Laurel dreamed of the day she met Jackson.

The summer-afternoon party wasn’t a typical event for either of them and later Laurel would think of what a cliché their meeting had been. Eyes meeting across a crowded room. Everyone else fading into a misty background. Her toes curling when he smiled. Sparks of sexual awareness coursing through them when their hands touched.

They had left the party together a short while later and had gone for a barefoot walk on the beach at sunset. The salty breeze had tossed their hair and tugged at their clothes—clothes they had abandoned in a hidden nook. They had been daring and reckless and impetuous that night. By dawn the next morning they’d known they were in love.

She dreamed of that beach, of conversation and laughter, of passionate whispers and hoarse cries.

Of two young people so desperately in love that they had let their emotions sweep them into a life neither had been prepared for.

GINA WILKINS

is a bestselling and award-winning author who has written more than seventy novels for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. She credits her successful career in romance to her long, happy marriage and her three “extraordinary” children.

A lifelong resident of central Arkansas, Ms. Wilkins sold her first book to Harlequin in 1987 and has been writing full-time since. She has appeared on the Waldenbooks, B. Dalton and USA TODAY bestseller lists. She is a three-time recipient of the Maggie Award for Excellence, sponsored by Georgia Romance Writers, and has won several awards from the reviewers of RT Book Reviews.

The Secret Heir
Gina Wilkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Be a part of

Because birthright has its privileges and family ties run deep.

Once crazy for each other, a husband and wife lose their way. As an adorable little boy reunites them, this couple learns that sometimes love is meant to last a lifetime….

Jackson Reiss: When his son, Tyler, became ill, Jackson had to let go of his idealized version of a family. He realized some things took precedence—his child’s health…and his wife by his side.

Laurel Reiss: After a stormy upbringing, Laurel gave everything to Jackson until circumstances swept them into different orbits. With little Tyler in trouble, Laurel devoted herself to his care…and felt that strong passion toward Jackson reemerge.

Jack Crosby: The patriarch of the Crosby clan hadn’t exactly been an exemplary father. But as his children found happiness, he realized he had to make amends, even if it meant bringing long-buried secrets to light….

Because birthright has its privileges and family ties run deep.

AVAILABLE JUNE 2010

 1.) To Love and Protect by Susan Mallery

 2.) Secrets & Seductions by Pamela Toth

 3.) Royal Affair by Laurie Paige

 4.) For Love and Family by Victoria Pade

AVAILABLE JULY 2010

 5.) The Bachelor by Marie Ferrarella

 6.) A Precious Gift by Karen Rose Smith

 7.) Child of Her Heart by Cheryl St. John

 8.) Intimate Surrender by RaeAnne Thayne

AVAILABLE AUGUST 2010

 9.) The Secret Heir by Gina Wilkins

 10.) The Newlyweds by Elizabeth Bevarly

 11.) Right by Her Side by Christie Ridgway

 12.) The Homecoming by Anne Marie Winston

AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 2010

 13.) The Greatest Risk by Cara Colter

 14.) What a Man Needs by Patricia Thayer

 15.) Undercover Passion by Raye Morgan

 16.) Royal Seduction by Donna Clayton

For my family—immediate and extended—who have to live daily with the mood swings, panic attacks, distraction and paranoia of the average writer. Thank you for your love and your patience.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

One

L aurel Phillips Reiss was a strong, competent, self-sufficient woman. Everyone who knew her said so. She could handle anything.

Anything except this.

Twisting a shredded tissue between her hands, she looked through her lashes at the man sitting in a nearby chair in the hospital waiting room. His sun-streaked blond hair was tousled from running his hands through it. Strong emotions darkened his blue eyes to navy and hardened his chiseled features to resemble granite. Years of manual labor had toned his broad-shouldered body. Jackson Reiss looked fit, tough and strong enough to overcome any adversity.

Except this one.

His eyes met hers. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, but even that silent response was a lie. She wasn’t at all okay.

