by Laurie Paige
The bushy eyebrows wagged up, then down. He handed the card to the man behind him. “Here, Frank, hold on to this for me. I’ll be in touch,” he said to Michael, and walked off.
Silence followed his path to the door.
“Damn,” Tyler muttered as everyone relaxed again, “I’d hate to have him for a patient. One mistake and you’re out of this world. Literally. What will you do if he shows up?”
Michael shrugged. “A patient is a sick person. I don’t judge a sick person’s personal life.” He grinned. “But I sure hope his doctor suggests someone else.”
While his friends chuckled, he made a connection between the don and the recent murder of Carl Bridges.
“Wasn’t Carl the one who defended you guys when you were accused of negligent homicide in the death of Mercado’s niece?” he asked Flynt and Tyler.
Flynt nodded. “Spence and Luke were also involved. We were having a big reunion celebration out at Luke’s place, all of us having survived the Gulf War and made it home in one piece. Naturally the beer was flowing pretty freely. For some stupid reason, the four of us and Haley went for a boat ride. The boat overturned, and Haley drowned. Her family used its influence to have us tried for manslaughter. Carl saved our bacon. It was a bad time for everyone.”
Michael dealt with pain on a daily basis, both physical and mental, in his patients and in the relatives who worried about them. He recognized it in his friend and was sorry to have reminded him of the past.
“I was half in love with Haley,” Flynt continued softly, sadly. “I guess we all were. She was beautiful, with thick dark hair and flirty eyes and a smile to melt your heart. She was also smart. And funny. She could imitate almost anyone after hearing them once.”
“Could Carl’s death have been some kind of revenge thing from the Mercado family?” Michael asked.
Tyler spoke up. “Not for something that happened years ago. They’d have offed him, and probably us, as soon as the trial was over and we walked out of the courthouse. Haley’s brother, Ricky, was a friend. He might have intervened with his uncle for us. Who knows?”
Daisy Parker, aka Haley Mercado, slipped into the lady’s lounge, thankful that it was empty at the moment, and slid into a chair.
She crossed her arms over her chest, holding in the need to cry and rant against fate. It had been terrifying to face Carmine Mercado and his henchman, Frank Del Brio, in the café, not that either man suspected who she really was.
When the Mafia boss had approached Flynt Carson’s table, she’d wanted desperately to listen in.
Perhaps it had been foolish to return to Mission Creek, which held so many bad memories for her. But along with the pain, there had been one wonderful one, a night so special she would never forget it.
A sob caught in her throat. At present, her life was unbearably lonely, and she longed for an end to this charade. Please, she prayed, let the FBI complete their investigation of the Texas Mafia soon. She wanted the case finished. She wanted an end to spying and trying to overhear conversations as she worked in the café and grill at the posh country club.
More than that, she wanted things that were probably never going to happen—a quiet life, the husband of her dreams, their children happily playing in the sun.
At the thought of home and family, she nearly gave in to her anger and grief. She was positive her own mother had died at the hands of a Mafia enforcer. She would help the FBI by finding out anything she could.
Straightening, she vowed to keep her word. Holding in the useless tears, she returned to work.
Later that afternoon, swimming laps in the community pool at Mission Ridge, Michael mused on the ill mob boss. Carmine Mercado had been dressed in an expensive suit. His manner had been arrogant, but with a certain Old World directness not without charm. It would certainly be interesting to have him as a patient.
Still smiling at a mental picture of him operating, with a bunch of thugs milling around the sterile room, all with tommy guns hidden under their green surgical scrubs, he went home, showered and shaved, then dressed in casual slacks and a blue shirt.
Rolling the sleeves up on his arms as he headed for the garage, his thoughts turned to the ordeal at hand. Susan Wainwright, at her age and level of health, would be an ideal candidate for a new heart.
He grinned with wicked humor. She’d be furious when she saw him at dinner tonight. The idea still amused him when he arrived at the Carson ranch, all 15,500 acres of it.
Susan heard the purr of an engine and knew Michael had arrived. She wished she hadn’t come, but Rose had asked her to help with the meal, since her morning sickness was acting up and apt to occur at any time of the day or night.
A funny ping went through Susan at the thought of a child. It wasn’t that she was jealous—Rose was the most wonderful sister one could imagine—it was just…
Okay, maybe she was envious, but only a little.
A heaviness swept over her spirits at the lie. This past year, as it became harder and harder to stick to her practice schedule, several truths had crept up on her.
First, dancing was hard work. Few lead ballerinas made it much past thirty, because the job was so hard on the knees and feet. She’d had no injuries in that department, but one never knew when it could happen. Besides, lately she was so tired all the time.
Second, she’d become aware of loneliness in her life. It didn’t seem as if she would ever find the one person meant for her, someone who would understand her drive as a dancer and let her live her life.
And third, she’d probably never have children.
Watching Rose and Matt, seeing the glow in their eyes for each other had awakened something inside her.
Envy, yes. But more than that. A longing for something she couldn’t exactly define.
A mate?
