A Husband Worth Waiting For. Grace Green

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      Pushing aside her blanket, she sat up on the low-slung sofa. She hadn’t drawn the curtains last night, and the room was now filled with gray shadows.

      The children were still asleep, Emma on a love seat, Jamie in the depths of a recliner. Sarah felt her heart ache as she looked at them.

      They’d adored Chance, and his death had left a big hole in their lives, a hole she tried her best to fill by lavishing all her love on them. But was it enough? She’d been eight when her own father had died, and the loss had been devastating. Years had passed before she’d finally given up hoping that by some miracle he would come back.

      Now she was a single mom with a dream that seemed as out of reach as the stars: to have her children grow up in a warm and happy two-parent family.

      Rising with a sigh, she tucked her hair behind her ears and crossed to the window. Rain bucketed down and the gale screamed around the corners. She shivered. Not a day to be traveling—

      A movement just beyond her Cutlass caught her attention. Jedidiah Morgan was striding across the forecourt, his hair flattened by rain, his rangy frame encased in a navy anorak and jeans. At his heels loped Max. They were headed toward a Range Rover parked under a tree.

      As she watched, he opened the driver’s door. The dog leaped up into the vehicle; Jedidiah jumped up after him.

      White gravel chips spurted from the wheels as he took off—in a hurry, Sarah thought gloomily, to be rid of her.

      Emma stirred.

      Sarah went over to sit on the edge of the love seat. “Good morning, honey.” She cuddled her daughter, savoring the sleepy scent from her warm skin. “Time to get up.”

      As Emma feathered her tousled hair from her face with spread fingers, her pink cloth doll slid to the floor. Sarah bent to pick it up. Chance had bought the doll for Emma the day she was born, but it had remained nameless till Emma was over a year old, when she’d held it out one day and said proudly, “Girl!” The name had stuck.

      Sarah set Girl on the coffee table, and as she did, Jamie stirred. Drowsily, he opened his eyes.

      “Good morning, sweetie!” Sarah scooped him up and gave him a big hug.

      He twined his arms around her neck. “I’s hungry.”

      “Me, too,” Emma said. “Starving!”

      Sarah slid Jamie to the floor, and Emma grabbed his hand. “C’mon, Jamie,” she said. “I know where to go!”

      The kitchen smelled of coffee, but the coffeepot had been washed and the table was bare. If Sarah had hoped her host might have set out a breakfast for them, her hopes were dashed. The man was making it clear, in every possible way, that they were not welcome in his home.

      She made scrambled eggs and toast for Emma and Jamie, and after pouring herself a glass of milk, she downed her daily quota of vitamin pills. Then tuning out the children’s chatter, she moved to stand at the window.

      Through the rain, she could see the mountain slope, dark with evergreens. On a sunny day, she reflected, the view would be awesome.

      But she wouldn’t be here to see it on any sunny day. She was to be out of this house within the hour.

      Normally a cheerful, optimistic person, she felt dread settle over her. It was a scary world for a single mom with hardly any money; and especially for one in her situation, with no place to call home….

      Though that wasn’t strictly true. There was always Wynthrop. But the thought of returning to that house—where she would be even less welcome than she was here—made her very soul shudder.

      “Mom,” Emma said, “did our uncle come home yet?”

      Sarah reined in her depressing thoughts. “Yes, he came home last night.”

      “Are we going to stay here awhile?”

      “No, honey. We’ll be leaving as soon as he returns. He’s taken a drive down the mountain track to make sure the rain didn’t wash it out.”

      “So he’ll be back shortly?”

      “Yes, he’ll be back shortly.”

      When he hadn’t come back in an hour, Sarah felt uneasy.

      After a couple of hours, she was nibbling her thumbnail, a habit she’d broken when she was thirteen. The man should have been home by now. On her own drive up the mountain—on an unfamiliar road in the stormy dark—she’d taken, at most, fifteen minutes. Where could he be?

      She paced the sitting room, sidestepping Jamie who was lying on the carpet, playing with his trucks. Emma stood at the window, hands pressed to the sill, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. The child had spent the past couple of hours reading, but now she was restless.

      Just as her mother was restless.

      “Mom, there’s a police car coming up the drive.”

      “A police car?”

      “Yup.”

      Sarah hurried over to the window in time to see the car pull up beside her own. A uniformed officer stepped out.

      Emma pressed her nose to the windowpane. “What do you think he wants, Mom?”

      “Wait here. I’ll find out.”

      “I want to come!”

      “I want you to stay here.” If something was wrong, she didn’t want Emma to hear it. “Keep an eye on Jamie.”

      Emma pouted. But she did as she was told.

      The doorbell rang.

      The last time Sarah had answered the door to a police officer had been on the day of Chance’s death. A sick feeling swam in her stomach as she crossed the foyer; a feeling that intensified when she opened the door and saw the serious expression on the young officer’s face.

      “Ma’am, I’m Constable Trammer. You’re…?”

      “Mrs. Morgan. Sarah Morgan.”

      “You’re the wife of Jedidiah Morgan?”

      “No, his sister-in-law.”

      “I’m afraid there’s been an accident, Mrs. Morgan. Down at the foot of the mountain, at the four-way intersection. A truck went through a stop sign and knocked Mr. Morgan’s Range Rover off the road. The trucker’s unhurt, but Mr. Morgan…”

      Déjà vu. The same disembodied feeling that had assailed her when she’d been told about Chance’s death threatened to undo Sarah now. She grabbed the edge of the door for support.

      “He’s been injured, ma’am, and has been taken by ambulance to St. Mary’s Hospital in Kentonville.”

      Injured. Not dead.

      Sarah closed her eyes, letting relief wash over her. When she opened them again, the constable was frowning.

      “You okay?” he asked.

      Abstractedly, she gestured his question aside. “Are Mr. Morgan’s injuries life threatening?”

      “He got a bang on the side of his head and with that kind of injury there’s always a risk. He was unconscious when we got to him.”

      “The hospital…where did you say it was?”

      “Kentonville. Ten miles west of here, on the river. Hospital’s right at this end of town. You can’t miss it.”

      St. Mary’s Hospital was a peach-colored stucco building, situated between the Kenton Motel and the municipal library.

      Sarah learned at the information desk that her brother-in-law was in room 345. She ushered the children to the elevator, and when they emerged on the third floor, she spotted room 345 across the way. But as she led the children toward it, she was accosted