Other people sat in the waiting room, clustered in tight units as they waited for news of loved ones. Conversations swirled around them, the volume fluctuating from muted to rather loud. Occasional bursts of self-conscious, too-cheery laughter were followed by nervous silences. On the far side of the waiting room, a young woman cried softly. Laurel watched as a man gathered her into his arms to comfort her.

The green upholstered chairs in which Laurel and Jackson sat were crowded together so that their knees almost touched, but they made no effort to close even that small distance. Laurel’s hands were in her lap, and Jackson’s were fisted on his knees. A plain gold band gleamed on the ring finger of her left hand. His hands were bare, since jewelry could be dangerous on the construction sites where he spent most of his time.

There might as well have been a wall between them.

A dark-haired man who looked maybe ten years older than Laurel’s twenty-six approached them with a respectful, slightly weary expression. He wore a white coat over a blue shirt and khakis. His tie was a riot of color. A nametag identified him as Michael Rutledge, M.D. “Mr. and Mrs. Reiss?”

Laurel surged to her feet as Jackson did the same. “How is Tyler?” she asked urgently. “What’s wrong with him?”

“If you’ll both follow me.” He motioned toward a row of doors at one end of the waiting room. “We can talk privately in a conference room.”

Laurel felt a band tighten around her heart. If he wanted to talk to them in private, then something must really be wrong, she thought in despair. Wouldn’t he have already reassured them if everything was fine?

Her body felt stiff and unresponsive when she tried to move. She stumbled a little, and Jackson reached out immediately to steady her. For only a moment, she allowed herself to sag against him, drawing on his strength. But then she squared her shoulders and stepped away from him. “I’m all right,” she murmured.

Her husband nodded and shoved his hands in the pockets of the faded jeans he wore with battered work boots and a denim shirt. Dressed more colorfully in a red jacket and black slacks, Laurel moved a couple of steps ahead of Jackson as she followed the doctor into a small room with four straight-back chairs arranged around a round table.

A box of tissues sat on the table. A smudged white board hung on one wall, and a peaceful painting of mountains and clouds hung on another. A tall green plant stood in one corner; it needed water, Laurel noted automatically, focusing on inconsequential matters until she was certain she had her emotions under tight control.

“Please, Mrs. Reiss.” Dr. Rutledge held a chair for her. “Sit down.”

She would rather have stood, but she sank to the edge of the chair. Jackson took the seat beside her—close, but again without touching her. Both Laurel and Jackson kept their eyes on the doctor as he took a chair across from them. Laurel started to speak, but discovered that her throat was too tight. Hearing Jackson draw a deep breath, she let him ask the question that was paramount to both of them.

“What’s wrong with our son?”

Before the doctor could reply, a forty-something woman with fiery red hair, a round, freckled face, and a plumply maternal figure knocked once and entered the room, carrying a thick file. “Sorry,” she murmured to the doctor. “I got delayed.”

“No problem.” Dr. Rutledge stood upon the nurse’s entrance. “Mr. and Mrs. Reiss, this is Kathleen O’Hara, the nurse practitioner who has been assigned to Tyler. She’ll be your contact person who can answer all your questions during Tyler’s treatment.”

Nodding perfunctorily to the nurse, Jackson waited only until they were seated before saying again, “What’s wrong with our son?”

Laurel tried to concentrate on the rather technical information the doctor gave them for the next ten minutes or so, but the words seemed to fly past her in a haze. She absorbed just enough to understand that her precious three-year-old son was suffering from a potentially fatal heart-valve defect.

“The good news is that we’ve caught the condition early,” Dr. Rutledge assured them, leaning slightly toward Laurel as he spoke. “All too often the first sign of trouble is when a young person with this defect—usually a male in his late teens or early twenties—drops dead after participating in a rigorous sport. That’s not going to happen with Tyler because we know what we’re dealing with.”

“You said he’ll need a couple of operations. One now and one more as he grows.” Jackson’s voice was rather hoarse. Glancing his way, Laurel saw that the sun lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened, and that much of the color had drained from his tanned face. “How dangerous are those operations?”

