Heart Broken, Heart Whole

Ginny McBlain

New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Road
Lake Park, Georgia 31636
http://www.newconceptspublishing.com
ISBN 1-58608-019-9
Cover art by Eliza Black
Copyright by Virginia H. McBlain, 1996, 2000
Originally published by Renlow Publishing

HEART BROKEN, HEART WHOLE is a work of fiction. The situations and characters are a creation from the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is strictly coincidence.

Dedication

Thanks and love to
my husband, David, for his unending support
and all those hours brainstorming and proof-reading,
my son, Evan, whose blabber-mouth led me to Diane, and
Diane Wicker Davis, who saw the spark and fanned the flame.

Acknowledgements

I gratefully acknowledge those generous medical professionals who shared their expertise with me. Any mistakes are my own.

Cathy Blogett, RN, Pediatric ICU, University of Nebraska Medical Center, Omaha, Nebraska

Kathy Bradford, RN, Woman’s Hospital, Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Paul Dickson, Chief Respiratory Therapist, Woman’s Hospital, Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Prologue

"Gray?" Amanda’s voice was soft and sweet. And scared.

Gray Townsend opened his eyelids, blinking to clear his drug-clouded vision. The pain in his shattered left leg had ebbed to a halfway tolerable throb once the powerful painkiller had taken effect. He turned his gaze toward her voice, an arrow of agony shooting through his concussed head. It hurt to move. It hurt to think.

His loyal, stubborn Mandy stood just inside the door looking as lost and terrified as she sounded. She was his world, his life. He abhorred what he was about to do, but his father had convinced him it was the only fair option.

His heart ached at the sight of her right hand peeking out from between the buttons of an oversized white shirt. The right sleeve hung empty. Broken collar bone, didn’t Dad say? She took a careful step toward his bed as if she walked on eggs. His gaze dropped to her flat stomach covered in snug jeans. She’d been so excited when her pregnancy was confirmed two days before the accident. He’d shared her excitement unabashedly.

He shifted as much as the traction apparatus allowed, the movement sending another stabbing pain throughout his body. In truth, he hurt so much he couldn’t pinpoint the source. He wondered with a fearful pang if he’d ever be able to father another child.

A nurturer by nature, Amanda wanted a family. She deserved the chance to be a mother. The same as she deserved to live unencumbered by a cripple. This was right. It had to be. His father had said so.

He held out his right hand, needing to touch her one last time.

"Mandy Mine," the pet name slipped out from long use. Never again Townsend, he admonished himself. She can’t be yours. "I’m sorry about the baby."

She blinked hard, her face contorted with grief. "So am I. There’ll be another one day." She pasted on a pathetic excuse for a bright smile. "You hurry up and get well."

"About the wedding." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I-I think we should can..." he paused, forcing his tongue around the word "cancel it."

"Postpone." She clutched the bed railing for support. "The word you’re looking for is postpone, darling."

This was so much harder than he’d imagined during his mental rehearsals. For her sake he must be cruel to be kind, otherwise she’d never accept his decision. "Since I’ve been laid up I’ve come to realize what we had was a campus fling. You were right all along. Our backgrounds are way too different. Go home to the farm and cancel the wedding." He hardened his heart and lied. "It was a mistake in the first place."

"You don’t mean what you’re saying."

"Yes, I do."

"I don’t believe you! You loved me last week." Hysteria escalated with each word.

"Last week I was young and foolish. Be glad we found out before it was too late. Beat it, babe." He reached for the nurse call button, stricken by the ashen hue he’d painted on her face with his harsh words.

"Gray, please... I love you."

"Good-bye, Amanda. It was nice while it lasted."

"Miss Talmadge, Mr. Townsend should rest now," the nurse said from the doorway.

"Gray—" she sobbed.

"Miss Talmadge! You’re upsetting my patient."

Gray watched the nurse escort Amanda from the room knowing she took his heart with her. His bright, beautiful Mandy. There wasn’t another like her. There never would be.

Chapter 1

Amanda Wagner sat ramrod straight, waiting for the family practice doctor’s recommendation. Taut muscles buttressed her back. Her hands were sweaty, yet icy. She clutched Hilary, her two-year-old daughter, close. Still as a statue, the child cuddled Floppy, the bedraggled once-white rabbit which accompanied her everywhere.

Doctor Mercer shuffled a stack of papers, peering through his horn-rimmed half glasses. "If the indications are what I think they are, Hilary’s shunt is closing down. She needs care from a specialist. Let’s see," he said running his finger down the list in his hand. "I’m afraid I can’t offer you much choice, Amanda. Your insurance company approves one pediatric cardiologist in Omaha and one in Minnesota. As we’ve discussed before those are the only two places between Chicago and Denver where the kind of surgery Hilary needs is performed."

"I assume you’re telling me Doctor James isn’t the cardiologist approved in Omaha," Amanda stated, referring to the specialist who had treated her daughter in the past.

"That’s right. You can always take her to Minnesota."

Needing something to do with her hands, Amanda twisted one of Hilary’s dark curls around her finger. "But we still can’t continue seeing Doctor James."

"Not unless you change your insurance coverage. Many doctors canceled their affiliations with HMOs because of their excessive restrictions and red tape."

"I can’t change insurance companies." Having little choice of doctors bothered her a great deal. Under the terms of her divorce, her ex-husband was required to provide group medical insurance for the daughter he had rejected because she wasn’t perfect. Last month Roland Wagner notified her that his company had changed insurance plans. As of January first, Hilary was covered by a health maintenance organization. Amanda preferred a less restrictive policy, but the HMO complied with the divorce decree. She supposed she should be grateful Roland obeyed without argument. Self-employed, she did not have a group plan and could not insure Hilary with the same policy she carried on herself. Hilary’s heart defect was considered a pre-existing condition and would not be covered.

"Everything else being equal, I’d prefer to take Hilary back to Omaha. I’m familiar with Children’s Hospital, and it’s closer to home, which is easier for me and my family. But before I decide, tell me about both doctors."

"I went to medical school with Nils Jorgenson, the cardiologist in Minnesota. He’s a fine diagnostician."

"I hear some reservation in your voice." Doctor Mercer hesitated, obviously reluctant to elaborate. "Please explain," Amanda urged.

He glanced down at the papers on his desk. "Of course I haven’t seen him in action in years," he paused and his mouth tightened, as if he’d come to some decision before he plunged on, "but when I knew him he didn’t relate well to his patients. He was brilliant academically and totally lacking in people skills."

"You don’t recommended him," Amanda stated flatly.

"I wouldn’t go that far. I’m sure he’s an excellent cardiologist, however, unless he has changed a great deal, he is very aloof."

"And the doctor in Omaha?"

"Gray Townsend."

The name registered; her head snapped up. "Did you say Gray Townsend?"

"Yes. He’s new in Omaha. You’ve heard of him?"

"I knew a Gray Townsend once, but it couldn’t be him." He couldn’t possibly be the Gray she had known! "What about Doctor Townsend?"

"I understand he trained down in Houston. He’s a real hot shot by reputation, one of the best young pediatric cardiologists in the country. He opened his practice in Omaha last fall." Doctor Mercer stopped and looked Amanda straight in the eye. "This is your decision, of course, but I recommend Doctor Townsend."

Doctor Mercer had taken care of Hilary and herself ever since Amanda had moved to Sioux City. She trusted him implicitly and knew him well enough to know he would never have said the slightest word against a colleague if he hadn’t felt it was in her best interest. Besides that having Hilary hospitalized in Omaha was the more convenient of the inconvenient choices. Doctor Townsend’s reputation, along with Doctor Mercer’s recommendation, was encouraging and in the long run, the deciding factor. She pushed away any thought of the possibility of "her" Gray and Doctor Townsend being one and the same. It didn’t make sense. "Omaha it is," she said.

"I’ll have Christine set up an appointment for you," the kindly doctor said. "Any time that won’t work for you?"

"I’d rather not arrive in the early morning. I’d just as soon avoid rush hour traffic."

While the doctor gave instructions to his nurse, Amanda stared at the Norman Rockwell print on the wall, her thoughts chaotic. Doctor Gray Townsend. He couldn’t possibly be her Gray, could he? Her pulse rate accelerated remembering the gorgeous young man she’d almost married. She shook her head. Her Gray. She’d been pretty possessive back then. Had she ever thought of him as anything but her own?

"All set for Thursday at eleven," Doctor Mercer said, handing her an appointment card. "That should give you plenty of time to drive to Omaha. The address and phone number are on the back. If they don’t contact you with specific instructions, call them."

She nodded. "Thanks, Doctor Mercer."

Amanda, Hilary cradled in her arms, exited the doctor’s office, oblivious to the cold January wind whipping off the Missouri River.

If this doctor really was "her" Gray Townsend how could she face him again? She’d loved him so much that no other man, not even her husband, could claim the same feelings she’d experienced with Gray. Even now, on the rare occasions when she thought of him, a warm feeling came over her until she forced herself to remember their end as a couple.

It had taken her a long time to get over the cruel way Gray had dismissed her from his life. She hadn’t been able to accept his about-face. Their differences in background hadn’t mattered to him until the head-on collision with an eighteen wheeler. She’d tried to get to the bottom of his change of heart, but he’d refused her phone calls, and returned her letters unopened. It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out that Spencer Townsend had been the driving force behind their break-up.

The senior Townsend had visited her in her hospital room the morning following the accident. She’d just been told she’d lost the baby, and he had looked down his aristocratic nose and had the audacity to suggest that she break her engagement to Gray.

Break the engagement? Weren’t parts of the marriage vows "for better for worse" and "in sickness and in health"? They hadn’t spoken the words, but the ring on her finger told the world of their promise. As far as she was concerned she’d made the commitment the minute she’d agreed to marry Gray. He had needed her—really needed her—and his heartless father had suggested she dump him. To this day she couldn’t believe Gray’s father had judged her so mercilessly on first meeting.

While she’d met Mr.Townsend’s glacial gray stare and told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his plan, she hadn’t reckoned with his power over his son. She’d known the bond between father and son was stronger than most, but until Gray had tossed her aside, she hadn’t realized how potent it was. The battle had been lost the moment the semi plowed into Gray’s Corvette.

By the time she had returned to the University of Iowa for the fall term, Gray had been dismissed from the hospital. Finally, she’d conceded defeat and mailed her engagement ring to his home address. She’d never seen him again. Years later, it dawned on her that she wasn’t in love with him anymore, but she’d never forgotten him, and now she wondered if she’d ever forgiven him.

Gray Prescott Townsend had broken her young heart and in the process shattered her trust in the power of love.

How could she trust him—if the new specialist really was him—with Hilary’s heart? Tetralogy of Fallot was no run-of-the-mill congenital defect. After all this time the gravity of the diagnosis still struck terror in Amanda’s soul. Her child faced open heart surgery to repair the worst of the four associated anomalies. She wanted someone with experience to care for her baby, not some young whipper snapper just starting out. Doctor Mercer had said this guy was a hot shot. She hoped he was right. Hilary had to have the very best.

Hilary whimpered. Amanda slid her into the car seat with practiced ease and tucked Floppy beside her. "Hush, sweetie," she soothed, stroking her hand along her daughter’s cheek, "we’ll be home soon. You’ve been such a good girl. Don’t start crying and make yourself sick. Okay?"

The brisk breeze hadn’t changed Hilary’s ruddy complexion to a normal pink. Her skin exhibited a bluish cast, particularly pronounced around her mouth. Amanda longed for a healthy rosy bloom on the child’s cheeks. She clung to the mental image of her daughter running pell-mell across the lawn at her folk’s farm, and scrambling up the gnarled apple tree in the front yard. Hilary would giggle while inching out onto that sturdy low branch used—misused was a better word—by a generation of Talmadge offspring. Hanging upside down by her knees, her hair brushing the grass, she’d laugh and yell at the top of her lungs, "Hey, Mommy! Look at me!"

A mother’s dream, to be sure, but a possible one with the right doctor, successful surgery and answered prayer.

Ten minutes later, Amanda parked her six-year-old Thunderbird in front of her garden-style apartment building. Hoisting her feather-light daughter on her hip, she grabbed the diaper bag and proceeded inside.

She wiggled Hilary out of her quilted aqua snowsuit, heading straight to their shared bedroom. It was past nap time. Making sure the baby monitor was turned on, Amanda went to the second bedroom, which she used as an office.

The room, bathed in afternoon sunlight, overlooked the parking lot. Metal lateral file cabinets lined the wall under the window. An oak desk, and L-shaped computer work center were placed so she could roll her chair from one to the other without getting up. The only non-functional furnishings were the pair of upholstered chairs she kept for clients.

She slumped in the castored desk chair, propping her forehead in both hands. Constant, bone-deep tiredness sapped her once boundless energy. With a sigh she jotted Hilary’s appointment on her calendar, again puzzling over the new cardiologist’s identity.

How many Gray Townsends could there be, especially in Omaha, Nebraska, her Gray’s hometown? Logically they couldn’t be one and the same. Her fiancé had been a business major, his future mapped out step by meticulous step. No deviations allowed. Besides she couldn’t imagine anyone in a wheelchair surviving the rigorous, lengthy process required for a medical degree and specialty training. More to the point, she couldn’t imagine Spencer Townsend allowing it. Groomed from birth, Gray was supposed to follow in his father’s footsteps at the Townsend Company, the highly successful commercial real estate firm Spencer started from scratch as a young man. All things considered, the names couldn’t be anything other than a coincidence. She had enough to worry about without wasting precious energy remembering the past or stewing about an appointment she couldn’t change.

A lock of hair worked loose from the clip at her nape and brushed her cheek. Absently, she tucked it behind her ear before she opened the large manila envelope in her stack of mail. Good old never-late Harvey Jacobs. She checked the contents quickly, knowing full well that all his tax records were included and in order. She wished her entire clientele were as conscientious. You’ll be rewarded for your diligence, Mr. Jacobs. I’ll have your return finished before Hilary sees Doctor Townsend. After that, she might not be so prompt. Her whole life hinged on the outcome of the appointment. The cardiologist would determine if Hilary was ready for the surgery without which she would never reach adulthood.

Her daughter’s deteriorating condition couldn’t have come at a worse time. Tax season was in full swing and Amanda needed every spare minute to complete her clients’ returns, yet Hilary’s needs came first.

They always had and always would.

Amanda tried, and failed, to push her frustration aside. Once upon a time she’d commanded a better than average salary—one that made possible such luxuries as her Thunderbird and her extensive dress for success wardrobe. How times change! Here she was, barely scraping by, doing bookkeeping and preparing income tax forms for small businesses and a few individuals. Rust spots marred her car, and her tailored business suits collected dust, while she wore practical jeans and sweats. She knew she should be thankful that her expertise allowed her to work at home. Hilary, much too ill for day care, required constant, vigilant attention. Amanda couldn’t work outside the home, and work she must. Roland paid generous child support, but with the hidden expenses of caring for a sick child the money didn’t go far. Amanda didn’t get alimony, nor did she want any. The less dependent she was on Roland Wagner, the better. Well educated, with an impressive resume, she could fend for herself. Thank you very much!

Chuckling at the irony of her situation, her glance strayed to the framed documents mounted on the wall. Spencer Townsend’s disapproval of her had spurred an obsession. Determined to prove herself good enough for his son, she’d acquired a bachelor’s degree in accounting, a master’s in business administration and now she was a CPA. Along with the formal schooling came a polish she’d lacked at nineteen. Not that the catalyst for her obsession knew or cared. Sometimes when day-to-day living crashed in on her, she discounted her ability and expertise. To counteract those lapses into self-pity she’d hung her diplomas in plain sight. They served as gentle reminders of her professional qualifications.

Never in all the years she’d studied, then worked her way up the corporate ladder, did she envision needing a skill which permitted her to work at home. She wished she could take credit for advantageous prior planning, but it was one of those ironic twists of fate that happens sometimes. Someday she should thank old man Townsend.

She went to the kitchen and made a reviving cup of strong black coffee. At times she thought the only things that kept her going were caffeine and sheer willpower. Occasionally, the tremendous anger she’d experienced when Roland abandoned her and their six-week-old baby reared its ugly head. She’d told herself numerous times not to waste time or energy being angry with him, but it still slipped up on her, especially when Hilary fell victim to a frightening tet spell. Her baby turned eggplant purple during those times of acute respiratory distress, scaring Amanda spitless. Having the sole responsibility for a critically ill child was an overwhelming burden.

Amanda never forgot, even for a minute, that if she failed to react properly, her daughter would die.

Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Hilary was going to be well and strong. Her mother would move heaven and earth to see to it.

Taking her coffee with her, she returned to her office. Her fingers poised on the keyboard, she longed for the warm comfort of her bed across the hall. Pushing the tempting notion aside, she began typing Mr. Jacobs’ figures into her computer. Hilary’s nap time, i.e., work time, never lasted long enough for her to catch up.

*****

Gray Townsend, M. D., leaned back in the deep leather chair, glad for the brief respite between patients. Resting his left leg on the small footstool placed out of sight under his desk, he breathed a small sigh of relief. He gazed around the room, pleased with his surroundings. The walls were paneled in walnut, broken by built-in bookcases for his medical references. His numerous diplomas, double matted and framed in plain ebony were displayed behind his large desk. Plush, wall-to-wall carpeting, taupe in color, covered the floor. A brass hall tree stood near the door, and beside it sat a carved oak box filled with old-fashioned toys. He had rescued the wooden blocks and trucks from the attic at his father’s home. In preparation for the move to the new house, the maids had been discarding ruthlessly. The box also contained soft rag dolls crafted by his housekeeper, Ramona’s, loving hands. The room was tasteful yet comfortable, and he hoped it helped instill a sense of confidence in the parents of his young patients.

His gaze strayed to the oil painting of a meadow covered in Texas bluebonnets which dominated the wall in front of him. Those years in Houston away from his father’s leash had been the best of his life. He had matured rapidly while recovering from the accident. During those long lonely hours when pain racked his body and sleep wouldn’t come, he’d passed the time soul-searching. Concluding his father’s love was obsessive and controlling, Gray realized he had to leave Omaha or become his father’s puppet.

He swallowed the disappointment surging through him. He had broken away once; now he was back and the possibility of a second escape was remote. He’d returned to his hometown because he had no choice. The father who’d been there for him all his life needed him now.

Confined to a wheelchair because of a debilitating stroke, Spencer Townsend needed the same support and encouragement Gray had needed after the accident. There was no way Gray could—or would—turn his back on his father’s plea for help.

He focused on the two tub chairs, upholstered in apple green and sky blue stripes, facing his desk. His thoughts drifted to the anxious parents of his young patients who occupied those chairs while waiting for his verdict on their child’s condition. Where his chosen profession was concerned, Gray did not suffer any false modesty. He was a natural in the world of pediatric cardiology. Besides his excellent technical skills, he loved children, especially his patients. He understood their pain and their fear. The rapport he established with the tykes in his care had become legendary in Houston. Bucking his father’s wishes had been worth every hardship he’d endured to reach this point.

He opened the medical records in front of him, forwarded by Doctor Mercer in Sioux City. Hilary Wagner, Gray’s newest patient, suffered from classic tetralogy and its symptoms. Each of the abnormalities that defined the disease: ventricular septum defect, stenosis of the pulmonary valve, a displaced aorta, and an enlarged right ventricle were present. He studied the notations, a frown furrowing his brow. Little Miss Hilary was one sick baby.

A knock interrupted his train of thought. "Yes," he called.

"Mrs. Wagner and Hilary are ready in room one," his office nurse, Dinah Sims, reported.

"Thanks." Gray reached for his cane, using it to lever himself to a standing position. He stopped at the hall tree and shrugged into a long white lab coat, leaving it unbuttoned to reveal gray suit pants, a pristine white shirt and fuchsia and teal flowered tie. He wore vivid, wildly patterned ties in deference to his patients. They liked bright colors. Somewhere along the way he’d discovered the youngsters responded to him better if he didn’t dress in a staid fashion. However, he’d also learned the parents trusted him more when he wore professional attire. He liked to think he’d stuck a good compromise, acceptable to everyone, including himself.

Taking the records he’d been reading with him, he limped into the hall. Glancing around, he noted the staff was elsewhere. Quickly, so as not to get caught, he rubbed his left knee. Blasted, unpredictable, Nebraska weather must be changing again. His leg, especially his knee, hurt like hell today.

He tapped the door open with the rubber tip of his cane and stepped inside. "Mrs. Wagner, I’m Doctor Town—" Gray stopped dead still, stunned. Could it possibly be her? His Mandy? Here in his examining room? No, of course not. He must be hallucinating. He blinked. Yes, it was her. He would have recognized those gorgeous, deep brown "doe" eyes anywhere.

"Amanda?" To his own ears his voice quaked.

She peered at him over the little girl’s head, her gaze dropping to the cane in his hand. Quickly, she focused on the medical records in his other hand. "It is you," she answered, no surprise registering in her tone. "I wondered, but thought it unlikely."

Gray stared; he couldn’t help himself. Gone was the vibrant college girl who had stolen his heart. In her place sat a haggard mother, lines of worry etched around the mouth he remembered as wonderfully kissable. Her shining cascade of toffee blonde hair was now a dull mousy shade, pulled back and clipped with a barrette at the nape of her neck. The sparkle was gone from her eyes, replaced by vulnerability. The dark circles under her eyes appeared blackish purple next to her colorless cheeks. Smudged pink lipstick constituted her only make-up. She looked like she hadn’t slept in years—which was probably true.

Gray lowered his gaze. Her cadet blue suit was good quality, but the jacket hung off the shoulders. At twenty-one Amanda had been slender. Slender had turned to emaciated somewhere along the way. He suppressed a sudden anger at her gaunt appearance. He had forfeited the right to care years ago.

Her tension was palpable. An appointment of this nature was distressing for any parent without the added strain of a past relationship with the child’s physician. From the look of her, he figured their discomfort was mutual.

He shut the door and moved to the stool by the mini desk attached to the wall, summoning every last bit of his professionalism.

His patient, striped to her diaper, squirmed on her mother’s lap. "Down!" she demanded.

"Sit still, sweetie," Amanda cajoled, enticing her with Floppy, the toy rabbit.

Hilary, determined to have her own way, wailed and wiggled.

"Shh! It’s okay," Amanda soothed, anxiety apparent in her tone.

"Let her down," Gray instructed, holding out his hands. "Come here, Princess."

Hilary quieted when released and toddled toward him, dropping the worn toy on the floor.

Pulling his stethoscope from his lab coat pocket, he handed it to her, observing the child with trained eyes while striving for a clinical detachment he didn’t feel. Hilary wandered around the room, turning the instrument over and over, twisting the rubber tubes. She had her mother’s dark eyes. Her curly hair, caught in twin ponytails, was brown with red highlights. The surgical scar running from under her arm up to her shoulder blade bore testimony to previous surgery. He studied the little girl’s fingers as she played with the stethoscope. They were clubbed: purplish in color, widened and thickened, with convex nails. The manifestation, typical of her condition, was caused by insufficient oxygen to her extremities.

"She’s beautiful, Amanda." He glanced up and caught a hint of the gorgeous smile that had once turned him to putty in her hands. His heart skipped a beat.

"I think so." Her emphasis on the I communicated there were others who didn’t agree.

"Look, I can tell you don’t feel comfortable with me. I understand why. I’ll be happy to arrange for you to see another cardiologist."

Amanda sucked in a deep breath, recalling how often he’d known her mind when they were dating. She hated having to reveal her predicament. If she’d been given any other reasonable option she wouldn’t be here in the first place. "I can’t take her to someone else. You’re the only pediatric cardiologist in Omaha the insurance company approves."

Her pleading gaze locked with his.

He glanced at the child, then back at Amanda. "In that case..." He drew a tongue depressor from his pocket and stood up using the desk for balance. "Hilary," he called softly.

She moseyed over and squatted at his feet, as tetralogy patients instinctively do to ease their overworked hearts. Wincing inwardly, he stooped and picked her up, setting her on the examining table. He smiled and extended the tongue depressor. "Trade you," he said slipping the stethoscope from her fingers.

Gray straightened the instrument, then warmed the diaphragm with his hand before he stuck it on Hilary’s bare skin. Amanda appreciated the gentleness with which he examined her baby, his attention never leaving his patient. His deep, mellifluous voice cast a hypnotic spell on the child. That same voice had once worked its sorcery on her senses enticing her into his magic world of dreams come true. She tried to shut out the sound.

And her painful memories.

Instead she concentrated on the physical changes Gray had undergone. He was still very attractive, although in an entirely different way. He’d never been a tall man, only about five feet, ten inches. Leaning on his cane he seemed shorter. She viewed his cane with mixed emotions, rejoicing that he was able to walk at all. Yet the sight of him dependent on the intricately carved aid tore at her heart. He’d been agile, light on his feet—an accomplished tennis player and even better dancer. His disability seemed such a waste.

His shoulders appeared broader, more muscular than before, and his body was as spare as it had ever been. Despite his handicap, Gray Townsend kept himself in excellent physical shape.

He wore his thick, coal black hair in a conservative style that appeared a week overdue for a trim. The streak of snow white running through the shock flopping over his forehead surprised and intrigued her. This, too, she viewed with mixed emotions. She deplored the agony the white streak represented, but on him it looked...oh, so sexy. Her fingers itched to compare the textures of white and black. Where in the world had that errant thought come from? Amanda tried to focus elsewhere but once her scrutiny locked on the startling contrast, the white streak acted like a beacon, drawing her gaze to it again and again. Apparently her thing about his soft, thick hair had not died.

He’d always had a lean face, his features finely hewn. Suffering had added deep grooves from his long, aristocratic nose to the corners of his thin, sensual mouth. Tiny lines fanned from deep set, smoky blue eyes. His lips lifted and his eyes glinted in response to Hilary’s babbling. His smile still came easily and Amanda found herself—much to her chagrin—responding to it with something close to the giddiness she’d known all those years ago. Before she got carried away, she shut off the memory, concentrating on the here and now.

Amanda watched him examining her daughter, his long, deft fingers touching Hilary’s skin. From the computer bank of her mind flashed the image of those same fingers trailing over her own sensitized flesh, sending erotic sensations roaring through her. Oh, mercy, mercy, what’s the matter with me? I’m behaving like a sex-starved idiot. She bit the inside of her lip and studied the scuff mark on the toe of her shoe in an effort to shut off the conflicting emotions flailing against each other.

Guilt surfaced. Lusting after the man charged with making her daughter well was intolerable. He was probably married with a passel of kids by now, although the fact that he didn’t wear a wedding ring had registered at some point since he walked into the room.

It occurred to her that all these jumbled feelings stemmed from never having had the chance to have her say in their broken engagement. This was her opportunity to exorcise that particular ghost once and for all. Those dreams were dead, had been dead for fifteen years, and would remain dead forever. She needed Gray for one reason and one reason only: to make Hilary well.

He turned around and started to speak. At age thirty-five, he looked older, wiser than his years. His face suggested he’d been through more than he should’ve had to endure and come out of it with great sensitivity and compassion for others. Those were the qualities she wanted in her daughter’s physician.

"I need x-rays—"

Amanda started, realizing he’d caught her studying him. "I was woolgathering," she said lamely. "What did you say?"

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as if he was privy to a sweet secret. She groaned inwardly, remembering how transparent she’d been to him. "I said I need x-rays, an EKG and an echocardiogram."

"Oh. All right."

He hoisted Hilary in his left arm and reached for his cane. Amanda was amazed at the ease with which he maneuvered them both to the door. "Dinah," he called, "please take Hilary." In a quiet tone he explained exactly what he wanted.

Amanda rose, intending to carry the baby herself.

"Sit down," Gray said, his order clear in spite of the soft timbre of his voice.

"But I need to go—"

"You can join them in a few minutes. I want to talk to you first."

"She’ll cry," Amanda protested.

"And that terrifies you." Gray settled himself back on the stool, stretching his bad leg out straight. "Don’t worry. Dinah has lots of experience and can handle Hilary."

Was her anxiety that obvious? She focused on the Plucky Duck poster tacked to the wall above his head rather than expose herself further. "How did you know?" she murmured.

"I’m the doctor, remember? Dealing with the parent’s fears is as much a part of my job as treating the child. If Hilary cries and becomes short of breath, Dinah knows what do. Relax."

Amanda sat back down but couldn’t relax.

"Tell me in terms you’re comfortable with what you know about tetralogy of Fallot."

She studied her hands folded in her lap, then stared at the door, looking anywhere but straight at Gray. "Hilary’s body doesn’t get enough oxygen because the hole between the lower chambers of her heart allows blood to bypass her lungs. The pulmonary artery is narrow, restricting the amount of blood that does go to her lungs. She had a shunt put in when she was almost six weeks old. It improved the blood supply to her lungs, but unoxygenated blood still seeps through the hole. Her heart works too hard and still isn’t efficient. The main artery from her heart is out of position and the lower right chamber is enlarged. Surgical repair is the only long term solution."

"You’ve got a good grasp of the problem."

A cry penetrated the closed door. Amanda jumped to her feet.

"It’s okay," Gray insisted. "If Dinah needs either of us, she’ll let us know."

"But..."

"Are you always this anxious, or is it that you don’t trust me?"

She sank down, feeling heat suffuse her cheeks. "It—it’s not that," she stated with more conviction than she felt. There was a grain of truth in his accusation. "I’m all she has."

Gray’s eyes widened. "Her father?"

"Doesn’t want her. We’re divorced." Amanda couldn’t keep the pain from her voice, though her expression led him to believe questions wouldn’t be welcome.

"I see," Gray said. More than she knew. No wonder she looked so tired and was overanxious. She’d been coping with a very sick baby on her own. For how long? Had Mr. Wagner left because she was pregnant or because his daughter was ill?

"As I started to say, I agree with your doctor in Sioux City. There’s evidence the shunt is failing. If tests bear that out, our choices are to put in a new shunt or go ahead with intracardiac repair now."

"I can’t see putting her through any more surgery than necessary," she responded, once again in control.

"Neither can I. We’ll call Children’s Hospital and set up a cardiac catheterization. Once I have the tests results, I’ll consult with Doctor Svoboda, the pediatric thoracic surgeon who’ll perform the actual surgery."

"Explain the surgery to me," she said.

"We open the heart itself and repair the defective areas."

"Open heart surgery." Amanda stated a simple fact, but her voice betrayed her fear.

"Correct. I know that sounds scary and it is. Let me assure you—" he said, his hypnotic voice as comforting as his words "—modern medicine has made great strides in recent years. Not too long ago Hilary would have had to wait until her pre-teenage years before this surgery could be done. Now we have the technology to repair hearts in the very young. In Hilary’s case the size of the pulmonary artery will determine if she’s ready for surgery. That’s one of the reasons for the tests I’m ordering. However, since I’m the diagnostician, not the surgeon, I’d rather wait and let Doctor Svoboda explain the surgical procedure himself."

Gray reached for his cane and hoisted himself off the stool. "I’ll make the arrangements for the cath. You’ll find Hilary down the hall and to the right."

*****

An hour later, Amanda thrust her cranky daughter’s arms through the sleeves of a pink flowered tee-shirt. Gray’s calm sureness assuaged her doubts. She recognized a polished bedside manner when she saw it, but it was more than that. He projected genuine concern for his patient, as well as a no-nonsense authority. Beyond his undoubted professionalism, he cared and that sparked her confidence.

On the other hand, his presence evoked memories best left in the past. Her reaction was a curious mix. His voice alone rekindled emotions that had been so much dead ash this morning. And his smile! If she allowed herself his smile would turn her to mush. Plainly, he didn’t need her pity, yet every maternal instinct she possessed cried for the agony he must have gone through. She wanted to smooth the lines from his face in the same way she wanted to erase Hilary’s problems. Her response to him was difficult to describe. Although she wanted to deny it, her innate honesty forced her to admit the attraction was still there, marred by a bucket load of wariness. The one thing she was sure of was personal feelings had no place in the patient-parent-doctor relationship.

Amanda sighed and fastened the straps on her daughter’s pink corduroy overalls. What it all boiled down to was simple. No matter how uncomfortable she felt, she was going to have to trust the man who’d trampled her heart into the dust. The thought of the inevitable surgery terrified her, and now she would be forced to deal with ambiguous feelings for her daughter’s cardiologist. Surely, as a mature adult, she could forget the past and do what must be done for Hilary’s sake.

*****

Gray limped into his office, his bad leg dragging more than usual. His last patient had left moments before. Damn, he was tired. Some unkind gremlin had pulled the plug on his energy. If only he could go home and relax in the spa. He rubbed his aching knee, then lowered himself into his desk chair and wrote up his patient notes.

His thoughts strayed to Hilary Wagner and from there bounced to her mother.

Amanda.

He loved her—had never stopped loving her—despite all the years they’d been apart. Seeing her again hit him with the impact of a vicious mule kick in the gut. Even in her present careworn condition, she booted his hormones into high gear. But his reaction was far more than raging hormones. Amanda evoked a wave of tenderness in him. Walks in the moonlight, paddle boating on the river and quiet evenings sharing dreams were as important to him as making love. Above all he wanted her contented, comfortable and fulfilled.

By forcing her from his life he thought he was paving her way to a happy life. He’d believed in fairy tales back then. Now it looked like happily ever after had been an elusive pipe dream. No divorce, however amicable, left the individuals involved emotionally unscathed. Add to that the sole caregiving responsibility for an ill child; it was no wonder she looked terrible. Even her voice sounded tired. With the naiveté of a twenty-year-old he had expected her to find an able-bodied Prince Charming and raise the family she wanted. If ever there was a woman meant to be a mother, it was Amanda. It pained him to know his sacrifice had been in vain.

He had nearly bitten his tongue to keep from suggesting she find someone to care for Hilary while she slept for a week. He reminded himself in the strongest terms that Amanda wasn’t his patient, her daughter was. Right now Hilary needed her mother. The sooner the little girl’s heart was repaired, the sooner Amanda could rest.

Frowning, Gray shook his head. Amanda’s needs weren’t his concern. If he couldn’t remain objective he would have no choice but to remove himself as Hilary’s doctors. Amanda’s insurance left her no choice of physicians. He couldn’t forget the pleading he’d seen in her eyes. After what he’d done to her, he doubted she’d even speak to him except that she needed his expertise in pediatric cardiology. For Hilary.

He rested his lower lip on his steepled index fingers. He hadn’t seen Amanda Talmadge—no, Wagner now—in fifteen years. Although he thought of her often, they hadn’t corresponded or had contact of any sort. They didn’t share anything beyond the lost dreams of their youth. In order to develop a closer connection, he would have to give some indication he wanted to be more than just her daughter’s cardiologist.

The solution to this sticky situation was really very simple. All he had to do was maintain a proper relationship with the parent of his patient. It wouldn’t be easy; he cared too much. However, he must stay friendly and concerned and still remain professional. After all, Hilary Wagner was just another patient.

Chapter 2

An hour later, Gray let himself in the front door of the sprawling new mansion his father called home. The house was a show place, a testimony to the work of Omaha’s most celebrated architect and interior designer. This was the fourth house his only parent had lived in during Gray’s lifetime, and each was more pretentious than the last. Under the guidance of a professional, the decorating scheme changed every five years to keep up with the current trend. Nothing, no matter how near or dear, was left here from his younger days. He’d never felt comfortable in this house; it reeked of sterility. Even his footprints on the thick carpets weren’t allowed to mar the perfection for more than five minutes. To his mind, the house wasn’t a home. It was about as welcoming as a first class hotel: beautiful, but cold and impersonal.

"Dad," Gray called, "where are you?"

"That you...son? In the...den."

Gray limped down the long hall, locating Spencer in the room the invalid claimed for his own. He tossed his coat over the back of the white leather sectional sofa, and turned toward his father.

"It is about...time...you got here," Spencer complained, his habitual precise speech slowed by his stroke. "I have been... alone...all day."

Gray swore to himself. Not tonight, Dad. I’m too tired to cope with one of your attempted guilt trips. "Why didn’t you have Charles take you to the office?"

Spencer snorted. "They...get along...fine...without...me.

He rolled his motorized wheelchair closer to the French doors that opened onto a large deck. Watching Spencer stare at the leaden sky and the bare winter landscape, Gray experienced a sinking feeling. The look in his father’s eye was too calculating by half. "Now that...you are...home, I mean... settled in...Omaha...you should...get involved. You...have not been...to the...Country Club...since...you...came back."

I knew it! "Dad, I’m not inter—"

"Here’s your dinner, sir." Ilsa, the tall, rawboned woman who ran the house, appeared in the doorway. She set the meal on a hospital-style tray table, then positioned the table into place in front of her employer.

Gray smiled at the housekeeper, silently thanking her for the diversion.

Spencer took one look at the broiled chicken breast and shoved the table away. The tray slid. "I...di...distinctly re...remember...telling you I...wanted...prime rib tonight."

Gray stopped the tray before it hit the floor, amazed as always that his father’s speech, although halting, managed to be both arrogant and self-pitying. He nodded to Ilsa, indicating for her to leave. "Dad, you know prime rib isn’t on your diet," he said, striving for a reasonable tone.

"Diet...schmiet! I...do not...need a bunch of na...namby-pamby doctors...telling...me ... what to eat."

"This namby-pamby doctor is telling you you’d better shape up. Stop being ornery and eat your dinner." He’s worse than my patients. "This is a great meal."

"Great...my foot. No...hollandaise...on the broccoli, that is corn oil...margarine, not...butter and sour cream...on the potato and...diet...Italian dressing on the salad. I...like... bleu cheese."

"No wonder your cholesterol was sky high."

Spencer picked up the TV remote control and punched the on button. "When...I...need a...lecture...from a...baby doctor...I will...ask...for it."

Gray sank down on the puffy sofa cushions and stretched his left leg out straight, choosing to ignore his father’s bad temper. Maybe the world news would shift the old man’s ire elsewhere.

"Would you...look...at that," Spencer exclaimed. "The world ...is going to...hell...in a hand basket. Peter Jennings’...tie...is crooked."

"Maybe a bit," Gray agreed in placating tone.

Spencer whirled his chair in Gray’s direction. "Speaking of...ties, yours...is atro...cious. No...self-respecting... businessman...would be caught...dead...wearing a...rag...like that."

Gray sighed, grabbed his cane and pushed himself to a standing position. Enough was enough. He wasn’t in any mood to put up with his father’s shenanigans tonight, nor would he defend his attire. His father knew why he wore bright ties. "I’m going home."

"You...just...got here."

"Ramona’ll have my supper ready."

"You can...eat...with...me."

Gray donned his overcoat and moved to the hall. "You’re not eating. Besides Ramona’s expecting me."

A snowflake landed on Gray’s nose when he stepped out the front door. The forecasters were right for once. He wished they’d missed this time. So far this unusual—not that usual could ever be applied to Nebraska weather—winter Omaha had accumulated twenty inches of the tiresome white stuff, and it was only early January. Weeks of sub-freezing temperatures prevented any melt-off.

He slid under the wheel of the cranberry Lincoln Town Car parked in the circular driveway and started the engine. He understood, perhaps better than most, the frustration and helplessness his father felt. Once strong and dynamic, with the energy of three average men, Spencer’s stroke was a crushing blow. His speech had been restored to a fair extent through therapy. However, he still experienced severe weakness on his left side. Being right handed he could do many things for himself—when he elected to do so. More often he wallowed in self-pity, making life difficult for any and everyone who crossed his path.

Gray turned off West Dodge Road onto Cass Street. The big car slid on the snow covered pavement. He slowed down to a crawl.

He inched along peering through the snowflakes. A snowstorm much worse than this one was responsible for the first night he and Amanda had spent together. They’d driven to Ames for the big basketball game between the Iowa Hawkeyes and the Iowa State Cyclones. Following the game, they headed back to Iowa City. The storm had intensified the further east they’d gone. At Newton, even Gray who was supremely confident in his ability to navigate in the snow, conceded defeat. He exited the interstate and found a motel. There was only one room left, an actuality that didn’t hurt his feelings a bit. The rest of the night took the most predictable turn. But somewhere during those hours of loving something profound happened. The woman in his arms wasn’t just a female whose body was available to assuage his desire, but Amanda, whom he wanted to please and protect and treat with respect. His lust had transformed to a love that nothing could kill, not even his most noble gesture.

Ten minutes later—it should have taken five—he pulled into his driveway. He was tempted to leave the Lincoln under the portico by the laundry room door, but if he did the young man who cleared the driveway and walks would have a more difficult time of it. He drove on through and put the vehicle in the separate garage, located toward the back of the yard.

His home, built in the 1920s and extensively renovated since, was located in one of the fine old residential areas of central Omaha. He’d selected the area for two reasons: the proximity to the hospitals and the charm of the older neighborhood. It was fashionable without the poshness of Regency, where his father had moved in the seventies or Barrington Park, the new subdivision in far west Omaha where he now lived.

Gray followed the walk across the yard, hoping that the momentous encounter of the day didn’t show in his demeanor. He wasn’t ready to share the news with Ramona—or anyone else—until he figured out what he was ultimately going to do about it. Until Hilary was out of his care his hands were tied, but after that... Ever since he’d made his earlier resolve Amanda’s chocolate eyes had haunted him. What he’d give to see the love she had for him radiating from her like it had during their engagement.

He stopped on the back porch and stomped the snow from his shoes. A searing spasm shot through his left leg. When would he remember not to jar his leg like that? Somehow Ramona’s scoldings for tracking up her polished floor made more impression than the pain. Undoubtedly because the pain was always there to a greater or lesser degree; he’d learned to live with it. He’d never learned to live with Ramona’s displeasure.

Officially she was his housekeeper, as she had been his father’s during Gray’s childhood. If the truth be known, she was much more than that. Ramona Sanchez was the only mother he could remember.

"That you, bambino?" the subject of his thoughts called from the kitchen.

"When are you going to stop calling me bambino?" he grumbled in an often voiced complaint. "Thirty-five’s a little old to be called baby."

The short, gray-haired woman eyed him up and down. "Until you see fit to bring a baby home, you’re the closest thing I got."

Hilary Wagner’s image flitted into Gray’s mind. If the child he and Amanda lost—a twinge of profound grief knifed through him with the thought—had been a girl, he imagined she would’ve looked just like Hilary. He groaned to himself. Stifle it, Townsend. Notions like that asked for trouble with a capital T.

"You’re early tonight," Ramona said. "I thought you were goin’ out to Barrington Park."

It didn’t escape his notice that she didn’t refer to the place as home. "Dad was more impossible than usual. I didn’t stay long."

"You went? His imperialness—"

He wagged a finger at her. "Have a little respect!"

She snorted. "His imperialness," she repeated with deliberate emphasis, "didn’t mention he’d seen you when he called ten minutes ago." She stuffed her fists in her apron pockets. "He wants you to go to Crossroads Mall and pick up a book he ordered."

Gray started to rebutton his trench coat. At the same time pain stabbed through his knee. He clutched the work island counter top for balance.

"Sit down before you fall down," Ramona commanded, motioning toward the breakfast nook, her tone tempered with love. "When are you goin’ to quit jumpin’ through hoops for that ill-tempered old man?"

Gray, leaning heavily into his cane, crossed the kitchen to the breakfast nook. Sliding into an oak Windsor chair, he sighed, grateful to have his weight off his leg. "It’s pay back time, Ramona." He pulled a matching chair over and lifted his leg onto it. "He was there when I needed him, now he needs someone. I’m all he has."

"I know that." Ramona slid a small, lean steak under the broiler. "But you shouldn’t sacrifice your own health bowin’ to his selfishness."

"I’m the epitome of glowing health."

"You won’t stay that way long if you don’t start takin’ better care of yourself." She looked him straight in the eye. "Tell me that leg don’t hurt like hell tonight."

"Why, Ramona, did I hear you swear?"

She waved a wooden spoon in his direction, her snapping brown eyes trained on his face. "Don’t change the subject, bambino. That leg hurts, yes?"

He winced under her steely gaze. He could no more lie to her now than he could the time he pilfered cookies and broke her treasured fat bear jar in the process. He’d been all of five years old, but he’d never forgotten.

He dropped his gaze to his leg propped on the chair. "Yes," he admitted. Cripes! His voice sounded cowed. She was his housekeeper, for Pete’s sake! Of course she put the accent on the keeper part.

"Then you got no business traipsin’ around in the snow. You’d be in a fine pickle if you slipped and fell." Her pronouncement carried a ring of authority that wouldn’t be denied. "We both know that book is just an excuse to get you back out there. Go wash up. We’ll eat soon."

Everything she said was true. Lending support to his father was one thing, becoming a slave to his every whim was another entirely. Gray shrugged off his coat. He wasn’t going anywhere tonight. The boss had spoken.

*****

Amanda turned up the shawl collar on her jade velour robe and pulled it closer to her neck. Standing at the window in her assigned room at Rainbow House, she watched the falling snow in the glow of the street light. Go to bed, she scolded herself, four-thirty would be here before she knew it. Hilary’s cardiac catheterization was scheduled for seven a.m. at Children’s Memorial Hospital out-patient surgery.

She didn’t move.

