Make-Believe Proposal, page 18
Dalton’s eyes flickered open and he glanced around the room. He was in a hospital bed, surrounded by four white walls. A vase of fresh-cut carnations sat on a square table beside his bed, along with his cell phone and a horse magazine. He grimaced and lifted a hand to feel his head. It throbbed, and his throat was dry. A nurse strode past the room, then a cart piled with dirty food trays squeaked by on noisy wheels in the opposite direction.
“Hello?” he croaked. He cleared his throat with a cough and tried again. “Hello?”
A nurse poked her head in with a smile. “Did ya need somethin’, hon?”
“Could I get some water, please?”
She nodded and disappeared.
His thoughts wandered back to his ambulance trip to the hospital. Two paramedics arrived in the arena after he regained consciousness, a big man with a handlebar mustache and a petite blonde woman. They’d rolled him onto their stretcher and carried him to the ambulance, making chitchat the whole way while he writhed in pain. They hadn’t bothered with the lights or sirens for the journey, since he was stable, and they’d given him a whistle to suck on, which had made him loopy.
He grinned and rubbed a hand over his stubble. He had a feeling he’d asked one of the paramedics out on a date. He hoped it was the woman.
His leg was stretched out in front of him, encased from hip to ankle in a hard white cast. He frowned. Six to eight weeks, he’d been told – that’s how long he had to wear it. Even when it came off, the doctor had warned him he shouldn’t ever ride broncs again, not unless he wanted to risk permanent damage.
The nurse bustled into the room with a jug of water in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. “Here you go, cowboy,” she said with a smile. “You just let me know if you need anythin’ else. There’s a button right here on your bed – if you press it, I’ll come as soon as I can, okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
She set the pitcher and cup on the table beside his bed and left.
Dalton leaned over to grab the cup and heard his phone vibrating. It bumped around in a circle on the hard surface of the table, buzzing quietly. He picked it up and ran his finger across the screen. “Hello?”
“Dalton, honey, you’re awake.” His mother’s chipper voice echoed shrilly through the speaker.
He grimaced, laid it back on the table and sipped his water. “Yeah, I just woke up. I haven’t seen a doctor this morning, but I’m assuming the surgery went fine, seeing as how I have a great big cast on my leg.” He chuckled and took another sip, enjoying the feeling of the cool liquid as it traveled down his parched throat.
“That’s good to hear,” she replied, her voice catching.
“Are you okay, Mom?” He heard a sob. Susan Williams hardly ever shed a tear. The sound shook him. “Mom?”
“Yes, hon. Sorry … it’s just that I have some bad news. I didn’t really want to burden you right now, but I think you’d want to know …” She sobbed again.
His chest tightened, and he set the cup on the table and straightened, staring at the bright screen of the cell phone where it lay. “Mom, what is it?”
“It’s Pa – your Grandpa Joe. I’m afraid he passed away last night in his sleep.” His mother choked up and she sobbed again.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry, Mom. I know how much you loved him. He was always so good to us, especially after Dad died.” Dalton frowned, and he lay back on the pillows stacked behind his head with both hands pressed to his eyes. Grandpa Joe was strong and fit, the life of any party. It was hard for him to believe the old man was gone. He listened to his mother’s strained voice fill in the details of Pa’s passing as a lump formed in his throat.
Hazel Hildebrand packed her violin into its case and passed a delicately manicured hand over her hair, smoothing it into place. The performance had gone off without a hitch as usual, yet there was something bothering her. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt deflated.
She’d dreamed her whole life of being in the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra, and this was her third season playing violin with them. She should have felt exhilarated, but instead she just felt flat, though she had to admit the Chastain Amphitheater was certainly one of her favorite venues to play. She glanced up to see audience members still chatting, sipping wine and eating from picnic baskets beneath the shade of umbrellas.
“Hazel, are you going away over break?” asked Frieda Brighton, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder and smiling warmly as she packed her instrument. The first-chair violinist had been with the orchestra almost a decade.
“Well, I don’t have big plans, which isn’t like me. Actually, I think I might go and spend some time with my parents.”
“Oh? I was under the impression you didn’t get along too well with your folks.” Frieda arched an eyebrow and slipped her stocking feet into a pair of black pumps.
“Well, we’ve definitely had our differences But, Mom called me a few days ago to complain that they never see me and invited me to their summer house on Jekyll Island next week. I thought I might stay a while out there with them.” Hazel took a deep breath. The thought of spending time with her parents made her stomach clench. She shook off her slippers and pushed them into her shoulder bag, then retrieved a pair of red flats and stepped into them with a sigh. “How about you? Big plans?”
“Yeah, Jerry and I are taking a cruise. We’re leaving from Miami and going around the Caribbean. It’s going to be fantastic – I can’t wait!” She looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
“Don’t you have that rehearsal for the ballet performance the week after next?” asked Hazel, standing to pick up her violin case.
“Yes, but the cruise is only for a week, so we’ll be back in plenty of time. You’re not playing?”
Hazel shook her head, her chestnut curls fanning out over her shoulders. “No, not this time – they didn’t ask me. Maybe next time.”
Frieda tipped her head to one side with a tight half-smile. “Yeah, next time.”
