Beneath a Southern Sky - By Deborah Raney Page 0,90

alone. And it comforted her to know that Natalie was safe and happy with her grandparents.

The hours on the road were a time of deep introspection. In a span of three and a half hours, she virtually relived her life. She thought of what Cole had said about Natalie. I can’t give her up, he’d said. What about me though? she thought. He hadn’t said he couldn’t give her up. For the hundredth time, she wondered if she would lose both of the men she loved.

Her exit loomed ahead, and the blue H sign confirmed that she was headed in the right direction. The Medical Center was a short distance, and she found a parking space near the entrance.

She went inside and inquired at the desk. The receptionist gave her Nate’s room number and pointed her down a long hallway. Daria walked slowly down the corridor, feeling confused and disoriented. Soon she would be face to face with the man she’d long thought dead. The man she’d longed for in her dreams. A dozen emotions fought for supremacy within her. Grief for the pain and anguish Nathan had suffered at the hands of the very people he had tried to help. Sorrow for all they had lost together. Joy for the precious, healing news he had been given about Natalie. And love for the man who had been her husband.

Yes, love remained. The closer she came to his presence, the more her longing grew. She ached to see Nathan’s face—to see for herself that he truly was alive. It all seemed so impossible after all this time.

She quickened her steps, suddenly anxious for the reunion.

Her eyes scanned the signs on the doors, darting nervously from one number to the next. She was only steps away from him, and her stomach turned somersaults inside her. She worried a little for the baby. Surely all this anxiety couldn’t be good for the child developing within her. Instinctively she put her hand over the small round of her stomach. In her seventh month, her pregnancy was obvious now to anyone who was looking, but she had purposely worn a bulky sweater in an attempt to conceal her condition. Nathan might not know she was carrying Cole’s child, and she didn’t want to upset him more than the news of her marriage had surely already upset him.

The door to room 227 was slightly ajar, and Daria raised a hand and knocked softly. No response. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

She heard his breathing before she saw his face. He was clean-shaven and his hair, which he’d always worn rather long, was cropped close. Under the thin sheets, his chest rose and fell in labored, wheezing breaths. One arm lay on top of the sheets and the drawn, mottled scars she saw there shocked her. For the first time, she comprehended the extent of the physical toll his ordeal had taken on him. The head of the narrow hospital bed was raised slightly, and she could see his face. The familiarity of his pose—one arm behind his head, his eyes closed, mouth slightly agape—took her breath away.

Joy flooded her being, and she hurried to his bedside.

“Nate! Nathan? Wake up.”

He started and opened his eyes. Daria smiled when she saw the recognition dawn there.

“Oh, dear Lord! Daria? Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart!” the endearment fell from her lips like a teardrop, unbidden.

He reached his arms out to her, struggling to sit up in the bed. “Oh, Daria.”

She sat down on the side of his bed and fell into his embrace as though she’d never left. He pulled her close, stroking her hair, both of them weeping like children.

She had expected their reunion to seem surreal, but now that she was in his arms, he had never been more real to her. He was thin and the scarring on his forearms was severe, but the strength of his embrace had not been diminished. Being in his arms felt so familiar to her that it was as though the years of their separation had been a mere blink.

He pushed her gently from him and reached up to touch her face, as though to prove to himself that she was actually sitting here in front of him.

“Oh, Daria. I can’t believe you’re really here.” Then he looked heavenward, “Thank you, Lord. Daria, I—” Fresh tears choked out the rest of his words. His voice was raspy, whether the result of his injuries or from