However, she didn’t know where she was going to put any of it. Not because she wasn’t willing to give up her office—she was, in a second. Or the guest room, although that was a little small for what she had in mind. No, she just wasn’t sure there was any point in decorating a room in that house. Would she even be living there after she had the baby?
Her thoughts weren’t helping. Reaching to turn on the ignition, Becca grabbed her right arm, instead. It was completely numb. Shaking her arm, thinking it had fallen asleep, she couldn’t feel it tingle. Couldn’t feel anything at all.
Her face felt odd, too. Like she’d just come from the dentist and been shot full of novocaine. As she sat there, trying not to panic, she lost her peripheral vision. She was going to pass out—die—and no one would even know.
Somehow, in spite of the fact that her head felt like it was splitting in two, Becca managed, with her left hand, to get her cell phone out of her satchel and to punch in the couple of numbers that would speed dial Will’s private line.
“Will?” she cried as soon as he answered.
“Becca! What’s wrong?” His voice was strong, reassuring. And full of alarm.
She wanted to tell him what was wrong, but couldn’t figure it out for herself. Her arm was numb—would that do it? She was having trouble hearing her own thoughts through the excruciating pain in her head. Giving up trying to see, she’d lain back with her eyes closed. It took everything she had to hold the phone to her ear.
“Becca?” He spoke with urgency. “Where are you?”
“Mayor’s office,” she said, breathless. And then, to save time, “The parking lot.”
She was shivering. And sweating. Needed to lie down.
“I’m on my way.”
She heard Will’s words from a distance as her body slid sideways over the console. The pain in her head had reached a crescendo, and she didn’t think she could take much more. Death would be a welcome alternative.
AFRAID TO WASTE time with the clinic in Shelter Valley, especially since he had no idea what was wrong with Becca, Will called an ambulance from his office and had the paramedics meet him at the mayor’s office. He pulled in just as they did, but made it to Becca first.
She was conscious. Barely.
“What happened, Bec? Where does it hurt?” he asked, climbing into the car from the passenger side and cradling her head against his body.
“My head.” Her words were slurred. “Blinding me.”
His throat closed up. He’d been expecting the problem to be with the pregnancy. He wasn’t prepared for anything else.
The paramedics left him no choice but to release her as they lifted Becca away from him and onto a waiting stretcher.
“My arm was numb. It isn’t anymore,” he heard her tell the young blue-suited men.
“Her pressure’s high,” one of them reported to the other.
They were on a radio and then on the road to the hospital in Phoenix before Will had time to do anything more than get into his car to follow them. A crowd had gathered outside the mayor’s office. People were clamoring to find out what was wrong, but for once, Will ignored them all. He couldn’t let that ambulance out of his sight.
Dr. Anderson met them at the doors of the emergency room, barking questions as she walked alongside the stretcher. So intent was she that she didn’t even acknowledge Will as he followed them through doors that were marked Patients and Personnel Only.
Becca saw him, though. Her eyes were pinned on him, begging him to make everything okay. She was frightened.
So was he.
Her voice trembled as she answered the doctor’s questions.
The first thing they did was give Becca something to get her blood pressure down. And then Dr. Anderson checked her and the baby thoroughly.
“Everything’s fine there,” she reported, and though her expression softened, she still looked concerned. “But I’d wager a guess that you aren’t getting the extra rest I recommended.”
She called for a specialist, who ordered a set of neurological tests. Dr. Anderson assured them that nothing would be done to harm the baby.
“What do you think is wrong?” Will asked Dr. Anderson as they wheeled Becca away for an MRI. He had to know what to expect.
The doctor, sitting on a stool in the examining room, wrote a couple of things on Becca’s chart. “My guess is that we’re just dealing with a migraine….”