Read the book: «Miracle at Colts Run Cross»

“Put the boys on the phone, or I call in the FBI right now.”

Nick’s threat was met with silence.

Becky had moved to his side, standing so close she could probably hear the hammering of his heart. She didn’t touch him, but somehow it made him stronger just to have her near.

Nick hadn’t realised until that moment how tightly he’d been holding on to the phone, as if it were a tenuous tether to his sons.

Becky sank onto the couch. Her shudders dissolved into sobs.

Nick could stand it no longer. He crossed the room and dropped to the sofa beside her. He wound an arm around her shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t push him away.

Her head fell to his chest. “Get them back, Nick. Just get them back.”

Joanna Wayne was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New orleans in 1984 and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organisation. Her first novel was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels.

She currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband, though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star state. You may write to Joanna at Po Box 265, Montgomery, Texas 77356, USA.

Miracle at Colts
Run Cross

by

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To mothers everywhere who know what it means to love a child more than life itself. And to every woman who’s ever found that special man whose love is worth fighting for. Here’s to Christmas, miracles and love.

Chapter One

Becky Ridgely grabbed her denim jacket from the hook and swung out the back door. A light mist made the air seem much cooler than the predicted fifty-degree high for the day. The gust of wind that caught her off guard didn’t help, but she’d had to escape the house or sink even deeper into the blue funk that had a killer grip on her mood.

In a matter of weeks, her divorce from Nick would be final. Their marriage that had begun with a fiery blast of passion and excitement she’d thought would never cool had dissolved into a pile of ashes.

Nonetheless, Nick Ridgely, star receiver for the Dallas Cowboys, was in her living room on the Sunday before Christmas, as large as life on the new big-screen TV and claiming the attention of her entire family. She could understand it of their twin sons. At eight years of age, Nick was David and Derrick’s hero. She’d never take that away from them.

But you’d think the rest of the family could show a little sensitivity for her feelings. But no, even her sister and her mother were glued to the set as if winning were paramount to gaining world peace or at least finding a cure for cancer.

Did no one but her get that this was just a stupid game?

Most definitely Nick didn’t. For more than half of every year, he put everything he had into football. His time. His energy. His enthusiasm. His dedication. She and the boys were saddled with the leftovers. Some women settled for that. She couldn’t, which is why she’d left him and moved back to the family ranch.

Her family liked Nick. Everyone did. And he was a good husband and father in many ways. He didn’t drink too much. He had never done drugs, not even in college when all their friends were trying it.

He disdained the use of steroids and would never use the shortcut to improve performance. He didn’t cheat on her, though several gossip magazines had connected him to Brianna Campbell, slut starlet, since they had been separated.

But his one serious fault was the wedge that had driven them apart. Once preparation for football season started, he shut her out of his life so completely that she could have been invisible. Oh, he pretended to listen to her or the boys at times, but it was surface only.

His always-ready excuse was that his mind was on the upcoming season or game. The message was that it mattered more than they did. She’d lived with the rejection as long as she could tolerate it, and then she left.

“Mom.”

She turned at the panicked voice of her son Derrick. He’d pushed through the back door and was standing on the top step, his face a ghostly white.

She raced to him. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Dad’s hurt.”

“He probably just had the breath knocked out of him,” she said.

“No, it’s bad, Mom. Really bad. He’s not moving.”

She put her arm around Derrick’s shoulder as they hurried back to the family room where the earlier cheers had turned deathly silent.

The screen defied her to denounce Derrick’s fears. Nick was on his back, his helmet off and lying at a cockeyed angle beside him. Several trainers leaned over him. A half dozen of his teammates were clustered behind them, concern sketched into their faces.

Becky took a deep breath as reality sank in and panic rocked her equilibrium. “What happened?”

“He went up for the ball and got tackled below the waist,” Bart said.

Before her brother could say more, the network flashed the replay. A cold shudder climbed her spine as she watched Nick get flipped in midair. He slammed to the ground at an angle that seemed to drive his head and the back of his neck into the hard turf.

