Wilde Love (Forever Wilde 6)

But that’s the way of things right before the storm hits. You get a moment of perfect stillness, a chance to breathe, before the rain comes and the lightning strikes down everything you thought would last forever.

Chapter 18

Weston “Major” Marian

Doc had only been back in Baltimore for six weeks when he finally convinced Betsy to go to the doctor for a checkup. They said even though Doc was right in suggesting there was new data about women’s cancers being genetic, they were sure she was fine since she had no symptoms.

But they did tell her once again that she should have the birthmark on her scalp biopsied since it seemed to be getting bigger. She came home from the appointment in the middle of a hissy fit.

“Doc Browning thinks it’s no big deal for me to go have half my head shaved for that stupid test. I’d like to see how he would feel if Cora had her head shaved for goodness’ sake! Does he have any idea how long it’s taken me to grow this hair out from that stupid bob I got when Billy was a baby? No. He doesn’t. And he doesn’t care either.”

I kept my mouth shut and continued to weed the front flower beds by the steps leading up to the front door of the farmhouse. It had been a hot day, but an afternoon thunder shower had cooled things off and loosened the soil for me. Made it much easier to tidy up these beds in preparation for planting fall flowers.

“What are you doing?” she asked after she calmed down long enough to notice I wasn’t doing my normal chores.

I sat back on my heels and put down the spade. “Fixing your dad’s tractor,” I said deadpan.

She barked out a laugh. Score one for me.

“You always know how to do that,” she said with a smile. Her eyes warmed in my direction. “Make me laugh when I’m upset. You’re a good egg, Major.”

“No so bad yourself, Mrs. Doctor Wilde.” I’d called her that once as a joke and she’d blushed so red, I couldn’t help but tease her with it from then on. Plus, I felt pretty strongly that she deserved some of the prestige that came with all she’d sacrificed to support Doc’s time in medical school and residency. I know it killed her to be away from him so long.

“Less than a year left now,” she said wistfully, referring to his remaining time at Johns Hopkins.

Seven months, one week, and two days…

“I suppose so. You know what would be a good present to celebrate?”

“I’m already getting him a medical bag with his initials on it.”

I met her eyes. “A clean bill of health for his wife.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed at me. “Fine, but you’re coming with me to hold my hand. And then we’re going wig shopping in the city. Scratch that. Wig shopping first, then the biopsy.”

So three weeks later, that’s what we did. I drove her down to Dallas in my new Chevy truck. Stan had finally convinced me no self-respecting ranch hand drove a Datsun even if it had been practically free in a repo auction. With Betsy looking dressed up and lovely, I was glad I’d taken Stan’s advice about the truck. At least the air-conditioning worked in this one so Betsy didn’t melt in the late-autumn heatwave we were having.

Doc had insisted the biopsy be done at the university hospital since he knew so many people there. At Betsy’s request, I’d spent half an hour on the phone talking him down from flying home for the biopsy. It made him crazy that he couldn’t leave again so soon after his visit home for Marsha’s funeral.

“It’s just a biopsy,” Betsy had told him again after I’d handed the kitchen phone off to her. “If you make a big deal about it, I’m going to start worrying about it.” She winked at me and grinned. She and I were both pretty good at pushing the right buttons with Doc.

“Besides,” she’d said, “Weston promised me a trip to Sonny Bryan’s for barbecue and you hate that place.”

But when she came out of the procedure, she definitely wasn’t up for barbecue, because the surgeon had ended up taking way more than just a simple biopsy. He’d cut out the entire birthmark and left her with a much deeper wound than anyone had expected. As soon as she realized it, she’d burst into tears.

“It’s bad news, Major, isn’t it?” she asked. I moved over to sit next to her on the bed, carefully sliding my arm around her shoulders and pulling her against my side. I said a silent prayer of thanks that Doc wasn’t here because he was terrible at poker. One look at his face and Betsy would know how bad it was.