Rainbow House was a godsend. Within walking distance of the hospital, the facility provided, for a very nominal fee, a place for patient’s families to stay. She was grateful Gray’s office staff had advised her to be prepared to remain in Omaha overnight. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, she couldn’t have driven the one hundred miles home to Sioux City this afternoon and back tomorrow for a six a.m. check-in. Especially in bad weather.

Despite her exhaustion, her mind whirled. She couldn’t sleep. Her earlier thoughts of Gray had been overshadowed by contemplation of tomorrow’s procedure. An important diagnostic tool, the cardiac catheterization was nothing compared to the open heart surgery to come, but it was surgery all the same. Inserting a catheter through a groin vein into the heart involved risks, although she knew the beneficial information gained far outweighed the risk of problems.

Biting her lip, Amanda wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned her head against the cold glass. If only there was someone with whom she could share her fears. You can handle it alone, Amanda. You’ve done it before, you can do it again. She gave a fleeting thought to calling her mother. Cora Talmadge’s common sense and sage counsel would be reassuring, but Amanda refused to disturb the dear lady at midnight.

Farm life began before dawn and ended after sunset. Her parents would have turned in hours ago. If this was a real emergency she wouldn’t hesitate to call, but it wasn’t. It didn’t seem necessary to ruin their sleep, especially since her father’s arthritis had been acting up lately. If he’d managed to get comfortable enough to doze off, she would feel guilty if she wakened him.

The expense of a long distance phone call was another consideration. At this time of night the toll didn’t amount to much, but Amanda practiced thrift. Thrift, ha! She penny-pinched almost to the point of parsimony. To call home for something as unnecessary as reassurance would be downright self-indulgent. Self-indulgence was a luxury she never, ever allowed herself.

Standing here getting chilled while she worried seemed counter-productive. She yanked the cord to close the drapes, then removed her robe and slid under the covers. She might as well do her worrying in the warmth of the bed.

*****

Cold to her bones, Amanda rubbed her arms and checked her watch for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. Ten to nine. It couldn’t be much longer now. Her stomach churned. No sleep, no food, too much coffee. Nerves. Waiting was the hardest part.

She adjusted the angle of the clipboard balanced on her lap, then selected a gray colored pencil and drew a chubby mouse in the foreground. Adding a green hat with a pink flower, she tried to think of an appropriate verse for the greeting card in-the-making. No words came, only thoughts of Hilary, and the procedure the child was undergoing.

Amanda glanced at the clock on the wall. Five to nine. Any time now someone would come to tell her it was all over.

Choosing another pencil from the box, she sketched a clump of daisies in the background. She’d begun drawing cutesy animals in art class in high school. Over the years she’d perfected her technique, and along the way discovered drawing helped when she needed to lose herself from the world. Her family had persuaded her to hang some of her better pieces in the living room at her apartment, and she’d given others as gifts.

As luck would have it, one of Amanda’s clients owned a card and gift shop. He noticed her art work once during an appointment and commissioned her to produce an exclusive line of greeting cards for his store. Her output was limited by the demands of her daughter’s illness and her accounting business, which was unfortunate because she enjoyed the creative outlet. Still the hobby stood her in good stead now. The financial rewards didn’t amount to much, but at the present time any little bit helped. Besides, she needed something soothing to do with her hands or she’d pick at her nails until they were peeled down to the quick.

The telephone rang. Amanda’s head—and every other person’s in the waiting room—snapped up.

"Mrs. Wagner?" One of the smock-clad hospital volunteers stood before her.

Her heart leaped to her throat. "Yes."

"Your daughter’s procedure is finished. The doctor will be here shortly to talk to you."

Her heart settled back where it belonged. "Thank you."

Amanda stuffed her drawing supplies in a tote bag and scrambled to her feet, pacing until Gray arrived.

"Hilary came through fine, Amanda."

She released a long breath, one she hadn’t realized she’d held all morning. "She’s okay?"

"She’s as okay as she can be in her condition," he assured her. "I won’t know anything specific until the film is developed. You can see her in the recovery room shortly. I’ll find you there and we’ll talk further."

He was gone before Amanda could say a word. She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t the clipped, impersonal speech he’d just delivered. Then again, she admitted, he’d been considerate as well as professional. Wasn’t that what she required of her daughter’s physician?

*****

Strung-out by what seemed an interminable wait, Amanda entered the out-patient recovery room. Hilary slept in a hospital-style crib, the mattress of which was raised to waist level on an adult. Her skin was very pale. Amanda made a sincere effort to tamp down her fear. Gray had warned her to expect the loss of color. Tip-toeing closer, she set the tote in a padded rocking chair. Going to the crib, she clutched the metal bars, gazing at her daughter. "Oh, baby," she whispered, "I wish it was me instead of you."

Hilary’s breathing was normal. Except for the paleness and the large surgical dressing on her inner thigh, she looked fine.

Still Amanda couldn’t relax. What had the heart cath determined? Was surgery imminent? Was she doing the right thing by going ahead with the operation? Her shoulders slumped. Her head fell forward, coming to rest on the top rail. The burden of the responsibility for this decision weighed so very much.

*****

An hour later, Gray observed Amanda from the doorway. A clipboard with an incomplete drawing attached and an open box of pencils rested on her lap, but her hands were idle. Her eyes were glued to Hilary, who was still sleeping off the effects of the cardiac catheterization. The circles beneath Amanda’s eyes were more pronounced than they had been the day before, giving her a washed out appearance. Her wool slacks were rumpled, and the oversized ski sweater she wore swallowed her. She looked as fragile as her daughter.

He experienced another mule kick, right in the stomach. He couldn’t stand to see her this way, yet he knew her ordeal could only get worse before it got better. A helpless feeling washed over him. He wished he could spare her the rough days ahead. The maxim "no pain, no gain" flashed through his mind. He cringed at the callousness of the thought, at the same time acknowledging its basic truth. With any other patient he’d focus on the end result. With Amanda, the intervening steps— He put the skids on his train of thought. Hilary, not Amanda was the focus of his concern.

"Amanda," he said softly.

She jumped. The pencils slid to the polished tile floor with a muffled clatter. She grabbed the clipboard just before it too descended. "Oh! I didn’t see you."

"I’ve checked the cines—" he noticed her puzzled expression "—the film from the cath. As I suspected the shunt is closing down. I’d like to schedule Hilary for Tuesday, next week, unless you have an objection."

She sucked in a breath. Her eyes revealed her terror. "So soon?" Her voice quivered.

Gray limped into the room, compassion warring with his common sense. She needed someone, and he was the only one around. Yet to touch her— His hand clasped Amanda’s shoulder before he finished the thought. Instantly he knew he’d made a grave mistake. A Pandora’s box of emotions erupted inside him. His mind slid back over the years and settled on the future they’d planned together. In those few seconds in the rain, that future had been shattered as effectively as his left leg. The woman under his hand was here and now. Even knowing he still loved her, his strong reaction amazed him. He looked at her and the years disappeared. He wanted to pick up where they left off, to hold her and comfort her, to shield her from the demons in her path. Yet the time apart couldn’t be ignored. Too much had happened to both of them.

Giving no hint of his inner turmoil, Gray addressed the business at hand. "We’ve got to increase the blood flow to her lungs one way or the other. Didn’t we agree to go ahead with the total repair now?"

"Y-yes," she answered in choked voice.

"I know this isn’t easy for you, but the reality is you have no choice." His thumb stroked her taut neck. Her smooth skin felt like velvet. Beneath the softness of her sweater, her shoulder was all delicate bones. Once upon a time, he’d rested his head there. He closed his eyes, savoring the memory of the nuzzling kisses he’d placed along her neck...and jaw...and cheek. Those kisses had changed from teasing to deeply passionate when he reached her lips. With difficulty he opened his lids, forcing his thoughts back to the sleeping child. "I’ll go make the arrangements, then come back, and we’ll discuss what you can expect."

Amanda nodded, her heart too heavy to speak. He left the room as quietly as he’d come.

A strange feeling of loss came over her. Her head dropped forward, and her shoulders slumped. For one brief moment while his hand rested against her neck, she’d experienced comfort. She would have liked to bury her head against his wide shoulder and beg him to hold her. Stop being silly, she admonished herself. Just because once upon a time Gray Townsend had been her rock didn’t mean a thing. That was then and this was now. He wasn’t the man she loved anymore. She reminded herself once again that she was strong enough to handle her own problems—alone.

*****

Awaking with a start early Sunday morning, Amanda blinked trying to orient herself. She was groggy; vivid dreams had disturbed her much-needed sleep. Her mind refused to turn off, even when her body demanded rest. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. The practical and business arrangements that needed to be made before she left town for at least a week and half had vied with memories—old and new—of the man who had once been such an important part of her life.

She hadn’t stopped since they’d arrived home after seven on Friday night. Hilary was cranky and demanded even more attention than usual when she was awake. While the child slept, Amanda concentrated on her work. She wanted as many loose ends as possible tied up before returning to Omaha. Consequently, she’d stayed up until 1:00 on Saturday morning and 2:30 this morning working at her computer.

Abandoning the temptation to go back to sleep, she hauled herself out of bed and headed to the kitchen. Her eyelids cracked at half mast, she measured coffee grounds into the filter-lined basket. While the rejuvenating beverage dripped, she consulted the must do list lying on the table, wondering how she would manage to complete everything in the time she had left. At least her family was coming later in the day—not to be entertained but to help. Amanda reached for the largest mug in the cabinet, filled it with the black brew, then went to her office. If Hilary would sleep one more hour she could finish the paper work she’d begun last night.

She turned the computer on, her mind racing a mile a minute while the machine booted up. As soon as she completed the set of books she was working on, she would pack the things she and Hilary needed to take with them.

"Ma-ma," Hilary cried from the bedroom across the hall.

Amanda stopped tapping on the computer keys, her fingers poised to continue. Just a few more minutes, please, sweetheart. I’ve got to get this done. She sat, quiet and still, hoping her daughter would go back to sleep.

"Ma—" There was no ignoring the baby’s plaintive cry, broken by a choking cough. Amanda bolted across the hall, sliding to a stop beside the crib. Hilary was sitting in the middle of the mattress, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She had thrown up—again.

"Poor baby," Amanda soothed, picking the child up and testing for a fever at the same time. Carrying her to the bathroom, Amanda washed her daughter’s face, then stripped off the soiled pajamas and wet diaper. Hilary didn’t feel feverish, so she assumed the vomiting resulted from the catheterization. The nurse at Children’s had warned her of the possibility of such a side effect. The child needed a bath which meant they both got a shower. Hilary wasn’t allowed to soak until the wound at the catheter insertion site healed.

Amanda set the baby on the rug, removed her robe and gown and adjusted the water. A quick dunk was in order. Besides exercising care not to soak Hilary’s wound, the computer was still on in the office.

*****

"Hey, Sis! I can’t get Hilly to drink her juice."

"Do the best you can," Amanda called from the bedroom, wondering to which of her triplet brothers she was speaking. They sounded alike, especially since they’d developed those deep voices. "She needs the fluids to keep her from getting dehydrated."

Tucker appeared in the doorway. She knew it was the elder—and ring leader—of the three because, although they were identical, each bore a different souvenir of their active childhood. Tucker’s nose was crooked, courtesy of eighth grade football. Nathan held the honors for the most bizarre accident. The small scar over his right eye was the result of dashing blindly around a corner in the church basement and colliding with a pizza pan held by a lady serving supper. A chipped front tooth, acquired when he fell from the apple tree in the front yard at the farm, distinguished Tyler from his brothers. Otherwise they were as alike as slices from the same loaf of bread. From their sandy brown heads to their size thirteen feet, they were six feet, four inches of board-shouldered young manhood. Their engaging, lopsided grins were as much their trademark as the battered purple pickup they shared. They most often dressed nearly alike—not to be identified as triplets, but jeans, sweatshirts and athletic shoes were the de rigueur uniform of the high school crowd. Seniors this year, they were known collectively as TNT, the backbone of the defensive line on the football team last fall.

In spite of the vast difference in their ages, Amanda maintained a close relationship with her "little" brothers. She quirked an eyebrow in Tucker’s direction. "Need something?"

"Mom says come eat. Now, not tomorrow."

"That a direct quote?"

He flashed her a patented Talmadge grin. "Not quite, but close enough. C’mon. I’m starved."

"Aren’t you always?"

"What can I say? I’m a growing boy. Hop to. I may be hungry, but you need to eat. Looks like a strong wind’ll blow you away."

"Who appointed you my keeper?"

Tucker’s face lost its grin. "Hey, somebody’s gotta do it."

Amanda stuffed a sweatshirt in the tote bag she was packing. "I’ll be right there, just as soon as I finish this."

He strode into the room and latched onto her arm. "Nope. That can wait. The food’s hot."

"Tuck, I really don’t have time to stop now. There’s so much to do, and Hilary will be awake soon."

The look he cast her was pure exasperation. "Look, Sis, we came to help. You don’t have to do it all." He pulled her into the hall. "Nate, Ty and I’ll play with Hilly while you finish whatever else you have to do."

The tantalizing aroma of pot roast and the rumble of her stomach forced Amanda to acknowledge her hunger. She knew she could count on the guys to keep Hilary happy. They were old hands; well aware of her limitations. Amanda realized she could rely on them to be careful to keep their antics on a level that did not tax their niece’s heart.

*****

Cora Talmadge brought a cherry pie to the maple table, placed in the nook of her daughter’s blue and white kitchen. Seating herself, she cut the ten inch pastry into six pieces. "Mom," Amanda pleaded, "cut one of those in half for me. I can’t eat one of those monster slices."

"Oh, pooh," Cora shot back. "You love cherry pie."

"Ah-ha!" Amanda exclaimed. "I knew I smelled a conspiracy. First pot roast, then my favorite dessert." She might have known. The whole family had been on her case lately. She couldn’t deny she’d lost more weight than she should in the last two years. By the time she’d taken off the extra pounds she really needed to lose following Hilary’s birth, her life had been turned upside down by the baby’s illness, Roland’s desertion, and her subsequent divorce. Her stomach stayed tied in knots. Even when she felt hungry, if she ate more than a few bites, nausea set in. Amanda knew her family was worried. Not only that, but her mother, whose greatest pleasure in life was feeding people large, wholesome, fieldhand-style meals, took her lack of appetite as a personal affront. She’d tried to explain, but her food-loving family didn’t understand. Consequently, she’d eaten more today than she should have with the usual result. She didn’t dare turn the pie down. The whole meal, especially the final course, had been planned to tempt her palate. She hoped a couple of bites would satisfy her mother. More than that and Amanda was sure she’d get sick.

Cora divided a piece and passed one to her daughter. "Mandy, honey, I only want to keep you well."

"I know, Mom," Amanda sighed, "I’m doing the best I can."

Taking a small bite, Amanda watched sweet, sensitive Nathan, who was seated next to her, coax another sip of apple juice down Hilary’s throat. Warmth and belonging swept over her. These were the people—her family—who loved her best in the world. They were the only ones who really cared what happened to her.

Amanda’s gaze roved around the table, resting on each one in turn. Nathan, the middle triplet, was the peacemaker of the family, always ready and willing to smooth the rough edges for the rest of them. The role of clown went to Tyler, the youngest. He’d carry out any prank instigated by Tucker, the leader of the bunch.

Cora, her once-blonde hair faded gray, managed her household with a calm, assured presence. Nothing her boys did surprised her. They were fun-loving, but not malicious. She teased that they were responsible for every gray hair on her head, but Amanda knew as sure as the corn needed sun and rain and heat to grow that the boys could be depended upon to behave within the bounds of propriety. Mama ran a tight ship.

Her brothers were, above all else, good students and hard working farm kids who had shouldered a larger and larger share of the chores as their father’s condition worsened.

Amanda’s gaze moved, coming to rest on her father’s hands. She wanted to cry. Calloused by decades of hard manual labor, his hands were now gnarled by the arthritis that plagued him. As a child she had thought Roy Talmadge was indestructible. Over the years he weathered every crisis, ranging from the unexpected birth of triplet sons when he was sure he and Cora were long out of the baby business to the disaster in the farm economy, without any visible signs of stress until recently. He’d rather die than complain, but anyone could see how hard it was for him to get around.

"Down," Hilary demanded.

Amanda welcomed the need for a washcloth as an excuse to leave the table. After wiping the sticky juice from the baby’s mouth and chin, she turned Hilary over to the boys and went to finish packing.

A while later, Amanda poked her head into the living room on the way to the kitchen to gather the dirty dish towels. She smiled at the sight of her three strapping brothers sprawled on the floor building a tall tower of blocks. Hilary squatted beside the tower. When the height reached her satisfaction, she batted it down, crowing with glee at the playful protests of whichever uncle had placed the last block.

Amanda entered the kitchen. "Thanks for all your help, Mom. I don’t think I’d’ve made it without you guys."

Cora turned from the sink, where she was scrubbing the roasting pan. "Anytime, you know that." She wiped her hands on one of the dishtowels in Amanda’s hand. "Hilary seems more blue around the mouth to me. For what it’s worth, I think you’ve made the right decision."

"I guess I’m too close to her. I hadn’t noticed any change in color, but Gray says we have to increase her oxygen flow without further delay."

"I’m still having trouble with Gray being your daughter’s physician. What’s he like?"

"Kind, caring. Firm. He seems very competent and sure of what he’s doing. He has an approach that inspires my confidence."

"I was afraid you might be wary."

"Oh, I’m wary all right. I find it difficult to forget the past, the good and the bad. It’s hard to trust someone when they once hurt you badly. The problem is I don’t have a choice, and the truth is Gray hasn’t given me any reason to question his competence."

"How did you feel—if you don’t mind a nosy question—seeing him again?"

It wouldn’t matter if she did object, her mother usually asked nosy questions. This one seemed fair though. "A lot of buried memories have resurfaced. I’m not sure I want to remember. It still hurts too much. We were head over heels in love; everything was wonderful. Without warning our hopes and dreams—all our marvelous plans—crashed down around our heads. I found myself still attracted, or attracted all over again. I’m not sure which, and I don’t know how to deal with it. There’s an element of guilt, too. He’s the professional I’ve commissioned to help my child. I shouldn’t have feelings for him."

"Mandy, you were going to marry the man. I think your feelings are natural."

"But that was so long ago." Amanda paused before she went on. "Sometimes I’ve wondered how he was doing, and now I know. I’m sorry he limps and needs a cane. But he’s ambulatory, which is a whole lot better than life in a wheelchair. I guess what I felt most besides confusion was compassion. You can tell he’s suffered a lot. It shows on his face. My guess is his ordeal has made him a better doctor."

"I hope you’re right for my granddaughter’s sake."

"I hope so, too. I’ve got to run downstairs and start a couple of loads of laundry. Don’t forget—" Amanda reminded Cora, turning toward the door "—to take any food that’ll spoil home with you."

"I’m almost finished here. Is there anything else you need me to do?"

Amanda shook her head. "Can’t think of a thing. I’m almost finished packing. Once Hilary goes down for the night, I’ll tie up some loose ends for my clients on the computer. Then we’re all set."

"In that case," Cora said, "we’ll take off as soon as you get back with the wash. I want to get Roy home."

"Good idea," Amanda agreed. "I can tell he’s hurting."

*****

"Mandy!" Amanda spun around from the dryer at the urgency in Tyler’s tone. "You’d better come quick."

She didn’t waste time with questions. Something had happened to her baby. It never crossed her mind that the summons could be for any other reason. With a whispered prayer, she dashed up the stairs two at a time, her heart pounding. Why now when they were so close to the surgery which would transform Hilary from a sickly baby into a healthy toddler? She burst into the apartment. Hilary was lying on the floor. Her skin was purple; her breathing rapid and shallow.

A tet attack!

Amanda drew a deep breath. Calm down. You’ve been through this before. You know what to do. She knelt beside the little girl and pushed Hilary’s knees into her chest. At the same time she barked out orders with the unruffled precision of an experienced general.

"Nate, get a blanket to wrap her in. Tuck, find my purse and car keys. I need you to drive me to the emergency room. Ty, my coat’s in the hall closet. Dad, Floppy’s there on the floor beside you. Toss it here. Mom, call St. Luke’s emergency room and tell them we’re coming in with a tetralogy patient having a tet attack."

The family scurried in all directions and in two minutes flat Amanda and Hilary were installed in the back seat of the Thunderbird, while Tucker chauffeured them to the nearest hospital.

Amanda was plum scared. Her stomach roiled with fear, her mouth was dry from it. She couldn’t let her family know how frightened she was, she just couldn’t.

Gray understood in ways no one else could. She longed for his reassurance. But he was a hundred miles away.

"Shouldn’t we have called an ambulance?" Tucker asked.

"Takes too long. If I didn’t know what to do, then the answer is yes. But she needs to get to a doctor as quickly as possible."

He wheeled the car around a corner. "I never meant to hurt her." Tucker’s voice shook. "I’m sorry, Mandy."

Amanda continued to hold Hilary’s knees tight against her chest. In the glow of the street lights they passed, she could see that Hilary’s color had deepened to almost black. Hurry, she pleaded silently, knowing Tucker was already breaking the speed limit. "What do you mean?"

"She knocked down the tower I built after only three blocks. I scooped up her and held her over my head, and called her a little rascal. She was laughing, then all of a sudden she was breathing fast and turning blue."

He turned the car into the emergency entrance. "Tucker, listen to me." Amanda met his gaze in the rear view mirror. "Nothing you did brought on this attack. They happen. I don’t want you feeling guilty about something that wasn’t your fault. Got it."

"Yeah, sure." He sounded unconvinced.

"She’s had these before and each time under different circumstances. You are not to blame."

He braked to a stop at the emergency room door. "Okay, okay! I believe you."

An orderly, nurse, and gurney erupted from the hospital. The car door swung opened, and the nurse lifted Hilary out of Amanda’s arms and onto the gurney.

Free of her burden, Amanda scurried to the pavement. "Park the car and come inside, Tuck, until we see what’s what," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared inside.

"Ma’am!" The receptionist motioned her over to the desk. "I need your insurance information."

Amanda dug her insurance card from her wallet and handed it to the woman. While the receptionist keyed the information into the computer, Amanda glanced anxiously toward the disappearing gurney bearing her daughter.

"This won’t take long," the lady assured her. "Patient’s name?"

Amanda supplied it and her address before the woman could ask. Anything to get to Hilary faster.

At last the lady slid the admitting documents onto the counter for Amanda to sign. "Examining room one. Through those doors, to the right."

The scene in the examining room was a familiar one to Amanda. Hilary lay on the examining table, an oxygen mask over her face and an intravenous drip supplying the needed medication to her body. Her color was already improving.

"I’m Doctor Martin," a young man in a lab coat introduced himself. "Your daughter was in extreme circulatory distress. We’ve administered morphine. The drug decreases the vascular resistance."

Amanda nodded. "I understand. Hilary has had these attacks before." She glanced over at the table and was relieved to see her daughter’s skin back to normal. "She had a cardiac catheterization last Friday. She hasn’t been able to keep much in her stomach since then."

"Dehydration probably brought on this attack. What did the cath show?" Doctor Martin asked.

"It confirmed her shunt’s closing down. We’re leaving for Omaha in the morning. She’s scheduled for surgery on Tuesday."

The doctor fingered his chin a moment in thought. "She needs to get down there now. Who’s her doctor? The best way is to medevac her. Which hospital?"

"Doctor Townsend at Children’s."

He looked at one of the nurses. "Contact Sky-Med."

Chapter 3

The sleek, red and silver, SkyMed helicopter set down gently on the helipad at the Methodist-Children’s Hospital complex. Amanda peered out the window and spotted Gray with several other hospital personnel. His trench coat flapping around his legs in the stiff wind, he was a welcome sight. A sense of security washed over her.

He could have waited inside. He could have delegated seeing Hilary to someone else. After all it was the middle of the night. But, no, Doctor Gray Townsend stood in the bitter cold waiting to be the first of the medical staff to meet the patient when the rotors ceased spinning. Deep, heartfelt gratitude—and something else she didn’t want to put a name to—flooded over her. Any lingering doubt Amanda might have harbored was erased once and for all by this show of caring and concern for her daughter, his patient.

The door slid open and the attending flight nurse hopped out. Gray spoke briefly with the man, then stood aside while Hilary, along with all the tubes, wires, and the heart monitor connected to her small body, was transferred to a waiting gurney and rushed inside.

Amanda moved to the helicopter doorway and accepted proffered assistance to the ground. Only after her gloved hand was firmly encompassed in his, did she realize it was Gray who aided her decent. He squeezed her hand. His gesture offered its own reassurance. She felt less alone. Someone in this strange city cared.

"We’re taking Hilary straight to the ICU," he said, moving to follow his patient as fast as his weak leg would allow. "I’ll meet you in the waiting room on the fourth floor after I’ve examined her. Try to relax. It’ll be awhile."

She nodded, anxiety choking back her numerous questions and the heartfelt appreciation she wished to express. She took two deep breaths to calm her jangled nerves. Her lungs burned from the glacial air. It was an ungentle reminder that the natural, effortless process of moving oxygen through her body was hard work for her little girl. But not for long! Soon—very soon—this nightmare would be over. In six short weeks Hilary would be normal.

Tagging along in the wake of the hospital entourage, Amanda watched Gray stride ahead. Her flash of optimism faded, replaced by a feeling of abandonment. Left alone—again. Draining, useless resentment swamped her, directed not at Gray, but at her ex-husband.

Hilary was in serious trouble. The baby needed both her parents, and Amanda needed her daughter’s father to help shoulder the responsibility for the tough decisions ahead. Roland had refused to accept any emotional obligation to their child, had even gone so far as to insinuate that the heart defect was Amanda’s fault. She’d get no support from that quarter; it made no sense to leave herself open to more rejection, more heartache by asking. Roland Wagner had made his position abundantly clear. He could not cope with his less than perfect child. Entering the elevator which would take them to the fourth floor, Amanda welcomed the hospital’s interior warmth.

"The waiting room’s that way," a nurse said, waving her hand down the hall when the elevator came to a stop. "Someone will get back to you as soon as Doctor Townsend—" admiration filtered through when she spoke his name "—completes his examination."

Watching the gurney disappear through the large pneumatic door leading into the intensive care unit, Amanda fought the urge to cry. Having no control over anything that was about to happen to her only child left her feeling lost and scared. At one o’clock in the morning the hospital was hushed, the normally busy hallways empty. The eerie atmosphere underscored her solitude and fear.

In a daze, she moved across the hall to the small waiting room. The lights were dim. Some of the chairs were occupied by bodies contorted every-which-way in what looked like a futile effort to find a comfortable position to sleep. One brave—or desperate—soul had stretched out on the floor in a sleeping bag. Amanda eased her tired body into the chair nearest the door and slid her coat from her shoulders. How long would she have to wait for news? She twisted her hands in her lap determined to leave her fingernails intact.

Having left home in such a hurry, she didn’t have any of the things she’d packed for their stay in Omaha. At the moment, she wished most for her colored pencils and drawing paper. What in the world was she supposed to do with her hands? She slid her garnet birthstone ring over her knuckle and back into place—again and again and again.

She couldn’t get the image of Gray shivering in the wind and cold waiting for the helicopter to land out of her mind. There was a vast difference between the kind man who’d handed her to the ground and the indulged youth who’d resorted to cruelty to break their engagement. There was an aberration somewhere. She wanted to believe with all her heart that his behavior all those years ago was out of character. Maturity could explain the disparity, but so could the extenuating circumstances back then.

It dawned on her with sudden insight that she really had forgiven Gray Townsend for the anguish he’d caused her. She wasn’t sure when it had happened: an hour ago, last week or sometime farther distant than that. The only thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t hate him for what he’d done.

Tonight his performance from the moment they’d arrived had strengthened her trust in him as a doctor. However, her trust did not extend beyond his role as her daughter’s pediatric cardiologist. Anything personal was another question, one that didn’t really matter. Her only concern now was his professional ability.

Her thoughts hopscotched to other problems, one after another. Would the insurance company cover SkyMed? She didn’t have a clue to the expense, but it wouldn’t be cheap. Her car was still in Sioux City, leaving her trapped at the hospital or at the mercy of public transportation, however that wasn’t a big concern until Hilary was released. They’d have to use a truck load of dynamite to move her from close proximity to her baby. The one thing she couldn’t do without was her suitcase. The very idea of spending the next week and half wearing the clothes on her back made her cringe. She’d have to arrange for someone to send her bag.

Time crept by. Waiting was always difficult, but waiting in the middle of the night was the pits. Amanda knew her folks were worried sick, yet it made no sense to call until she had something—anything—to report. Dear Lord! What was taking so long. She picked at her right thumb nail until it peeled off at the quick.

"Amanda."

At the sound of Gray’s low-pitched voice, her pounding heart went into overdrive. She jumped up tripping over her feet in her haste to join him in the hall.

He reached out and grasped her arm, steadying her against his chest. "Hilary’s stable."

Amanda sagged in the circle of his arm. At the moment he was the pillar of strength she needed desperately.

"We’re going to operate at seven."

He might as well have punched her in the stomach. Like a prize fighter, she knew the blow was coming, but being prepared didn’t diminish the pain. "May I see her?" Amanda begged.

"Sure," he said, guiding her with his hand on the small of her back. "This way."

They stopped at the double size door leading to the ICU. Her jelly legs wobbled, and she was grateful for his support. He slapped a plate-sized, chrome button with the palm of his hand. The door swung open into a room that seemed, in the fleeting moment her surroundings took to register, a jumble of gleaming stainless steel contraptions, colorless white and very ill little people. A long row of cribs lined the wall, each with its own set of lifesaving equipment. Gray ushered her to one of the middle beds.

Her stomach churned. At least Hilary’s color was normal, not the grotesque purple of a few hours earlier. Amanda clung to that lone piece of encouragement. Hilary lay sleeping on her back with a cannula providing oxygen attached to her nose, an IV inserted in the jugular vein in her neck and other IV lines fixed in her immobilized leg. She was also hooked up to the omnipresent heart monitor.

"Oh, baby," Amanda whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

Gray draped his arm around her shoulders. "The IV in her hand slipped and we had to move it to a viable vein," he explained the drip in the baby’s neck. "She still needs the fluids because her blood is thickened from dehydration. I’ve established the other IVs in preparation for surgery."

Bile rose in Amanda’s throat at the sight of the IV in Hilary’s neck. Though long past her childhood aversion to needles, seeing her baby used as a pincushion, especially in weird places, tormented Amanda despite her understanding the necessity for locating workable veins.

"I know all those lines look distressing, but they are necessary," Gray said. As if he understood her need, he hugged her shoulder. "It’s okay to touch her."

His voice was reassuring, but not nearly as reassuring as the warm, baby softness of the top of her little girl’s hand. "Hilly, sweetheart, Mommy’s here. I love you." Amanda stood with her fingers caressing Hilary for countless moments. Her tender voice mingled with the beeps and whines of the various machines.

"Try to sleep a bit," Gray suggested, his voice laced with sympathy. "It’s going to be a very long day."

"I don’t think I can."

"At least try," he insisted, his tone authoritative. "There’re pillows in the waiting room. You can come check on Hilary any time you want to, but you need some rest. You won’t do her any good if you collapse."

"All right." Even to her own ears, Amanda’s voice sounded tired. "I guess so."

*****

Gray parked under the portico instead of putting the Lincoln in the garage. Why bother when he’d be leaving again soon. Knees creaking worse than the stair treads in his old house, he dragged himself from his car. Only the wind stirring the bare tree limbs disturbed the quiet neighborhood, laying under the black velvet of the star-studded sky. The scene was as eerie as the hospital at night. He hardly noticed, he was so tired. The Wagner case drained him more than most.

Climbing the stairs, he debated whether to pamper himself in the bubbling warmth of the spa or to head straight to bed. The grandfather clock in the downstairs hall chimed three. Bypassing the spa, he headed for the master suite. In less than three hours, he had to be back at the hospital.

The warm, water-filled coils of the soft-sided water mattress relaxed his exhausted body while concern for Amanda filled his mind. She was so alone. From the moment he’d helped her out of the helicopter, he’d wanted to hold her in his arms and whisper that everything would be all right. Those innocent touches at the hospital were tame compared to how he really wanted to hold her. Talk about restraint! Each time he saw her, the love that had lain dormant all these years surfaced once more, stronger than before. If only he could express his true feelings.

His natural inclination was to begin the age-old courting process all over again. Except he doubted she would notice. Her total concentration centered on her child’s health. He wondered if seeing him again sparked any emotion at all. If she felt anything beyond gratitude for what he was doing for Hilary she managed to hide it well. After the way he’d treated her, she couldn’t possibly reciprocate his love.

Although it sounded hard-hearted, he realized caring for Hilary presented him with a golden opportunity. He could become acquainted with the Amanda of today before she disappeared once more. How he yearned for her to view him as more than her daughter’s physician. When Hilary was well, he’d work on reestablishing a personal relationship with Amanda.

*****

Amanda propped herself against the wall and cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder. She crossed her arms under her breasts, tucking her freezing hands into her armpits. "Surgery is scheduled for seven, Mom."

"Oh, dear. If I leave right now, I won’t make it by then."

"Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine." Amanda spoke with more confidence than she felt.

"How’s Dad? He seemed so much worse yesterday."

"He is. In fact, Nate and Ty carried him up to bed."

"You can’t leave him." Her father must be hurting something awful if he permitted his sons to help him. Why did everything always happen at once? "Really, I’m okay and Hilary will be. You stay home and take care of Dad so he can enjoy Hilly when she is up and running around."

"Are you sure, Mandy?"

"I’m sure." Would she rot in hell for the white lies she’d just told? The truth was she’d reached the end of her rope. "I promise I’ll call as soon as it’s over. Bye."

Amanda hung up the phone, staving off further depleting discussion. She straightened, squaring her shoulders. No sense pulling her mom in two directions. It wasn’t fair to insist that Cora make the almost four hour drive to Omaha from the farm. Somebody had to stay with her dad when he had these bad spells and the boys were in school. She lifted her chin a notch. Tie a knot and hang on tight. And pray like you’ve never prayed before.

*****

"Mrs. Wagner?"

The masculine voice sounded too chipper for six o’clock in the morning. Amanda looked up at the balding gentleman standing in the waiting room doorway. "I’m Ms. Wagner."

"Doctor Svoboda," he said, extending his hand in greeting, "the surgeon on your daughter’s case."

She rose, her whole body stiff from sitting so long, and shook his hand. Over his shoulder, she spotted Gray coming down the hall. "How do you do," she murmured, focusing on the surgeon’s face. He exuded a kindliness and warmth she hadn’t expected.

"Let’s go over the procedure we’ll be doing on Hilary." He slouched in the seat beside her, relaxed and assured.

His manner inspired Amanda’s confidence, but nothing could ease her building tension. She sank back into the deep, rust-colored chair she’d occupied on and off for the last several hours. It was beginning to feel like an extension of her anatomy.

Gray came in flashing her a compassionate smile and sat down next to his colleague.

"You understand we’ll hook Hilary up to a heart-lung machine during surgery. The device keeps oxygenated blood pumping through her body while we have her heart stopped for repair." He rattled off a rapid-fire, step-by-step description. "The incision will be right down the center of her chest, through the breastbone. You with me so far?"

So many technical details to understand! Some parts sounded familiar from when Hilary’s shunt had been created, others didn’t, but the doctor spoke in comprehensible terms. "I think so."

"I’ll stitch a Dacron patch over the hole between the lower chambers of her heart." His eyes twinkled. "It’s more delicate but not unlike patching a pair of jeans."

A tiny laugh bubbled up inside Amanda, releasing a smidgen of her anxiety. This man had an easy way about him. Bedside manner, in spades.

"I may have to move the aorta to do my mending job, but I’d prefer to leave it alone. Next, I’ll tackle the pulmonary valve. I would rather ‘roto-rooter’ the inside—"

Amanda pictured the plumber’s machine used for cleaning clogged drain pipes and knew exactly what the doctor intended to do.

"—to enlarge it, but if that doesn’t do the trick, I’ll cut and patch."

It sounded straight forward and simple presented this way, although Amanda understood open heart surgery was far from simple. He went on to explain the rest of the lengthy, complicated procedure.

"I’ll wire the sternum together when it’s all over. The wires stay the rest of her life, but you needn’t worry about her setting off metal detectors at airports." He smiled again. "Any questions?"

Her head awhirl with facts, she drew a complete blank. There should be some detail she needed to know, but at the moment no questions came to mind. She shook her head. "I’ll probably think of a million as soon as you leave."

Both doctors stood and paused in the doorway. "My nurse, Dinah Sims, will monitor the surgery and will check in with you periodically," Gray said. "If you think of something later, ask her."

"Thank you both."

Gray reached over and patted her arm. "Hilary is in excellent hands. I only trust my patients to the best. Take it easy," he advised, his mellifluous voice full of warmth. "I’ll be around later."

Amanda tried to smile despite the immediacy of Hilary’s open heart surgery. The operation was going to happen, not in some nebulous time in the future, but today, this morning, in the next hour.

Amanda’s naturally buoyant spirit surfaced. She pictured Hilary running around the farm yard, her sneaker shod feet pounding on the newly sprung grass. Then Hilary squatting—not to tax her heart less, but for simple convenience—to pick a bouquet of bright yellow dandelions. A whole, healthy, happy child. Amanda’s smile became genuine. Today was the beginning of better days.

*****

Relax, Amanda admonished herself, and loosened her tight grasp on the couch arm. She had exchanged one waiting room for another, although there wasn’t much change of scenery. Both were populated by uncertain, vulnerable people and were decorated in the same earth tones.

Moments ago she’d accompanied Hilary, who clutched Floppy in one arm, as far as the operating room door. Amanda felt detached and isolated. Her voice had echoed in the sterile, empty hallway as she whispered to Hilary. Falling apart inside, unable to hold back tears, she’d allowed the staff to push her baby through those doors. On a scale of one to ten, watching them wheel Hilary away ranked number twenty-four. It was the hardest thing she’d done in her life.

Now she tried to absorb all that Doctor Svoboda had explained about the surgical procedure. It would be quite awhile before the actual surgery began. She glanced around, envious of the others waiting who had family or friends for company. She picked up a well-thumbed news magazine and settled back. Might as well get comfortable. Undoubtedly, this was going to be the longest day of her life.

The morning dragged by, minute by sluggish minute, broken by a sustaining visit from the hospital chaplain, progress reports from Gray’s nurse, Dinah Sims, and endless cups of coffee. From the vantage point of the couch nearest the coffee urn, Amanda watched people come and go, overhearing snatches of their conversations here and there. Realizing that others were in a worse situation than hers prevented her from succumbing to self-pity. At least for Hilary the prognosis was for full recovery. Others weren’t so lucky.

When one man came in brushing snow flakes from his shoulders, her heart sank. Snow torpedoed the faint hope she’d harbored that somehow her folks would drive to Omaha regardless of her instructions to the contrary.

A short time later, Gray entered the waiting room, his limp pronounced. The lines bracketing his mouth appeared deeper than before. No wonder he looked bushed; it was only nine-thirty in the morning, but he’d left her around two-thirty and been back by six. Had he gone home at all?

"Hi." He lowered himself onto the couch beside her, and extended his bad leg out straight, eyeing the coffee table in front of them with longing. He handled his handicap with considerable grace. She’d noticed he spurned any concessions to his weakness and speculated as to how long it had taken him to get to that point. He’d been self-centered, as well as cruel, the day he’d broken their engagement. And in tremendous pain, she reminded herself. And now?

"Go ahead," she urged, cocking her head toward the table. "Use it for a footstool."

"No need. Besides, Ramona would have my head. Feet belong under the table, not on top of it. Quote, unquote."

Amanda chuckled remembering his tales of his family’s formidable housekeeper. "Who’s going to tell her? Certainly not I!"

Her quiet chuckle sparked nostalgia for their far off youth. Gray shook his head as much to throw off the memories as to deny needing to ease his leg. "I figured you’d like a progress report. Doctor Svoboda has started the patch. It’ll take an hour and a half, give or take, before he starts closing."

Her shoulders quaked. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "How long before she’s back in the ICU?"

"Not before one. Probably closer to three."

She gripped the edge of the couch cushion until her knuckles turned white. "Like you said before, a long day."

Gray knew she needed a distraction before she exploded from sheer tension. Every nail on both hands was ragged, every muscle tense. He couldn’t spare her the drawn-out, anxious wait, but he could provide a diversion.

"Remember the day we built the snow fort outside your dorm," he reminisced, propping his cane against the edge of the couch, "then bombarded all your unsuspecting friends?"

"That was so long ago." She sighed. "Didn’t you cut class that day?"

"Yeah. Business Law. I hated that course!"

She twisted in her seat, folding her leg underneath her and faced him. "How did the business major I knew become a pediatric cardiologist?"

"Long story."

"I’m not going anywhere," she replied. "But I’m sure you don’t have time to explain right now."

He’d make time. He’d intended to stay with her awhile anyway. Filling in the gaps during their years apart was an essential part of rebuilding their relationship. This was as good a distractive device as any. "They’ll call if I’m needed," he said patting the beeper attached to his belt.

Gray leaned back and looked into Amanda’s chocolate brown eyes remembering the mischief that had glinted there during their snowball battle. Her expressive eyes had mirrored her soul, glowing with love for him back then. Would he ever see that love again?

Letting her go had been the biggest mistake of his life. And yet, if he could wave a magic wand and go back in time he wasn’t sure he would undo his error. Because then he’d be stuck running the Townsend Company today. He knew without a doubt the best decision he’d ever made was his choice of careers. Had he married Amanda then, he wouldn’t be a doctor today and wouldn’t be in a position to help sick children like her daughter. Maybe it was true that things work out for the best.

Although the very best for him would be, without a doubt, winning her back. A reconciliation was becoming an obsession, gnawing at him with a hunger similar to a bear just awakened from hibernation.

"I never really wanted a business career," he began, his tone manner-of-fact. "I dreamed of teaching high school science, but Dad pushed me into business."

"After the accident, everything changed. I’d nearly died. I wasn’t supposed to walk again. I spent most of the summer in the hospital, then came back to Omaha for rehabilitation. Eventually, more surgery, more rehab. I had endless hours to reflect on the meaning of my existence and my place in the scheme of things. When push came to shove, I realized I couldn’t waste my life doing something I hated just to please Dad. The longer I spent around doctors and medicine, the more convinced I became I wanted to be a doctor." He squirmed in his seat and dropped his gaze to his lap. "It sounds corny, but I honestly want to make a difference in my patient’s lives."

"Doesn’t sound corny to me. As a parent of one of your patients, I’m grateful for your dedication." Amanda paused, astonished by the slight pink coloring his cheeks. The poor man was embarrassed! "Did your father accept your decision with good grace?"

Gray plowed his hand through his hair, moving it off his forehead. The white streaked black shock flopped right back across his brow. Amanda’s throat tightened. She wished her hand could replace his, but that would never do!

"Not at all. In fact, he refused to pay my tuition unless I studied business."

Amanda gasped. Spencer Townsend had been even more manipulative than she’d imagined. Gray had been very close to his father and extremely eager to please him. It must have cost Gray a great deal to stand up to him—literally as well as figuratively.

He waved his hand in the air. "No biggie. Grandmother Prescott was loaded and I was her only grandchild. She and my father never saw eye-to-eye. It gave her great pleasure to help me thwart the old man."

"I still find your complete change of direction hard to picture."

"Sometimes I find it hard to believe I did it. Always was a stubborn cuss. Dad shouldn’t’ve been surprised." He flashed a self-deprecating smile. "I got it from him."

She remembered an instance or two which proved his claim. "Hmmm. Go on."

"I dug my heals in. Enrolled in medical school at Creighton U. here in Omaha which enabled me to continue with the rehab I’d started."

"You’re happy with your decision?"

"Absolutely."

He studied her face. The shadows under her eyes were almost eggplant-purple. She was rumpled and pale, wearing the same baggy jeans and sweatshirt she’d been wearing when she arrived in the middle of the night, yet she seemed more relaxed. His ploy—little thing that it was—worked. "Tell me about you. Did you get your accounting degree?"

"Yes, and an MBA. I’m a CPA."

His eyes widened. "That’s quite an impressive accomplishment."

"Let’s just say I had incentive." She didn’t elaborate further.

"Then what?"

"My career took off. I worked my way up the corporate ladder to comptroller of a small, growing firm. I married an insurance executive. Everything was...fine. Until Hilary was born." Her daughter’s precious face flashed through her mind. What in the world was she doing sitting here chatting like she didn’t have a care in the world while Hilary was being subjected to the surgeon’s knife?

"And then?"

Something—caring, compelling—in his voice released the knot of self-recrimination inside her. Total concentration on what might or might not be happening to her daughter wouldn’t change a thing that was occurring in the operating room. Would most likely reduce her to a useless basket case. What harm could a little catching up with an old friend do?

"Mandy?" He waved his hand in front of her face. "How did your husband react?"

She blinked and chewed the inside of her mouth. "Roland Wagner is a perfectionist in the truest sense of the word. He genuinely can’t settle for less. When we discovered our daughter was born with a heart defect, he couldn’t accept it. Or her."

