Kate shrugged, trying to be cheered by her sister's sunny interest. "I don't know. Start paying off my loans, I guess. Buy Billy new sneakers."
Billy's mother made a face. "He needs them. He's growing faster than kudzu. But on this assistant manager's salary, I can buy them. You put something aside for Mama and then get yourself some pretty clothes. Some killer khakis or whatever it is you wear."
The wall phone rang.
"I'll think about it," Kate promised, and stood to lift the receiver. "Hello?"
"Kate, it's Patrick."
His warm-as-whiskey voice lit a fire in her stomach. She pressed two fingers under her ribs, noting with a corner of her mind that her hand trembled.
"I know. I recognized your voice."
He gave a short, embarrassed laugh. "Yeah. Okay. Look, I'm giving a birthday party for Jack next Sunday. He's turning five. I want you to come."
Gladness leaped inside her, in spite of her best efforts to squelch it. "Sunday?" she repeated carefully.
"Patrick?" Amy mouthed, sitting up in interest. Her sister's pleased, hopeful expression struck at Kate's heart.
All their lives, her mother and her sister had settled for whatever their men had left over to give. She couldn't do that. She wouldn't live hostage to Patrick MacNeill's ghosts. He was still haunted by the memory of his late wife, hung up on being both mother and father to Jack. The limited role that was all he would allow her would mess with her mind and break her heart.
She tightened her grip on the receiver. "I'm sorry. I don't think—"
"Jack really wants you to come," Patrick said. "You could bring your nephew. It would be nice for Jack to have another kid his age there."
The clever way he used her own suggestions against her hardened her resolution. "My sister can bring Billy."
The boy stopped chewing to listen. His mother shook her head. "Sunday? Sorry. Busy."
Kate scowled.
"Jack specifically asked for you," Patrick continued persuasively in her ear. "We'd both appreciate it if you could come. You're not on duty or anything, are you?"
"No." She lunged across the table to rescue Billy's glass from his elbow. Now, why had she told Patrick that?
"Good." He sounded relieved. "That's good. Let's say three o'clock?"
"Oh…" Kate wavered.
She should know better. She did know better. But how could she disappoint Jack? How could she deny her own hungry heart? She wanted to see them again. Jack and Patrick.
"Go, go," Amy hissed.
Kate bit her lip. How could she listen to her sister? How could she risk repeating Amy's mistakes? Turning her back on Amy, Kate hugged the phone cord to her chest. "I guess I can bring Billy. I … might not be able to stay, though."
"Whatever you can manage will be fine. We'll see you then." His voice softened, deepened. "Kate, I—"
She couldn't bear to hear whatever he had to say, not with her willpower so low, not with her sister sitting there absorbing every nuance of expression.
"I've got company. I have to go." She hung up.
"So, it's over, is it?" Amy sounded amused. "Have you told him that?"
Kate stiffened. But when she turned, Amy's face was all sympathy.
"I didn't think I needed to," Kate said slowly. "He… It was pretty much his idea."
Amy shifted Jenny to her other thigh. "Did he say so?"
"No. But he doesn't want… He's used to doing everything for himself, for his son. He won't let me in, not all the way into their lives. And it hurts too much being on the periphery. Do you understand?"
"Oh, I hear you, big sister, but you better listen to yourself." She leaned forward earnestly, speaking over her daughter's head. "Because it sounds to me like you're in love with the guy. Maybe you should give it another chance."
Unexpected hope fluttered in Kate's chest. Was it possible Amy, with her vast romantic experience, saw something, knew something, Kate did not? "Do you think so?"
"Oh, I always think so." Amy lifted blond eyebrows, her smile self-mocking. "That's why I'm unmarried with two kids."
Kate sighed. If even her optimistic sister was doubtful, Kate's own dreams could only be wishful thinking.
* * *
Chapter 16
«^
Kate watched as Janet Heller, with a betraying tremor, set the hand mirror facedown on her lap and closed her eyes.
