Free Winter Winds by Gayle Roper Page B

appearance had to unnerve her.
    Trev blinked and turned his attention to Pop. Like Dori he had to be distressed to see their rock lying listlessly with a nose cannula supplying oxygenand an IV line feeding nutrients, but he didn’t let it show. He walked to the bed, leaned over, and planted a kiss on Pop’s forehead. Then he took the man’s hand, the one with the IV inserted in the vein. Trev held it carefully, just as Dori held his other hand.
    “How are you feeling?” Trev asked.
    Pop raised an eyebrow. “How do you think?”
    Trev grinned. “Yeah, I know. Dumb question.”
    “I’m lying here on my deathbed—”
    “This is not your deathbed!” Dori rose to her feet in protest. Her chest felt as if it were being crushed in a vise. She could hardly draw a breath. “You are not dying. You’re not! You aren’t allowed!”
    Pop smiled sadly. “I wish it were that simple, dear heart. We know that’s not the case. God does with us as He wills.” He closed his eyes, worn out. Even with the oxygen his breathing was labored. The gray cast to his skin scared Dori almost as much as his abject weariness.
    Oh, God, we can’t lose him! How will we manage without him?
This time she didn’t even apologize for bothering God.
Make him better!
she demanded, then apologized and added,
Please!
    She closed her eyes, determined to hold back her tears. The last thing he needed was a weepy granddaughter. But it hurt so much seeing him like this. She brought her free hand to her heart, her fist clenched so tightly that her nails cut into her palm. She started when she felt a hand on her back, rubbing gently, making small soothing circles.
    Trev. He’d come to stand behind her, to care for her. Her already jangled nerves kicked up a notch, but the panic over Pop slowly receded.
    “I’m going to be sick,” Pop said suddenly.
    Dori grabbed the call button and pressed.
    “That pan,” Pop muttered, swallowing. “Get me that pan. Fast.” He pointed to the plastic washbasin resting on the windowsill.
    Trev grabbed it and held it under Pop’s chin. Pop tried to raise himself on his elbows. Dori moved to support his shoulders and hold him steady.
    Pop made a distressed noise and out gushed a fountain of bright red blood.
    Terrified at what this evidence of a hemorrhage might mean, Dori turned horror-filled eyes to Trev who was staring in distress at the pan.
    With a sigh, Pop went limp under Dori’s hands, and she helped him lie back down. She grabbed some tissues, dampened them in the water jug by the bed, and wiped his mouth.
    “Feel better,” he said.
    “Where is that nurse?” Trev demanded, still holding the pan full of scarlet fluid.
    Dori bolted from the room and raced to the nurses’ station. “We need help! Mr. Trevelyan is vomiting blood!”
    A nurse nodded. “Be right there.” She turned and spoke to the man making notations on a chart. “Dr. Rosen, Trevelyan in 326.”
    Dr. Rosen nodded his white head without looking up. “Be right there.”
    Hurrying to Pop’s room beside the nurse, Dori asked, “Has this happened before?”
    The nurse waved her away. “Wait out here.” And the door slid shut in her face. In a minute Trev was beside her, ejected too, and Dr. Rosen rushed in.
    Dori stared at the closed door, her hand pressed to her lips to hold back a sob. Her Pop!
    Trev slid an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close. Without a second thought, she burrowed against him, needing his comfort, his warmth to ease the chill around her heart. She slid her arms around his waist and held on, feeling almost as lost as the little girl who had clung to him all those years ago. Fatigue and jumbled emotions brought tears to her eyes, more than could be contained, and they poured down her cheeks.
    Trev lowered his head and rested his jaw against her hair. “Shh, Dori. Don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry. I never could.”
    Dori sniffed and smiled sadly. He should have seen her when she first moved to San