Angel's Rest

chapter SEVENTEEN





Summer arrived with the influx of seasonal residents and a glorious trickle of tourists. The pace of life picked up as gift shops and restaurants opened their doors and all businesses extended their hours of operation. Between the return of the season and the spending by a constant parade of contractors working long hours at Angel’s Rest, the citizens of Eternity Springs enjoyed an unusually loud jingle in their pockets.

Then the second week of June a once-in-a-generation weather system moved in over the Colorado Rockies and parked for days, dumping rain and causing significant flooding throughout the state. Eternity Springs fared better than many areas of Colorado, though early Wednesday morning Angel Creek did top its banks and only concerted sandbagging effort by townspeople along with good design on Gabe’s part saved the hot springs garden from destruction. By Wednesday evening the creek returned to its banks and everyone breathed more easily while keeping a sharp eye on both the sky and radar reports.

Nic ended a busy day at the clinic: she’d released a canine heartworm patient, spayed two cats, and performed emergency surgery on the broken leg of a mountain lion kit rescued from the creek by the Cartwright boys. As she paused in the doorway of her clinic to open her umbrella, she hesitated. Something felt strange. Wrong. She set down her umbrella and made another round of the clinic looking for something, anything, out of place, but nothing stuck out. “Guess the rain is spooking me,” she murmured to herself. Ordinarily this time of year, rain came from thunderstorms that moved through the valley quickly, not this dreary, steady rain that didn’t stop.

She stepped outside and stayed on the path to take the long way to the house rather than step across the sodden yard to her back door. Once inside, she showered and changed into warm, dry clothes. She put chicken in the oven to bake and went into the living room, where she sat down to watch television and to wait for Gabe to come home.

The babies were active tonight, doing their kicking and punching thing that never failed to thrill her. At her appointment the previous week, her obstetrician had mentioned that by the time Nic was ready to deliver, she’d be tired of her status as a punching bag. Maybe Liz Marshall was right, but for the moment Nic enjoyed sitting quietly and feeling her babies’ bump.

Except tonight she continued to be plagued by a quiet sense of unease.

Gabe and Tiger arrived home just as she pulled the chicken from the oven. Over dinner, her husband caught her up on the day’s events at Angel’s Rest. “As bad as this weather is, we’re lucky it didn’t start two weeks earlier or Celeste’s grand opening might have been delayed.”

“I’m glad for that, but I do worry about other businesses in town. The tourist trade is suffering.”

“I know. I spoke with Henry Moreland today. He said the Double R has canceled their trail rides for the rest of the week. Even if the forecast proves true and the rain clears out tomorrow, they need three days of sunshine for things to dry out enough so that the rides won’t tear up the trail.”

“Will the grounds at Angel’s Rest be okay for the birthday party Saturday?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he replied.

“Good. I think—” She broke off abruptly and grimaced as she shifted in her seat to ease an ache in her back.

“You okay?” Gabe asked.

“Yeah. I think I tweaked my back bending over earlier.”

He frowned at her. “You need to be more careful.”

“I think my muscles are stretching—everything is out of whack.”

Nic thought about that moment later as she prepared for bed and realized that the nagging backache, though mild, hadn’t gone away despite the doctor-ordered stretching exercises and a doctor-approved painkiller. For the first time she felt a moment of concern.

She snapped her fingers. “I forgot to email Sage the punch recipe for tomorrow. I’ll be right back.”

Already in bed, worn out from a long day doing physical labor in the rain, Gabe didn’t lift his head as he grunted into his pillow.

“I’m being silly,” she murmured to herself as she sat down at the computer and opened the browser. She went to her favorite pregnancy website and started reading. Five minutes later, filled with unease, she drank a large glass of water, then went to bed. Lying tilted toward her left side, she rested her hands at the top of her uterus and concentrated on detecting any and all sensations.

Minutes passed without anything unusual or alarming taking place, and Nic began to relax. At some point, Gabe rolled toward her, threw an arm around her, and pulled her against him. As he snored softly into her ear, she smiled into the darkness. He made her feel protected and secure.

A quarter hour ticked by, then a half, and finally, a full hour. Nothing is wrong. I’m imagining everything. First time being pregnant and I’m clueless and fretting over nothing. A backache by itself isn’t reason for concern. Go to sleep. You’ll be better in the morning. Everything will be better after a good night’s sleep.

As the constant rain beat a staccato rhythm on her roof, she snuggled up against Gabe, said a prayer for all her loved ones, and willed herself to sleep. Downstairs, the Westminster chime of the mantel clock in the parlor chimed midnight.


Gabe awoke abruptly and blinked into the darkness. All his senses went on alert. Something was wrong.

