In His Will Read online

  He sighed and dialed the doctor. “Michelle? Dylan Ward. Let me talk to Doc.”

  “You okay, Dylan?”

  “I’m fine. Listen—Sondra Thankful is sick. Probably the flu, but I don’t like the way she looks.”

  “Isn’t she the pregnant woman who came in yesterday?”

  He didn’t know she’d already gotten hooked up with Doc. It showed common sense and caution. “Yeah, she’s in the family way.”

  “Sorry, Dylan. I tried to explain it to her yesterday. Doc doesn’t treat pregnant women. His malpractice insurance is too high if he does.”

  “I’m asking him for advice about the flu, not the baby.”

  “He can’t advise you since the patient is pregnant.”

  They went round and round until Dylan hung up in disgust. Then he heard Sondra stumble into the bathroom and retch. She slumped against the side of the tub afterward. “I’m okay. You can go home.”

  “Not a chance.” Dylan lifted her and slipped her back into bed. She’d started shivering, so he tucked the sheet back up to her neck. “Let me make a few phone calls. You need to see a doctor—have him give you a quick look-see.”

  He ended up driving her back to her old obstetrician over an hour away. Luckily, the office was on the ground floor, because Sondra adamantly insisted upon walking in under her own steam. The receptionist jumped to her feet as soon as she spotted Sondra. “Come on in. I have an empty exam room.”

  Sondra shuffled toward the connecting door, and Dylan’s hand shot out to twist the knob. He warned under his breath, “I’m coming back there with you. Don’t you dare kick up a fuss.”

  Sondra’s legs began to buckle. Wordlessly he scooped her up, strode forward, and laid her in the room. She’d grown even hotter during the ride, and her lethargy couldn’t bode well. Bright red fever flags rode her cheeks, but otherwise, the woman was whiter than the paper on the exam table.

  The doctor came in. His face puckered with concern. He peeked at something on her chart, set it aside, and drew closer to examine Sondra. Within mere minutes, he observed, “Mrs. Thankful, you’ve obviously contracted a nasty virus.”

  Sondra lay there, eyes closed, silent as a stone. Dylan wondered if she’d passed out.

  The doctor continued, “You’re badly dehydrated again.”

  Her eyes fluttered open. They were luminescent from tears and fever. “Please don’t put me back in the hospital.”

  Back in the hospital? She’d been in the hospital already for something? Dylan scowled. This didn’t sound good at all. Sondra didn’t look any better than she sounded. Hopeless. That’s how she looked. Her faint voice carried that tone, too.

  The nurse gave her arm a compassionate stroke. “Sondra, at least there’s someone at the hospital to take care of you.”

  Horrified by that justification, Dylan blurted out, “I’ll take care of her.”

  ❧

  Much later that evening, Dylan turned off the bedroom light. He’d never seen a more pathetic sight. From the nurse’s comments while they waited for a bag of IV fluid to finish draining into Sondra, Dylan gleaned she’d reached her sixth month of pregnancy. Kenny accompanied her to the doctor’s office for her very first visit and impressed the nurse with how proud and attentive he’d been.

  And I thought the kid was Miller’s. She clings to a stupid flannel shirt—I was an idiot to ignore how deeply she loved her husband and make such an assumption. The thermometer registered her as too hot to wear one of those flannel jobs, but Dylan knew how much comfort she got from them, so he’d quietly tucked a shirt under the sheet with her when he’d gotten her back home.

  She curled around it, smiled like she’d been given the key to heaven’s pearly gates, and slipped right off to sleep.

  On top of it all, Dylan felt a terrible sense of emptiness. He’d never once had a woman love him. Not like that. Not with all of her heart, the kind of love that went even beyond the grave. Sure, there had been girlfriends—but none of them ever came close to working out. Ken Thankful might be dead, but he’d been an incredibly lucky man to have had that kind of utter devotion.

  Seven

  It had been a bad night. Sondra looked completely wiped out. Bless her heart, though, she’d never once complained. In fact, Dylan found her up twice and scolded her for not calling out to get help.