His eyes were open, but he had yet to move his arms or legs. Players from the other team joined the circle of players that had formed around him. A few had bowed in prayer. They all looked worried.

“Those guys know what it means to take a hit like that,” her brother Langston said. “No player likes to see another one get seriously hurt.”

“Yet they go at each other like raging animals.” The frustration had flown from Becky’s mouth before she could stop it. The stares of her family bore into her, no doubt mistaking her exasperation for a lack of empathy. But they hadn’t lived with Nick’s obsession for pushing his mind and body to the limit week after week.

“I only meant that it’s almost inevitable that players get hurt considering the intensity of the game.”

The family grew silent. The announcer droned on and on about Nick’s not moving as the trainers strapped him to a backboard and attached a C-collar to support his neck.

David scooted close to the TV and put his hand on the corner of the screen. “Come on, Dad. You’ll be all right. You gotta be all right.”

“I got hurt bad the first time I played in a real game,” Derrick said. “I wanted to cry, but I didn’t ’cause the other players make fun of you if you do.”

Becky had never wanted her sons to play football, but had given in to their pleadings this year when they turned eight. Nick had always just expected they’d play and spent half the time he was with them practicing the basic skills of the game. It was yet another bone of contention between them.

They showed the replay again while Nick was taken from the field. All of the announcers were in on the act now, concentrating on the grisly possible outcomes from such an injury.

“The fans would love it if Nick could wave a farewell but he still hasn’t moved his arms or legs.”

“It doesn’t look good. It would be terrible to see the career of a player with Nick Ridgely’s talent end like this.”

“Did you hear that?” Derrick said. “The announcer said Daddy might not ever play football again.”

Becky grabbed the remote and muted the sound. “They don’t know. They’re not doctors. Most likely Daddy has a bad sprain.”

“Your father’s taken lots of blows and he’s never let one get the best of him yet,” her brother Bart said, trying as Becky had to calm the boys.

“We better get up there and check on him,” David said. “He might need us.”

“You have school tomorrow,” Becky said, quickly squashing that idea.

“We can miss,” the boys protested in unison.

“It’s only half a day,” Derrick said. “A bunch of kids won’t even be there. Ellen Michaels left Saturday to go visit her grandmother in Alabama for Christmas.”

“You have practice for the church Christmas pageant right after school lets out. Mrs. Evans is counting on you.”

Becky knew that missing school in the morning wouldn’t be a problem. They would have been out all week had they not lost so many days during hurricane season.

They’d been lucky and hadn’t received anything but strong winds and excessive rain from two separate storms that had come ashore to the west of them, but if the school board erred, it was always on the side of caution.

Still, if Nick was seriously hurt, the hospital would be no place for the boys. And if he wasn’t, he’d be too preoccupied with getting back in the game to notice.

“You can call Daddy later when he’s feeling better.”

“But you’re going to go to Dallas, aren’t you, Momma? Daddy’s gonna need somebody there with him.”

“I can fly you up in the Cessna,” Langston said, offering his private jet. He’d done that before when Nick had been hurt, once even all the way to Green Bay.

But that was when she and Nick were at least making a stab at the marriage. Things had become really strained between them since the divorce proceedings had officially begun. She doubted he’d want her there now.

“Thanks,” she said, “but I’m sure Nick’s in good hands.”

“Maybe you should hold off on that decision until after you’ve talked to him,” her mother said.

“Right,” Bart said. “They’ll know a lot more after he’s X-rayed.” The others in the room nodded in agreement.

Becky left the room when the game got back underway. Anxiety had turned to acid in her stomach, and she felt nauseous as she climbed the stairs and went to her private quarters on the second floor of the big house.

Too bad she couldn’t cut off her emotions the way a divorce cut off a marriage, but love had a way of hanging on long after it served any useful purpose. Nick would always be the father of her children, but hopefully one day her love for him would be just a memory.

