements slow and cautious.

"You've got to know what this is really all about." He closed the distance between them quickly, halting when only a couple of feet separated them. "I'm not husband and father material, honey. So if that's what you're looking for, then you've got the wrong man."

"I know." She reached out, her hand trembling, and caressed his cheek. "Of course, I know what this is all about. It's about the fact that I'm Lowell's widow and you're his best friend and it's wrong for us to want each other. But … we do."

"Yeah, we do, don't we?" His heartbeat roared in his ears like a jet engine. His sex hardened and throbbed. His head told him to run. His body demanded that he stay.

She draped her arms around his neck, stood on tiptoe and brought her lips to his. "The way you make me feel scares me. It always has. I've been running from these feelings since I was a teenager. I'm tired of running. Tired of trying to pretend that I don't want you so much that the wanting is ripping me apart inside."

"No promises," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "No commitment. Just this moment and what we're feeling now."

"Yes." With that one word, Susan surrendered to Hank and to the wild, untamed emotions that she had kept buried deep inside her all her life.

He wrapped her in his arms, lowered his head and took her mouth. Sweet heaven! The feel of her pressing against him was his undoing. She clung to him, making soft, little feminine sounds deep in her throat as he plunged in his tongue and explored the warmth inside her. She responded instantly, fervently, enticing his tongue in an age-old mating dance. He moved his hands down her back, over her hips and around to cup her buttocks and bring her mound intimately against his sex. He pulsed against her. She rubbed rhythmically against him.

He backed her up against the edge of the bed. She swayed. He eased her onto the bed, his body following hers. He poised himself on his elbows, hovering over her, his gaze feasting on the sight of her—small, vulnerable, and totally helpless—lying beneath him.

"If you don't want this, tell me now." He growled the words, as if saying them pained him greatly.

This was her most treasured fantasy—and her most terrifying nightmare. Surrendering to her wanton desire for Hank. He was giving her this one final chance to escape. She could tell that he was holding on to his iron will, that he was still in control, but just barely. He was a man on the precipice, ready to plunge headlong into the abyss. And he would take her with him, down into that hot, sultry darkness—unless she told him no. And told him now.