Lucy and The Lieutenant. Helen Lacey
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He wasn’t twenty years old. He wasn’t blinded by youth or ignorance. He’d seen the world and life at its darkest and would never be able to escape who he had become. Finding someone to share that with seemed impossible. The occasional one-night stand was all he allowed himself. And since Lucy Monero was not a one-night-stand kind of woman, he knew he had to keep avoiding her.
By the time he left his mother’s it was nearly two. He headed to the hardware store to pick up a few things and spent the remainder of the afternoon working on the walls in the front part of the tavern. Turning in to bed around ten, he woke up at six on Sunday morning to get an early start, planning to spend the day sanding back the long cedar bar. But at one o’clock he got a call from Grady to say Uncle Joe had been taken to the hospital and was in the emergency room. It took him five minutes to change and head out and another fifteen to get to the hospital. He called Grady again once he was out of the truck and headed for the ER.
By the time he reached Reception he felt as though his chest might explode. The woman behind the counter said she’d inquire after his uncle and told him to wait.
Great. Exactly what he didn’t want to do.
He knew Grady was on his way to the hospital, so he paced the room for a few minutes and then finally sat. The hospital sounds reverberated in his eardrums. Phones, beepers, gurneys, heels clicking over tiles. Each sound seemed louder than the last.
He sat for five minutes, swamped by a building helplessness that was suffocating.
When he could stand it no more he got up and headed back to the counter. “Is there any news about my uncle?”
The fifty-something woman scowled a little and flicked through some charts on the desk. “No, nothing yet.”
“Then can you find someone who might know something?”
She scowled again and Brant’s impatience rose. He wasn’t usually a hothead. Most of the time he was calm and in complete control. Twelve years of military training had ingrained those traits into him. But he didn’t feel calm now. He felt as though he could barely stand to be in his own skin.
“Brant?”
He knew that voice.
Turning his head, he saw Lucy and relief flooded through him. In some part of his mind he wondered how she had the power to do that, to soothe his turbulent emotions. Just knowing she was there somehow made things easier. Better. He swiveled on his heels and watched as she walked toward him, wearing scrubs and a white coat. Brant met her gaze and swallowed hard.
“You’re here.”
“I’m here,” she said and smiled fractionally. “What do you know?”
“Not much,” he said and shook his head. “What happened?”
Her eyes gave it away. It was serious. “He had a heart attack.”
A heart attack? Fear coursed through his blood. “Is he...is he dead?”
The second it took for her to answer seemed like an hour. “No.”
Brant fought back the emotion clogging his throat. “Is he going to make it?”
She nodded slowly. “I think so.”
“Thank God,” Brant breathed and, without thinking, reached out and hauled her into his arms.
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