Free What She'd Do for Love by Cindi Myers Page B

the sound of the door opening. “I’m in the kitchen,” she called.
    No one answered. She moved to the door in time to see her mother hurry down the hallway. Her father removed his hat and turned toward her.
    He had aged ten years in the few hours they’d been gone. Deep lines etched his face and his eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been crying. But her father didn’t cry—at least she’d never seen him do so, not even at his parents’ funerals.
    “Dad, what’s wrong?”
    “We’ll talk about it later, pumpkin.”
    His use of his pet name for her only made her hurt more. “Dad, you look terrible. Something must have happened in Dallas. Are you hurt? Is Mom hurt?”
    “Your mother is going to be fine.” He spoke the words, not as reassurance, but as declaration, his voice almost angry.
    “Do you need help unloading the truck?” she asked.
    “There’s nothing to unload.”
    So they hadn’t gone shopping. “I made dinner, when you’re ready.”
    “I don’t think either one of us could eat. Thank you anyway. I’m just going to see to your mom.”
    He moved down the hall toward their bedroom, shoulders slumped, shuffling like an old man.
    While her parents stayed behind the closed bedroom door, Christa sat in the kitchen with the untouched food. She’d never seen her father look so devastated. He must have gotten terrible news in Dallas. Had they gone to see their banker? Had the ranch been foreclosed on?
    She’d been so focused on her own problems that she hadn’t paid enough attention to all the signs that were right in front of her nose: he hadn’t hired anyone to replace Duncan. He had sold off a lot of the stock. Even the orange survey flags she’d seen on her drive into the ranch were a clue. Maybe Dad planned to sell off part of the land. The last thing he needed was another mouth to feed. She couldn’t have come home at a worse time.
    She’d have to move back to Houston right away. She’d take any job she could find, whether it was in her field or not. And she’d get a roommate. She wouldn’t burden her parents with her problems when they were dealing with so many of their own.
    Well after dark, Mom and Dad emerged from their room. They came into the kitchen holding hands. Her mother had obviously been crying, and she looked shrunken, folded in on herself. Dad held out a chair and she sank into it. “Christa, we need to talk to you about something,” she said.
    Christa’s chest hurt. “What is it?” she asked, in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.
    “I saw a doctor today in Dallas.” Mom’s voice sounded strange too—thin and whispery. “An oncologist.”
    Christa stopped breathing at the word. “A cancer specialist?”
    “I have breast cancer.” Mom drew in a shaky breath. “I’m going to have a mastectomy.”
    “When?” But the real question she wanted to ask was How? How could her strong, vibrant, healthy mother have cancer?
    “Soon. Friday, if the surgeon can arrange it. We’re waiting for a call.”
    “It’s going to be fine.” Dad rested his hand on Mom’s shoulder.
    “How long have you known?” Christa asked.
    “We got the confirmation from the biopsy today, but the doctors have suspected something since I had my mammogram a couple of weeks ago.”
    “No wonder you seemed so distracted.”
    “The day you came home I had just had the biopsy. I was still a little out of it from the surgery.”
    “But why didn’t you tell me? I could have come home sooner. Or I would have stayed in Houston, if that would be better.” She would do anything for her Mom and Dad, if only they would let her.
    “We didn’t want to worry you,” Mom said.
    “I was already worried that you were acting so differently toward me—as if you didn’t want me here.”
    “Oh, honey, that wasn’t it at all. Of course I want you here.”
    “You’ll be a big help in your mom’s recovery,” Dad said.
    “Of course. I’ll do whatever you need. All those times you nursed me