  As the sun peeked through the window, Dylan brought her some juice and set a plate of crackers at the bedside. “Sondra, I’ve called my sister, Teresa. She’s coming to stay with you. I think you’ll like her.”

  She stared bleakly at the wall and nodded.

  Worry speared through him. “Still feeling the baby move?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Those kicks are a reminder of your husband’s love.”

  She weakly rested a hand on her tummy. “This is all I have left. It’s just him and me now.”

  Taking up a cool washrag, Dylan wiped her cheeks. Her skin was still hot as a branding iron. Lousy as she felt, she tried to valiantly spare him the tears filling her fever-glassy eyes. The woman deserved to bawl her eyes out. Instead, Sondra instinctively turned her face into the small comfort of the cloth and let out a shattered sigh.

  Then the baby somersaulted.

  The way her belly heaved and rolled beneath the sheets with the baby’s actions shouldn’t have amazed him. He saw pregnant animals all of the time. It was a common enough sight. But on her, it looked intimate beyond telling.

  “My last little part of Kenny’s love,” she told herself in a whisper.

  He’d been surrounded by family all his life; she had no one. Sympathy and compassion welled up. “Can’t think of a better gift of love than a baby.”

  “Thanks for saying that, Dylan. For your help, too.”

  He rubbed the back of his wrist against the bristles of his jaw. Instead of focusing on her loss, she concentrated on the positive. He admired that.

  “I decided something.”

  He looked at her and waited. No telling what she was going to say.

  “I’m not great at trusting people, but Miller loved and trusted you. There’s no better recommendation. This ranch is a lot of work.” The corners of her mouth tightened. “But you said you want to run it.”

  He nodded. “That’s a fact.”

  “Then I’ll rely on you instead of hiring a manager.”

  Her trust meant a lot. He curled his rough fingers around her small, soft hand, and stroked the back of her fingers with his thumb. “We’ll do it together.”

  Rustling in the doorway made him jump and turn loose of her hand.

  “Help’s arrived.” Teresa bustled into the room. “Hi, Sondra. I’m Teresa.”

  “She’s still running a fever and weak as a kitten,” Dylan reported.

  “So I see. We’ll turn that around in a few days’ time,” Teresa decided crisply as she nudged him to the side and grabbed the glass of juice. “So is that a boy or a girl you’re carrying, Sondra?”

  “A boy.”

  “Isn’t that nice?” Teresa’s hand dove under Sondra’s shoulders and lifted her head. “A ranch is the ideal place for children to grow up. When are you due?”

  “September second.” Sondra sipped the juice. “Thanks.”

  “September second,” Teresa echoed.

  Patting her tummy weakly, Sondra added, “This is Oklahoma, baby. Folks call us Sooners, and if you take a mind to come out sooner than September, I won’t complain.”

  Dylan chuckled as he stretched. “I need to get going. The day’s already half over.”

  “It sure is,” Teresa teased. She glanced at the clock and declared, “It’s already a quarter past six! The day’s half done.”He playfully nudged his sister’s hip with his own. “Just because you keep me from starving isn’t an excuse to be sarcastic.”

  “I put a pan of cinnamon buns on the kitchen counter. Have a few.”

  “Nothing doing. I’m eating every last one of ’em.”

  “Impossible. Nick
els and Joseph saw me bring them in. I already gave them each a pair. Bet you they take some out for Howie and Edgar, too.”

  “Then you’re disowned.”

  “Teresa, I’ll adopt you!”

  Dylan shook his finger at Sondra. “You keep your paws off of my relatives!”

  “You just disowned her!”

  “He does that once or twice a week. I just don’t listen.” Teresa laughed. She urged Sondra to drink more, then added, “He doesn’t listen to me any better.”

  “Sounds like plenty of the brothers and sisters I know,” Sondra quipped.

  “Marriages, too,” Teresa tacked on.

  “I’m out of here!” Dylan boomed as he turned and fled.

  Teresa went into gales of laughter. “My brother is marriage-shy. Nothing gets rid of him faster than bringing up the topic of matrimony.”

