The Way Home (11 page)

Cal felt a flush of pleasure at the older man's praise. “Thank you.”

“So now I want you to take a few days off. Can't have our people working themselves into the ground.”

Cal hesitated. “Actually, I was saving my vacation for later in the summer.”

The older man waved his protest aside. “Who said anything about vacation? How many hours a week have you put in for this trial? How many weekends have you worked?”

“A few,” Cal acknowledged.

Morgan snorted. “That's an understatement if I ever heard one. Just go, boy. Spend a few days in those mountains you love. Although why I send you there, I don't know. I have a feeling one of these days you won't come back.” He eyed the younger man shrewdly.

Cal shifted uncomfortably. “I'll be back,” he promised.

“This time,” the older man amended. “But what about next time? None of my business, of course. But I want you to know that you have a bright future here.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Just stating the facts, son. Now go tie up the loose ends of this case and take off for a few days.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No need to thank me. You earned it.”

Yes, he had, Cal acknowledged as he made his way back to his office. It had been a grueling few months. All trials were stressful, but the high-profile nature of this case had increased the pressure exponentially. Though the trial itself had been relatively brief, the months of behind-the-scenes research and preparation had taken a toll, and he was tired. He needed a break. Except for brief visits home on major holidays, he
hadn't had more than two consecutive days off in almost a year.

Home.
The word itself was telling, he mused. That was how he thought of the mountains. And Morgan, with his keen insight, had picked up on that. Perhaps on this trip he would find a way to talk to his father about his growing desire to return, Cal reflected. He would find a way to make Jack Richards understand that his definition of success wasn't necessarily his son's. The last thing in the world Cal wanted to do was disappoint the man who had given so selflessly to him for so many years. But he had to live his own life. And he was growing more and more certain that he wanted to live it in the mountains.

 

Amy glanced at the phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. She hadn't heard from Cal since she left the message for him earlier in the week, but then, why should she? she told herself curtly. He had no reason to call her. Sure, they'd spent a couple of pleasant evenings together. But neither one had been a “real” date. The first night she'd
bought
his time. And the dinner at Rick's resulted from a chance meeting at Saint Vincent's. The few words they'd subsequently exchanged during the trial hardly counted as “social” interaction. There was certainly nothing in any of their encounters on which to base a relationship. Which she didn't want, anyway, of course—right?

Amy sat back in her desk chair and sighed. Six weeks ago—was it only six weeks?—she would have answered that question with a resounding “Right!”
She'd been perfectly happy with her life. She'd known exactly what she wanted and exactly how she intended to go about getting it. Relationships weren't even
on
her list of priorities. She considered them a distraction, an impediment to her career goals. And career was everything.

But that was BC—before Cal. Somehow, her BC life now seemed shallow and empty. The goals she'd prized so highly—fame, power, prestige, money—no longer had quite the same luster or appeal. Instead, she'd come to discover that the work itself was just as important to her. Especially issue-oriented kinds of stories. But only since Cal entered her life had she begun to analyze
why.

It was becoming more and more clear to her that despite her efforts to leave her farm roots behind, to live the life of big-city glitz and glamour, at heart she was still the same Amy Ann Winter who had been raised in a loving family with solid values and instilled with a belief that she should count among her priorities a commitment to doing good work that made life better for other people. She was still the same young girl who had been brought up to believe that the real satisfaction in life came from focusing on others, not on oneself. It was part of who she was. Period.

She'd pushed that upbringing aside for seven years as she devoted herself to making her mark in broadcast journalism. And she was succeeding. But at what price? Though she'd learned to play them, she didn't like the political games. She didn't like the jockeying for power. She didn't like the cutthroat nature of a
business in which you had rivals, not friends. And she especially didn't like dealing with the Jamie Johnsons of the world.

At the same time, she was good at what she did. She not only had a solid news sense, but even better, a knack for ferreting out the “story behind the story.” That skill had brought her to the attention of the “right” people more than once. They had recognized that her coverage was more thorough, well-rounded and dimensional than that of her competitors, and that was gratifying. But she now knew that covering fast-breaking stories just didn't cut it for her, good as she was at it. She was ready to move on to pure feature work, work that had a lasting impact on people's lives. It was time.