But she wouldn’t go to Nick, not unless he asked her to, and she was almost certain that wasn’t going to happen. They’d both crossed a line when the divorce papers had been filed. From now on, the only bond between them was their sons.

BECKY CALLED the hospital twice during the hours immediately following Nick’s injury. Once he’d still been in the emergency room. The second time he’d been having X-rays. The only real information she’d received was that he had regained movement in his arms and legs.

Her anxiety level had eased considerably with that bit of news, as had everyone else’s in the family. The boys still wanted to talk to him, but she’d waited until they were getting ready for bed before trying to reach him again.

Hopefully by now the doctors would have finished with the required tests and Nick would feel like talking to them. Regardless, Nick would play down the pain when talking to her and especially when talking to the boys.

That was his way. Say the right things. Keep his true feelings and worries inside him. It was a considerate trait in a father. It was a cop-out for a husband.

And bitterness stunk in a wife. It was time she accepted things the way they were and moved past the resentment.

“Can you connect me to the room of Nick Ridgely?” she asked when the hospital operator answered.

“He’s only taking calls from family members at this time. I’ve been told to tell all other callers that he is resting comfortably and has recovered full movement in his arms and legs.”

Becky had expected that. No doubt the hospital was being bombarded with calls from reporters. “This is his wife.”

“Please wait while I put you through to his room, Mrs. Ridgely.”

A female voice answered, likely a nurse. “Nick Ridgely’s room. If this is a reporter, shame on you for disturbing him.”

“This is Becky Ridgely. I’m calling to check on my husband.”

“Oops, sorry. It’s just that the reporters keep getting through. You don’t know how persistent they can be.”

Actually, she did. “Is Nick able to talk?”

“He can, but the doctor wants him to stay quiet. I can give him a message.”

“I was hoping he could say a word to his sons. They’re really worried about him, and I’m not sure they’ll sleep well unless he tells them he’s okay.”

“He isn’t okay. His arms are burning like crazy.”

This was definitely not a nurse. “To whom am I speaking?”

“Brianna Campbell.”

The name hit like a quick slap to the face. He could have waited until the divorce was final to play hot bachelor. If not for her, then for David and Derrick.

“Do you want to leave a message?”

“Yes, tell Nick he can…” She took a quick breath and swallowed her anger as David returned from the bathroom where he’d been brushing his teeth. “No message.” Saved from sounding like a jealous wench by the timely appearance of her son.

“Okay, I’ll just tell Nick you called, Mrs. Ridgely.”

She heard Nick’s garbled protest in the background.

“Wait. He’s insisting I hand him the phone.”

Nice of him to bother.

“Becky.”

Her name was slurred—no doubt from pain meds. Derrick had joined them as well now, and both boys had climbed into their twin beds.

“The boys are worried about you.”

“Yeah. I knew they would be. I was just waiting to call until I was thinking and talking a bit straighter. Were they watching the game?”

“They always watch your games, Nick.”

“Good boys. I miss them.”

So he always said, but she wasn’t going there with him right now. “How are you?”

“I have the feeling back in my arms and legs. They burned like they were on fire for a bit, but they’re better now. The E.R. doc said that was the neurons firing back up so I figure that’s a good sign.”

“Is there a diagnosis?”

“They think I have a spinal cord contusion. They make it sound serious, but you know doctors. They like complications and two-dollar terms no one else can understand. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t sound it. He was talking so slowly she could have read the newspaper between sentences. “Do you feel like saying good-night to David and Derrick?”

“Sure. Put them on. I need some cheering up.”

That’s what she thought Brianna was for. She put the boys on speakerphone so they could both talk at once. Nick made light of the injury, like she’d known he would, and started joking with the boys as if this was just a regular Sunday night post-game chat.

He loved his sons. He even loved her in his own way. It just wasn’t enough. She backed from the room as an ache the size of Texas settled in her heart.