  ❧

  Three days later, Sondra dragged herself out of bed. She took a shower and felt weak enough to whirl down the drain with the water.

  “What are you doin’ outta bed?” Nickels demanded as she passed by him out in the yard.

  “I’m doing my chores. Did that last cow ever drop her calf?”

  He avoided her gaze. “That’s taken care of.”

  “Oh?”

  His mouth pulled downward, and he scuffed a boot in the dirt. “Take my word for it, ma’am. It’s all done.”

  “And mother and calf? How are they?”

  His face twisted. “Ma’am, you don’t want to ask ’bout this. Take my word for it.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. I’m going to gather the eggs.”

  “Dylan ain’t gonna like that, ma’am. He said you’re too sick to lift a finger. One glimpse of you backs up the notion, too.”

  “Nonsense.”

  The egg basket shouldn’t be heavy, but it felt like a block of cement. The world tilted a bit each time Sondra got up and down, and finally she felt too dizzy to continue. Deciding a breath of fresh air would cure her, she went to the door of the coop and froze. Nickels and Dylan stood close by, holding a whispered conversation.

  “Dylan, Sondra asked ’bout that last calving. I put her off.”

  “Good. Wait—what do you mean? Is she out of bed?”

  “Yep,” Nickels hissed, “and she looks plumb awful.”

  “One stillbirth is bad enough. The last thing she needs to do is have one herself. Stubborn woman!”

  Stillbirth? The word made her reel.

  Dylan’s voice rose in volume, “Where is she? I’m going to tie her to the bedpost if I have to!”

  “I saw her heading for the coop.”

  “If she isn’t out cold on the floor, it’ll be a miracle.”

  Sondra secretly smiled at his worried tone of voice. In spite of his disappointments and heavier workload, Dylan Ward cared about her. Dylan did precisely what Miller expected: He shouldered responsibilities and showed true cowboy gallantry.

  Sondra smiled to herself. Dear, sweet Miller willed her this place and provided help in the form of a black-haired, gruff-voiced, softhearted rancher—sort of an angel in batwing chaps.

  It would be a mistake to walk out into the middle of their conversation, but she didn’t dare stay in the henhouse and wait for Dylan to stomp in and chew her out. Sondra managed to give a fair rendition of a muffled cough and walked out into the sunlight. She manufactured a tentative smile. “My body’s not quite as strong as my will. Could I trouble you to please finish crating up the eggs?”

  “I’ll get it,” Nickels volunteered. He turned sideways and sidled past her, though he and another man could have walked abreast past her with room to spare.

  Dylan hooked a thumb in a belt loop, scanned her up and down, and drawled, “Woman, you have a habit of biting off more than you can chew.”

  “Probably.”

  “You’re still as pasty as a plucked chicken.”

  Sondra leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m a bit plumper.”

  “Not by much.” He absently shook his head and twitched a self-conscious smile. “I probably ought to apologize. That sounded a mite bit personal.”

  Laughter colored her voice. “Don’t bother. I’ve been plucked, so you can’t ruffle my feathers!”

  Dylan started to chuckle. The rich sound filled the barnyard and made something deep inside her glow. During those moments, he looked ten years younger. His loose, leggy stride brought him to her. Without a word, he slipped his arm around her waist and started back toward the house. “Feathers,” he repeated, as if it were the best joke he’d heard in ages.

  His strength seeped into her. She offered, “I know chickens don’t drink soda, but this one happens to have a variety of them in the fridge. You’re welcome anytime.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. At the moment, I’m more concerned with you staying hydrated.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “In a pig’s eye.” He crooked another of those smiles. “You may as well be warned: Everyone is going to boss you around unmercifully for the next few months.”

  “Aren’t there other women for them to nag?”

  “Can’t rightly say. You already discovered that Doc won’t take care of you. It’s not just you, either. BobbyJo Lintz up and moved back to Galveston to stay with her folks until she has her baby. Greg sent her there, but he’s climbing the walls. Other than her, you’re the community’s only mother-to-be.”

