Spring In The Valley

“Wifout me?” Brynn didn’t understand, didn’t know where Heaven was or why so many people, friends and strangers alike, had gathered at their house, especially without her mother there to greet them. Or why her father’s usual big grin had disappeared and he looked so sad.

“Tell her to come home.” Frightened, Brynn started to cry. “Right now.”

“She can’t, pumpkin.” Her father looked as if he wanted to cry, too.

“But I want my mommy!” Her wails drew the attention of the people in the room. And then something happened that frightened her as much as her mother’s absence. Her big, strong father broke into sobs and clutched her against his broad chest so tight, it hurt.

Brynn pushed her memories aside to concentrate on the job at hand. She slowed only slightly as Valley Road became Piedmont Avenue, Pleasant Valley’s main drag. This late, no stores were open, and the weather was too raw for pedestrians. The Jaguar followed at a safe distance.

After rounding the curve at Jay-Jay’s Garage, she pulled into the emergency room entrance of the medical center and parked, grabbed her radio and hurried from the SUV. The Jaguar stopped behind her. Randall Benedict jumped from his car with his boy bundled in his arms and rushed past her.

Trained to form instant assessments, Brynn noted that the man was tall, well over six feet, but with an athletic build, apparent even under his expensive camel-colored cashmere overcoat. Beneath it, she caught a glimpse of designer sweatpants and an immaculate T-shirt. Judging from his Gucci loafers without socks, he’d dressed in a hurry. Even in his disheveled state, the man looked too handsome to be true. Had to be fantastically good-looking, Brynn admitted, for her to notice. Too bad he was married. And where was his wife, anyway? What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to spend every minute with such a gorgeous husband and adorable little boy? What mother wouldn’t stay with her seriously ill child?

Possibilities flitted through Brynn’s mind. Benedict could be divorced, but that seemed unlikely. Only under the most unusual circumstances did judges take a child as young as Jared from his mother. More feasible was the probability that Mrs. Benedict simply hadn’t arrived in Pleasant Valley yet. The man was a newcomer. Perhaps his wife had remained at their former home to oversee its sale and the loading of moving vans. Or she could be on a business trip. Or taking care of a sick parent. Any number of reasons could explain her absence.

Brynn studied Randall Benedict closer. After her first glimpse of him, he appeared remarkably self-confident and self-possessed. He moved and spoke with the ease of a man who knew what he wanted and was accustomed to getting it. Further inspection revealed worried furrows in his high forehead, the edge of tension around his generous mouth and a slight tick below his right eye at his sculpted cheekbone. Although his entire body was rigid with anxiety, he cradled the toddler with remarkable tenderness.

“Hang on, tiger,” he murmured in a reassuring tone. “The doctor’s going to help you feel better.”

“Wanna go home,” the boy wheezed.

“We’ll go home soon,” Benedict promised with a gentleness at odds with his earlier response to Brynn. He paused as she caught up with them. “I can’t thank you enough for your help,” he said to her.

“No problem. That’s my job. Let’s get your son inside.”

“He’s not—” Benedict began, but stopped, shook his head and hurried toward the entrance.

Not going to make it. She shoved the pessimistic thought aside. “Jared will be fine. Dr. Anderson’s a very competent physician.”

Brynn accompanied them through the automatic doors of the emergency room, where Dr. Scott Anderson, the young E.R. specialist who’d joined the hospital staff last year, was waiting for them in the foyer. The doctor motioned Benedict and Jared into a treatment room, followed with a nurse in tow and closed the door. Brynn took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until relief washed over her that the little boy was now in the doctor’s capable hands.

While she waited for news of Jared’s condition, Brynn stopped at the desk to speak with Emily Carmichael, one of the night nurses. As Emily chattered away, Brynn couldn’t stop thinking about Randall Benedict, who stirred her interest. And so attractive he’d stirred her senses in a way no other man ever had. Just her luck to find the one man she might like to know better was almost certainly married and with a son. She considered family sacred, which made Benedict definitely off-limits and reinforced her conviction that she was meant for single life. Catching Jodie’s bouquet had been a fluke that had sent Brynn’s thoughts in directions they had no business taking. As far as marriage was concerned, she was wedded to her job. Period. End of story.

