Longwalker's Child

“Falling apart isn’t going to help.” Another knock echoed down the long hall.

“I’ll get it!” Sarah squealed.

“No!” Lauren shouted as she bolted for the door. She caught Sarah just before she opened it. “I’ll get the door. You go right back into the living room and play or watch cartoons.”

“Mom-mee,” Sarah whined. Her big eyes darkened with disappointment. As they had so few callers, the child loved answering the door when the occasion presented itself.

“Do as I say, young lady,” Lauren told her firmly. The little girl dropped her chin to her chest and trudged back into the living room. Not wanting Sarah to overhear any conversation regarding the present situation, Lauren closed the French doors behind her.

She chastised herself for being so hard on the child. They usually played games after school or watched Sarah’s favorite cartoons together, but today had been different, and Gray Longwalker was to blame. None of this was Sarah’s fault, yet the effects were already filtering down, changing Sarah’s routine. No matter how things turned out in the long run, Lauren knew that Sarah would be the one to suffer and not understand why.

The pounding came at the door again, louder this time, more insistent.

Lauren exhaled and braced herself for the worst. Surely Longwalker wouldn’t show up again today. Don had told him that all contact with her was to be made through him. But she knew deep in her heart that it was most likely him. Don wouldn’t pound on her door like that. Outside of calling the sheriff, who would be a good twenty minutes responding, she felt she had no choice but to answer the door. If it was Longwalker, she doubted he would simply go away if she didn’t answer.

The knock rattled the hinges this time. Lauren muttered an unladylike curse. What was she so worried about? Don was convinced that Longwalker couldn’t possibly really want Sarah. Once he’d had a chance to think the whole thing over, he’d surely realize that fighting over a child he didn’t even know would be far more trouble than he wanted. Once his indignation cooled, he would likely be on his way.

He was a drifter, what would he do with a child?

Feeling a boost in her confidence, Lauren pulled the door open and looked up into the very face she did not want to see. Gray Longwalker stared down at her with equal measures of wariness and impatience. She tried without success to blink away the black spots that suddenly floated before her eyes. A bolt of pain shot through her head, and she almost winced.

“Is my daughter here?” Gray asked quietly, his gaze steady from beneath the wide, black brim of his hat.

“Mr. Longwalker, this is my home, you have no right to be here.” Lauren kept her voice low so as not to draw Sarah’s attention. “I didn’t extend an invitation, so please leave.” She took several slow, deep breaths to counter the intense pain sizzling around the edges of her consciousness. She had waited too long before taking her medicine and now she would pay the price. She blocked the doorway with her weakening body. Please God, she prayed, let him leave before—

“I only want to see her,” he persisted. “You can’t keep her from me.”

“You can’t just show up like this,” she argued with the last of her waning strength. Nausea rose in the back of her throat. She needed to lie down. Her body trembled. “Please go away. Talk to my attorney.”

That silvery gaze settled fully onto hers, the weight almost buckling her knees. “I can’t do that.”

Lauren opened her mouth to protest, but a blinding flash of light obscured his image. Her knees gave way beneath her.

No, she willed silently, not now. This can’t happen now.

Lauren struggled to hang on to consciousness. Darkness swallowed her as the pain exploded inside her head.

As if from some place far away, Lauren heard Sarah’s cry…Mommy.

Chapter Three

Gray caught Lauren Whitmore just before she hit the floor. He held her limp body in his arms and dropped down to his knees.

God in Heaven, what am I supposed to do now?

“Mommy!” a shrill voice screamed.

Gray jerked his head up at the terrified sound. What he saw sucked the air right out of his lungs.

A little girl stood stock-still in the middle of the entrance hall. The terror in her eyes far exceeded what he had heard in her voice. Big, tear-filled eyes stared back at him…gray eyes. Black hair draped her trembling shoulders and fell all the way to her waist. Hair so black it looked blue wherever the light reflected against it.

The drumming of Gray’s heart blocked all other sound. An emotion so foreign he couldn’t possibly hope to identify it rushed through him.

This was his child.

Gray didn’t need a test. He couldn’t have denied this child even if he had wanted to. This was why Lauren Whitmore’s eyes had widened so when he had first appeared at her door this morning. Gray had assumed she had recognized him by old photographs Sharon had left behind, but that wasn’t the case at all.

Lauren Whitmore had seen Sarah in him.

“What’s wrong with my mommy?”

The question jerked Gray from his intense reverie. He looked from the frightened child to the woman in his arms and relaxed the overtight hold he’d only just realized he had on Lauren. She was out cold.

“I don’t know,” he said, and then lifted his gaze back to the child’s. She watched him with a wary but expectant gaze. “We were talking and she passed out.”

The little girl sniffed and eased closer. “Mommy says if nobody’s home ’cept me when she gets sick, I should call 911 like she showed me.” She gave him another wary look as she took one more small step closer.

Gray exhaled heavily. He looked down at Lauren Whitmore, who still hadn’t moved a muscle. He checked her pulse at the side of her throat. “Well, she’s breathing and her pulse is strong and steady.” He looked back at the child, hoping to appease her. “I don’t think we need to call 911, Sarah.”

The child’s eyes grew wide at his use of her name. “How’d you know my name? You’re a stranger.”

Holding Lauren against his chest, he stuck out his free hand. “Gray Longwalker.”

Sarah stared at his outstretched hand, her dark eyebrows knit in worry. “Are you a friend of my mommy’s?”

Gray hesitated, then nodded. It was a flat-out lie, but he knew the child needed reassuring.

Sarah didn’t take his hand. “Are you gonna help my mommy, mister?”

“Just call me Gray,” he offered, letting his hand drop.

Sarah didn’t respond, she simply stood there and stared at him—clearly fearful of what might happen.

“How about we lay your mom down somewhere and then I’ll call her doctor? She has a doctor, doesn’t she?”

The child nodded and gestured for Gray to follow her down the hall. Gray took off his Stetson, tossing it on the hall table. He adjusted his hold on Lauren and got to his feet. He followed Sarah to the far end of the hall, into a darkened bedroom. She turned on the bedside lamp and climbed onto the bed. Silently she waited while Gray laid Lauren beside her.

“Dr. Bill’s number is by the phone in the kitchen,” she said quietly, never taking her eyes from the still form next to her.

“I’ll go call, then.”

Sarah didn’t answer or even look up. She caressed Lauren’s cheek with small, trembling fingers.

Gray forced the haunting image from his mind as he retraced his steps down the hall until he found the dining room. He skirted the already-set table and passed through an open doorway into the kitchen. After locating the phone, he punched in the posted number for Dr. Bill Prescott. Gray didn’t recognize the name, obviously another newcomer to Thatcher.

Gray inhaled the mouthwatering aroma that filled the kitchen. His stomach rumbled. How long had it been since he’d had a home-cooked meal? Too long to remember, he thought with uncharacteristic longing.

While he listened to the receptionist’s greeting, Gray turned the oven off. Whatever Lauren Whitmore had on tonight’s menu would have to wait. He noticed the open medicine bottle by the sink and picked it up to read the label.