Page 2 of Dallas Rivals

“Mom, take it easy,” the girl whispers, passing her a tissue.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, watching the two of them. The sight ties a knot in my chest. What I saw tonight wasn’t pretty, and I’ve got a bad feeling the news won’t be either. Looking at his wife, I can’t help but worry how she’ll take what’s coming.

“What happened?” Mrs. Saint-Clair asks.

“I’m not sure,” I answer. “The horses got loose during the storm. I think Lucien tried to round them up, but it was too dark. They must’ve run right over him.”

“Oh, dear Lord…”

Now the daughter’s staring at me like she wants to tear me apart.

I swallow hard.

“How long has he been in surgery?”

Her voice sounds a lot like her mother’s—fast, tense, a little sharp. I figure it’s the nerves talking.

“Fourteen hours,” I tell her.

She nods, doesn’t say a word. Her eyes drift around the hospital, but I doubt she’s really seeing anything. She’s somewhere else—running through every possible outcome, each one worse than the last.

I know that look.

It’s the same one I’ve been wearing all night.

Five hours later, a doctor steps out from the operating room, scanning the crowd.

The three of us jump to our feet.

“Mrs. Saint-Clair?” he asks.

“Yes, that’s me,” she answers, twisting a tissue between her fingers.

“Well,” the man says, checking the paper on his clipboard, “Lucien’s alive. That’s the good news.”

“Oh, thank You, Lord in Heaven!” she cries out. Her voice trembles, high-pitched and relieved.

She’s one nervous woman.

“And the bad news?” her daughter asks.

The doctor exhales, lips pressed into a thin line.

Here it comes.

“I’m afraid his spinal cord’s been severely damaged.”

“What does that mean?” Mrs. Saint-Clair asks, lost and panicking. She turns to her daughter for answers—though really, the doctor’s the one who should be giving them.

I step in instead. “It means paralysis.”

My arms are crossed tight over my chest; my eyes fixed on the doctor’s quiet nod.

They both stare at me, mouths open.

“My God, honey,” the older woman whimpers, “what are we gonna do?”

“Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll figure it out,” the daughter whispers, rubbing her back.