Kate's heart squeezed in sympathy. She and Gerald Swaim had come to the woman's hospital room to evaluate the results of her most recent surgery. No matter how well they prepared their patients, every procedure raised unrealistic hopes. Along with disappointment, the burn survivor had to endure the fresh shock of each new repair.
After a moment, Janet looked up, her gaze seeking Kate's. "I'm never going to look the same, am I?"
Kate answered her, as always, patiently and honestly. "No."
Swaim stepped closer to the bed. "Dr. Sinclair actually did an excellent job. You'll see she placed the grafts to reduce the visible join. Most of that long seam falls under your jawline."
Both women ignored him. Janet Heller picked up the mirror and studied her appearance again. "It's better," she offered at last, tentatively.
Admiration for the woman's bravery swamped Kate's own quiet satisfaction in her work. "Yes. And there will be other operations. The makeup nurse will work with you on ways to minimize the scars. It won't be your old face, but it will be a good face."
Tears rose in her patient's still beautiful dark eyes. "Yes. All right. Thank you."
Outside in the hallway, Swaim touched Kate's arm, a rare gesture in a man so reserved. "You did very well with her."
Kate smiled to acknowledge the unexpected compliment. Her cheeks nearly cracked with the strain. She hadn't smiled one whole heck of a lot this past week. Or eaten, or slept. Possibly she'd picked up a mild virus. She refused to consider that loss of appetite and sleeplessness were the classic symptoms of a broken heart.
"I thought the operation went well," she said cautiously.
"Yes, but I was referring to your manner in there. MacNeill was right. You do put your patients first, and you have a sympathetic way of engaging them which is very effective."
It took a moment for the reference to penetrate her tired brain. "Excuse me? You discussed me with Patrick MacNeill?"
"Yes. When he was in here to confer about the operation for his son." Gerald Swaim regarded her with what, in another man, might have been described as a twinkle. "He was quite appreciative of your abilities."
"Patrick MacNeill commented on my abilities?"
Swaim frowned. "Yes. As a doctor, of course. I wouldn't presume to inquire into your other, ah, into the other."
Kate couldn't believe her ears. Patrick MacNeill, Mr. Lone Eagle himself, had had the nerve to discuss her with her director. After dismissing her medical expertise as irrelevant to his personal life, he'd stepped outside his rigid boundaries to meddle in her professional life.
She was furious. She didn't need his intervention. And after closing her out of the magic circle he shared with his son, the man had no right to interfere in her job, no right to go behind her back to her boss, no right to disrupt her life and her thoughts and rob her of peace and sleep.
And she couldn't wait until Jack's birthday party on Sunday to see him and tell him so.
* * *
Patrick had planned Jack's first birthday-party-with-friends with all the care of a covert operation. His younger brothers had flown down to lend their support, to captain basketball for the kids and to drink beer with him. He'd laid in hot dogs and sodas and chocolate ice cream. Even the variables beyond his control seemed favorable today, he thought, satisfied. The sun shone. No one was sick. And Kate had said she would come.
Standing in the shadow of the porch, taping red and blue balloons to the railing, he allowed himself to hope. Once she was here, he was sure he could persuade her to stay. He just needed a chance to see her, to talk to her. And if that didn't work, he
was damn near prepared to tie her up.
Jack raced around the corner of the house, Silkie barking excitedly at his heels. He thumped up the porch steps and cannoned into his father's legs.
"How long now, Dad?"
Patrick ruffled his son's short hair, smiling down at his excited face. The news that all three of his new friends would attend his birthday party had thrilled Jack. Patrick gave mental thanks, again, for Kate's perception. Once she'd opened his eyes to Jack's need for playmates, Patrick had found boys his son's age all over the place. He'd discovered the Emerson brothers, aged four and seven, living a mile up the road, and introduced himself to the boys' father as he stood pumping gas.
A play date had been arranged. The four-year-old reacted cautiously to Jack's scars, but once the injury was explained, the older boy, Alex, was more interested in Jack's trampoline. Since then Jack had been to the Emerson house twice to play with their awesome collection of action figures. It was another step, Patrick reflected, another letting go.
"How long?" Jack repeated, jiggling from foot to foot.