There was only one little problem, she thought with a sigh. Because she
was
so good at what she currently did, more and more of these assignments were coming her way. While she'd worked hard to put some meat on her coverage of the Jamie Johnson case, for most of the stations the story had been more about entertainment than reporting. It certainly hadn't been about justice. No wonder Cal had such a poor opinion of the press.

Amy propped her chin in her hand. A few weeks ago, if someone had told her that she'd feel sympathetic toward Cal Richards she would have laughed in their face. And the notion that she would actually
like
him would have been ludicrous. Though they were different in many ways, she admired Cal. He had impeccable ethics built on a solid foundation of faith; he was generous and kind; and he radiated
strength and trustworthiness. Bottom line, he was the kind of person she would like to have as a friend.

The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. She wondered—as she had every time it had rung since she'd left her message—if Cal might be on the other end, and the thought sent her pulse into double time. Yet a phone call from someone toward whom she felt merely “friendly” would hardly produce such a visceral response, she realized with a startled frown before a second ring prompted her to pick up the receiver.

“Amy? We've got a hostage situation at a day-care center. We need you there pronto. Steve is already on the way.”

Amy automatically switched gears and reached for a notepad. But even as she jotted down the information the news editor was relaying, she acknowledged that she'd been dodging her feelings about Cal for too long. It was time to face them and either put the relationship to rest—or do something about exploring it. Though she'd always considered relationships too much of a distraction, Cal Richards was proving to be a distraction with or without a relationship, she admitted. And until she figured out how—or if—he fit into her life, she didn't think that was going to change.

 

Cal folded his long frame into his favorite overstuffed chair, opened a can of soda, picked up the newspaper and punched the remote on the television. This was the first night in weeks that he'd been home in time to watch the evening news on his own TV,
and he intended to savor every moment. Now that the burden of the trial was lifted from his shoulders, he felt more relaxed than he had in months.

He settled back and glanced at the screen. He wasn't particularly interested in the events of the day, but he
was
interested in seeing Amy. In the past couple of days he'd been tempted to call her more times than he cared to admit, but so far he'd resisted. He needed to get his life in order first, and he hoped the trip home would help him do that. In fact, in forty-eight hours he'd be sitting down to some of Gram's homemade biscuits and gravy right about now. He could hardly wait, he thought with a grin.

Cal scanned the newspaper, giving only marginal attention to the TV until the news program began and he discovered that Amy was covering the lead story.

“The Child First Day-Care Center is the scene of a drama that began this afternoon at three when a gunman entered the facility and took the students and teachers in one of the classrooms hostage,” announced the anchorman. “He has been tentatively identified as the father of a former student who died in a bus crash on one of the school's field trips. We go live now to reporter Amy Winter who is on the scene. Amy, can you give us an update on the situation?”

A shot of Amy standing across the street from the day-care facility filled the screen.

“It now appears that there may also be a bomb involved, Peter. A few moments ago the gunman issued a warning that if police try to enter the building he will, and I quote, ‘blow the place up.' He has also
been positively identified as Roger Wilson, whose son, Dennis, was killed about a year ago in the bus accident you mentioned. Following that incident, Mr. Wilson unsuccessfully sued the center for negligence. According to his ex-wife, whom I spoke with moments ago by phone, he has been under psychiatric care for some time and may have a drug problem.”

“How many hostages are still inside?” the anchorman asked.

“Eight children, ages three and four, and two teachers. The gunman has yet to make any demands, so at this point the authorities are waiting to—”

An explosion suddenly ripped through the air, and the camera jerked, making the image of Amy tilt crazily. Cal jumped to his feet, nearly choking on the soda he'd just swallowed. Pandemonium broke out at the scene, and the camera showed media and bystanders ducking for cover before it refocused on the day-care center.

“Peter, as you can see, the bomb threat wasn't an idle one.” Though Amy's voice was controlled, the slight quiver that ran through it told Cal she was badly shaken. But she was all right, thank God! “It appears that the explosion occurred at the rear of the building, which is relatively close to where the hostages are….”

Suddenly a toddler appeared at the front door of the day-care center, and Amy paused and turned as a murmur ran through the crowd. The little boy was clearly dazed, and there was blood on his face. A hush fell over the scene as he wobbled unsteadily into the
open, then faltered, and Cal heard Amy whisper, “Dear God!”