Gray sensed there was an important omission somewhere in this tale. One day he hoped she’d trust him enough to tell him the rest.

"He left us and filed for divorce."

Her voice sounded flat, but he could still hear the underlying pain. Gray swore under his breath and voiced one of the questions that had plagued him since she walked back into his life four days before. "How do you manage alone with a sick baby?"

"I have my own tax preparation business now, working out of my home."

"I’ll have to hire you to do my taxes."

Amanda stiffened ramrod straight. "I don’t need your pity," she muttered fiercely.

His lips compressed to a thin line. "I’m sure you don’t, but I do need someone to do my taxes." He scooted around on the seat. In the process his cane slipped and clattered to the floor.

Amanda reached down and retrieved the walking stick, sorry she’d gotten on her high horse. It was just that she’d put up with about as much misplaced sympathy as she could stomach. One still found old-fashioned mores in the farm country where she came from. Some folks couldn’t understand her need to maintain her independence, but that had nothing to do with Gray’s remark. The good Lord knew she couldn’t afford to turn down a legitimate offer of business. "Sorry. If you’re really serious, let’s discuss it."

"Sure. Later, though."

Feeling embarrassed by her outburst, as well as guilty for allowing herself to relax, she fingered the intricate carving, admiring the cane’s unusual craftsmanship. She wished he’d leave, but she couldn’t be so rude as to ask him to go. Sometimes a person just had to muddle through the best they could. "This is beautiful."

"I’m very proud of it." His tone reflected not only pride, but a sense of accomplishment. "The grandfather of a patient of mine in Houston carved it for me. The child was a charity case at the teaching hospital were I did my residency. The old man wanted to express his gratitude with something I could use when the boy got well. I treasure the cane because it came from the heart."

Amanda blinked mist from her eyes. He used the unusual aid, not to show off, but because the cane was a special gift. That shouldn’t surprise her. He’d never flaunted his possessions like so many kids she’d known who were hung up on always having the correct brand and the "in" style. His total lack of snobbishness was one of the things she had admired about him.

"I could use some coffee," she said, checking her watch as she rose to her feet. An hour had gone by faster than any hour since she’d arrived in Omaha. How close was Doctor Svoboda to closing? "Want some?"

"Thanks. Black."

She filled two disposable cups from the urn beside her and passed one to him. Twisting from side to side, she attempted to loosen her stiff muscles. The kinks would be permanent by the time Hilary was well enough to leave this place.

"Are you hungry?" Gray asked. "We can grab a quick bite. The Round Table is just through the lobby."

"You go ahead," she responded. "I wouldn’t dare eat. My stomach’s tied in knots."

He shook his head and frowned. "And you’re drinking notoriously strong hospital coffee?"

She shrugged and sat down again. "I live on coffee." Her fingers flew to her mouth. "Whoops! I shouldn’t admit that to a doctor."

"Probably not, but I don’t recommend changing bad habits during times of stress."

A stir in the doorway drew Amanda’s attention. "Oh!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and striding across the waiting room.

Gray watched her accept bear hugs from three strapping, look-alike lads, wearing high school jackets with their names embroidered on the front. Her beloved brothers, had to be. Those hulks had been two-years-old when he and Mandy had been engaged. Seeing them, Gray felt old and decrepit.

"What’re you guys doing here?" Amanda demanded in a severe tone of voice. Her delighted smile spoiled the effect of her reprimand.

Tucker dangled a set of car keys under her nose. At the same time Nathan dropped her tote bag and a small suitcase at her feet. "We reckoned you needed your wheels and clean skivvies, Sis," Tucker said.

Gray thought the young man looked mighty pleased with himself.

"You could’ve waited until the weather cleared."

"Best time for a road trip!" Tyler declared. "Just enough snow to scare sane folks into staying home, but not enough to worry about."

Amanda rolled her eyes.

"We thought—" Nathan inserted quietly "—you could use some company. Is the surgery over yet?"

"Not yet," Amanda said softly, her eyes clouded. Then her expression became stern. "You’re supposed to be in school. Does Mom know you’re here?"

"Nah," the three chorused in unison. "We figured you and Hilly were more important, so we cut," Tucker added.

"Look, guys," she sighed, "I appreciate your coming more than I can say, but you can’t stay. Tuck, go call home and let Mom know you are on your way back."

Tucker shook his head, his mouth set in a mulish line. The
triplets stood shoulder to shoulder—an immovable wall of youthful determination. "We’re staying until we know Hilly’s okay."

"We thought you needed somebody with you," Nathan mumbled, looking at his feet. "Couldn’t stand your waiting all by yourself."

Disheartened, Gray levered himself to his feet and slipped from the room..

Amanda didn’t need him anymore.

"Who was the dude with the cane? The one you were talking to when we came in?" Tyler asked.

Amanda spun on her heel and eyed the vacant couch. Gray was gone. She felt as if her prop had been knocked out from under her. She gave herself a mental shake. Allowing herself to become dependent on him again would be a grievous error. True, but today had been professional. Yeah, sure, Mandy. Trips down memory lane are purely professional.

Tyler snapped his fingers an inch from her nose. "Gonna tell us who the dude is?"

"Oh! Sure. That was Gray Townsend."

"The Gray Townsend, the jerk who jilted you?" Tucker questioned in a loud voice.

Amanda winced and nodded.

"He’d better not show his face around here again or I’ll shove that fancy cane up his aristocratic nose!"

Amanda gulped. "Whoa, bro. Climb off your charger and sheath your sword. In case you didn’t notice, he belongs here. You know...white coat, stethoscope. He’s Hilary’s doctor."

"Oops."

Suddenly, she became aware of the attention they were attracting. Please floor, open up and swallow me! She picked up the bags and lead the way to a conversation grouping in the corner.

*****

Out of sight, but within earshot, Gray winced at the threat. At least now Amanda wasn’t alone. That was one worry off his mind. But...he’d wanted to be the one to help her through this difficult time. Him, the hot shot doctor. He’d wanted to impress her with his mastery and use the opportunity to further his cause.

Pretty selfish, Townsend.

Her three snot-nosed brothers had crashed his party. Better not let them hear him calling them snot-nosed. Each was big enough to rip him in two without breaking a sweat, and without help from the others.

Damn Amanda anyway! She’d been too engrossed with her siblings to even notice when he left the waiting room. Hadn’t she realized he’d gone out of his way to spend some time with her? Did she think he dallied away that much of his working day with every patient’s family? Didn’t she know...

He was jealous.

Gray stopped dead still in the middle of the busy corridor. Jealousy was an alien emotion, beyond the realm of his experience. He had thought he was above such a petty response. It astounded and confused him. As the only child of a single parent he’d never had to vie for attention.

The Talmadge’s loving warmth was very different from his relationship with his father. He didn’t doubt his father loved him, but it was a smothering kind of love.

The Talmadge family dynamics puzzled him. Mandy was almost old enough to be the triplet’s mother, yet their closeness astonished him. How many teenagers were thoughtful enough to remember that their older sister needed her automobile and clothes, and most important, emotional support? Those young men had tried to make their expedition sound like a lark, but their love and devotion for their sister and niece came shining through.

Theirs was a different kind of family warmth and closeness from his own experience. The kind he longed for. The kind he was determined to have. With Amanda. And of course, her precious daughter.

The moment that sweet tyke had gazed at him with her trusting brown eyes and taken the stethoscope from his hand she had stolen his heart. His affection was more than his special rapport with kids. Even though only two, the little princess reminded him of her mother in many ways. The resemblance had sucked him in and now, sick as she was, Hilary’s own personality held him.

It crossed his mind that he’d been thinking of Mandy, and of course, Hilary, as a single entity to be wooed.

Failing to consider the rest of the Talmadges was a serious blunder. He couldn’t expect her family to welcome him with open arms. From what he’d heard, at least one of the boys bore a grudge. What about Mandy’s parents?

Another thought hit him with the pain and force of a lightning bolt. What if, after all these years, Amanda hated him? If her brothers expressed the necessity to protect her from him, then she must have given some hint of negative feelings which prompted the threat. The triplets weren’t old enough back then to remember the broken engagement when it happened.

Gray entered the doctor’s lounge, grateful to find the room empty. Remorse shrouded him like a heavy California fog. He’d never meant to hurt her. He’d loved her enough to give her up rather than subject her to the pain of having to deal with his recovery and disability. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that she wouldn’t understand his motives as time went on. Now, apparently, he was going to have to heal her wound before the relationship he wanted could progress. The crusade would require the hard won patience he’d learned during that grim time he had spared her. The task wouldn’t be easy, but the good things in life rarely were.

The first step was to make Hilary well.

Chapter 4

Entering the surgery waiting room to apprise Hilary’s family of the good news, Gray lagged a step behind his colleague, pediatric thoracic surgeon, Jerry Svoboda. One of Amanda’s brothers—they had removed their jackets and Gray couldn’t tell them apart—was sprawled over a chair. She sat on an adjacent couch with the other two young men. Perched on the edge of the cushions, her shoulders were rigid. Gray perceived her tension from across the room. He wanted to shout over the heads of the gathered families that Amanda could relax now. Hilary’s surgery was all over. Except that they’d only gone the first mile on the road to her daughter’s recovery.

It was two-forty-five in the afternoon. Gray felt as bushed as if he’d run a marathon. He’d learned long ago how to function well on less than the two hours sleep he’d gotten last night, but his personal involvement in this case was far greater than he usually allowed himself. Barring an emergency, he planned on heading straight home as soon as Hilary was situated in the intensive care unit.

He glanced at the other doctor, still dressed in blue, sweat-stained surgical grab, and admired the man’s stamina. Svoboda had spent the last seven and half hours bending over the operating table executing another medical miracle. Of course, he’d also slept all night.

Gray wasn’t envious of the surgeon. His weak leg prevented him from standing long enough to perform long surgical procedures. So what? He knew he was good—very good—in his chosen field, chosen being the operative word. Surgery sounded glamorous, however he honestly preferred intimate, long term interaction with his patients and their families over the cut and run life of the surgeon.

His thoughts were bouncing all over the place, Gray realized, a sure sign of fatigue. He directed his attention back to Hilary’s family.

He stepped to Svoboda’s side. He really didn’t need to be present for this briefing, but he wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to be with Amanda, no matter how short the encounter. He needed to see for himself how she was coping, if there was anything she wanted. He knew it was absurd given the circumstances, but he needed to be there if she required anything—anything at all.

"The procedure was a complete success," Doctor Svoboda told Amanda and her brothers.

Gray observed the transformation of the four people facing him. He noted the triplets reaction with a cursory glance, focusing his gaze on Amanda. A radiant smile replaced her worried frown. Her shoulders sagged in relief. After bringing about healing, imparting good news was the most rewarding part of Gray’s job. When the news was bad he remembered these times and drew strength from them. He logged her smile in his memory bank for a rainy day ahead. All at once, their excited voices exploded around him.

"All right!"

"Hot damn!"

"Man, that’s a relief!"

"Thank God!" Amanda whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

Jerry Svoboda perched on the coffee table and began explaining the details of Hilary’s surgery to Amanda. The boy seated on the couch next to her elbowed his brother and leaped to his feet. "Here, sir," he said, looking straight at Gray, "take my seat."

Gray winced inwardly. It never bothered him to hear himself referred to as sir by staff members, but for one of Amanda’s brothers to speak so deferentially struck him as absurd. On the other hand, Gray did appreciate the display of good manners. Whichever triplet the kid was, he’d done his mama proud. Gray studied the earnest young man, taking note of the scar running through his right eyebrow.

"Thank you...?" Gray quirked a questioning eyebrow, his voice low.

Both teenagers moved to stand at the end of the couch. "Nathan, sir. This is Tyler," he jerked his thumb to the triplet next to him, his tone also quiet. "The slouch in the chair is Tucker."

The triplet identified as Tyler shook Gray’s hand and smiled revealing a broken front tooth. Scar, Nathan. Broken tooth, Tyler. Even if Tucker bore no physical clue, Gray could call them by name.

Gray waved to Tucker and lowered himself to the cushion beside Amanda. What a heel. Usurping Nathan’s seat to get close to the young man’s sister was pretty low. He had never stooped to using his handicap for personal gain before. He made as few concessions to his leg as possible, and didn’t expect or want any from anyone else. Of course, Nathan’s consideration could be in deference to Gray’s position as Hilary’s physician, or perhaps— heaven forbid—his "advanced age." The later motivations annoyed him only slightly less, nevertheless, he had no intention of moving.

Amanda turned and included Gray in the beaming smile she’d cast on the surgeon. She reached over, placing her hand on top of his. She spoke but her words were lost as her touch scorched his flesh. A wealth of sensual memories played through his mind, at the same time the skin under her fingers burned and tingled. His chest tightened, and his breath came in large gulps as if he’d been suddenly transported to the rarefied air of the high Rockies. It was as if he were a callow kid again, caught in the throes of their aborted love affair. Only this time he didn’t have to wonder if they could make explosive magic together. He knew the miracle of belonging to her heart and soul, and that made keeping his distance so much harder.

All at once the truth hit him with the impact of a granite boulder. He was fed up with being essentially alone. Neither his father nor Ramona could take the place of the woman who’d caged his heart so long ago.

Get a grip. You’re still dealing with a patient’s parent.

A startled look sprang into Amanda’s eyes; she snatched her hand away. Gray experienced an immediate sense of loss.

Doctor Svoboda rose and shook her hand once again. "You can see Hilary once we’ve moved her from the recovery room to the ICU. It’ll be at least an hour."

"Thank you both for all you’ve done."

"I’ll see you upstairs—" Gray said, levering himself off the couch "—after ‘while." Congratulating himself on his cool, professional tone, he turned and headed toward the hall. Amanda’s touch must have branded him if the sensation left on his hand gave a correct indication. Hilary’s recovery couldn’t occur a moment too soon.

As the doctors left, Tucker hopped to his feet. "Can we eat now? I’m starved."

"So what else is new?" Amanda asked.

He looked offended. "Gotta keep our weight up or we’ll never make it in college ball."

"One excuse is as good as another!" she teased, knowing it was expected.

He tried a different tack. "When did you eat last?"

"Uh..." Her gaze shifted from Tucker to Tyler to Nathan, cringing at their accusatory expressions. "I guess dinner last night."

Tucker looked ready to explode. "Damn it, Sis—"

"Tucker Talmadge!"

"So tattle to Mom, Amanda, but you’ve gotta eat." Chagrin warred with his bossy, superior countenance. "Jeez! I sound like your daddy, but somebody’s gotta look out for you. You don’t do a very good job yourself."

She shook her head. "Talk about role reversal. C’mon. The Round Table is just off the lobby."

Minutes later, they seated themselves at a table in the restaurant, their trays loaded. At least the triplet’s were loaded. Amanda opted for vegetable soup and a wilted-looking salad. Even though her stomach cried "feed me" past experience cautioned against pigging out. At least the meal gave them something to do while they waited for Hilary to return to the ICU. She hoped she could keep up a cheerful front for her brothers’ sake. She’d just as soon that they didn’t comprehend the extent of her worry and report to her mother that she was a basket case.

"I can’t wait to teach Hilly to climb the apple tree," Tyler exclaimed around a bite of his hamburger.

"I hope—" Amanda half chuckled "—you aren’t planning to teach her to talk with her mouth full while you’re at it."

"Aw, Mandy, you’re such a nag!"

"Better me than Mom."

"So right!" the boys chorused in unison.

Amanda fixed Tyler with a mock scowl. "I’d just as soon my daughter didn’t end up with a broken tooth either."

"Man, what is this? Pick on Tyler day? I’m always careful with my precious niece."

Sobering, she patted his arm. "I know you are. I have to give you a hard time once in awhile. It’s part of being a big sister."

"I’m gonna fix up the old trike out in the barn for her," Tucker declared.

"And the little sled!" Nathan added.

"Whoa, guys!" Amanda laughed, holding up her hand like a traffic cop. "She’s only two! Let’s not get carried away with frenzied plans."

Nathan leaned back, tilting his chair on it’s back legs, suddenly solemn. "It’s just that it’ll be great not to have to be so careful with her."

"Amen to that," Amanda agreed fervently.

She finished her salad and pushed the dishes away. "Guys, I know you want to see Hilary, but I have to warn you, she won’t look good."

"Worse than when she turned purple last night?" Tucker asked.

"Maybe. Depends on your point of view. She’ll be hooked up to several machines, plus have wires and tubes sticking out all over her." Amanda propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her clasped hands. "What I’m trying to say is she won’t be a pretty sight and it may get to you. You won’t hurt my feelings if you’d rather wait to see her in a few days when she looks more normal."

Silent communication passed among the triplets. As usual, Tucker spoke for the three. "We want to see her before we leave."

"Okay. Just so you were warned. Afterward, I want you to head home. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your being here and bringing my car and clothes, but you’ve got school tomorrow."

Tucker heaved an exaggerated sigh. "How come we’re blessed with two mothers?"

"How come I’ve got four kids?"

She checked the time, her patience fraying by the minute. The hour wasn’t up yet, but she couldn’t stay down here another second. "Let’s go on up to the ICU."

She lead them past the twin Methodist and Children’s gift shops into the Children’s Memorial Hospital lobby. Decorated in tones of mauve, turquoise and taupe, the entry was dominated by a huge planter out of which rose a white carousel horse mounted on a brass pole. Around the corner one wall featured a montage of pictures of hospitalized children. Across from the mural was a bank of elevators. Despite her warning to the boys, Amanda wondered if she was really prepared to deal with what lay ahead? Prepared or not, she couldn’t stop the flow of events now. What would be, would be. She pushed the up button.

*****

Amanda closed her eyes and jammed her knuckles in her mouth to keep from crying out. Mere words couldn’t possibly prepare anyone for the sight before her. At least when they’d intercepted the gurney in the hall, Hilary had been covered by a sheet. The boys had been spared seeing some of the accouterments attached to their niece. Lying in the heated crib, the uncovered baby was almost lost in all the equipment attached to her body: tubes, drains, a pacemaker, a ventilator, and the omnipresent heart monitor. Worse than that, the little one was pale and puffy. Amanda’s stomach did flips. Why had she allowed the boys to talk her into eating? She focused on the small yellow stuffed bear, tucked next to Floppy at the end of the crib. The hospital gave every patient a comforting toy after each surgical procedure.

"Mommy’s—" she reached out and touched her daughter’s arm "—here. You’ll be all better soon, sweetie."

At the moment, Hilary required one-on-one nursing. Amanda observed from a position where she wasn’t in the way. Just to stand here and watch, knowing healing had begun was a balm to her soul. They’d reached the summit of a very high mountain. Doctor Svoboda had successfully repaired Hilary’s heart. They could coast downhill from here on, even though a clean bill of health was awhile off.

"Her vital signs are good, Mrs. Wagner," the nurse said, her gaze trained on the machines.

Amanda’s stomach settled a mite. More than anything, she wanted to stand guard over her child, yet common sense told her standing here for hours on end was foolish in the extreme. The waiting room was just around the corner, and she could pop in for a few moments any time she wished. Right now the nurse could do Hilary more good than her mother could. If Amanda was smart, she’d go rest—as best as she could sitting in a low-backed chair—while the opportunity was at hand. Once Hilary was moved to a regular patient room, mother took over much of the convalescent care. Right now, though Amanda hated to admit it, she just plain wasn’t needed.

*****

Tote bag in hand, Amanda hesitated in the doorway of the ICU waiting room. Was it only this morning that she’d sat there with Gray and Doctor Svoboda while they explained the procedure? It seemed like last week.

The TV, mounted high on the wall in the back corner was turned on, but nobody appeared to be watching it. Spying an empty chair by the corner table on which a telephone and lamp set, she crossed the room. "Is this seat taken?" she asked the young couple whose chairs were arranged against the wood paneled, back wall of the room.

"No, sit down," the man said. His face had the pinched look Amanda now associated with those who waited for news, any news of their loved ones.

She settled down and slid her tote underneath the chair. The bag barely fit, but it was out of the way. Her stomach had settled once she was out of the ICU. Away from all the scary machinery, she savored the drifting sensation of elation, shutting out any thought of possible complications. She closed her eyes, allowing her lips to curve in a big smile.

Her sense of well-being stemmed not only from the news of Hilary’s successful surgery. Mentally, Amanda thanked her hollow-legged brothers for insisting on food. The light meal plus the shower and change of clothes, suggested by Tucker, her self-appointed keeper, had worked wonders. She felt human for the first time in days.

Amanda knew the next couple of days were critical. Gray, with his usual gentleness, had warned her they weren’t out of the woods yet, although there was every reason for optimism. So far, all was well. Very well indeed!

Thinking back over the long day, she realized Gray Townsend had been her life line. Every time she’d come close to cracking under the strain and uncertainty of the endless waiting, he’d appeared, most of the time with an update, but sometimes all he offered was a supportive, friendly face. She must remember to thank him when she saw him again.

She glanced around at the others occupying the waiting room and stifled the urge to blurt out her good news to these total strangers. Somehow her joy didn’t seem fair when it was obvious the others weren’t so fortunate. Some faces were filled with fear, others had tears in their eyes and one woman looked insensible with fatigue.

She regretted insisting that her brothers go home. They were always great company, something she could use right now. However, they’d cut one day of classes to be with her, and one was enough.

The telephone at her elbow rang. She looked around. No one moved toward the instrument. In fact the others seemed to eye the phone with distaste. She couldn’t let the ringing continue unabated. "Hello?" she answered, her voice tentative. After a moment she covered the mouth piece. "Is there a Joyce or Tom Gates here?"

"That’s us," the young man sitting along the back wall answered, taking the phone from her. He finished his conversation and hung up. "Mom calling for her daily progress report," he said to his wife.

He looked at Amanda and flashed a tentative smile. "I’m Tom Gates and this is my wife, Joyce, but I guess you’ve already figured that out."

"Amanda Wagner. My little girl just had open heart surgery."

"Our son was operated on for transposition of the great arteries two days ago," Joyce said, clenching her hands to fists, her face strained. "He’s developed an infection."

"I’m so sorry," Amanda replied. Here was somebody who desperately needed to talk, she thought, recognizing the symptoms immediately. "What does the doctor say?"

"They’re treating him with antibiotics. We’re praying he won’t have to have more surgery." She paused and squirmed in her seat. "What’s your daughter’s problem?"

Amanda explained, realizing she was in the process of forging a bond with these strangers. They shared a common difficulty, even though the causes were not identical. It was bolstering to talk to someone who really understood what she was going through, even though being open with strangers was alien to her nature.

Within an hour she’d met the rest of the parents, families and friends. A camaraderie existed in the waiting room, and she was thankful to be part of it. Before long she established a routine of sorts. Every ten minutes or so she’d check on Hilary, then return to visit with her newfound acquaintances.

The hours crawled by, until by eight-thirty the visitors were gone, leaving only a few worried parents standing vigil. Silence fell and one by one each parent tried to snatch a bit of rest.

*****

As soon as Hilary was settled in the ICU, Gray dragged himself home. Reaching for the wall phone, he faced the fruit patterned wallpaper decorating the breakfast nook, ignoring his worried housekeeper’s plea to eat. Sometimes Ramona’s vigilance over his well-being grated on his nerves. Why couldn’t she accept that he’d grown up a long time ago? He wasn’t a toddler who needed to be coaxed into eating and resting—

"T...Townsend," a voice answered at the other end of the line.

"Dad, how are you today?"

"Lone...some...like always," Spencer complained. "Come... out...and play crib...bage with...me."

Gray heard more than loneliness in his father’s voice. Isolation was telegraphed in every word. Self-imposed to be sure, but real all the same. There was no need for Spencer to stay at home alone day after day. He had a driver more than willing to earn his paycheck. He had a business in which he could take a more active role. He belonged to several service organizations and could attend their meetings. The one thing he really lacked was close, personal friends. How sad. His father had worked all his adult life to build a successful company and a prominent place in the community, and when the chips were down his only friend was his son. Part of the problem was Spencer’s stiff-necked pride. The old man couldn’t stand for people to see him confined to a wheelchair. His slow, halting speech embarrassed him.

How well Gray understood! What he’d give to throw away his cane, to dance and join in tennis again. He also knew you had to play the cards you were dealt.

Gray hated to disappoint his father—the good Lord knew he didn’t do it very often—but food and sleep were a higher priority tonight. "I’m not coming out this afternoon, Dad. Had an emergency and was up most of the night. Why not call—" he racked his brain and remembered the Townsend Company legal counsel loved cribbage "—Earl Compton?"

"If you would...join the firm...you would have...regular... hours. Anyone...in your...condition...should not be...running around...all hours of the...night."

As with every previous suggestion for social outlet Gray had made, Spencer rejected this one by ignoring it. He’d much rather give his son a load of grief. "Give me break! I’m no longer an invalid."

Spencer snorted. "The firm...would not...tax your...strength."

Gray lifted his leg onto the chair next to his. Might as well get comfortable for the siege. Dad was on a roll. "I’m a damn good doctor. I’d be a lousy businessman. End of discussion."

Spencer remained silent for several seconds. Gray could almost hear the wheels turning in the old man’s head. "I did not...want to mention this. I do...not...feel well. I...need you."

"If you’re really ill, I’ll call Jack Casey. He’s your physician. I wouldn’t treat members of my family, even if you were in my patients age range, which you most definitely aren’t." These attempted guilt trips were getting old. "Tell me your symptoms. I’ll pass them onto Jack."

"Do not...bother. If...I...need him...I call him...myself."

"Dad, let’s stop the games. Are you ill?"

"N...no."

Gray sighed. He missed the closeness they once shared. There was a time when he’d told his father any and everything—well, almost everything. His defiance over his career had changed their relationship; the easiness had slid into wariness. Since Spencer’s stroke Gray felt more like the parent than the child. His world had been turned upside down. Everything seemed out of sync.

The chains of responsibility were heavy. He was constantly torn between his father’s demands, petty and otherwise, and his own needs. He owed his father a debt, but did that mean giving up a life of his own?

"Look, Dad, I’m not making any promises, but I’ll do my darnedest to get out there tomorrow. Good-bye." Gray sighed. Encounters with his father, in person or by phone, put him through an emotional ringer.

Ramona stood with her hands on her hips. "About time you stood up for yourself."

"Don’t start!" Gray snapped, then shook his head. She was only concerned for his welfare. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell."

Ramona went to the stove and dipped a large serving of chili into a soup bowl. "Here, eat. You’ll feel better." She plopped the spicy concoction on his place mat along with a tossed salad, standing over him to make sure he ate it. "If you won’t talk about his imperialness—"

Gray wagged his finger at her, keeping up his end of the game they played.

"—you can tell me about the case that’s got you het up."

He lifted a quizzical brow. "Het up?"

"Tell me."

He lifted his shoulders in a tolerant shrug. "A two-year-old tetralogy patient. We operated today. She came through fine."

"Routine, right?"

"How’d you know?"

"You aren’t actin’ like you do when a case goes sour." Ramona cast him a savvy look. "Somethin’ else’s got you bent outta shape."

"Huh?"

"You’ve been actin’ different since last week. Thursday to be exact."

Gray stared at her, shaking his head in resignation. He’d never been able to hide much from her, and he knew she’d keep at him until she got the answer she wanted. "My patient is a real sweetheart with big brown eyes named Hilary Wagner. Amanda Talmadge is her mother."

Ramona dropped into a chair with a thud. "Your Mandy?"

Gray nodded.

"Oh, my. No wonder you’re all shook up. Tell me about her."

"Mandy’s divorced. Husband left her when they discovered the birth defect." He plowed his hand through the white streak in his black hair. "She looks like hell. Too thin, big circles under her eyes. Tired, nervous. She’s gone through a lot all on her own. It kills me to see her this way." Concern seeped into his matter-of-fact discourse. He wondered if she’d ever eaten today.

"How was the baby when you left?"

"Doing as well as we can expect at this point."

"That’s good. And Amanda?"

"Okay, too, I guess." Gray paused, picturing Amanda as he’d last seen her, surrounded by her siblings, relief shining on her exhausted face. "Her brothers showed up before Doctor Svoboda finished the procedure."

"So what are you gonna do now?"

"Get the baby well, then try to patch things up with her mom." Firm decision vibrated in his words.

"After all this time?" She drew an invisible pattern on the oak table top with her finger. "Neither of you are the same people you were before the accident."

"I still love her."

"You love a memory."

"I never stopped loving Mandy, Ramona. There’s never been anyone else I wanted to continue seeing after a couple of dates."

She patted his hand. "Bambino, think about it. To get where you are you’ve had to work extra hard at a career that’s difficult enough without a bum leg. You haven’t taken time to find anyone else. Worse, you put your emotions in the deep freeze. It was like part of you died when you broke your engagement."

He gazed into her wise brown eyes. This woman had raised him. She’d even moved to Houston with him. He loved and respected her, but he didn’t want to hear her off-the-wall analysis. "I know what I feel," he insisted. Then he chuckled. "Can’t please you, can I? Last week you were wanting babies in this house."

"Just be careful." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I don’t want you hurt."

*****

Thirty minutes later, Gray stepped from the shower and reached for a fluffy bath sheet. Drying off, he pondered Ramona’s ludicrous theory. Of course he loved the memory. Amanda had been the most important person in his life for a few short months. Letting her go had been the toughest thing he’d ever done.

He hung the towel neatly over the rack and pulled on a pair of black, charmeuse sleep shorts. Draping the matching robe over his arm, he reached for his cane and limped across the Oriental carpet to his four-poster, cherry wood bed. He settled into the warmth of the water-filled mattress, pictures of Amanda as he’d seen her during the last four days flashed in his mind. Amanda worried, Amanda scared, Amanda relieved. He’d experienced all those emotions with her, not just seen them in the detached way he shared with others patient’s parents.

Spending that hour in the surgery waiting room with her had been like coming home to the place he really belonged. Years ago, they’d talked for hours on end. Today their conversation flowed easily, like before. He had wanted to slay dragons for her, like before.

He worried about her. She was too thin and refusing to eat didn’t help. Coming to a sudden decision he reached for the phone and called the pizza parlor across from his office. At least he could see that she ate something tonight. He placed his order and made some special arrangements with the manager, who was a friend.

Hanging up the phone, he continued refuting Ramona’s charges. Darn it all, no matter how many years had passed, how things had changed, one thing remained constant. He loved Amanda now, no matter what Ramona said. Just like before.

But...what if Ramona was right? Come to think of it, he did feel sort of like someone warming up from a case of frostbite. The awakening of his emotions stung. Was there permanent damage or was the pain only temporary?

Fifteen years was a heck of a long time to carry a torch for someone with whom he’d had no contact. Could it be that he was merely tired of being alone? He’d always wanted a family—a genuine family. Lately the longing to belong to someone had escalated from a niggling notion hidden deep in his soul to a nagging nudging on the surface of his consciousness.

Damn it! He loved her. Still...

He and Mandy were different people today. She was stronger than she used to be and so was he. Life’s hard lessons tended to make or break its victims. They had both made the best of their difficult situations. She was independent and proud to a fault. He figured it was safe to assume she would be wary of men in general, him in particular. He’d have to tread carefu— He drifted off on the thought.

Five hours later the telephone’s insistent ringing roused him.

*****

"Amanda Wagner?" a young man holding a flat box topped by a bulging paper bag inquired from the doorway.

Amanda looked up, startled. "Yes."

He walked in and trust the parcels into her hands.

The spicy smell started her mouth watering. "There must be some mistake. I didn’t order this."

He consulted the ticket taped to the box top. "Says here to deliver it to Amanda Wagner in the ICU waiting room at Children’s Hospital."

"But...but I didn’t order the pizza." Not on her limited budget!

"You are Amanda Wagner, right?"

"Right."

"Then everything’s cool. It’s paid for. Enjoy!" He turned and started for the door.

"Wait!"

He paused and looked over his shoulder, a now-what expression on his face.

Amanda reached for her purse. "Let me give you something for your trouble."

"All taken care of," he said and left.

She glanced at the ticket and noted the contents listed as a large shrimp and pineapple pizza. Her all-time favorite! The bag contained tossed salad with the French dressing sprinkled with chunks of bleu cheese she preferred and the brand of pop she always ordered.

Her heart pounded and heat suffused her face. It was as if her unknown benefactor had reached out and hugged her, announcing to the world that he cared. A glow curled inside her.

Who could have been so thoughtful? The only person in Omaha who might conceivably know her odd tastes was Gray, but it was doubtful he’d remember after all this time. But who else could have sent the treat?

Something wasn’t right with this scenario. Why in the world would her daughter’s doctor send her pizza? True they shared a past relationship, one that he had ended, not her. Maybe someone from home had made the arrangements. Oh, well. It was a mystery, one she couldn’t solve now. In the meantime, the food was getting cold.

Lifting a piece, she sniffed the tantalizing aroma first and took a bite. The moment the seasoned mix hit her stomach, she regretted the attempt to eat. Where was her brain? She knew better than to indulge in anything spicy in her current state of anxiety. One more bite and she’d be heading for certain trouble. She set the box on the center table and sat back with her drink. "Please help yourself," she announced to the others in the room, "there’s no way I can eat all this."

The box emptied in minutes and Amanda shoved the cardboard in the trash. She was bone tired. She wiggled and squirmed, trying to get comfortable. Glancing around she noted they were all in the same boat. Miserable, yet nothing could move them from the spot. She stood and stretched, then sat down and tried to get comfortable again. It would be another interminable night.

*****

An hour later Amanda changed seats, moving to the forward corner of the waiting room, where she could rest her head against the angle in the wall. She adjusted the pillow she’d found in a stack on the table under the TV and fidgeted in the chair, trying to find a semi-comfortable position. Her eyes were gritty and watering from lack of sleep. She wiggled once more, tucking her shoulder into the softness of the pillow and pulled the coat she’d thrown around her close to her neck. Finally, she allowed the sleep she’d staved off for so long to take over.

The water babbled carrying the tender blossom she’d thrown into the river away with the current. She laughed, a carefree, happy sort of laugh, and caught her companion’s hand. The warm breeze caressed their faces, mussing his striking hair. She turned and using both hands, reached up and wove her fingers through the thick, coal black strands with its streak of snow white. She loved the feel of his soft, silky hair tumbling through her fingers.

His arms rested on her shoulders and he gazed deeply into her eyes. His smile sent her blood zinging through her veins. When he drew her closer and his mouth captured hers, she sighed allowing him access to her tongue. He crushed her closer, keeping her safe from the monster chained across the river. As long as he was there nothing bad could happen to her. The embrace went on and on until she thought she’d die from the sheer wonder of being loved by him, her shining knight.

Amanda awoke with a start. Her brain tried to grasp an elusive something and couldn’t. It had been a wonderful dream but the details vanished. She opened her eyes slowly, aware only of the severe crick in her neck. Where was she? The hospital’s distinctive antiseptic smell penetrated her foggy mind. The intensive care waiting room. She twisted her neck and rotated her shoulders. Might as well check on Hilary since she was awake.

Standing, her stiff joints creaked in protest. She tugged at the bottom ribbing of her sweatshirt, pulling it over the bare spot at her waist. At least these sweats were more comfortable than the jeans she’d worn earlier.

As she approached the wide pneumatic entry to the ICU, Joyce Gates came out. It was Tom’s turn to sleep at home tonight. "How is Danny?" Amanda inquired.

"Seems to be responding to the drugs."

She smiled, happy for her new-found friend. "That’s good news."

A sparkle lit Joyce’s tired eyes. "The best. How’s Hilary?"

"I’m going to find out," Amanda said, slapping the shiny chrome button with the palm of her hand like a pro.

Hilary lay on her back, her eyes drooping, but open.
Amanda stroked her daughter’s leg. "Hello, sweetheart. Mommy missed you."

The nasal gastric tube inserted through her nose down to her stomach prevented her from making a sound. Poor little tyke! She had to be in pain, and she couldn’t even cry. Amanda would gladly have gone through the whole ordeal had it been possible to spare her baby the torment of surgery and recovery.

"You’ll be better soon, I promise," she murmured softly. Right now she knew her presence and the tone of her voice were more important than the words she spoke.

Hilary’s nurse studied the heart monitor, a frown furrowing her brow. Amanda observed the bleeps dancing across the screen. Was it her imagination or were they moving faster than they had the last time she’d checked? Then she noticed the fluid coming from Hilary’s chest drain. Her stomach roiled. Earlier in the evening it had been pinker. Now it was bright red. A frisson of fear shot up Amanda’s spine. She murmured a silent, urgent prayer.

The nurse turned toward her. "Doctor Townsend’s on the way."

"What’s wrong?"

"Doctor will—"

At that moment Gray burst into the ICU. His ski jacket hung open. Under it he wore a bright red athletic suit. His hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in a week, and dark stubble shadowed his face. His cane tapped a staccato rhythm on the sparkling tile floor. Amanda would never have guessed he could move so fast.

"What’ve we got?" he addressed the nurse, his tone clipped.

She rattled off a low blood pressure reading and rapid pulse rate. "Chest drain is red again."

Gray ordered a transfusion to replace the lost blood and medication. Only then did he acknowledge Amanda’s presence. "Let’s talk in the hall."

"W-what’s w-wrong with my baby?" Her voice broke in spite of her best effort to stay calm.

"Post op bleeding, Amanda. I’m going to try to stop it with medication, but I have to warn you, we may have to operate again."

She bit her lip to keep from wailing. Everything had been going so well. Why did this have to happen? Hadn’t Hilary suffered enough? What had either one of them done to deserve this punishment? Amanda’s hands shook, not a fine tremor, but a violent quaking. She tucked them under her arms in an effort to control her reaction. Up until this point she’d been prepared. Now she didn’t know what to expect and couldn’t seem to get the words out to ask.

"Mandy?" Gray’s soothing voice penetrated her fear-filled mind. "I’ve got to get back in there. I’ll come find you in the waiting room shortly. The drugs need a chance to work."

"Okay." The word barely made it out around the lump in her throat.

He whacked the door button. "Hang in there, Mom. Hilary is going to be all right."

Amanda plodded to the waiting room like a zombie. She wanted to accept Gray’s assurance as gospel but couldn’t. He’d lied when he said he loved her; he could lie again. The memory of that drain tube full of bright red blood tormented her. What if he was unable to stop the bleeding? Could Hilary stand another operation? She picked at what little bit of fingernail she had left.

A hand tapped her shoulder. "Amanda?" a whispered voice asked. "What’s wrong?"

Even in the dim light, she could see the concern on Joyce Gates’ face. "Hilary’s bleeding. The d-drain’s full of red blood."

"Gee, I’m sorry. They taking her back to surgery?"

Amanda took a deep calming breath. "Not yet. Doctor Townsend is trying drugs first."

"Good. Townsend’s first rate. Everybody around here says so," Joyce reassured.

"I know... I’m so scared."

Joyce clasped Amanda’s cold hand in her warm one. "Dear God, I know what you mean."

For the longest time, the two women huddled together in silence. No more words were needed. Joyce understood exactly what Amanda was going through without being told. For once Amanda wasn’t alone. And more important, she didn’t have to put on a brave front.

As soon as Gray came into sight, Amanda dropped Joyce’s hand and bolted to meet him in the hall. One look at his grave face and she knew the news wasn’t good.

"I’m sorry, Mandy. She not responding to the drugs. We’re going to have to operate."

Chapter 5

Amanda recoiled as if the blow had been physical. "When?"

"Now. I’m concerned about renal failure. They’re prepping her. Doctor Svoboda should be here any minute."

A buzzing grew louder in Amanda’s ears. Her knees turned to jelly. She leaned against the wall, willing endurance for a little longer. She couldn’t fall apart—not yet. "What happened to cause the bleeding?"

"That’s hard to pin point. We either missed closing off a blood vessel or one broke free. The important thing is to get the bleeding stopped as soon as we can."

"Yes..."

His eyes softened, and he squeezed her shoulder. "It’ll take an hour or two. I’ll come find you here when we’re finished." His lips lifted in a half smile. "Sound like a broken record, don’t I?"

"Please, Gray," she pleaded as he turned to go, "don’t let anything happen to my baby."

"We’re doing our best."

Joyce drew near quietly and placed a bolstering arm around Amanda’s waist. "C’mon. Let’s sit down."

Adrenaline surged through her veins. "No. I’ve been sitting for days. I need to move. Go on back and get some sleep."

"I’m not leaving you alone. Besides, I won’t sleep until I know Hilary’s okay."

They paced the quiet hallway together. Their feet, both shod in rubber soled athletic shoes made only the slightest squeak on the polished tile floor. The sound added to the eeriness of the hospital at night. Amanda felt like she’d explode from the tension bottled up inside. She knew she had a willing ear beside her. Nothing she could say would surprise or shock Joyce, and yet she remained silent. She had shielded everyone from the full force of her pain for too long to break the habit now.

Fear gave way to a rage that needed a target. She wanted to blame Gray, but in all fairness the bleeding couldn’t be his fault. He hadn’t performed the operation. Doctor Svoboda was a likely victim, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe he’d been careless. Amanda’s feet moved faster and faster. Her mind settled on the only person who should have shown some concern and hadn’t.

Where was Roland Wagner when his daughter needed him? At home, snuggled up to his new wife, sleeping as though everything were peachy-keen. Amanda rarely allowed her wrath to surface. Tonight she gave it full reign.

She wasn’t really angry with him as much as the situation. Having abandoned ship at the first sign of stormy weather, Roland made a logical focal point, although her thinking was more than a little illogical tonight. If she’d had her wits about her she would’ve remembered he was a shallow person who didn’t have the emotional fortitude to deal with this kind of crisis. He’d be more hindrance than help.

Amanda trudged on, her feet moving faster and faster as her anger built.

Finally, Joyce skidded to a stop, panting. "I’ve got to slow down. I’m not in shape to run the 400 meter anymore."

Amanda stopped several feet away. "Sorry. I was thinking. I didn’t realize I was going so fast."

"I’m glad you weren’t thinking about me. You look mad enough to commit mayhem."

"I guess I am."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Amanda pushed a trembling hand through her limp hair. "Do you ever get so angry you could take somebody apart with your bare hands?"

"Sure. That’s when the floors gleam and the chrome shines at my house. I turn the kids over to Tom and go to town. Cleaning is therapeutic."

A single, gut-wrenching sob shook Amanda’s body. "How can he not care?"

Joyce hugged her. "Who doesn’t care?"

"Hilary’s father." Amanda’s shoulders quivered. "He should be here."

"Why isn’t he?"

"His excuse is hospitals upset him, which is true, but the real truth is he wants nothing to do with either of us. She’s flawed and it’s my fault."

"Your fault? Why?"

"We went to a wedding before I knew I was pregnant. I drank a couple glasses of champagne."

"You believe two glasses of champagne caused Hilary’s birth defect?"

A mirthless laugh emitted from Amanda’s throat. "Not now. I got past the agonizing soul-searching long ago—"

"Good for you," Joyce inserted.

"—but Roland never did. The Wagner side of the family is flawless according to him. He had to blame somebody, and I was the most convenient target."

Without conscious thought they’d ambled to the end of the hall. They turned around and headed back in the direction of the waiting room.

"He doesn’t sound like he’s worth the powder and shot to blow him to hell."

This time Amanda’s chuckle was genuine. "He’s not." She paused and smiled. "Thanks, Joyce. I guess I needed a shoulder tonight."

"Your welcome." The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. "Here’s Doctor Townsend. I’ll let you talk to him in private. If you need me, I’m right there," she said cocking her head toward the waiting room.

Gray stepped into the hall. "She’s all right, Amanda. Came through like a trooper."

His words were like a balm to her soul. She couldn’t speak. Tears, too long held, coursed down her cheeks.

Gray, his cane clutched in his right hand, dragged her into his arms and pressed her head into his shoulder. "Oh, Mandy Mine," he whispered against her ear, "go ahead and cry. Get it all out."

Great Scot! Gray wondered if he held a piece of fragile crystal or a woman? All his protective instincts surfaced and along with them a deep yearning to do more than comfort her. The lily of the valley scent she always wore assailed his senses. It shocked him that physical wanting flared within him as quickly as it had at twenty. Willpower strained to the limit, he stopped his body’s bold response. They were standing in the hallway of a public building. What happened to his sense of propriety? To his professional behavior?

All he wanted to do was comfort her—make that all he would allow himself to do. At the moment her desperate need was more important than any other consideration.

He didn’t think she was really aware that she was burrowing so close a match stick wouldn’t fit between them or she wouldn’t allow him to cradle her this way. For the first time in all their years apart, he experienced the sensation of being whole, and he wasn’t about to relinquish the feeling.

He caressed her back, wishing he could run his hands under her sweatshirt. He wondered if her skin was as petal soft as he remembered. Her head rested in the hollow of his shoulder as if it were made to measure. Physically they complimented each other. He was sure that given a chance they’d find they were as emotionally and intellectually connected as they’d once been. A rush of warm sentiment zipped through him. She was going to be his again. She just didn’t know it yet.

Her tears slowed and, after the longest time, stopped. She lifted her head, and traced the wet spot on his red top. "Sorry I got you all wet." Acute embarrassment crept into her voice. "I don’t know what came over me. I never, ever let go like that."

