by Irene Hannon
Juggling a large sack of Chinese food in one hand and a colorful puzzle in the other, Bryan tucked the game box under his arm and tried the back door. Open. Good. He pushed through, scanning the kitchen. Empty. And the house was quiet. Too quiet. He set the bag and box on the table as a tingle of unease raced up his spine. Dylan was no doubt sleeping, but he knew his anxiety wouldn’t dissipate until he confirmed that. His tendency to worry about his son, and to be overprotective, was a legacy of Dylan’s rough beginning, and something Bryan battled daily.
Striding through the living room, Bryan headed straight for the hall. He wouldn’t have noticed the two figures on the couch if a ray of the setting sun hadn’t peeked through the front window just then, illuminating the blond hair that was splayed across the back of the upholstered piece. At the sight, Bryan came to a dead stop.
From his position behind the couch, all he could see was Amy’s hair, burnished to gold by the late-afternoon sun. Taking care to make no noise, he moved closer, then circled the couch. Her head was tipped back, her face relaxed and youthful in sleep. Only in their absence did Bryan recognize the lines of strain and tension that had tightened her features ever since his return. Etched partly by him, he was sure, but also by her father’s illness and the other troubles that had beset the Hamilton family. Dylan lay sprawled across her lap, and Amy’s hand rested on his arm, the gentle gesture protective even in sleep. Her discarded pumps lay at her feet, one standing, the other on its side.
Tenderness swept through his heart. In sleep, they both looked vulnerable. And they looked right together, somehow, the two of them. As if they were meant to be connected, to share a bond. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking, Bryan speculated. Not so much related to Amy, as to the fact that more and more, he’d begun to realize that Dylan did need a mother. At least that’s what he told himself.
Just then Amy stirred, almost as if she sensed his scrutiny, and her eyelids flickered open. For a second she seemed a bit disoriented as she looked at him. Then her face cleared and she transferred her attention to Dylan, who continued to sleep soundly as she laid a hand on his forehead.
“He’s cooler now,” she whispered.
It took Bryan a few seconds to find his voice. “Sorry I’m late. Mr. Marconi turned out to be quite a talker. And traffic was bad.”
Alarmed, she checked her watch. Five o’clock. Good. She still had half an hour. “No problem. How did it go?”
“Great. I think we’re going to have a good piece.” He moved toward her and reached for Dylan, risking a glance at her as he bent. Her deep blue eyes, only inches from his, stared back at him and he had the feeling she’d stopped breathing. Or was it him that had suddenly become breathless?
Instead of trying to figure it out, he swept Dylan up, holding the boy close. His son stirred, and when he opened his eyes he grinned at Bryan.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, champ. How are you feeling?”
“Good. But I throwed up again when I got home.”
As Bryan and Dylan had this exchange, Amy stood. Only then did Bryan notice that she was wearing an oversize man’s shirt. His shirt, he realized with a jolt.
Warm color flooded Amy’s neck. “My jacket was a casualty. I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed one of your shirts.”
“It looks better on you than it does on me.”
Surprised by his comment—and even more by the husky timbre of his voice—Amy’s color rose higher, spilling onto her cheeks. Since she didn’t have any idea how to respond to his remark, she chose to ignore it. “Can I return it next week?”
“Of course. In the meantime, I’ll have your jacket cleaned.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I insist.”
Rather than argue, she let it go. “I gave Dylan some soda earlier. I’ll get him some more. It will help settle his stomach and keep him from dehydrating.”
“Thanks. I’ll take him into the bedroom.”
“Aw, Dad, I want to stay up.”
“Sorry, champ. Not tonight. You need to get better. The more you rest, the sooner that’ll happen. By Sunday, you might even feel well enough to go sailing again.”
The lure of an outing to the park was too hard to resist, and Dylan capitulated. “Okay, I guess.” He looked over at Amy. “Will you come in and see me later?”
“Of course.”
As Amy refilled Dylan’s glass with ice and soda, she noticed the children’s puzzle on the table. A perfect gift for a sick little boy, she reflected, impressed by Bryan’s instincts and his comfortable, deft handling of Dylan. He was a natural father. But then, he’d always been competent at anything he’d tackled. An appealing quality. Even more appealing right now, however, were the enticing smells emanating from the white sack. Her rumbling stomach reminded her that she’d had only a container of yogurt for lunch, and that had been a long time ago. But she doubted whether she’d have time to eat anything until much later tonight.
“Considering how you stepped in to help today, I figured the least I could do was feed you.”
At the sound of Bryan’s voice, Amy looked toward the doorway. She was tempted both by the food and the opportunity to spend more time with this special man, though she doubted the latter was wise.
“Think about it while I take this in to Dylan.” Bryan stepped toward her and retrieved the glass of soda, then disappeared back down the hall.
Once more, Amy considered the sack on the table. Okay, she’d stay for ten minutes, just long enough to gobble down a quick bite. She did need to eat, after all. There were practical reasons for her to accept, she assured herself.
By the time Bryan reappeared, Amy had already retrieved plates and utensils from the cupboard. She was opening the containers of food when he joined her.
