Cash chuckled. "No. When the city fathers threatened to fire two of my officers because they arrested a drunk politician, the whole police and fire departments threatened to resign if I got the boot. It was a life-changing moment. Suddenly, I went from being an outsider in Jacobsville to being part of a big family." He shrugged. "I like it."

Garon had felt some of that closeness when he'd first become obsessed with Grace. So quickly it had ended, when he'd savaged her and pushed her aside. He was never going to get over the way he'd treated her. Especially now that he knew the whole truth.

"If they tarred and feathered family, I guess I'd qualify," he told the other man. He drew in a long, weary breath. "I didn't know she had a bad heart. I kept pushing her to go to college, to learn a trade, to live up to her potential. She told me she couldn't manage a high-stress job, and it never occurred to me that it could be because of a health problem. I just thought she needed more than high school to cope in the modern world." he glanced at Cash ruefully. "Then I took her to work with me and left her in the waiting room. When I came back, she was happily chatting away in Arabic to a Jordanian murder witness, translating for him. She speaks several languages," he added proudly.

Cash smiled. "I don't suppose she's told you that she belongs to MENSA?"

His indrawn breath was audible. "MENSA?" It was an organization whose members had extremely high intelligent quotients, far higher than the average college graduate.

He nodded. "Marquez mentioned it. He had a flaming crush on her when he was younger, but her intelligence intimidated him. She has a photographic memory. And there's this secret project she's been working on all year that just hit the big time." He glanced toward Garon, who looked as if he'd been hit in the face with a pie. "She didn't tell you?"

Garon's eyes narrowed. "Why do you know more about my wife than I do?"

"Because Barbara likes me," he emphasized.

"My G.o.d. Barbara!" he groaned. "I didn't call her...!"

"Relax. I called her. She's getting together a prayer group tonight."

In years past, when he was still hating G.o.d for Annalee, Garon would have scoffed at that idea. But now, with Grace's precious life hanging by a thread, he only nodded gratefully.

Garon stood up and went to the phone. He pushed the b.u.t.tons that would connect him to the chaplain's office. They'd offered help if he needed it. He did. He asked if someone could tell him how the catherization was going, and they gladly agreed to find out. In potentially fatal cases, such as Grace's, there was no agency that surpa.s.sed the chaplain's service. They provided liaison between the doctors and patients' families, as well as comfort and companionship when people faced such anguish over the lives of their loved ones.

The chaplain's office didn't call Garon back. One of the staff came to find him, a middle-aged woman with short blond hair who reminded him of Barbara. She wore the ident.i.ty tag of the chaplain's service, and her name was Nan.

"They're almost finished," she said gently. "She's doing fine."

"Thank G.o.d," Garon said heavily. His eyes were tired.

"The cardiologist will be along to see you shortly," she added. "They're discussing options. The decision will depend on what they see in the catherization. Is she taking blood thinners?"

Garon's face went white. He didn't know. This was a question that might mean life and death for his wife, and he didn't even know what medications she took. He was ashamed.

Before he had to admit that he didn't know, Coltrain came down the hall with a man dressed in surgical greens.

Garon walked to meet them, with Cash beside him. His eyes asked the question.

"What are you going to do?" he added.

"This is Dr. Franks," Coltrain introduced them. "This is Garon Grier, and his brother, Cash. Garon is Grace's husband."

"Pleased to meet you. Sorry about the circ.u.mstances," Dr. Franks said as he shook hands. His expression was solemn. "Dr. Coltrain has been giving me your wife's case history. You didn't know about her heart?"

"She refused permission," Coltrain said shortly. "I couldn't tell him."

"Protecting you, was she?" Dr. Franks asked gently.

"Yes," Garon said tautly. "I lost my first wife and child to cancer, when the baby was five months along. Grace knew."

Cash gave him a wide-eyed stare. He hadn't known that. It was indicative of the distance that had existed between the brothers.

Dr. Franks grimaced. "A kindhearted young woman. But now we must decide how best to proceed. You must realize that the child complicates things...."

"Grace comes first," Garon interrupted, dark eyes narrow with feeling. "No matter what."

Dr. Franks smiled. "I'm hoping to save them both. We must decide whether it will be more stressful to induce labor than to perform a cesaerian section," he added. "I tend to...excuse me," he said, pulling out his cell phone. He spoke into it, listened, replied and closed it. "That was Dr. Morris, our cardiologist. He's looking after your wife. She's gone into labor. Please excuse me, I'm needed."

"She comes first," Garon repeated.

"Yes," the surgeon replied.

