Free A Stallion's Touch by Deborah Fletcher Mello Page B

hating to admit that the man had actually been right.
    * * *
    Those last days leading up to the final play-offs left Nicholas little time to think about anything but the game, yet thoughts of Tarah invaded every hour of his day. Between practice and the required pregame events he was contractually obligated to participate in, the little downtime he had revolved around thoughts of her.
    At the honors award banquet, he found himself wishing he’d flown her in to be his date on the red carpet. As he stood alone, paparazzi snapping picture after picture, he couldn’t help but imagine her in black satin beneath a perfect formfitting red gown. Despite her best efforts to hide her assets, Tarah had a phenomenal figure, her dips and curves befitting any Parisian catwalk. He knew beyond any doubt that she would have been stunning on his arm and the talk of every news outlet across the nation.
    Despite their best efforts, he had been able to grab only a quick few minutes with her on her cell phone, and he was itching to fire up his computer to see her in real time. Skype had become his new favorite pastime, and he was missing those moments they shared. Warm breath rushed past his lips as he slammed his locker door closed and headed out to the football field.
    It was Media Day, and close to three thousand media members, armed with the requisite credentials, had descended upon both teams. It was a frenzy of photo opportunities and interviews. Each player was required to be available for at least an hour. They’d been calling his name for more than ten minutes, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before one or all of the coaches and a host of other officiates came looking for him. But as he stepped through the doors, the cameras beginning to flash over and over again, his head just wasn’t in the moment.
    * * *
    Surgery had taken longer than anticipated, and everyone was waiting with bated breath. The next forty-eight hours would be crucial to the final outcome of the Barton twins. The team of surgeons that had been responsible for their care were all hopeful, and the prognosis for their recovery was better than good.
    Tarah stared down at the two angels. They were both resting comfortably in separate cribs for the first time in their young lives. Their mother, Jessica Barton, sat between them, her eyes skipping back and forth, afraid that she might miss one or the other take a breath.
    â€œTheir stats are good,” Tarah said softly, her voice just above a whisper. “Both boys are doing really well, Mrs. Barton.”
    â€œPlease, call me Jessica,” the young woman said as she brushed a tear from her cheek. “What all of you did for my boys... I can’t begin to thank you.”
    Tarah gave the woman a warm smile. “Is your husband still here, Jessica?”
    She shook her head. “He ran home to get a quick shower. He should be back any minute.”
    â€œThat’s good. You should give yourself a break once he gets back. You need some rest, too.”
    She shook her head vehemently. “I’m not leaving them. I can’t. I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to either one of my babies and I wasn’t here.”
    Tarah nodded. “I understand,” she said. And she did, remembering how her mother had been when she or any of her siblings had fallen ill. But the minor mishaps and sicknesses they might have had didn’t begin to compare to what little Oscar and Henry had endured. She imagined that when the day came that she had children of her own, she would be just as unyielding. “If you need anything, let the nurses know,” she concluded. She brushed a gentle hand across the woman’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.
    The two women exchanged a look before Tarah turned and exited the room. She returned the patient charts to the nurses’ station after jotting down her notes and updating their stats for whoever might