Saving?Was this some sort of denial? Some clinging to false hope to avoid reality?
Charles glanced over at Kit and the still form of Bella. A heartbreaking sight if ever there was one, enough to crack a strong mind like Jackson’s right in half. Out of respect, though, he ought to at least offer a modicum of respect and give his old friend the benefit of the doubt. “Feel up to explaining that?”
Jackson inhaled deeply. “I don’t know how it happened exactly, other than by the grace of God. When that coupé crashed, it landed in such a way that Child’s neck was snapped, but his body shielded Bella’s. The law of physics, momentum and whatnot, I suppose, though I prefer to think of it as a miracle.”
Charles blinked. Try as he might, Jackson’s words made no sense whatsoever. “Are you saying Bella is alive?”
Jackson’s brow bunched, mirroring his own look of bewilderment. “She is, though she’s been banged up and given in to exhaustion. As soon as the doctor stitches up Kit, I shall have him give Bella a thorough examination. It’s been a harrowing experience for us all.”
Charles’ jaw dropped, the world beneath his feet tilting off its axis. Life was fleeting and fragile, and yet little Bella had survived. “That is good news. I mean that’s wonderful news!”
Half a smirk twitched Jackson’s mouth. “Sorry if I led you to believe otherwise.”
“Think nothing of it.” He cuffed Jackson on the arm. “You’ve been through a lot. Go sit by your wife. I’ll manage what’s to be done.”
“I appreciate that. This whole thing has hit me harder than you can imagine.” He squeezed Charles’ shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Baggett.”
“Just doing my job, Chief.”
Giving his old friend plenty of space to continue comforting his wife, Charles strode towards the downed coupé. A glance of the area showed no bodies thrown from the crash. “Forgot to ask about the driver,” he called over his shoulder. “What happened to him?”
“He ran off, but trust me when I say he will be found.” A murderous tone sharpened Jackson’s voice. “If I have to tear this city apart brick by brick, hewillbe found.”
Rain pelted the nursery windows. A dismal start to a dismal day…and yet there was so much to be thankful for. Kit leaned over Bella’s crib, mourning the bruise on her sweet baby’s brow and the scrape on her little chin. But Isabella Jane Forge was a scrapper, all right, sleeping soundly as if she’d not narrowly missed death a few hours ago. Just thinking of pulling the bawling child from the mangled carriage weakened Kit’s knees, and she shuddered with the aftershock.
Beside her, Jackson squeezed her hand. “All is well now, Wife. Come, you need rest yourself. Doctor’s orders, remember?”
Though her husband said otherwise, worry pinched the sides of his mouth, evidence of the tension and stress that’d taken a toll on him. In truth, her side did ache something fierce and she was weary. Yet despite all that, deep down she knew rest would not come easy, not until her nervous energy subsided. She squeezed his fingers back. “What I need first is a cup of tea.”
“I think I can manage that.” He winked.
Her knees wobbled again, but for a very different reason. Oh, how she loved this man, this child they’d made, this home, this life. And she’d come so close to losing it all. She leaned heavily on the railing as she followed Jackson downstairs. Of course such weakness could be blamed on the stitches in her side—and naturally that played into it—but more likely it was the battle raging inside her that drained her vigour. All this time she’d been wishing away the dirty dishes and soiled nappies, the laundry and the cooking, counting such tasks as less important than bringing justice to those in need. Yet were the seemingly small details of life really less significant than her grandiose ambitions? Was being a detective worth sacrificing the simple, mundane joys that made life worth living?
She eased into the kitchen chair that Jackson held out for her. “I’m going to quit the agency.”
He frowned as he reached for the kettle. “That’s a bit rash, don’t you think?”
Hardly. She’d been pondering this for some time now, but how to explain the angst she barely understood herself? She shifted on the chair, wincing as she did so. “Bella was almost killed today.”
“I know, love.” Sorrow ran thick in his voice. He finished filling the kettle and set it on the fire before turning to her. “But the fact remains she wasn’t. It is God who numbers our days, not you or I or anyone else. You’re weary. You’re hurt. It’s the worst possible time for you to make any snap decisions.”
“But Jackson, I do not say this in haste. I’ve given this a great deal of thought.” Heaving a sigh, she glanced down at her ripped blouse and stained skirt. Oh, but she was tired of blood. “I want to be a good wife, a good mother. I want to make a good home for you and Bella, a shelter, a refuge.”
“I know you do, yet that doesn’t mean you must go about those roles in the same way as other women.” He set two cups on the table, his eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute, you’re not blaming yourself for this whole mess, are you?”
Though the cup was empty, she clutched it, seeking warmth as a sudden chill shivered across her shoulders. “If I’d never taken the Coleman case, none of this would have happened. I shouldn’t be running around on the streets pegging for trouble. I’m not a girl anymore. I’m notthatgirl anymore, and I should stop trying to be.”
“Yet you weren’t on the streets. You were home when this happened. Isolating yourself is no guarantee of safety because there are no guarantees. You of all people should know this.”
“I don’t get it.” She shook her head slowly. “I thought you’d be pleased if I became a homemaker.”
“Of all the absurd ideas.” He pulled a chair close to her and reached for both her hands, the touch of him warm and soothing as he rubbed circles on her wrists with his thumbs. “Listen to me, Kit. I don’t want a housewife. What I want is you just exactly as God has made you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted…you’reall I’ve ever wanted.”
The huskiness of his voice, the naked love flaring in his eyes, the words—all of it went down deep and comforted like a soothing balm. She closed her eyes, memorising the feel of his big hands pressed against hers, desperately trying to ignore the burn of tears.
Because despite his affirming sentiment, something had to change. She couldn’t keep putting herself in danger and neglecting her family. A balance must be found.
But how?