The child stood there for several eternal seconds as the bystanders stared at him in shock. Just as Cal thought, Why doesn't someone do something? Amy suddenly appeared in front of the camera. Cal caught his breath sharply as she slipped through the police barricade, dashed toward the toddler and scooped him up, cradling him protectively against her chest. She turned and started to run back toward the camera, but she'd only gone a couple of steps when a second explosion ripped through the building. This one was much closer to the front and spewed debris in all directions. Amy staggered momentarily, then continued her flight. The camera stayed on her as she returned to the safety of the sidelines and gently placed the crying child in the waiting arms of a paramedic. Someone thrust a microphone into her hands, and she stared down at it in confusion.

Suddenly a paramedic touched her shoulder. “Ma'am, I think you're hurt. Why don't you let me take a look?”

Amy turned. The back of her hair was matted with blood, and Cal felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. Suddenly she swayed, and as he watched in horror, her face took on an ashen tone and she crumpled to the ground.

And then the live feed went dead.

C
al's heart stopped, then lurched on, and his hand convulsively crushed the soda can. Every nerve in his body was taut and his lungs seem paralyzed as he stared at the screen.

The scene shifted back to the studio. “We'll keep you informed about the situation at First Child Day-Care Center just as soon as we have additional information,” the anchorman promised.

The co-anchor started talking about some sort of labor contract that had been signed that day, and Cal stared at her incredulously. How in heaven's name could they go on with the news as if nothing had happened?
Didn't they realize that Amy could be seriously injured?

Throughout his career, Cal had scrupulously avoided using his connections for personal reasons. But during the next five minutes he used every one he could muster. And after several terse calls, he had the information he wanted.

 

Amy stared up groggily at the nurse, trying vainly to focus on her face. From her curled-up fetal position, she was looking at the woman sideways, which didn't help in the least.

“There's someone here who would like to see you,” the woman said in a voice that seemed to come from far away. “He's been waiting for quite some time. May I let him come in?”

Amy blinked, still trying to clear her vision. But the effort only made her head hurt worse. “Who is it?” she mumbled.

“He didn't give his name. He just said he was a close friend.”

Amy frowned, trying to concentrate. It must be Steve, though she was surprised he hadn't stayed at the scene to continue his live coverage. After all, it was a hot story. But who else could it be?

“Okay,” she agreed, closing her eyes against the bright lights. The nurse's shoes squeaked on the tile floor as she retreated, and Amy felt herself quickly drifting back into oblivion. She didn't fight the blackness. Maybe the next time she woke up, her head wouldn't hurt so much and—

“I hope you don't mind if I stretched the truth a bit to get in here.”

The familiar, though slightly roughened, voice brought her abruptly back to reality, and her eyelids flew open. She squinted against the lights as she stared up at the tall, slightly out-of-focus figure towering above her. “Cal?”

“Yeah. It's me.”

She made an attempt to sit up, but he restrained her with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. She heard the sound of a chair being pulled across the floor, and then he sat beside her, his face only inches from hers.

“I don't think you're supposed to move around too much,” he said gently. “I'll come down to your level, okay?”

Amy continued to stare at him incredulously. Never in a million years would she have expected Cal to show up at the hospital. But she had never been happier to see anyone in her life, she realized with a start. Suddenly her throat constricted and she found herself close to tears. Without even stopping to consider, she reached out a hand and drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Cal.” It was all she could manage.

He enfolded her hand in a warm, firm clasp. “It's okay, Amy,” he said with an odd catch in his voice. “It's over. You'll be fine.”

The words were as much to reassure himself as her, he realized, as he studied her pale face and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He was still badly shaken by his first sight of her, huddled under the thin white blanket on the gurney, looking so fragile and vulnerable—the antithesis of the strong, gutsy woman he had come to know. And he didn't feel much more reassured up close. Her luminous green eyes were slightly dazed, and in her hand he could feel the tremors that still radiated throughout her body.

Cal watched as she closed her eyes and struggled to keep her tears in check, the spiky fan of her damp, dark lashes sweeping against her too-pale cheeks. He
wanted to tell her not to bother, to go ahead and cry. But she was a woman accustomed to being in charge, and he understood her need to regain some semblance of control. So he waited quietly, simply stroking his thumb comfortingly over the back of her hand.

