“Afternoon? Are you crazy? You need to be here first thing in the morning. I’ve reserved the track. That tranny—”
“Afternoon,” was all Nick said before ending the call.
He stared at his phone, tempted once more to call Mark about his test results. But Nick shrugged off the idea. He’d already talked to him twice today and gotten assurances that Brandt would call the moment he knew anything.
Nick grabbed his coat, shrugged it on, and put his phone in the coat’s pocket. He made for the door intent on getting something to eat. Halfway there, he stopped. Earlier tonight he’d spied a reporter snooping around, asking questions, and, Nick was pretty sure, snapping a few photos. News of his arrival would spread like a brush fire in this small town. But that didn’t mean he had to fan the fire.
He ran through his options. Which weren’t many, considering he was staying in a hotel without room service. Then Nick remembered the young boy who’d brought him the phone message the other night. He’d seen that same kid down in the lobby earlier tonight. Nick picked up the hotel phone and called down to the front desk.
Ten minutes later, with a hundred-dollar bill tucked securely in his pocket, the bellboy was heading back down with assurances to Nick that he knew exactly where to find a steak dinner.
Nick had only just resettled into the stiff chair when a knock sounded at the door. With a shake of his head, he got up, wondering what the kid had forgotten.
He opened the door. Only it wasn’t the bellboy on the other side. It was Hope.
And in that instant, Nick knew exactly why he hadn’t stayed at a hotel in Seattle. He’d come back to Tranquility for just this possibility.
* * *
SELF-RIGHTEOUS indignation had propelled Hope all the way down Main Street, through the rain and through the inn’s front doors. Resentment continued to fuel her as she waited for Sally (an acquaintance she knew through the kids’ school) to tell her Nick’s room number, which she did with hardly a pause and not a question. A definite perk of small-town living! Hope’s outrage carried her up to the second floor, bolstering her right until the moment her hand connected with the door of room 210. And then that momentous energy slid away as quickly as it had come.
Thoughts of fleeing tempted her, but before she could act on them, Nick was there, looking as irresistible as Hope remembered. She thought about how she must look: exhausted and old were the two words that came to mind. Dressed in her work outfit of black polyester slacks and red polo shirt with the store’s logo imprinted on the left breast pocket, she felt dowdy. And that wasn’t even taking into account her hair. The sudden rain shower had pulled it from its confines and left it loose and curly and dripping wet.
“Hello.”
“H-hi.” Thoughts of retreat were center stage once again. What had possessed her to come here? “It’s late. I shouldn’t have come. We can talk tomorrow—”
Nick stepped back and pushed his door open further. “Come in.”
“It’s late.”
“You already mentioned that.”
“We can talk tomorrow.”
“You already said that too. Now why don’t you say what you really came here to say? But preferably not standing in the hallway.”
The open door loomed before her, and suddenly standing out in the hallway seemed childish. She was thirty-two years old, for crying out loud. An adult. A mother. Not a starstruck teenager unable to hold on to a single thought when the hottest bad boy in school spared her a look.
So why was her heart thundering and her palms sweating?
Hope eased through the door and made her way into the room. The only other time she’d been in one of the inn’s rooms was several years ago during Thanksgiving. Dana’s parents had come for the holiday and Hope had agreed to pick them up on the way out to Dana’s apartment. But it looked to Hope that the décor hadn’t been altered a bit since then.
“You can stand if you want, but I do have an extra chair.”
Startled, Hope looked up. Taking a deep breath, she closed the door and moved to the seat across from Nick.
“Can I get you anything? Something to drink?”
“No. Thank you, I’m fine.” She teetered on the edge of her chair.
“You’re out late.”
A drop of water fell from her hair and plopped onto her nose. She brushed it away only to have another droplet fall. “I was passing by and thought I’d take the chance of stopping to see if you were awake.” Water trickled down her back and she fought the urge to squirm.
Nick got up and walked into the bathroom only to reappear a moment later carrying a white towel. He passed it to her. “Wasn’t there parking nearby?”
“You could say that.” Hope patted her face and then made a feeble attempt at drying her hair. Ever since she’d entered the room, she’d avoided directly looking at him, but now she lifted her gaze and met his. And instantly wished she hadn’t.
Reclined in the chair with one ankle propped on the other and his hands casually folded across his flat stomach, he was the epitome of relaxed sex appeal. Expensive, exclusive, out-of-her-reach sex appeal; no matter how hard she fought against it, a part of her would always be attracted to this man to whom she’d given her young and yet-unbroken heart. But just as there were similarities between the man before her and the boy she’d known, there was also just as many differences. And it was to those differences Hope clung, using them to insulate her against the past. Against the memories that had been coming more and more frequently.
“I called the hospital less than an hour ago,” Nick said, surprising Hope. It felt like an invasion of her family’s privacy, having him check in at the hospital. That was her job. “Joshua was doing fine, and I can’t imagine Susan getting into too much trouble since this afternoon, so if it’s not about the kids . . .”
It was all the opening Hope needed. “Actually, it is about the twins. More specifically, the gifts you bought for them.”