She grimaced. Most men she met didn’t take her career seriously at all. They didn’t seem to understand that she’d spent years getting where she was, that she’d started dance lessons when she was four years old. Twenty-three years of unrelenting effort. One couldn’t let up for a second and expect to remain at the top of the pyramid.
She’d expended just as much sweat equity in her career as most men had in theirs, and a heck of a lot more than some of them had.
“Hey, Michael.” She heard Matt call a greeting to the famous doctor. Her heart pounded furiously.
Arrogant ape, implying she was self-centered and bratty to cause her family concern over her condition.
It was her life, her body, her heart!
Only she could decide what to do about it. So far, she’d done fine, showing their family doctor and the cardiologist from her youth that she could make it with her “child-size” heart.
“The salad’s ready,” she announced.
Rose glanced up with a smile from the chocolate icing she was spreading over brownies. “Good. The potatoes are done. I turned the oven off. Josie, would you mind taking the steaks out to Matt? Oh, and see if Michael would like a glass of wine or iced tea rather than beer.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Josie smoothed the tablecloth and placed the crystal bowl of floating roses in the center.
Flynt’s wife, Josie, was also expecting. There must be a fecundity in the Texas air these days, Susan thought. Josie was a natural mother. Susan had watched her earlier with Baby Lena, who was asleep in the guest room at present.
“I’ll set the table,” Susan volunteered, shaking off thoughts of babies and such things. She felt a tad self-righteous about helping her sister. That should show the baboon she was as nice as anyone.
Except she wasn’t as nice as her big sister. Nor as beautiful. Rose, with her black hair, violet eyes and fair, delicate skin, was truly lovely. She had depth to her, a quietness within, as if she’d always known who she was and where she was going.
Susan sighed. She’d been something of a rebel, stubbornly packing off to Houston and trying out for a position with the ballet company in spite of her family’s convictio
n that she would never make it, that her health wouldn’t let her even if she had the talent.
She brightened. She had made it. But now her life’s passion was threatened. The dance company director had made it clear she couldn’t return without a clean bill of health.
Not only that, she wasn’t even allowed to drive. Her license was temporarily suspended due to her collapse, until a doctor determined that she was well enough to manage a car. It was simply too much.
“Hello, Susan,” Michael said in a deep voice that caused the tension level in the room to soar.
Although she’d been aware of him entering the house, unexpected tremors vibrated through her, like a string plucked carelessly and too hard by someone who was not a musician. She inhaled sharply, aware of the heightened pulse beating in her temple, and filled her senses with the scent of talc, men’s cologne and the freshness of the evening that clung to his powerful frame.
After placing the last plate on the table, she tossed a casual smile his way. “Nice to see you again.”
She’d be polite if it killed her. Rose didn’t need to be upset by strain between her and this overconfident surgeon. Needing to go between him and the table to return to the kitchen, she hesitated as she eyed the space.
He was about six inches taller than her five feet, eight inches. A perfect height for ballroom dancing, the thought came to her. She loved all forms of the art.
Meeting the intense blue of his eyes, she murmured, “Excuse me,” and waited for him to move out of her way.
He didn’t.
To her chagrin, he took her hand in his, then laid the fingertips of his other hand against her wrist.
“Don’t,” she warned.
He counted, then released her hand. “One hundred and five.” He informed her of her heart rate as if he’d taken on responsibility for her health.
“I’m not your patient,” she whispered in a near snarl.
“Chalk it up to my job. It’s worrisome when someone ignores the obvious. How long do you think your heart can keep up that pace?”
She swept past him. Seeing Rose’s concerned gaze, she forced a smile and kept her hands by her sides, although the familiar pain stabbed at her chest. She breathed very deeply, willing her body to slow down and relax.
Her pulse was fast only because Michael O’Day, famous heart surgeon, made her so blasted angry. He probably tortured his patients into letting him operate.
At that ridiculous idea, she had to grin. She was letting all this turmoil affect her too much.
“Well,” she said when they sat down for the meal, “here we are. Two Wainwrights—” she indicated herself and Rose “—two Carsons—” she nodded toward Flynt and Matt “—and two referees to keep the peace.” She gestured toward Josie and Michael.
Susan was pleased when the other five laughed at her little jab about the infamous Carson-Wainwright feud. Their father had been furious when he learned Rose, the sweet, quiet one in the family, was pregnant. He’d nearly had a hemorrhage when he learned the father belonged to the Carson clan.
“Rose is a Carson now,” Matt said with obvious satisfaction.
Susan shook her head. “No way. Maybe half and half, but certainly no more.”
“These modern women,” Michael complained. “Life was simpler when we could just kidnap them and drag them off to join the male’s clan.”
“In some tribes, the male joined the female’s family,” Susan said, quick to point out this fact.
A cry from the bedroom had Josie leaping to her feet and fleeing the room, Flynt right behind her.
“Lena,” Rose explained.
The couple returned to the dining room carrying a bundle of pink. The baby girl blinked sleepily at the adults, then puckered up again.
“The bottle,” Flynt said, and rushed to the refrigerator. He brought a baby bottle to Josie. “Would you like me to feed her so you can eat?”
Josie shook her head. “Please, all of you, don’t let your food get cold. This will only take a few minutes.”