He felt the bed beside him. Nic lay there, soft, warm, and asleep. So what had woken him up? A sound that didn’t belong? It was raining so hard it all but drowned out other sounds. He sniffed the air, thinking fire, but noted nothing except the subtle, sexy fragrance of Nic’s peaches-and-spice lotion.

Then … a touch. A brush against his arm.

A paw.

Oh, for crying out loud. Sighing, he threw off the covers and sat up. He could barely make out the dog’s form in the darkness. Stupid dog. Gabe had put him out before they’d gone to bed. Softly, so as not to wake his wife, he said, “I ought to let you out and leave you out.”

Wearing only his boxers, Gabe trod sleepily downstairs. Halfway down, he realized the dog hadn’t followed him. “What now?” he muttered. Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he called, “Hey, dog. C’mon.”

Still nothing.

“Grrr,” Gabe grumbled. He trudged back upstairs and reentered his bedroom. What was wrong with the mutt? For a dog, he was relatively smart. It wasn’t like him to do something—

“Ouch!” Gabe yelped as his bare foot came down on something sharp on the floor.

“Gabe?” Nic asked, sitting up in bed and switching on the lamp. “What’s wrong?”

“I stepped on … a stapler? How did that get in the middle of the floor?”

“Oh, man. I was finally asleep.”

“Sorry, but I’m only partially to blame. The dog woke me up. I thought he wanted out, but apparently not. And if that weren’t enough, he dragged the stapler off the desk and dropped it in the middle of the doorway, where I’d step on it.”

“Tiger wouldn’t do that,” Nic protested. “Look, he’s curled up in his bed sound asleep. You must have been dreaming.”

“That dog shouldn’t be sleeping in here anyway. He snores.”

“Well, yes, but so do you.” With that, Nic threw off the bedcovers and padded into the master bathroom.

Gabe scowled down at the dog. He had plenty of places to sleep—Nic had dog beds scattered in almost every room in the house. “It’s about time I assert myself as the alpha dog in the pack,” Gabe declared. From now on, the boxer would be banished from the bedroom.

As he bent over to grab the dog bed and wake the troublemaker, a frightened gasp from the bathroom distracted him. He jerked upright. “Nic?”

“Gabe, something’s wrong. I think … oh, God … Gabe, I’m having contractions.”


“What do you mean, CareFlight isn’t available?” Gabe yelled into the telephone’s receiver as he rifled through a pile of newspapers on the counter in the kitchen. Where had he left his keys?

“I’m sorry, sir. There’s been a horrible accident on the highway east of Montrose. An eighteen-wheeler hit a bus. All birds in the area are tied up there.”

“Then send someone from Colorado Springs.”

“The weather has flights grounded along the front range. I’ll send someone as soon as possible, but you need to understand it will be a couple of hours before anyone can get to you.”

“Fine.” He slammed down the phone with a curse, then turned to Nic, who was securing the boxer in his crate. “It’ll be two hours at least,” he told her. “What do we do?”

“I’m afraid to wait.” She gestured toward the kitchen table, where his keys lay in plain sight. “You’d better drive me.”

Five minutes later, they were on the road. For the first fifteen minutes of the trip, neither of them spoke. Tension was a living, breathing beast riding with them.

Nic sat with a small spiral notebook and a pencil in hand. When he noticed her writing something, he glanced at the dashboard, where the clock’s red numerals read 3:42. “Another contraction?”

“Yes.”

Damn. His natural inclination was to punch the gas pedal, but the storm, the terrain, and his own horrific history behind the wheel kept him driving at a safe speed.

“It’s probably nothing,” Nic said. “This whole thing is probably just a case of a first-time mom who doesn’t know what she’s doing. Dr. Marshall said checking me was just a precaution.”

“Uh-huh.”

They rode in silence for another twenty minutes before Gabe said in a grim tone. “Eternity Springs doesn’t need a healing center. It needs a hospital, or at the very least a full-service medical clinic with a real staff of real doctors. If you’d had a heart attack, you’d be dead.”

“No, actually we’re well-equipped to deal with heart attacks. The town paid for EMT training for six people. The system usually works. It’s just our bad luck that I’m having this trouble while another serious medical situation is taking place under horrible weather conditions.”

Gabe wanted to argue back, but he decided to keep his mouth shut for the time being. The last thing she needed now was more stress. Besides, if this did prove to be a false alarm and she and the babies were okay, he intended to see that the situation changed. Forget Eternity Springs. For the remainder of the pregnancy, they could move to somewhere civilized, near a hospital with a neonatal unit and a perinatologist on staff.

