Letters from Peaceful Lane (New Americana 3)

“So do I. Meanwhile, do your best to keep him calm and quiet. Stress isn’t good for his body.”

“I’ll be here for as long as he needs me,” Allison said.

“Good. Call if you notice anything that doesn’t seem right.” The nurse turned and headed back toward her station.

Actually, nothing seemed right, Allison thought. It was as if Garrett and Burke were locked in some kind of power struggle; and Garrett seemed as eager to involve her as Burke was to keep her in the dark.

But whether she liked it or not, she was already involved. If Burke wouldn’t tell her what was going on, maybe Garrett would.

When Allison stepped back into Burke’s room again, she found that he’d gone back to sleep. His breathing was deep and even, his vitals stable. Relieved, she stood by his bed for a moment, her eyes tracing the chiseled lines of his face. This was the man who’d vowed to cherish and protect her to the end of his life; the man who’d thrilled her with his loving and provided her with every material thing she could possibly have wished for.

But what had she given him in return? Was it enough? Or was he still mourning his beloved Kate? Was she really what his friends called her—his trophy wife, with nothing to offer but youth and looks?

Leaving him, she walked down the hall to the visitors’ lounge and chose a popular women’s magazine from the rack. Back in his room, she settled in the chair by the bed and leafed through the pages, seeing mostly ads and celebrity photos. Her mind wandered back to the day Burke had walked into her little Capitola gallery to buy a silver charm for his daughter. She’d been attracted to him at once. The man had exuded power and self-confidence. But what had drawn her to him was the glimpsed vulnerability, the loneliness in his deep blue eyes. They’d started talking. He’d invited her on a dinner date that had lasted until the next morning. By then they’d become close. He made her feel treasured and protected, but also needed.

The connection between them had been instantaneous, deep, hot, and strong enough to get them through a long-distance courtship, ending in a proposal.

Their wedding, in the stone and wood chapel at Top of the Rock in Big Cedar, accompanied by the strains of a bagpipe, had been a dream. Even though Brianna had pouted her displeasure through the entire ceremony, Allison had believed herself the luckiest woman in the world. And she had made herself a silent promise that she would be the perfect wife to this wonderful man.

She’d tried—tried to the point of exhaustion. But nothing she did was ever good enough for Burke’s daughter or the friends who’d kept Kate’s memory alive.

She glanced up at the wall clock. Brianna would be here soon. Hopefully, Garrett would just let her off at the hospital and leave. If he came into the room, Allison knew that it would be up to her to keep him from upsetting Burke again.

Putting the magazine aside, she stepped into the bathroom, finished, and stood to wash her hands. The mirror above the sink reflected a tired face, bare of makeup, the eyes ringed in shadows. A bitter smile tugged at her lips. Nobody would call her a trophy wife now.

* * *

Brianna stood in the hospital parking lot, watching Garrett lift her suitcase out of his SUV. At seventeen, she’d had a schoolgirl crush on the man. But now that she’d met Liam, she could see Garrett’s flaws. He was showing his age, his hair thinning on top, his teeth slightly yellowed, and his muscles losing their tone. And she’d noticed he had a way of putting other people down to make himself look good. She no longer found him attractive, but she still liked him. He was easy to talk to, and he was one of the few people who’d always treated her like an adult.

Wearing distressed jeans, high-heeled boots, and a black leather jacket, she strode toward the building, with Garrett trailing her. She’d dressed to give herself confidence, but now that she was here, she realized that how she looked didn’t matter.

“Are you okay?” he asked as they walked through the main entrance.

“I’ll have to be okay, won’t I?” The truth was she felt shaky and scared. But she couldn’t let it show. She had to be brave for her father.

She pictured him in her mind—tall and strong and energetic, the man who’d always taken care of her and provided for her every need. Maybe his condition wouldn’t be as serious as she’d been told. Maybe she would walk in to find him sitting up and smiling, ready to get out of the hospital and get back to work. He was still young—not yet fifty. Surely, whatever had happened to him, he would be strong enough to bounce right back to normal.

Forcing a smile, she walked into the room. The man in the bed was asleep—his face ashen, his head ban

daged, his jaw rough with unshaven stubble. An oxygen clip was attached to his nose. IV and monitor tubes were attached to his arms and hands. Brianna blinked back tears. Her father looked even worse than she’d feared he would.

And he was all alone. Where was the nurse? And where was Allison? How could she go off and leave him like this?

She leaned over him, as close as she could. “It’s all right, Daddy,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’ve come home.”

His eyelids fluttered. His blue eyes—almost as blue as Liam’s—opened. She expected him to smile, but he looked more perturbed than happy. “What are you doing here, Brianna?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you in school?”

She drew back a little. “I came to make sure you were all right,” she said. “Who’s taking care of you? Isn’t Allison supposed to be here? Or is she afraid of breaking a fingernail?”

Just then the bathroom door opened and Allison stepped out, drying her hands on a paper towel. She looked exhausted, her hair mussed, her bloodshot eyes sunk in shadows, and her tired face bare of makeup.

“Hello, Brianna,” she said. “I’m glad you got here safely.”

Garrett had walked into the room, carrying Brianna’s suitcase, which he set behind the door. The small room suddenly seemed crowded, as if the people in it were sucking out all the air.

Brianna’s expression darkened as she looked at Allison. “How could you?” she demanded. “How could you let him go out at night in a storm, on that awful, slick road? He could have died in that wreck!”

“Now, honey, it wasn’t Allison’s fault,” Burke said. “She tried to talk me out of going, but you know your stubborn old dad. I’ve got nobody to blame but myself.”