by JoAnn Ross
"Even if it feels right?" he couldn't help asking.
Maggie's stem gaze softened for a moment. "If everybody did what felt right at the time, Caine, the world would be in an even worse pickle than it is now."
"You gotta choose, Caine," Devlin advised. "One wife or the other."
"Hell, there's no choice." Caine dropped the chair back on all four legs. "I want Nora." The moment he heard himself say the words out loud, Caine knew they were true.
"Then take care of your problem with the other one," Maggie instructed. "This Tiffany. And then, when you're free, you can do whatever it takes to get Nora back."
"Speaking about doing the right thing," Caine ventured carefully, "I've been talking to Nora about you."
Maggie's expressive face instantly closed. "You had no right doin' that, Caine."
"I've every right. I love you and I can't stand by and watch you..."
"Die?" Maggie finished matter-of-factly, when Caine couldn't say it.
"Don't you see," Caine said, leaning forward, his own problems momentarily foigotten, "you don't have to give up, Gram. I've got more money than I can count—"
"I told her about the three million," Devlin broke in.
"And it's a rigjit nice piece of change," Maggie allowed. "Your pappy and I are real proud of you, Caine."
"Thank you. But the point is that all the money doesn't mean a damn thing if I can't make life better for my family."
"Our lives are pretty good the way they are, boy," Devlin said quietly.
"But if you had a new heart, Gram..."
"I like the heart I've got just fine," she told him briskly. "It's served me right well for eighty-two years."
Maggie pushed herself up from the table and came over to stand beside him. Her always-wiry frame looked heartbreakingly frail. But the feisty determination gleaming in her blue eyes reminded Caine of a bantam rooster.
He rose and gathered the small woman into his arms. "Nora told me she'd talked to you about a hospice program. Will you at least take her advice about that?"
Maggie tilted her head back to meet his entreating gaze. "I'll think about it."
Well, it wasn't the answer he'd wanted, but, Caine told himself, it was a start.
"On one condition," Maggie warned.
"I figured there'd be a catch."
"There usually is with your grandmother," Devlin murmured knowingly.
"I want you to stop actin' like a crazy damn fool," Maggie insisted. "It's time you stopped drinking and drivin' too fast and gettin' into fistfights and whorin' around."
She poked a bony finger into his chest—a vivid reminder that she hadn't always been so weak. "Nora Anderson is a nice, sensible girl. She deserves a whole lot better than the idiot you've been since you came back to town. So it's high time you straightened up and flew right."
She wasn't telling him anything he hadn't been telling himself. Truthfully, Caine had been finding his recent life-style depressing.
There'd been a time, in his admittedly reckless youth, when he could party like a wild man all night, then show up at the ballpark and blaze that little white ball a hundred miles an hour past a stunned batter. But no more.
Maybe, he considered, he really was getting old. Lord, that was a depressing thought.
Refusing to consider such a negative idea when he already had enough problems to work out, Caine reached down and ruffled Maggie's pink-and-silver hair affectionately.
"Okay, Gram," he said, Sashing her the bold smile that had brightened the cover of Sports Illustrated on three separate occasions. "You've got yourself a deal."
LATER that afternoon, seeking companionship, Caine drove to the hospital to visit Johnny Baker. He dumped his purchases—an enormous bag of buttered popcorn, a six-pack of cola and a red-and-white-striped peanut bag—on the rollaway table. Then, making himself comfortable, he sprawled out on the vacant bed.
They were watching television when Nora entered the room.
"Hi, Dr. Anderson," Johnny greeted her. "The Yankees are playing the Twins," he explained, his enthusiasm a vast contrast to the dispirited little boy who'd shown up at her emergency room. "And boy, are they gettin' stomped. They need Caine real bad."
"I'm sure they do," she murmured absently. "How are you feeling, Johnny?" She crossed the room, picked up the remote control from the rumpled sheet, pointed it at the screen and muted the audio.
