He finished his burger and what few fries she’d left him, then pushed the plate aside. Crossing his arms on the tabletop, he leaned forward, hoping she could see the truth of what he was about to say in his eyes and hear it in his voice. “My promise to you, Raney Whitcomb—whether or not you want to hear it yet, or whether you ever say the words back to me—is that I love you. I’m committed to you and to making this work, no matter what it takes. Or how long.”
He sat back and put on a smile. “Now, finish your burger before it gets cold.”
She looked at him, her eyes misty, her lips pressed in a tight smile.
Horrified she might cry, he put on a bigger smile. “Or, I could finish it for you, if you’d like. Since you ate most of my fries.”
“Oh, Dalton . . .” She started to say something more, then flinched when her phone buzzed. Blinking hard, she pulled it out of her purse, checked the caller ID, and accepted the call. “What’s happening?” she said.
She listened for a few moments, a multitude of emotions flicking across her expressive face. “Thank God.” A pause. “To the house? Why not meet us at the hospital?” Another pause, then she said, “Okay,” punched out, and put the phone back into her purse.
“You can have my burger,” she said. “But eat fast. The planets are aligning. Len is on the way to the hospital, her husband, Ryan, is meeting us there, and Joss just went into labor.”
CHAPTER 22
“Why won’t they talk?” Coralee complained. “I thought when we moved over here, they might start talking. But they’re just sitting there.”
“She’s fretting,” Len said. “Raney always fusses with her nails when she’s upset. I wonder what’s keeping Ryan?”
“She worries too much.”
“You should have seen her last night.” Len smiled. “I bet she hasn’t laughed that hard in a long time. I sure haven’t.”
“He’s good for her. I wish she’d figure that out.” Tipping her head toward her oldest daughter, Coralee put a hand to her mouth and lowered her voice. “I was hoping when I had him move into the house while I was gone it might move things along, if you know what I mean.”
“Isn’t that called pimping?”
“Hush that talk.” Coralee thought for a moment, then tipped her head again. “Maybe we should send them somewhere. Nothing’s going to happen with us watching.”
“It’s a hospital waiting room. What do you expect to happen?”
“I expect Joss to get busy and have that baby, that’s what I expect. Stopping in the middle of labor! That’s just foolish and rude. And it certainly won’t keep that baby from being born. If they won’t give her drugs, she’ll just have to man up and get the job done.”
“Man up?” Len shook her head. “Do you ever listen to what you say, Mama?”
“If this drags out much longer, we’ll have to do something.”
“About Joss?”
“About Raney and Dalton. Try to keep up, dear.”
* * *
Dalton was so bored he was seeing patterns in the waiting room carpet. If he’d been in Iraq, he could have stretched out against the back wall and gotten some sleep, rather than sitting here, watching Raney trim her nails with her teeth and smooth the rough edges against her jeans.
In chairs against the opposite wall, Mrs. Whitcomb and Len were having an animated conversation. Probably planning Joss’s wedding, if she ever decided to have one, and assuming Grady didn’t withdraw his proposal. Dalton would have. About nine months ago. He wasn’t much for drama. Which was one of the many reasons he deeply appreciated levelheaded Raney. His silent, nail-biting worrier.
With a sigh, he leaned his head back and studied the number and placement of recessed lights in the ceiling. Sixteen on this side of the nurses’ station. It irritated him that several were out of alignment, so he didn’t bother to count those on the other side of the station.
Now the Whitcomb duo were frowning at Raney and whispering behind their hands. She didn’t notice and he didn’t warn her. She was nervous enough as it was.
He wished he’d brought something to read. The puzzles in the Highlights magazine weren’t that challenging and the stack of “Miracle of Birth” pamphlets on the side table had disturbing drawings of lactating breasts and tilted uteruses and other stuff men didn’t need to know about. They also reminded him too much of his first sex-ed class, when the boys’ PE teacher had taped on the board a huge poster with a cross section of a penis. He didn’t remember much about the lecture, but that giant penis had haunted him for weeks and made him feel inadequate for months after. Then he discovered if you pull on it, it will grow.
That was a good day.
“What are you smiling about?” Raney asked.
“I’m not smiling. It’s an autonomic muscular response to extreme boredom.” He rose. “I’m going for coffee. Want some?”
She shook her head and bit off a hangnail on her right thumb.
He wandered over to the coffee machine on a table beside a water fountain and filled a foam cup—black, no sugar—then almost scalded his hand when he turned and found the two older Whitcombs standing right behind him. With an apologetic look, he stepped aside to give them access to the machine.
They didn’t move. Both were staring at him.
“How’s it going?” he asked, just for something to say.
“At this rate, she’ll never have any babies,” Mrs. Whitcomb said.
“Kind of late to worry about that now, don’t you think?” Dalton quipped.
Neither smiled.
“I was referring to Raney,” Mrs. Whitcomb told him. “You need to do something.”
“About what?” he asked warily. Surely, she wasn’t asking him to impregnate her daughter. Not that he was opposed. But shouldn’t Raney have