  “Is that your way of telling me that I’ve suddenly become community property?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it means precisely that.” His hold tightened as they mounted the porch steps.

  Trying to ignore how much she needed his support, she asked, “How is it the citizens all want to have a say when the town doctor won’t speak a word to me?”

  “That’s a good question.” He leaned forward slightly and opened the door.

  She stepped inside, looked at all of the boxes, and grimaced. “This mess is awful.”

  “You’re not doing a blessed thing other than to laze in bed. Do I need to phone Teresa and ask her to come sit on top of you?”

  Teresa’s voice sounded from the living room. “I’d crush the poor gal! I invited myself over because I thought Sondra might be going a little stir crazy. I’m trying my best to fix this rip in the sofa. The movers must—”

  “No!” Sondra tried to wrestle free from Dylan. “No! Don’t!”

  Dylan’s hold tightened and he rumbled, “Settle down.”

  “Don’t let her do it!” She twisted from Dylan toward Teresa. “I don’t want it fixed!”

  Dylan strode around to Teresa’s side and looked at a five-inch gash in the fabric. “Sondra, it needs stitching.”

  “No!”

  Teresa frowned. “Why not?”

  “Kenny did it.” She knelt on the carpeting. Reaching out, she tentatively touched the slit. “His footrest had a rough spot.”

  Dylan and Teresa exchanged puzzled looks and echoed, “Footrest?”

  “On his wheelchair.”

  Teresa crouched down and cocked her head. “I’ll bet he’d want it to get fixed up.”

  “I know,” Sondra whispered thickly. “But he did it right before he left our place. It was the last time I ever saw him, and I was so mad. . . .”

  Dylan hunkered down on the other side of her and tilted her face to his. “No man worth his salt would want you punishing yourself like this, Sondra. So what if you had a spat? You would have made up, too. Let go of this. Patch it up, just like you would have patched up the fight.”

  “That’s sound advice,” Teresa concurred. “Do you want to sew it up, or do you want me to do it while you sit there?”

  Dylan still hadn’t let go of her. Sondra rasped, “I need to do it myself.”

  “Okay. Afterward, you go on in and take a nap.”

  “What about your soda?”

  Dylan smiled softly. “I’ll claim it some other time.”

  Eight
/>   Two days later, Dylan banged on the back door. When Sondra opened it, he dusted his hands off on the thighs of his jeans. “Is that offer for a soda still open?”

  “Sure. Come on in.”

  “I’d rather sit out here, if you don’t mind. I’m gritty as a gopher hole.”

  She opened the refrigerator, took out two cans, and went to the sink. A few seconds later, Sondra nudged him a bit so she could sit beside him on the porch steps. He tipped back his Stetson, rolled the can very slowly across his forehead, and sighed with the pleasure of that simple act. Sondra chortled softly as she handed him a wet dishcloth. “This is almost as cool.”

  “Mmmm. Thanks.”

  While he swiped at his hands, face, and neck, she popped open the tab on his soda. He accepted it with a grateful nod. “Did you and Teresa have fun today?”

  “Oh, yes. Your sister is terrific with kids.” He’d called her each evening to see how she fared, and he’d about had a fit last night when she let slip that she’d be going to the foster home today. Next thing she knew, Teresa invited herself to go along. They’d had a wonderful time.

  “Yeah, well, she said the same thing about you.” He took another gulp and swallowed it.

  “If I were in a more stable situation, I’d be tempted to scoop up half a dozen of those kids and bring them home.”

  He gave her an alarmed look. “You wouldn’t—”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m already in over my head. Still, I love children. I sit them in a circle and let each one hold a chick. You should see how the kids respond. It’s delightful.”

  He tilted the can at her. “It’s delightful what it does for you.”

  His observation made her feel unaccountably shy. During the time she’d been sick, they’d crossed over from being unwilling partners to fledgling friends. He’d proven himself trustworthy. Since then, the aching loneliness she’d felt since Kenny’s death seemed less intense.