“Okay … well, see you after the break, then. Have a great time on your cruise.” Hazel waved goodbye to Frieda and the others who were still packing up their instruments and strode off the stage, her brow furrowed. Frieda had known full well she hadn’t been asked to play for the ballet. She sniffed – one day she hoped to be first chair. She wouldn’t hold it over others the way Frieda always did.
The bright sunlight of the summer day hit her full in the face when she emerged from beneath the roof of the stage. Outdoor matinees in the throes of summer weren’t her idea of a good time, especially when they were all expected to wear head-to-toe black. The heat had coated her entire body in a layer of sweat. She blew out a breath and fished around in her purse for her sunglasses, putting them on with a grimace.
The drive home to the Atlanta neighborhood of Virginia-Highland wasn’t far, but first she’d have to deal with the city’s bumper-to-bumper traffic. She inched forward with the car’s air conditioning blasting, listened to the radio and let her mind wander over the four weeks of vacation stretching out before her. She didn’t do well without structure in her life. Her usual routine was to have every moment of every day accounted for, planned out, full.
She’d wake early, go for a run, shower, then have breakfast while reading the news on her phone. After breakfast, rehearsal, followed by errands in the afternoon. She’d always practice on her own after that, then sometimes had a performance at night. Other nights were planned out well in advance: social events, book club, church, gym, even shopping trips scheduled, to ensure she didn’t waste any time or find herself with nothing to do. No wonder her roommate Jennifer Barsby complained she hardly ever saw her.
Jen was the one unstructured thing in Hazel’s life. She was scattered, disorganized, spontaneous, loud – everything that Hazel wasn’t, but she loved her like a sister. They’d attended the University of Georgia together – Hazel majoring in music, while Jen studied veterinary science. Thrown together as roommates their freshman year, they’d never lived apart since. And though she hated to admit it, Hazel liked the loud, messy energy Jen brought into her otherwise tidy life.
She pulled the car into the driveway of their small bungalow and shut off the engine with a frown. It was the middle of the day and Jen’s car was in the garage. It was unlike her friend to be home at this time of day. Jen worked five days a week at a quarter-horse ranch in Walton County, just outside of Atlanta. She headed inside, the kitchen door swinging shut behind her. “Jen! Jen, are you home?” she called.
Her voice echoed through the quiet house. Jen usually cranked her favorite country tunes through a Bluetooth speaker when she was home, but the house was ominously still. Hazel leaned her violin against the wall of the study and dropped her shoulder bag in the kitchen.
A moan from Jen’s room caught her attention and she ran down the hall. “Jen?”
Her friend lay on the bed on her side in a fetal position. She moaned again.
Hazel rushed to her, knelt next to the bed and laid a hand on Jen’s face. It was flushed, and a trickle of sweat ran down her temple. “You’re burning up,” said Hazel, running her hand over her friend’s damp hair. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It hurts.”
“We should get you to the doctor, sweetie.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. I might just take some Tylenol.”
Hazel frowned. “I know you don’t like going to the doctor, Jen. But I’m afraid you have to this time.”
“No, I… ughhhh!” She moaned and rolled back and forth, her face contorted in pain.
“Okay, come on, stand up. You can lean on my shoulder.” Hazel tried to help her to her feet.
Jen fell back onto the bed with a cry. “I can’t!”
Hazel stood for a moment, her hands on her hips, watching her friend. What should she do? Then Jen moaned again, and she knew she’d have to call an ambulance.
Keep reading…
Also by Vivi Holt
CONTEMPORARY SERIES
Make-Believe
Make-Believe Fiancé
Make-Believe Wedding
Make-Believe Honeymoon
Make-Believe Husband
Make-Believe Proposal
Make-Believe Marriage (coming soon…)
Email-Order
The Billionaire’s Email-Order Date
The Billionaire’s Email-Order Bride (coming soon…)
Cowboys & Debutantes
Dalton
Eamon
Parker
HISTORICAL SERIES
Cowboys & Debutantes (Historical)
Della
Hattie
Pearl
Paradise Valley
Of Peaks and Prairies
Winds of Paradise
Lost in Laredo
Cheyenne Reckoning
Forgotten Trails
Cutter’s Creek
The Strong One
The Betrothed
Cherished
Season of Love
Captivated
Beguiled
Orphan Brides Go West
Mail Order Bride: Christy
Mail Order Bride: Ramona
Mail Order Bride: Katie
Mail Order Bride: Holly
Visit my website at www.viviholt.com for an updated list of my books
About the Author
Vivi Holt was born in Australia. She grew up in the country, where she spent her youth riding horses at Pony Club, and adventuring through the fields and rivers around the farm. Her father was a builder, turned saddler, and her mother a nurse, who stayed home to raise their four children.
After graduating from a degree in International Relations, Vivi moved to Atlanta, Georgia to work for a year. It was there that she met her husband, and they were married three years later. She spent seven years living in Atlanta and travelled to various parts of the United States during that time, falling in love with the beauty of that immense country and the American people.
Vivi also studied for a Bachelor of Information Technology, and worked in the field ever since until becoming a full-time writer in 2016. She now lives in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and three small children. Married to a Baptist pastor, she is very active in her local church.
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www.viviholt.com
vivi@viviholt.com
Copyright © 2019 by Black Lab Press
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Vivi Holt, Make-Believe Proposal
