The Return of Connor Mansfield

by Beth Cornelison

  Darby pointed across the room. “I think the Clifford book is on her dresser.”

  She settled Savannah on her bed, pulling Disney Princess sheets up to her chin and placing Benny beside her. “There you go. All comfy?”

  Savannah shoved at her mother. “Move over. Uncle Connuh sit here. Like Hunter.”

  Darby shot Connor a wry grin. “You heard her. Hunter sits by her head and lets her turn the pages.”

  She moved out of the way, sweeping a hand toward the top of the frilly bed, then settled in the rocking chair where she’d nursed Savannah and lulled her to sleep every night for the first months of her daughter’s life.

  Connor took his place, sitting at an awkward angle until Savannah instructed him exactly how Hunter propped his feet on the bed, leaned against the headboard and held Savannah snuggled against his side.

  “Like this?” Connor scooted into place, and Savannah nodded her satisfaction.

  Pulling the book from his hands, she opened to the first page. “Show me the pictures.”

  Connor arched an eyebrow and sent Darby an amused grin. “Bossy little thing.”

  She returned a sassy smile. “She gets that from you. Apparently some traits are inherited rather than learned.”

  His eyes widened as if her comment startled him.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Even your mother will tell people you bossed your brothers around your whole life.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

  When Savannah shoved the book in his hands, he opened to the first page and bent to press a kiss to the top of Savannah’s head.

  The poignant gesture caught Darby off guard, and her heart clenched, stealing her breath.

  Instead of feeling overjoyed, she was apprehensive, waiting for the disaster she sensed lurking. Connor might be back, but he’d brought danger with him. Needles of anxiety pricked the base of her neck, and she squeezed the armrest of the rocking chair. Men with connections to organized crime could have been watching her comings and goings for months. More important, they could have seen Connor since he returned and could even now be planning to strike. She stared blindly at the floor as her mind spun, and a chill crawled through her.

  I left to protect you...not to save myself.

  When the transplant was complete, he’d disappear again from their lives, go back to his new life, his new identity. A bitter ache filled her, churning in her stomach. Laughter—Savannah’s tinkling and sweet, Connor’s husky and deep—drifted to her from the bed, cutting into her fractious thoughts.

  “Silly doggie!” Savannah said, her honey-brown eyes shining up at Connor.

  “Clifford is silly,” Connor said, beaming at his daughter. “Have you ever seen a dog wear a party hat like that?”

  “No!” Savannah groaned comically.

  Darby bit the inside of her cheek, fighting back tears. Her emotions were so tangled and all over the map. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, have hope or rage. How was she supposed to sort out the competing feelings twisted inside her?

  “I had a pawty.”

  Connor paused in his reading and met Savannah’s eyes. “You had a party?”

  She nodded. “A birthday pawty. We ate cake.”

  Her father smiled. “Mmm. I love cake.”

  Savannah’s faced brightened. “You can come to my pawty. My new pawty. When I’m—” She struggled to hold up just four fingers on her hand. “Fouw yeaws old.”

  “Can I?” The bittersweet yearning in Connor’s expression tugged at Darby’s fragile composure.

  “Mommy, can Uncle Connuh come to my birthday pawty?” Savannah’s expectant eyes blinked at her, and Darby had to clear her throat before she could answer.

  “Your birthday’s not until July. That’s still two months away.”

  “Can he come?” her stubborn daughter repeated.

  “He can, if...if he’s still in town then.”

  Clearly Connor heard the question in her answer. The censure. The years of hurt.

  His brow creased, and an excruciating sorrow replaced the mirth he’d been sharing moments earlier with Savannah.

  Their daughter, oblivious to the underlying tension in the room, cheered and tugged at Connor’s sleeve. “She said yes! You can come.”

  Pain slashed through Darby, hearing her daughter plan a birthday party Connor would likely never attend. A party that might never happen if Savannah’s cancer—

  Cutting the nightmarish thought off, Darby shoved to her feet, her stomach lurching. Her roller-coaster emotions were more than she could bear.

