Mom In The Middle. Mae Nunn
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as he took the final turn that would lead them to downtown Austin’s premier emergency-care facility.
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Five,” he said into the rearview mirror.
“What are their names?” Abby’s wide eyes were back.
“I won’t bore you with the long versions. But they go by Meg, Kate, Andrea, Tess and Casey. I came along between Andrea and Tess.
“What was it like growing up in a house with that many women?” She seemed amused at the thought. The tiny glimmer of humor in her eyes was charming.
“Brutal.” He chuckled. “They spoiled me rotten. Between Mom and the girls, every need was met before I could ask a second time. By grade school I’d figured out that the kid-glove approach with my sisters would always get me what I wanted.”
“Well, I hope Dillon has a sister to be soft on some day. But not five,” she teased and again his heart surged with compassion. This young woman had so much on her mind yet she was putting him at ease.
“Here we are,” he warned as he pulled into the hospital’s emergency entrance.
The ambulance attendants had already wheeled their patient through the automatic doors and disappeared into the triage unit. Guy hurried around to help his passenger step down.
“I’ll be right in as soon as I park.”
With an efficiency that amazed him, Abby slung the heavy-looking bag over her shoulder and propped the boy on her hip. She offered a grateful smile and hurried into the building.
Forty-five minutes later there was still no news. Guy checked the time on his watch against the display on his cell phone. Two o’clock. He returned it to the clip-on holster and shifted in the waiting-room chair that was far too low and narrow for the comfort of a man of his stature. Once again he reminded himself that he had to do something about the extra ten pounds that years of eating on the run had added to his six-foot-one frame. But his mother was constantly telling him he looked better with a little more meat on his bones. He stretched his long legs and crossed one ankle over the other to admire his newest pair of custom-made cowboy boots, constantly impressed with the craftsmanship of Texas boot-makers. The kangaroo leather of the handmade Luccheses had molded nicely to his size-twelve feet during the four months he’d worn them. Soon they’d be stretched by cedar shoe trees and lined up with a dozen other pairs made of everything from ostrich to boa constrictor. It would be a pity to retire these boots but that was his way of marking the end of a project, acknowledging it was successful.
Though he’d consumed his weight in antacids, a new H&H was open and running relatively smoothly.
Until today.
Well, he’d remain prayerful and positive, put this minor crisis behind him and be moving on to the next site in no time. In a couple weeks Casey would arrive to take the handoff. He’d head home to Iowa where he’d jump knee-deep into new construction planning for the Galveston location. Austin had been nice but he was eagerly looking forward to fishing the waters of the bay during his tour of duty in Galveston.
A fussy-baby wail interrupted his personal musings. He glanced up and spotted Abby heading his way with little Dillon clinging to her for dear life. Guy jumped to his feet and took several steps in her direction.
“Any news?”
“Still waiting on a doctor to read the X-rays.” She jostled the boy and shushed him, having no apparent impact at all as his complaints grew louder. She pressed his face to her shoulder in a useless effort to muffle the sobs.
“I’m sorry, it’s way past his nap time and he’s had all the cookies he’s going to get until he eats some vegetables.”
“Can I give it a try?” Guy raised his arms, hands open, ready to take Dillon. With ten nieces and nephews, he was handy with a cranky toddler if he did say so himself.
“I don’t think so.” The skepticism on her face almost made Guy want to laugh. “He won’t let you hold him. My dad’s the only man Dillon’s used to.”
“Your husband’s not good with little ones, huh?”
“I’m a widow,” she said softly.
His jaw clenched along with his insides as he realized his verbal gaffe and the complicated facts that accompanied her simple response. She was a young woman alone, so much weight on her slender shoulders and without the love and support of a husband, that treasure the married women in his family prized above all else.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make things worse for you.”
“Don’t feel badly. It’s been nearly two years and it’s a common assumption when you have a toddler, so I’m almost used to it.”
The boy whined louder.
“I really am pretty good with a grumpy baby,” he assured her, remembering his sister Tess’s wedding day when he’d been officially appointed to make sure none of the little ones got out of sorts during the reception. Good thing it was his policy never to take a date to a family function, because these days the girls expected Uncle Guy to be their babysitter.
Dillon strained against his mother’s efforts to rest his head on her shoulder and his blubbering continued with gusto. His face was contorted in aggravation when he turned his head toward Guy.
“Hey, little pal,” Guy used his best cajoling tone and nodded toward the nearby glass wall that over-looked the hospital’s courtyard. “Wanna go look out the window?” He held his palms out, but not too close.
Briefly distracted from his misery, Dillon’s crying stopped. He snuffled and hiccupped while his mother smoothed the face that was remarkably free of tears. He peered at Guy, who used the positive sign to take a small step closer and smile. The boy looked to his mother for guidance.
“Go see birdies?” she encouraged. “Tweet, tweet, tweet.”
His head bobbed and he leaned away from his mama, reaching chubby arms outward. Guy scooped up the boy, amazed by how heavy the little tyke felt.
“Whoa, this fella is solid.”
“Tell me about it.” Her eyes were round. She was clearly surprised that Dillon had left the security of her arms. She shrugged, then dropped her large purse on a nearby chair and rotated her shoulders. The latest revelation as well as the creases across her forehead told Guy the contents of the bag were nothing compared to the weight on this woman who was not much more than a girl herself.
“Mrs. Cramer? Dr. Cabot is ready to speak with you now,” a nurse called.
Abby turned toward the voice, then back to Guy and her son. Worry deepened the lines in her pretty face. She leaned to retrieve the bag and Guy knew Dillon would naturally be next.
“Go ahead. Leave him with me. We’ll be fine and you can give the doctor your undivided attention.”
She squinted, seemed unsure what to do.
“Weet, weet!” Dillon squealed and pointed toward the window.
“You betcha.” Guy smiled and repositioned the boy to face the wide pane of glass and the oversize birdbath outside that held his attention. “He’s happy, so we’ll wait right here.” He tipped his head toward the waiting nurse. “Go.”
Abby let the bag fall back on the floor and turned away. Her low heels tapped a rapid beat against the linoleum floor as she hurried to learn the condition of her mother. After she disappeared through the gray swinging doors, Guy carried Dillon for a closer look at the pair of daredevil mockingbirds at play.
Twenty minutes later she was back. Her fair skin had lost its appealing color. She pinched her bottom lip between her teeth and wrapped her arms across her torso, as if holding in what strength she had left. Dillon’s head had slumped to Guy’s shoulder, heavy with the need for a nap. Guy folded himself into a nearby chair and