Page 73 of Wilder Heart

Those words didn’t really compute, but he nodded in acceptance anyway. Since when did anyone consider him a safe person to have around children?

“Yeah, I’ll stay with her. Maybe I’ll take her down to the cafeteria for something to eat, take her mind off what’s happening.”

“That’d be great. I don’t want her to worry.”

“I’ll take care of her, don’t worry about a thing.”

Time seemedto move differently in a hospital. Every contraction Mary-Beth experienced was agonizing for them all. Logically, Wilder knew they only lasted a few minutes, but she seemed to be in pain for hours. He let her squeeze his hand every time, and she handled each one like a goddamn champ, sucking down deep breaths and barely uttering a peep. He suspected a lot of her strength came from wanting to keep Annalise calm. She stared hard at her little girl during every contraction, squeezing his hand until he swore and Annalise giggled at his foul mouth. Wilder had no idea what he was doing. He felt helpless, really, watching a kind woman in pain and knowing there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe this was how everyone felt when someone was giving birth. He desperately wished that Lain and Cash would miraculously appear to be the responsible ones and let him fade into the background once again. It wasexhausting.

But it wasn’t Lain and Cash who swept in through the door just moments before the doctor was due to take Mary-Beth back to prep her for surgery.

Emily Dandridge was an imperious woman in high-waisted jeans and a blonde bob that curled around her chin, delicate diamonds twinkling in her earlobes. Her husband, Robert,towered over her, balding and wearing a faded flannel, his boots flecked with mud.

Oh, Wilder thought. Mary-Beth was one ofthoseDandridges.

They were ranchers too, he dimly recalled from his memories of Roselake, and the Dandridge Ranch had been as successful as Blackwood Ranch was now, but for far longer.

Emily’s flinty gaze absorbed the scene with a hammer of judgment ready to swing down on him. She noticed the tattoo on his neck, the way he held their daughter’s hand, and a sleepy Annalise sagging on the sofa cushions with a goldfish cracker stuck in the wrinkles of her shirt.

“We’ll take it from here, Mr. Blackwood,” Emily said, lifting her chin. “You can go.”

Go where?

“It’s okay, Mom,” Mary-Beth said. “Wilder’s been a real trooper.”

“All the more reason for him to go now that we’re here,” Emily insisted. “He must be exhausted.”

Mary-Beth opened her mouth to speak, but Wilder cut her off. “It’s fine, Mary-Beth. I’ll go see if I can find some coffee, and maybe I’ll try calling Lain again.”

Mary-Beth relaxed. “Okay. Thanks, Wilder.”

Robert didn’t move as Wilder approached the door, forcing him to squeeze past him.

Out in the hallway, he blew out a breath—and then stiffened when the door opened behind him.

“Uncle Wilder, I want to come with you,” Annalise said, covering her mouth as she yawned. “I’m tired of goldfish. Do they have other snacks here?”

He turned, his smile freezing when Robert followed little Annalise out the door. Right, couldn’t let the murderer be alone with an innocent child.

He refocused his attention on Annalise. “I’m sure we can find you something.”

“I think I’ll tag along for a cup of coffee, myself,” Robert said. “Looks like it might be a long night.”

Great.

They fell into step together, the three of them, with Annalise acting as a very small and oblivious buffer between the two men. Neither of them spoke, though Annalise chattered about the random things she saw in the hospital on their way to the cafeteria, like the bulletin board of thank-you notes from parents and children outside the pediatrics ward and the cute stuffed animals in the window of the gift shop near the lobby.

The cafeteria was all but deserted at this hour. A lonely janitor moved up and down the aisles between the long tables. A snack machine drew Annalise like a moth to a flame. Her little fingers smudged the glass as she looked from treat to treat.

“Uncle Wilder, can I get a honeybun?” she asked, pointing.

He tried to slide his hand into his back pocket only to remember he was wearing pajama bottoms, which was embarrassing, and his fingers found only cloth-covered asscheek. “Shit.”

“Language,” Robert admonished sternly, and even Annalise looked cowed. It was the first time all night she hadn’t giggled when he said a bad word.

Rather than address the man who talked to him like a misbehaving child, he looked at Annalise and said, “I’m sorry, kiddo, I don’t have my wallet with me.”

“You don’t? How did you drive them here?” Robert’s gaze raked down his body, judgment dragging like claws against his skin.

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