“I can stay for a few minutes,” she told him, refusing to meet his gaze. “How’s Dylan?”
“Not happy about missing the party in here, but resigned to his fate.” A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Party” might be too strong a word, Amy speculated, as she helped herself to a small serving of rice and cashew chicken. Bryan, on the other hand, loaded up his plate.
Most of the time, Amy had no problem maintaining a conversation. She was a journalist, after all. Trained to ask questions, elicit information, put people at ease. Once again, she was forced to acknowledge that those skills deserted her around Bryan. And he seemed to be faring no better. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed amplified in the tense quiet, and she searched in desperation for some safe topic to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Your dad went fishing, you said?” That should be innocuous enough.
“Yeah. One of his buddies has a cabin a ways down on the Cumberland. With his work schedule, Dad’s never had a chance to spend much time there, but he’s chomping at the bit to do more of that kind of thing now that he’s retired. I’m afraid our return has messed up his plans.”
Thinking of how James Healey’s eyes shone when he was with his grandson, Amy shook her head. “I have a feeling he’d disagree with you. Having family close is a great blessing. I’m sure he’s enjoying every minute of it.”
“Still, once I get settled, I’m going to be looking for a house and arranging after-school care for Dylan. Dad has a right to his own life after all those years of a rigid work schedule. I’m sure he’ll spend a lot of time with us, but I don’t want him to feel obligated.”
Thoughtful. Another trait she’d always admired in Bryan.
“There are a number of good day-care centers in town,” Amy offered.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound too thrilled.”
Shrugging, he speared a bite of chicken with his fork. “I never wanted my children raised by strangers. Neither did Darlene. She’d planned to be a stay-at-home mom. But after she—” He stopped for a second, then cleared his throat. “In the end, there wasn’t any other option.”
“I thought perhaps her mother
watched Dylan for you.”
“She helped out a couple of days a week for the first year or two. But her health was beginning to decline. It was too much for her.”
The conversation Bryan had had with Kevin at the retirement party replayed in Amy’s mind. Bryan had stayed in Missouri far longer than he would have liked, out of a sense of obligation to his wife’s mother. Amy admired that and was tempted to say so, but she resisted. She’d wanted to keep the conversation light, and they’d already strayed onto personal territory. She needed to leave before it got any more cozy.
After one more bite of dinner, she consulted her watch, then set her fork down. “I need to be going.”
As she stood, Bryan surveyed her plate. She’d only eaten about half of the small portion she’d taken. “Do you want a doggie bag?”
A grin tugged at her lips. “Don’t tempt me.”
“There’s plenty here.”
“Thanks, but I had enough.”
If those few mouthfuls of food comprised a typical dinner for her, no wonder she was so slim, Bryan thought. Maybe too slim.
“I’ll just pop in and say goodbye to Dylan.”
The little boy was propped up on two pillows, paging through a picture book, when Amy appeared in his doorway. He greeted her with a crooked smile that tugged at her heart.
“Are you feeling better?” She moved beside him and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching over to lay a gentle hand on his forehead. Still a bit warm, but not as hot as before.
“Yeah. Maybe I could get up?” He gave her a hopeful look.
“It might be better if you rest tonight. You’ll feel even better tomorrow if you do.”
His face fell. “I guess.”
“I’m going to go home now, but your dad will take good care of you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Bryan had followed her to the room and was standing quietly at the door.
“I wish you could stay. Hey, why don’t you spend the night?” His face lit up. “Could she, Dad?”
When an awkward silence followed his request, Amy stepped in, refusing to look at Bryan. “Thank you for the invitation, Dylan, but I have some things I have to do tonight.”
Some of the light left his eyes. “You could come back sometime to visit, though, couldn’t you?”
“We’ll see.”
It was an evasive answer, and from the look on his face she knew Dylan recognized it as such. Leaning over, she kissed his forehead. “I’ll do my best,” she whispered.
Bryan followed her back down the hall, noting that she once again checked her watch. She must have a date, he figured. It was Friday night, after all. And her social life had always been full. He waited as she reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then turned back to him.
“The first order of business is a change of clothes,” she told him, surveying her attire. “I don’t think I want to be seen in public like this.”
“I don’t know. It has a certain…charm. But I suppose your date would appreciate something a bit more stylish.”
Confused, she stared at him. “Date?”
He was as surprised by her response as she’d been by his comment. “I assumed that—well, it’s Friday night. I mean, you’re an attractive, eligible woman—” He was making a mess of this, he realized. Rather than dig himself in any deeper, he clamped his mouth shut.
He thought she had a date. A logical conclusion, she supposed. Back in their school days, she’d been a veritable social butterfly, her calendar packed full from Friday night to Sunday evening, and a lot of weeknights, as well. She should just let it pass. Let him think she had a hot date lined up. He had no interest in her, anyway. What did it matter what he thought? Let him think she was still the party girl she’d been years before.