“I see.”
No, he didn’t. And somehow, she was going to have to make sure he did. “You can’t go around buying Josh and Susan thousands of dollars’ worth of gifts.”
“Why not?”
Why not? “Because . . . because it isn’t right, that’s why. What are they supposed to think when a stranger shows up with more presents in one day than they’ll see in a year? Five years?”
The moment she’d said “stranger,” Hope knew she’d made a mistake. Nick’s body tensed. He uncrossed his legs and sat up. His blue eyes that had only held laughter and love all those years ago were now sharp with condemnation. “Not a stranger by choice.”
“You can’t buy their affection, Nick.”
“Maybe I went a little overboard today, but I’ve got a lot of years to make up for.”
Hope let out a deep breath. The white towel lay like a misshapen ball in her lap. Smoothing it, she folded it, unfolded it, and then refolded it. “I know you’re angry with me, but I can’t help wondering if this isn’t your way of getting back at me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. This has nothing to do with you.”
His words stung. Just as he had intended.
The ringing of Nick’s cell phone stalled any further conversation.
Hope got up, glad for the interruption. She’d come and said what she wanted to say and now couldn’t wait to get away. “I’m sure you’ll want to get that,” she said as she gathered her purse and coat.
Nick rose. “Wait. I’ll get rid of whoever it is. We still have things we need to talk about.”
“We can talk tomor—”
Nick held up his hand, silently asking her to wait as he glanced down at the number calling. Recognizing the number, he gave Hope a look she couldn’t identify until she heard him say, “Dr. Brandt. Hello.”
The strength went out of her limbs and she sank back into her chair.
Please, God. Please.
She studied Nick’s face, heard him say, “Yes. I see. Are you positive?”
His expression gave nothing away and yet she knew. A wail started down deep, deep inside her, and when Nick ended the call and turned to her, she knew what he was going to say before he even did.
“I’m sorry.”
“Noooo.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, moving closer.
Through her watery vision she saw his deep regret, his torment, but she couldn’t concentrate on that, so great was her fear.
“I’m not a match.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No. No. No. Dr. Brandt is wrong. He’s wrong.” She felt herself slipping, sliding down the front of the chair and landing on the ground. “He’s wrong. We’ll do the test again. You’ll see. You are a match. Oh, God.” Her voice caught on a sob and she felt sick. She looked at him, felt as if she were breaking into a million pieces. “You are a match. Don’t you understand? You have to be.”
* * *
HOPE’S words tore through Nick, leaving him raw and exposed. He had been so sure—so confident—that he’d be a match. But he wasn’t, and the knowledge devastated him.
“What am I going to do now?” Hope was saying, her voice strained with pain and reed thin. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to stay strong for Joshua.”
“Strong.” Hope said the word almost as if it were foreign. “I’ve never been strong.” Tears streamed down her face. “All I ever wanted was to be the best mother I could, but . . . I must have done something wrong.”
“You didn’t.”
“I failed him. It’s my fault he’s so sick.”
Nick used the pad of his thumb to wipe her tears away. “It’s not your fault.”
“Why couldn’t it be me?” Her cries became harder, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “It should be me!”
For the first time in his life, Nick wished he’d been born into a huge family. Where droves of people genetically linked to Joshua could get tested. “What about your mother?”
“Claire? The woman who won’t even say her grandchildren’s names, let alone see them? To make sure she gets tested, I’ll have to personally go and drag her to the clinic.”
Nick felt a surge of anger toward anyone who could be so callous to the suffering of a child. But when that child was your grandson . . .
“What else can I do?” Hope’s question was muffled in heartache.
Nick thought about the numerous calls he’d made. How he’d had Joshua’s records faxed worldwide to the most elite, highly sought-after pediatric oncologists. And, according to what Dr. Brandt had told Nick earlier today, those specialists had concurred. Mount Rainier Children’s Hospital and Dr. Parker were doing everything humanly possible to save Joshua. There was nothing more they could do.
Nick looked down at Hope. She seemed so small and fragile sitting on the floor. So alone.
In a move as natural as breathing, Nick sank down next to her, tucked her head in the crook of his shoulder, and gathered her tight. He ran his hand up and down her back murmuring words, trying to offer comfort. He brushed her hair off her forehead and tucked the damp curls behind her ears. For the longest time, she sat stiffly in his embrace, refusing the comfort he offered, until finally, with a soft, anguished cry, she sank into him. His arms tightened protectively around her, rocking her gently. For the longest time, they sat there on the carpet, surrounded by their pain and grief, as they tried to find the strength they would need for the road ahead.
Long after Nick thought Hope had fallen asleep, she looked at him, her eyes brimming with so much sorrow it broke his heart.
“I w-was s-s-so sure you’d be a match.” Her voice stuttered over the tears.
“Ssshhh,” he murmured, kissing her forehead, her eyes, the bridge of her nose.
“I was so sure . . .”
Her sorrow was more than Nick could bear; he offered her comfort the only way he could.
Hope’s soft lips parted under Nick’s. He felt the momentary hesitation, the slight questioning, and then the sweet acceptance. Cradling the back of her neck in his hand, he deepened the pressure.
