Healing the Lawman's Heart. Ruth Herne Logan
of the current interior walls to Wednesday night? Because I intend to be there.”
“I’m on call Wednesday evening, one of the doctors is manning the Wednesday night crew, so we can’t. And like I said, we should be fine, Tanner. There’s no reason for you to feel guilty. We’ve got this.”
Silent moments stretched between them. She could picture those deep gray eyes reading between the lines, quietly assessing the situation. “Then I’ll catch the next round of work,” he said.
“Perfect.” Arguing with him would be rude, and they could use his help. Being stubborn about his initial reaction wasn’t in the clinic’s best interests. And the fact that he was being nicer about the whole endeavor was a plus. Yes, she’d let her imagination get the better of her, thinking he was calling for more personal reasons. Her problem, not his.
“Dad and Luke Campbell will be there Thursday morning. I’ve got an early appointment, but then I’ll be there later in the day.”
“Luke, the deputy sheriff?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll join their crew, then.”
“All right.” She hung up just as Martin and Connor burst through the side door.
“No babies yet!” Connor announced as he kicked one boot left and the other boot right. “Grandpa looked at her and said it might be a while before they come, but that Rosalita was going to have her calf tonight and if it wasn’t too late, I could go out to the barn and see it.”
“Because we can’t be up late with school tomorrow.” Martin hung his coat up, put his boots by the fire and grabbed a cookie. “I want to make sure I get to bed on time so I don’t feel tired in the morning.”
Her boys were polar opposites. Connor exploded onto every scene, ready to jump in, ignoring danger, laughing in the face of adversity.
Seven-year-old Martin quietly surveyed life from a distance, assessed everything around him, and then made a well-thought-out decision with as little risk as he could find. Some days they got along. Others? Not so much.
“Connor, put your boots where they belong, please.”
He rolled his eyes, waited until she asked him a second time, then made an elaborate show of stowing the boots, a task that could have been completed in under ten seconds if he’d avoided the drama. Connor thrived on drama, as long as he was the one causing it.
Martin picked up his e-reader, curled up in the corner of Grandpa’s reclining love seat and started to read.
Connor raced to the lower level, pulled out train tracks and construction worker toys, and built the noisiest city he could fit between Marty’s furniture.
Martin went on reading, oblivious.
They were like night and day, but Martin had been especially sensitive to his father’s abandonment. Was that his nature or simply because he was older and more aware? How would they handle this new development? How could she make it better for them?
First, she had to talk to Vic calmly and rationally. Then she’d throw something.
With God, all things are possible.
She knew that. Believed it. But she’d witnessed medical emergencies that defied the odds and went bad. She’d seen behavior unbecoming of God’s people. She’d treated victims of violence with no explanation of why humans could do such things to one another.
She believed in God, and she was determined to pull her strength from him, but the actions of men were more questionable. Her job was to help her boys grow up as best she could. And pray. But first she’d have to call Vic to see what they could work out.
Once the boys were asleep, she took the phone upstairs. Her hope that he wouldn’t answer and she could leave a message was dashed at his quick hello.
“Vic, it’s Julia.”
“Well, it’s about time. You got a new number.”
She wasn’t about to launch into an explanation of why she was calling from her father’s phone. “The old one still works but we had some storm damage so I’m using this one for now.”
“Did you get my letter?”
The question surprised her. “No.”
“Tomorrow, then. My attorney advised me to send a registered letter to show my intent, which means if you don’t show up with the boys, you’re in contempt of the visitation agreement. It seemed prudent when I didn’t hear from you.”
Impatient. Cryptic to the point of rude. Old feelings rushed back. He’d always wanted the upper hand. It was his way or the highway. Why hadn’t she seen that sooner?
“Don’t you think it would be better to reintroduce yourself to the boys a little at a time?” she suggested. “Call them. Do a face-to-face computer chat with them. Talk to them. Martin remembers you but Connor only knows you from your picture on their wall. I think that would be better for them, Vic. Don’t you?”
He let her know in harsh words that he had court-appointed rights. “And furthermore,” he reamed her, “I’m not the one that moved three hours away. That was all you, Julia, so just the idea that I’m required to meet you halfway ticks me off. I shouldn’t have to step foot out my door, but now I’ll spend an entire evening driving across the state and back. So don’t talk to me about easy. You gave that all up when you moved so far away.”
“Just looking to manage crowd control,” she answered smoothly. “I didn’t need our boys running into any of your ex-girlfriends when half the town knew what was going on. Making their life less awkward was the goal.”
“Babying them is more like it, which is exactly your style. It’s a good thing I made sure we stopped at two because I guarantee that’s all you could handle.”
His words fired a direct shot on her heart. She’d lost their first baby, a tiny girl, miscarried midway through the pregnancy. The devastating loss left a hollow ache in its wake, wondering what her daughter would have been like. Would she like dancing or prefer soccer? Would she sing off-key like Grandpa or join the choir? She would never know these things about her, gone so quickly. Never cuddled, never rocked, never nurtured at her mother’s breast.
And then Vic announced after Connor’s birth that he’d gone through surgery to prevent more children without consulting her. He’d decided two kids were plenty, and her dreams of having a little girl someday disappeared. She choked back a heated response, knowing he wanted to make her angry, but refusing him that satisfaction. “This call isn’t about my parenting. It’s about compromise.”
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