Riley pulled into the emergency entrance at the hospital in record time and slammed on the brakes. Leaping out of the car, he didn't even bother to close his door as he sprinted around to Hannah's side. Scooping her up in his arms, he ran toward the double glass doors that automatically flew open for him.
"My wife!" he shouted when a physician approached. "She's having a miscarriage." An orderly rushed forward with a gurney, and Riley laid Hannah on it, gripping her hand as they raced down the wide corridor.
Once they were inside a cubicle, the emergency-room staff pulled closed the curtain surrounding the bed. The physician, calm and professional, patted Riley on the shoulder. "It'd be best, son, if you waited outside."
Riley looked to Hannah for confirmation, but her eyes were tightly closed and her lips were moving and he knew she was lost in a world of pain and prayer.
"The baby?" Riley pleaded.
"I'll do everything I can," the stocky man vowed. "I promise you." His hands gently pushed Riley from the room.
Feeling helpless and full of despair, Riley staggered down the hall, his heart pounding so loudly it stormed in his ears. He was trembling so badly he had to sit down. The waiting room was deserted, and he mechanically lowered himself into a molded plastic chair.
Over the years, Riley had routinely faced danger. Twice he'd stared death in the face and hadn't flinched. Death had no grip on him, nothing to blackmail him into submission. Whether he lived or died was in the hands of the fates, and he hadn't particularly cared one way or the other.
Now the bitter taste of fear filled his mouth, swamping his senses with dread that went soul-deep. His breathing turned shallow and he balled his fists, clenching and unclenching them as his heart roared louder than a jet engine.
Riley wanted this child more than he'd ever realized. He hadn't given much thought to Hannah's pregnancy while he'd been at sea. He'd been too concerned about his relationship with his wife to think much about their child. Although Hannah's pregnancy had greatly impacted on his life, Riley had experienced no deep emotion concerning their baby. "Junior" hadn't seemed real to him.
It wasn't that way any longer. Riley had touched the bed where his son or daughter would sleep, had held the T-shirt that would warm his or her body. He'd viewed a scrambled photograph, a progress report of his baby's physical development, and had seen for himself the perfection of this young life. His own hand had pressed against Hannah's womb, communicating his love to his unborn infant.
Love Junior he did, with a weight that crushed him. A weight so crippling that tremors of fear pulsed through his body as he waited in agony. Waited for some word, some sign of what was happening behind closed doors. Of what was happening to Hannah, happening to Junior, happening to himself.
Whom did one plead with in instances such as this? Fate? Riley didn't know. Fate had always been a joker to him, playing cruel pranks on him from the time he was born. He wasn't about to plea-bargain with lady luck.