Hidden Riches

would be surprised at how tough they were. He doubted it. There had been tears, and there had been terror, but they had all drawn together, a solid wall, in the hospital waiting room to count the minutes while Dora was in surgery.
    He’d waited for recriminations. They had given him none. He’d wanted blame. But it hadn’t come from them. Not even when he had stood, smeared with Dora’s blood, and told them that he’d left her alone, left her defenseless, had they blamed him.
    He wished to Christ they had.
    Instead, John had gotten them all coffee, Lea had gonedown to wait for Will to arrive from New York and Quentin and Trixie had sat side by side on the sofa, holding hands.
    After the second hour had crawled by, Trixie murmured to her husband. When she received his nod of agreement, she rose and went to sit beside Jed.
    “She was always a tough little girl,” Trixie began. “She used to pick fights in school—well, not pick them, precisely, but she never would walk away from one without dignity. It used to amaze me that she would scream like a banshee if she fell and banged her knee. But if she came home with a split lip or a swollen eye, you never heard a peep. A matter of pride, I suppose.”
    “This wasn’t her fight.” Jed kept the heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyes. “It shouldn’t have been.”
    “That’s for her to decide. She’ll want lots of pampering, you know. She was never sick often, but when she was—” Trixie’s voice broke, betraying her. She mopped quickly at her eyes and steadied it. “When she was, she expected everyone’s devoted attention. Dora’s never been one to suffer in silence.”
    Gently she touched the back of his hand. When he lowered it enough, she gripped it firmly. “It’s so much harder to wait alone.”
    “Mrs. Conroy . . .” But he didn’t have the words. He simply leaned against her and let himself be held.
    They all rose to their feet at the quick slap of crepe-soled shoes on tile. Still in her scrubs, Mary Pat stepped through the doorway. “She’s out of surgery,” she said quickly. “It looks good. The doctor will be out soon.”
    It was then Trixie began to cry, with hard, racking sobs and hot tears that burned through Jed’s shirt. His arms went around her automatically as he met Mary Pat’s eyes.
    “When can they see her?”
    “The doctor will let you know. She’s a tough one, I can tell you that.”
    “Didn’t I say so?” Trixie managed. She stumbled blindly into Quentin’s arms so they could weep out their relief together.
    * * *
    It wasn’t until he was alone again that Jed started to shake. He’d gone outside, had fully intended on going home. It was a time for family, he’d told himself. Now that he knew she was going to pull through it, there was no need to hang around.
    But he couldn’t make it across the street to hail a cab, so he sat down on the steps and waited for the tremors to subside. The sleet had turned to snow that fell quick and light and damp. There was something otherworldly about the way it danced in the streetlights, something hypnotic. He stared at one beam of light as he smoked one cigarette, then another. Then he walked back in and rode the elevator to the floor where Dora lay sleeping.
    “Figured you’d be back.” Mary Pat smiled at him out of eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. “Damn it, Jed, you’re soaked. Am I going to have to dig up a bed for you?”
    “I just want to see her. I know she’s sedated, I know she won’t know I’m there. I just want to see her.”
    “Let me get you a towel.”
    “MP.”
    “You’re going to dry off first,” she told him. “Then I’ll take you in.”
    She was as good as her word. When she was satisfied he was dry enough, she led him into Dora’s room.
    Dora lay, still and white as death. Jed’s heart careered into his throat. “Are you sure she’s going to be all right?”
    “She’s stabilized, and there were no complications. Dr. Forsythe’s good. Believe me.” She didn’t want to think about the amount of blood they’d had to pump into Dora, or how long it had taken to get that feeble pulse to steady. “The bullet’s out—and there’s some tissue damage, but it’ll heal. She’s going to be weak as a baby for a while, and she’s going to hurt.”
    “I don’t want her to hurt.” His control slipped a dangerous notch. “You make sure she gets whatever she needs so she isn’t in pain.”
    “Why don’t you just sit with