"Then it was past time you did. You’ve had a rough few days." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted the tears from her eyes and cheeks. "Feel better?"

She stood stock-still. After a moment she nodded. "Yes. I really do." Her tone was tinged with awe, as if she couldn’t quite believe the therapeutic benefit of her tears. "I do," she repeated.

He tilted her chin up and stared into her damp brown eyes. "It isn’t healthy to keep all that emotion bottled up."

He wondered if she was even aware that his arm still supported her. Her stomach growled. "When did you eat last?" he queried, wondering if she’d received the pizza.

"Ah, while the boys were here. I got a mystery pizza awhile ago—" she looked up at him, her eyes questioning "—but I didn’t dare eat it. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?"

Gray could have kicked himself. She wouldn’t eat during Hilary’s surgery because her stomach was in knots. He should’ve known she couldn’t tolerate a spicy pizza. He’d better start thinking with his head instead of his heart.

"No," he denied, refusing to look at her. "Let me get you something you can eat." He’d find an all night place, even if he had to raid his own kitchen.

"I really don’t want anything."

The determined set of her shoulders warned him not to continue this discussion or it would turn into a battle. What she needed most was a good rest in a quiet place, and he knew just the place for her to get it.

"Mandy," Gray whispered, "you really need sleep, more than anything. Let me take you home with me."

She jerked away as if stung. "No!"

"Amanda," his tone was the same stern one he used to issue orders to his staff, "you’re strung out. There isn’t one thing you can do here for Hilary tonight. Come home with me. I have three spare rooms and a housekeeper who thrives on pampering people. I’ll bring you back when I come for early rounds."

"Don’t you understand? I can’t leave her, Gray. I just can’t." She inched backward, pulling on the bottom of her sweatshirt, then pushed a stray tendril of hair over her ear. "I’m all she’s got. I have to be here."

"All right," he sighed. "I can’t make you leave, but promise you’ll try and get some sleep."

"Yeah, sure."

Once again he got the feeling she didn’t trust him beyond his skill as a doctor. It hurt, and yet he couldn’t blame her. He wished this was a wound he could treat with a modern miracle drug. He’d applied the only healing balm at his disposal, now he’d have to wait for results. "I’ll say good night and check on Hilary on my way out."

*****

Four days following her operation, Hilary, minus the tubes and wires, was moved to a regular room. After the ordeal of surgery and the scare of postoperative bleeding, Amanda found the room tranquil—at least as tranquil as any place with the hospital staff in and out constantly. Cheerful yellow and green plaid curtains hung at the window and an eye level, zigzag border in green, yellow and orange added a further splash of color. It was a nice change from the more subdued earth tones in other sections of the hospital. A wooden rocker and a recliner provided some semblance of comfort for the parent.

Hilary demanded, as only a two-year-old can, to be held and rocked. Amanda found peace in the task after being deprived for so many days.

Unfortunately, her little one developed flu-like symptoms. Worn out herself, Amanda had a balky, irritable child on her hands. Good thing patience was one of her strong points. It should be, she thought wryly, she’d enough practice to qualify for sainthood.

"C’mon, sweetheart, just a little sip," Amanda coaxed, attempting to get Hilary to swallow her juice.

"No!" Hilary pushed the cup away, whimpering.

"Regular little fuss-budget, aren’t you, Princess?" Gray observed, entering the room for morning rounds. His voice was pitched in the soft, hypnotic tone he reserved for his young patients.

Suddenly everything seemed brighter. Gray’s presence never failed to boost her drooping spirits, sometimes before Amanda realized they were drooping.

Lifting Hilary off her mother’s lap, he directed a warm smile at Amanda. The glow radiated through her; her heart caught.

Gray turned his attention to his patient, standing her in the crib. "She been ornery long?" he asked, while removing Hilary’s bright yellow hospital gown.

"She woke up whiny around five o’clock this morning. She’s lethargic, and feverish, and I can’t get her to drink. Her incision must hurt."

He read through the nurse’s notations on the chart. "Looks like she’s developed post pericardtomy syndrome. The lining around her heart is inflamed. For some reason girls experience this difficulty more often than boys. I’m sending her down for an echocardiogram to determine if she’s got fluid in the sac." He glanced over his shoulder at Amanda. "We treat this condition with massive doses of plain old aspirin for four to six weeks."

"You’re kidding."

"Nope. Aspirin, wonder drug of the twentieth century. The symptoms will disappear in a couple of days."

Adjusting his stethoscope, he listened to Hilary’s heart and examined the incision, which was uncovered, except for the adhesive Steri-Strips used instead of stitches on the outside layer of the closure. "Zipper looks good. Heart sounds strong. She’s healing nicely."

Picking up the baby’s gown, Gray scrunched up the sleeve and reached for her arm. "C’mon, Princess," he coaxed, "pokey-pokey."

Amanda was amazed by her daughter’s quiescence. Dressing her after her morning bath had been a trial—as usual. She wanted her own way, which was opposite her mother’s nine times out of ten.

Gray carried Hilary to the recliner and sat down, keeping her on his lap. She latched onto his stethoscope. He removed the instrument from around his neck and let her play with it. Moments later she nestled her head against his chest, content for the first time that morning. It was as if she were accustomed to a wide male chest to use for a pillow.

Amanda’s jaw nearly dropped to her knees. Hilary was a shy child. It took her a long time to warm up to strangers, especially men. Gray Townsend’s magic touch shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Amanda had witnessed him in action all week. He understood his patients’ emotional, as well as their physical, needs.

"I expect she’ll be clingy today," he advised, tucking Hilary more comfortably into the crook of his arm. "Maybe even tomorrow. Encourage her to walk—don’t carry her—down to the playroom and let her do her thing. Just be careful of a blow to her chest."

"Let her play with other children?" Amanda’s question contained more than a little skepticism.

A fleeting grimace crossed his face. His eyes pleaded, please-trust-me-I-know-what-I’m-doing. "That’s exactly what I’m saying."

Hilary had never been allowed to exert herself by playing with rambunctious children. Amanda realized she couldn’t isolate her child forever, but to allow her interaction with anyone as unpredictable as kids while she was recovering couldn’t possibly be right. "But—"

"You’ve protected her for a long time," Gray continued. "I know it’ll be hard to let go, but you must. Wrapping her in cotton wool now is harmful to her recovery and her overall development."

"But-but she’s just undergone major surgery!"

"Don’t worry," he spoke with authority, "she won’t feel like playing very long at a time. Kids have remarkable recuperative powers. Before you know it she’ll be into as much mischief as any other two-year-old."

He tickled Hilary under her chin. "Won’t you, Princess?"

"No!" she declared.

"I still think she should recover before she plays with other children."

Gray resisted the urge to grind his teeth. "What excuse will you think of six weeks from now?" he said in a soft, though biting tone.

"What do you mean?" Amanda’s narrowed eyes and jutting chin betrayed her anger.

He wrapped one of the baby’s glossy brown curls around his finger wondering if he dared risk any future they might have together by saying what she needed to hear. As Hilary’s cardiologist it was his responsibility to make suggestions pertaining to his patient’s well-being. But would Amanda read it that way? His brutal dismissal had hurt her badly before. He feared she would think he was trying to cause her more anguish by speaking out.

Why the Sam Hill was it necessary to be cruel to be kind?

Gray took a deep breath and plunged. "Amanda, you’ve committed your entire attention on Hilary since the day she was born. You can’t continue to use her as a screen from the emptiness in your life. You’ve told me more than once that you’re all she has. The converse is also true—she’s all you have. That’s not healthy for either of you."

"But—"

"When was the last time you did anything just for you?" He fixed her with an unflinching gaze. "We all have needs neither our children or our careers can fulfill. You need another focus."

Me, his heart cried.

"I’m paying you to treat my daughter’s heart problem, not psychoanalyze me."

He raked his hand through his hair, wishing he hadn’t started this. "You won’t do Hilary—or yourself—any favors by smothering her."

Pushing himself out of the chair, he deposited Hilary on her mother’s lap. He limped to the door and turned back to face her. Her angry stare broke his heart. "Believe me, I’m speaking from personal experience."

Amanda watched him leave, her feathers ruffled thoroughly. How dare he criticize her parenting? He wasn’t the one who’d been on alert twenty-four hours a day for the last two years. He hadn’t lived with the fear and anxiety. Protecting Hilary had been an absolute, life or death necessity.

What gave Gray Townsend the right to judge her? Furthermore, his analysis stunk. Her life wasn’t empty. She had Hilary and her family and her business.

R and R? How was she supposed to accomplish that? Hang Hilary from the nearest sky hook? He had the financial resources to do any darn thing he pleased. Right now it was all she could do to pay her bills. Gray would do well to mind his own business and stick to pediatric cardiology.

Amanda couldn’t deny he knew kids and their hearts. Easy-going, loving, yet firm, her daughter responded to him positively. His style was warm and personal. Amanda understood repairing Hilary’s defective heart was only part of making her whole and well.

Her daughter was accustomed to demanding—and getting—her mother’s undivided attention. As much as she hated to admit it, Gray was right about that. Hilary would turn into a spoiled brat if Amanda continued to allow every decision to revolve around her daughter.

Amanda’s innate honesty forced her concede that he’d zeroed in on her protective shield and scored a bull’s-eye. She denied that her life was empty, but the fact remained that Hilary’s problems had prevented her from having to deal with her personal failure.

The unvarnished truth, which Amanda acknowledged only to herself, was that where men were concerned her judgment was impaired. Twice she’d trusted and twice she’d been betrayed. To lay herself open to that kind of humiliation again would be unintelligent. And Amanda Wagner was many things, but unintelligent wasn’t one of them.

*****

Gray stepped off the elevator, his spirits as dismal as a raw, cloudy, winter day. He was right, but knowing his suggestions were sound didn’t offer one bit of consolation. He’d hurt Amanda again and wished he could make amends. But an apology would smack of backing down, something he refused to do when it came to correct medical advice.

He walked by the twin gift shops. What was it the ads claimed? Flowers say what words can never say, or something like that. He perused the selection in the cooler. One arrangement caught his eye, reminding him of the massive bouquet of pink roses he given Amanda to celebrate their engagement.

A hospital room was a pretty desolate place, needing something colorful and cheerful to brighten the functional furnishings, he knew well from his own experience. Besides, he rationalized, the bouquet in Hilary’s room was wilting. He opened the cooler intent on buying the pink roses.

His hand on the vase, second thoughts plagued Gray. Sending Hilary or Amanda flowers amounted to more personal involvement than was wise given their professional relationship. He glanced again at the bouquet, tempted beyond his ability to resist. He knew how much Amanda loved plants and flowers, after all she’d grown up on a farm. But she mustn’t figure out where these came from.

Given the fiasco over the pizza, he decided he had better use more stealth. The pink roses provided too much of a clue. Gray studied the other choices and settled on an arrangement of vivid red and yellow carnations in ceramic container shaped like a clown. Perfect for a sick kid, even if they were really intended to cheer her mother.

He picked up a gift card preprinted with a get well message and stuffed it in the envelope unsigned. Sauntering up to the volunteer manning the cash register, he paid for his selection and enlisted her aid. She wrote Hilary’s name and room number on the envelope and promised to see that the flowers were delivered to the nurses station on Hilary’s floor.

*****

Amanda wandered to the window, enticed by the shaft of glorious sunlight pouring through the glass. At the time she’d been too angry for the significance to sink in, but since their disagreement Gray’s enigmatic parting remark kept replaying in her mind. What had he meant by personal experience? Surely he alluded to being raised by a single, domineering parent, nothing more. Yet, the lament in his tone had suggested something else. Could it be he was as lonely as she? The speculation haunted her.

She returned to the rocker and picked up her clip board, staring at the blank paper. She’d completed a dozen greeting card illustrations since the surgery, but drawing had lost its appeal. She gazed off into space, trying—mostly unsuccessfully—to forget Gray.

Two days ago she’d been delighted to be assigned this pleasant room. Today, seized by cabin fever, it seemed like a prison.

"I come bearing gifts," a student nurse spoke softly from the doorway.

Amanda rose from her chair, grateful for the distraction. Taking the clown vase from the young woman—Anna Goff, according to her name tag—she buried her nose in the flowers. The spicy scent filled her head. She set the arrangement on the cabinet next to the rocker. Removing the envelope tucked among the blooms, she opened the card. The donor had forgotten to sign the enclosure. She turned it over hoping for a hint to the giver’s identity. Nothing. Nor did she recognize the handwriting on the envelope.

"Anna, did you see who brought the flowers?"

"No. They were left at the nurses station and since I was coming to check on you, I said I’d deliver them."

"Darn. I don’t know who to thank. There isn’t even a florist name on the envelope."

"I’ll ask the nurses, but I wouldn’t count on them knowing anything. There were a bunch of flowers out there." She checked Hilary’s water carafe. "Is there anything you need? Anything at all?"

The hospital staff did everything in their power to accommodate the parents. Amanda felt like an honored guest.

"No, thanks," wistfulness crept into her tone, "I don’t think so."

"I just came back from lunch. It’s really nice outside. Already in the middle forties. I can stay with Hilary, if you’d like to go out for awhile."

"Oh, I couldn’t."

"Why not? She’s napping. It’ll do you good."

Amanda observed her baby. She slept soundly in spite of the noise from the hall. It had been six days since the surgery, and Amanda had not left the hospital. The walls were closing in. On top of that, her back ached from the uncomfortable fold out recliner on which she slept, and her leg muscles were kinked from lack of use. The sunlight beckoned. Selfish or not, she couldn’t resist. "Okay, you talked me into it."

"No need to hurry back. Maybe if I hang around long enough that gorgeous hunk will stop by."

"Gorgeous hunk?"

Anna heaved an exaggerated sigh and stacked her hands against her breast. "Doctor Oh-be-still-my-heart Townsend. Half the female staff is panting after him."

"Oh...my." Once upon a time, long ago, she’d reacted just as strongly to Gray Townsend. A funny feeling hit her stomach. A pull of attraction, a vague rivalry, she wanted to nix and couldn’t. He’d once been hers, something she couldn’t forget, no matter how hard she tried.

The attraction grew stronger every time Amanda saw Gray. She didn’t agree with everything he said, but she couldn’t deny he was a handsome, thoughtful man. Maturity had enhanced his good looks; the cane added to his mystique. He didn’t demand respect; it evolved naturally. He tempered his orders with a smile and was considerate of everyone. As special as he’d been at twenty, he’d improved with age. No wonder he was the object of all those crushes.

"Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed what a hunk he is?"

"Well, now that you mention it." Darn it all. The Doctor Townsend of today combined with her memories of the dashing young Gray of yesterday was a potent blend. The last thing she needed was a recognition of him as anything other than her daughter’s physician. Enough! Gray had been in her thoughts too much lately. She was going for a walk. A change of scenery was bound to clear her head.

Amanda plucked at her aqua sweats, suddenly conscious of her looks for the first time in many, many moons. A Christmas gift from her parents, her mom had decorated the top. Even though the outfit was her newest, it was still a loose fitting sweatsuit. Sure would be nice to put on something more flattering, but these would have to do. Her choices were sweats, sweats and more sweats. Comfort had been her prime consideration when she’d packed. She shrugged into her coat and slung her purse strap over her shoulder. "I won’t be long."

"Take your time."

Outside, Amanda gulped a deep breath. The air was still, and compared to recent days, warm. Midwest weather at its fickle best! Unbuttoning her down-filled car coat, she set off down Dodge Street at a brisk pace, sidestepping puddles of melting, dirty snow. The city thoroughfare was lined with shops, fast food joints and motels—everything from small strip shopping centers to the large Crossroads Mall. The mall with its unique tent-like twin domes beckoned. It was far enough away to give her cramped muscles a decent workout, yet close enough to get back in a reasonable length of time.

Sweat trickled down Amanda’s back by the time she entered the mall, crowded with Saturday shoppers. She headed straight for a bookstore in search of a couple of inexpensive picture books. Her daughter might not be tired of the selection she’d brought from home, but Amanda was.

Passing a cardboard dump displaying a novel just released in paperback that she’d been dying to read, Amanda mentally reviewed her checkbook balance. She kept on walking. The price of that volume would buy her dinner tonight.

Barring further complications Hilary would be dismissed in two or three days. Amanda expected Roland’s child support check in the mail held at the post office. Her finances were worse than tight, they were exiguous. She needed to get back to work desperately. Even then she’d require her ex-husband’s aid at least until she could land another high wage job. She hated depending on anyone—especially Roland Wagner—for money or anything else.

After paying for her purchase, she stepped backward, right into a solid body. Something clattered on the floor at the same time a firm hand steadied her. She breathed in a fresh scent, a pleasant combination of the great outdoors and clean smelling after-shave.

"Oh. Sorry." The words came automatically as she turned to look at the person she’d bumped. Oh lord, it was... "Gray."

"Hello, Mandy." He set a selection of books on the counter.

She stared, the definition of the term hunk stood before her. He wore an unfastened quilted vest over a hooded pullover sweatshirt. Wisps of dark hair peaked around the edges of the opened neck. The faded navy blue fabric, shrunk after many washings strained across his broad chest. The man had well-developed muscles camouflaged under his lab coat. Athletic as he’d been in college, his shoulders hadn’t been as wide, she was sure.

Ancient baggy jeans failed to hide his bulging thigh muscles. Since meeting him again she’d been aware he was physically fit, but until this moment she hadn’t paid enough attention to his body to ascertain the reason. It was obvious he participated in some sort of fitness program. Muscles like his didn’t develop by chance.

She met his gaze, seeing an intensity that had once been intimately familiar. Emotions a decade and a half dead took wing like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Her skin turned clammy and her insides trembled.

How could she respond to this man who only yesterday had angered her so much she wanted to spit nails? Her reaction shook her to the core.

"I’m glad you’ve taken a break," he said.

"Yes," she answered, too tongue-tied to say anything else. She glimpsed at the gold watch encircling his wrist as he dropped his credit card on top of the books. "I need to start back. It’s a hike and I didn’t mean to be gone so long."

The sooner she was back in the protective confines of the hospital the better. She could deal with him in surroundings that required proper etiquette.

"Wait a minute—" he bent and retrieved his cane from the floor "—while I finish here and I’ll drive you back."

"No, that’s not necessary." The clerk slid the credit slip across the counter for his signature. Seizing the opportunity, she escaped to the door.

Had that really been frustration she’d seen in his expression? Surely not. She was nothing to him but the mother of a patient. Wasn’t she?

*****

"How does going home sound?" Gray asked Amanda two days later, careful to keep their conversation strictly professional. Their encounter at the bookstore had left him frustrated. However, he saw reason for encouragement at the same time. Even though she refused his assistance, she seemed more aware of him as a person. Such a little thing and yet, he’d take any nugget that he could get, no matter how small. Biding his time required all the forbearance he could muster.

The brightest smile he’d seen since she’d told him she was pregnant with their child illuminated her face. "Wonderful!"

"She’s ready." A pang speared his chest at the thought of ending his daily visits. Hilary was cute as a button and had wormed her way into his heart from the first moment when she’d squatted at his feet. As much as he wanted to keep them in Omaha, he couldn’t. Their home was in Sioux City, and home was the best place for Hilary to finish healing.

He eased into the recliner, stowing his cane between his knees. "When you get home watch the incision for infection. Showers instead of baths...you know the routine. The Steri-Strips will fall off on their own. Take her temperature twice a day and wean her off the aspirin gradually. No salty foods. Any questions?"

"No other restrictions?"

"That’s it. Kids Hilary’s age heal fast. Their recovery isn’t hampered by being scared of what could happen. Let her play all she wants without getting over-tired. Have your family doctor check her out next week, and I want to see her in four weeks."

Amanda sank into the rocker cushions as if all the starch had washed out of her. "I can’t believe it’s over!"

He hoisted himself to his feet. "Believe it, Mandy."

He glanced at his patient, who was about to dump the contents of the trash can on the floor. Scooping her up, he deposited her in Amanda’s lap. "Some of your troubles are just beginning."

"So I see," she said.

Gray ruffled the child’s hair. "Keep that up, Princess, and I’ll have to call you Trouble."

"Rubble!" Hilary tried to parrot.

He chuckled, enjoying as he always did, kid’s antics. His gaze locked on mother and child, imprinting their Madonna-like portrait in his heart, a precious memory to tide him over until he saw them again. Four weeks loomed ahead like a century of drought.

Amanda rose from the rocker, her daughter draped over her hip, with the same lithe grace she’d had as a nineteen-year-old. "Thank you for all you’ve done for Hilary. There aren’t words to express how grateful I am—"

He didn’t want her gratitude, he wanted her love.

"Could I presume on past friendship—" she looked uncertain and vulnerable "—and give you a hug?"

They’d shared so much more than mere friendship. Did she remember? He couldn’t forget. A hug couldn’t begin to assuage his yearning for her, but for now it would have to do. "Sure," he said moving closer.

Her free arm enveloped his shoulders and tightened. The delicate scent of lily of the valley teased his nose. Her soft breasts flattened against his chest. Was this pleasure or torture? He circled her waist in a slack hold, questioning his sanity. He remembered all too well how quickly one thing led to another with them.

Hilary tugged on his white streak. He yelped, more surprised than hurt.

"Oh no, sweetheart, turn loose," Amanda scolded, taking a step back to disengage her daughter’s tenacious fingers. She smoothed his hair in place, her touch sending shivers along his scalp.

The gesture was unbearably familiar to Gray. She used to love to let her fingers meander through his collar-length locks until his taut body suffered from want. It had been a mutual pleasure; he had loved the gentle torment.

Pivoting on his good leg, he stumbled slightly from the abrupt maneuver. If it hadn’t been for his cane’s support, he would have toppled in an ignominious heap at her feet.

"Good luck, Amanda." His voice sounded thick to his own ears. "Call my office if you have trouble, otherwise, I’ll see you in four weeks."

"Four weeks," she repeated.

Was there a catch in her voice? He couldn’t be sure and didn’t dare stick around to figure it out. He breathed deeply, departing the room with as much haste as his limited mobility permitted.

Amanda sank like a rock into the recliner, the tips of her fingers still tingling. His hair...oh lordy! Molten lava memories scorched her. How often had he laid his head in her lap while her fingers threaded his thick locks? He wore it shorter and more conservatively styled these days, but it was still soft and silky, except for the white streak. The snowy stripe was course and springy, an enticing contrast in textures.

It was a good thing Hilary was ready to go home. She needed some breathing space before she faced her daughter’s cardiologist again.

Chapter 6

It’s got to be here! Amanda rifled through the stack of mail a second time, searching for the familiar envelope. Bills, ads, and get well cards for Hilary flashed before her eyes. No check. Roland had never been late before. Why now when he must realize her expenses were astronomical? She pushed her hair off her face and reached for the phone, only to shove it away again. She’d call him later, after the long distance rates went down. A couple of hours wouldn’t make any difference.

She roamed around, touching the furniture and straightening picture frames. The thin layer of dust didn’t diminish her satisfaction in being home again. If she had any sense she’d get with the program and give the place, if not a thorough cleaning, at least a lick and a promise. No! For once she wasn’t going to be sensible. Hilary was asleep and Amanda owed herself the self-indulgence of a hot shower and a nap before the opportunity passed.

Even the soothing warm water didn’t lessen her dread of contacting Roland. Begging wasn’t her style. However, there was always the possibility that the check was lost in the mail or something equally beyond his control. She needed the money and if he didn’t know his support payment hadn’t arrived there was nothing he could do about it.

She hoped that one day soon, all Roland’s checks could go in Hilary’s college fund. To make that goal possible, Amanda must increase her earning power. For the time being expanding her client list was her only option.

Yawning, Amanda toweled off, wilting by the second. Tiptoeing into the bedroom she shared with Hilary, she realized she was much too tired to do anything but sleep.

*****

Amanda jotted the information about the new client she’d just secured on her appointment calendar with a sigh of satisfaction. That was it. This addition would take the last little bit of time she had to devote to work. If the truth be told, she really didn’t have the time to take on the account, but the contract was too lucrative to pass up. The sooner she was totally self-sufficient the better. Over the last two years, she’d learned to function on less and less sleep. No need to stop now, just because Hilary was better.

Cradling the telephone receiver, Amanda rubbed her stiff neck. Difficult as she found it to solicit business, her call had been easier than her earlier conversation with Roland. He had apologized in an off-hand way for the late check. He’d written it, then failed to mail it. No big deal. Well, to her it was a very big deal! At least he’d promised to send the money right away.

His attitude about the check was bad enough but his perfunctory concern for his daughter’s health had stung, even though she expected nothing more.

In a sense, Amanda recognized she’d reached a sort of closure during her conversation with Roland. If she’d harbored even the faintest hope—fear?—that he’d take an active interest in Hilary when she was well, he’d made it clear that nothing had changed as far as he was concerned. She shrugged and shook her head, as if to dismiss him from her life. His decision, his loss. Her relief.

Other than being cranky once in awhile from the discomfort of her healing incision, Hilary was doing well. Amanda had allowed herself to relax somewhat, consequently she’d slept more soundly in the last two weeks than she had since her daughter’s birth. Even though sack time was limited, she rested better. And it showed. Instead of eggplant purple, the circles under her eyes had faded to pale lilac. She’d even managed to gain a few pounds.

Still she worked long into the night. Hilary needed attention during the day. Boy, did she ever! Her daughter was intent on making up for lost time, climbing everything in sight—even up the kitchen drawers—exploring. Amanda’s vocabulary was mired in negatives—"no, Hilary; don’t do that, Hilary; that’s not a good toy, Hilary, let’s play with this one." The change in her daughter was a heaven sent miracle.

Amanda’s life was full to the brim. Funny thing though, at odd moments she found herself staring off into space. Every single time it happened the daydream centered around Gray Townsend. She’d add up a column of figures and instead of a total, she’d see him, his face etched with concern as he offered her the use of his guest room. Slapping together a sandwich she’d remember how he’d eased her tension by reminiscing over their long ago snowball battle. And last night just before she’d fallen asleep, she’d ached, longing to run her fingers through his black and white hair.

She rotated her shoulders and sighed. For eight days he’d checked on Hilary at least once a day, sometimes more often. His rounds had been the highlight of those endless hours. Always professional, he’d still managed to convey his concern for her as well as his patient.

She missed him. Oh, lord, how she missed him.

Only partially conscious of her conduct, she had leaned on him during Hilary’s hospitalization. He made it so easy by being there when there was no one else to share her fear. She liked the selfless, caring person he’d become. Before he’d been brash and self-indulgent, to a lesser degree than one might expect considering his privileged background, but those traits were there all the same.

Amanda dropped her head in her hand, mentally damning herself for a fool. What was she doing blowing up a little consideration into something deeper? Fifteen years ago Gray Townsend had made it abundantly clear what he thought of her. If he had changed his mind at any time in the ensuing years he could have contacted her through her parents.

For all she knew he had a special lady friend, maybe even a significant other. The thought hurt, yet she to consider why. She and Gray shared nothing more than a professional association. That was all it could ever be.

A familiar sound from the kitchen halted her reverie. Cracking egg shells? No, couldn’t be. She and Hilary occupied the apartment alone and Hilary was asleep in her crib.

The noise came again. Sure sounded like breaking eggs. Amanda got up to investigate.

She peeked into the bedroom on her way by. The crib was empty! Now when had the little stinker learned that trick? And how had she accomplished it so quietly? Amanda acknowledged she’d been so deeply lost in her thoughts of Gray that she hadn’t heard a thing. Another crackle speeded Amanda’s footsteps toward the kitchen.

She skidded to a stop in the doorway, too stunned to move into the room. The refrigerator door was propped open with the step stool. Her supposedly napping daughter sat on the floor, illuminated in the swathe of light from the appliance bulb. Amanda’s gaze shifted from the most godawful mess she had ever encountered, to Hilary’s angelic face, wreathed in one of the sweetest smiles her mother had ever seen. Breaking the last of a dozen eggs on the vinyl floor, Hilary chirped with glee and slapped her hand into the glutinous substance. Then the little cherub rubbed the slimy goo into her hair. Talk about a halo supported by horns!

Amanda groaned, hiding her face in her hands, while tears welled in her eyes and laughter bubbled in her throat. Her little girl looked button-popping proud of herself. Raw egg mixed with smashed shell covered the toddler from head to toe, as well as the floor and the refrigerator.

By rights Amanda should be upset by the damage, but the kid looked so darn cute. More important, she had attained a long sought goal. Hilary, who had been deathly ill, was now a full-fledged member of the terrible-two club. Rivers rolled down Amanda’s cheeks. Hilary was normal—really normal—at long last! A weight slipped from Amanda’s shoulders, allowing them to shake with laughter. Her kid was having so much fun. Mercy! Amanda wondered how she was ever going to get the mess cleaned up. She strode across the room, lifted the sticky stool out of the way and shut the refrigerator door.

"You, young lady, are supposed to be in bed," Amanda scolded, her teary laughter sabotaging the stern intent of her reprimand.

"See, Mama, eggy," Hilary said, displaying the yellow yolk oozing off her clubbed fingers.

"Yes, eggy. You’ve made one glorious mess!"

Just as Amanda stooped to pick up the culprit, the telephone rang. Let the machine get it, she thought. It rang a second time. Hilary couldn’t make the disaster any worse and the call was probably a client. She reached for the wall phone.

*****

Gray leaned back in his desk chair, the telephone pressed to his ear. He’d fought calling Amanda for two long weeks. Today the need to hear her voice proved more than he could withstand.

"This is A—manda Wag—ner." Laughter and weeping choked her speech.

What the—? "Mandy, it’s Gray Townsend. Are you okay?"

"I’m fi—" Another sobbing laugh came across the line. "I’m fine."

"You don’t sound fine. What’s going on up there?"

"Hil—Hilary..." Amanda caught her breath and started again. "Hilary’s..."

"What’s wrong with Hilary? Is she sick?"

Gray thought he heard a plop but couldn’t be sure because Amanda was laughing or crying—he couldn’t tell which—so hard. She sounded hysterical. Something akin to fear crawled up his spine. If anything happened to Hilary now he wasn’t sure her mother could handle it. For that matter, he wasn’t sure he could either. "A—man—da! Please! Tell me what’s wrong."

Amanda calmed enough to get out a coherent sentence. "You should see your patient, Gray." She broke into another spate of uncontrollable laughter.

"Amanda, so help me I’ll...I’ll..." He couldn’t think of a threat dire enough to make her talk. Gray frowned in frustration. People usually jumped to do his bidding. "Tell me what’s happening up there."

"She’s bro—broken a whole do—dozen eggs on the floor and she was dan—cing in them until she slipped and f—fell on her bottom. The look on her face was priceless!"

He breathed a relieved sigh and laughed with her. He’d bet Princess was mighty pleased with herself. A childish squeal in the background confirmed his supposition.

"Oh, no, Hilary. Yuck!"

"Now what?" Gray was almost afraid to ask.

"The raw egg’s quivering in her hand and she’s trying to control it with her tongue."

"This I’d like to see."

"I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry."

"Sounds like you’re doing both."

"It’s marvelous that she’s well enough to get into mischief, but honest to Pete, I’m not sure how I’ll ever get the mess cleaned up. She’s smeared egg everywhere. But that’s not why you called?"

"In a way it is. I’m checking on my patient." And you. He hoped his tone sounded official. It was hard to keep the tenderness in his heart out of his voice, but until he deemed Hilary recovered from her surgery, she was still in his care. He must maintain the proper relationship with her mother.

"She improves more everyday. I can’t keep up with her. She climbed out of her crib for the first time today."

Good going, Princess! The sooner the better. I’m impatient to court your mother. "Sounds like you have your hands full. Anything medically you’re worried about?"

"No. I’m having difficulty adjusting to having to watch her every second. I mean, I was always alert before, but this is a whole new ball game. She moves faster than lightning. She’s curious and eager, investigating everything. My daughter doesn’t know the meaning of the word fear."

Or no, Gray added to himself. "I’d say she’s progressing like she should. Call me if you have any questions. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks." He wondered how he’d survive the eternity. "And Mandy?"

"Yes?"

"Don’t let her wear you out. Get some rest yourself."

"Yeah, sure," she replied.

He understood why Amanda found reprimanding her child difficult. Gray practically bit his tongue to keep from reminding her that Hilary needed discipline. Her rebuff of his previous advice still stung. He wouldn’t score any points playing the heavy again. The brutality of his long ago rejection was a big enough obstacle to overcome. Besides, without observing mother and daughter firsthand he couldn’t be sure Amanda needed a reminder. Discretion being the better part of valor, he kept his mouth shut.

"Good-bye, Mandy. Call me if Hilary has any problems."

"I will. Thanks for calling."

Amanda cradled the phone, encompassed in a familiar warm glow. She reveled in Gray’s attention. Once long ago, when she was a college freshman away from home for the first time, he’d taken the edge off bouts of homesickness with unexpected phone calls. He’d seemed to know exactly when she needed a boost. Today’s call proved a similar day brighter.

She leaned over and hoisted Hilary in the air, holding her at arms length. "Bath for you, my friend."

She ran a warm tub, filling it a few inches. The Steri-Strips had fallen off Hilary’s incision, but Amanda wasn’t sure it was healed enough for a long soak. Depositing the egg soaked overalls in the sink, she stood her daughter in the water and began washing. She couldn’t get Gray’s phone call out of her mind.

His voice alone had the power to send her head straight to the clouds. That would never do. His call had been a professional courtesy, nothing more. Doctor Townsend had bedside manner in abundance. Amanda cautioned herself against confusing his professionalism with something more personal. Still it didn’t hurt to dream. Or did it?

*****

"Looks like snow," Amanda grumbled under her breath, noting the angry dark sky as she headed south on the interstate. Last night’s TV news had forecast flurries. Please, please, let the weatherman be right! The only appointment available this week was today at four o’clock, which meant they’d have to return to Sioux City after dark. Night driving bothered her enough without the danger of snow to make it ten times worse.

She aimed a quick peek at Hilary, babbling her own language from the car seat beside her. "How you doing, Toots?"

Hilary sneezed. Amanda snatched a tissue from the dispenser under the dash and swiped at her daughter’s nose. "No, Mama, no," she protested, pushing Amanda’s hand away.

"Sorry, sweetie. I’ve got to clean your nose."

With the exception of the colds that plagued them both, life in general looked better than it had in a long time. As far as Amanda could tell, Hilary was healing without any further setback. Her skin had lost it’s bluish cast, and her breathing was easy. Snug fitting clothes gave proof to her improved appetite.

Business-wise Amanda retained all the clients a one-woman operation could handle. Her accounting firm would never make her rich, in fact she’d all but depleted her bank account paying bills yesterday, despite the belated arrival of Roland’s support check. By spring her daughter should be well enough for Amanda to feel comfortable leaving her with a baby-sitter while she sought more lucrative employment in the corporate world. Although necessary, her heart ached at the thought of placing Hilary in someone else’s care.

The biggest difference in Amanda’s outlook lay in the fact that she—not Roland Wagner or Hilary’s heart disease—was in control of her life.

*****

Limping into his office, Gray brushed snow from his hair. "Sarah," he said to the receptionist, "do we have any open appointments later this week?"

"No, sir. Nothing until next Wednesday at one."

"Pencil in Hilary Wagner. I’m going to try to intercept them before they leave Sioux City. The roads are getting bad out there."

Seated at his desk, Gray punched in Amanda’s number from memory. Torn between ensuring her safety and his burning desire to see her again, he waited until the answering machine picked up. "Amanda, it’s Gray Townsend. If you haven’t left for Omaha yet, don’t. The roads are bad down here. We changed your appointment to next week. Call the office as soon as you can."

He hung up, stymied. She was probably on her way. The forecast certainly wouldn’t deter anyone used to winter driving. The only thing he could do was hang around until she called or showed up. He’d sweat it out until he knew she was safe.

*****

An hour away from Omaha, the first fine flakes hit the Thunderbird’s windshield. Two miles down the road the pavement showed white. Amanda turned on the radio searching for weather information. She hoped this was a localized snow squall that would be over quickly. One thing was for sure. These weren’t flurries!

At two-thirty, ten minutes ago, the National Weather Service issued the following weather advisory: Eastern Nebraska and western Iowa can expect flurries up to one inch of snow this afternoon with clearing skies by nightfall. The temperature is expected to plummet to a low of ten below zero tonight. The current Omaha temperature is eighteen degrees.

A one inch forecast didn’t sound bad. Her car was equipped with almost new all-weather tires. In addition to her highway emergency kit, she carried standard winter survival gear in the car from November through April—a couple of blankets, a change of clothes and candy bars, plus a snow shovel and a bucket of sand. For this trip she’d packed a thermos of coffee, milk for Hilary and sandwiches for a thrifty supper. Her daughter’s diaper bag was loaded for every contingency. She’d been driving in snow since she was sixteen-years-old. No sweat.

They were out in the middle of nowhere, south of the Onawa exit. Interstate 29 never appeared more desolate. The corn and soybean fields lay barren, awaiting spring planting. The towns along this stretch of road were small, few and far between—not the best place to experience trouble.

The miles crept by; fifteen minutes seemed an hour. Thank God the temperature was cold enough that the snow wasn’t melting under the tires and they weren’t sliding. The swirling snow thickened. The windshield wipers slapped back and forth at the fastest speed, but their effectiveness was hampered by an ice build-up.

The radio personality droned: "We have just received an updated forecast. The storm has increased in intensity—"

"No kidding," Amanda muttered, straining to see.

"Expected accumulation is three to six inches."

Clutching the steering wheel in a death grip, her hands cramped. Leaning forward to peer through the gloom her eyes watered. Generally achy from her cold, her neck and shoulders kinked. She stole a glance at the dashboard clock. Twenty after three. At this rate, they’d be late. More than halfway to Omaha, Amanda decided it made more sense to keep going than to turn around. Better late than to have to make this drive another day. She prayed the plows would have the highway clear by the time she started back.

Setting her speed to maintain a safe distance behind the truck in front of her, she followed his red taillights. "If he goes in a ditch, we’ll be right behind him, Hilly," she said, scooting her bottom back in the seat.

There was no answer in English or Hilly-ese. Amanda took her eyes off the road for a split second. The angel had fallen asleep. Thank you, sweetheart!

She refocused her vision on the truck’s taillights. Suddenly the red intensified. Brake lights! Automatically her foot transferred to her own brake. Slowly, she depressed the pedal. "Please, don’t skid!"

The truck jackknifed.

Amanda shifted into low gear and pressed hard on the brake. Fishtailing, she came to a stop before she hit the truck which now blocked most of the highway. Setting the emergency flasher, she left the engine running and got out to see about the truck driver.

The operator, a burly fellow, descended the cab, shaking his head. "Damn deer. He ran off, but I betcha I clipped him. You’d think the dumb would animal find hisself a warm spot instead of jumping all over the damn highway."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Gotta check the rig." He tramped around to the front of the truck.

Several male voices called her attention to the gathering crowd.

"Rig’s driveable," the trucker said. "The grill’s dented, that’s all."

Amanda returned to her car, grateful the incident had not been a serious accident. Glancing at the dashboard clock, she realized there was no way of making her appointment in the middle of Omaha by four. She wished she could let Gray’s office know but out here in the middle of nowhere, there wasn’t a phone available and a cell phone wasn’t in her strict budget.

*****

Omaha rush hour traffic slipped and slid at a snail’s pace along Dodge Street. The latest advisory forecasted dangerously high winds and a wind-chill factor of twenty-five below tonight. The predicted snow accumulation was now eight to ten inches. At five-thirty Amanda stopped at a convenience store to use the phone. No point in going all the way to Gray’s office if they’d already closed for the day.

Twenty minutes later, she hung up the phone thoroughly discouraged, thoroughly exhausted, and thoroughly ill. With Hilary draped unhappily on her hip, she had ascertained from his answering service that Gray’s office was indeed closed. She hadn’t bothered to leave her name. After obtaining change from the counter clerk, she had called every reasonably-priced motel in the area. To her total disbelief every last one of them was full.

Darn it all! Why had she forgotten to put her credit card—which resided in her jewelry box to prevent temptation—in her purse before she left home? If she’d had it with her she could check into one of the high-priced downtown hotels. The fifty dollars in her wallet wouldn’t buy food and shelter at anything but a budget place. Her sneeze, echoed by one from her daughter, interrupted her train of thought.

Her cold had gotten progressively worse as the day wore on. Hilary was miserable, too. Traveling further was out of the question. Amanda ached all over, especially her arms and shoulders from the tension of guiding the Thunderbird under such adverse conditions. This was no night for sleeping in the car. She figured she’d probably survive okay, but there was no way she’d jeopardize Hilary’s new-found health with such stupidity. But where to go?

Gray had offered her the use of his guest room that night at the hospital. No, she couldn’t impose on him. There had to be another option. One glance at the child in her arms and she admitted shelter from the storm was far more important than her pride.

Flipping open the phone book once more, she hoped Gray had been thoughtful enough to list his home number. She scanned the column quickly. No Gray Townsend. Of course not, dummy. He hadn’t been back in Omaha long enough to be included in the current directory. She blinked when she saw a Spencer Townsend listed. Could that possibly be Gray’s father? She sucked in a breath as his disapproving face flashed in her memory. How could she bring herself to speak to him? Hilary whined, and Amanda noted her daughter’s dripping nose. This was her only option, one she couldn’t avoid, even though she’d rather do almost anything else on earth. Using her last thirty-five cents, she punched in the number before she lost her courage.

"Hello?" an accented female voice answered on the other end of the line. Amanda raised her eyes upward and mouthed ‘thank you’.

"I hope I have the right number. I’m looking for the Spencer Townsend who has a son named Gray."

"You have the right number."

"I’m an old college friend of Gray’s," she explained to the woman. "I just heard he’d moved back to Omaha and I wondered if you could give me his address?"

Scribbling quickly, she took down the information, amazed her ploy had worked. "Thank you."

Back in the car, she gave Hilary a drink and half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. "I’ll regret this later, but you’ll be happier with something in your tummy."

She consulted an Omaha map, then turned toward the center of town. It took forty-five minutes and plenty of endurance to negotiate the snarled traffic, but finally she turned onto the side street where Gray lived.

The impressive older neighborhood looked beautiful blanketed in pristine white. The half-light of the falling dusk contributed to the serenity of the scene. In the glow of a street light she watched a cotton-tailed rabbit, his fur fluffed out against the cold, scamper under a weighted-down evergreen tree. A bright red cardinal perched on a limb framed in the circle of light. It was the stuff that adorned Christmas cards. She imagined if she could smell through her plugged up nose, that the scent would be clean and fresh.

Locating the house number, Amanda stopped in front of a two story brick home with evenly distributed windows on either side of a center door. The postage stamp porch was covered by a roof supported by two white columns. Light streamed from the windows on the ground floor. What a welcome sight!

And yet her hands turned sweaty. She wanted to turn around and drive straight back to Sioux City. Not possible, Mandy. The howling wind shook the car and cold air seeped into the interior. Even though she’d stopped the engine less than a minute ago, the windshield was completely covered.

"C’mon, Toots, let’s go before I talk myself out of this."

"Go!" Hilary exclaimed.

On the porch Amanda paused, settling Hilary more firmly on her hip. Her options were extremely limited, but she still questioned coming here. Instinctively she’d sought help from Gray, the one person she knew she should avoid. Her subconscious must be trying to tell her something. An icy gust of wind stung her cheek. Quit dithering! She took a deep breath and jabbed the doorbell.

A short, olive-skinned woman opened the door. Her braided salt and pepper hair topped her head in a cornet. Dressed in brown slacks and a bulky tan sweater, she had a down-to-earth look about her. The one and only Ramona, had to be.

Amanda and Hilary sneezed in unison.

"May I help you?" Ramona asked.

"I’m Amanda Wagner. Is Doctor Townsend in?"

Chapter 7

"Oh, my goodness! Amanda! Bring that baby in out of the cold!" Ramona clasped her arm, tugging her over the doorstep. "Gray’s not home yet, but he’ll be madder than a wet hen if you don’t wait for him."

"Thank you." Overwhelmed by this effusive greeting, Amanda’s voice caught. Resisting the temptation to turn on her heel and rush headlong into the snowstorm, she stepped into a long central hall, dominated by an impressive curved staircase rising to the second floor.

"Aren’t you precious," Ramona cooed, her shining, black button eyes resting on Hilary.

Hilary buried her peanut-butter-and-jelly-sticky face in her mother’s neck.

"Let me take your wraps," Ramona said.

Setting Hilary on the oriental carpet, Amanda removed her own car coat, then wiggled her daughter out of her snowsuit. With deft movements she pulled the elasticized legs on Hilary’s denim overalls over the toddler’s ankles and tucked in her shirttail.

Amanda felt like a fraud. She’d come begging, a refugee from the storm, and the lady greeted her like a long lost friend. Obviously Gray’s housekeeper knew who she was. Amanda gnawed the inside of her cheek. How much did Ramona know about her past and current relationship with the good Doctor Townsend? Awkward and uncomfortable, she groped for something to say.

"You must be frozen," Ramona said. "Come to the kitchen and I’ll get you something warm to drink. By the way, I’m Ramona Sanchez, the housekeeper."