"I'll go along and do what I can to help," Coltrain told Garon with unusual kindness. He smiled at the chaplain. "You'll stay with him?"

"Of course," Nan replied, smiling back.

Cash's cell phone rang. He excused himself and went outside the building where the reception was better.

Garon watched the surgeon and the physician walk away and his heart felt like a lead weight. Everything depended on them, now, on medical science. But if Barbara was praying, and there was a chance that prayer might help...

He turned to the chaplain. "Is there a chapel?" he asked very quietly.

She nodded. "This way."

IT FELT ODD, being in a chapel after all the long years that he'd turned away from faith. After he lost Annalee, he never expected to rely on it again. He'd prayed about Annalee. It hadn't saved her.

But he was older now, less confident in science. He'd seen so much death. Today, he'd dealt it himself. He remembered the killer talking to him, remembering a childhood that must have resembled h.e.l.l. He would have killed Grace. Garon had no choice but to fire and hope his bullet didn't miss.

Now, in the silence of the chapel, he felt the twin impact of Grace's desperate situation and the reality that he'd taken a human life. Despite the situation, he had killed a man. It was a struggle to try to cope with it now. There were counselors that he could ask for through his office, and there would of course be an investigation. He hadn't spoken to the SAC, but he knew that he'd be on administrative leave while the shooting was investigated by both the county sheriff-since the ranch was out of the city limits-and the FBI. He had no doubt that it would be sanctioned. But it was a complication he couldn't handle right now. All he wanted was for Grace to live. He'd pamper her. He'd spoil her rotten. He'd make up for all the missed dinners, all the thoughtless things he'd done that had given her the idea he didn't care about her. If only he had the time. If only G.o.d would spare her!

He'd been through this with victim's families. How many times had he gone to intensive care waiting rooms to talk to survivors and heard them trying to bargain for a loved one's life?

I promise never to say anything hurtful again, if you'll just let her/him live, they would say aloud. I'll go to church every Sunday, I'll give to the poor, I'll volunteer time, I'll do charity work, I'll cut off my arm if you'll just spare her, if you'll just spare him, if you can just let this person live!

It was anguish to hear the promises. And now here he was, doing it himself; bargaining for Grace's life. But she was important, he prayed silently. Much more than he was. She was a nurturing woman. She was always cooking things for sick or bereaved people, sitting with people in hospital rooms, going to church, sharing herself with anyone who needed her. He wasn't like that. He was introverted when he wasn't on the job. He didn't mix well. In a way, he'd resented the fact that he had to marry Grace because of the child. He hadn't said so...or had he? But as they lived together, he'd come to rely on her bright presence, her calming spirit, her laughter in the face of problems. He could talk to Grace as he'd never been able to talk to anyone else, not even his first wife. Grace didn't argue or complain or resent his job.

Annalee hadn't liked the hours he worked, or his colleagues, and she'd hardly ever stopped complaining about his absences and the time she was missing from her job because she was pregnant. Until she became pregnant, she'd been career-minded and sacrificed any free time with Garon because she wanted to get ahead. She'd even worked Sat.u.r.days and evenings. They'd been growing apart, because he was ambitious as well. They'd both a.s.sumed they had forever to make up their time together. Then she knew she had cancer, and she was terrified. Their last months together had been agony. She'd cried and apologized for being so hateful to him. And then she'd prayed, and made promises, and tried to bargain for her life. She'd been a bad wife, but she'd change, if she could just live. She'd start going to church, she'd be a better person, she'd care more for her family than her job...

And so it went. But you couldn't bargain, he thought. Not ever. You could ask. Nothing more.

He bowed his head and spoke to G.o.d. He didn't bargain. He just prayed for what was best for Grace.

16.

THE CHAPLAIN SLIPPED out of the room and when she came back, Garon was coming down the aisle toward her.

"They need you," she said gently.

He followed her down the hall, past the waiting room, to the desk. An aide was signaling frantically to the chaplain.

"Just a minute," the chaplain told him, going to confer with the aide.

Garon waited, taut as steel cable. She must live. She must live! He felt panic as he watched the chaplain's face go somber.

She came back. "She's all right," she said immediately, because he looked absolutely frightened to death. "Come on. We'll go up and talk to the surgeon."

They went into the elevator, which was already packed, and up to the surgical ward.

Coltrain and Dr. Franks were waiting for them. They both looked at Nan.

"I didn't tell him," she said softly.

"You have a son," Coltrain said in the gentlest voice Garon had ever heard him use.

"What about Grace?" he asked through his teeth.

"She's holding her own," Coltrain said. "It may even have helped us. It was a quick labor, very unusual for a first child. She came through it with very little stress beyond the usual. Now they're prepping her for surgery."