  “Connor, don’t,” Darby interrupted, her voice little more than a rasp.

  He looked over at her, his brow furrowed. “What?”

  “We can have balloons!” Savannah said, patting Connor’s cheek in an attempt to regain his full attention.

  “Don’t what?” His voice was tender, confused.

  She paced to the door, agitated. “Don’t give her false hope.”

  He plowed his free hand through his hair, leaving it sexily rumpled. Darby’s thoughts jumped to lazy Saturday mornings in the past, when she and Connor would stay in bed past noon, making love and dreaming of the future. A bittersweet stab of grief sliced through her.

  Connor’s gaze darkened and arrowed into her. “Isn’t hope, whether it’s false or real, better than giving up?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting tears. “Then don’t disappoint her.”

  Chapter 11

  By pulling strings and classifying Savannah’s transplant as a priority surgery, Dr. Reed was able to work the transplant in the hospital calendar for early the following week. In preparation for the transplant, Savannah was admitted and placed in a sterile room to begin receiving the high-potency chemo. Every possible germ and defensive white cell in her body had to be killed, making her a blank canvass, ready to receive the new marrow from Connor.

  The night before the chemo was to be administered, Darby watched through the observation window of the sterile room as Dr. Reed did a final check-in with Savannah. Connor stood beside her, his body as taut and vibrating with tension as her own. When Dr. Reed turned to exit Savannah’s room, Connor slipped his hand in Darby’s and squeezed. They met the doctor steps from the sterile room door, anxious for news.

  “Well?” Darby asked.

  “All her blood work and vital signs are on target. We’ll get started in the morning.” Dr. Reed shucked off the sterile gown she’d worn into Savannah’s room. “Honestly, my best advice is for the two of you to go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Go home?” Darby asked, her tone as incredulous as if she’d suggested throwing Savannah into a volcano. “No. I need to be here with her.”

  Dr. Reed smiled. “I understand your desire to be here, but tomorrow will be a long, stressful day as we start the amped-up chemo. You’ll want to be well rested.”

  “But—” she started, and Connor put a hand on her arm.

  “She’s right, Darby.”

  Hunter and Darby’s sister Lilly joined them to hear what the doctor was saying.

  “I’ve given Savannah a sedative, and she’ll be asleep all night.” Dr. Reed made a note on Savannah’s chart, then handed the file off to a waiting nurse. “Your daughter will be better served by you going home and getting some sleep.”

  Darby searched the faces around her, looking for an ally. Surely someone understood her need to be near her daughter.

  Lilly faced her and flashed an understanding smile. “I’ll stay here for you, and I promise to call if there’s the slightest change in her condition.”

  Hunter nodded. “I’ll stay, too. She won’t be alone. Besides, Mom texted me earlier to say she’s at your house. She
made lasagna.”

  Connor slid a hand under Darby’s hair to cradle the nape of her neck. Tugging her closer, he kissed her forehead. “Come on, honey. You’re about to drop.”

  With that he curled an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the elevators. She resisted for all of two seconds before her tired body gave in to Connor’s comforting touch. She followed him and Marshal Jones out to the waiting car. Even though she knew Hunter and Lilly were the next best thing to her being there for Savannah, Darby couldn’t deny the hollow ache of anxiety that sat in her chest as she stared out the car window.

  Marshal Jones drove them back to her house, leaving Raleigh at the hospital to guard Savannah, despite the security inherent to the well-monitored sterile room.

  The scent of freshly baked lasagna and homemade garlic bread greeted them as they entered. Darby’s stomach rumbled, and she discovered that despite her worry for Savannah, she was hungry.

  Julia met them with a warm smile and hug. “Dinner is waiting. Come right to the table.”

  “Smells great, Mom.” Connor kissed Julia’s cheek.

  She divided a worried look between them. “When was the last time you ate?”