Beside him, Nic made another mark in her notebook. Gabe felt his tension level rise from orange to red. What would he do if she started to hemorrhage? If her water broke? If she passed out?

“Do you mind if I put on a CD?” she said.

“Huh? What?” Did she say she was bleeding?

“I’d like music. I want to play a CD.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.”

“What would you like to listen to?”

“Your choice.” He bit out the words. “I really don’t care.”

Rain fell in sheets as Norah Jones’ smoky voice drifted from the stereo. He kept his windshield wipers set at full speed, the headlights on high, and his teeth clenched tight. Despite his need for focus, his mind drifted back to another middle-of-the-night, I’m-having-contractions trip to a hospital. That night he’d been tense, too, only that tension had been fueled with anticipation rather than dread. Jen had been five days past her due date, excited and relieved that the big moment was finally under way.

He’d held her hand that night as they made the fifteen-minute trip to the hospital. Tonight, though, he needed both hands on the wheel. He and Jen had laughed and joked during the drive that night—another contrast with current events.

What a magical night that had been. Jen had awakened him with a big kiss on his mouth. Gabe had pulled on suit pants and a Jimmy Buffett T-shirt. Jen had taken one look at him and made him go back and change.

He would never forget the joy that had filled him the moment Matt slid into the doctor’s hands, took his first breath, and let out his first angry cry. He’d been full. So full. When he held his son for the first time, he had truly believed that the bad times were all behind him.

Nic interrupted his reverie when she said, “Maybe I didn’t hydrate well enough. Do you still keep bottled water in the back?”

“I think I have a soft cooler right behind my seat. If you can’t reach it, I’ll pull off and get it for you.”

Nic leaned toward him and stretched her left arm behind his seat. “Almost.”

He remembered how Jen used to lean over like that and lay her head against his shoulder as she reached to pick up a toy that Matty had thrown down.

Nic stretched again, then used her right arm to loosen the catch on her seat belt.

“Don’t do that!” Gabe snapped when he realized what she’d done. He all but expected a car to come careening out of the darkness toward them. In their lane. “Put your seat belt back on. I’ll stop and get the water myself.”

“I’ve got it.” When Nic withdrew her arm from behind him, she held a bottle of water. She buckled her belt, settled back in her seat, and calmly twisted the bottle cap, then took a long sip.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Gabe demanded, his voice raised, his fingers clamped around the steering wheel. “It’s stupid enough to do it under normal circumstances, but look outside. Look at the rain and the road. These are dangerous driving conditions.”

“Gabe, really. It was just a few seconds.”

“It only takes a second.” His chest grew tight as memories flashed through his mind. “Believe me.”

She stared at him for a moment, then winced. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have unbuckled. I should have asked you to pull over. My mind is on the babies. Since dehydration can cause contractions, all I thought about was getting more water into me as fast as possible.”

“I get it. Just … don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.” She sipped her water and added, “I promise.”

I promise. His throat constricted with emotion; nevertheless, a tiny sound of pain escaped. Those two little words echoed through his mind and pierced his heart.

Hold on, Jen. Please. Help will be here soon. Don’t leave me. Please, dear Lord, help us. Jen, hold on. Don’t leave me!

I won’t. I promise.

They were the last words Jen said to him before she died in his arms.

Grimly he attempted to push the thought aside as he stared ahead, concentrating on his driving, balancing the needs for speed and safety to the best of his ability. But as the miles and minutes ticked by, events from his past assailed him and a sense of inevitability weighted his heart and soul.

This wouldn’t end well. It never did. He never should have let down his guard.

As that thought crystallized in his mind, the car rounded a curve and the animal’s eyes flashed in the beam of the headlights as an elk bounded from the trees directly in front of them. Gabe instinctively braked and twisted the wheel. The tires skidded. The car began to hydroplane. Nic screamed. Jen screamed.

The elk bounced off the front fender and disappeared into the woods as the airbags deployed.

Airbags deployed. Metal crunched. Matt’s cry stopped abruptly.

The Jeep slid off the road and came to rest softly against a stand of piñon pines. Beside him, his wife cried out, “Gabe?”

A chemical scent filled the air. “Jen, are you all right?”

She let out a little whimper of pain. “Nic. I’m Nic. Can we drive? Please tell me we’re not stuck.”

Nic. I’m with Nic. Gabe glanced in the backseat. No smashed car seat. No broken little boy. This was Colorado, not Virginia. Nic, not Jennifer. Twin babies on the way, not his beloved little Matt.

He looked at Nic, barely able to see her in the shadows. She’s moving. She’s talking. Gabe blew out a breath, released his death grip around the steering wheel, and dragged a trembling hand down his face, then switched on the dome light. “Nicole, are you hurt?”