"She's given us permission to operate," Dr. Franks said. "But I'd like yours as well."

"Of course," Garon said at once. "May I see her?"

"Just for a minute," Dr. Franks said. "Dr. Coltrain will take you back."

"Do your best," Garon asked the surgeon. His eyes said more than words.

Dr. Franks put a firm hand on his shoulder. "I don't lose patients," he said with a smile. "She's going to come through it. Have faith."

Garon nodded. He followed Coltrain and Nan back through the ward to the room where Grace had been given her pre op medication. She was very drowsy, but she saw Garon and her eyes brightened.

"Grace," he choked, bending to kiss her eyelids. "Oh G.o.d, Grace! Why didn't you tell me, baby?"

"I couldn't do that...to you," she whispered. Tears were pouring down her cheeks. "You were so excited about the baby. You wanted him so much. We have a little boy, did they tell you?"

"Yes," he managed to say. He was fighting the wetness in his own eyes and losing.

"Come here," she whispered, drawing his face down to hers. He came without a protest, drowning in the comfort she gave him. He felt ashamed. He should be comforting her...

She kissed his eyelids slowly, tasting the wet salty moisture on her lips. He shuddered at the tenderness, and she felt it. He was devastated. Poor, poor man, to have to go through such anguish with two pregnancies. But she didn't want to die. She was going to fight. What he was feeling, and showing, was far too deep for pity. It hurt her to see him so shattered, when his strength had carried her so far from danger. "It's all right, Garon. Everything will be all right. I promise." But she hesitated, because she was taking a step into the unknown. She was getting sleepy. "Take care of our baby, if..."

"Don't," he ground out in anguish.

"Tory," she whispered drowsily. "I want to call him Tory, for my grandfather. And his middle name should be Garon, for you. All right?"

"You can have whatever you want," he said stiffly. "Only don't...leave me, Grace. Don't leave me alone in the world." His voice was husky with feeling.

She felt beautiful. He did feel something for her. Something powerful, like what she felt for him. Her fingertips traced his mouth. She loved him so much. More than he knew. "You gave me more happiness than I've ever had," she whispered. "You saved my life. I love you."

"Grace...!"

She'd taken a quick breath and she seemed to be straining to get the next.

"We have to go," Coltrain said. "You can tell her later."

But Garon was frozen at her side, terrified, hurting, terrified that this might be the last time he saw her alive. He didn't want to leave her. "Don't you die, Grace," Garon choked as he stared down at her through a misty haze. "Don't you dare!" he took a harsh breath. "I'm not going back and telling those d.a.m.ned rosebushes that you aren't coming home!"

Amazingly she laughed.

The sound was like a chorus of angels to Garon. He bent and kissed her dry lips one last time. "Don't leave me," he whispered into her ear. "I can't live if you don't."

Tears stung her eyes. "My darling," she whispered as her eyes closed. The medicine was working.

"Come on." Coltrain half dragged him out of the room. Grace was already going to sleep. Garon got one last glimpse of her, blond hair curving around her shoulders, around her pale face as her grey eyes closed. Please G.o.d, he thought in panic, don't let them be closed forever! Whatever I've done, punish me, but don't take her away! Please don't!

"She's come halfway," Coltrain told him, sensing the panic in the usually rigidly controlled features. "Don't give up on her yet. Let's go down and get a cup of coffee."

COLTRAIN TOOK HIM downstairs and bought him black coffee. The man was steel right through, Garon thought as they shared a table in the commissary.

"I must have been a despot in a former life," Garon muttered, "to be condemned to go through this h.e.l.l twice in one lifetime."

Coltrain understood the reference. He remembered that Garon had lost his first wife while she was pregnant.

"Grace may have a bad heart," Coltrain told him. "But she's got as tough a spirit as any human being I've ever known. She survived an ordeal that most children wouldn't have. She's a sc.r.a.pper. Don't give up on her."

"I wouldn't dare," Garon replied heavily.

"Would you like to see your son?" Coltrain asked.

The child he'd wanted for so long. His child. But he shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Not until...we know something."

"All right."

Cash had been missing for an hour. He came into the commissary, looking weary. "We had an emergency back home. I had to make half a hundred phone calls to sort it out. A bank robbery. Can you imagine? In Jacobsville. They got the guys, but I had to be available. How's Grace?"

"In surgery," Garon replied.

"He has a son," Coltrain added.

Cash glanced at his brother, who was morose. "I'm an uncle? Wow!"

Garon sipped coffee. His whole look was one of exhaustion.