"Nice to meet you." Indeed it was nice, even though she felt uneasy, to meet Ramona after hearing so much about her. Only five minutes acquaintance and she’d lived up to her advance billing.

Following the woman, Amanda caught a glimpse of a formal dining room and a living room on opposite sides of the hall. At the back of the house she turned into a large country kitchen that must be every cook’s dream. Something simmered on the cook top. Even though her nose was stopped up, Amanda caught a hint of a heavenly smell. Bright and cheerful, the room incorporated oak cabinets and loads of butcher block counter tops. A rack of glistening pots and pans, suspended from the ceiling, hung over a center island. The breakfast nook was furnished with a round oak table, Windsor chairs and a matching hutch. An airy white lace swag decorated a bay window overlooking the back yard. Lively wallpaper featured yellow, red, purple and green fruit. The wooden chair rail was defined by a coordinating wallpaper border.

The kitchen’s cozy atmosphere was as warming as the central heat. From the little she’d seen, Gray didn’t live in haphazard bachelor digs. This was a real, honest-to-goodness home. She speculated, not for the first time, if a special woman shared his life.

"Would your little girl like some hot chocolate?" Ramona asked.

"Her name’s Hilary," she replied, hugging her daughter close. "A glass of milk’s fine."

"What a pretty name." Ramona patted Hilary’s back, then lifted her gaze. "Coffee for you?"

"Please. Black."

Amanda unclasped her barrette and caught a stray strand of hair. Sitting down at the table, her discomfort rose by the minute. She wished Gray would hurry.

*****

Turning the Lincoln into the driveway, Gray’s tires spun. He assumed the white blob parked at the curb in front of his house was an automobile. He wondered to whom it belonged and hoped they’d move it before—make that if—the city snowplows arrived.

Amanda hadn’t made her appointment this afternoon, nor had she called. He suppressed visions of her stuck in a snow drift somewhere. No sense in borrowing trouble. He didn’t blame her for not attempting the hundred mile drive in this weather, but he was surprised she hadn’t canceled. He’d waited until five-thirty before he left to check on a couple of patients at the hospital. He’d been counting on seeing her today, had fantasized about their time together during Hilary’s appointment for four long weeks. Disappointment didn’t begin to describe his reaction.

Where was she? The question nagged unabated.

Punching the garage door opener, he drove inside, glad to be home. It wasn’t a fit night for sane people to be anywhere but curled up in front of a blazing fire.

He reached into the back seat for the gray felt fedora he’d tossed there this morning and plopped it on his head. Ramona insisted he wear a hat in cold weather. He saw no reason to risk a scolding by showing up inside without it. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. His childish rebellions were part of the who’s-in-charge-here game he and Ramona played.

Stopping in the laundry room, he exchanged his snow-covered shoes for a pair of fleece-lined moccasins. Was that a child’s prattle? Who in the world could Ramona be entertaining? Her grandchildren lived overseas.

"That you, Gray?" Ramona called.

"Who’d you expect, the bogeyman?" he countered entering the kitchen. He halted in his tracks and blinked, as if to clear his vision. Amanda—yes it really was Amanda, safe and sound sipping coffee at his kitchen table. Dressed in rust wool slacks, and an ivory fisherman’s sweater so bulky it hid her shape, she looked warm rather than alluring. Nevertheless, a torrent of longing raced through him. He was so glad to see her he didn’t question why she was in his home.

"Surprise!" she cried, then spoiled the effect by punctuating her exclamation with a sneeze. She dug in her slacks pocket for a tissue.

Her eyes were glassy and she still looked bone-tired. "A very pleasant surprise. I worried—" an understatement if there ever was one "—when you didn’t make your appointment."

"I’m really sorry. I didn’t allow for a sneak attack storm or an accident—"

His heart jumped to his throat.

"—by the time I arrived in town your office was closed."

Hilary slid off her mother’s lap and toddled toward him, her arms raised. "Up!" she demanded.

Gray tossed his hat and coat over a chair. Crouching, his knee made an audible pop. Balanced by his cane, he rose, Hilary straddling his hip. "What accident?" he inquired, keeping his panic at bay while he wiped Hilary’s drippy nose with his handkerchief.

"The truck in front of me grazed a deer and jackknifed, blocking both lanes. It took a few minutes to maneuver the rig back on the road. No big deal, except it slowed me down."

His heart settled in his chest. "You scared me there for a minute. I’m glad nobody was hurt."

"Hilary fussed, twisting her head from side to side to avoid his ministrations. He studied Amanda, then Hilary. "Ramona, the guest rooms are made up, aren’t they?"

"Always."

"Amanda and Hilary are staying the night."

"But-but—" Amanda sputtered. Visibly collecting herself, she stood up, her back ramrod-straight. "Thank...you."

She wears her pride like a badge of honor, he thought. Her easy capitulation surprised him. "I know you hate letting anyone do anything for you, Mandy, but tonight you don’t have a choice. I don’t need my medical degree to see you’re in no condition to drive, especially in a snowstorm."

"I know." She should tell him she’d come seeking shelter, but couldn’t make herself admit her dire need when his imperious decision made asking for help unnecessary.

"I’ve got a big pot of chicken stew ready," Ramona said. "Get washed. Dinner in five minutes."

Gray rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma’am." He turned to Amanda. "Sometimes she forgets I’m not five."

"I need to change Hilary."

"I’ll show you where."

"Where’s my coat. I left her things in the car."

"I’ll get them. What do you need?"

She shouldn’t let him wait on her, but the effort to don her coat and wade through the snow seemed impossible at the moment. She plucked her keys from the side pocket of her purse and dropped them in his outstretched hand, careful not to touch him. He looked strong and masculine, and she felt weak and vulnerable. At the moment, she wanted to bury her head against his wide shoulder and let him take care of her. She gave herself a mental shake. That would never do. "Her diaper bag’s on the back seat, and I’ve got a change of clothes in the trunk."

Her car told him several things he’d suspected. At one time she had been able to afford a sporty luxury automobile loaded with options, but her T-bird showed signs of wear and neglect. The cooler contained a meal, not just emergency rations. His first reaction was to instruct his office manager to tear up Amanda’s bill. She’d probably have kittens on the spot when she found out. He’d have to come up with a more subtle way to help her.

Minutes later, he returned loaded down with the requested items and the supper she’d packed. "I moved your car to the driveway," he said, disposing of his coat. "You can freshen up in the guest room."

"Thanks," Amanda croaked, hoisting Hilary on her hip. For the first time ever, her daughter’s weight seemed heavy.

They stepped into the hall at the moment the grandfather clock chimed it’s melodious tune. Upstairs, Gray took them to a room at the end of the hall which had been decorated for a child. Amanda gasped.

Seeing her startled face, Gray imagined what she must be thinking and mentally kicked himself for not preparing her. A child’s room in a bachelor’s home was more than a bit unusual. "Ramona stored most of my childhood treasures in the attic at my father’s. I had to find a place for them when he moved. With four bedrooms, it seemed better to furnish one with them, than to store them again."

Amanda nodded, unable to think of an appropriate response. However he rationalized it, he’d created a family place. It was easy to picture him surrounded by a brood of kids, a big obnoxious dog, and a loving wife. A warmth spread through her when she recognized the woman in her fantasy as herself. Instantly, she turned off the dream. That vision belonged to yesterday before reality had shown her the impossibility of that kind of happiness."

She stepped into the room, glimpsing his youth. A collection of Hardy Boys mysteries and well-thumbed classics filled two shelves of a built-in unit. Model airplanes and sports trophies occupied the rest of the space.

"I think Hilary will be okay if we barricade the bed with chairs," he said.

Amanda looked at the twin bed in the corner. Clearly, he didn’t intend for her to sleep in this room. "This is a great place, but she’d better sleep with me. We share a room at home. I might not hear her so far away."

Hilary squirmed to get down and made a beeline for the child-size table visible through an open door. Stuffed animals occupied the chairs.

"Amanda, I meant what I said about letting go. You both need your own space."

Was it possible to feel your own blood pressure rise? Who did he think he was, judging her living arrangements? "For your information, the other bedroom in my apartment is my office."

"I’m not—" his tone was placating "—criticizing. You’ll both rest better in separate rooms. If it’ll make you feel better we’ll leave the intercom open between your room and hers."

As if responding on cue the intercom crackled. "Dinner’s on the table."

Gray punched the button and spoke into the unit. "Down in a minute."

He turned around, facing Amanda. "The bath is the second door. Come down when you’re ready."

Leaving the room, he head-butted the wall, berating himself for his stupidity. It made sense that her quarters were cramped given what he knew about her situation. He wished he’d thought before opening his big mouth. Since he had no intention of backing down, he’d better find a way to encourage her to relax her vigilance without antagonizing her or they would never share a future.

*****

Amanda awoke the next morning feeling like her head was a cotton ball dispenser and her mouth the opening. She hadn’t slept well, between her stuffy head and listening for Hilary, despite the comfortable bed.

Her room, next door to her daughter’s, was delightful. Restful shades of bayberry and raspberry predominated throughout. The antique walnut furniture was accented by crystal lamps and pictures of Texas landscapes. The suite had its own bath, decorated in similar colors.

Amanda sat up and gasped when she saw the time. Hilary couldn’t possibly still be asleep. Wearing a pink flannel nightgown, a loan from Ramona, she dashed next door barefooted. The chairs used in lieu of a crib railing were pushed aside. "Hilary," she croaked, crossing to the adjoining playroom. Empty!

"Hilary!" She strained her voice, calling again and again, while checking the other rooms on the second floor. The only thing that registered in her panicked mind was her daughter was nowhere to be found.

She flew down the stairs and came to a skidding stop in the kitchen doorway. Panting for breath, relief washed over her. Her daughter, fully dressed, sat in the middle of the floor clattering a collection of plastic bowls and spoons. "There you are, Hilly."

Hilary barely looked up from her game. "Hi, Mama. Mona gave me ‘poons."

"Gracious, child, you’ll catch your death," Ramona scolded. "Get dressed. I’ll fix you breakfast."

"You should’ve awakened me."

"Gray wanted you to sleep. He brought Hilary down before he left for work."

Never since her daughter’s birth had anyone taken care of Hilary thus allowing Amanda to sleep late. She supposed the extra rest was intended as a nice gesture, but neither Gray or Ramona knew Hilary’s routine. They shouldn’t have taken over without consulting her first. She started to say as much, but stopped herself just in time. Gray, not Ramona, was the one she should chastise.

Her feet half frozen, Amanda retreated to the carpeted hall. "It won’t take me long to dress."

A disreputable set of grubbies, part of her winter emergency kit, comprised her change of clothes. The jeans were worn and shrunken from years of washings. An old oxford cloth shirt, frayed at the collar and stretched out crew neck sweater, thin at the elbows, completed the outfit. Thick socks covered her icy toes.

The reflection in the full length mirror told her she looked exactly like the person Spencer Townsend had deemed her: a country hick come to town. Looks can be deceiving, she reminded herself. She might be from the country, but she’d always spoken well and her manners were passable. The only time she had hay in her hair was when she helped with the haying.

Spying a telephone beside her bed, Amanda dialed Gray’s office. Minutes later, she hung up lost in thought. Doctor Townsend’s appointments were booked solid for the rest of the week. They had rescheduled Hilary for next Wednesday. She couldn’t hang around Omaha for seven days, nor did she want to make the drive down here a second time. His unbending receptionist assured her only a dire emergency would get her into see Doctor Townsend this week.

Entering the kitchen, Amanda was horrified by the breakfast Ramona set before her. "I can’t eat all that!"

Ramona waved her into a chair. "Try. You need meat on your bones."

"I need an appointment for Hilary before next week. Got any ideas? Gray’s receptionist wasn’t helpful."

"He’s up to his eyes this week. He’s coverin’ for another doctor who’s on vacation."

Whatever was she thinking? Why should Gray make an exception for her? In spite of her mild cold, Hilary was well enough to wait her turn. Amanda knew full well if he’d seen anything to spark concern he’d have done something about it last night. "In that case I’d better head on home and come back next week."

Ramona shook her head. "You shouldn’t be drivin’ all that way with your cold."

"I can’t stay here." Amanda forced down one last bite of toast. "I’ll gather up our things and get out of your hair. Shall I bring the sheets down?"

"Leave the beds. The maid service comes today. They’ll take care of them."

"Oh..."

"Gray insists this house is too much for me. Thinks I’m too old or something. The maids do the heavy work every other week."

"Oh," Amanda repeated, sensing a battle Gray had won. Ramona appeared to be past retirement age. While the house couldn’t be classified as a mansion, it was large. She agreed with Gray and was pleased to see his thoughtfulness. At one time he had taken people for granted.

Upstairs, she folded her clothes and put them in a plastic bag, then collected Hilary’s things. Reaching into her purse for her car keys her fingers encountered...nothing. She fished around among the contents, and finally dumped everything on the bed. No keys. Did she leave them in the car? No, Gray used them last. She went downstairs.

"Ramona, do you know where Gray put my car keys?"

"No. He probably left them on his dresser when he emptied his pockets. I’ll look."

"You don’t need to climb the stairs. I’ll go."

Admitting curiosity, Amanda paused in the doorway to the master bedroom, surveying Gray’s personal space. He’d left the bed unmade. Neatly folded, the paisley print bedspread lay on the padded bench at the foot. A black silky robe was draped on the bedpost. The mental picture of the clingy fabric molding his pecs and biceps curled her insides.

The cherry wood furniture looked new even though the style was eighteenth century. The door to the entertainment center was opened, revealing a twentieth century television set with a built in VCR.

She turned, a startled cry catching in her throat. On the wall above a chest of drawers her own laughing face, together with Gray’s, stared back at her. Had either one of them ever been that young and carefree? The portrait, taken to commemorate their engagement, hung where he could see it the last thing at night and the first thing in the morning. Why? He’d broken their engagement, not she.

Puzzled, Amanda crossed to a triple dresser. A few coins, a cleaning receipt and a prescription pad occupied a wooden catch-all. A brief tour around the room divulged a medical journal and Tom Clancy’s latest novel stacked on the night stand. The rest of the surfaces were clear of anything resembling pocket clutter. Rummaging through his closet to find the pants he’d been wearing last night seemed a gross invasion of his privacy. She’d delegate that chore to Ramona.

The telephone rang as she entered the kitchen. Ramona answered and handed it to Amanda. "It’s Gray."

"Hello," she rasped into the receiver.

"You don’t sound any better."

"I don’t feel any better either." Giving him no chance to reply, she rushed on. "Where’re my keys? You had them last."

"My coat pocket. Sorry. I’d bring them by, but I’m tied up at the hospital."

"Your receptionist said the first available appointment is Wednesday. I need to get back to Sioux City."

"Tell you what, stick around and I’ll check Hilary out when I get home."

Amanda heard a faint beeping over the wire.

"They’re paging me," he said. "See you tonight."

A vacuum cleaner roared in the hall. Hilary, objecting to the noise as usual, started to cry.

"Let’s take her upstairs," Ramona suggested, "while the girls clean down here."

Dragging Floppy by one ear, Hilary explored the wonders of the play room. Folded into wee chairs at the kiddie table, her mother and Ramona kept their protective eyes peeled. Hilary climbed a battle scarred, just-her-size rocking horse, beaming from ear to ear when she succeeded in producing motion all on her own. "Ride, Mama!"

"I see, sweetheart." Amanda turned to Ramona. "I can’t fathom a room like this in a bachelor’s home."

"Everything here was Gray’s as a child. He’s sentimental and a pack rat to boot."

"Is sentiment—" Amanda picked at her thumb nail for the first time since they’d left the hospital "—the reason our engagement portrait’s hanging in his bedroom?"

A fleeting something—joy or sadness?—flashed in the housekeeper’s eyes. "He hung it awhile back. You’ll have to ask him why."

Amanda nodded and changed the subject. If anyone could tell her about Gray’s recovery from the accident, it was Ramona. "I imagine his damaged leg made medical school difficult."

"By the time classes started in the fall following the accident, he’d been through all the surgeries and was in rehab. He’ll always have pain, but he’s learned to live with it. Hardheaded as he is, he’d rather die than let on he’s hurtin’. Some days are better than others."

Sympathetic tears burned behind Amanda’s eyes.

"He wouldn’t let that bum leg stop him once he decided on doctorin’. His father kicked up a fuss, but Gray’s worse than stubborn once he makes up his mind about somethin’. Nothin’ and nobody could prevent him from gettin’ his medical degree."

"He’s an excellent physician. I’ve been impressed with his manner with children," Amanda said.

"He sure loves the little ones." Ramona reached over and patted her hand. "He grieved a long time for the baby you miscarried."

Surprise and regret shot through Amanda. Their loss still hurt after all these years. "I needed him and I was sure he needed me, yet he pushed me away."

"And lived to be real sorry." Ramona headed to the door. "I’ll go fix lunch."

*****

Amanda filled the dishwasher contemplating Ramona’s telling remark while the housekeeper put the leftovers away. Was it possible... The doorbell pealed interrupting her train of thought.

Ramona returned from answering the door and handed her a paper sack. "For you."

"Me?" Opening the package, Amanda pulled out one of the prescription bottles. "Where’d this come from. There must be a mistake."

Ramona read the label over her shoulder. "It’s got your name on it. Gray’s listed as the doctor. Says to take every four to six hours for congestion."

Amanda didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful. The gesture was presumptuous, but she did feel rotten. If this stuff helped... She inspected the second bottle. A different cold medication for Hilary.

Ramona poured two glasses of water and got a teaspoon from the drawer. Shaking the correct number of tablets into her hand, she offered them to Amanda, a purposeful look on her face. "Take."

Having no energy to fight, Amanda swallowed the pills. "Now I see what Gray means about you."

Ramona ignored her and went to dose Hilary. "Her eyes are drooping."

"I’ll go put her down for a nap."

"Put yourself down, too."

Oh, yes, she understood. "Yes, ma’am."

*****

Despite her scratchy throat and clogged head, a sense of well-being wrapped Amanda in a tight cocoon. No one had taken care of her since...since she’d left her parents’ home.

Shedding only her jeans, bra and sweater, she tossed them on the foot of the bed. Snuggling under the covers, she fought a losing battle with guilt. In less than twenty-four hours, she had yielded to someone else’s care, allowing him to shoulder a small part of her burden. She’d glimpsed a dream, one she’d vowed to abandon. The price was far more than she could afford.

Between the portrait and Ramona’s cryptic remark about living to regret it, Amanda was totally confused. Could it be that he had missed her as much as she had missed him? Did he want her back?

Now that was a startling thought.

Hurt lurked around the corner. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she would run smack into trouble. Darn Gray, anyway. He managed to have the prescriptions delivered. He could’ve sent her keys at the same time.

*****

Anxious to get home to Amanda and Hilary, Gray executed a clean dive into the heated health club pool, setting off at Olympic speed toward the shallow end. He couldn’t run, nor could he walk long distances. Swimming, the only exercise that didn’t put undo strain on his damaged leg, provided the exertion needed to maintain strength in his muscles and a much needed outlet for stress. He’d started the routine as part of his rehabilitation, without perceiving the effect the training would have on the rest of his body. Workouts in the pool had built, and now preserved, his powerful shoulders. In the first few years following the accident the development of his shoulder and chest muscles negated his perception of himself as a ninety pound weakling with a limp. His battered self-esteem had soared as his body filled out.

These days he didn’t give his physique a thought. That is until the night Mandy cried on his shoulder. Her head resting against his chest had felt so right. He was secretly glad he could provide a firm, broad pillow for her use. They fit together like two connecting pieces of a puzzle. They always had. Blast it all! She belonged to him, snuggled against him or across the room—as long as they were together was all that mattered. He spent his days surrounded by people, but every time he thought of her a lonely ache swelled inside him.

His arms cut through the water, and he flutter kicked faster. He was running late tonight. He expected he’d get an earful when he got to Barrington Park. Well, so be it. If he didn’t take care of his leg he’d be back in a wheelchair himself, then who’d dance to the old man’s tune? He owed his father more than most children owe their parents, but even so there were limits. Dad itched to take over his life. They waged a constant battle for control, but unlike his sparring with Ramona, he and his father weren’t playing games.

Catching the drainage gutter at the side of the pool, Gray shoved his dripping hair from his eyes. Dad needed continued counseling. He wallowed in self-pity, refusing to accept his limitations and make the best of them or work to rise above them. Gray pushed off again. If anyone suggested Spencer Townsend could possibly benefit from psychological help the explosion would blow the roof clear across the Missouri River to Council Bluffs. A charged emotional scene risked an angina attack, but repressed anger and limited options were as great a danger. If his father’s attitude didn’t improve PDQ, Gray would have to insist on a psychologist. Going on as they were now jeopardized the mental and emotional health of both of them.

Finishing his prescribed number of laps, Gray hoisted himself from the pool and reached for a towel. He dreaded telling his father about Amanda. As cantankerous as Spencer was these days, Gray anticipated a jealous fit. Dad had never voiced a specific objection to his fiancée, although he had argued they should wait for Amanda to graduate before they married.

Notwithstanding those grounds no longer applied, Gray expected any competition for his attention would meet with strong and vocal opposition. There must be a balance between his needs and those of his father. He just had to keep looking until he found it. In the meantime, he opted for peace, deciding not to mention Amanda.

Gray kept his evening visit to his father brief. Every day it became harder and harder to make himself stop by the old man’s. He didn’t need the hassle after a long day, yet he couldn’t neglect Spencer. But for once he had a reason other than escape to go home. That had a nice ring to it—home to his two favorite females, three when he included Ramona.

Absconding with Amanda’s keys hadn’t been intentional. She had sounded so awful on the phone. Instead of telling her a messenger would drop them by, he’d suggested checking Hilary out tonight. The sub-zero weather combined with the child’s cold made a reasonable excuse to keep his small patient in Omaha. Mainly, he wanted Amanda close.

"She was sicker than Hilary at the moment. If Amanda went home, she would revert to her unrelenting routine, neglecting her own needs until her run-down condition made her vulnerable to any and every nasty bug making the rounds. The only way she would rest and get well was to stay where he and Ramona could take care of her. His vast patience was scraped thin. He’d be a fool to blow such a golden opportunity served on a silver platter.

*****

A slight noise—or maybe the howling wind outside—roused Amanda from a sound sleep. The door cracked wider revealing three shadows silhouetted from the hall.

"What time is it?" she rasped, her voice more hoarse than when she went to sleep. She sat up, leaning back against the headboard, and turned on the bedside lamp.

"Mama, Mama," Hilary cried, scampering over and climbing onto the bed. In the process Amanda’s discarded jeans and bra slid to the floor. "You ‘seep?"

Amanda prayed Gray wouldn’t notice her chucked clothes. She didn’t consider herself a prude, but she didn’t normally flaunt her underwear for public display either.

Hilary bounced on her thighs demanding Amanda’s attention. "I’m awake now. Did you sleep?"

Hilary bobbed her head. "My car," she said, holding out a vintage matchbox toy for inspection.

Amanda looked up at Gray, standing inside the door. "You shouldn’t let her play with that. It’s a collector’s item. She might lose it."

He shrugged. "So. If it makes her happy, she can have it."

Stepping toward the bed, his cane became entwined in her bra straps. He stooped down, disentangled the elastic and draped plain nylon garment on the footboard.

Cringing inwardly, Amanda pretended to be absorbed in her daughter. Don’t be foolish, she scolded herself. He’s seen bras before, including yours. The admonition didn’t stop the tingle in her breasts when she saw the stretchy fabric brush across his hand.

Gray hooked an arm around Hilary’s waist and hauled her off Amanda. Ramona slid a tray on her lap and took the toddler out of the room.

"We’ve eaten," Gray said, sitting on the side of the bed, "and I’ve examined your daughter. Eat while I fill you in."

His thigh rested against hers, separated only by the bedding and his slacks. It wasn’t hard to imagine the feel of his hair-roughened skin against her smooth counterpart. Mercy! These fantasies kept recurring, especially since she’d entered this house. What in Sam Hill was the matter with her? Her daughter’s doctor, she reminded herself yet again, was trying to apprise her of the results of his examination.

"With the exception of her cold, you have a healthy kid, Mandy. Her blood pressure and heart rate are right where they should be. Give her a couple of weeks more to heal and she’ll be good as new."

"That’s great to hear! It’s a miracle."

"I know. The little ones don’t have a clue as to how sick they’ve been. As soon as they feel better, they’re off and running. However—"

Amanda felt the blood drain from her face.

"—I don’t see any reason to take any chances while she has the cold. I want you to remain here until it warms up."

Amanda balked. She had a business to run! "How can driving home in a heated car make her worse? I know she has the sniffles, but it’s not like we’d be outside for more than a minute or two."

"What happens if you have an accident?"

"Not likely!"

"Remember the deer? Look, I admit I’m being cautious. Why risk it when it’s not necessary?"

Her head was fussy from congestion; her throat was lined with sandpaper. Staying here sounded like paradise, but impossible. She needed to work. And she couldn’t sponge off him.

"I certainly don’t want to jeopardize my daughter’s health, but I can’t stay here. I have clients who expect action on their tax forms soon."

"Does a few days make that much difference?"

If she was honest, she knew she wouldn’t accomplish a whole lot when she got home. Her own cold was a real humdinger.

"You’d be doing me a favor," Gray confessed. "With Hilary around for Ramona to fuss over, I get a breather."

He looked like a little boy, pleading to stay up past his bedtime. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was a genuine concern or a ruse. However, she felt awful. If she stayed here there was someone more than willing to watch over her daughter. A few late nights could repair any harm her work schedule suffered. By the time Hilary’s cold was better, she would be on the mend herself and could function on all cylinders.

Wavering toward agreement, one stumbling block remained. She wouldn’t accept his charity. "If I agree, I won’t freeload," she stated in an unyielding tone.

"Don’t be ridiculous!"

"I mean it. You said you needed someone to prepare your taxes. I’ll only stay if you let me do them."

He compressed his lips, a frown furrowing his brow. "You drive a hard bargain, lady."

"I do your taxes?"

"You win. I’ll have everything gathered together before you leave."

She grasped his hand. "Shall we shake on the deal?"
He leaned forward, his mouth hovering so close his warm breath caressed her cheek. His hands slid up her arms and pulled her to him. "I’ve a better idea."

Chapter 8

Gray’s lips caressed Amanda’s with the gossamer touch of a butterfly. She pressed closer, responding with a sweetness that demanded equal reply. Covering her mouth with his, his tongue explored the delicate line of her upper lip. The hunger he kept bridled gnawed deep inside him. His fingers stroked her soft, fevered cheek. It took several seconds before the significance of the warmth beneath his fingertips registered. Restraining the craving to deepen the kiss cost him dearly. He broke away and gazed into her liquid brown eyes. Intense, desire-filled, vulnerable eyes. At last, he’d uncovered a small chink in her heavy armor.

Brushing the back of his hand across her forehead, his suspicion was confirmed. Amanda’s damp, hot skin indicated an elevated temperature. Not much, but enough to remind him she wasn’t well.

Banking an inferno of sensation, he mentally recited the half-remembered words of the Hippocratic oath. His profession assisted healing and promoted good health. Carrying on with a sick woman wasn’t conducive to her healing or preserving his own health. Unable to relinquish contact completely, he scooted back mere inches, her hand clasped in his. "Mandy Mine, we’ll finish this when you’re feeling better," he murmured, his voice thick. "That’s a promise."

His free hand trailed her jaw and neck. Her hair was tangled and her nose red. She looked pitiful but to his yearning eyes she’d never looked more beautiful. He still couldn’t believe she was here in his home, where he’d longed for her to stay. Had he been ten he would’ve pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. The only thing better than having her occupying his guest room would be to have her ensconced in his own bed.

He wrapped his arms around her and cuddled her close. For once he didn’t feel the constraint of their official relationship. Hilary was in fine fettle. At last he could act on his hankering.

"I—" A deep, hacking cough stopped whatever she attempted to say.

Passion gave way to professionalism. "Stay put, I’m going to get your medication."

Amanda flopped back against the pillows and nodded, her cough preventing her from speaking.

Heading downstairs for her pills, hope bubbled inside Gray. Mandy’s response to their kiss—brief and circumspect though it had been—hinted at the ardor they’d once shared. Of course, he ought to be shot for starting something like that when her defenses were down. Then again, he figured he deserved a medal for the ultimate in self-control. As a young man he hadn’t been able to resist her sweetness.

Out of nowhere, the truth hit him with the punch of a heavyweight boxer. He’d been a user. During their courtship he’d relied on her for levelheadedness as he groped his way from spoiled rich kid toward maturity. Wise beyond her years, she had been a sounding board for his problems and frustrations, always willing to give whatever he needed, rarely asking anything in return. And he’d taken and taken, never understanding how much he’d depended on her strength or how one-sided their relationship really was until now.

He had loved her, as only a hot-blooded young man can love. Looking back he wondered if their love would have ripened into a balanced give and take partnership. Without the accident that had changed every aspect of his life, would he have learned that the world didn’t revolve on his axis? There was no question that he was a better person today because of the lessons learned during his struggle through rehabilitation.

This time around he wanted something more with Amanda than the honey of the kiss they’d just shared. As much as he ached for intimacy, he wasn’t looking for sex for lust’s sake. He longed to be there when she needed a prop, as she did now. He needed her there when he ran into rough spots. He wanted the fun times, the quiet times...the bad times. He guessed she was as lonely as he, a person surrounded by a crowd, yet having no one with whom to share her innermost thoughts and dreams. Or her fears. It sickened him every time he thought about her going through Hilary’s illness alone, and not only because she’d changed into one tough lady. She’d needed the emotional support only her child’s father could provide. Regret once again stabbed him.

At the bottom of the stairs he paused. Gusty February wind rattled the windows. The chill factor must be dangerously low. Thank God he’d succeeded in talking Amanda into staying. He’d be worried sick if she were traveling tonight.

"Did you convince her?" Ramona asked, following him into the kitchen from the library at the back of the house. Hilary darted in front of them, a ball of terrible two energy. The tyke was determined to make up for lost time and nothing—not even a measly cold—could stop her.

"She’ll stay on one condition. She insists on preparing my taxes."
Ramona shook her head. "Strong-willed woman. You two’ll spend half your time buttin’ heads."

He grinned thinking about how he and Amanda had sealed their bargain. "Negotiation adds spice to a relationship."

"I’d better put Merry Sunshine to bed before I havta haggle with her mother for the honor."

The pager clipped to Gray’s belt beeped. He muttered under his breath. He rarely objected to after hours calls but tonight he wanted to stay with Mandy. What he wanted didn’t matter; his patient’s needs did. He reached for the phone.

"I’ve got to go," he said to Ramona when he hung up. "Would you see that Mandy takes her pills? Don’t wait up for me, I may be awhile."

"Be careful." She handed him a warm, hooded parka.

"Always." He gave her a quick hug, then stooped down and kissed Hilary’s cheek. "Night-night, Princess."

"Night, Doc."

*****

Upstairs, Amanda lowered her jelly-legs to the floor, grateful she only had to walk as far as the bathroom. She wanted to attribute her lightheadedness to lack of oxygen, yet honesty insisted her cold wasn’t the only factor.

In itself, the kiss hadn’t been magical, but the enamored expression on Gray’s face had stolen her breath. His touch shifted her heart beat into overdrive. Only a blind person could have missed the naked desire in his eyes. How he could gaze at her like that when she must look like something the cat dragged in was beyond her, but he had. To possess that sort of power was heady stuff for a sick, cast-aside mother. It would be far too easy to fall in love with him again.

She’d been head-over-heels-crazy about the brash, coddled, though thoughtful, young man he’d been. The mature man was so much more appealing. He’d developed a tenderness and the self-confidence to let the emotion show that he’d lacked earlier. Attraction to any man scared her, but when the man in question was Gray Townsend, she was terrified, knowing how susceptible she was to his charm. She wanted to believe things could work out between them eventually, but deep in her heart she knew a permanent union wouldn’t happen. She had proved unable to keep Gray Townsend once before, just as she’d failed to hold Roland Wagner.

Stumbling across the bedroom, she headed for a hot shower. Maybe the billowing steam would clear her head. Allowing her impossible dreams a spark of life would lead to nothing but heartache.

*****

Amanda, freshly showered and wearing the borrowed nightgown, met Ramona and Hilary at the top of the stairs. "Gracious sakes, you can’t run around like that," the housekeeper scolded. "You’ll get chilled."

She headed straight for Gray’s dressing room. Amanda trailed along behind her, feeling more like a child than she had in more years than she could remember. It was a peculiar experience for a grown woman.

The dressing area included twin sinks set at right angles to each other, and a separate room for the rest of the facilities. Amanda winced when she caught her full length reflection in the cheval mirror. She looked like a waif from the streets of seventeenth century London. Her hair resembled straw and her cheeks had lost their bloom. The borrowed gown was sized for short and wide, not tall and thin. Any improvement in her appearance in the last month had gone down the drain with this cold.

Ramona retrieved a thick, terry cloth robe from the walk-in closet. "Put this on. I’ll find you some socks."

"Thanks." A great addition to my scarecrow image, she thought and wondered why her appearance mattered. She hadn’t impressed anyone with her looks in a long time.

"You’re welcome," Ramona replied, digging into the chest of drawers.

Amanda sat on a chair in the sitting area of Gray’s spacious bedroom and pulled on thick athletic socks. "I’m surprised by all the bathrooms in a place this old."

"It was renovated two years ago. Except for the kitchen, the downstairs rooms weren’t too bad. Up here there were lots of nooks and crannies, tiny bedrooms and only two baths. They knocked out walls, modernized the plumbin’ and put in the spa. Now it has only four bedrooms but they each have their own bath."

"There’s a spa?" Amanda grabbed her daughter by the overall strap to keep her from climbing on Gray’s four poster bed. Her latest trick was jumping on mattresses.

"Yes. Sometimes Gray hurts so bad, it’s the only thing that helps. He won’t take pain pills. Says they mess up his thinkin’ and he never knows when he’ll be called out on an emergency."

The more she learned about Gray Townsend the more she discovered to love. Darn shower hadn’t cleared her head much. She wasn’t in the market for love.

"I’m ‘posed to see that you take your pill," Ramona said, handing her the tablet from the bottle in her apron pocket and went to the bathroom sink for a glass of water.

"Doesn’t Doctor Townsend trust me to take my medicine without an armed guard?"

Ramona chuckled. "Don’t get in a stew. He was goin’ to bring it himself but he got an emergency call."

"Oh." Amanda caught her daughter around the waist and removed her meddling fingers away from Gray’s nightstand drawer. She shoved the drawer shut with an audible snap. What he kept in that drawer wasn’t her business. She didn’t want to know. "C’mon, Trouble, bedtime for you."

"You go back to bed," Ramona insisted. "I’ll tuck her in."

The housekeeper sounded bossy as usual, but the longing in her eyes told a different story. Amanda didn’t have the heart to deny her such a simple pleasure.

"I’m slept out. Is it okay if I watch TV?"

"Sure, downstairs in the library."

Amanda wandered through the living room. Elegant, traditional furniture was arranged in a grouping that invited conversation. A grand piano occupied one corner. Across the room, a lighted curio cabinet caught her eye. Displayed inside were dozens of wild animals, all shapes and descriptions. Some were old, some were inexpensive, others looked like they cost a fortune. She found the sassy-faced tiger she’d given Gray for his twentieth birthday. Her heart skipped a beat. He may have driven her from his life, but he hadn’t rid himself of every reminder of her. What could these souvenirs of their past mean? The possibilities unnerved her.

Amanda opened folding doors and stepped into the comfortable library. A cardigan sweater was slung over the back of the chair at the computer. The evening newspaper cluttered the floor next to a reclining Queen Anne chair. A blazing fire warmed the book-lined room. On closer inspection, Amanda observed that the logs weren’t real, and the flames came from gas jets.

Snatching a hand-crocheted afghan off the back of the couch, she curled up in the butter-soft leather recliner and punched on the remote control.

A few minutes later, Ramona stuck her head in from the hall. "Hilary’s flaked-out. If you’re okay, I’m going to bed."

"I’m fine. Thanks for taking care of her. Good night. See you in the morning."

"If you need me, my number’s programmed into the phone. Hit two."

"I thought you lived in?"

"Sort of. My apartment’s over the garage. Gives us both some privacy. Buenas noches."

"Sleep well."

*****

Just before midnight, Gray crept into the house. For the first time he was deliberately quiet, careful not to disturb his guests. It was comforting not to come home to an empty house, even if everyone was asleep, especially tonight. Losing a patient always hurt, no matter how hard he tried to inure himself.

Voices filtered in from the direction of the library. Annoyed, he headed toward the sound. Ramona must be having a grand old time regaling Amanda with his youthful exploits. Crazy women! They both should’ve been in bed long ago.

Limping heavily, he entered his favorite room in the house. The voices came from a late night talk show. He glanced to his special chair. Legs covered with the afghan, Amanda lay sound asleep. Gazing at his guest, his heart swelled. Dear lord, how he loved her!

Their time had finally come, he knew it deep in his bones. Seeing her dozing in his chair seemed right, natural. She fit into his home like she belonged. A wave of possessiveness washed over him. There could be only one reason for that: she did belong here and to him.

That analysis smacked of trying to own her, something his independent Mandy would never tolerate. All he asked was the exclusive right to share her life.

He brushed a lock of hair from Amanda’s forehead. Relaxed in sleep, the lines of worry and exhaustion were eased, allowing her natural beauty to surface. She looked so peaceful. The robe she wore had fallen open. Her unfettered breasts rose and fell with each breath, the nipples tenting the flannel fabric of her nightgown. How could such a demure garment be so sexy? His body reacted in typical male fashion. He couldn’t bring himself to rouse her, even though his body screamed for him to haul her upstairs and make passionate love to her for the rest of the night.

Gray tucked the afghan around her shoulders and switched off the lamp. Like a lovesick fool, he gazed at her by the flickering firelight until his leg protested. Gathering his wits, he turned off the TV and shut down the gas.

Aside from Amanda, right now what he needed most was a soak in the spa. He’d never sleep until his damned leg loosened up, not to mention the rest of his tense muscles.

The spa was across the hall from the bedroom occupied by Amanda. He stripped off his clothes and started to slip into the soothing water when discretion stopped him. He wasn’t alone tonight. Extracting an old racing-style suit from the towel cupboard, he tugged on the skimpy garment.

A whimpering cry from down the hall caught his attention. Hilary was awake. Better get her settled before Amanda heard her.

"Hey, Princess, what’s the matter?" he crooned, moving the barrier chair and lowering himself to edge of her bed.

"Mama," Hilary answered, her voice thick and her nose running.

Grabbing a tissue, he swiped at her nose. "Mama’s sleeping and you should be, too."

"No!"

The tyke sounded stuffed up and not the least bit sleepy. In fact, she was wide awake and raring to go. A session in the warm water would help her as much as it would him. He lifted her from the bed. "Want to swim in a big tub?"

*****

Amanda awoke with a crick in her neck. Heavens! She hadn’t meant to fall asleep down here. Halfway up the stairs she heard water splashing followed by deep, masculine laughter and a childish squeal.

She padded up the carpet-covered steps, her sock-shod feet making no sound. The door to the spa room stood ajar. Peering into the plant filled chamber, a smile curved Amanda’s lips. Hilary, buck naked, cavorted in the hot tub while Gray kept a watchful eye.

Studying him Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Her stomach did a little flip. The soft, indirect lighting cast a romantic glow. Immersed to the waist, beads of water glistened on Gray’s expansive shoulders. His chest was veiled with silky, straight hair that arrowed below the waterline. Mercy, the man was gorgeous! Her fingers itched to trace that intriguing arrow. She expelled her pent-up breath and forced her attention back to her daughter.

Hilary slapped her hand on the water, showering Gray. He laughed, his whole face lighting up with joy, and flicked a droplet on her nose in retaliation.

They were having so much fun, Amanda hated to stop it. However, hard play in the middle of the night didn’t aid sleeping, which was what her daughter was supposed to be doing. And Gray had the audacity, the unmitigated gall, to criticize her parenting!

Amanda nudged the door open. Fixing a scowl on her face, she set her arms akimbo, hoping her pose presented the fierce picture she intended. She cleared her throat loudly.

Gray looked up, a sheepish expression on his face. "Uh-oh! We got caught, Princess."

Her little girl’s mischievous grin tugged at her heart. A month ago she hadn’t been able to bounce all over the place like she could now. "Mama ‘wim?"

"It’s time you were in bed, young lady." Amanda’s attempt at a stern tone missed the mark by a wide margin. She snatched up a towel and knelt down, reaching for her daughter. "Come here, Toots."

"No!" Hilary screeched, retreating behind Gray’s leg. "‘wim!"

He grasped the toddler under her arms and rose in seeming slow motion, like a god from the sea, water sluicing down his body. Amanda stared, transfixed. At least he’d worn a suit, though its form fit and postage stamp size left little to the imagination. Not that she needed imagination. She remembered—oh, how well she remembered!—vividly and in Technicolor every inch of his body. Heat radiated from deep inside her. She quivered and swallowed hard. How was she supposed to deal with a terrible twos tantrum when all she could think of was how her errant body responded to his?

Gray thrust her slippery-eel daughter into her arms, a sagacious grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Damn the man. He knew the effect he had on her; he’d always read her like a book. Hilary screamed and wiggled, forcing Amanda’s attention to the child. "No! No! ‘wim," she demanded, her shrill voice ear-splitting.

Amanda shot Gray what she trusted was a killing look. He’d started this by playing indulgent uncle. Just then, an alarm, more deafening than Hilary’s wail, went off. Amanda nearly jumped out of her skin. Her daughter’s temper fit changed to fearful tears.

Gray climbed out of the tub and turned off the noise.

"What in tarnation was that?" Amanda asked, her voice wobbly.

"My alarm. It’s best to use a hot tub with a buddy so you don’t fall asleep and cook yourself. Since I don’t have a buddy I set an alarm for twenty minutes. It won’t stop until I haul my carcass out and turn it off."

"Wise precaution."

"Yeah. I’ve dozed off in there more than once."

He was exhausted and hurting and still he’d seen to her daughter’s needs rather than wake her. Humbled by his consideration, Amanda was miffed at the same time. He should have settled Hilary down or gotten her mother up to take care of her rather than let her get wound up.

"Let me put Hilary to bed, then I want to talk to you."

"I’ll be in my room."

*****

"Gray?" Amanda tapped on his door.

"Come in."

He stood in the dressing room doorway, shrugging on the black silky robe that had set off her fantasy—was it only yesterday? His hair was mussed, the white streak feathered in disarray. Her fingers curled; she clamped a lid on yet another flight of whimsy before her erotic thoughts had a chance to soar. She’d come to fuss not to dream.

"You wanted to see me?" He crossed to the sitting area, sagged into an overstuffed chair and propped his bare feet on the matching ottoman. He gestured toward the chair’s mate. "Sit down."

"I can’t believe you—" The slick fabric of his robe slid open revealing his left leg. Under the robe he wore only a pair of shorts made of the same supple material. Stretched before her, bathed in the bright light from the reading lamp between their chairs was a long, muscular limb, crisscrossed with fine white scars. There wasn’t a thing repulsive about it, yet a sick feeling crawled through her belly. Every one of those white lines represented pain, pain that never completely went away. Poor darling, no wonder he needed the relief the spa provided. Her intended scolding died on her tongue.

Gray followed the direction of her gaze, dismayed. He flipped the robe over his leg, shielding as much of the disfigured limb as possible from her view. Though he’d learned to live with his handicap, he was still self-conscience about the unsightly road map etched in his skin. "You were saying?" he queried, his tone as blasé as he could make it.

Fiery sparks shot from her eyes, catching him off guard. "You went through hell and wouldn’t let me help you."

The truth of her accusation stung. "That was a long time ago, Mandy. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done."

"I could’ve held your hand. I could’ve cheered your triumphs, no matter how small. I could’ve cried with you. You said you loved me, yet when the chips were down, you shoved me away."

Gray sensed he was dealing with a long festering wound, one he’d inflicted on her. If there was any hope for them, the abscess would have to be lanced and the poison purged from her system.

"I did love you. That’s why I drove you away. For what it’s worth, forcing you to leave was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t want you to have to live—" he thrust the robe aside and raised his scar-riddled knee "—with this. As bad as it is now, I never expected it to be this good."

"Do you think I cared what your leg looked like? You could’ve lost the darned thing and it wouldn’t have changed how I felt about you. I loved you, you dumb ox. Don’t you understand what that meant?" She paused only long enough to draw a ragged breath. "It meant commitment. As in the ‘in sickness and in health’ kind of commitment."

He shifted his vision from her livid face to the portrait on the wall. The love shining in her eyes as she gazed at his photographed self confirmed the truth of her assertion. Still she’d been young, too young to have had to face the long term agony of his rehabilitation.

"Breaking our engagement seemed the right thing to do at the time. I couldn’t ask you to share an uncertain future."

Amanda surged to her feet and paced to the foot of the bed. Holding onto to the bedpost, she swung around, facing him again. "Gray, for a smart man, you sure are dim-witted. You asked me to share an uncertain future when you asked me to marry you. Tomorrow doesn’t come with an iron-clad guarantee."