MORNING CAME early at Jack’s Bluff Ranch, and the sun was still below the horizon when Becky climbed from her bed. She’d had very little sleep, and her emotions were running on empty. Still she managed a smile as she padded into her sons’ room to get them up and ready for school.

“Okay, sleepyheads, time to rock and roll.”

“Already?” Derrick groaned and buried his head in his pillow.

David rubbed his eyes with his fists and yawned widely as he kicked off his covers. “How come you always say time to rock and roll when we’re just going to school?”

“Tradition. That’s what your grandma used to say to me.”

“Grandma said that?”

“Yes, she did. “Now up and at ’em. She said that, too. And wear something warm. It’s about twenty degrees colder than yesterday.”

“I wish it would snow,” Derrick said as he rummaged through the top drawer of his chest and came up with a red-and-white-striped rugby shirt.

“It never snows in Colts Run Cross,” David said.

“Not never, but rarely,” Becky agreed. But a cold front did occasionally reach this far south. Today the high would only be in the mid-forties with a chance of thundershowers.

“Have you talked to Daddy this morning?” Derrick asked.

“No, and I don’t think we should bother him with phone calls this early. Now get dressed, and I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Juanita was already at work in the kitchen and had been for over a half hour. Becky had heard the family cook drive up. She’d heard every sound since about 3:00 a.m. when she’d woken to a ridiculous nightmare about Nick’s getting hit so hard his helmet had flown off—with his head inside it.

Crazy, but anxiety had always sabotaged her dreams with weird and frightening images. Some people smoked cigarettes or drank or got hives when they were worried. She had nightmares. Over the last ten years, Nick had starred in about ninety-nine percent of them.

Juanita was sliding thick slices of bacon into a large skillet when Becky strode into the kitchen in her pink sweats and fuzzy slippers and poured herself a bracing cup of hot coffee.

The usually jovial Juanita stopped the task and stared soulfully at Becky. “I’m sorry to hear about Nick.”

“Thanks.” She hoped she would let it go at that.

“I brought the newspaper in. Nick’s picture is on the front page.”

The front page and no doubt all the morning newscasts, as well. Nick would be the main topic of conversation at half the breakfast tables in Texas this morning.

“The article said he may be out for the rest of the season,” Juanita said.

“The rest of the season could be only a game or two depending on whether or not Dallas wins its play-off games, but I don’t think anyone knows how long Nick will be on injured reserve.”

“I’m sure the boys are upset.”

“They talked to him last night, and he assured them he was fine. So I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention the article in the paper. They need to go to school and concentrate on their studies.”

“Kids at school will talk,” Juanita said. “Maybe it would be best if you show them the article and prepare them.”

Becky sighed. “You’re right. I should have thought of that myself.”

Juanita had been with them so long that she seemed like an extension of the family. She fit right in with the Collingsworth clan, none of whom had ever strayed far from Colts Run Cross.

And if Juanita had been helpful before, she’d been a godsend since Becky’s mother, Lenora, had started filling in as CEO for Becky’s grandfather, Jeremiah, after his stroke. Thankfully he was back in the office a few days a week now, and Lenora was completing some projects she’d started and easing her way out of the job that would eventually go to Langston. As Jeremiah said, he had oil in his blood.

Jack’s Bluff was the second largest ranch in Texas. Becky’s brothers Bart and Matt managed the ranch, and both had their own houses on the spread where they lived with their wives.

Her youngest brother, Zach, had recently surprised them all by falling madly in love with a new neighbor, marrying and also taking his first real job. He was now a deputy, in training for the county’s new special crimes unit. He and his wife, Kali, lived on her horse ranch.

And though her oldest brother Langston lived with his family in Houston, close to Collingsworth Oil where he served as president for the company, he had a weekend cabin on the ranch.

Her younger sister, Jaime, who’d never married or apparently given any thought to settling down or taking a serious job, lived in the big house with Becky and the boys, along with Becky’s mother, Lenora, and Jeremiah, their grandfather. Jeremiah was currently recovering from a lingering case of the flu that hadn’t been deterred by this year’s flu shot.

