Daniel's Gift by Barbara Freethy Read Free Book Online Page B

she whispered against his hair, feeling the tears streaming down her face onto the top of his head. "It will be okay. It has to be okay."
    "Jenny," Alan interrupted. "Are you ready? Christopher's mom is on her way over."
    "I want to go home," Christopher said, rubbing his eyes. "I want to go home."
    "Your mom will be here soon."
    "Danny's hurt bad," Christopher whispered.
    She stared into his face and couldn't say a word. Alan pulled her away and put her in the car before she realized that her legs had moved.
    They sped down the highway as fast as visibility would allow. Jenny didn't know how far they went or how long it took. She didn't know if Alan spoke to her or if she answered. She was numb, in shock. Her system shut down. The only thing that ran through her mind was that her son was hurt. He was in pain. He was probably terrified.
    Not being with him hurt more than anything else in the world. Her heart felt like it was ripped in two. The pain was worse than anything she had ever experienced.
    Her child. Danny, with the smile that brought her joy, with the arms that brought her warmth, with the innocence that made her believe in everything impossible. He was her life. If anything happened to him, she would die.
    Alan pulled up to the emergency entrance, and Jenny jumped out of the car before he had put it in park. She was at the front window, demanding to know where her child was, when Alan came through the door.
    The nurse didn't seem to understand what Jenny was saying. She was asking for insurance. She was pushing papers at her, and a pen. A goddamn pen.
    Jenny picked it up and threw it back at the nurse. "Danny. Where is Danny St. Claire?" she yelled.
    "Easy, honey." Alan stepped up behind her.
    The badge obviously brought respect, because the nurse stopped looking at her as if she were a lunatic and straightened up.
    "Daniel St. Claire," Alan said briskly. "Where is he?"
    "He's in the examining room. We don't have any information yet," the nurse replied. "I do have to ask you to fill out these forms. I'm sorry," she added belatedly.
    Jenny turned to Alan. "I can't."
    Alan took the forms as the nurse shut the window between the waiting room and reception desk. "I'll help you. Try not to worry."
    "Try not to worry? Are you crazy?" Jenny shook her head in amazement. "I'm going in there. I'm going to find Danny. She can't stop me. I'll look in every room until I find him."
    Alan put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Stop it, Jenny. They're doing all they can. This is a good hospital. They have excellent doctors."
    "He's my son. My son," she wailed. "He needs me."
    "He needs medical attention more."
    "I'm his mother. His mother." Her voice broke on the word. And what a horrible mother she was, letting her child get hurt. She wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling so cold she didn't think she would ever feel warm again.
    Alan tried to pull her into his arms, but she resisted. She didn't want his comfort. She didn't want his arms around her. She wanted Danny's arms, only Danny's.
    "What happened?" she asked finally. "Who hit him?"
    Alan shook his head, his mouth a grim line. "We don't know yet. The driver didn't stop."
    "A hit and run? Oh my God! How could they have left a child in the middle of the road, broken and bleeding?" Another cry broke out of her. She cut it off, trying desperately for control.
    "Probably a drunk," Alan said. "I'll find him, Jenny. I promise you that. I'll find who did this to Danny."
    Jenny turned away from him and stared at the solid white wall. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't look at the other people in the waiting room, who were staring at her like some object of curiosity. Her heart was breaking. Her life was ending. She had never felt so alone. So utterly alone.
    Ten minutes passed, then twenty, thirty, forty-five, sixty. Every minute on the clock ticked off with interminable slowness. An hour of incredible pain, broken only by the arrival of a doctor who