He hung his head. "I never meant to hurt you."

She wrapped her arm around the post, clinging to the lathed pillar as if she required the support to stand. "I needed you. Your rejection on top of everything else, was almost more than I could bear."

Her pain, then and now, was killing him. His throat clogged; words were difficult to utter. "It wasn’t you—never you—I rejected. It was me—what I’d become. You’d lost our child, and aside from all my obvious problems I was terrified I couldn’t give you another one. If ever anyone was born to be a mother, I was sure that woman was you." He stopped and locked his gaze with hers. "Turns out I was right."

"You can’t have children?" Her voice came out in a tortured whisper.
He grinned. "Well, I don’t run around having unprotected sex, but as far as I know, my worry was unfounded. I’m trying to say you’re a wonderful mother. You should have a house full of kids."

Stark, unvarnished pain crossed her face. "There’s this small problem of fathers. I don’t pick them very well. You see," a sob caught in her throat, "when I need them the most, they leave me."

He pushed himself out of the chair and moved, without benefit of his cane, to her. Disregarding his robe’s loosened sash, he pried her away from the bedpost and folded her into his arms, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair. "I’m sorry, love. So, so sorry."

"I’d lost so much—you and the baby—and nobody understood. I grieved for our child. Everyone told me to buck up. If I heard the inane platitude ‘it’s really for the best’ once, I heard it a thousand times."

"My dad said the same thing. I remember trying to argue with him and not having the strength. I mourned alone."

"We needed each other."

"I was trying as best I could to be fair to you."

"Oh, Gray, that was misguided chivalry." She sniffed into his shoulder, her hands pressed against his bare chest.

He held her close, savoring the feel of her against him. He doubted she was even aware that her fingers were kneading his flesh. Heat rushed through his veins, his groin tensed. Neither spoke for the longest time. When the throbbing in his bum leg couldn’t be ignored any longer, he sank onto the mattress, taking her with him.

In the stillness of the night, the grandfather clock stuck one. If he had any sense he’d tuck them both under the covers. He had another long day ahead of him. However, one didn’t stop in the middle of a surgical procedure just because it was taking longer than expected.

"What was your husband like?" he probed, pillowing her head on his shoulder. Her hair, fragrant with herbal shampoo, tickled his nose and mouth.

"He’s an ambitious man, on the fast track to success. On the surface we were well suited. He swept me off my feet, taking me to the best places in town, turning my head with effusive compliments." She shook her head. "I should’ve seen through his blatant flattery.

"I hadn’t dated much since our break up; I’d been too busy completing my education, then establishing my career. All of a sudden, I was facing the big three-o. If I was ever going to have a family, I had to get started before it was too late."

"Oh, Mandy." His arms tightened around her.

Her words tumbled out, as if he hadn’t spoken. "I knew I didn’t love Roland, not like I should have, but I honestly thought we could make our marriage work. It wasn’t until later that I realized all he wanted was a gilded trophy on his arm. I met the requirements perfectly: I had the looks, the poise and the proper profession for his ideal mate. We both forgot to take into account that our values were different."

Acid-like guilt ate at his insides. Because of his rejection, she had gone through an unhappy marriage. He’d known breaking their engagement was a mistake for him personally, but until now he hadn’t understood how much she had suffered from his misguided decision. If only he could roll back time and undo the biggest blunder of his life. Shoving the self-flagellation aside for another time, he listened to the rest of her story.

"Things were fine until I got pregnant. Roland was ambivalent about fatherhood. Day to day, nitty-gritty parenting didn’t appeal, however, a beautiful baby suited the image he wanted to cultivate. When Hilary was born flawed he couldn’t cope. He withstood the strain until we brought her to Omaha for the initial surgery. By the time I took her home from the hospital he was gone."

"The bastard." Gray’s indictment was savage. He knew such abandonment happened all the time, but he’d never been able to fathom how any decent man could walk out on his family when they needed him most.

"Don’t be too hard on him. Our break-up was as much my fault as his. The marriage was doomed from the start. He’s a shallow person, without the emotional depth to contend with anything ugly. All the indications were there in plain sight. I just refused to recognize them until it was too late."

He stroked her hip casually. She was so calm, so charitable. Whatever pain she’d experienced, she accepted the situation now. Or so it appeared. If she hadn’t, she hid the lingering ache well. "Now that Hilary’s well, will he want her back?"

"I doubt it. His daughter will always have scars to remind him she wasn’t perfect. He’s married again, has picture-pretty step-children. Hilary’s better off without him."

It occurred to him that she hadn’t coughed or sneezed once since they been talking. The medicine must be working remarkably well. He brushed her hair, for once free of the confining barrette, away from her face and laid his cheek against her forehead, careful not to scratch her with his morning beard. Her skin was cool against his. She sounded better and looked better. Unfortunately, he knew better than to equate a lack of symptoms to being completely well.

Silently he cursed the M.D. behind his name. If he were some ordinary Joe, he’d take advantage of the fact that he had Amanda right where he’d dreamed of having her for weeks—on his bed. Lying here beside her and limiting himself to holding her might just kill him yet.

"Gray?" Her voice sounded tentative. "Can I ask a nosy question?"

"Sure. I asked you several."

"You’ve spoken fondly of your time in Texas, and both your office and my room are decorated with Texas scenes. Why did you come back here?"

"I never intended to, but my father suffered a severe stroke. He’s confined to a wheelchair, his left side partially paralyzed. He’s having a hard time adjusting to his limitations. I’m the only family he has. I figured I should be close."

She hugged him closer. "I’m sorry."

"So am I—for both of us. It’s hard to see him a shadow of the strong, dynamic man who raised me. His attitude’s terrible: self-pitying and hostile. Our roles are reversed in a way. I’m caught off-stride. Everything is topsy-turvy. He’s never accepted my career choice and is still vocal about his opposition. You can imagine how we go round and round."

"What does he want? You’re tops in your field."

"That’s the problem. He had a hard time giving up his dream of me taking over his firm. Grudgingly he’s conceded, but he hasn’t given up on trying to get me to take his place in the social stratum. Basically he wants to call, if not all, at least some of the shots where I’m concerned."

She raised her head and looked into his eyes. "He didn’t want you to grow up."

"I guess. After my mother died, he devoted every spare minute to me. We were so close when I was young. He worked hard and was socially prominent because the exposure was good for his business. Despite all that, I always came first. He really suffered empty nest syndrome when I went to school. I love my dad..."

"But?"

"But I wish he’d accept the fact that I know what’s best for me. He went to great lengths to prevent me from going to medical school. If I didn’t know better," he couldn’t squelch a wide yawn, "I’d think he suffered his stroke on purpose to force me to come home."

Amanda sat up and gazed down at his face. His cobalt blue eyes were watering from exhaustion. Every line on his pale face looked bottomless. "It’s late and you have to work tomorrow. I’m going to bed and let you get some sleep."

"You could stay," he mumbled around another yawn.

She eased off the bed. Bending over, she kissed his cheek. "Not tonight," she said, squeezing his hand. His eyelids had already drifted shut.

She covered him with the quilted bedspread and went to her own room, her thoughts churning.

It was apparent Gray had no clue that Spencer’s machinations had played a part in their split. During the whole rehash, Gray had spoken only of how he’d felt, never a word about his father. Gray’s tale sounded as if the two men’s relationship was on shaky enough ground without her making it worse by revealing Spencer’s suggestion that she sever the engagement. In light of what Gray had told her about his current dealings with his father, she decided to keep her knowledge to herself. She didn’t know exactly how Spencer had achieved his goal, but when she didn’t fall in with his wishes, somehow he’d convinced Gray marriage to her would be a mistake. If she’d had any doubt about who really bore the responsibility for Gray’s sudden change of heart, Amanda was now absolutely, positively sure the culprit was Spencer Townsend.

The more she thought about the situation, the more certain she became that keeping quiet was the right thing to do. Nothing could change what Spencer had done. Speaking out would only exacerbate an already strained relationship. If Gray were constantly torn between her and his father she and Gray would only find themselves in a similar predicament. She wanted to be part of their family, not to steal his only son away from his father.

That thought caught her so completely off guard she almost gasped out loud. There were plenty of clues to indicate Gray wanted her, but until this moment, she’d refused to consciously permit herself any reciprocal notion.

He wasn’t the same person he’d been fifteen years ago, yet he was. Today he was strong, self-reliant and compassionate along with all the qualities that had drawn her to him in the beginning. She wanted to trust him to be there when she needed him. But how could she? Spencer’s demands were great and the man’s hold on Gray firm enough that his son had made drastic changes in his own life to stand by him.

Amanda understood herself well. She was proud of the independence she’d achieved. Unless she found someone she could rely on to be there when she needed support she couldn’t see giving up her autonomy. Her feelings sounded self-centered put into words. On the surface maybe they were, but to always take a back seat to the demands of a man who disliked her intensely was asking for failure from the start. She’d learned her lesson well and had no intention of becoming involved in another ill-fated union that would adversely affect her daughter. Hilary deserved a close, loving family. If that meant just the two of them, so be it.

Not that she faulted Gray for his actions. His loyalty to his parent was one of his admirable characteristics.

Amanda crawled into bed, depressed. The old man may not know he’d been engaged in battle, but it already looked like he would win again.

Chapter 9

A shaft of warm sunlight beamed through the guest room window. Amanda curled her bare toes into the raspberry carpet, lost in thought. It was past eleven o’clock. All was quiet and the room next door empty. Hilary must be downstairs with Ramona again. She tried to work up righteous indignation against Gray and Ramona for usurping her maternal responsibilities. It stuck in her craw that, without so much as a by-your-leave, Hilary was cared for while her mother slept, dead to the world. It hurt to admit she desperately needed the rest or she wouldn’t have awakened as the morning waned. Admitting she wasn’t invincible, that even she required care, hurt worse. She was expected—at least she expected herself—to stand tall against all odds. Having withstood so much, how could she bend over something so minor as a cold?

Could it possibly be that she’d come here subconsciously seeking the help, the respite, her pride wouldn’t allow her to ask for outright? Whatever the reason, with Gray’s and Ramona’s pampering, she felt human again.

In fact, she was so much better the drive home wasn’t a daunting thought. Hilary, if her frolicking last night was any clue, was certainly well enough to travel.

And leave she must, before the attraction between herself and Gray got out of hand. To remain only courted disaster. Last night had been a reawakening for her. After years of numbness, feeling returned to her heart. Staying would lead to an anguish even more heartrending than before. How many times could one mend a broken heart? Better to leave now than to tempt fate and find out hers was past repairing.

*****

Ramona’s normally spotless kitchen was a total disaster area. Blocks scattered on the floor created a mine field for the unwary. The table held the remnants of a tea party. Stuffed animal guests, tea towel bibs tied around their necks, slumped in the chairs. Tiny cars were housed in a cereal box garage in the corner by the hutch. Hilary sat on the floor, babbling her own happy song, to the accompanying clang of a stainless steel spoon beaten against a copper-bottomed pot. The din allowed Amanda to slip into the room unnoticed. She headed straight for the coffee pot seeking her beginning-of-the-day jump start.

"Oh, good morning, Amanda!" Ramona greeted. "I didn’t hear you."

"Not surprising with the Hilary Wagner jam session in full swing."

"She’s havin’ a ball."

"And you’re inviting a headache."

"Oh, pooh. She’ll get tired of drummin’ in a minute and move onto somethin’ else."

"Looks like she’s moved to several something elses already this morning."
"We’re havin’ a grand old time." Hilary toddled over and raised her arms for Amanda to pick her up. Ramona patted her youngest charge on the back. "Aren’t we, Sunshine?"

Hilary smiled, a gleeful little smile that signaled to her mother that she was up to no good, and whacked Amanda on the head with the spoon.

Amanda stooped and set Hilary on her feet, taking the spoon away in the process. "We don’t hit people, Hilary," she said in a firm voice, amazed that she reprimanded her daughter easily. Six weeks ago she wouldn’t have dared for fear of an adverse reaction.

Hilary stomped her foot and grabbed for her toy. "My ‘poon."

"Not to hit," Amanda said, dropping the implement in the sink. "Where’s Floppy?" she asked.

"Here he is," Ramona offered, aiding in the distraction.

Amanda gulped a reviving slug of coffee. "As soon as I get our things together, we’ll hit the road."

Ramona’s gaze dropped to the toddler wreaking havoc in her kitchen. She raised her head, her face pained. Amanda never imagined such distress over such a simple thing as getting rid of uninvited guests.

"You promised Gray you’d stay."

"Until the weather warmed up." Amanda stepped to the window and checked the indoor-outdoor thermometer. "It’s already twenty degrees and getting warmer. We’ll be fine."

Tears welled in the housekeeper’s eyes, and she averted her head quickly. "Please stay."

The plea seemed wrenched from Ramona’s soul. Amanda wanted to crawl under a rock. She didn’t wish to inflict pain on this dear woman. "We’ve got to go. My work’s piling up."

"Couldn’t you have your papers shipped here? You could use Gray’s computer. I’ll pay for the shipping."

Her off-the-wall suggestion spoke reams of the housekeeper’s desperation. Only Amanda could sort through the files and extract the exact forms and references needed for each account. Besides Gray’s computer wasn’t equipped with the necessary software. "Why is it so important that we stay?" Amanda queried, cutting to the heart of the matter.

Ramona sniffed. "I’ve enjoyed your company so much, I just don’t want you to go yet."

Amanda topped off her cup and poured a second mug of coffee. Gently, she led her friend to the table. She cleared a couple chairs; bear joined dog on the floor. "Are you so lonely you need me and my walking demolition squad cluttering up your house?"

Ramona traced the pattern on her mug with her finger. "This is a happy place with you here."

"We’ve been nothing but trouble."

"You’re no trouble! None at all. I’ve loved havin’ you and Merry Sunshine around."

"Do you have family, Ramona? Besides, Gray?"

"Not here. My son married a Spanish girl when he was over there with the Air Force. She never liked the States much. After he was killed in Vietnam she went home to live with her parents. Took my grandson with her. He’s grown and married now. Lives in Barcelona. They’ve got a little girl a year older than Hilary and a five-year-old son."

"Do you ever see them?"

"Gray’s Mother’s Day gift last year was a trip to visit them."

Any Mother’s Day gift from Gray to his housekeeper said a lot about the precise nature of their relationship, but the magnitude of the gift said even more.

"Stay the weekend, that’s all I ask." Ramona studied Amanda’s face intently. "You still have circles under your eyes."

Torn between the self-preservation of leaving and the self-preservation of staying, Amanda dropped her head in her hands and sighed. She felt human again, barely. A few more days cosseting, and she’d be able to tackle her work with her accustomed zeal. On the other hand, staying here would mean spending more time with Gray. As much as she enjoyed his company, she feared the consequences. Her resistance wore thinner with each encounter. She reminded herself once again that she was a two-time loser at romance.

Hilary sauntered over and tugged on Ramona’s sweater. Her little face pursed with concern, she plunked her beloved Floppy in her new friend’s lap. "Mona sad?"

"Oh, you sweet thing," Ramona cried. Blinking tears, she lifted the baby in her arms.

Amanda’s resistance crumbled. A few more days would mean a great deal to Ramona. How could she repay the good lady’s kindness by denying something Amanda could give so easily? Her fears seemed petty when pitted against a request that in reality benefited her more than Ramona. Surely Amanda could hold her own emotions in check for such a short interval. With Gray’s busy schedule, she wouldn’t see much of him anyway.

"All right. We’ll stay until Sunday."

*****

"Dad!" Gray hollered from the entry hall of his father’s home.

Ilsa, the housekeeper, appeared from of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron. "Mr. Townsend didn’t get up today, Gray."

"Is he sick?"

"Charles didn’t think so. Said he thought Mr. T was a, and I quote ‘mulish son of a sea cook.’"

Charles was, among other things, an emergency medical technician. He lived in and helped Spencer manage. Gray had interviewed countless applicants before he found someone with the kind of compassionate authority his father needed. If Charles thought his dad was being a mulish son of a sea cook, Gray trusted his assessment.

"I’ll check Dad out," Gray said foregoing the elevator for the grand staircase. Using an elevator in a private home smacked of giving in to his disability. With every fiber of his being, he fought any concession to his damaged leg. He wished his father shared his outlook. When Gray was struggling to walk again, Spencer had pushed and prodded, celebrating each and every smidgen of progress with him.

Spencer’s I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude had come as a complete surprise. Gray didn’t understand his father’s about-face, consequently he didn’t know how to change it.

He reached the top of the stairs, with the dictum, "try, try, try again" flashing through his mind.

"About...time...you got here," Spencer crabbed as Gray entered the master bedroom.

"Can’t you be more original than that?" His father’s whining grated on his nerves like chalk squealing on a black board. "That’s been your standard greeting for at least a month."

"You...have been...neglecting...me."

Not a day passed that Gray didn’t talk to his father, most often in person, though he resorted to the telephone occasionally. Still a wave of remorse settled over him. Yesterday he’d only stayed fifteen minutes. Amanda’s presence had drawn him home like a siren’s song. Gray knew his visits were the highlight of the old man’s day. If only there were some way to convince Dad to break his self-imposed isolation.

"I’m sorry you feel that way." Letting on that he might have been even slightly guilty would arm Spencer with a powerful weapon. Gray was too smart to fall into such a trap. "Why are you still in bed?"

"I...do not feel...well."

Lowering himself into the chair beside the bed, Gray bent forward and rested his chin on his hands which were stacked on his cane’s handle. Might as well settle in for the siege. "Do I need to call Doctor Casey?"

"No."

"Okay. Anything interesting happening on the news?"

"Did not...listen."

Gray picked up a book from the table beside the bed. "This any good?"

Spencer shrugged. "Have not...read it."

Gray sighed. It was going to be one of those visits. He’d never developed the talent for carrying on one-sided conversations.

An idea came to him, one he didn’t like for himself, but he hoped would appeal to his social father. "Dad, let me take you to the Country Club for dinner. You haven’t been in a long time."

"No."

"Why?"

"No."

Dad sounded just like Hilary when she didn’t get her way. Too bad he couldn’t pick him up and make him go the way he could her. "It will do you good to see your friends."

"I...do not...wish...to go."

"You aren’t trying to help yourself." Exasperation slipped into his voice. He paused and tried a cajoling tone. "You need to get out. You used to enjoy doing things. You can still do your civic service, even if you can’t do everything you once could."

"You...should be...taking...my...place." The pressure to conform to his father’s standards wasn’t new. "The Y...MC...A needs you."

Gray recited a litany of colorful swear words under his breath. Just once he’d like a pleasant visit with his father. "All those boards you served on are important, and the Y is a worthy project. I don’t deny that. But I don’t have the desire or energy to devote to them."

Spencer snorted. Gray wasn’t sure whether the response signaled disagreement or understanding, but figured disagreement more likely. "The Heartland...Ball is...Saturday. I...bought... tickets for...you."

"Damn it, Dad. I bought my own tickets. I’m not going though. I hate those affairs."

"A heart doctor...should attend...the Heart...Association ...benefit. You need...to see...and...be seen. Good for... business."

I’m sick and tired of his little manipulations, Gray silently fumed. Patience hadn’t worked. Well, two could play Spencer’s game. "All right. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll attend on one condition. You go with me."

"No deal."

Interesting that there had been no hesitation getting those two words out. Gray shrugged. "Okay. I didn’t want to go anyway."

"You...go...without me." There was no mistaking the direct order.

"I said no. I meant it, Dad." The look on his father’s face was comical as he pondered the terms. Spencer didn’t quite know what to do about the curve ball Gray had thrown him. Usually he put himself out to please the old man.

"You will...go...if I...go?"

"I said I would."

"All...right. I...will attend."

Gray viewed his victory with sweet and sour emotions. He’d succeeded in getting his dad out of the house, but at the expense of showing up at a society gala. Unless Dad changed his mind, Gray couldn’t back out. He’d promised. "I’ll tell Ilsa to be sure your tux is pressed," he said, levering himself out of the chair. "I’ll stop by and pick you up."

"Charles will...drive me. I get...in...my car...easier."

"You can get in my Lincoln and you know it. But if you want Charles to drive you that’s okay. Understand though, he’ll call me if you change your mind. You’re not welshing. I won’t show if you don’t."

"You...do not...trust...me."

"On this, frankly, no." Gray headed for the door. "I need to get home. I have house guests."

"Who?"

He should tell his father about Amanda, but he couldn’t make himself open that can of worms. For one thing he wanted to leave now, not stay making explanations. For another he suspected his father wouldn’t take kindly to sharing him with anyone who was more than a casual acquaintance. His wits were too slow from lack of sleep to participate in more verbal battle. Neither did he have the emotional armor to cope with his father’s possessive jealousy at the moment. "A buddy from college."

It wasn’t a lie. Amanda had been a buddy. A buddy and much more: his best friend, his lover, his life. And he intended to have all those things again.

Soon. Very soon.

If his relationship with Amanda progressed with the speed he wanted, he wouldn’t be able to put off telling his dad about her much longer, but for the moment.... He turned and limped back to the bed. Bending down, he hugged his father. "Good night."

"See...you...tomorrow." Spencer’s command carried an underlying plea.

As so frequently happened, Gray left his father torn between feeling pity and aggravation. He wished he could wash his hands of the whole problem. Of course, he couldn’t do that. The only thing he could do was try his best and hope he stumbled onto a solution.

Wonder if rambunctious grandchildren would instill new purpose in Dad?

*****

Amanda strolled into the library plucking her damp sweater away from her stomach.

"What’d you do," Gray said from the comfort of his reclining chair, "hop in the tub with her?"

"Might as well have. The more splashing the better as far as Hilary’s concerned. Of course, she wanted to ‘wim’ in the spa. Good thing the door was locked."

"An ounce of prevention. I was afraid she’d decide to take a dunk by herself."

Amanda dropped to the couch, more tired than she had any right to be, having accomplished nothing more all day than bathing her daughter and putting her to bed. At Ramona’s insistence she’d vegged out, spending the afternoon reading a high tech thriller she’d found on the library shelf. "I’m still not used to the new Hilary. She never used to be such a handful."

"Ramona’s in hog heaven having someone besides me to mother."

"Gray, Ramona’s lonely. You don’t require all the attention she needs to give."

"I know. Makes me wish for siblings to spread the wealth of her affection."

"Why haven’t you married and filled this place with your own kids?" Amanda spoke without thinking. The second the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. Not that she hadn’t wondered, but she didn’t make a habit of asking none-of-your-business questions, especially when she had an inkling that she wouldn’t be comfortable with the answer.

"I’ve only met one person I wanted to share my life with." His words, softly, huskily spoken, seemed to float around her, ensnaring her in a delicate web.

She stared into the fire, at a loss as to how to respond. If it’d been up her they’d be celebrating their fifteenth wedding anniversary in June.

"Amanda."

His velvet-edged inflection drew her gaze to his, like Pooh Bear to honey.

"That hasn’t changed."

Her wool slacks and sweater, comfortable moments before, suddenly became too warm. "I—I don’t know what to say."

"It’s not necessary to say anything. I’m not asking for anything more than you want to give."

If she didn’t get out of this stifling room—right this instant—she thought she’d suffocate. She raced for the relative coolness of the hall, away from the burning heat of his gaze.

She stumbled to a stop, appalled by her childish behavior. Since when did Amanda Wagner run from anything? She prided herself in her ability to handle whatever was thrown in her direction. She wrapped her arms around her middle and inhaled a deep, strengthening breath. Head up, back straight, shoulders squared, she turned on her heel.

Gray was halfway across the room when she appeared in the library doorway. "Ramona left a pot of coffee. Care for a cup?"

How quickly she’d shed her panic, Gray thought. Not that he was surprised. She hid her vulnerability behind a wall of pride so thick he figured he’d need a bulldozer to knock it down. "Sounds good."

He returned to his chair, reviewing his options. Barring the unforeseen, he figured he had an hour or two before she pleaded bedtime. How best to keep her here in this room with him? Soft music on the stereo? A movie on the VCR? Given his druthers he’d go for music, a cuddle on the couch and an opportunity to present her with the gift he had burning a hole in his pocket. However, as skittish as Amanda was tonight, he decided something less threatening was in order.

"Here’s your, coffee," Amanda said, setting it on the table by his chair.

"Thanks." He waved his hand toward the video cabinet. "How ‘bout a movie?"

The look of relief on her face was almost funny. "Sure. What have you got?"

"You pick. I’ve seen them all one time or another."

"I’m in the mood for a feel-good flick." She scanned the rows and pulled "Three Men and a Baby". "Is this okay?"

"Yeah." He popped the cartridge in the machine and adjusted the volume.
"Sit over here," he invited, indicating the chair next to his. "You can see better."

More interested in Amanda than the tribulations of three inexperienced bachelors trying to cope with the demands of an infant, Gray settled back watching her instead of the screen. Her uninhibited laughter delighted him. He wondered how long it had been since she’d let go long enough to have good old-fashioned, soul-renewing fun.

How different her experience with Hilary must have been. Every bit of joy had been tinged with constant fear. Regardless of the ultimate outcome of his and Amanda’s current friendship—for lack of a better word—he drew satisfaction from knowing his skill had been instrumental in solving Hilary’s problem.

As the final credits rolled, she swung toward him. "I can’t believe it’s still funny, the fourth or fifth time around. I haven’t laughed so hard in ages. Thanks."

"I hatch a good idea once in awhile. How was the rest of your day?"

"Disgustingly lazy. I never just sit and read."

"You look better. You needed the rest."

"I feel better, too." She shifted in her chair. "Ramona told me you visit your father every evening. How was he tonight?"

"Ornery. Acts like a two-year-old sometimes. I finally talked him into going out Saturday night." He grimaced. "Trouble is, I had to promise I’d go with him."

"That bad?"

"It’s the Heartland Ball. Benefits the Heart Association. I detest formal parties."

"It’s a good cause."

"I support the cause wholeheartedly. I just don’t want to get gussied up for a society wingding."

The mental image of Gray dressed in an elegant—and sexy— tuxedo was enough to take Amanda’s breath away. "It’s only one evening. You’ll survive."

"Some friend you are. You could sympathize."

She laughed at his woebegone expression, then sobered. "If you want the honest truth, I think you need to get out as much as your father does. Your whole existence is work and Dad."

"I’m working on changing that."

The warmth in his voice sent shivers zinging down her spine. Magnetism, as old, as new, as their relationship, ensnared her. Amanda recognized she’d have to face up to the affinity between them one way or another. And soon. These feelings wouldn’t disappear no matter how much she willed it.

"Gray..."

"I told you earlier, and I’ll say it again. I’m not asking for more than you’re willing to give." He reached across the occasional table and took her hand. "I hurt you badly. I don’t deserve anything from you, but I’m asking for a chance all the same. My feelings are as strong as they ever were. Let’s see where this attraction leads."

His thumb stroked the top of her hand, making straight thinking difficult. If she had any sense at all, she’d put a stop to this—whatever it was—right now.

So why didn’t she?

Amanda was so very tired of being eternally strong, of facing every challenge, every burden alone. Maybe he didn’t deserve any consideration from her, but she owed herself the chance for something more out of life than she had now. She was wary; her faith in men in general, and him in particular, was cracked. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to declare an unequivocal no.

Amanda gazed into his smoky cobalt eyes trying to find the right words to express her confusion. He must’ve seen something on her face which gave him encouragement. Using the arm of the chair for balance, he stood and hauled her to her feet.

"I won’t rush you, Mandy." He stepped closer, circling her waist with his arms. "I promise."

"My heart and head are in battle here." Her quivering voice reflected her shaking insides. "I want my heart to win, but I’m afraid to let it happen."

"Don’t be afraid." He smoothed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, kissing the spot he bared. "I’m not going to hurt you this time."

"Famous last words."

He winced. "Ouch! Guess I deserved that."

She shook her head. "No, you didn’t. Sorry. We’re dealing with a credibility problem, but that doesn’t excuse my rudeness."

"Honesty isn’t rude. In your shoes, I’d be cautious, too." He moved back, holding her at arms length. If his intention was to gauge her expression, the tactic worked for her as well. His own expression was serious, yet there was a buoyant light in his eyes that stirred her heart.

He caressed her cheek, his fingertips whisper-soft on her skin. She closed her eyes, her pulse fluttering. "I love you—" his voice was rough with emotion "—Mandy Mine."

Amanda swallowed a whopping lump in her throat. His declaration sounded torn from the depths of his soul. Did he have a clue as to what he asked of her? Her internal battle raged unabated. She wanted to run, but she’d reminded herself a short time ago that Amanda Wagner didn’t turn tail. She confronted things head-on, weighed every aspect of a situation and drew a logical conclusion.

"Let me close enough to prove I can be entrusted with your love," he said. "That’s all I ask."

He thrust his hand in his pocket and withdrew a gold locket engraved with flowers. Draping the delicate chain over his hand, he displayed the necklace. He lifted her hair and fastened the clasp. She caught a slight whiff of antibacterial soap. "I saw this in the hospital gift shop today. Thought it perfect for you." He retreated slightly for a better view. Nodding, his chin angled at a cocky tilt. "I was right."

Amanda caressed the locket with her fingertip. "You shouldn’t have."

"Why not? I wanted you to have it. Maybe someday—" his voice caught "—you’ll want to put my picture inside."

Something melted inside her. Hidden under the polished professional was the dear boy she’d fallen for all those years ago. She slipped her arms around his neck and hid her face against his shoulder. "Oh, Gray—"

"Shh. Don’t talk..."

He slid his hands under her sweater and up her back, his sensitive physician’s fingers kneading her tense muscles. She leaned into the hard wall of his chest, her head lolling into the hollow of his shoulder. In the safe haven of his arms she felt truly loved for the first time since the accident. How could she doubt? This was right, so very right. Raising her head, she brushed her lips against the raspy stubble on his jaw, intending nothing more than a light, flirting kiss.

Gray shifted his head. His mouth fused to hers, as if to set his seal. Amanda threaded her fingers through the thick, shaggy hair growing long over his ears, her lips parting. He accepted her invitation. His rough tongue danced with hers, teasing the velvet honey of her mouth. She shuddered, trembling wildly. She couldn’t get enough of him. In a moment she’d turn to a puddle of mush.

His arms crossed her back, holding her firm against him from breast to thigh. Unable to deny his need or her own, Amanda pressed her softness into his hardness. His heat burned her outside, her own burned her inside. The spontaneous combustion between them hadn’t changed over time. It was her last rational thought before Gray crushed her even closer. Lost in the miracle of his kiss, Amanda held on for dear life, riding out the storm of sensual awareness.

Hilary’s cry filtered over the intercom. She sprang from his arms, startled. Flustered by the intensity of their kiss, she tottered back three steps, totally unprepared for the bereft feeling that swamped her.

Gray let her go, his breathing ragged.

"Hilary," Amanda said, a panicked look on her face.

"Yes." He watched her flee, shaking his head. He supposed he should thank her daughter for intervening. He’d promised, not minutes before, he wouldn’t rush Mandy. Another second and his promise would have been blown to the wind. And what would that have done to his credibility?

*****

Lying in bed, Amanda stared into the darkness, still shaken by the passionate kiss she’d shared with Gray in the library. She fingered her swollen lips, trying to ignore the deep ache between her thighs. She’d never intended her flirty peck to get out of hand. Not only had she allowed Gray’s lovemaking, she’d invited it and participated wantonly. Who’d’ve thought that a couple in their middle thirties could react as explosively together as they had as they had barely out of their teens?

Time for the logical soul-searching she’d promised herself. What was she doing here, in Gray’s home, in the first place? Seeking shelter from the storm was one thing, but that was Tuesday, this was Thursday. She had permitted him, then Ramona, to sweet talk her into remaining with only token resistance. No matter how she justified it, the truth was she could have gone if she’d really wanted to leave. Yet, here she was, occupying Gray’s guest room bed for a third night. In all honesty she’d much rather be in the bed next door, cradled in his arms.

She tried to attribute her reaction strictly to reawakened sexual urges. She wanted to accept the lie with all her being. The only trouble was she knew it was a lie, and she’d promised herself a candid, no-holes-barred, truthful evaluation.

She tossed from one side to the other, finally flopping on her back. Shadows danced in the corners. Hilary’s even breathing drifted over the intercom. Yanking the pillow from under her head, she punched the soft fibers into a plump shape. At last, having explored and rejected every plausible possibility, she was forced to admit what she wanted most to deny.

She loved Gray Townsend.

It wasn’t the same naive love of a nineteen-year-old fresh from the farm. Physically, regardless of the fact that they’d yet to make love, she didn’t doubt for a second that they were as compatible as they’d ever been. No longer could she ignore the chemistry between them. He walked in the room and her whole world changed for the better. He filled a void she, otherwise self-sufficient, could not. A void no other man could fill either.

She needed him.

She’d fallen in love with the total essence of the man, not just the lover. He cherished her. His feelings showed in the way he tried to smooth her path and the loving glances she intercepted when he thought she wasn’t looking. He took care of his family, whatever their needs. She admired his humor and his ease with children. The selfless way he plunged ahead with his life’s work despite his handicap drew her deepest respect.

Her feelings were deeper, richer, fuller this time, the intensity alarmingly strong.

But there was more to it than her need for him. She yearned to fill the void in his life. To bring him joy and comfort, to share his burdens. After all her years alone, Amanda could no longer envision life without Gray Townsend.

How had she allowed this to happen? Hadn’t life taught her to be self-contained? Didn’t male-female relationships invariably hurt her?

She threw the blankets aside and paced to the window, back to the bed, and to the window once more. Parting the draperies with a trembling hand, she gazed out at the quiet residential street. Tree limbs, reflected in the street light, cast weird patterns on the snow-covered ground.

She spotted a fat, audacious raccoon on a midnight prowl, raiding a neighbor’s garbage. She wished she could shoo him away before he made a mess, the same as she wished she could shoo away her love for Gray before she found herself hurt more deeply than she’d ever been before.

Once she’d been concerned about the differences between her background and Gray’s. That hadn’t changed. He could have any material thing he wanted with his signature on the dotted line. This house was a prime example. The furnishings were the finest quality, the accessories fabulous and expensive. Why, there was even a Steinway grand piano in the living room and he didn’t play! Ramona had told her he’d bought the instrument because the corner cried out for one. If she had that kind of money all her bills would’ve been paid long ago.

She’d been raised to work hard for everything she had. Growing up on a farm she’d done her share to make the family enterprise prosper. As an adult, she’d always earned a wage, even during her married, pre-Hilary days.

Gray was born to wealth. Although inherited money had financed his medical studies, she readily admitted he worked very hard. He liked and owned nice things but they weren’t the be all and end all for him. He didn’t scrimp, as she did, because he’d never had to, but he wasn’t pretentious. She knew he could live in a far more expensive neighborhood, yet he chose this pleasant section of lovely, older homes, close to the hospitals. He drove a luxury car, but not a prestigious import. In short, he never flaunted his wealth.

Their differences aside, Amanda realized their basic values were much the same, something she’d lost sight of when she married Roland.

That left the problem of Spencer. At this moment he was an unknown quantity. She thought she knew how he’d react to her. She fully expected opposition, but she had no way of knowing that for a fact. Maybe the fund raiser would prove just the catalyst he needed to end his isolation, thus relieving some of the pressure on his son.

Gray had only asked for a chance to prove himself worthy of her love. Given all the facts at her disposal, she concluded they both deserved a chance for happiness. Like it or not, their best chance seemed to be together. One day at a time, she promised herself. She owed him that much.

Because—bottom line—she loved him.

*****

"You’re sure you don’t mind servin’ dinner, Amanda?" Ramona asked, whipping off her apron and hanging it on a peg by the door.

"Of course not. You go on and have a good time."

Ramona paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Gray usually zaps leftovers in the microwave on Friday nights or he eats with his father."

"I could’ve fixed dinner."

"Guests don’t cook. Bad enough askin’ you to serve."

"Ramona, it’s really okay. We’ll be fine." Amanda waved her out. "Scat, or you’ll be late."

Amanda wished she’d known Friday was the housekeeper’s night out with her friends. Cooking was a joy in which she rarely indulged, having no one to cook for but a sick baby. She’d always wanted to prepare a meal for Gray and never had the opportunity. Someday she’d treat him to her special chicken Virginia with grape sauce.

Amanda shook her head in wonder. So much for one day at a time. Whether she aimed to or not, she was thinking of a future with him.

Be careful, she cautioned herself. You aren’t the only one who’ll be hurt if this relationship doesn’t work out. Her daughter was as susceptible to his charm as she herself, although in a different way.

She’d tucked Hilary in fifteen minutes ago, earlier than usual. Her daughter had played hard, running both Ramona and herself ragged keeping up with her. Eager for her next adventure, she’d napped half her normal time. The tyke was tuckered out. Amanda was sorry Hilary wouldn’t see Gray tonight, but the more tired Hilary became the worse she behaved. Gray could see her tomorrow.

Headlights flashed through the lace swag covering the kitchen window. He was home! As usual he’d been long gone when she’d risen this morning. She’d missed him today more than the other days of her stay. Admitting she loved him played a big part, so did her improved health. She’d awakened earlier, less sluggish and more alert. The hours without him dragged.

Her cold remained, but at a tolerable level. She’d never suffered a worse one from which she’d recovered so fast. Of course, she’d never been able to kick back and let someone take care of her before either.

Unable to hide her eagerness to see him, she stood in laundry room doorway, waiting.

*****

Gray covered the distance from the garage to the house as quickly as the ice-patched sidewalk allowed. Tonight he wanted to soar inside at the speed of light. He grimaced at his impatience.

Last night he’d sensed a breakthrough in his relationship with Amanda. Tonight he’d find out if his impression was reality.

He entered the laundry room from the back porch. There, framed by the kitchen doorway, stood a smiling vision—waiting for him. Enchantment billowed through him. Surrounded in light from behind, she resembled a silhouetted angel, encircled by an aura of gold. His pulse raced; his breathing quickened. He couldn’t remember anyone waiting to greet him so sweetly before. He said a little prayer that this would last, that this dream would in fact become reality.

Collecting himself, Gray stepped toward her. "Hi."

"Hi, yourself." She moved back, letting him into the warm kitchen. "Hard day?"

"Not too bad. There’s a patient I’m worried about." He smiled to himself. This was as ordinary a conversation as any he’d ever been engaged in, and yet the very ordinariness marked a turning point for them. Whether she realized it or not, Amanda was acting like a wife. He didn’t wait to remove his coat before he gathered her in his arms and kissed her hello. He would’ve preferred to linger over the kiss, but decided not to press his luck.

"Where’s my Princess?"

"Asleep. She played so hard she wore herself out."

"I hope she didn’t wear you out, too."

If Amanda caught his implied invitation, she chose to ignore the proposition.

"Close, but we had a two against one advantage. Ramona took the brunt of the punishment. Speaking of Ramona, she left to play bingo."

"Every Friday, without fail. It’s her big night out with her cronies."

"I’m supposed to serve dinner. How soon do you want to eat?"

"As soon as we can get the food on the table. I’m starved." He shed his coat and took it to the hall closet.

"We?"

"I am capable of taking care of myself. I can prepare an edible meal, do laundry, iron my own shirts. I’m even familiar with the working end of a vacuum cleaner."

"In other words, Ramona works for you because she needs the job, not because you need her."

"That’s not quite true. She saves my leisure time for leisure." He went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. Going to the hutch, he found the flatware and plates and set the table. "Besides, she’s good company. There’s nothing lonelier than coming home to an empty house every night."

Amanda looked over her shoulder from spooning rice and curried shrimp into serving bowls. Her expression told him he’d revealed more about his feelings for his housekeeper than he’d intended. The depth of his love for Ramona wasn’t something he bandied about. However, if there was anyone with whom he felt safe sharing his innermost emotions it was Amanda. Before he formed the words to acknowledge her perception, she smiled an I-understand-you-don’t-have-to-say-anything smile and removed a tossed salad from the refrigerator.

The instant of almost spiritual communication passed, but in that moment Gray recognized something between them had changed. A barrier had fallen.

His heart soared. He wanted to celebrate. The dining room, crystal and silver sparkling in the soft glow of candlelight, offered a romantic setting. His mouth stretched in a wide grin.

"What’re you grinning about?"

"Just thinking we should eat in the dining room."

"There’s something cozy about the kitchen. We’d feel foolish shouting from one end of that big table to the other."

Cozy, domestic, ordinary. In a way, the domesticity created a romance all its own. All well and good, but not the ambience he desired tonight. Except for the sleeping baby upstairs, he would take Amanda to the Cafe De Paris. The intimate, cosmopolitan restaurant suited his mood.

The concept of a real date spurned a brilliant idea—a day late. "Mandy, would you go with me tomorrow night? To the Heartland Ball?"

"I would, but my wardrobe consists of the slacks I was wearing when I arrived and—" she waved a hand from her neck to her thighs "—these jeans. Can’t wear either to a ball."

Her tone of voice combined with the speed of her refusal suggested the shindig didn’t appeal to her anymore than it did to him. Now that he’d thought of taking her, he was determined she’d accept. "Crossroads Mall’s five minutes away. Westroads no more than ten, even in traffic."

"Gray, I’m sorry. I really can’t afford a complete party outfit."

"If you’ll go, I’ll spring for everything you need."

Her spine straightened and her chin lifted in an automatic reaction, as if he’d tapped her knee with his reflex hammer. "I can’t let you do that!"

"Why? I want your company. I can afford whatever clothes you need. Right now you can’t. The solution is very simple. I buy."

"It’s not that simple and you know it." Amanda spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. "You’re not paying for my clothes. Period."

"Stubborn!"

"So I’m stubborn, bullheaded, intractable or any other label you want to throw at me. It doesn’t change anything. I pay my own way."

He threw up his hands in surrender. "All right. How ‘bout we consider it an open-ended loan. You pay me back when you can."

Couldn’t he accept defeat? His beautiful carved cane, hooked over a chair back, answered her question. "Is it that important for me to go?"

"Yeah." The longing written on his face explained for him.

She loved this man. Attending the party was a small thing to ask of her, yet she just couldn’t consider a loan with a fuzzy repayment schedule. She knew him well enough to know he’d conveniently forget she owed him. "Six months to repay the loan at the going interest."

He lifted his head heavenward. "Lord, deliver me from pigheaded women!" He dropped his gaze to the floor, then looked her straight in the eye. "Final offer. I always see that Ramona’s taxes are prepared. Do them when you do mine, and we’ll call it even."

She doubted the dollar value was really equal, but the agreement was enough to save her pride. She stuck out her hand. "Deal."

"Deal." He clasped her fingers, tugged her close, and placed a spine-tingling kiss on her startled mouth.

"The only good thing about dickering with you is my reward when the agreement is finally reached. Can we eat now?"

Chapter 10

Gray loaded the dishwasher while Amanda lifted slices of cherry pie onto dessert plates. Bless Ramona’s heart. She’d acted on the chance remark that cherry pie was Amanda’s favorite dessert.

"More coffee?" Gray asked, raising the glass pot from the warmer.

"Of course! Gotta have coffee with pie."

"You think you need coffee with everything," he teased.

"I wouldn’t go quite that far, but you’re close."

He handed her the replenished mug and reached for his own.

Beep-beep! Gray’s pager broke their lighthearted mood. A sense of dread came over Amanda. Might as well have been the middle of the night, not eight o’clock in the evening. The sensation was the same. Why she assumed the call was bad news, she didn’t know. She wasn’t a pessimist. The pager didn’t automatically mean disaster, but in her mind the beeping sounded ominous. Must be because she really wanted to spend a quiet evening, just the two of them—alone.

Gray picked up the phone and punched in a number. "This is Doctor Townsend."

His title caught Amanda up short. He was a doctor and that meant his time wasn’t his own. She would never forget how glad she’d been to see him, not once but twice, in the middle of the night when she’d been scared silly. If this call meant he had to leave, she couldn’t begrudge his patient his attention. Now or ever. She’d better get used to the interruptions. Resenting his devotion to his profession would doom them right from the start.

He hung up the phone, a sad expression on his face. "I’m needed."

"Does this happen every night?"

"No. Seems to run in spurts. I’m covering for another doctor this week." He clasped her shoulder and allowed his hand to trail down her arm, as if he couldn’t quite break contact with her. "I’ve got to go."

"I know."

"I’m sorry. This isn’t how I intended to spend the evening."

"You wouldn’t leave if you didn’t have to. Is it the patient you were worried about?"

He nodded. "Thanks for understanding. Dad would heap on a load of grief. Sometimes even Ramona gives me static when I’m called out at night."

"How can I, of all people, resent your services to someone who needs you?"

"You’re a jewel." He pulled on his coat. "Don’t wait up. This may take awhile."

She walked with him to the door and kissed him good-bye, as if it was their normal routine. "Be careful."

"Always. Especially now. I have you to come home to." He kissed her again, his lips lingering a brief moment before he left.

*****

Watching Gray’s car leave the driveway, Amanda fought jealousy with every fiber of her being. Everything she’d told him was true. She understood, better than most. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much she loved him, when duty called he’d have to respond. Lives depended on his expertise.