She was as pale as a corpse. Urgently he asked, “Are you bleeding?”

“No. Just scraped up a bit, I think, from the airbag. Are we stranded, Gabe?”

He took stock. The windshield wipers kept up their rhythmic motion. Norah Jones still sang. The motor continued to run. They had four-wheel drive. He’d get them out of here if he had to push the Jeep back onto the road himself. “We’re not stranded,” he told her, opening his door. “I’ll be right back.”

Cold rain doused him and he vaguely noted the scrapes on his own skin stinging as he rounded the front of the car. The dent in the passenger-side front panel sucked the breath right out of his lungs. Two seconds later and the elk would have come through Nic’s window. She could have died.

Nausea struck him and he staggered back a step, leaned over with his hands on his knees, and vomited. Then he stood and lifted his face into the cold, driving rain, but he knew he couldn’t tarry. The clock was still ticking.

He returned to the Jeep. “The ground is spongy but not a quagmire,” he told Nic. “Getting out should be no problem.” With a deft touch he guided the Jeep back onto the road.

Gabe didn’t protest when Nic switched on the heater and ejected the CD. He was cold to the bone, though he doubted anything so simple as a heater could warm him. He was lost in a nightmare made up of now and of then. He could smell blood on the air even while he knew he was in Colorado and not in Virginia. What if the doctor couldn’t stop her labor? What if the babies died? What if Nic died? Jen had died. He’d been alone. He’d be alone again.

He was terrified.

They completed the trip to Gunnison in silence.

At the hospital, he pulled into the circular drive in front of the emergency entrance, shifted into park, and looked at her. Light from the emergency room sign turned her pale complexion bloodred. He saw both fear and urgency in her eyes and knew his own eyes must reflect the same emotions. “Wait here until I get help, okay?”

“Sure.”

Even before he rounded the Jeep, the ER’s automatic doors whooshed open and a man wearing scrubs pushed an empty wheelchair toward them. “Is this Mrs. Callahan?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Dr. Marshall is waiting for her.”

Gabe opened Nic’s door and he and the ER employee helped her into the chair. “If you’ll take the first right and go down to the end of the hall, Admitting has paperwork for you to sign, Mr. Callahan. Your wife will be to the left in room three. You’ll want to move your car before you join her.”

“Okay.”

Nic looked back over her shoulder at him, her expression rife with worry, her blue eyes pleading for him to hurry. He tried to smile reassuringly, but he simply couldn’t get his lips to lift.

Gabe made his way to Admitting. In his mind’s eye, he was back in a Virginia hospital, his clothing covered in blood—his blood, hers. Matt’s. Oh, God. Matty.

“May I have your insurance card?”

A policeman saying, His wife is DOA.

“Sir? Your insurance card?”

“What? Oh.” He winced. “Sorry.”

Blindly he signed whatever papers she put in front of him. Fear was a cold stone in his gut. Nic. The babies. What if I lose her? Lose them?

He dragged his feet returning to the ER. He was cold, wet, frozen. Terrified. Spying a men’s room, he detoured into it. He ran hot water into the sink, leaned over, and splashed his face. Words echoed in his mind. So sorry for your loss, Mr. Callahan. Such a tragedy. She was such a joyous spirit. Our condolences, Gabe.

He looked in the mirror, but didn’t see himself. He saw the fear in Nic’s eyes. The fear in Jen’s eyes. She knew she was dying. What about Nic? What about the babies?

He reached for a paper towel and dried his face, dried his hands. Saw blood on his hands, both real and imagined.

Someone else walked into the men’s room, so he walked out. He walked past the exit and found room three. He stood outside the curtained enclosure, numb, cold, and alone as he listened to Nic’s obstetrician asking a series of questions.

On the other side of the curtain, he heard Nic murmur a question he couldn’t make out. The doctor responded by saying, “I won’t lie to you, Nic. If you are in labor and we can’t stop it, the babies won’t survive.”

The babies won’t survive.

The boy has a traumatic brain injury. It’s only a matter of time.

The doctor continued, “We don’t have the facilities here to accommodate babies born at twenty-four weeks.”

But the words didn’t register. All Gabe heard was …

The babies won’t survive.

Your son is dead.

My family didn’t survive.

“My babies won’t survive,” he whispered.

Breathing heavily, his fists clenching and then releasing at his sides, Gabe backed away from the curtain and … broke.

He walked—almost ran—to the hospital exit. Dashing out into the rain, he climbed into the Jeep, started the engine, and shifted into gear.

Gabe drove away. Leaving his wife, his babies, and his self-respect behind.