by LAURA GALE
Lucas understood what she was saying. He didn’t want to, because it made him uncomfortable. Still, he did understand that this might be his only chance to meet the little girl, a child Rachel swore was his daughter. If he truly might hold the key to her cure—to her remission, he corrected—how could he withhold that? How could he walk away without finding out?
Lucas James Neuman, who had steadfastly avoided personal involvement and responsibility as well as emotional entanglements for the past five years, who went out of his way to avoid conflict of any kind, was being slammed in the gut by something he didn’t want to recognize but was afraid he did. He thought it had something to do with doing the right thing.
It was then that he knew he would do what Rachel asked, even though he wasn’t sure what it involved exactly. He was human, after all, and this was the humane thing to do. Had there been no possibility it was his own child, he would have chosen to do it, to see if he could help. So if there was a chance that it was his kid, he didn’t really have any other option.
“I’ll do it, Rachel,” he stated. “What’s next?”
Rachel’s shoulders slumped, her eyes closed, the sting of unshed tears causing her to blink. She jumped to her feet and looked for a private corner where she could compose herself, where she could hide. She found herself standing in front of the bar, hugging herself, swallowing over the lump in her throat that seemed to be connected to her tear mechanism. Otherwise, why would her eyes suddenly water and sting—and surely those same eyes shouldn’t struggle so to focus on a bottle of Jack Daniels, be so unable to read the fine print on the label.
“Are you okay?”
His voice behind her startled Rachel. His hand on her shoulder caused her to jump and recoil in one motion. Her effort to gain composure had been so complete that she had not sensed his approach.
His presence, so close to her that she could breathe his oh-so-familiar scent, was doing nothing to help her in her quest for calm. His touch—or rather, the place on her shoulder where he had touched her—still burned. He had caused that quivering inside her with just that simple touch. Rachel hadn’t felt such sensations in years. In fact, she hadn’t felt it since the last time Lucas had caused it. Certainly, no one else had inspired it in the past five years. But she couldn’t reflect on that. Not right now.
“No…yes, I mean, I will be. I just need to…collect myself. Just give me a minute.” She glanced up at Lucas, caught the flicker of something liquid and black in his eyes, felt herself melt somewhere deep inside. He seemed so like the Lucas of old—and she was responding to it.
Biting her lip, she broke their eye contact, looking somewhere, anywhere, for a route that would put distance between them. Between the counter of the bar and Lucas’s solid body, she didn’t have much room to move. But she had to. She had to get away from him.
She turned abruptly, finally freeing herself of his presence, and drifted back to the couch. Dios mio, I need some space.
And she needed him—there was no way to get around that. But she couldn’t need him for herself. Only for Michaela. She couldn’t trust him, no matter how much he might seem like the Lucas she used to know, however briefly he might seem that way. No, she couldn’t let those kinds of thoughts cloud what was happening. She couldn’t afford to. She was better off keeping certain emotions, and the paths to those feelings, well and truly buried. It had worked for her so far. It was the only way.
“Okay,” she said on a deep breath. “You’ll need to talk to Dr. Campbell.” Normalcy, that’s what she needed to project. But it wasn’t terribly convincing. Her careful facade had cracked, and they both knew it.
“Dr. Campbell,” she continued steadfastly, “will explain the typing procedure as well as the donor procedure. Typing has to be done first, of course, then if you’re compatible, they’ll set you up for the donation procedure. He’ll be able to tell you about DNA, too. He’s at Phoenix Children’s Hospital, in the Samaritan Medical Center.”
“Is that where…Michaela is?”
“Yes,” came her prompt answer. “Lucas, you have to understand. Michaela’s a very sick little girl. Her leukemia came on fairly quickly and it just sapped her energy, her strength. The chemo took whatever was left. She doesn’t…she doesn’t look much like that picture anymore.”
“But she can again, right?”
“Yes. In time. But it will get worse before it gets better.”