She returned to the table and sipped her coffee. Nibbling at her pie, she pondered her options. She could rag him every time an emergency cropped up. She could keep quiet and stew. Or she could accept the drawbacks of his profession. No one said she had to like the interruptions, but she could learn to live with them.

There wasn’t any choice. Amanda couldn’t be a clinging vine if she tried. She’d long since attained the maturity to understand disappointment was part of life. Never, Amanda vowed, would she make it difficult for Gray to accept an emergency call. She would kiss him good-bye and be waiting with a smile when he returned no matter what.

Her decision reached, she gasped. She’d mentally made a commitment to a future with Gray Townsend. Spencer Townsend popped into her mind out of nowhere. Amanda and Gray as a couple couldn’t be a foregone conclusion until that issue was resolved.

*****

"Don’t expect us for lunch," Gray told Ramona over his shoulder. "Our shopping’ll take awhile." He waved to Hilary. "Bye, Princess."

"Be good for Ramona, Hilly." Amanda’s voice was choked with unshed tears.

"We’re goin’ to bake cookies and ride the rockin’ horse and play with the blocks. Aren’t we, Sunshine?"

"Blocks!" Hilary ran for the box, upturning the bright wooden pieces on the floor. She turned and waved her tiny hand. "Bye Mama."

Gray hit the garage door opener button, placed his hand on the small of Amanda’s back and hustled her outside. "She’ll be fine."

"I know she couldn’t be in better hands. It’s just that I’ve never left her with anyone except while she was in the hospital."

He looked incredulous. "Never?"

"Never. She was so sick, and I was too scared."

"Then it’s about time. Let’s go."

He opened and held the Lincoln’s passenger side door. Amanda settled into the comfortable leather seat and stretched her legs out straight. He slid behind the wheel, and she leaned against the door, reaching toward him. Her fingers didn’t quite touch his arm. "This isn’t a car, it’s a boat!"

"I wanted something substantial between me and the maniacs on our highways. And plenty of leg room," he said, backing around to nose out the driveway.

"Well, you got what you wanted."

"Not everything."

His low earthy tone told her he was no longer talking about the car. Until this week he had maintained a professional demeanor. Since she’d been staying in his home more and more of the ardent young man she’d known before had surfaced. She hadn’t quite made the transition from Gray, her daughter’s doctor, to Gray, her earnest suitor.

"Don’t worry about it." He must have sensed her perplexity. Sometimes his ability to know what she thought was disconcerting.

She sighed and touched the power button to recline the seat. Before she finished fine tuning her position, he pulled into the Crossroads Mall parking garage.

All of a sudden, she was self-conscious about her appearance. Worn for a third day, the once sharp-edged creases on her rust slacks were almost nonexistent at the knees. She’d washed the heavy wool sweater Thursday night and the ribbing remained slightly damp. Still, she wouldn’t have been caught dead in public dressed in the disreputable jeans and sweater which were her only other choice. Her brothers teased her unmercifully about her "June Cleaver" attitude but she couldn’t help it. Holey, faded, skin tight jeans were reserved for grungy work.

"C’mon slow poke," Gray urged, extending his hand to help out of the car. "Your enthusiasm’s showing."

"I didn’t know you liked to shop."

"I don’t. Except when the end result justifies the hassle."

They entered one of the anchor department stores, and Gray steered her toward the escalator. "If you don’t find something here we’ll look elsewhere," he said.

"I’ll find a dress here."

"You’re sure?"

"I’d better. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I was a shopaholic when I had a big bank balance, but penury effected an immediate cure." She laughed at his confused expression. "I see a sale rack. Let’s get this over with."

At first Gray wasn’t sure what she meant although a short time later, he understood. He located a chair and relaxed, letting her browse without kibitzing from him. True to her word, within an unbelievably short time, Amanda found an ensemble that met her guidelines. She refused to look at any but the fifty percent or more off sale racks. Unfortunately the end-of-the-season markdowns were picked over.

She tried on an oyster white, strapless sheath, worn under a waist length, chocolate brown velvet jacket, trimmed in gold. The ensemble was stark in its simplicity and needed stunning jewelry to set it off. Studying her taut face, he refrained from mentioning his observation. "That’s nice," he said, trying for diplomacy.

While she was changing to her own clothes, he rummaged the full-price racks and located a bronze silk gown with a graduated hemline. The bodice was embroidered with gold bangles. He pictured her wearing the dress easily. It looked like her. Elegant and sexy at the same time.

Amanda reappeared, and handed the white outfit to the clerk. "I’ll ta—"

"Try this before you decide," Gray interrupted.

She walked over and flipped up the price tag. "It’s not on sale."

"Indulge me."

Her fingers caressed the exquisite heavy fabric. "No. If the dress looks half as good on as I think it will, I won’t want to leave without it. Frankly, I’d rather not know."

He glanced around, relieved that the sales clerk remained at a discrete distance. "Your stubborn pride is the only reason you can’t have any dress you choose. You don’t have to be so damned independent. Not anymore."

Her backbone straightened visibly. She opened her mouth to argue. Before she got a word out he continued. "Love is about give and take—"

"Yes, it is. Only you’re doing all the giving and I’m doing all the taking."

"Not so. You’re attending the shindig with me when I know you’d rather not. That’s giving. Wearing this dress is giving, too. It gives me great pleasure to see you happy. Selfish as it sounds, I have no qualms about being envied by every man there."

Amanda’s cheeks turned deep pink, something he’d never seen happen to her before, but she took the dress. "How is it I lose every argument with you?"

"You don’t lose. We both win."

There was a great deal of truth in his statement, but she wasn’t about to admit it yet. She went to change, hoping against hope that the gown would look ghastly on her. Or at least worse than the barely adequate outfit waiting by the cash register. The best she could say about the white sheath was the fifty percent off sale price.

She smoothed the bronze silk over her hips and capitulated, her will to fight lost to the this-makes-me-feel-like-a-million-dollars dress. The rich shade brought out the peach tint in her cheeks. The low bodice bared her shoulders and hinted at her cleavage. The hem, mid-knee in front, fell almost to her ankles in the back, showing off her legs. A pair of high, sexy shoes were needed for the best effect.

Amanda stared at her reflection in the mirror, nibbling on the inside of her cheek. Gray didn’t ask for much. The things he asked for benefited her more than they did him. He’d urged her to postpone returning to Sioux City until the dangerous weather passed. And now this dress. If escorting her to the ball dressed like Cinderella would make him—the man she loved—happy, then by darn she’d swallow her pride and accept his gift graciously.

Somewhere down the line there would be an opportunity to do something truly unselfish for him. Mercy! There was that joint future surfacing again. Her subconscious was working hard to convince her of something.

Easing the dress over her head, she carefully hung it back on the hanger and pulled on her slacks.

Emerging from the dressing room, she met Gray’s disappointed frown. "Didn’t it fit?"

"Perfectly."

"Then why’d you take it off before you showed me?"

"Because my hair’s a mess, my make-up isn’t right and these shoes ruined the effect." She grinned. "You can see the dress tonight when I’m all put together. And if I’m going to be done up properly, we’ve got more serious shopping to do."

He stepped to her, observing her face with a clinical stare. With the back of his hand, he tested her forehead.

Drawing back, she raised an eyebrow. "What in the world?"

"Just checking. Thought you’d developed a raging fever, you changed your tune so fast. Not that I’m complaining."

She bounced a playful punch off his hard shoulder. "Oh, you!"

*****

Laden with parcels, Amanda stopped in front of Victoria’s Secret wondering if she’d lost her mind. This trip had turned into a shopping spree of grand proportions. Omaha’s merchants must love to see Gray coming. Besides the dress for the ball tonight, between them they carried two pairs of shoes and a skirt, blouse and sweater outfit for church tomorrow. She’d also purchased new make-up. The glamour look demanded by her stunning dress wasn’t possible with the lone lipstick in her purse. They’d already spent a small fortune and weren’t finished yet.

"Now for the fun part," Gray said, his eyes twinkling.

The look on his face suggested he would gleefully rub his hands together, if they weren’t as full as hers. She knew that playful look from old and it boded trouble. Taking him to a lingerie shop wasn’t such a swift idea, given his frisky mood. No telling what outrageous thing he’d say or do.

"I could meet you at the bookstore."

"Not on your life!" he replied, his jaw held at a pugnacious tilt.

She sighed, conceding defeat. She’d lost the will to argue hours ago.

Victoria’s Secret was one of her favorite stores. The shop’s delicate trademark scent was noticeable the minute they crossed the threshold. Roses bloomed on the wallpaper and gleaming, Victorian era furniture displayed the beautiful, feminine merchandise.

She needed a deep plunge, push-up bra to go under the bronze dress, a slip for the skirt and hose. If she’d been alone she would have browsed, stopping to touch the soft satins and smooth, fine cottons for the pure pleasure of feeling the sensuous fabrics against her skin. With Gray along, she wanted to make her purchases fast and hightail it out of here. For some unknown reason she was a bit embarrassed. There was no particular logic to feel that way, except she didn’t trust Gray an inch when he got that naughty look on his face. Amanda headed straight for the back of the store.

One second Gray was right beside her, the next he wasn’t. She glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, there he was scrutinizing a mouth-watering, sexy black silk nightgown with peek-a-boo lace inserts. "This would look a whole lot better on you than that baggy flannel thing you borrowed from Ramona," he said.

"I’d freeze to death."

He stroked his chest, a devilish smile tilting his mouth and warming his eyes. "Not with your own personal fur blanket to keep you warm."

She snatched the gown from him. The silk brushed her hand, transporting her away from her everyday existence in the mundane world. Far from facts and figures and crying babies to a magical place she only dreamed about these days. An ultra feminine sensation rippled through her. How long had it been since she’d cared about her appearance? Longer still since she’d felt like an alluring woman? Today the feeling had come to her twice, but this time she refused to give in to temptation. Practical mothers wore practical night wear. Reluctantly she hung the gown back on the rack. "What I need is back here."

The next thing she knew Gray was dangling a scrap of flowered nylon and lace in the guise of panties under her nose. "How ‘bout this?"

Amanda shot him what she hoped was a killing frown, her cheeks heating.

"No," he shrugged. "You’re no fun!" Gray strolled to the next rack. He held up a skimpy, see-through teddy. The lace trim wasn’t necessarily strategically placed. "Well then, how ‘bout this?"

She hid her burning face in her hand. She’d get him for this, come hell or high water. Why couldn’t he have gone to the bookstore like she wanted? Was it too much to ask to be allowed to buy underwear in peace?

"The color’s perfect for your dress," he coaxed.

Amanda marched over and snatched the teddy from his hand. Barely glancing at the stunning garment, she returned it to the rack. "As if you really cared about the color."

"What’s wrong with it? At least try the whatever-you-call-that-thing on."

"I’m not wearing something like that. It’s too...too—"

"Too what? Revealing? Think of the pleasure I’ll have anticipating the great unveiling."

Her face grew even hotter. Mercy! She never blushed. In fact, she considered herself pretty much unshakable. But Gray had gotten her twice today. "Will you stop!" she hissed.

"Seeing you, Miss Calm, Cool and Collected, blush is so much fun!"

One more word and Gray Townsend would be a dead man. Two teenaged girls strolled into the room.

"Behave yourself, or I’ll make you wait on a bench out in the mall until I finish in here," she muttered in a fierce undertone.

"And just how—" his eyes sparkled dangerously "—do you propose to carry out that threat?"

"I’ll—I’ll..." She gulped and stared at the flower-patterned carpet.

"If it’ll make you happy, I’ll sit over there quietly—" he indicated the white upholstered chair near the dressing rooms "—and let you shop."

"Thank you." Relief rushed through her.

"One stipulation, though."

Her chin came up, once again primed for battle. "What’s that?"

"Don’t look at the price tags. Get what you want no matter how impractical or expensive."

"I-I can’t do that. Please don’t give me a hard time."

"That comes later," Gray promised, his voice silky smooth.

An anticipatory shiver started in her stomach and radiated upward until her shoulders quaked. She drew a deep breath. The sooner she made her selections the better.

*****

Sniffing, Amanda entered the kitchen. "Peanut butter cookies?"

"My favorite," Gray said, snitching a handful.

"At least take your coat off before you stuff your face," Ramona admonished.

Amanda surveyed signs of her daughter’s active day. Baking sheets were stacked in the sink. Ramona was crouched on the floor, separating blocks from measuring spoons and mixing bowls. "Hilary okay?" Amanda asked.

"Fine and dandy," Ramona replied. "I put her down for her nap a few minutes ago. Did you find a dress?"

"Oh, yes. We got everything I need."

Amanda dropped her arm load of packages on the island, removed her coat and kicked off her shoes. She still couldn’t believe all the things they’d bought.

Ramona glanced over at Gray who’d returned from hanging his coat in the closet. "You still look like a shaggy dog! I reminded you to get your hair cut again this mornin’."

Gray shrugged. "Guess my mind was on other things."

Amanda hoped Ramona hadn’t noticed his provocative inflection.

"Love me anyway." He plowed his hand through the hair in question. "It’ll have to do. I don’t have time to go to the barber shop now."

Ramona looked like she’d cheerfully wring his neck. "You need curlers," she muttered.

Amanda had always been disarmed by Gray’s hair. It wasn’t too long if he intended a long-over-the-ears, over-the-collar style, but the conservative cut he wore was long overdue for a trim. Her fingers hankered to shear the disheveled strands. Any excuse to run her hands through his hair would do.

"I’ll trim it for him," Amanda offered, addressing the housekeeper. After their session at Victoria’s Secret, she was afraid to look at Gray, knowing he would read exactly what she was thinking into her offer. She couldn’t trust him to behave.

"Do I get the full treatment?" Gray asked, his innocent tone at odds with the glimmer in his eye. So much for trying to stave off innuendo. Fortunately, Ramona wasn’t looking at either of them.

"I’m no professional—" he could decide for himself the kind of professional she meant "—but I’ll do the best I can."

"Can’t ask for more than that. I’ve got scissors in my dressing room."

"Let’s go." Before one of us says something to embarrass us both. She gathered up her packages and headed for the stairs.

Gray followed, carrying the kitchen stool. "Gotta have something high to sit on."

He spread a sheet on the floor in front of the mirror and placed the stool in the center. Peeling his turtleneck over his head, he tossed it on the counter top, and positioned himself on the stool.

"Do you always strip for your barber?"

"Only when she possesses magic fingers."

"What makes you think this one has magic fingers?"

He captured her hand and rubbed his thumb over each fingertip. Raising her hand to his lips, he repeated the procedure with his tongue. "There’s nothing wrong with my memory, Mandy."

Her insides turned to quivering mush. With one simple gesture he’d managed to push all her hot buttons. Darn him, he knew it, too. Well, two could play this game! He deserved all the torment she could devise after the grief he’d given her this afternoon.

"If we’re going to be ready on time we’d better get this done," she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

She draped a towel around his powerful shoulders. It was a shame he didn’t work construction so he could go shirtless in public. Hiding such perfection was downright criminal. On second thought, she really didn’t want to share him, even from ogling distance.

Scissors in one hand, comb in the other, she sniped over his left ear, stopping after each clip to fluff his hair with provocative fingers.

Gray squirmed on the stool. She clasped his shoulder. "Hold still, or you’ll end up with a Mohawk."

"You’re making it difficult."

"Sorry." The sincerity in her voice had a noticeably hollow ring.

All business, she finished the sides. She plowed her spread fingers through the back, evening the ends. Her thumb teased his scalp along the base of his skull.

He drew an audible breath and swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat corded.

Amanda stifled a grin. Bending close, she brushed his shoulder. Laying the cold metal scissors against the back of his neck, she straightened his hairline. He’d waved those panties under her nose like a red flag, now came pay back time. She blew short little puffs of breath along his neck until his bare skin was free of the clippings.

Goose bumps popped up in their stead. "A—man—da!"

"Oh, sorry," she said, her voice dripping with feigned innocence, "did I hurt you?" She didn’t give him a chance to reply before she stepped in front of him and started on the top. Leaning forward, her breasts grazed his chin. Was that a moan she heard?

Raking her hand through the distinctive streak, a sigh escaped her. The jet strands surrounding the white shock were straight and soft to the touch. The black hair lay sleek against his head. In contrast, the snowy cluster was wiry and less controlled, presenting a challenge to tame it. Amanda shaped the top, leaving it longer than the sides, all the while stroking and smoothing with her fingers.

"Aren’t you done yet?" Gray croaked.

"Should I be?"

"You had better be, minx, unless you’re prepared to forego the ball. In which case, you can explain to my curious housekeeper."

"Oh. Ah, well...I’m done." She dropped the scissors and comb on the counter and whisked the towel from his shoulders. Ostensibly brushing stray clippings from his skin, she ran her hand through the fur on his chest.

His hand stilled hers. "A—man—da!" His voice was a deep growl.

"You asked for the full treatment."

"I didn’t mean torture. You’ll pay for this."

"I’m counting on it." She sashayed to the door. "Better get your shower."

He wadded the towel and threw it at her.

*****

Clad in a lacy demi bra and matching black French-cut panties, Amanda hooked a frilly garter belt around her waist. She sat down and pulled on sheer lace-topped stockings, imagining the light in Gray’s eye when he undressed her to this point. The set was on the lady-like side of wanton, provocative enough to make her feel sexy without crossing the line to dressing like a tramp.

In the end she hadn’t been able to ignore the hunger behind Gray’s teasing. Knowing him, she figured if she didn’t select something daring he would. She preferred to do the choosing. It pleased her to wear something slinky for no other reason than to satisfy him, but she had her limits.

She’d almost forgotten how much fun it was to dress up. Almost as much fun as she anticipated undressing would be later. Gray had made his intentions plain as day. She still couldn’t believe her reckless taunting earlier, although he’d started it when they were shopping. She’d never been a tease before, and if they were to get through this evening with any dignity she’d better clean up her act. At least until they returned home.

Amanda walked to the bathroom to put on her make-up. Standing in front of the mirror, she applied eye shadow with a rusty hand. Make-up finished, she used the curling iron she’d found in the vanity drawer, creating deep waves in her toffee blonde hair. Earlier, she’d indulged in a hot oil treatment, which, along with hard brushing, had left her tresses as soft and shining as a child’s.

She hated her hair hanging in her face, although Gray had loved it swinging loose. She compromised by pulling the sides back and catching them with gold, jewel-encrusted combs. The back hung free on her shoulders.

Satisfied with her hair and make-up she dabbed her pulse points with her favorite lily of the valley cologne and donned the bronze dress once more. She clasped the locket Gray had given her around her neck, relieved that the gold stud earrings she’d been wearing all week looked okay. Strappy black velvet sandals and a matching evening bag completed the outfit.

Pausing in front of the full length mirror, she blinked. Could she really be seeing her own image? Never vain, she had to concede she looked good and felt even better.

*****

Waiting at the foot of the stairs, Gray watched Amanda descend slowly. Her skirt framed her long well-turned legs, clad in the sheerest black nylon. The effect on him was physical as well as emotional. Last night he’d thought her a golden vision. Tonight his extensive vocabulary failed him. There simply weren’t words equal to the task of describing the stunning woman moving toward him.

Taking one careful step at a time, Amanda made her way down the curved stairs holding onto the banister for dear life. Should’ve roughed up the bottom of these shoes, she thought. A broken neck would put a real damper on the evening.

She chanced a peek away from her feet to the man, dressed in the same black and white as his hair, standing by the newel post. Her heart fluttered. Fantasy couldn’t compare with reality. Elegant didn’t begin to describe how Gray looked in his tuxedo. The fit could only have been achieved by custom tailoring. His adoring gaze was enough to make her knees weak.

"Hello, gorgeous," he murmured when she reached the bottom step.

"Ditto that." She ran her fingertips along the top of his left ear, forgetting her resolve. "Nice haircut."

"You should see my barber. She’s the sexiest thing on two legs."

His expression was enough to make her toes curl.

"Don’t you two look beautiful!" Ramona gushed, bustling in from the kitchen.

Casting a disparaging eye at the camera in his housekeeper’s hand, Gray groaned. "This isn’t the senior prom."

"I’m gonna get a picture anyway." The phone rang. "I’ll get it. Don’t move till I get back."

Ramona disappeared into the kitchen. Gray drew a faded, threadbare velvet box from his pocket. He flipped the lid open, revealing a smoky topaz drop on a gold serpentine chain and a pair of matching earrings. "These were my grandmother’s. I’d like you to wear them tonight."

"I—"

"Before you start arguing, let me finish. Even though I’d like you to have them, we can debate that issue later. Just wear them this evening."

"What makes you think I was going to argue?"

"You’re mighty predictable."

"I’m not that bad."

"Yeah, right."

"For the record, I was about to say I’d be pleased to borrow the jewelry." She unclasped the locket and reached for the topaz. "The set is perfect for this dress."

"I stand corrected."

"Gray, the phone’s for you," Ramona called from the kitchen door. "Doctor Fielding."

Gray hurried to take the call; Amanda held her breath. A short time later he returned wearing his doctor’s face. "We’ll have to stop at the hospital on the way. Fielding wants a consultation. Shouldn’t take long."

Amanda let out her pent-up breath and nodded. They’d lucked out this time. Despite the interruption they were still going to the party.

"Hold still two seconds while I take your picture, then you can go," Ramona ordered.

"Snap it up. I’m in a hurry," Gray grumbled, throwing his arm around Amanda’s shoulder and beaming a genuine smile.

The flash went off. "That didn’t kill you, now did it? Go and have a good time."

*****

Over an hour later, Gray and Amanda arrived at the Heartland Ball at the tail end of the cocktail hour and silent auction. Gazing around, Gray met his father’s fuming stare. "Uh-oh," Gray muttered just loud enough for Amanda to hear. "I can see the smoke coming out Dad’s ears. We’re late, and he didn’t know I was bringing you. He’s not into surprises."

Dismay stopped Amanda two steps inside the main ballroom. "Does he even know I’m back in your life?"

"Ah...no."

"Gray Townsend, that wasn’t a smart move. Something tells me this may be a bombshell as far as he’s concerned."

"Don’t take his bad temper personally. He doesn’t want to share me with anybody. He’s jealous of my patients, Ramona, my time at the health club. Ignore him if he’s unfriendly."

The memory of her one and only meeting with Spencer Townsend burned bright in Amanda’s memory. That unpleasant experience became a turning point in her life, even though she hadn’t recognized the milestone as such until much later. She remembered him as cold and unfeeling. Everything she’d learned this week confirmed her suspicion that manipulative could be added to his description. Still she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. More than anything she wanted to make a favorable impression. Judging from the scowl on his face, she expected an uphill battle.

Heading toward Spencer’s table at Gray’s side, Amanda delivered a silent pep talk. There was no reason for her to feel in the least bit inferior. If her intelligence, poise and charm could attract the likes of Roland Wagner, she could pass muster with anybody. Her clothes and hair style were as glamorous as any other lady’s present tonight. No problem. Smiling at her fellow guests, she hoped that by the time they reached their destination, she’d look confident and genuinely happy to be there.

"You...are...late," Spencer spat out slowly.

"Sorry. I was called to the hospital just as we were leaving." Gray paused, gazing like a lovesick school boy into Amanda’s eyes. He slipped his arm around her waist, giving her a reassuring squeeze before plunging on. "Dad, it’s long overdue, but I’d like you to meet Amanda. Amanda, this is my father, Spencer Townsend."

She widened her smile and politely extended her hand. Spencer’s startled look sent a sinking feeling to her stomach. Gray didn’t know she’d met his father after the accident. "Hello, sir. I’m happy to see you."

Spencer sat there in his wheelchair, unmoving and silent, his stare seeming to bore straight through her. Please don’t make me a liar. Amanda dropped her hand, appalled by her faux pas. Mr. Townsend probably didn’t have enough use of his arm to shake hands with her.

Gray flashed her an apologetic smile and held her chair, before he sat down.

"Thank you," she murmured. Had Gray taken the chair next to his father to place himself as a buffer deliberately? If so, was he trying to protect her or Spencer? The gentleman to her left introduced himself and his wife as Toby and Nikki Sharp. Amanda silently thanked him for saving an awkward situation.

"I do declare," Nikki effused, in an accent originating considerably south and east of Omaha, "Buffy’s outdone herself this time. The decorations are exquisite."

"Indeed they are," Amanda agreed. Usually, the organizers shied away from a trite valentine theme, but the ballroom was displayed to good effect with twinkling white lights, entwined in massive banks of green foliage and accented by glittering pink, red and silver heart-shaped balloons and silk roses. Each doorway was a bower of roses, small hearts and lights. However, it was the table decorations that appealed to Amanda the most. The round tables were covered in pink cloths. The centerpieces consisted of red roses enclosed inside a crystal heart which set on a round mirror. Pink votive candles in crystal heart holders and tiny red foil hearts were reflected in the mirror.

Good thing those hearts were out of reach, Amanda thought, otherwise she’d be messing with them any second now. Before Gray got any sleep tonight he was going to answer a few pointed questions.

Gray was speaking quietly to his father, and for the life of her, Amanda couldn’t think of any small talk to start a conversation with the Sharps. Poor Gray. She felt sorry for him, trying to be attentive to the old man and herself. Not to mention how gauche she felt. This was a fine time for her hard-won poise to desert her. She was about to utter a perfectly inane comment about the weather when a waiter materialized, placing a green salad in front of her with a flourish. Ah, saved for the moment.

"You okay?" Gray’s lyrical voice chimed in her ear.

"Just fine." Amanda stifled any trace of sarcasm, refusing to admit her uneasiness. "I don’t believe you’ve met the Sharps."

Introductions proceeded around the table. Spencer said his name, his speech halting. Amanda realized why he shunned public outings. When the beef tenderloin was served, Gray cut the meat on his own plate, then unobtrusively switched plates with his father. She was sure the proud man found the necessity for help humiliating.

All these years she’d festered a grievance against Spencer Townsend. Years ago she’d rehearsed eloquent speeches in which she told him exactly what she thought of him. Here was her opportunity to vent her spleen. And pity and an ache to make peace with him overwhelmed her.

Spencer ate his meal with the relish of a man tasting forbidden fruit. "His diet is limited and his housekeeper’s not very creative," Gray murmured to Amanda. "A meal like this is a real treat."

"For me, too," she replied, savoring her tasty brandy honey-glazed carrots.

What she noticed more than what Spencer ate, was how he ate. His difficulty was with his left hand, not his right. He could have shaken hands with her, had he chosen to do so. A frisson of foreboding crawled up her spine.

Between the main course and dessert, Spencer dropped his reticence. "I...did not ex...pect...you to...bring...a date... Gray." Accusation tinged his statement.

Gray winked at Amanda. "Nice surprise, isn’t she?"

Spencer turned his intimidating stare on Amanda, his animosity plain. "Where...did you...come...from?"

His tone implied she lived under a rock with vermin. Gray gave her hand a comforting squeeze under the table.

She was saved from answering by the arrival of dessert—a sinful fudge satin torte on creme anglasie with pureed raspberry hearts. Maybe the delicacy would sweeten the old man’s disposition.

While they finished dessert the introductions and speeches were given, forestalling further conversation.

All too soon the moment Amanda dreaded arrived. The orchestra began music for dancing and the other guests took to the dance floor. Now the three of them were alone in the crowd.

Spencer didn’t waste a minute beginning his assault. "You...never...answered...my...question...Amanda. Where did...you...come from?"

She couldn’t tell if his enunciation was intended to daunt her—score one for his side—or if it was due to his condition. "I live in Sioux City, sir."

"Not...exactly...next door. Why...are you...in...Omaha?"

The questions themselves were not unkind, but Spencer’s tone of voice and facial sneer were obviously intended to make her squirm. Don’t let him get to you. Amanda wiped her sweaty palms on the napkin still in her lap and smiled. "My—"

"Grilling Amanda isn’t necessary, Dad." Gray used the same delivery he used when issuing orders at the hospital. "She’s my guest."

Amanda clasped his thigh. "It’s all right. My daughter’s Gray’s patient. We came down for her check-up and were caught in the storm."

"Ah...ha. Your...mys...terious...house...guests. Your...college...buddy."

Amanda equated the situation to a mine field. One misstep—in this case one misspoken word—and everything would blow up. Darn it all! This should be a pleasant evening. The setting was outstanding, the food exceptional and the other guests had been amusing during dinner. Why did the old man have to pick a fight? One look at Gray and any fool could tell he’d had more than enough. She didn’t think anything said so far warranted the outrage she saw on Gray’s face, but added to previous incidents one more nasty comment could send him over the edge. If only he could dance, she’d haul him off to the dance floor to cool off.

"So tell...me? Are...you...shacking up...with...her... again?"

Amanda gasped, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe she’d heard right.

Gray’s reaction convinced her that Spencer had indeed insulted them both. Gray pushed himself to a standing position with amazing speed. White faced, his eyes sparking fury, his voice was deadly in its quiet control. "If you weren’t my father, I’d punch you in the mouth."

Spencer had the grace to look ashamed. "I—"

"I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say," Gray said, pulling out Amanda’s chair and helping her up.

Before she had time to gather her thoughts, she found herself in the lobby, her coat draped around her shoulders.

"Wait here," Gray said. "I’ve got to find Charles to see about Dad before I bring the car around."

Chapter 11

All the way home Amanda mourned the loss of what had begun as a beautiful evening. Looking back she realized the sense of fun abounding before they left the house had evaporated by the time they entered the ballroom. The change could be attributed to the medical problem Gray had dealt with on the way, but that wasn’t the only reason. If she hadn’t been concentrating on her own feelings she would have realized Gray was as apprehensive as she had been.

"Damn, I’m sorry, Mandy," Gray repeated a second time as they walked in the back door. "Dad’s sometimes a nasty S.O.B., but I never dreamed he’d pull a stunt like that."

"It’s okay."

"It’s not okay." Gray didn’t need words to convey his anger, his demeanor spoke for him. He held himself rigid, like a ramrod-straight Marine at attention. His eyes resembled deep blue marbles, stone-hard and equally cold. His mouth was compressed to a thin slash above his jutting jaw. "He will apologize. His remark was inexcusable."

"It was unkind, even caustic, but I think you’re making too big a deal of it. Remember sticks and stones?" Amanda wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled her cheek against his stiff back. Her gesture had the desired effect, he relaxed a little. "C’mon, let’s make hot cocoa and forget the whole thing."

"You’re incredible, you know that?" He turned in her embrace and dropped a butterfly kiss on her forehead. Stepping back, he allowed his face to mellow. Slinging his tuxedo jacket over the back of a chair, he yanked his bow tie loose and unfastened the onyx stud at his collar. "The man was rude to you all evening, and you’re calm as—"

"I’m not calm." She rummaged through the cupboard, locating the cocoa powder and sugar, torn between her need to soothe Gray and her compulsion to run upstairs and check on Hilary. Ramona was close at hand if Hilly woke up. Right now Gray needed her more. "I’m hurt, even angry. I learned long ago not to let my feelings show."

He set the milk on the counter beside her. "You don’t have to hide anything from me." He cupped her neck, his fingers working out tension she hadn’t known was there. "Don’t be afraid to say what you feel because he’s my father. I’m furious!"

She laughed, a tiny little mirthless chuckle. "You’re furious enough for us both. I’m not close enough to him to let him get me all bent out of shape." That was only partially true, but she wasn’t about to tell Gray she’d expected his father’s boorish behavior and thus hadn’t been caught off guard. "If he was looking for a way to get your goat, he certainly found it."

He moved back giving her room to work. "Dad’s gone too far with the jealousy bit. I’m entitled to my own life."

Amanda turned from the stove, watching him holding his cane as if he’d like to wrap it around his father’s neck. "I think there’s more to his behavior than jealousy."

"What’d you mean?"

Amanda shook her head. Far better for him to figure his father out for himself than to have her point out the old man’s faults. "Just what I said. Think about it."

Taking large mugs from the cupboard, she poured, the smell of rich chocolate wafting through the kitchen. She placed their drinks on a tray and headed for the door. "Let’s go snuggle by the fire and listen to soft music. We don’t have to let your father spoil what’s left of our evening."

Gray looked like he might refuse, but thought better of it. "You’re good for me."

She set the tray on the coffee table in the library. "That works both ways. Put the music on, I’m going to run up and check on Hilary."

"Ramona’s sleeping up there."

Amanda shook her head. "Indulge me. It’s a mom thing. I’ve got to see for myself that Hilary’s all right."

"Yeah, I know. Hurry—" his honeyed tone carried a blatant inducement "—back."

"Yes."

Was it his imagination or did she really sound breathless?

Scanning the music titles, Gray reflected on the past few hours. His father would derive great enjoyment if he knew he’d managed to wreck Gray’s real first date since returning to Omaha. The fact that Amanda wasn’t a casual acquaintance stuck in his father’s craw. Well, he wouldn’t give the old man the satisfaction of winning. Mandy was right. They could salvage the rest of the evening.

By the time Amanda returned a few minutes later Gray had set the scene to his satisfaction. The library was illuminated only by soft spotlights aimed at the hunting scene hanging over the fireplace. A fire blazed in the grate. He placed his selection of compact discs in the CD player and turned on the machine. She stepped over the threshold, pulling the door shut. They were closed inside their own cozy world.

"I assume Princess is sound asleep," Gray said. He swung around, smiling, his anger banked for the time being. "You changed."

Amanda cinched the belt on her borrowed terry cloth robe tighter. "I was afraid I’d spill chocolate on my beautiful dress. Didn’t want to ruin it."

He started toward her, moving slowly without benefit of his cane, which hung from the edge of one of the entertainment center shelves. Halfway to the couch, he gasped and bent over, grabbing his bad leg.

Amanda dashed around the coffee table, reaching him in two seconds flat. "What is it?" she asked, placing her shoulder under his arm and helped him to the couch.

"Charley horse," he uttered between clenched teeth.

"Lie down." She shoved him flat on his back and worked his pant leg up and his over-the-calf sock down. "Where does it hurt?"

He seized the spot in a red haze of pain. "There."

"Move your hand. Let me do it." Using her thumbs, she dug deep into his scarred calf muscle, working out the knotted cramp.

"That’s better." He’d dreamed of her hands roving freely over his body, but a medicinal massage wasn’t quite what he had in mind.

"Better maybe, but that leg is still tighter than Great-aunt Tilly’s corset. Let’s get those pants off so I can do the job right." Her fingers were already unfastening his cummerbund.

"An intriguing invitation!" His attempt at humor lost something to the pain in his voice. He rolled over, slipping the white braces from his shoulders. He reached for his zipper, but she beat him to it. With the ease of someone with extensive practice undressing a wiggly child, she had him out of his pants quickly. Black jockey shorts were slung low across his flat belly. A starched dress shirt, rucked up around his waist, and shoes and socks completed his attire. He could easily be mistaken for a character in an old-time stag film in this get-up. He managed a chuckle, despite the throbbing in his leg.

"This is funny?" Amanda asked, seating herself on the couch and lifting his bare legs onto her lap. She continued the massage, her gaze traveling from his feet along the length of his body until she looked into his eyes and chuckled. "Oh! You are a sight."

Grinning, he adjusted a throw pillow under his head and sighed. Her palpation, intended to be therapeutic he was sure, did more than ease the pain. Her burrowing thumbs conveyed love and concern for his discomfort, while her caressing fingers telegraphed a more sexual message along his nerve endings. "Ah, bliss. I always knew you had a magic touch."

Her eyes twinkled in a way he hadn’t seen in years. "You ain’t seen nothin’ yet."

"I hope that’s a promise, not a threat."

The shadowy lighting and flickering fire transformed the spacious library into an intimate setting. A Chopin piano concerto emanated from well-placed speakers, surrounding them with romantic sound. Even unlit, the bayberry candles on the mantel gave off a pleasant scent. Lost in a cosmos of their own creation, Gray forgot his fury with his father. Five minutes of her tender loving care and the throbbing in his leg was replaced by a different throbbing higher on his anatomy. A sound, a cross between a sigh and a groan, issued from his throat. "Amanda?"

"Shh! I’m not finished."

Her eyes reflected the firelight. The tip of her tongue slipped out to dampen her lips. The unconscious gesture sent his fantasy mill into high gear. Imagining her flicking tongue working a more fiery kind of magic than her fingers, he clamped his long fingers around her wrist. Overcome by a need to give her a small amount of similar pleasure, he stroked the tender spot inside where her pulse fluttered wildly. He didn’t take into account that the feel of her baby soft skin would complete his arousal and accelerate his own heart rate. "The leg’s okay now," he murmured. "It’s the rest of me that’s in trouble."

She settled his abused limb on her thigh and reached for the bottom stud on his shirt. Slowly, carefully, her method designed to seduce, she worked her way upward, until the pleated shirt was unfastened. Parting the sides, she delineated his arrowed chest hair with her finger, leaving a trail of tingling sensation in her wake. She stopped at the elastic waistband on his briefs, flattening her hand on his bare stomach, her fingertips grazing his hair-roughened skin. Gray swallowed hard, surprised and yet not surprised by Amanda’s aggressive behavior. She’d been only subtly provocative before, but somehow he’d known the imp was there, just waiting for the right moment for her to set it free.

"I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you in the spa Thursday night." Amanda’s low, soft voice, transmitted similar tingling sensations along his spine.

He untied the sash on her robe and pushed the heavy fabric off her shoulders. "I’ve wanted to do that since Thursday night," he repeated huskily.

She leaned over, fumbling with the cuff link on his right sleeve. Her full breasts, cleavage displayed to advantage by the black demi bra she wore, were mere inches from his face. He sucked in his breath, inhaling her delicate signature scent. In seconds his face was buried in her yielding lace-covered flesh. She striped his shirt from his body. On occasion, and this was most definitely one of them, reality was better than even his most vivid fantasies.

She straightened, twisting to toss off his shoes and shuck his socks. Lifting his left leg again, she traced the path of one of the fine ridged scars to his inner thigh. Her touch was light, almost but not quite ticklish, her visage entranced. A groan broke from deep in Gray’s throat.

Amanda stopped at once. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," his croak reminiscent of the haircut earlier.

He sat up and swung his feet to the floor in one fluid motion, no longer content to play a passive role. What Delilah here needed was a taste of her own medicine, and he was just the doctor to administer a healthy dose.

He removed her half-on, half-off robe, adding it to the growing collection of discarded clothing lying on the carpet. Mimicking her tormenting lead, he followed the lace edge of her bra, substituting his tongue instead of his finger. She tasted marvelous, just like he’d imagined she would. Arching closer, Amanda moaned his name. Good, he was equally effective in driving her crazy. He wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. He intended to make her pay in pleasure for that little torture session this afternoon. Unhooking her bra, he cupped her breasts in his hands, his tongue laving first one pebbled nipple, then the other.

Amanda squirmed, almost forgotten feelings roiling through her. Showing no mercy, Gray again copied her tactics, and eased her on her back. He began a slow massage over her nylon covered leg. His fingertips skimmed her calf, the smooth silky fabric enhancing the excitement of his touch. Amanda was lost, floating on a sea of delight. He leaned over, repeating his exploration of a lace edge, this time along the top of her stocking. Unhooking the hose from her fastener, then the garter belt from her waist, he added the frilly garment to the pile of shed clothing. He rolled down her stockings in the same arousing fashion as she’d undone his shirt. She thought she’d die of bliss any moment.

The lace on her panties caught Gray’s eye, tempting him to duplicate his previous actions. In a moment of sanity, he knew if he did, there’d be no going back. An unplanned pregnancy was the last thing either of them needed right now.

"Mandy Mine," he whispered, brushing his fingertips across her cheekbone, "we’d better finish this upstairs. I’m not prepared to do more than neck on the sofa."

Amanda blinked, trying to focus her clouded vision. "My pocket," she said in a breathless whisper. "I raided your nightstand while I was upstairs."

Gray leaned over, retrieving a foil packet and tearing it open. "Good thinking."

He gathered her in his arms, his deep kiss unleashing his stockpiled passion. His gifted hands located all her secret places. She matched him, sizzling kiss for sizzling kiss, incendiary touch for incendiary touch.

Suddenly something exploded inside Gray. This was Mandy in his arms. She was his—the other half of himself—always had been, always would be. He loved her, he needed her, he wanted her.

Now.

And always.

Their remaining clothes flew in all directions. Her urgency equaled his own. Protection in place, he entered her carefully giving her body time to adjust to his. The feeling was indescribable. Slowly he began to move. Amanda matched his rhythm before she accelerated the pace. Together they rode wave after wave of mind-numbing tumult to a fulfillment beyond anything he’d ever dreamed.

Amanda’s breathing slowed; her world reoriented itself, better, brighter, more beautiful than before. She nestled her head on his shoulder, her hand splayed over the soft hair on his chest. She opened her mouth intending to say something light and teasing, but other words slipped out. Words so irrefutably heartfelt they couldn’t remain locked inside her any longer. "I love you."

Gray’s arms tensed around her. "I’ve never stopped loving you. This time I won’t let you go."

Happiness, elusive for so long, welled up inside, blinding her to the obstacles they faced. She snuggled closer. "I’m not going anywhere."

The grandfather clock struck one. "Let’s adjourn this party upstairs," he said. "This couch wasn’t designed for such vigorous activity."

*****

Amanda awoke in the gray light of dawn, wrapped in unfamiliar warmth. Consciousness rising, she realized she was sleeping on a waterbed which accounted for the heat beneath her. Her back rested against Gray’s chest. His arm was draped around her waist, and one leg was entwined with hers. His body radiated soothing heat to her sore muscles. Reminded of his crack about her own fur blanket, she grinned. She’d never felt cherished like this in her whole life.

She didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. After their workout last night, Gray needed his rest, and she knew he was a light sleeper. She’d delighted in their inventive lovemaking. It was as if, like Hilary’s devilment, they were trying to make up for lost time. The hour had been very late when, sated at last, they’d fallen asleep.

Contentment stole over her. This was how she wanted to wake every morning for the rest of her life.

A niggling doubt sprang from the depths of her mind. She tried to shove the thought aside. Too persistent to ignore, she was forced to examine her reservation.

After last night’s fracas, she surmised whatever antipathy Spencer Townsend had felt toward her was still firmly in place. She also understood Gray was prepared to disregard any opposition from his father. He’d said he’d never let her go, and she had no doubt he’d meant every word when he said them. Still, Gray’s ties to his only parent were powerful. Plus, the old man was ill. When the showdown came—and sooner or later it would—Amanda remained convinced she’d be the loser. Nothing had changed. There was no one else to whom Spencer could turn for support. Gray hadn’t sprouted a sibling overnight on whom he could foist the responsibility for his father. A whisper of a sigh escaped her lips.

"Quit worrying." Gray’s deep voice rumbled close to her ear. "We’ve come a long way. We’ve been through a lot and are stronger than we were as blossoming adults. Nothing, especially not my father, can separate us now."

Amanda thought for a moment that Gray was alluding to his father’s performance after the accident. No, he was referring to the here and now. She couldn’t help but wonder how he’d react if he ever found out what his father had done. If Gray’s anger last night was any indication, the explosion would be heard clear to Lincoln. "What makes you think I’m apprehensive?"

He rolled her to her back, raised himself on his elbow and studied her face. His finger smoothed the frown line between her eyes. "I know you pretty well, Mandy Mine. You aren’t stiff as an iron rod because all’s right with the world. You figure last night was a taste of what we can expect from my father in the future."

Her eyes widened and she nodded. When would she learn she couldn’t hide anything from him?

"I won’t put up with that crap from him anymore. Not when he hurts you. He can treat you like a decent human being, or I’m history."

"How can you say that when he’s old and sick? He needs you."

"Old and sick doesn’t entitle him to act like a tin despot. What he did last night was beyond rude. It was the last straw as far as I’m concerned. He’s got a choice, but I’m finished kowtowing to his every whim."

"But...Gray!"

"We’ll work it out. One nice thing about wealth is money will buy whatever help he needs. Money won’t buy him friends; he’ll have to change his attitude for that, but he’ll be taken care of one way or another. But not at the expense of our happiness."

His whole body vibrated with the conviction behind his words. If she loved him—and Amanda did with all her heart—then she was going to have to trust that he was telling the truth. It was up to her to do her best to win his father over.

She turned into his arms, scattering moist kisses along his raspy jaw.

"I do love you," she said. Those weren’t simply pretty words; they were a commitment to him, to the two of them as a couple and to the three of them as a family. The more she repeated the simple statement the easier verbalizing her feelings became. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He dropped a teasing kiss on the tip of her nose. "Much as I’d like to carry this to the most obvious conclusion, we’d better get up before our daughter stirs. She and I’ve been having breakfast together."

"Unfortunately, you’re right." Her smile, like the rising sun, broke slowly, curving her lips and lighting her eyes. "I really like the sound of that."

"What?"

She rolled out of bed, reaching for her robe. "Our daughter."

"I couldn’t love her any more if she were my own." He glanced at his clock radio. "Better hurry or she’ll come looking for one of us. Meet you in a few minutes."