"I've been kinda lonely. This is a big place and the nurses are too busy with all the sick little kids to come visit me. But I'm feelin' a lot better," Johnny assured her. "Now that Caine's here."
"I'm surprised you don't have a major stomachache," Nora said, looking pointedly at the peanut shells scattered over the table and the bed.
"Can't watch a baseball game without the proper food, Doc," Caine said easily. "It's downright un-American."
"The hospital dietician would have a heart attack if she walked into this room right now."
"Caine just wanted to cheer me up," Johnny argued. The color drained from his face as if he feared she might
send his hero away. "Please don't get mad at him, Dr. Anderson."
"I'm not angry at Caine." She flashed the seven-year-old an encouraging smile. "I hear we're losing you this afternoon."
"Yeah." He didn't sound very eager. "The social-worker lady found me a foster home."
"I know. She told me they were nice people."
"Yeah, that's what she told me, too." He sighed.
"Worried?"
"Kinda." He looked up at her, a tense white line around his mouth. "What if they don't like me?"
"Of course they'll like you. You're a terrific kid, Johnny," Caine assured him.
"Caine's right. All the nurses say you're one of the best they've ever had on the ward," Nora added.
"Really?"
"Really. And I agree," she said. "One hundred percent."
There was a little silence as Johnny thought about that.
"Besides," Nora continued, "you don't think an important ballplayer like Caine O'Halloran would spend so much time with a kid who wasn't terrific, do you?"
Johnny chewed his bottom lip as he considered that. Apparently satisfied, he announced, "Caine's going to Canada."
Nora shot Caine a surprised glance. "Oh?"
"I was going to stop by your office and change my appointment to get the stitches out." Caine wondered if it was disappointment he saw in her guarded gasp and hoped like hell it was. 'Tm flying some guys up for a few days of fishing so Gram won't lose her charter fee."
"His grandmother's sick," Johnny offered.
"I know." Nora knew Maggie had started Caine flying young. He'd earned his private pilot's license before he was old enough for a driver's permit. "That's a nice thing to do."
He shrugged. "It's not as if I'm real busy these days. Besides, it's an excuse to go fishing and get paid for it."
"When Caine gets back, he's takin' me flying."
A light gleamed in Johnny's eyes and Nora knew that Caine was responsible for putting it there. She'd seen that same pleasure in Dylan's eyes, in what seemed like a lifetime ago.
That her son had adored his father had always been obvious. And it had been just as obvious that Caine had loved his little boy.
"Caine, may I speak with you? Outside?"
"Sure." He slid off the bed, rumpling the sheets even more. "I'll be back in a flash, sport." He tugged on the brim of the autographed Yankees cap, then turned it around backward.
It was only a casual gesture, but it made Johnny's eyes turn as adoring as a cocker spaniel's. "Don't be too long. The seventh-inning stretch'll be over in a minute."
Nora returned the remote to Johnny, who immediately turned on the sound.
"I'm really sorry about the popcorn, Nora," Caine said when they were alone in the waiting room at the end of the hallway. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"This isn't a playground, Caine. It's a hospital. And Johnny's my patient."
"But you'
re the one who said that there wasn't really anything physically wrong with the kid. I figured a little TLC never hurt anyone."
"TLC? Is that what you call it?"
"Okay, how about attention? Is that a better word?" "That child has been through hell. I will not let you hurt him."
"Hurt him?" Caine's brows climbed his tanned forehead. "I was trying to help, Nora."
"Right now Johnny's proving a pleasant enough little diversion for you. But what about if you get called back to the majors—"
"When."
"What?" She dragged a frustrated hand through her hair.
"You said, if I get called back. I was merely clarifying that the proper phrasing was when I return to major-leagueball."
"When, if—the words don't matter," she said, brushing his correction away with a furious wave of her hand. "The point is that Johnny's going to start to care for you, and count on you, and maybe even love you, and you're going to abandon him, just like—"
She cut her words off in midsentence, but the damage had already been done. Caine would have had to be dense as a stump not to get her drift.