"Another hour. Sixty minutes. Why don't you go get the paper plates and things from the kitchen?"
"‘Kay." Jack dashed off.
Patrick's brothers emerged from the backyard, the picnic table slung between them. They were dressed in jeans and T-shirts, although Con's shirt advertised a microbrewery in some chic section of Boston while Sean sported a rip at one knee and a gold hoop in his ear.
"Where do you want this?" Con called.
Sean, walking backward, grinned. "You don't really want him to answer that, do you?"
Con narrowed his eyes. "Just hold up your end, will you? Or I'll stick it someplace myself."
Patrick taped the last balloon and came easily down the steps. "Play nice. Over there," he directed them. "In the shade."
They maneuvered the table under the spreading oak.
Con frowned. "Is it long enough? How many kids did you say were coming?"
"Jack. Billy. The two Emersons. I figured four was plenty for a first party."
"Fine. I think we can take them." His brother's rare smile lit his face. "Seeing as how there's three of us."
"And we're bigger," Sean added.
It felt good to have his brothers here. Awkwardly, because these were things they never spoke out loud, Patrick said, "Listen … I appreciate you coming."
Con lifted an eyebrow. "Did we have a choice?"
Sean perched his butt on the table. "Are you kidding? Mom was so upset at missing Jack's birthday, she even made Boy Genius here take off from work."
Patrick looked at Con. His cool, logical brother had always been ambitious. Almost driven. Even when they were kids, the middle MacNeill had seldom missed a day of school. "You didn't have to do that."
Con shrugged. "I wanted to come. It's not every day my only nephew turns five. Besides, I wanted to get away for a while." Deliberately, he turned the subject. "So, you want me to load drinks in the cooler? What have we got, four kids, three adults?"
"Four and four." He hoped. "Kate Sinclair is bringing her nephew."
"Jack's doctor?" Con inquired.
"Jack's attractive, female doctor," Sean answered for him.
"Interesting."
"Off limits," Patrick warned them firmly. This afternoon was going to be complicated enough without having to arm wrestle his brothers for Kate's attention.
"Absolutely." Sean winked at Con.
Gritting his teeth, Patrick marched off to tie balloons to the mailbox.
* * *
Anticipation and dread closed Kate's throat and dampened her palms on the steering wheel. She was grateful for Billy, buckled in behind her. Her nephew was proud of Jack's present—a space blaster just like his own—and looking forward to a good time. Until Kate could get Patrick MacNeill alone and tell him exactly what she thought of his arrogant interference, Billy's enthusiasm would help cover the awkwardness she felt at attending Jack's family party as a non-family member. Patrick had denied her a label, but she had several bumping uncomfortably in the back of her mind. Temporary girlfriend. Easy lay. Fool.
She stiffened her spine against the car's sagging seat back. She would drop off her nephew and her gift, collect a hug from Jack, speak her piece and go. How difficult could it be?
She followed the dip and rise of the road into view of the white farmhouse and had her answer.
The yard was full of men. Big, handsome men. Kate blinked. Her gaze went immediately to Patrick, drawn as always to his aura of contained energy. He was laughing and lugging a red cooler down the steps. She recognized the tall, rangy pirate chasing little boys over the grass as Sean. A heartstoppingly handsome giant with a lean, clever face propped up the porch, arms crossed against his spectacular chest. Another MacNeill, or she'd eat her medical kit.
Billy bounced in the backseat. "Oh, boy. Let me out, Aunt Katie."
She pulled in by the barn, careful to leave plenty of space under the basketball hoop. Billy popped out and raced across the lawn to join the zigzagging boys. Jack whooped a greeting. Kate got out slowly, taking time to put her emotions in order. She saw Patrick set the cooler on a picnic table and ducked back into the car to collect the abandoned gifts from the back seat.
"Kate. Thanks for coming," his deep voice said behind her.
In spite of her anger, her heart palpitated like a cardiac patient's or a girl's in the throes of her first crush. Taking a deep breath, Kate turned around, baring her teeth in a determined smile. "You're welcome. Thank you for inviting us."