In the middle of scraping his razor along his jaw, Gray realized that despite all their talk of the future, he hadn’t officially asked Amanda to marry him. He’d have to rectify that oversight and set plans in motion quickly. She aimed to return to Sioux City today. Her work wouldn’t wait any longer. However, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight until his ring was on her finger and a wedding date set. The sooner the better. They’d wasted too many years already.

The elation he’d tasted upon waking with her snuggled against him swelled inside him once again. Last night reinforced the sense of oneness he’d always known with her. They belonged together. He would not allow anything or anybody to stand in their way now.

He made one last pass with the razor and headed for the shower whistling a schmaltzy love song he’d never confess to knowing.

Down the hall, Amanda dried off and reached for the second set of new underwear she’d purchased yesterday. She brushed her hair, securing the soft tresses in a ruffled clip and applied light make-up. She donned the flowing wool challis skirt and matching silky blouse, grateful Gray had insisted on the outfit during their shopping spree. The teal blue flattered her complexion. Topping the outfit with a flower patterned sweater in lime, rust and teal, she fastened the locket Gray had given her under the blouse collar. She inspected her reflection in the mirror, satisfied she looked like a competent professional, dressed for church. She wasn’t sure why—she certainly didn’t need to impress Gray or Ramona—but her appearance seemed important this morning.

*****

Opening the front door to retrieve the Sunday World-Herald, Gray caught sight of his father’s silver limousine pulling into the driveway. He swore vile words he never used under his breath. Why did his father have to decide to drop by on this morning of all mornings? Stepping inside for a coat, he called to Amanda and Ramona in the kitchen. "Dad just arrived."

"His imperialness, here?" Ramona exclaimed. "Saints preserve us!"

"I’m going out to help Charles bring him in." He made no attempt to keep the disgust from his voice. The euphoria he’d experienced all morning evaporated into thin air. Dealing with his father never topped his list of fun things to do, but having to contend with him on an empty stomach added insult to injury.

The morning was cloudy and cold, the wind biting. His father didn’t go out much, especially this early on a dismal day. Not once since Gray’s return to Omaha had Spencer deigned to visit his son’s home. Gray suspected this wasn’t a social call, and while it would be nice if his father had come to apologize, he didn’t hold any hope for such a miracle.

He approached the car, his leg dragging as much from reluctance to face his father’s contentiousness as from the lingering soreness in his calf muscle.

Spencer’s grim expression announced trouble at a glance. Gray’s anger, diminished by the later events last night, returned full force. "Dad, Charles," he greeted, holding his feelings firmly in check, "this is unexpected."

"Need too...talk to...you."

"Let’s go inside where it’s warm."

Charles extracted a lightweight wheelchair from the trunk. Gray steadied the chair while the chauffeur cum factotum, hired for his burly strength as much as anything else, lifted Spencer out of the car. Hooking his cane over the chair’s back, Gray pushed his father up the walk, quietly seething. Together, he and Charles, maneuvered Spencer over the porch and into the hall.

Amanda was stationed in the living room archway, her stance that of a hostess waiting to welcome a guest. "Good morning, sir."

She never ceased to amaze him, Gray thought. Her voice was cordial, her expression kind. You’d think a long-awaited dignitary had come to call. Then, only because he was watching her so closely, did he notice her fingers pleating the fabric of her skirt. She wasn’t as cool and collected as she’d like them to believe. He wished she’d remained in the kitchen and let him handle whatever Dad threw at him, but hiding out wasn’t Amanda’s way.

She smiled at Charles. "There’re hot coffee and cinnamon rolls in the kitchen, down the hall. Help yourself."

Propelling the wheelchair into the living room, Gray set the brake. He sat down on the camel-backed love seat facing his father, folding his arms across his chest. Amanda slid onto the cushion next to him.

Silence. Sitting so close Gray felt Amanda’s tension. Small wonder. Spencer’s stare unnerved him, and he was accustomed to dealing with his father’s peccadilloes. Gray freed one arm and clasped her damp hand to reassure her.

"I assume—" Gray addressed his father, his voice tight "—you’ve come to apologize for last night."

"I...came...to knock some...sense...into your...hard head." Spencer directed his intimidating gaze toward Amanda. "Leave. I...want to...talk to...my...son."

She half rose but Gray wouldn’t let go of her hand. "You might as well know right now," he stated, leveling a direct gaze at his father. "Amanda’s going to be my wife. She has a right to hear what you have to say."

Amanda blinked, startled by Gray’s presumptuous disclosure. She didn’t recall accepting a proposal. However, this wasn’t the moment to challenge him.

"She...is a...nobody. A hayseed...from the...farm. She... has no...rights...as far as...I’m...concerned."

"She has the right to an apology for that last remark as well as for last night." Gray spoke quietly, but his fierce tone left no doubt about his wrath. "I don’t care if you are my father; you’re totally out of line."

Spencer raised his chin, his belligerent bulldog expression diminished by the slightly slack muscles on one side of his face. He glowered at Amanda, his eyes closed to slits. "Everything... was fine...until you...turned up...like a...bad...penny. I...thought...I had...gotten...rid...of you...years ago."

Spencer’s eyes widened briefly. His mouth closed with a snap. If Amanda hadn’t been observing him so carefully she’d have missed his reaction.

"You what?" Gray bolted to his feet. The wince he couldn’t hide told her the sudden action wasn’t a smart move on his part.

"Nothing."

Gray whirled on his good leg to Amanda. "What’s he talking about?"

She picked up a throw pillow and fiddled with the corded edge. "I think your father should explain."

"Dad? What the hell did you do?"

A flush crawled up Spencer’s neck. "It...was for...your... own good."

"I repeat. What did you do?"

"It...does not...matter...now." The flush inched toward Spencer’s cheeks.

Gray lamented his foggy memory of those first weeks following the accident. He shook his head in a futile attempt to part the veil. He’d been the one to break the engagement. Because his father had insisted doing so was best for Amanda. He sank back on the love seat, trying to piece together the fragments he remembered of those dark days. "I think your interference matters a great deal. You knew how much I loved Amanda, how much I looked forward to our marriage. Why? Why would you deliberately hurt me that way?"

Amanda wished she was elsewhere: Hong Kong, Timbuktu, St. Petersburg, anywhere but here. The very last thing she wanted was to come between Gray and his father. Yet, if she and Gray were to have a chance together, then the air needed to be cleared. She chewed the inside of her lip trying to decide whether to tell her side now, or let Gray pry his father’s culpability out of him. Before she reached a conclusion, the decision was taken out of her hands.

"I...did it for...your own...good. A...nobody...was not... the...appropriate...wife for...someone...in our...prom...inent ...position. Your...wife...needed to...move in...our circles... with ease." Spencer pointed his long bony finger at Amanda. "She...did not...meet...our... standards. When she...refused... to break...your engage...ment herself...I saw to it...that you...did the...jilting."

"You—you—" Gray sputtered, his hand tightening around his cane until his knuckles whitened. "You had no right to meddle behind my back!"

"Tell Gray about my letters and phone calls," Amanda said, steel in her voice.

Spencer’s mouth thinned to a stern line, his eyes hardened. He said nothing.

"What letters? What phone calls?" Gray first faced his father. Receiving no response, he twisted to Amanda. "Mandy?"

She reached over and grasped his knee. "Did you really think I gave you up without a fight?"

Gray shook his head, bewildered. "That was the problem. I was so doped up I couldn’t think straight. By the time I could do without painkillers you were long gone. The only thing I remembered clearly was my cruelty when you came to see me. I figured I didn’t deserve you back."

Amanda’s eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. Spencer Townsend wouldn’t see any weakness in her. "I tried all summer to contact you. My letters were returned, and I was told you weren’t taking phone calls. The first thing I did when I returned to campus was go to the hospital, but by that time you’d been dismissed."

Gray dropped his head into his hands. After several seconds he raised his gaze to his father. "Let me get this straight. You didn’t approve of my choice of a wife and set about to break us up. If you were so dead set against my marriage, why didn’t you say something sooner? Why wait until all our plans were made? The wedding was a month away. How did you plan to stop it? Wait until the ceremony and raise an objection?"

"I...knew you....wouldn’t...listen to...reason. Status ...never meant...much to...you—"

"You got that right!"

"The...accident...made my...difficult...task...easy."

Listening to the old man, Amanda felt like a healed over gash had just been ripped wide open. All the pain it had taken years to assuage roared back, leaving her reeling. Hearing herself described as a nobody, a hayseed, and inappropriate tore at her fragile self-confidence. Spencer Townsend was an out and out snob and his opinion shouldn’t matter one whit to her. But it did. She couldn’t help it. It did.

She wanted to slink away, to lick her wounds in private. To heck with her pride, she just plain didn’t have the strength to listen to this any longer. She shifted her position on the love seat, determined to escape. Gray reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. His thumb stroked a gentle message on her inner wrist.

All thoughts of flight vanished. This confrontation couldn’t be easy for Gray. How could she leave him to endure this unpleasantness alone?

"I always knew you were status conscious to a fault," Gray observed, "but I never thought you were unfair. Judging and condemning Amanda without even meeting her was unjust. To you we were nothing more than pawns in an elaborate chess game! You’re responsible for our having lost fifteen years together. You’ve cost yourself the enjoyment of grandchildren."

"What...makes...you think...your mar...riage would...have lasted? You both...were... young and foolish. Your... relation...ship would...not have...withstood...the strain of...rehab."

"Don’t try to justify your meddling. We loved each other enough to make our marriage work." Gray stopped and drew a deep breath, visibly struggling to remain calm. "Even if we didn’t have the commitment and strength to withstand the trials, it wasn’t your decision to make.

"We can’t reverse history. However, from now on changes will be made."

Spencer made no reply. He stared at the floor, his lips pursed.

"Just for the record," Gray continued, "Amanda has earned an MBA and is a certified public accountant. She owns her own company. You saw her last night. Her manners are equal to anybody you could name. None of that matters to me. What I care about is the warm, loving person she is inside. I admire her values. She cares about other people more than herself."

Once started, Gray didn’t stop until everything was out in the open. "I’m having a hard time understanding why you did what you did. What were you afraid of?"

Spencer’s color grew more hectic the longer his son spoke. Amanda feared his blood pressure was going through the roof. She was surprised Gray didn’t seem to notice. But, then she’d thought Gray was angry last night. He’d only raised his voice once and he wasn’t ranting—there wasn’t an explosion that could be heard next door, much less Lincoln—but no one could doubt he was both enraged and deeply hurt.

"I...was...afraid...I would...lose...you. I did...not want...to be alone."

How very, very sad. Her chest knotted as she mourned all the wasted years. I never would have taken Gray away from him. I knew how close they were.

The patter of small feet sounded overhead, along with a childish squeal. A lively dialogue between Hilary and Ramona concerning the "big tub" drifted down the stairs.

Here’s a lesson for all parents, Amanda noted and hoped she remembered in the distant future when her daughter stood on the brink of adulthood. Hold the apron strings loosely and let go when the time comes.

The urgency in Gray’s voice caught Amanda’s attention. "Did it ever occur to you that if you’d left well enough alone I’d’ve gone along with all your plans for me? Instead of losing a son you’d have gained a daughter-in-law who would’ve loved you as I did? I wasn’t happy about the prospect of taking over the Townsend Company, but I would’ve. You forced me to rethink my priorities."

Gray stood up and limped over to stand within inches of his father. He wasn’t tall, yet with his wide shoulders squared and his spine straight he seemed to tower over the old man in the wheelchair. "You have a choice. Amanda and I will be married. If she and Hilary’s father are willing, I want to adopt her daughter."

Amanda closed her eyes. This was awful. She didn’t want to be rammed down Mr. Townsend’s throat, yet given his attitude what else could Gray do?

"You can either accept them as part of our family," Gray turned away and stared out the window before continuing, "or I’ll have nothing more to do with you."

What was that old saying about being careful what you wish for because you might get it? Amanda had longed to be first priority in Gray’s life. She knew she needed to count that much, but at the moment the cost seemed too high. She never intended for Gray to sever his ties with his father.

She peeped at Spencer through the fringe of her lashes. His face was molten red, and his breathing in short pants.

"Help m—" Spencer gasped. He grabbed his chest and slumped forward.

Chapter 12

Gray moved with the speed Amanda had come to associate with a medical crisis. In a flash he knelt beside his father. Searching the older man’s pockets, he found a small vial of pills. He fumbled a second or two with the lid—at least the top wasn’t the child proof kind—and shook one of the nitroglycerin tablets into his palm. Inserting the medication under Spencer’s tongue, Gray looked up at Amanda, standing beside him. The angry son had transformed with lightning speed into the coolheaded, composed cardiologist. "My medical bag. Stat. In the hall closet. Send Charles in here."

She rushed down the hall. It never occurred to her to argue with his orders. When Gray donned his doctor persona he exuded an authority that demanded obedient respect. More than that, she truly wanted to help.

A black shroud encased her heart. The showdown had come, much sooner than she expected. Gray had put his foot down, refusing to play puppet while his father pulled the strings, with the expected result. Mr. Townsend became ill. Not that she thought for a moment that his attack was staged, but it was apparent he couldn’t withstand the stress of a confrontation. Happily ever after had vanished in a puff of smoke, dull and murky like her mood. Some things just weren’t meant to be, and given the indicators, she and Gray together must be one of them. Maybe someday she’d be able to understand and accept losing him again. Right now all she could do was carry out Gray’s instructions by rote.

"Charles," she called from the end of the hall, "Gray needs you. In the living room." The big man sprinted by as she snatched Gray’s black leather bag from the closet floor.

She ran up the hall. She waited while the two younger men lifted Spencer from the wheelchair and stretched him out on the couch. Silently passing the bag to Gray, she noted the old man’s pallor. However, it was the fear in his eyes that held her attention. His uncertain health was an ax over his head, the same as it was over his son’s. She could certainly empathize with his terror. She reached over and in a comforting gesture she’d used so often on her daughter, brushed his silver hair off his forehead.

"Easy Dad," Gray said, utilizing the hypnotic pitch he used to allay fear in his young patients, "you’ll be fine. He removed the stethoscope from his bag and unbuttoned his father’s shirt. "Where’s the pain?"

"Here," Spencer whispered, his hand outspread on the center of his chest.

"Any pain in your arm?"

"No."

"Nausea? Sweating?"

"No."

"Okay. Take a deep breath and hold it." Gray applied the cupped end of the stethoscope to his father’s chest, listening intently. "Let it out. Again."

Gray checked Spencer’s pulse, then took his blood pressure. "Lie still and rest. I’m going to call your doctor." He looked up at Amanda. "Stay with him until I get back."

"Of course," she nodded. Moving around to the front of the couch, Amanda knelt down on the floor and took the old man’s cold hand into her own. His fear was still very much evident. "You’re in good hands," she assured. There was a double meaning there, but she wasn’t sure he registered the significance.

Spencer lay motionless, his eyes closed. She sat back on her heels, not moving or saying another word for a good ten minutes, holding his hand the whole time. Once again, her predominant emotion was pity for this miserable shell of the person he used to be. Yet she couldn’t help feeling sorry for herself, too. Spencer Townsend was scared, sick and alone except for his loyal son. Just when she thought she’d finally regained control of her life, she found herself up against something beyond her power to repair. Apparently he had no friends willing to stand by him in his time of need. She prayed for Spencer to give her a chance. He didn’t really know anything about the person she’d become since her freshman year of college. His knowledge was based on old information. Couldn’t he give her credit for having matured into a responsible adult? Her only hope, and she thought it faint given his determination to dislike her, was to prove herself worthy of the Townsend name.

A thud sounded in the hall, followed by a little girl’s high-pitched giggle. Hilary rocketed into the room, dragging Floppy by one ear and plopped on Amanda’s lap. "Who he?" she asked, pointing her clubbed finger at Spencer.

"That’s Gray’s daddy."

"He sick?"

"Yes."

Before Amanda could stop her, Hilary bounded up and planted a sloppy, smacking kiss on Spencer’s pale cheek. His eyes flew open and his jaw dropped.

Mercy! Now my darling daughter’s gone and done it. Landed us both in the suds. He probably hates kids. Amanda corralled Hilary and dragged her away from the couch. "Mustn’t bother Mr. Townsend," she admonished, "he’s resting."

"Kiss him all better. All better," the toddler chanted, tickled pink with herself.

Amanda couldn’t help an amused grin. Her daughter was one bright little girl. She hoped Mr. Townsend wouldn’t take offense.

Spencer’s mouth curved in a hint of a smile. He gazed at Amanda, the first halfway friendly expression she’d ever seen on his face. "Your...daughter?"

"Yes." She twirled a silky brown lock from Hilary’s ponytail around her finger. "This is Hilary."

"Well, Dad," Gray said, making an untimely entrance from the library, "Doctor Casey agrees with my diagnosis. You’ve experienced another angina attack. How do you feel now?"

"Bet...ter."

"Me—" Hilary declared, tapping her chest "—kiss him better."

Gray scooped her up and tickled her tummy. "Oh, you did, did you?"

"Yes!" She nodded her head emphatically sending her ponytails bobbing and giggled again.

"Hilary!" Ramona puffed in. "Oh, there you are, you little rascal. You’re faster than greased lightnin’." She reached for the child. "Let’s go back upstairs."

"No." Hilary locked her arms around Gray’s neck and refused to let go.

"It’s okay, Ramona," Gray said, "she can stay."

Ramona looked doubtful, then shrugged. "I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Rising to her feet, Amanda brushed the wrinkles from her skirt. Spencer’s gaze was riveted on his son and the child balanced on his hip. What was Mr. Townsend thinking? Was he charmed by her daughter’s antics? He should be, but then Amanda acknowledged her mother-prejudiced viewpoint.

"She is...a...cute child," he addressed Amanda. "She...has a...bad...ticker?"

Amanda smiled at Gray. "Not anymore. She needed open heart surgery. We’ll have to monitor her, but for now your son has given her a clean bill of health."

She spoke and realized the old man’s attitude was different. She wouldn’t go so far as to say that a magical conversion had taken place, but Spencer’s hostility had evaporated, at least for the moment. She imagined the angina attack had been a mellowing experience, but was the effect permanent or temporary? Only time would tell.

Gray set Hilary on her feet, and seated himself on the edge of the couch beside his father. Lifting Spencer’s wrist, Gray checked his pulse again. "We’ll all get out of here and let you rest."

"I...want...to go...home."

"Are you sure you feel up it?"

"I...want...my own...bed."

"Very well." Gray dug keys from his slacks pocket and held them out to Amanda. "I’ll ride with him. Would you follow in my car?"

"I’ll drive mine—" She stopped and thought a minute. Her car was much smaller than Gray’s and while he might be comfortable riding in it, he might not. "Sure—" she took the keys "—I’ll take Hilary to Ramona and get my coat."

*****

Gray slouched, comfy—at least physically—among the overstuffed cushions in the chair beside Spencer’s bed. He’d asked Amanda to wait downstairs while he talked to his father. Calling on the willpower that had seen him through all those months of therapy, he kept his anger hidden. "Your attack was brought on by emotional upset, Dad. It’s clear that you feel threatened by Amanda and Hilary. I don’t think that’s justified, but I understand your feelings."

"You...barely...have...time...for me...now...without...them around."

Gray gritted his teeth, something he did more and more these days. He hated hearing his father whine like a spoiled child. He did not neglect his parent and was determined not to allow Spencer to convince him otherwise. "I love you, Dad, even though you work damn hard at being unlovable these days. My girls will love you too, if you’ll give them half a chance. Hilary’s a very sweet, very affectionate child. She learned those traits from her sweet, loving mother.

"In case I wasn’t clear earlier, Mandy and I both want you in our lives. But—and make no mistake, I mean this—I won’t tolerate any more of your abuse."

A tear rolled from the corner of Spencer’s eye. Gray held his breath. Angina pectoris could be the precursor to a full blown myocardial infarction. The possibility of a heart attack was what made an episode of chest pain frightening for the patient. His dad had endured enough for one day, but Gray knew leaving him to speculate where he stood would be worse than knowing.

"I...am...lonesome."

"I’m well aware of that. Why do you think I moved back here? You think I only throw you paltry scraps of my time. I do the best I can. There’s only so much of me to go around."

"I will...see...less...of you...after you...marry." Self-pity had slipped back into his father’s voice.

Gray gritted his teeth again, figuring he’d soon be a candidate for a dental appliance.

"Dad, I need a family of my own. I need someone who’ll hold me when I’m frustrated because I can’t help a patient. Someone who’ll make me laugh, someone I can pamper and tease. Mandy was that person once. She still is. By some miracle, although we’ve both changed, we’ve changed in concert with each other. Hilary’s an added bonus. I love children. I can’t imagine going through life without my own. Their squeals and giggles, their mischief, and even their tears. I want it all."

The more Gray said, the bleaker his father looked. Why can’t I get through to him?

"I...did not...know...you were...unhappy."

"Not unhappy. Not happy either, until Amanda reappeared. We want you to be part of our happiness, Dad. Didn’t you get a kick out of Hilary today?"

"Y...es"

"Am I interrupting?" Amanda stood in the doorway, looking uncertain.

"Come in, Mandy Mine." He deliberately used his pet name as a signal to her and a warning to his father. It vexed Gray that she hesitated, unsure of her welcome. Cognizant that she had ample grounds made him feel worse. He started to his feet, a somewhat difficult task given the depth of the chair and the stiffness in his mistreated knee. The joint popped and creaked.

Amanda hid her cringe. He could barely put any weight on his bad leg, but she knew she wasn’t supposed to notice. She was positive he hadn’t given his knee a thought when he’d knelt on the floor beside his father’s wheelchair. She pressed his shoulder. "Don’t get up, I’ll sit—" she patted the chair’s arm "—right here."

Held on her perch by Gray’s arm looped around her waist, Amanda absently rubbed his knee. At least she wanted him to think it was an unconscious action.

This room’s decor, like the small part of the downstairs she’d seen, was ultra modern, ultra sophisticated. Despite the fact that it was a bedroom, there was nothing personal here, except the slightly antiseptic odor that conveyed an invalid occupied the space. The contrast between Spencer’s house and Gray’s was vivid. She supposed that wasn’t surprising given the two men’s vastly differing personalities. She found it hard to believe one had raised the other.

"I came up to apologize for my daughter, sir," she said. "I’m afraid she’s accustomed to being our entire family’s little the darling. She was so sick. The whole family catered to her rather than let her cry and bring on a blue spell. Now she thinks everyone welcomes her like we do. I’ll keep her out of your way."

"No...need." Spencer attempted to scoot higher on the pillows.

Amanda sprang to her feet, aided him to a sitting position, and returned to the chair’s arm.

"Perhaps...I...have been...hasty...in...my...judgment...of you."

Gray’s fingers dug into her waist. Amanda’s stomach felt like a flock of angry crows were beating their wings in an attempt to get free. Maybe, just maybe, this small concession was the turning point for which she’d prayed.

"I will...become...acquainted...with you...and and—"

"Hilary, Dad."

"Hil...ary. I...do not...want...to lose...my son."

Spencer’s head lolled to one side. His speech had exhausted him.

"Thank you, sir," Amanda said around the constriction in her throat.

"Cut...the...sir. Call...me...Spen...cer or—" he fixed her with his intimidating stare "—Dad. Your...choice."

Blinking and swallowing rapidly to ward off ridiculous tears, Amanda knelt beside the bed and squeezed the old man’s hand. "Thank you...Dad."

He smiled, a genuine, full-blown smile, although she could see the effort took some doing. His facial muscles seemed to be atrophied in a frown. With Hilary around it wouldn’t be long before his smiling muscles worked easily.

"Now...both...of you...get out...of here...and let an old...man...rest."

Gray struggled to his feet, leaned over, and hugged his father’s bony shoulders. "Thanks, Dad. Charles will be close by if you need him."

*****

"What are you doing?" Amanda asked, when Gray exited off West Dodge Road onto I-680. "This isn’t the way home."

"It’s my day off. We’re heading someplace where there is only you and me. No parent, no kid, no phone."

Lines of strain bracketed his mouth, and tiredness shadowed his cobalt blue eyes. She couldn’t begin to guess what issuing his ultimatum had cost him emotionally. Demanding that his only living relative, the father with whom he’d shared a close relationship all his life, comport himself with decency and tolerance was a mark of sheer desperation. While Amanda appreciated the depth of Gray’s love for her that his action represented, she wasn’t naive enough to believe Spencer’s rude comments were the only reason for his demand. Spencer had pushed and pushed until his abominable behavior had been the last straw. Gray had fought back with the most powerful weapon he possessed. Small wonder he needed a little peace and quiet in which to regroup.

Keep it light, she decided. "And where might this Utopia be?"

"You’ll see."

"Have you forgotten I’m going home today?" A note of regret slipped into her voice. The lonely apartment in Sioux City wasn’t home anymore—merely a dwelling where she lived and worked. Home was where her heart was—a spacious brick house on a quiet street in Omaha, Nebraska.

"No." He slanted her a quick smile. "Before you leave we have unfinished business."

Her heart fluttered. "Oh?"

"Don’t act surprised." He popped a cassette in the player. Mannheim Steamroller’s distinctive sound filled the car. "Just relax. We’ll be there in twenty minutes or so."

It didn’t surprise her that he wanted to tie down the future they’d left dangling, but that didn’t stop her concern. A leopard, in this case Spencer Townsend, couldn’t change his spots in a matter of hours, could he? As much as she wished they could put off a serious discussion, there wasn’t much time left if she was to get to Sioux City before dark. She reached over and turned the volume down. "Will your father accept us?"

"I hope. I should’ve insisted that he get counseling or at the very least, find something to get him out the house when I first came home. Instead, I let him wallow in his misfortune. If I wasn’t his only interest—" Gray plowed his fingers through his hair "—having you sprung on him would’ve been easier."

Amanda groaned inwardly, an odd itching in her gloved fingertips. She for her hand to replace his in his hair.

"Everything’s different when the invalid is your parent," she said. "You lose your objectivity. No matter how independent we become, somehow we all revert to their children in our dealings with them. I find myself eating stuff I don’t want just because my mother thinks I should."

"You’ve got that right. Dad says jump and I say how far, as if I was ten again."

"What happens if the angina attack’s mellowing effect wears off tomorrow? We’ll be right where we started."

"That’s always possible. I think he’ll try to get to know you before he starts flinging names around again. You can thank your daughter’s ‘doctoring’ in part. Did you notice his face while I was holding her? One sloppy Hilly kiss and he caught a glimpse of what he’s missing. Of course your generous spirit didn’t hurt. I don’t imagine he was prepared for your sweetness after he’d treated you so shoddily."

"I did have an ulterior motive."

"You reacted exactly as I expected you would. You’re the nurturing type, especially to someone in need. Frankly Dad’s one of the neediest people I know."

"Has he always been so difficult?"

"Not difficult per se. More like a benevolent dictator to those who cooperated with him. A petty tyrant to those who dared to cross him. He was—and is—a master manipulator. A wheelchair and halting speech negated his commanding presence, reducing him to nothing but the tyrant. Now he resorts to guilt and verbal abuse to get his way."

"I can take any abuse he dishes out, as long as he doesn’t take out his frustration on Hilary."

"I won’t tolerate any directed at either of you," Gray stated, pounding the seat. "He still owes you an apology."

"He apologized."

"When?"

"When he said he’d been hasty in his judgment of me."

"That wasn’t a proper apology. Besides he qualified it with may have been."

"I’ll accept his statement as such." She reached over and patted his arm. "It wasn’t an easy thing for a proud man like your father to admit. Let it go."

Gray grunted in disgust. "All right. I won’t insist on a groveling ‘I’m sorry’. But I meant what I said about accepting you. I think he got the message. Faced with being left totally alone or recognizing my family, he’ll take the lesser of two evils. He doesn’t want to lose me."

"I wish I felt good about all this. I hate being considered the lesser evil."

"He’ll soon figure out for himself that you are the exact opposite—an angel here on earth."

His words wrapped her in a warm fuzzy quilt, even though she didn’t deserve them. "Don’t say things like that. You’ll turn my head. Besides I can be as bitchy as the next woman on occasion."

"Angels are allowed a few bad moments."

She fidgeted in her seat. "You’re embarrassing me. Can we get back to the subject of your father?"

"I won’t retract what I said." He flashed her a look so full of love, she dissolved inside.

"As I was saying before I got sidetracked, in the long run we’re doing Dad a big favor. He’ll be a whole lot happier with something to live for. Hilary’s exactly what he needs. I wouldn’t be surprised if he develops a special bond with her because they both have cardiac problems."

"I never thought of that."

When they turned south off the interstate onto Thirteenth Street, Amanda was puzzled. "Where in the world are we going? Bellevue?"

"Not quite. Have patience! We’re almost there."

They passed the Rosenblatt Stadium—Henry Doorly Zoo complex and kept traveling south. Soon Gray flipped on his left turn signal at the entrance of Mandan Park. He followed the winding, blacktop road to an overlook on a bluff high above the Missouri River and parked the Lincoln.

Here was peace, the stillness broken only by the whispering wind. Although lacking summer’s glorious green or autumn’s golden splendor, the panorama before them had an enchanting beauty only winter could provide. Bulky ice floes created the river’s rough texture. Diamond-dust snow, broken by animal tracks covered the landscape. The stark, bare trees were charcoal against the white ground. Here and there an evergreen contributed a welcome splash of color. A sleek, gray squirrel with a reddish tail scampered up one of the protective barriers in front of the car, and overhead an eagle soared.

"Oh! Look! Isn’t she beautiful!" Amanda nudged Gray’s arm and pointed skyward.

"That’s an unexpected treat. Eagles are sometimes seen along the Missouri River in the winter, but they’re more prevalent in the central part of the state." They watched in awe until the bird flew out of sight. "However, I didn’t bring you here to bird watch."

"I didn’t think so."

He removed his gloves, raised up, and fished in his pants pocket. She gasped when she saw her former engagement ring in the palm of his hand. It was a tasteful square-cut emerald surrounded by tiny diamonds, set in a gold band. "You kept my ring."

"Remember the fun we had shopping? I wanted a bigger, showier stone. You’d have none of it." He chuckled, a deep rumble she loved to hear, and scooted closer to the center of the seat. "We were negotiating even then. This time I’m glad you won. That other ring was downright gaudy."

Her laughter bubbled up, filling the car with exhilarated sound. "That diamond would’ve been more appropriate for a high-priced lady of the evening. That was the only time I questioned your good taste."

"It was a macho thing. My version of branding you. Blame it on youth. I wanted the world to know you were mine." His eyes turned a dark smoky blue and his voice became husky. "I still want the world to know you’re mine, Mandy. I love you more than I did then. I didn’t think that was possible. This ring belongs on your finger. Will you marry me?"

"Oh, yes!"

"You’re sure you want to deal with Dad and Ramona? Not to mention the constant interruptions of my profession?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Gray, I love you. We’ve wasted so many years. Why’re you trying to convince me to change my mind?"

"I want you to be very, very sure, my darling. Once I place this ring on your finger, I won’t let you go."

Amanda raised her hand. Slowly, deliberately, she tugged at each finger of her left glove until she could pull it off. Holding her fingers spread apart, she extended her hand toward him. "Brand me."

He slid the ring on her third finger and turned her hand over. Raising her hand to his lips, he pressed his warm mouth into her palm. His hot tongue trailed her heart line sending smoldering fire straight to her soul. Her breath caught and her eyes glazed. No visible brand could have been more permanently applied.

She leaned closer, her right hand clasped his shoulder. Amanda’s world was reduced to the confines of the car. Time stood still. His mouth captured her open lips, his tongue waltzing with hers in perfect harmony.

About the time their thick layers of clothing became an unwelcome barrier, the sound of an approaching engine slowly penetrated Amanda’s sanity. But it wasn’t until she heard the playful tootle of a car’s horn that the world beyond the man in her arms fully intruded.

They broke apart laughing. The car windows were fogged by their steamy breath. "Good grief," Gray exclaimed, "I never thought I’d get caught necking in a car at my age."

"This sounds foolish but I feel reborn, like the world is new and everything is shining bright."

"Amanda, my love, at a time like this we can be as foolish as we like."

A cold shiver twitched Amanda’s shoulders. "I hate to bring this wonderful moment back to the mundane, but the temperature’s glacial in here."

"Let’s go home." She started to slide back to her seat next to the door, but he caught her wrist. "Stay put. There’s another seat belt in the middle."

She buckled up while Gray started the car and kicked the defroster up to full blast. "You’ll warm up in a minute."

He reversed and followed the park road back to Thirteenth Street. "Let’s get married next Saturday."

"There’s no way I can put a wedding together in less than a week!"

He frowned. "You don’t want a side show of a wedding, do you?"

"Heavens, no."

"Thank God!"

"But I do want a decent wedding, with our families in attendance."

"Then what’s wrong with Saturday."

"Isn’t that just like a man!" Amanda shook her head. Exasperation took a back seat to the infectious gaiety bursting inside her. "Darling, you don’t snap your fingers and arrange even the smallest wedding, unless you head for the nearest justice of the peace. Don’t you remember all those plans we made before?"

"Sure, but you agreed we weren’t going for a circus this time."

"I’ve got work piled up that I can’t ignore any longer. Saturday’s impossible."

"Oh." He sounded like a three-year-old who’d just been told he couldn’t go swimming in January. Why not? The sun was shining.

Gray slowed for a traffic light. "How long do you need to put together a ‘decent’ wedding?"

"At least a month."

"No way!" He tromped a little harder than necessary on the brake. "We’ve been apart far too long already. I’m not waiting four more weeks."

"Honey, be reasonable. I don’t see how I can take care of the clients I’m committed to and get ready to move, as well as accomplish the wedding details in less than a month. That’ll be pushing it as it is."

"All right," his tone became crisp, businesslike, "let’s take this one step at a time. Give me your definition of a decent wedding?"

"A ceremony in a church. We don’t have to have a lot of people, but I think a few close friends should be included. And I want a simple reception with pictures to look at when we’re old and gray."

"Okay. Can’t your mother make the arrangements for the church? I assume you want to be married at home since we’ll have a small crowd."

"Wouldn’t it be better to have the ceremony in Omaha? For your father?"

"You’re right. Okay, I’ll call my pastor. We can have the reception at the house. Ramona will be thrilled to take care of everything. That leaves you with work and moving."

"No small tasks."

"You can move your office here. We’ll set up your computer in the back bedroom. That way you won’t have to quit smack dab in the middle of tax season." He eased the car around a slow moving truck. "In fact, you don’t have to quit at all, unless you want to. We’ve got a built-in sitter."

"We’ll see."

"As for moving, pack up the stuff you absolutely can’t live without. We’ll get the rest later."

He had a reasonable solution to every obstacle in their way. "I, ah...I have to have time to find a dress."

"That won’t take long. I’ve seen you in action."

"Don’t count on it. This isn’t an occasion where any rag will do."

He heaved a big sigh. "Much as I hate to bring this up, we’d better settle it now."

"What’s that?"

"I swear, I won’t be responsible for my actions if you give me a hard time about paying the bills. All of it. Wedding, moving, your dress."

He sounded so ferocious she wanted to laugh. Well, she might have been a tad unreasonable about the ball dress. Unless she intended to go through the rest of her life arguing about money when it wasn’t necessary, she’d better change her tune right now. She flashed him a sweetness and light smile. "Would I do that?"

"Do goats stink?"

She nearly choked. "I’m not that bad."

"Worse, lady. A whole lot worse."

"All right, already. No argument."

Gray drove through downtown Omaha and headed west toward midtown. "Since you’re being so agreeable, I’ll wait two weeks. No more."

"If you consent to a candlelight ceremony, you’ve got yourself a deal."

"Done! We’ll—" his lip quirked in a devilish grin "—seal the bargain when we get home."

"You never pass up an opportunity, do you?"

"Never. Get used to it. You’ll be living with me for the next fifty years or so."

Pure, unadulterated joy surged through her. "I like the sound of that."

*****

Amanda and Gray trooped across the back yard hand in hand. He figured if his face was glowing half as much as Amanda’s they wouldn’t need to say a word for Ramona to figure out their news.

The housekeeper was winding down a phone call when they entered the kitchen, and Hilary was playing under the table. When she saw them, Hilary stood up and banged her head on the table’s edge. She started to wail.

Gray reached her first and hoisted her into his arms. "Poor head," he crooned, "let Daddy kiss it better."

Ramona dropped the receiver in the cradle like she’d just been stung. "I can’t have heard right. Did he say what I thought he said?"

Amanda removed her left glove and wiggled her hand for the housekeeper to see. The emerald and diamonds dazzled in the light. "Yes!"

Ramona, tears streaming down her face, beaming from ear to ear, hugged Gray and kissed his cheek. "Hallelujah! It’s about time!"

"Doc. Daddy!" Hilary shrieked, planting a soggy smack on his other cheek. "‘Bout time!"

Epilogue

Father’s Day, Four years later

Stretched out on a lounger on the brick patio outside the library, Amanda kept an eagle eye on her brood. Marshmallow, a big, friendly malamute mix, barked and chased a squirrel to the safety of the ancient oak tree beside the garage. Two-year-old Blake shrieked as his older—by all of five minutes—brother, Stephen, dumped a bucket full of wading pool water over his head. Stephen chortled and refilled the bucket. Amanda shook her head. Blake’s response was too good for his brother to pass up an encore.

"Hey, Granddad, look at me!" Hilary shouted, hanging up-side-down from the jungle gym’s monkey bar.

Spencer, sitting in his wheelchair beside his daughter-in-law, raised his hand and waved to the little girl. "Are... you...going to...allow Stephen...to tor...ment...Blake that...way?" he demanded of Amanda.

"Blake is perfectly capable of fighting back when he’s good and ready, Dad. We let them settle their differences themselves as much as possible. Besides that’s play, not war."

He snorted, as he often did to express his disapproval, but his eyes twinkled. Amanda had learned to watch his eyes. When they sparkled as they did now, any curmudgeon pronouncements that came out of his mouth could be ignored. "Could not...tell it...from...here. Where is...Gray?"

"He had to stop by the hospital after church. He should be here by the time my folks and the terrible trio arrive."

Amanda leaned back and let the noise ebb and flow around her. The last four years had been good ones, but not without the tribulations all families face.

Her wedding to Gray had been a simple, intimate but beautiful, ceremony held in a small chapel. Between them, Ramona and her mother had outdone themselves arranging the lovely reception that followed. And the triplets had kept everything light and fun. To this day the whole family laughed about how the terrible trio had painstakingly decorated the Lincoln to tease—not to embarrass—being respectful of the car’s paint.

At first Amanda had continued to work, paying off Hilary’s medical bills with her earnings over the very vocal arguments of her husband. No amount of bartering on Gray’s part swayed her. It was her debt, plain and simple, and she paid it. He, on the other hand, had never allowed his office to bill her for his services as Hilary’s cardiologist. She dropped her protest when he pointed out with indisputable logic that they had a joint checking account, and it was ridiculous to pay themselves. She didn’t agree, but she recognized he was digging in his heels as she had done over the other medical bills and gave up the argument.

Halfway through her pregnancy with the twins, she decided it was time to become a full-time mother and closed her business. It proved to be a wise decision when she’d been confined to bed the for the entire last month.

As frequently happens, difficulties occurred in bunches. That same winter Gray had slipped on the ice, breaking his bum leg in a spot that had escaped damage before. Fortunately, it was a clean break which healed quickly. However, in deference to his cast and his hugely pregnant wife, an elevator had been installed in the house. The day the cast had come off, he took to the stairs again unless in dire pain.

Even the down times had their positive side. She and Gray were closer today than ever before. Their love had grown through adversity.

Their joys were great. To watch Hilary run and jump and twirl in ballet class no one would guess she’d ever been deathly ill. The twins were a dual bundle of enthusiasm and energy that more often than not left Amanda breathless. How had her mother managed triplets? Stephen’s and Blake’s clever mischief amused their father. Of course he wasn’t home day in and day out to deal with their chaos. She and Ramona were frequently at their wit’s end. It was a case of laugh or cry, and they chose to laugh rather than spend much of their days in tears. One thing Amanda had learned from her mother: when raising children, a sense of humor was invaluable.

Gray contended that his sons’ curiosity and imagination was the sign of supreme intelligence!

The rumble and rattle that heralded the arrival of the purple pickup long before the ancient machine came into sight echoed across the yard. Moments later the trio ambled onto the patio from the library. If the term hunk could be applied to any young man of her acquaintance, it certainly applied to Amanda’s brothers. They had been big before, but after four years on a top twenty college football team, they were awesome. And good looking! The high school girl next door always found one pretext or another to drop over when the purple truck appeared.

"Hi, unks!" Hilary hollered from the jungle gym. The twins were too absorbed in their game to notice the new arrivals.

The triplets waved in unison and turned to hug Amanda, each in turn.

"Hi, Mr. T," Tyler greeted, ruffling the old man’s hair. "What’s happening?"

"One...would think...a college...educa...tion would... improve your man...ners."

"We have manners," the youngest of the three declared. "Just don’t put on the dog for the family."

"It wouldn’t hurt to impress us with your maturity and poise once in awhile," Amanda commented.

"Shucks, Mandy," Tucker said, rocking his chair back on its back legs "that’s too much like work."

Nathan dropped a rectangular package into Spencer’s lap. The flat, ridged-edged object was covered with the sheets of the Sunday comics held together with what must have been a whole roll of tape. "Sir, we were cleaning out the attic for Mom and found this. We thought you’d like it."

Spencer scowled, but the light in his eyes spoiled the effect. "What..is it?"

"Open it and find out," Tucker insisted.

Spencer fumbled with the paper, his movements ineffective with only the use of his right hand. Saying nothing, Nathan reached over and steadied the package while Gray’s father tore the newsprint free. Inside, beautifully framed, was an old print of downtown Omaha.

"It’s the corner where your office building now stands," Tucker informed him, a pleased-with-himself grin stretching from ear to ear.

"Ah...thank you...guys. It is...very nice."

Amanda noted the sheen in his eyes and knew Spencer was far more touched than he’d ever let on. Her brothers were such sweeties. She hoped their respective girl friends appreciated them.

She heard a car in the driveway, but couldn’t see if the latest arrival was Gray or her parents.

"Daddy’s home," Hilary hollered, executing a credible dismount and running to meet her favorite person. Stephen dropped his bucket and tore after his sister, as fast as his chubby legs would carry him. Blake following close behind.

Gray limped across the lawn, leaning on his cane for support, beaming a broad smile. His progress was impeded by one soggy son perched on his hip, the other clinging to his strong leg and his daughter cavorting in front of him, her mouth running a mile a minute. The dog danced in a circle around them, barking in excitement. Amanda’s stomach did a little flip as it always did when she saw her husband after an absence, no matter how short.

The laugh lines around his eyes were deeper. No wonder. He, too, spent most of his time laughing at his children’s capers. He still maintained his exercise program and stayed in excellent condition, but his dark hair now had a few threads of silver. Amanda thought the change only added to his distinguished appearance.

Casting a glance at Spencer, she caught a flash of consummate pride on his face. He cleared his throat. "Good looking...children...Amanda. Always...thought so...even...when the boys...were only...hours old."

Hours old? Really? "I didn’t know you’d seen them until the day after they were born."

He studied the patio bricks, his face the same red hue as the object of his contemplation. Her eyes misted with tears she’d never let him see. "I...came...as soon...as Gray...called. It was...after visiting...hours—" way after—the twins had been born at two-twenty in the morning! "—and you...were asleep."

She took his hand and held it. "I’ve got your number, Spencer Townsend. Under that crusty facade you’re a cream puff at heart."

"Can...not...imagine why...you would...think...that," he snorted.

"Hi, Dad, guys," Gray said, pausing to squeeze his father’s shoulder. He leaned over and kissed Amanda before dropping into a chair next to her. "Go watch for Granny and Gramps," he instructed the children.

"It’s about time you got home," Ramona fussed, setting a pitcher of lemonade and a tray of glasses on the table. "Land sakes, Gray, look at that suit. Go change, before it’s ruined beyond fixin’."

"Gee, Ramona, it’s just a little wet." He shot Amanda an why-do-I-put-up-with-this-abuse look and levered himself to his feet. "Be right back."

"You’d better or the chicken won’t get barbecued," Ramona said.

*****

"You coming?" Gray called from the foot of the stairs, breaking the quiet. The grandfather clock struck the half hour, making the time ten-thirty.

Amanda stooped to pick up a toy truck and a ball from the library floor. She deposited them in the toy box and turned out the lights. "On my way."

She entered the hall, and the overhead light caught her golden hair. She still looked like a beautiful angel, he thought, serene and steady, the hub around which his family ran.

Her arm circled his waist as they climbed the stairs. Automatically, they headed to the boy’s room. Stephen lay sprawled on his back at the foot of his bed. Gray shifted him around and pulled the sheet over his sturdy body. Blake slept in a rump-in-the-air ball, his thumb in his mouth.

Across the hall, Hilary, her arm curled around a totally disreputable Floppy, smiled at the dream conjured in her sleep. Gray closed the door and turned to his wife. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her long and hard, contentment swamping his soul.

"Let’s soak in the spa," he suggested.

A spark of mischief—often mirrored by his sons—gleamed in her eye. "Just soak?"

"Well, I could be persuaded..."

THE END