"Like I abandoned you?" he asked quiedy.
"That's not what I was going to say." It was a lie and they both knew it.
"Look, I'll be the first to admit that marriage wasn't high on my list of priorities ten years ago, Nora.
"But that day you embarrassed yourself in anatomy class by tossing your cookies all over Irving, I realized that somehow, when I wasn't looking, you'd become much, much more."
"What happened between us is in the past, Caine."
"Now why can't I believe that?" "Believe it." She turned to leave, then stopped long enough to give him a warning. "And don't you dare hurt Johnny Baker."
With that, she marched away.
Caine wanted to go after her. But remembering his pledge to Maggie, he sighed and returned to watch the rest of the game with the one person in Tribulation who wasn t asking more than he could deliver.
Five days later, Caine was back in Tribulation, sitting in a window booth in the Timberline Cafe, watching the rain streak down the glass, when Nora walked in.
"Hi." She stopped beside the table.
"Hi, yourself."
"So how was the fishing?"
"Terrific. Of course, Fortress Lake is easy; you could catch a boatful of Eastern brook trout on peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches."
"You probably stocked your freezer, then."
"Naw. Except for the fish we cooked each night for dinner, and one mounted trophy per paying guest, we put the rest back."
"Oh. That's nice."
The polite conversation trailed off, but neither one moved. Caine sat looking up at her while Nora looked down at him; both were oblivious to the interested quiet that had settled over the cafe.
"I heard from Social Services that Johnny's settling into his foster home," she said.
"I know. I stopped by to see him on the way home from the airport."
"How's he getting along?"
"Great. When I left, he was rolling on the lawn with a litter of six-week-old golden retriever puppies." His lips curved into a reminiscent smile. "You should have seen him, Nora. He looked just like any other kid."
"You've had a lot to do with that," she said. "I'm not sure he ever would have opened up to that social worker if you hadn't encouraged him."
Caine shrugged. "It wasn't that big a deal."
"It was to Johnny." She combed her fingers through her hair in a nervous gesture he remembered too well. "I owe you an apology. For what I said the other day. About you hurting him."
"You were only thinking of Johnny," Caine said without rancor. "Did you know his mother is putting him up for adoption?"
"I heard this morning."
Caine shook his head. "Helluva thing, giving up your own child. But I suppose it's for the best. For Johnny."
"I think it probably is," Nora agreed.
There was another poignant silence as they studied each other.
Nora searched for something, anything, to say. "I see you're working on your second five gallons," she said finally, looking down at his mug.
The white mug, which bore Caine's name in black block print, proclaimed that he was a member of Ingrid's five-gallon club.
It took one hundred cups of coffee to make five gallons, and once a customer made the quota, he got his own mug. The mugs stayed on a shelf on the back wall; the fact that Caine's had been waiting for him all these years was additional proof that some things never changed.
"Every man needs a goal," Caine answered easily. "Pappy comes here every morning. Says that if his mug's on the shelf, he knows he's still alive."
Nora laughed even as she felt a bittersweet pain. "I was by their house yesterday. Maggie was looking well."
Caine's jaw tensed. "For someone who's now bedridden."
"Oh, Caine." Feeling his frustration, she put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Refusing to consider whether or not it was a wise or safe thing to do, he raised his own to cover hers.
They exchanged another long, heartfelt look. Somewhere in the background, Nora heard the sound of bells.
"Caine..."
"Nora..."
They spoke at the same time, then laughed uneasily.'
"Ladies first," Caine said.
Before Nora could respond, Ingrid, who'd been watching the exchange along with the others, called out to her. "Nora, telephone."
Forgetting that they had an audience, forgetting that such unruly feelings were inordinately risky, Nora struggled against breaking the spell. "Could you please take a message, Ingrid," she asked softly, not taking her eyes from Caine's face.
"I think you'd better take this one, Nora," Ingrid insisted.
Hearing the strain in the elderly woman's voice, Nora dragged her gaze from Caine's. Concern was etched into every deep line of Ingrid Johansson's face.
