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an age—what the death of a loved one felt like, and how permanent it was. At least for this life. “I’m confident Dr. Brookston is taking good care of him, so don’t you worry.”
    Mitch nodded, but his eyes narrowed the slightest bit. He glanced over at his brother. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into anything he shouldn’t, and that he only has one cookie so he won’t spoil his dinner.”
    Rachel brushed a swift kiss to his forehead and carried his “little-boy scent” with her as she hurried down the aisle. How much longer would he let her do that? Love on him that way without shying away like Kurt already did. How could two sons born to the same parents, only two years apart, be so different from each other? And how would she ever manage to be both father and mother to them?
    Once past the curtain, she heard Lyda’s soft weeping and slowed her steps. A hand to her stomach did nothing to ease the sickening quiver.
    Neither Dr. Brookston nor Lyda acknowledged her presence when she reached the doorway of the storeroom. She stood, silent, watching as Rand Brookston listened to Ben’s chest through his stethoscope. Ben’s eyes weren’t open, but she thought she heard a sliver of air wheeze past his parted lips, and a trickle of relief passed through her own.
    “Keep speaking to him, Mrs. Mullins,” Rand Brookston whispered, his voice tense. “Let him hear the sound of your voice.”
    Perspiration dampened the back of Rand’s shirt and the taut set of his shoulders mirrored his anxiety. Rachel wished she’d arrived sooner to help him. Not that she knew anything, medically speaking, that he didn’t.
    Lyda leaned close to frame Ben’s face with her hands. “Ben Everett Mullins, y-you listen to me and you listen good.” Her voice held a sternness that might have sounded convincing if not for her tears. “Your heart stopped, Ben, but the good doctor here got it started back up again. You’ve been given a second chance, my love, but you’re going to have to fight.”
    Started his heart back again? Rachel stared at Ben, at the labored rise and fall of his chest, as Lyda’s meaning gradually took hold, then her focus shifted to Rand Brookston.
    She’d heard talk of doctors attempting to restart a patient’s heart, but that’s all it was—talk. Once a person’s heart stopped, life was over. Everyone knew that. Some things, once damaged, were beyond mending. Unbidden, the memory of Thomas’s shredded, blood-soaked shirt clouded her vision and she blinked hard to clear it away.
    Had Rand Brookston really managed to do the impossible? Her respect for the man’s abilities deepened even as her personal misgivings about him remained unchanged.
    Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and she turned to see Angelo coming through the curtain, envelope in hand. If she read his smile right, he’d found the—
    “This is your definition of shortly , Mrs. Boyd?”
    Rachel turned back, surprised by the curtness in Rand Brookston’s tone. And in his expression. Heat rose to her face. Her mouth moved but no words would come. “I’m . . . sorry. It took longer than I thought to get the patrons to leave.”
    Rand rose to his full height, stethoscope dangling in his grip. “I could have used your assistance.” The intensity in his eyes deepened. “I thought I made that clear.”
    His manner was polite, yet direct, and Rachel glanced at Ben, then at Lyda, whose attention, thankfully, was focused on her husband. Shame filled her. If her delay had threatened Ben’s life in any way . . . after everything Ben and Lyda had done for her. The thought alone made her ill, and the sense of defeat from moments earlier returned with a renewed vengeance.
    “I’m sorry, Dr. Brookston,” she whispered. “If I can be of help now, I’ll—”
    “I need medicine.” He motioned to Angelo, who had come along beside her. “I’m glad you’re here, Angelo. I’d like for you to accompany Mrs. Boyd to my office, please. Check