She met his eyes again, this time wondering if her eyes reflected as many silent messages as his. And wondering what those messages were. There had been a time when she had understood them. Now she couldn’t be sure. Now she wondered how much Lucas had seen in her eyes this afternoon.
“I can make time today to see this doctor.”
“Bueno. That would be great. Let me see what I can do.” She pulled out a cell phone, quickly punching in numbers.
“Hi, Linda. It’s Rachel. Is Evan available? I need to schedule an appointment with him today.”
Within a few minutes, Rachel had set the appointment and ended the call. “Three o’clock it is then, Lucas.” She slipped the phone back in her briefcase and gathered her things.
“Lucas, you know there is nothing I can do to repay or thank you adequately for doing this. If there were, I’d do it. Please know how grateful I am.” She started toward the door, knowing he was just a few steps behind her. Her personal radar, the one that sensed him, was working again.
“Rachel.” His voice stopped her. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I mean, that you were pregnant?”
She looked at him carefully before responding. “Deep down, Lucas, I think you already know the answer.”
“But five years, Rachel. That’s a long time to hide such a big secret.”
“It was never a secret, Lucas. We were separated, remember? It was part of the new life I started for myself and, well, I just lived my life. There was no reason to think we’d ever run into each other. We don’t exactly move in the same circles. That was part of the problem in our marriage. Not seeing each other, moving in different circles.”
She smiled sadly. “It’s funny, you know. You were always going on about how you needed me to support you. But I had needs, too, Lucas. I needed a husband. I thought I had one, but you…vanished somehow.
“I wanted to tell you about the baby so badly, Lucas. I was excited.” Rachel looked down at her hands, the ones gripping her briefcase strap so tightly that her knuckles showed white. “I found out I was pregnant when you were in Las Vegas, that last trip. But I wanted to see your face when I told you, so I didn’t call you.” She lifted her head, seeking his face this time, too. “Of course, you didn’t call me, either. And once you got home, well—” she shrugged “—a different kind of conversation was forced then, wasn’t it? Telling you about the baby didn’t seem to be a priority anymore. I knew you’d make accusations, that you would make it ugly. I didn’t need that.”
And, her words conveyed, I don’t need it today, either.
“I figured if I was going to end up on my own, at least I was going to do it on my own terms.”
Lucas studied her face but said nothing.
She tossed her head, trying to look beyond Lucas as she focused on something in the past. “I tried to live with the way things were, Lucas, I really did. I tried hard to be reasonable. I even believed, for a while, the things your parents said—that my inability to cope was the problem. It took time before I decided I had the right to expect more than you were giving, that you weren’t being fair.” She reached for the doorknob, knowing she needed to make her escape. Emotions were coming too fast to handle; those emotions were trying to surface. “Do you have any idea what I do for a living, Lucas?”
He shook his head, indicating he didn’t know.
“That’s what I thought. You weren’t in touch with what I was doing.” She sighed again, her words empty of criticism, full of resignation.
“Aside from everything else that happened between us, Lucas, I didn’t
tell you I was pregnant because I couldn’t. You wouldn’t have listened to me. Listening to me simply was not on your agenda then. Maybe I could have forced you to listen, but…how? I never figured out a way. Anyway,” she said, seeking a positive note, “I appreciate that you listened today. This was important, too.”
Opening the door, Rachel was nearly flattened by the huffing figure of her father-in-law as he stormed into Lucas’s office. “Damn you, Rachel! What the hell do you think you’re doing here?! You left my boy—you’re out of his life! There’s nothing for you here!”
Rachel couldn’t help it. She stared at this vile individual, this repulsive creature—this man who had been instrumental in causing her so much grief, his features distorted by hatred—and by something else she didn’t want to contemplate but which she recognized anyway. She owed this man nothing. She thought of being polite, then dismissed the idea. In spite of herself, Rachel burst out laughing.
“Oh, Arnold,” she said, shaking her head, “you haven’t changed a bit! And you know what, Arnold? I’m not happy to see you, either. But I’m not the least bit interested in anything you have to say, so—save it.”