When she took the receiver from Ingrid, a foreboding chill ran up Nora's spine. "Hello?"
"Thank God I found you." Her brother's voice, ragged and hurried, came over the wire.
"What's wrong?"
"Tom called. Eric is missing," Dana said.
"Missing?" She sagged against Caine, who, having seen the color leave her face, had come up behind her. "How? Where?"
"According to Tom, he was on a scout hike at Lake Crescent. He got separated from the group and then a squall came up. All the other kids got back to the cabins safe and sound. The sheriff and the Park Service are organizing a search party."
"Are they at the lodge?"
"Yeah. The troop rented a couple of the cabins, but the command post is being set up in the lodge lobby. I'll meet you there."
"I'm leaving now." She thrust the phone toward Ingrid and turned, prepared to run toward the door.
Caine took hold of Nora's elbow and felt her tremors. "Let's go."
Set dramatically among the lushly forested northern ridges of the Olympic Mountains, Lake Crescent had long been considered the gem of the peninsula's many scenic attractions.
Although Native American legend taught that Lake Crescent was created when Mountain Storm King, angered by a fight that had broke out in Peaceful Valley, hurled part of his crest and dammed the river, geologists insisted on the more mundane explanation that a slow-moving glacier, gnawing at bedrock, had created the incredible blue-green lake.
The lake had been drawing tourists since the early 1890s; the two-story, shingled lodge had been constructed in 1915. Caine had enjoyed many weekend outings at the lake; today, however, the mood was anything but festive.
When he and Nora entered the lodge, Karin, who'd been standing by the stone fireplace, surrounded by a protective circle of friends, ran toward them.
"Thank God you're here!"
"You know there's nowhere else I'd be." Nora hugged her. "Everything's going to be all right. Eric's going to be found."
"I wish I could believe that." Karin turned to Caine.
"Hello, Caine,"
she said with a formal politeness that was so ill-suited to the occasion, Caine suspected that it was the only way she could keep from breaking into torrents of weeping. "Thank you for coming."
Caine gathered her into his arms, bent his head and brushed his lips against her temple. "How could I not?"
Tilting her head back, Karin bit her lip as new tears threatened. "Please find my little boy, Caine."
"We will," he promised roughly- "I promise." He handed her gently back to Nora, squeezed his former wife's shoulder comfortingly, then strode across the room to join the search team.
What had been a dreary drizzle in Tribulation was a full-fledged squall at the lake. The cold wind howled off the steep slopes of the mountains; icy rain intermittently turned to sleet. The sky over the lake was as thick and dark as a wet wool blanket.
The searchers, working in teams of four, had been assigned sections: each section led in a different direction from the trail from which Eric had disappeared. As darkness descended on the mountains, the temperature dropped.
An icy rain dripped off the hood of his poncho as Caine searched; the yellow beam of his flashlight disappeared into the fog and mist.
The look of absolute fear in Karin's eyes had sliced at him like a sharp knife. It had been the same look he'd seen in Nora's eyes when she'd arrived at the emergency room that fateful day. The day Dylan...
No! Caine shook his head, spattering rain the way Ranger, his old springer spaniel, used to do when he'd gotten wet waiting with his master in a duck blind.
Never again would he listen to the sound of a human heart shattering. He was going to find Eric, dammit! He was.
It was then he heard a faint sound that could have been the wind whistling.
Caine stopped and gestured for the rest of his team to do the same. The sound grew more distinct. Itwas, Caine realized with a burst of relief, the unmistakable sobbing of a child.
They found Eric lying on a bed of needles beneath the spreading dark green arms of a towering Douglas fir. He was filthy and scared and exhausted. But, Caine determined as he ran his hands over the young body, unharmed.
"Unde Caine? Is that really you?"
"It's me, all right." Caine scooped the eight-year-old into his arms. "Come on, sport," he said. "We're taking you home."
Two wet, dirty arms crept around Caine's neck. "I saw a fawn. I was following it when I got lost."