His eyes narrowed slightly at her deliberate choice of pronoun. "Actually, I—"
"Kate!" Sean zoomed up, wrapped her in his muscled arms and whirled her in a circle, smashing her packages against her chest. "Angel! I need a doctor. These monsters are killing me."
The monsters, pelting up behind him, giggled in delight and tugged on his legs and the waistband of his just-right too-tight jeans. He set her down in the midst of the tangle of boys. Patrick caught the gifts as they fell. Roaring, Sean seized one child, tickled another, and charged back across the lawn with his nephew dangling under one arm and three other boys in hot pursuit.
Patrick's eyes were alight with humor as he handed her her slightly squashed presents. Jolted from her resentment, shaken from her pose of formality, Kate smiled back. And then remembered her grievance and the distance she needed to keep between them, and looked away.
"Kate, I—"
"You must be Dr. Sinclair." The big man holding up the house had left his post and strolled over. Both of his brothers, she was surprised to observe, were taller than Patrick. It was only Patrick's intensity that made him appear larger.
The giant offered his broad hand. "Con MacNeill."
She took it. "Call me Kate."
His grip was cool and firm, his blue eyes—so like Patrick's—intelligent and assessing. "I'm thinking Patrick surprised me. You're not what I expected."
"Yes, well, he certainly surprised me," she answered frankly. "I didn't expect you at all."
He smiled suddenly. If she hadn't felt so ruffled and uncomfortable, Kate thought she might have liked him very much. "Welcome to the family," he drawled.
He didn't mean anything by it. Kate was sure of that. But her certainty didn't stop the blood, hot and shaming, that rushed to her cheeks. What had Patrick told him about her? She was a respected member of the medical profession, not a convenient caregiver and bed-warmer.
Retrieving her hand, she lifted her chin and clutched her packages tighter. "Yes, well… Excuse me. I'll just go find a place to put these."
As she marched away, Patrick turned from contemplation of her pretty backside to scowl at his brother. "Thanks a lot, ace."
Con shrugged, unperturbed. "Well, isn't that why you invited her?"
Patrick ran a hand over his short hair. "I invited her because…" Because she belonged, dammit. "I wanted her to feel at home," he said to his brother.
"Mmm. Then you might have
considered expanding your guest list some. You do realize she's the only female here?"
Patrick frowned, scanning the front yard. He hadn't thought… He'd never intended…
"Except for Silkie, of course," Con added smoothly.
Kate paused on the porch as Jack detached from the huddle around Sean. He dashed toward her. His blue baseball cap was knocked back on his head, his face flushed and beaming. Love for him obstructed her throat.
"Could you put my watch up in my room?" He tugged on the velcro band, almost stumbling in his haste up the steps. "I don't want to break it."
"Sure, sport." She knelt to help him. "It's a very nice watch."
His sneakers tapped an impatient tattoo to return to play. "It was a birthday present from Uncle Con," he confided.
"I'll make sure nothing happens to it," she promised gravely.
"Thanks, Kate."
Unexpectedly, she found her arms full of boy. His scarred cheek pressed to hers. His small, strong arms tightened around her neck. The scent of him, grass and sweat and child, stole into her lungs and lodged under her ribs.
He kissed her. "You're the greatest."
As she watched him run back to the action, his short figure blurred. Dammit, she was going to cry. In a house full of men, in front of Patrick and his brothers, before Jack and her nephew and assorted birthday guests, she was going to bawl her eyes out.
She sniffed. With a complete disregard for proper hygiene, she wiped her nose on her wrist and escaped into the house. The steps were cool and shadowed, the landing was quiet and empty. She heard the squeak of the mouse exercise wheel as she opened the door to Jack's room. The aquarium glowed greeny-blue on his dresser. The floor was an appealing little boy jumble. She stepped over Legos to place his watch carefully beside his bed.
Looking up, she saw it. Holly's picture. On the wall beside the bed, between a drawing of a dinosaur and a poster of Michael Jordan, was the silver-framed photo that once held pride of place on Patrick's dresser.
Kate's heart pounded in sudden, awful hope.
"There you are."
THE PASSION OF PARICK MACNEILL Page 22