  Darby furrowed her brow as she thought back. “I had coffee for breakfast.”

  Julia scoffed and ushered Darby toward the dining room. “Darling, coffee is not breakfast. Sit. I’ll fix you a plate. Marshal Jones, join us?”

  Grant and his wife, Tracy, along with their two children, were already seated at the table, and they greeted Darby and Connor with supportive smiles. After Grant and Tracy married, they’d inherited the farm house, about thirty minutes from Lagniappe, where the Mansfield grandparents had raised Stan. But for the next couple days, Grant’s family had moved into Stan and Julia’s home, in order to be closer to the hospital and available to help as needed.

  Connor pulled out a chair for Darby, and with a weary smile for his courtesy, Darby sat. Julia’s sumptuous dinner was served, but despite her growling stomach, Darby found that she was too exhausted to eat more than a few bites. The past week’s whirlwind of emotions, stress and sleepless nights taking care of Savannah caved in on her, and suddenly she barley had the strength to lift her fork.

  When Julia got up to bring in the chocolate cake she’d made for dessert, Connor gave Darby a measured look. “Can we save our cake for breakfast, Mom? I think Darby’s about to drop.”

  Though he spoke the truth, Darby stiffened her back. “I can decide for myself if I want cake or no—” A jaw-cracking yawn interrupted her tirade, and Connor’s family chuckled.

  “You were saying?” Grant teased.

  She flashed Grant a playful scowl and turned to Julia. “Will you save me a piece of cake for tomorrow?”

  Connor’s mother covered her hand and squeezed. “Of course, darling. Sleep tight.”

  Connor was out of his seat and helping her pull back her chair before she could wipe her mouth and put her napkin on her plate. She remembered that about him. He was always the gentleman, always so in tune to her needs, always ready to assist her in little ways. Except when she’d needed him most.

  When she’d believed he’d been killed in that hunting cabin, she’d needed his comfort, his support, his arms around her. When Savannah was born, she’d needed him beside her in the labor room. When the doctor had given her the results of Savannah’s pathology tests in March, she’d needed his strength and encouragement.

  A lingering bubble of resentment swelled inside her, and she pulled away from him when he tried to wrap an arm around her waist. She didn’t miss his quiet sigh of frustration and disappointment, and some traitorous part of her soul wrenched in sympathy for his hurt. But he’s here now, a little voice said.

  Giving a nod to his family and Marshal Jones, he followed her back to her bedroom and started moving throw pillows from the bed. Toby, who’d been napping on the window seat, hopped down and stretched lazily before jumping onto the bed to demand Connor’s attention.

  As she stood at the dresser, taking off her earrings and kicking her shoes from her feet, she was blindsided by a wave of loneliness and despair. The cold sank to her bones, like a portent of some impending tragedy, and she shivered. “Connor?”

  He looked up from scratching Toby behind the ears. “Yeah?”

  “You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight.”

  He lifted Toby to the floor in order to fold back the sheets for her. “I thought I might sleep on Savannah’s bed. That okay with you?”

  Darby looked at him, then her king-size bed. She really didn’t want to be alone tonight. But was she ready to have Connor sleeping beside her again? Her fingers trembled as she unhooked the clasp on her bracelet and set it on the dresser top. “I wasn’t thinking of Savannah’s bed.”

  He stilled, then raised a lopsided smile to her. “All right then,” he said, clearly taking her comment as permission. “I’ll be back as soon as I shower.” Connor disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, and the sounds of his nightly ritual filtered out. Water running in the shower, the clink of his toothbrush against the sink, the rattle of his vitamin bottle as he shook out a supplement. Sounds she’d memorized years ago. A routine she’d thought would be part of her life every night until her old age. The familiarity of it twisted painfully. She’d missed everything about Connor, right down to the mundane tasks of his bedtime rituals.

