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Authors: Loree Lough
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shaky sigh as Reid continued with Revelation 7:17. “‘For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.”’
He saw her slowly nod as a peaceful smile kissed the corners of her mouth. “Perfect,” she said softly. “And now, will you pray?”
The breath caught in his throat. If chapter and verse wasn’t praying, what was?
But even as he asked the question, Reid knew that what Cammi wanted, what she needed from him now: A heartfelt, plainspoken plea, not for herself, but for her baby.
He felt like a hypocrite for giving so much as half a thought to the idea of asking God for help. A lifetime of unanswered prayers and bitter disappointments had taught him that the Lord, if He even existed, had turned His turn back on Reid, on Martina and Billy, on so many good people Reid had known.
Still, the Bible verses had definitely calmed her, as evidenced by her now regular, shallow breaths. He’d heard enough from-the-heart-pleas in his stepfather’s fire-and-brimstone church to know how it should be done. Wouldn’t help, he thought again, but what could it hurt?
“Lord,” he began, “You taught us that with faith, nothing is impossible, so bless Your daughter, Cammi, now.” She’d need strength of the superhuman kind, Reid acknowledged silently, to accept what the E.R. doctors would say about her pregnancy. “She believes You’ll help her, believes You’ll keep her baby safe and sound, right up to the moment You’ve chosen to bring it into this world.”
It was hard to continue, because when she squeezed his hand, a tiny sob issued from her, causing a hard lump to form in his throat. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to keep her safe and sound! “And Lord,” he added, “keep Cammi safe and sound. We ask these things in Your name….”
Together, they uttered a quiet “Amen.”
One second, then two, ticked silently by before she said, “Thank you, Reid,” and nodded off.
Dread wrapped around him like a cold wet wind. “Only a few more minutes,” he said, squeezing her small hand. “I can see the E.R. entrance sign.”
It reminded him of the last time he’d been to thishospital, when he’d visited his mother. She lay pale and gaunt against flowery bedsheets provided by the nice hospice ladies. He’d barely stuck a boot tip into her room when she ordered him to leave, to stay away until after she’d gone to meet her Maker. “I don’t want you to remember me this way,” she’d whimpered, turning her face to the wall. Fiery rage had burned inside him, because he’d childishly—foolishly—expected medical science to do what God had refused to do. Despite the torturous treatments they’d put her through, the cancer continued to grow, until one day, mercifully, she slipped into a coma.
That’s when he went back to the rodeo, and he didn’t return again until Martina called to say Billy had arranged everything—the wake, the funeral, the headstone. Reid was alone at his mother’s grave when he swore the next time he set foot in a hospital, it would be feetfirst—with a tag wrapped around his big toe.
Unfortunately, he’d seen the inside of too many hospitals across the country. The risks he took riding savage, untamed beasts told the rodeo world that Reid Alexander, “All-Around Cowboy,” had no fear. In truth, he flat-out didn’t give a hoot what happened to him. How ironic, he thought, that having nothing to live for had made him a star.
At the moment, though, Reid cared very much, because this small, helpless woman beside him needed him to care. He stomped the truck’s brakes outside the E.R.’s double-wide entry, leaped from the cab without bothering to close the driver’s side door, and bolted into the hospital. “I’ve got a woman outthere,” he bellowed, pointing frantically, “and she’s had a miscarriage. She’s bleeding badly, and—”
The nearest
He saw her slowly nod as a peaceful smile kissed the corners of her mouth. “Perfect,” she said softly. “And now, will you pray?”
The breath caught in his throat. If chapter and verse wasn’t praying, what was?
But even as he asked the question, Reid knew that what Cammi wanted, what she needed from him now: A heartfelt, plainspoken plea, not for herself, but for her baby.
He felt like a hypocrite for giving so much as half a thought to the idea of asking God for help. A lifetime of unanswered prayers and bitter disappointments had taught him that the Lord, if He even existed, had turned His turn back on Reid, on Martina and Billy, on so many good people Reid had known.
Still, the Bible verses had definitely calmed her, as evidenced by her now regular, shallow breaths. He’d heard enough from-the-heart-pleas in his stepfather’s fire-and-brimstone church to know how it should be done. Wouldn’t help, he thought again, but what could it hurt?
“Lord,” he began, “You taught us that with faith, nothing is impossible, so bless Your daughter, Cammi, now.” She’d need strength of the superhuman kind, Reid acknowledged silently, to accept what the E.R. doctors would say about her pregnancy. “She believes You’ll help her, believes You’ll keep her baby safe and sound, right up to the moment You’ve chosen to bring it into this world.”
It was hard to continue, because when she squeezed his hand, a tiny sob issued from her, causing a hard lump to form in his throat. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to keep her safe and sound! “And Lord,” he added, “keep Cammi safe and sound. We ask these things in Your name….”
Together, they uttered a quiet “Amen.”
One second, then two, ticked silently by before she said, “Thank you, Reid,” and nodded off.
Dread wrapped around him like a cold wet wind. “Only a few more minutes,” he said, squeezing her small hand. “I can see the E.R. entrance sign.”
It reminded him of the last time he’d been to thishospital, when he’d visited his mother. She lay pale and gaunt against flowery bedsheets provided by the nice hospice ladies. He’d barely stuck a boot tip into her room when she ordered him to leave, to stay away until after she’d gone to meet her Maker. “I don’t want you to remember me this way,” she’d whimpered, turning her face to the wall. Fiery rage had burned inside him, because he’d childishly—foolishly—expected medical science to do what God had refused to do. Despite the torturous treatments they’d put her through, the cancer continued to grow, until one day, mercifully, she slipped into a coma.
That’s when he went back to the rodeo, and he didn’t return again until Martina called to say Billy had arranged everything—the wake, the funeral, the headstone. Reid was alone at his mother’s grave when he swore the next time he set foot in a hospital, it would be feetfirst—with a tag wrapped around his big toe.
Unfortunately, he’d seen the inside of too many hospitals across the country. The risks he took riding savage, untamed beasts told the rodeo world that Reid Alexander, “All-Around Cowboy,” had no fear. In truth, he flat-out didn’t give a hoot what happened to him. How ironic, he thought, that having nothing to live for had made him a star.
At the moment, though, Reid cared very much, because this small, helpless woman beside him needed him to care. He stomped the truck’s brakes outside the E.R.’s double-wide entry, leaped from the cab without bothering to close the driver’s side door, and bolted into the hospital. “I’ve got a woman outthere,” he bellowed, pointing frantically, “and she’s had a miscarriage. She’s bleeding badly, and—”
The nearest
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