“Looks like you just came from Jodie’s wedding.” Emily pointed to Brynn’s long skirt with a hint of wistfulness. “We were all invited, but some of us had to work. I drew the short straw.”

“Get used to it, Em,” Brynn said with a sympathetic smile. She’d had to pull a few strings and juggle duty rosters to attend her best friend’s nuptials. “Duty comes first in our lines of work.”

The young nurse, only months out of college, nodded. “Want some coffee?”

Brynn checked the clock on the wall behind the desk. She wouldn’t leave until she’d had a report on Jared and could be in for a long night. “Sure. High-octane with cream and sugar, please.”

Emily disappeared into the break room and returned moments later with two foam cups. She handed one to Brynn and nodded toward the treatment room. “Must be tough, having a sick kid.”

Brynn sipped her coffee and attempted to put a lid on her worry over the little boy. So small and vulnerable, he’d touched her heart and broken through the objectivity she worked so hard to maintain on the job. “Illness is a fact of life.”

Emily cocked her head and considered Brynn through narrowed eyes. “You’ve been a cop how long?”

“Eight years.”

“That explains it.”

“What?”

“Why you’re so cynical.”

“Sheesh, Em, don’t spare my feelings,” Brynn said with pretended hurt. “Just spit out what you really think.”

“We’ve spent a lot of time together since I started work here,” Emily began.

Brynn nodded. Too much time. She’d logged more hours in the E.R. than she cared to remember, interviewing victims of accidents, domestic abuse and the rare but disturbing casualties of assault and other crimes. “And your point is?”

Emily shrugged. “You act like none of this—” her gesture encompassed the E.R. “—touches you.”

Brynn blinked in surprise. Did she really come across so hard-boiled? “If you don’t maintain emotional distance, jobs like ours will burn you out fast.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Emily admitted with a sigh. “Especially when kids like that sweet little boy are concerned, bless his heart.”

Brynn had to agree. Worrying about Jared had shaken her more than she cared to admit. “A sense of humor helps.”

“Any new jokes?” Emily asked.

Brynn grinned, happy to change the subject. “How can you tell if it’s a skunk or a lawyer who’s been run over on the highway?”

“I give up.”

“There’re skid marks around the skunk.” Emily’s laugh encouraged Brynn to continue. “How many lawyers does it take to change a lightbulb?”

“How many?”

“How many can you afford?”

Emily chuckled again and shook her head. “You know more lawyer jokes than anyone I’ve ever met. Do you really dislike them so much?”

“Lawyers? I like ’em about as much as I like Yankees,” Brynn admitted.

“I always figured lawyers and the police are on the same side.”

Brynn snorted with disgust. “If I had ten bucks for every criminal who’s lawyered up and gotten off scot-free because some crooked attorney manipulated the system, I could buy a luxury condo at Myrtle Beach.”

Emily folded her arms on the admissions desk. “But not all lawyers are crooked.”

“No,” Brynn admitted with a straight face. “Some are dead.”

“You are so bad,” Emily laughed and shook her head.

Although Brynn had made her comments in jest, she recognized her prejudice. For the most part, she considered herself fair and open-minded, but attorneys and Northerners pushed her buttons. Where attorneys were concerned, she agreed with the principle that every person was entitled to the best defense possible, but the shady shenanigans of too many un-principled lawyers had left a bad taste in her mouth for the profession as a whole.

And she hoped Emily wouldn’t get her started on Yankees. They flooded the town every summer, in their big RVs and fancy cars, passing through on their way to summer homes in the nearby mountains. Not that she envied their wealth. They’d probably worked hard for it. What Brynn disliked was their condescension, treating the locals like dim-witted morons from The Beverly Hillbillies, laughing at Southern drawls and taking great pleasure in explaining how much better everything was done up North.