“Dad,” Lucas cajoled in hushed tones, “don’t speak to Rachel that way. You’re in the corridor, for God’s sake. Everyone’s listening.” He was embarrassed, for all three of them.
“Oh, Lucas,” Rachel cut in, tsk-tsking at his foolishness. “Give it up, will you? Your father has always spoken to me like that, sometimes even worse. Everyone has always listened. Except for you.” She sobered suddenly. “Somehow you never noticed.”
She looked again at Arnold Neuman, then back at his son. Her husband. The father of her child. “This is your father, Lucas. This is what he is.”
With that, she turned on the high heel of her black pump and headed toward the elevator. She stepped inside and the doors closed promptly. Not quickly enough, however, to drown out her father-in-law’s parting words: “Yes, get out of here! And don’t come back! We don’t need your kind in here!”
Rachel leaned back against the cool stainless steel wall of the elevator. Only then did she notice she was trembling.
Lucas grabbed his father’s arm, propelling him inside his office, out of the corridor and away from prying eyes. And ears.
“Are you out of your mind, Dad?” He glared into his father’s flushed face, noticing how flat his black eyes looked. “How could you talk to Rachel, or anyone else for that matter, in front of the entire staff that way? This is a place of business, isn’t it?”
His father chuckled smugly, slapping Lucas on the shoulder in good-ol’-boy camaraderie. “Oh, don’t work yourself into a lather, boy. There’s no reason for you to defend Rachel, you know. It’s nothing but the truth.” He made to leave the room. “Like she said, it’s nothing I haven’t said to her before.”
With that, Arnold Neuman left Lucas’s office.
No, she doesn’t belong here, Lucas acknowledged silently. But not the way you mean it, Dad.
Lucas didn’t quite know what he meant by that thought.
There it was again. Lucas couldn’t draw a breath. He wasn’t sure what it was, but knew he had first felt it when he’d seen Rachel’s name on his appointment calendar. He’d felt it when she’d walked into his office. And he’d certainly felt it when she announced that they had a daughter.
He walked over to his desk, grabbing his lighter and reaching for the cigar he’d discarded earlier. He put it in his mouth, watched as the lighter’s flame flared. Somehow, it just wasn’t what he wanted, even if his gripping ability had returned. He dropped the lighter on his desk and tossed the cigar back into the ashtray.
Instead, he walked over to the window, gazing out at the expanse of Scottsdale that spread before him, eyeing the mountains visible in the distance. He raked his hands through his springy black hair, ultimately linking them on the top of his head. Seeing Rachel again had thrown him, no doubt about it.
“God, she is beautiful.”
There…it was said. The words had not left his head since Rachel had walked into his office. He’d been utterly unprepared for it. Maybe saying the words would chase the thought away.
It didn’t.
She was always beautiful, he thought, but now…
He shook his head and took a deep, ragged breath. He tried to shake off his unsettling thoughts, tried to calm the stirring of his body that seeing her again had caused, was still causing, if he was honest about it. He knew she’d felt it, too.
When he’d touched her, just for that instant, he’d felt a shaft of heat knife through his arm, electrifying something inside him. Utterly brief physical contact had done that. Desire, instantaneous and fierce, had fired through him, body and soul. He’d felt her respond, felt that flash of awareness, he was sure he had, especially when she’d finally looked up at him. Her eyes had hinted at her deeper feelings then, the only moment in their entire meeting when her guard had been down. He was sure of that, too.
Maybe there’s hope, he reasoned, if a little touch like that draws that kind of response.
Damn, where did that thought come from? Hope for what? Seducing her? No, Lucas, don’t go there. Hell, he decided, you’d better find yourself a woman. It’s obviously been too long.
He rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed his eyes, willing his thoughts in a less dangerous direction.
