Longwalker's Child. Debra Webb

caught Lauren Whitmore just before she hit the floor. He held her limp body in his arms and dropped down to his knees.

      God in Heaven, what am I supposed to do now?

      “Mommy!” a shrill voice screamed.

      Gray jerked his head up at the terrified sound. What he saw sucked the air right out of his lungs.

      A little girl stood stock-still in the middle of the entrance hall. The terror in her eyes far exceeded what he had heard in her voice. Big, tear-filled eyes stared back at him…gray eyes. Black hair draped her trembling shoulders and fell all the way to her waist. Hair so black it looked blue wherever the light reflected against it.

      The drumming of Gray’s heart blocked all other sound. An emotion so foreign he couldn’t possibly hope to identify it rushed through him.

      This was his child.

      Gray didn’t need a test. He couldn’t have denied this child even if he had wanted to. This was why Lauren Whitmore’s eyes had widened so when he had first appeared at her door this morning. Gray had assumed she had recognized him by old photographs Sharon had left behind, but that wasn’t the case at all.

      Lauren Whitmore had seen Sarah in him.

      “What’s wrong with my mommy?”

      The question jerked Gray from his intense reverie. He looked from the frightened child to the woman in his arms and relaxed the overtight hold he’d only just realized he had on Lauren. She was out cold.

      “I don’t know,” he said, and then lifted his gaze back to the child’s. She watched him with a wary but expectant gaze. “We were talking and she passed out.”

      The little girl sniffed and eased closer. “Mommy says if nobody’s home ’cept me when she gets sick, I should call 911 like she showed me.” She gave him another wary look as she took one more small step closer.

      Gray exhaled heavily. He looked down at Lauren Whitmore, who still hadn’t moved a muscle. He checked her pulse at the side of her throat. “Well, she’s breathing and her pulse is strong and steady.” He looked back at the child, hoping to appease her. “I don’t think we need to call 911, Sarah.”

      The child’s eyes grew wide at his use of her name. “How’d you know my name? You’re a stranger.”

      Holding Lauren against his chest, he stuck out his free hand. “Gray Longwalker.”

      Sarah stared at his outstretched hand, her dark eyebrows knit in worry. “Are you a friend of my mommy’s?”

      Gray hesitated, then nodded. It was a flat-out lie, but he knew the child needed reassuring.

      Sarah didn’t take his hand. “Are you gonna help my mommy, mister?”

      “Just call me Gray,” he offered, letting his hand drop.

      Sarah didn’t respond, she simply stood there and stared at him—clearly fearful of what might happen.

      “How about we lay your mom down somewhere and then I’ll call her doctor? She has a doctor, doesn’t she?”

      The child nodded and gestured for Gray to follow her down the hall. Gray took off his Stetson, tossing it on the hall table. He adjusted his hold on Lauren and got to his feet. He followed Sarah to the far end of the hall, into a darkened bedroom. She turned on the bedside lamp and climbed onto the bed. Silently she waited while Gray laid Lauren beside her.

      “Dr. Bill’s number is by the phone in the kitchen,” she said quietly, never taking her eyes from the still form next to her.

      “I’ll go call, then.”

      Sarah didn’t answer or even look up. She caressed Lauren’s cheek with small, trembling fingers.

      Gray forced the haunting image from his mind as he retraced his steps down the hall until he found the dining room. He skirted the already-set table and passed through an open doorway into the kitchen. After locating the phone, he punched in the posted number for Dr. Bill Prescott. Gray didn’t recognize the name, obviously another newcomer to Thatcher.

      Gray inhaled the mouthwatering aroma that filled the kitchen. His stomach rumbled. How long had it been since he’d had a home-cooked meal? Too long to remember, he thought with uncharacteristic longing.

      While he listened to the receptionist’s greeting, Gray turned the oven off. Whatever Lauren Whitmore had on tonight’s menu would have to wait. He noticed the open medicine bottle by the sink and picked it up to read the label.

      Gray gave the receptionist a quick summary of what had taken place. After a brief wait on hold, a man answered and identified himself as the doctor.

      “Tell me exactly what happened,” Prescott ordered, concern in his voice.

      “One minute we were talking and the next she was out like a light.” Gray rotated the bottle in his hand to verify the name when the doctor asked about medication. “Yes, the open bottle was next to the sink, but I have no idea if she took a tablet.”

      “This is the first episode Lauren has had in quite some time,” Prescott said, and then hesitated as if considering the best course of action. “She’ll sleep for several hours. When she wakes up she’ll be weak, and the pain will likely come again. Just keep her comfortable and have her call me as soon as she’s up and around again. I can come by tonight if she needs me.”

      “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s wrong with her?” Gray ventured, and then quickly added, “I haven’t known her very long.”

      There was a long pause before Prescott responded. “She has cluster headaches,” he finally explained. “They’re similar to migraines, but the cluster effect makes them more intense. She doesn’t have them often anymore, but when they strike they’re debilitating. It’s not as bad as it sounds, Mr…. what did you say your name was?”

      “Longwalker. Gray Longwalker.”

      “Mr. Longwalker, Lauren’s headaches appear to be mainly related to stress. As long as she stays clear of any major stress she doesn’t have any problems. I have no idea of your relationship with Lauren, but I sincerely hope you won’t let this incident color your opinion of her. Lauren’s a terrific young woman. Obviously, though, there’s something stressful going on in her life right now.”

      Gray assured the doctor he would have Lauren call him. He pushed the off button and placed the cordless receiver back in its cradle. He swallowed hard as he considered Dr. Prescott’s words.

      Stress.

      He had done this to Lauren Whitmore. Gray shook off the regret and forced away the guilt. The woman had chosen to come between him and his child. She had, in effect, brought this particular stress upon herself, he rationalized, but it didn’t relieve the guilt nagging at him.

      When Gray returned to the bedroom, Sarah sat in the exact same place he had left her, still stroking Lauren’s cheek. Gray eased down on the edge of the bed feeling sorely out of place in the role of caretaker to anyone but himself.

      “Is my mommy gonna be okay?” She looked up at Gray with a worried gaze that squeezed his heart.

      “Yes.” He smiled and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “She’ll sleep for a while, but the doctor says she’s going to be fine.” He quashed the renewed rush of guilt that crowded his chest.

      “Good.” Sarah frowned then, her whole face puckered in the process. “I don’t want my new mommy to go to Heaven like my old mommy did.”

      Gray swallowed back the emotion that pushed up into his throat. He’d never in his life been an emotional man. He didn’t quite understand his reaction. Maybe he was tired from the trip and all the anger he had felt at life these past two days.

      “Don’t worry, Sarah. She’ll be fine.”

      “You promise?” She stared up at him, tears brimming.