The surrogate mother fed the hungry little girl while the other adults watched in open fascination.
“How old is she now?” Susan asked.
“About six months, we think,” Josie told her. “The doctor said she wasn’t more than eight to ten weeks old when she was found. How could her mother bear to leave her?”
Susan pressed a hand to her chest as fresh pain surged there. How, indeed, could anyone leave a child?
“I operated on a six-month-old in June,” Michael said, a pensive look on his face. “He had a hole between the chambers of his heart.”
Flynt gave his friend a worried glance. “How did he do?”
Susan’s heart did a little dance against her breastbone when Michael smiled.
“Fine. He was a fighter from the start. Now his mother says she can’t keep him out of trouble. He crawls all over the house and gets into everything.”
Susan was surprised at how relieved she felt at the happy ending to Michael’s story concerning the child. Her eyes were drawn to Baby Lena. Her own mother had almost given up on grandchildren. Justin, her brother, had once been married, but that had ended in divorce and no children. Now they had Rose’s baby to look forward to.
At ten, when Rose served coffee and dessert, Susan realized she was really tired. She’d have to wait until everyone left, though, so Matt could drive her home.
As if on cue, Matt spoke up. “Uh, Michael, would you mind dropping Susan off at her place on your way home?”
“Not at all.” Michael leveled a sardonic glance on her. “I probably should go since I have to return to Houston in the morning. If you’re ready, Susan?”
She realized there was absolutely nothing she could say but yes. She hugged her sister, told Josie what a lovely job she was doing with Lena, bid the Carson brothers good-night and allowed Michael to escort her from the house.
In the car, with moonlight softly illuminating the landscape and the cool night air flowing through her hair, Susan fumed silently, determined not to quarrel or even speak for the duration of the ride. Thank goodness it wouldn’t be long, for the Wainwright ranch adjoined the Carson spread along one side.
“Is it too windy?” he asked. “Shall I put the top up?”
“I’m fine.”
“It was a good thing Flynt took the baby, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“The foundling brought Josie into his life. She’s been good for him, I think, just as Rose had been good for Matt.”
“Mmm,” she said.
Michael enjoyed needling her into conversation, such as it was. He had to fight a grin as her answers grew shorter and shorter. “Why don’t you say what you’re thinking before you explode?” he suggested.
“And what is that?” she asked haughtily.
“That you’d rather ride on a bony mule than in a car with me.”
“Personally, I can’t see much difference.”
That did it. He burst into laughter while she flashed him a killing glance from those cool green eyes. “I’ve always been attracted to a woman of quick wit and a fiery temperament,” he murmured.
He was certainly attracted to this woman, he admitted. Flames singed his insides as they rode through the balmy September night. He had the feeling she wasn’t indifferent, either, although she pretended he didn’t exist at the moment, focusing her attention on the moonlight-flooded fields.
“Beautiful night, isn’t it? If we were a couple of kids on a date, I’d be looking for a parking spot about now. Maybe under those pine trees over there.”
“You’d get pine sap on your car,” she informed him.
“For you I’d chance it,” he goaded, his voice lowering to a sexy, husky level that he hadn’t intended.
Arriving at the entrance to the Wainwright ranch, he turned in, then stopped in front of a sprawling white ranch house reminiscent of South Fork on the old TV series, Dallas. He wondered which bedroom was hers.
She had the door open almost before he stopped. When she headed for the house entrance, he was hot on her heels. With a deliberately casual air, he grasped her arm as if to make sure she didn’t stumble and fall into the lush landscaping bordering the front walk.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said politely. It was an obvious dismissal.
Something stubborn reared up inside him. “No trouble,” he murmured, then did something he’d never done before: he kissed an unwilling woman.
Bending slightly forward, he lowered his head and brushed his mouth over hers, softly, teasing her and perhaps himself because of the sparks that flashed between them now and that had from that first encounter in the street.
If he had any sense, he’d run as fast as he could in the opposite direction from this beautiful young woman with her lithe dancer’s body and her fierce anger at the unfair hand she’d been dealt.
Instead of slapping his face as he half expected, Susan stood perfectly still during the first brief kiss, then another…and another.
It was hard to stop, to give up the softness of her mouth, to ignore the tremor in her sensitive lips or the unconscious invitation when they parted in an audible sigh. Caressing her neck, he felt the telltale pounding of a pulse that spoke of the danger she was determined to deny.
“You can’t fight fate,” he advised gently as he finally surrendered her mouth. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”
Her chin shot up. “So you say. How much do you get for performing heart surgery?”
“A lot,” he admitted, not taking offense at her intended insult.
She went inside and closed the door quietly but firmly in his face.
Michael drove home, no longer aware of the moonlight, but thinking instead of the precarious nature of life itself. There was a sense of urgency in him, as if he needed to do something right away.
Like make love to Susan Wainwright before she disappeared into a wisp of moonlight?
He gave a wry grimace at the absurdity of this notion as he parked and depressed the remote to close the garage door behind him. Two shadows stepped out of the gloom of the dim interior.
“Easy, Doc,” one of them said. “We need to have a little talk.”