His Pretend Wife

Now, Abby leaned her head back with a sigh, admitting that she resented Jack’s presence for more personal reasons.

According to Drew, Jack Slade was an innocent man, wrongly imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. Perhaps that part was true—but when Jack looked at Abby, there was nothing innocent about him.

For the first time in her life, she’d seen naked hunger in a man’s eyes. When she’d shrunk from Jack, his expression had quickly turned to derision. She’d been running away from him ever since.

Not that Jack noticed, she thought with a sad smile. He was obviously a loner.

Abby understood isolation.

She was the product of a small backwoods town and an exclusive boarding-school education. Separated from everyone and everything she loved best, she’d spent her childhood not knowing where she belonged. She’d been searching ever since.

Maybe Jack was searching too.

How odd to think they might have something in common—anything at all. Unwilling to grasp the implication, Abby glanced out the window.

Buffeted by a strong north wind, the helicopter lifted off the ground. The roar of the motor drowned out her thoughts. Flying into the clouds, she looked down at the ground below where Seth had joined her brother. Both men grew smaller and smaller as the helicopter gained altitude.

The downstate medical center was miles away; the trip seemed to take forever. In reality, it was less than two hours. Gradually, the city lights came closer until they were sweeping down onto the hospital roof, a flat rectangle that seemed too small to land on. Abby held her breath until the helicopter touched down with a jolt. It had reached its destination, but Abby’s journey was just beginning. Once the copter was anchored securely, she climbed down. She wrapped her coat around her, thankful for its warmth against the bitter cold and recalling how she’d shared it with Jack. Was he warm now?

An experienced hospital triage team took over.

After they exchanged a few hurried words with the rescue crew, a sense of urgency filled their faces. They sped Jack away. With very little experience of trauma, illness or hospitals, Abby struggled to keep up as Jack was whisked inside the building then down a labyrinth of corridors to an elevator. Doors opened, people rushed down hallways.

In the emergency unit, a nurse took over. “What’s his condition?”

While someone responded, the paramedic who had assisted Abby on the helicopter patted her shoulder. “He’ll make it. I have to go. Good luck.”

Abby caught her breath. She wanted to cling to him, he was the only familiar face among so many strangers. “Thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t even know his name, but he’d been kind.

When Jack disappeared through another set of swinging doors, the nurse barred her way. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait until the doctor has examined him. Admissions will want to speak to you. Someone will let you know if there’s any change in the patient’s condition.”

“And please try not to worry,” she added as an afterthought.

Abby wondered how many times the emergency-room nurse had to repeat those words in the course of a routine twenty-four hours. In any case, they did little to reassure Abby.

Feeling cut off, she retraced her steps and found the waiting room. A few tired decorations stood as a reminder that it was only six days after Christmas. She’d spent the holiday with Drew and his wife, Olivia. Abby wondered how Jack had spent the day.

The admissions desk was partitioned behind a wall with only a small window connecting it to the outside world.

Abby tapped on the glass to get someone’s attention. “I’d like some information,” she said when a nurse turned up.

The window slid open a few inches. “Weren’t you with the patient they just flew in from Henderson?”

Abby gripped the edge of the counter. “How is he?”

To Abby’s mounting frustration, the nurse answered indirectly. “We’re doing all we can.” She handed over a brown envelope. “Your husband’s valuables are in here. You can take them home with you.”

Feeling like a fraud, Abby took the thick envelope, then slipped it unopened into her coat pocket. “Can I see him?”

“One of the doctors will speak to you directly. In the meantime, I need some information.”

Abby volunteered Jack’s name, age, address, insurance information. She knew all those from his employment records at the sawmill. Allergies? None—that she knew of. Another line remained—next of kin.

Jack didn’t have any family to notify. Struck by the absolute aloneness of this man, Abby stared at the blank space, then took a deep breath. Gripping the pen, her hand shook as she penned in the name Abby Slade.

The black letters looked stark, a little thin and wobbly, nevertheless, the indelible ink couldn’t be erased. Releasing her breath, Abby dropped the pen on the counter.

To her relief, the receptionist gave the signature only a cursory glance. “We’ll let you know if there’s any change.”

The glass partition slid shut.

Completely cut off, Abby struggled with the urge to call the woman back and confess the deception. But then, she remembered. Jack. She’d promised to look after him. As the lies mounted, that was the only truth that mattered.

Abby bit her lip, buried her guilt and turned away. The thought of legal repercussions did cross her mind briefly; however, she dismissed the concern, refusing to let second thoughts deter her from helping Jack. Pretending to be his wife was a bit extreme by any standards, but as his self-appointed representative, she could see no other way to guarantee that he received the right treatment.

The waiting room was crowded.

A child was crying plaintively.

An elderly couple clung to each other.

Some teenagers talked too loudly in the hushed room.

Avoiding them, Abby bought a cup of coffee from a machine. Fortunately, she carried her wallet in her pocket. She found an empty chair. When she sipped the coffee, she spilled a few drops on her coat. Glancing down, she realized her hand was still shaking. She carefully set the cup down on a table.

Untouched, the coffee grew cold.

What was taking so long?

To distract herself, Abby watched a woman crocheting a pale-yellow wool scarf. Repeatedly, the ball of yarn rolled off the woman’s lap and onto the floor. Abby retrieved it twice before realizing the woman was apparently caught up in some inner turmoil and didn’t care. Abby wished she knew how to offer comfort. But the words remained locked inside. When the ball of yarn fell a third time, Abby looked away.

“Mrs. Slade?” The doctor had to repeat it twice.

Abby jumped. He was speaking to her. “Yes?”

He was frowning—not a good sign. “You came in with Jack Slade?” He looked down at some notes. “It says here you’re his wife?”

Abby couldn’t find the words to deny the connection to Jack. She nodded. And so, the web of lies grew.

And grew.

The doctor pinned her with a look that had her bracing her spine for bad news. “I don’t need to tell you he’s in pretty rough shape.” Not mincing his words, the doctor listed Jack’s injuries—a minor concussion, a broken arm, a couple of cracked ribs and a punctured lung, some possible internal injuries and spinal swelling. “We won’t know the extent until we take X-rays and run more tests.”

With each added word, Abby’s head spun. This was much worse than she’d feared. Poor Jack. Gradually, she became aware of what the doctor wasn’t telling her. “But what about the injury to Jack’s leg?”

The doctor wouldn’t meet her eyes. “We have to get him stabilized first. Then we’ll see.”

Abby took a fortifying breath. “Please, just tell me.”