But she didn’t want him to think that. Even if what they’d once had was gone forever, she wanted him to know that she’d grown up and straightened out her priorities. As she searched her bag for her keys, she spoke in a conversational tone. “I don’t have a date. I’m a driver for the church’s meals-on-wheels program on Friday nights.” When her statement drew no response, she looked over at him. Stunned was the only way to describe his reaction.
It took a concerted effort for Bryan to wipe the shock off his face. Then, unsure his ears had conveyed the message accurately, he asked for clarification. “You take meals to people?”
“Yes. Most of the people we serve are elderly or disabled, or struggling families. Tim’s secretary, Dawn, got me involved in the program a couple of years ago.”
“You don’t date on Friday night?”
She sent him a direct look. “I don’t date much, period.”
“Why not?” The minute he asked the question, he wished he could retract it. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”
Instead of responding, Amy turned and walked to the door. She had no intention of answering his question. Mostly because if she gave him an honest response, she’d have to tell him that the reason was very simple—he’d ruined her for any other man. Never once, in the ten years since they’d parted, had she found anyone to equal Bryan Healey. And she doubted she ever would. Oh, she’d tried. Any number of times. Without success. The fact that he’d moved on, given his heart to another, married and started a family—none of that mattered. Her feelings still ran as deep and strong as the Cumberland River. Yes, she’d subdued them over the years. Accepted that Bryan was lost to her. But her heart had never stopped yearning for him. And now that she’d seen the caring, loving father Bryan had matured into, her feelings were even stronger.
“Amy, I’m sorry if I offended you.”
She didn’t turn back. “It’s okay.”
No, it wasn’t. He could hear the hurt in her voice, but he didn’t know how to erase it. “Listen, thanks for helping with Dylan.”
“No problem.” She reached for the door handle, stepped across the threshold, then threw one parting remark over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss that story for Nashville Living.”
There was a time when he would have taken that comment at face value, when the undertones in her voice would have been lost to him, and he would have considered her remark one more piece of evidence that her career came first. As he looked at her now, though, across the worn oak table in his boyhood home—a table where his mother had taught him and Kevin, in her gentle way, not to judge people too harshly—he could tell from Amy’s expression that she expected him to come to the very conclusion he would have arrived at a few weeks before.
Except he didn’t. Since his return, he’d learned enough about the woman he’d once loved to know that she’d changed. And in other circumstances, he might even consider pursuing a relationship with her, testing the waters. But they had too much history to get past. Still, for a fleeting moment before he squelched it, the temptation to try was strong.
As Amy prepared to exit, something in Bryan’s face caused her step to falter. She’d expected her words to be met with a sardonic smile. Counted on it, in fact, because that kind of reaction would help her control the regret and longing that she felt whenever she was in Bryan’s presence. Instead, she had a feeling that for the first time, he’d looked past her words and into her heart, and realized that the Amy Hamilton who stood before him now had learned a whole lot since her cheerleading days. Even more, she sensed he found the changes in her appealing. Even attractive. Yet she also had the distinct impression that he was beating down that attraction with as much diligence and fear as the prairie settlers had once beaten down the dangerous brush fires that sprang up without warning in unexpected places.
Disconcerted by that realization, she turned and stepped through the door, closing it with a quiet click behind her. She understood Bryan’s reluctance to consider rekindling an old romance. She, too, had reservations. There were risks, after all. A possibility that things wouldn’t work out, that one or both would be hurt, just as they’d been hurt many years before. Plus, there was Dylan to consider now. She wou
ld never want to disrupt his world. Children needed stability, and his life had already been shaken up enough.
Still, as she slid behind the wheel of her car, she knew she hadn’t imagined that speculative look on Bryan’s face. And she allowed herself one tiny taste of something that had been long absent from her life when it came to romance.
Hope.
Chapter Nine
“Dad’s taken a turn for the worse.”
At Tim’s ominous greeting, Amy’s heart skidded to a stop, then lurched forward at double speed. She shifted the phone on her ear and tried to remain calm. “What happened?”
“Mom says he’s been coughing for a couple of days, and his temperature has gone up again.”
“I noticed the cough when I was there last night. Dad passed it off as allergies.”
“Well, Mom thinks it’s something more.”
So did Amy. She still didn’t like her father’s color. “What’s the plan?”
“Mom already called Dr. Strickland. He’s ordered a chest X-ray and more blood work. Plus some other tests.”
“When?”
“ASAP. I’m going to run out there and drive them to Community General now.”
That news did nothing to quell Amy’s alarm. If Tim was vacating his office early—even an hour early, Amy noted, checking her watch—he must be really worried. “I’ll go, too.”
“No need for both of us to leave work. Don’t you have a press deadline coming up?”
That sounded more like Tim. “Yes.”
“I’ll call as soon as we know anything. Bring Heather up to speed. I’ll track down Chris. Talk to you later.”
The line went dead, and Amy replaced the receiver, then went in search of Heather. She dreaded passing on the latest news to her sister, who was already worried sick about their father. Although Amy planned to do her best to reassure her, she doubted whether she would succeed this time. Because she herself wasn’t convinced that everything would be okay.