nothing you couldn’t succeed at. I can’t stand to think of you growing old alone.”
Touched at her concern, Josh gave her a brief hug. “I’m not going to be alone,” he teased. “I’m going to come and live with you and Ray.”
She shook her head and smiled through her unshed tears. “Okay. I’ve said my piece. I know it’s none of my business, so I’ll shut up now. But if I were you...” He saw her look across the lawn to where Bridget was sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Max.
“I get the message,” he said quickly. He felt torn up inside. As if the emotions he’d kept under wraps these past two years had been stirred up, and he was left feeling unsure of how he really felt. About anything.
From his spot under the tree, he watched his father open his presents. Bridget gave him a silver belt buckle she’d bought at the general store in town. His father was surprised and tickled.
“You didn’t have to do that,” his father told her, holding it up for everyone to see. Josh could tell how pleased he was by the glint in his eye and the way his father glanced pointedly at him as if he was saying, Look, did you see that? See what she gave me? See how well she fits in?
His sisters left early with their families for the long drive back to Reno. Nothing more was said about his future, but Martha, always the emotional one, hugged him tightly before she left. Other guests made jokes on their way out the door about his being the Wild Mustang Man. It didn’t bother him the way he thought it would. In fact, some of the jokes were downright funny. By evening he realized he’d laughed more that day than he had in two years.
He said goodbye to his parents and got last-minute instructions on caring for their animals while they were in San Francisco that week. Then he looked for Bridget. She was out at the driveway with Max, kneeling next to him, with her hand on his forehead.
She looked up when she heard Josh approach. “His head is so warm. I wonder if he has a fever.”
Josh ran to his side and lifted Max into his arms. His son felt warm all over. Max was never sick. Maybe a cold or a sore throat, but nothing like this. Oh, God, don’t let him be sick, he prayed. He carried Max to his truck and set him in the front seat. His head drooped. His chin hit his chest. He slouched over in the seat, unable to sit up straight. “I’ll get him home to bed, take his temperature and call the doc if necessary,” Josh told her, trying to sound like he wasn’t scared out of his mind.
Then he leaped into the driver’s seat and drove home, his palms sweaty against the steering wheel. He watched Max out of the corner of his eye, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. He forced himself to stay calm, telling himself Max would be okay. But the memories came flooding back of that day two years ago when his life fell apart.
He got the boy undressed, sponged the dirt off his face and put him to bed. His temperature was 102. Not high for a child. But all he could think of was Molly. This was how it started, with a moderate fever. Then it rose and rose. And in a few days the galloping virus had taken her life. In the days, weeks and months that had followed, he’d dreaded getting out of bed in the morning. If it hadn’t been for Max, if Max hadn’t needed him, he would have stayed in bed, hiding from the world. Max was all he had left. If he lost his son as well as his wife he wouldn’t want to live.
“Dad,” Max said hoarsely, trying to sit up. “Would you feed Barney for me?”
Josh’s throat tightened painfully as he assured him he would. Imagine a five-year-old thinking about his pet when he couldn’t even hold his head up. He gave Max a drink of water, tucked him in and went downstairs to call the doctor and leave a message for him.
As long as he was busy, feeding the rat, making the phone call, Josh was okay. But standing there in Max’s room, watching him toss and turn,
Touched at her concern, Josh gave her a brief hug. “I’m not going to be alone,” he teased. “I’m going to come and live with you and Ray.”
She shook her head and smiled through her unshed tears. “Okay. I’ve said my piece. I know it’s none of my business, so I’ll shut up now. But if I were you...” He saw her look across the lawn to where Bridget was sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Max.
“I get the message,” he said quickly. He felt torn up inside. As if the emotions he’d kept under wraps these past two years had been stirred up, and he was left feeling unsure of how he really felt. About anything.
From his spot under the tree, he watched his father open his presents. Bridget gave him a silver belt buckle she’d bought at the general store in town. His father was surprised and tickled.
“You didn’t have to do that,” his father told her, holding it up for everyone to see. Josh could tell how pleased he was by the glint in his eye and the way his father glanced pointedly at him as if he was saying, Look, did you see that? See what she gave me? See how well she fits in?
His sisters left early with their families for the long drive back to Reno. Nothing more was said about his future, but Martha, always the emotional one, hugged him tightly before she left. Other guests made jokes on their way out the door about his being the Wild Mustang Man. It didn’t bother him the way he thought it would. In fact, some of the jokes were downright funny. By evening he realized he’d laughed more that day than he had in two years.
He said goodbye to his parents and got last-minute instructions on caring for their animals while they were in San Francisco that week. Then he looked for Bridget. She was out at the driveway with Max, kneeling next to him, with her hand on his forehead.
She looked up when she heard Josh approach. “His head is so warm. I wonder if he has a fever.”
Josh ran to his side and lifted Max into his arms. His son felt warm all over. Max was never sick. Maybe a cold or a sore throat, but nothing like this. Oh, God, don’t let him be sick, he prayed. He carried Max to his truck and set him in the front seat. His head drooped. His chin hit his chest. He slouched over in the seat, unable to sit up straight. “I’ll get him home to bed, take his temperature and call the doc if necessary,” Josh told her, trying to sound like he wasn’t scared out of his mind.
Then he leaped into the driver’s seat and drove home, his palms sweaty against the steering wheel. He watched Max out of the corner of his eye, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. He forced himself to stay calm, telling himself Max would be okay. But the memories came flooding back of that day two years ago when his life fell apart.
He got the boy undressed, sponged the dirt off his face and put him to bed. His temperature was 102. Not high for a child. But all he could think of was Molly. This was how it started, with a moderate fever. Then it rose and rose. And in a few days the galloping virus had taken her life. In the days, weeks and months that had followed, he’d dreaded getting out of bed in the morning. If it hadn’t been for Max, if Max hadn’t needed him, he would have stayed in bed, hiding from the world. Max was all he had left. If he lost his son as well as his wife he wouldn’t want to live.
“Dad,” Max said hoarsely, trying to sit up. “Would you feed Barney for me?”
Josh’s throat tightened painfully as he assured him he would. Imagine a five-year-old thinking about his pet when he couldn’t even hold his head up. He gave Max a drink of water, tucked him in and went downstairs to call the doctor and leave a message for him.
As long as he was busy, feeding the rat, making the phone call, Josh was okay. But standing there in Max’s room, watching him toss and turn,
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