  Forcing her feet to move, she crossed the carpet to the bathroom and knocked. He pulled the door open, and she was greeted by a curl of steam, the scent of mint mouthwash...and Connor’s bare chest. Darby’s mouth dried. Because, really, there was no sexier chest in America. All sculpted muscle and smooth skin. Broad shoulders. Flat abs. A sprinkling of dark hair around his navel. Her hands itched to explore the expanse of warm flesh, relearning the texture and heat of him.

  “Yeah?” He inclined his head slightly in query, completely comfortable standing before her in only his boxer briefs.

  Darby swallowed hard, knowing she’d been caught staring. Gaping, in truth. “I, uh...need to brush my teeth.”

  “Oh, right.” He stepped back to let her in, but in the confines of the narrow bathroom, she still brushed against him as she scooted past. The brief contact was enough to electrify her nerve endings and supercharge her senses.

  He finished flossing his teeth, gathered his clothes from the floor and met her gaze in the mirror. “All yours.”

  Darby mechanically brushed her teeth and washed her face, hyperaware of the masculine scent of his soap that filled the bathroom, the slow drip in the shower where he’d just bathed. The implied intimacy of sharing a bathroom, a bed...intimacies that had once been real, not simply insinuated. A wave of nostalgia and longing swept through her, so powerful her knees buckled, and she had to grip the edge of the sink to stay on her feet. He’s back. You can reclaim what was lost.

  But did she dare? His leaving had hurt so deeply. How could she risk that much pain again?

  With a hand on the wall for support, she walked to the bedroom and watched Connor for a moment as he sat on the side of the bed and checked the alarm clock setting. When he glanced up, he gave her an automatic grin. But a dented brow and worried frown replaced the smile when she made no move to join him. Her own expression probably gave a clue to her tumbling, restless thoughts.

  “What?” he asked, moving around the end of the bed toward her.

  “I...” She stopped and cleared her throat, deciding honesty was best. “I’m scared.”

  He drew and released a deep breath before closing the distance between them. “Ah, sweetheart. She has the best doctors in the state taking care of her. We have to believe she’ll come through this okay.” He tugged her into an embrace, and his arms felt so safe, so warm and welcoming, she didn’t resist. She didn’t tell him he’d misunderstood what frightened her. “As scary as it is, we have t
o try to stay positive.”

  She nodded, burying her face in the curve of his throat, wrapping her arms around his wide chest. Clinging to him.

  “Come on.” He bent his knees, scooping her into his arms and carrying her the last few feet to the king-size bed. “Nothing like a good night’s sleep for that shot of courage to face tomorrow.”

  Instinctively, she curled against him, savoring the contact. When, too soon, he set her on the crisp sheets, she reluctantly released him and snuggled under the covers. Her eyes closed, her body relaxed...but her mind buzzed with worry, with memories, with a bittersweet yearning too powerful to ignore.

  Behind her, the mattress dipped as Connor crawled into bed and snapped off the lamp. “Good night, Darby.”

  She waited, half hoping, half dreading the feel of his body pressed against hers and his arm draped over her as he settled in for the night. They’d spooned that way so many nights in the past, it seemed natural that he’d hold her again. But he didn’t. Something she dared not call disappointment speared her and, holding her breath, she rolled to face him.

  Connor lay on his back, one arm raised and his hand under his head. He angled his head to meet her gaze in the dim light from the window. “Problem?”

  “As tired as I am, I don’t see how I’ll ever get to sleep.”

  He curled up a corner of his mouth. “I know what you mean. Lots to think about.” He paused, giving her a thoughtful look, then whispered, “Com’ere.”

  When he motioned for her to scoot closer to him, she balked and arched a skeptical eyebrow. Twisting his mouth, he grunted. “I’m not trying to put the moves on you. I just thought I could help you relax a bit, maybe even dose off. My shoulder massages used to help you.”

  This is a mistake, she told herself, even as she scooted against him, laying her hand on his warm chest and aligning her body with his.

  “That’s it,” he murmured as his long fingers dug into her tense shoulders. “Now close your eyes and try to blank your mind.”