Commune might have been a better term for the conglomeration of inhabitants. Becky hadn’t planned to stay forever when she’d left Nick and returned to the ranch, but the ranch had a way of reclaiming its own.

The boys missed their father, but they were happy here. More important, they were safe from the kinds of problems that plagued kids growing up in the city.

Becky took her coffee and walked to the den. Almost impulsively, she reached for the remote and flipped on the TV. She was caught off guard as a picture of Nick with David and Derrick flashed across the screen.

Anger rose in her throat. How dare they put her boys’ pictures on TV without her permission? Both she and Nick had always been determined to keep them out of the limelight.

“Nick Ridgely’s estranged wife Becky is one of the Collingsworths of Collingsworth Oil and Jack’s Bluff Ranch. His twin sons Derrick and David live on the ranch with their mother. There’s been no word from them on Nick’s potentially career-ending injury.”

She heard the back door open and Bart’s voice as he called to Juanita about the terrific odors coming from the kitchen. Becky switched off the TV quickly and joined them in the kitchen. It would be nice to make it through breakfast without a mention of Nick, but she knew that was too much to hope for.

The next best thing was to head her family off at the pass and keep them from upsetting Derrick and David with new doubts about their father’s condition. Nick had left things on a positive note, and she planned to keep them there.

The phone rang, and she inwardly grimaced. Where there’s a way, there would be a reporter with questions. And once they started, there would be no letup. Whether she liked it or not, she and her family, especially her sons, were about to be caught in the brutal glare of the public eye.

BULL STARED in the mirror as he yanked on his jeans. “Hell of a looker you are to be living like this,” he muttered to himself. Without bothering to zip his pants, he padded barefoot across the littered floor of the tiny bedroom and down the short hall to the bathroom.

After he finished in the john, he stumbled sleepily to the kitchen, pushed last night’s leftovers out of his way and started a pot of coffee. This was a piss-poor way to live but still better than that crummy halfway house he’d been stuck in until last week.

And the price was right. Free, unless you counted the food he donated to the roaches and rats that homesteaded here. The cabin had been in his family for years, but he was only passing through until he came up with a plan to get enough money to start over in Mexico.

His parole officer expected him to get a job. Yeah, right. Everyone was just jumping for joy at the chance to hire a man fresh out of prison for stabbing a pregnant woman while in the throes of road rage. No matter that she deserved it.

He stamped his feet to get his blood moving and fight the chill. The cabin was without any heat except what he could get from turning on the oven, and he didn’t have the propane to waste on that. The only reason he had electricity was because he’d worked for the power company in his earlier life just long enough to learn how to connect to the current and steal the watts he needed.

Once the coffee was brewing, he started the daily search for the remote. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the rats hid it every night while he was sleeping. This time it turned up under the blanket he’d huddled under to watch the late show last night.

The TV came to life just as the local station broke in with a news flash. He turned up the volume to get the full story. It was all about Nick Ridgely. Apparently he’d gotten seriously injured in Sunday’s game. Like who gave a damn about Nick Ridgely?

They showed a picture of him with his sons. Cute kids. But then they would be. Nick was married to Becky Collingsworth. He still had sordid dreams about her in those short little skirts and sweaters that showed off her perky breasts.

But the bitch had never given him the time of day. The announcer referred to her as Nick’s estranged wife. Apparently she’d dumped him. Or maybe he’d dumped her. Either way they were both fixed for life, lived like Texas royalty with money to burn while he lived in this dump. The little money he’d stashed away before prison was nearly gone.

No cash. No job. Nothing but a parole officer who kept him pinned down like a tiger in a cage.

Bull’s muscles tightened as perverted possibilities skittered through his mind. He went back to the kitchen for coffee, took a long sip and cursed himself silently for even considering doing something that could land him right back in prison.

Still the thoughts persisted and started taking definite shape as the image of Nick Ridgely’s twin sons seared into his mind.