Desire flooded him. “Ah, Hope.”
He angled his head, gently turning hers to better meet his.
She untangled her arms from beneath his and looped them around his neck, pulling him closer. His body pressed into hers, and she flattened against him.
“Nick.” Her plea was like a long-forgotten caress.
A knock sounded at the door.
He ignored it. But they didn’t go away.
Knock.
Knock.
“Nick.” She shook his shoulder, obviously able to come to her senses a hell of a lot quicker than he was. “Nick, someone’s at the door.”
“They’ll go away,” he murmured against her mouth. “They must have the wrong room.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Nick rested his head against the soft curve of Hope’s shoulder. “I’m going to kill whoever it is.”
“Mr. Fortune? Mr. Fortune, sir. I have your dinner,” came the door-muffled voice.
Nick all but growled in frustration. Rising, he went to the door and flung it open.
The young bellhop jumped back in scared surprise. “Uh . . . h-hello, Mr. F-fortune. H-here’s your dinner and change.”
“Keep it.” He grabbed another bill from his pocket—he had no idea of the denomination and frankly didn’t care—and shoved the money at the bellboy, then slammed the door closed.
Turning, he faced Hope.
She was standing, her hair a gorgeous tousle of curls. Her coat on, her purse over her shoulder.
“Stay.”
“I can’t.” She scooted to the door, had it opened in an instant, and was out in the hallway in a flash.
In less than ten strides Nick had caught up with her by the elevator. “Why can’t you stay?”
“I just can’t, that’s why. And please don’t ask me anymore.”
The elevator doors pinged open.
Nick had always been a man who tackled an issue head-on, but one look at Hope’s ruined face and he let the matter drop. For the moment. “I’ll walk you to your car, then.”
Hope looked startled. “No. That’s okay.”
Ignoring her, he stepped into the elevator with her.
They rode down in silence and walked through the small, softly lit lobby without talking. It wasn’t until they were outside, standing under the awning, that Nick spoke. “Which way?” He glanced up and down the street but couldn’t see her car.
“Oh. Um. I parked around the corner.”
“You lead, I’ll follow.”
Hope hesitated. She glanced first to the right, then the left, then finally at him. “Look, Nick, I’m perfectly capable of walking myself home.”
“Don’t you mean driving?”
She let out a deep breath. “No, I mean walking. My car’s back at the grocery store. It wouldn’t start.”
“Christ.” Nick swore with more animosity than he was feeling, but it felt good to vent some of the frustration that had been building since the knock on his door. “Why do you insist on driving in that piece of sh—”
“I don’t need this. Good night, Nick.” Hope spun on her heel and headed down the street. Her strides were quick and sure, her shoes slapping against the wet pavement.
“Hope. Wait.”
She kept right on walking.
Muttering a curse, Nick dug his car keys out of the front pocket of his jeans and dashed across the street to his rental. In less than forty-five seconds he’d caught up with her.
“Get in.”
She didn’t even spare him a glance.
“Hope, for God’s sake. It’s pouring.
Get in.”
Nick slammed the car into park and jumped out. He came around the front of the car and stepped in front of her. “In. Now.”
She stared at him, undoubtedly deciding whether to call his bluff.
God, he wanted her to open her mouth and defy him because he knew exactly how he would shut her up.
“I—” Hope began, but when Nick took a step toward her, she must have seen something in his eyes because, without another word, she turned to the car and climbed in the passenger side.
The ride to her house was as short and silent as their trip down in the elevator.
Nick pulled into her driveway. He got out and headed around to her side of the car. But before he was even halfway there, she was out and running up the pathway that led to her front door. It closed behind her with a solid thud.
* * *
THE house was dark and silent as Hope closed the door. She didn’t bother to take off her coat, or kick her shoes off, or turn on a light. Instead, with steely determination she marched over to the phone and picked it up, not caring that it was nearly midnight. She punched in the long-distance number and waited for Claire Montgomery to answer.
Ten
NICK stood in the darkened room and looked down on his sleeping son. Wind rattled the hospital room’s single window, and the rhythmic ping-ping-plunk of the rain against the glass blended with the soft hiss and swoosh of the medical equipment surrounding Joshua. A sole night light, positioned above the bed, cast a yellow-gray pallor across Joshua’s features. Even in the faint light Nick couldn’t help but notice Joshua’s drawn cheeks, the dark smudges under his eyes, and the ever-present pain that pulled at his features.
You’re not a match.
Even now, several hours later, Dr. Brandt’s words continued to haunt Nick. He wasn’t a match. Two days ago he hadn’t known he had a son and now, now he’d learned that not only was he a father, but he was a father who couldn’t save his dying child.
A fresh wave of despair washed over Nick along with a sense of bitterness toward the woman who had denied him so much. But alongside that resentment mushroomed a sense of admiration. He saw again the pride in her eyes whenever she looked at her children, the fierce determination that steeled her words as she fought to save their son, and the absolute anguish that overtook her when they learned Nick was not a match.
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