As Amy struggled to stem the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, she tried to come to grips with Cal's presence. Why had he come? What did it mean? She hadn't heard from him since the trial ended, had come to the conclusion that any further contact between them would have to be initiated by her. She hadn't figured out just what she was going to do about that—if anything. But now fate had dramatically stepped in, taking the decision out of her hands. Cal was here, and she was happy.

Amy knew that those last two facts were significant, and that she'd have to think about them later. But right now her brain felt too fuzzy to process anything other than gratitude.

When she at last felt more in control of her emotions, she drew a long, shaky breath and opened her eyes. Cal's face was still only inches away, and at this proximity, she noticed things she'd never seen before. The irises of his troubled, deep brown eyes were flecked with gold, for example, and there was a fine sprinkling of gray at his temples. The two deeply etched lines in his brow made her yearn to reach over and smooth them away, but she resisted the impulse, letting her gaze drop to his lips instead. They were set in a grim, unsmiling line, and his jaw was rigid with tension. The strain of the last few hours was clearly evident in his haggard face—and all because
of her, she marveled, deeply touched by his concern but also sorry to be the cause of it.

“Please don't worry,” she murmured.

He squeezed her hand, and forced his lips into a smile. “Well, it's not every day I see someone I—” He paused and cleared his throat. “Someone I know practically get blown up on TV.”

He tried for a light tone, but he was shaken by what he'd almost said to Amy. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice.

The door opened, and they both glanced toward the white-coated figure who entered. The woman looked at Amy as she approached them, then held out her hand to Cal.

“I'm Dr. Whitney. And you're…?”

“Cal Richards. I'm a friend of Amy's.”

The woman nodded, then turned her attention to Amy. “I've checked the X rays, Ms. Winter. You're one lucky lady. Everything looks fine. There isn't even any evidence of a concussion.”

Amy managed a weak grin. “My mother always said I had a hard head.”

“Not too hard,” the doctor amended. “The flying debris put a nice gouge in the back. To the tune of twenty stitches, in fact. Fortunately, once your hair grows back, you'll never notice the scar.”

“How about the little boy, doctor? And the others in the building?”

“A number were injured in the explosions, but there were no fatalities. Thanks to you, the boy has just minor cuts and abrasions. But it would be a dif
ferent story if he'd still been standing by the building when the second explosion went off.”

Amy shrugged dismissively. “Someone else would have gone to get him if I hadn't.”

Cal's hand tightened around hers, and she was struck by the intensity in his eyes when she looked up at him. “But everyone else hesitated, Amy. You didn't.”

“He's right,” the doctor confirmed.

Amy tore her gaze away from Cal's. “I love kids. It was just instinctive.”

The doctor glanced at Cal. “This is one special lady, you know.”

Cal nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

“Okay, here's the scoop,” the doctor continued, turning her attention back to Amy. “We have no reason to keep you. You'll probably recover much faster at home, anyway. I'll give you a prescription for pain, but the best thing you can do for the next few days is rest. You may experience a bit of light-headedness for the next day or two, so move slowly. You can see your own doctor to have the stitches removed in a few days. Any questions?”

“No.”

“Let's have you sit up, then.”

The woman reached over to assist Amy, and Cal moved to her other side. She carefully swung her legs over the edge of the gurney and let them dangle for a moment, closing her eyes as a wave of dizziness and nausea swept over her.

“Oh, wow,” Amy said faintly, gripping the edge
of the gurney. She felt Cal move closer and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Dizzy?” the doctor asked.

She nodded.

“Nauseous?”

Again Amy nodded.

“Just sit there a moment and breathe steadily. It should pass quickly.”

Amy kept her eyes closed and focused on following the doctor's instructions. When she finally felt more normal, she opened her eyes.

“Okay?” the doctor asked, studying her critically.

“I think so.”

“Your blouse and jacket are on the chair,” the woman said, nodding toward the items. “Can you manage, or should I send a nurse in?”

Amy's head was rapidly clearing, and she shook her head. “No. I can handle it.”

The doctor glanced at Cal. “Will you see that she gets home? Or should we call someone else?”

“I'll take her.”