He’d never seen Rachel dressed like that—so professional, he decided. So composed and serene, although she’d always had those qualities. He contemplated her outfit: bright red, a color that suited her. Fitted, not hiding her curves but not emphasizing them, either.
What would her job be? He wondered, startled that he really didn’t know. She’d asked if he knew, but she hadn’t told him.
He shook his head, shoving his fists into the pockets of his custom-tailored pants, rocking back on the heels of his Italian-made shoes.
“At least now I know why she looked tired,” he spoke aloud. “God, she has a right to be.” The words hit him hard.
Guilt gnawed at him. He pushed it away. He didn’t want to think about what Rachel had gone through, facing their daughter’s illness. If he did, he had to justify to himself the fact that she’d been alone—as if he had no role in her unofficially single status. As if he had in no way contributed to her circumstances. That felt like an acknowledgment of responsibility toward someone else, and he didn’t like to think about that. After all, she’d been the one to leave. She’d brought her single status upon herself. As for him, well, his first responsibility was to himself. Wasn’t it? The mantra his parents had always fed to him didn’t work this time.
He knew helping this child was his responsibility. Even as he fought the knowledge, even as he had made his demand for medical proof, in his heart he knew the child was his. He knew it was their daughter, not Rachel’s daughter with some other man.
He knew Rachel well enough to know that she had too much honor, too much integrity, to have resorted to the sort of schemes he’d accused her of.
Yes, he had loved her. She was the only woman he’d ever met who had captured his attention, his mind, his spirit. She’d come from a different mold than any other woman he’d ever met. And he’d married her.
But he should have married someone who understood what his wife needed to be. Someone who had been prepared for the role. A woman who, unlike Rachel, was the right type. A woman who didn’t grab his heart the way Rachel had, the way she had from the very first moment he’d spotted her at the University Health Clinic, filling out forms for the required measles shots. Not that that was the most romantic way to meet a woman, Lucas conceded, but it was how he’d met Rachel.
Rachel, he had adored. Rachel had had depth, vitality. She was interested in everything. So curious, so smart, so real.
So unbelievably beautiful. Tall enough with full, gentle curves that had always taken his breath away. The amber eyes, the apricot skin. The miles and miles of thick brown hair that Lucas had
always thought of as chocolate silk. How he had loved to bury his face in it, combing his fingers through its softness.
And her scent: she’d always smelled of vanilla. Vanilla and a little spice. Natural and sweet and warm. It stirred him to remember, to think of what had drawn him to her in the first place.
She’d been a bad choice for a wife, though. For him, anyway. His parents had warned him, over and over, but he hadn’t listened to them. He had fallen for her so hard, nothing else had mattered. But she hadn’t understood the requirements of society life. She hadn’t found them important or interesting. She hadn’t supported her husband as she should have.
Lucas’s parents had simply said she wasn’t capable of it. They had always pointed to her “background” as being the cause. Sometimes, when they felt bold, they actually mentioned her “ethnicity.” What they really meant was that she was Mexican-American, not “pure” American. That was simply unforgivable where they were concerned.
Privately Lucas had always found their prejudice ironic. After all, his family was only a couple of generations away from being working-class immigrants themselves. Lucas’s own colorings—his charcoal-gray eyes and inky black hair—looked more Hispanic than did Rachel’s.
Lucas had viewed his parents’ attitude as something he couldn’t change even if he didn’t agree with them. His parents belonged to a certain segment of society that stroked itself, reassured itself, with ethnic prejudice. That was not Lucas’s way. Still, what they had said about Rachel not fitting in with his family had had a certain ring of truth to it.
Several years later, reeling from his wife’s departure, Lucas had finally agreed with his parents.
His reverie was interrupted by a sudden whoosh of air, announcing the uninvited arrival of Alana Winston.
Gorgeous, glamorous Alana, with her silvery blond hair, her sky-blue eyes and the statuesque body she kept perfectly sculpted with the help of a personal trainer and, Lucas suspected, a plastic surgeon. He didn’t know for sure. Didn’t care that much.