“Good. All right, Ms. Winter. You should be fine. If you have any problems—extended dizziness, excessive bleeding from the cut—let us know. You'll need to change the dressing every day, maybe twice a day for the first couple of days. I'll have a nurse bring in some gauze and tape for you, along with the prescription.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the woman said with a smile. “We don't get too many heroes in here.”

Amy flushed, then turned to Cal as the woman ex
ited. He was looking at her with such tenderness that her breath caught in her throat. If she didn't know better… But no, that was ridiculous. That knock on the head was giving her all sorts of crazy ideas. Besides, his expression was gone so quickly that she wondered if she'd just imagined it.

“Ready to go home?”

She nodded. “Could you hand me my clothes?”

“Can you manage this?” he asked as he retrieved her blouse and jacket.

“I think so.” She reached around, then frowned. “Except maybe for the ties on this gown. Would you undo them?”

“Sure.” He stepped to her side and she angled her body away from him. The green hospital gown was tied in two places, and as his fingers worked the knots he tried to ignore the expanse of creamy skin visible between the edges of the gown. It wasn't easy. More than once his fingers inadvertently brushed against the curve of her slender back, and each time an electric shock seemed to ricochet through him, jolting him not only physically, but emotionally. No other woman had ever drawn such a powerful response from him with so little provocation. That response, coming on the heels of his unexpectedly gut-wrenching panic at her injury, left him floundering in an unfamiliar sea of emotions.

He fumbled through the second tie, drawing a ragged breath when at last it slipped open. “Should I leave while you change?” he asked unsteadily.

She shook her head. “Just turn around, please.”

Cal gladly complied. He needed some time to com
pose himself and get off the emotional roller coaster he was on. Like a couple of weeks, maybe. Unfortunately, the two minutes it took Amy to change wasn't nearly enough.

“Okay. I'm decent.”

He turned slowly, and though she smiled, he could see the weariness and pain in her face.

“I'd be happy to call a cab, Cal,” she offered. “I hate to put you to all this trouble.”

“Forget it.”

From the tone of his voice, she figured the subject wasn't open to discussion. And she wasn't up to one, anyway. Instead, she gripped the edge of the gurney and started to stand.

Cal was beside her in an instant. “Whoa! Remember what the doctor said. Move slowly.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “Okay, try it now.”

Amy rose gingerly to her feet. She swayed for a moment, and he gave her a worried look as he tightened his grip.

“I'm okay,” she assured him. “Just a little light-headed.”

Before he could reply, a knock at the door drew their attention, and the nurse entered. “Dr. Whitney said to give you these.” She held out a package of gauze and a prescription, and Cal took them. “Do you need any help getting to your car? Would you like a wheelchair?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

They spoke simultaneously, and Amy glanced up at Cal. “I can walk.”

For a moment she thought he was going to argue, but instead he turned to the nurse. “Could you wait with her at the entrance while I pull up?”

“No problem.”

“That's really not necessary,” Amy protested.

“Humor me, okay?”

There was something intense but unreadable in his eyes that made Amy's protest die in her throat. “Okay.”

By the time she was safely buckled into his car a few minutes later and they were on their way, a deep-seated weariness had settled over her. She answered his few questions in monosyllables, and was grateful when he lapsed into silence. Though the drive home was swift, with just one stop to get her prescription filled, the road seemed excessively bumpy, and the throbbing pain in her head intensified. When they at last pulled into her parking lot she let out an audible sigh of relief.

Cal parked the car and glanced over at her with a worried frown. He'd been stealing looks at her throughout the drive, and she seemed to have grown paler over the past half hour. He wasn't entirely convinced that the hospital should have released her, but he supposed the doctor was right. She would get more rest here.

“Wait there. I'll come around and help you out,” he instructed.

Amy acquiesced with a nod. She'd planned to simply thank Cal in the parking lot and send him on his way, but she suddenly felt too shaky to make it into her apartment without help.

“Okay, nice and easy,” he said as he pulled her door open and extended his hand.

With his help, she stood carefully—only to suddenly find herself in his arms.

“Just take a minute to get your sea legs,” he said huskily as he held her protectively against his chest. He had planned to give her a moment to get her balance—but he lost his the second her soft curves pressed against the length of his body. She felt so good in his arms. So right. A powerful surge of yearning swept over him, and it took every ounce of his willpower to fight the temptation to lean down and taste the sweetness of her lips.