“I won’t lie to you. There’s always a risk during surgery.” The surgeon spent another few minutes outlining the possible complications, what Laurel had always thought of as the medical “C.Y.A.” spiel. He spoke with practiced compassion, a speech he had obviously made many times before.

Laurel had to make an effort to sit still and listen quietly when every maternal cell within her was urging her to run screaming to Tyler’s side, where she could gather him into her arms and protect him from harm. This wasn’t just any sick child Michael Rutledge was discussing in such bewilderingly complex terms. This was Laurel’s baby. The one perfect part of her life.

Jackson was the one who sprang to his feet, beginning to pace the small room with the barely restrained ferocity of a caged tiger. “How did this happen?” he demanded. “Was Tyler born with this condition or has something gone wrong since?”

“This is a congenital defect. He was born with it.”

Was it her fault? Laurel had tried to take very good care of herself during her pregnancy, staying away from caffeine, alcohol and cigarette smoke, eating plenty of fruits and vegetables, taking her vitamins—everything she had been advised to do. Had she done something wrong, after all?

“The condition is almost always inherited,” the doctor explained further. “The condition occurs most frequently in males. Perhaps one of you can remember uncles or cousins, even siblings who died of heart failure in childhood or early adulthood.”

Laurel looked at Jackson, who was looking back at her in question. She shook her head. Her father had taken off when she was young, but she remembered him as a sports enthusiast who bragged about how healthy his family had always been.

Her mother’s family was known for long life spans. Both of Laurel’s maternal grandparents were still living back in Michigan, as far as she knew, though her extended family had been estranged since her mother had moved here to Portland, Oregon when Laurel was just a baby. Laurel’s mother, Janice, had said often that she expected to live to a ripe old age, since everyone in her family did—even the ones who smoked and drank and ate anything they wanted, she had boasted.

Janice had died young, but that had been due to stupidity rather than heredity. Janice had been driving drunk after a party.

“I can’t remember hearing anything like that about my mother’s family or my dad’s, but I’ll ask them,” Jackson said, pushing a hand through his hair again.

Laurel’s hands clenched suddenly in her lap. “Does this mean that my husband could have the same defect? Is he also at risk?”

“I’m 31,” Jackson reminded her. “I played football in high school and I’ve been doing construction work for years without a problem.”

“Which is a good indicator, but a thorough physical examination certainly wouldn’t hurt,” the doctor advised.

Laurel and Jackson had grown apart during the past three years, but she didn’t want to think about him being in danger. She was actually rather surprised by how strongly she had reacted when the possibility had entered her mind.

Now she concentrated fully again on her son. “When can I see Tyler?”

Dr. Rutledge pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “We’re running a couple more tests, but he should be back in his room in a half hour or so. I’ll send someone to the waiting room for you as soon as he’s ready. In the meantime, Kathleen has several permission and release forms to discuss with you. She’ll tell you more about what to expect during the next few weeks and answer any further questions for you. I’ll be seeing you both again soon.”

“Thank you,” Jackson said.

Laurel could only nod. She found herself unable to thank the surgeon for giving her news that had shaken the very foundation of her life. If something went wrong…if she lost Tyler…

She couldn’t even bear to think of that now.

“Dr. Rutledge has scheduled Tyler’s surgery for seven-thirty Friday morning, the day after tomorrow,” Kathleen began, opening the thick file to the first form. “Normally it would take a bit longer to arrange, but he had an unexpected opening and thought you might prefer to get this behind you.”

Jackson nodded. “He was right.”

“Good. Then we’ll start preoperative evaluation this afternoon—chest X-rays, electrocardiogram, echocardiogram, oxygen saturation. Tomorrow you should be able to meet with the other members of Tyler’s cardiology team—the anesthesiologist and the intensive-care staff who will take care of him after surgery. He’ll be on a ventilator for several hours afterward, maybe overnight, until he’s awake enough and his heart appears strong enough to discontinue the breathing assistance. We’ll keep him here for seven to fourteen days, depending on how quickly he rebounds. You’ll be fully briefed on recovery care before he leaves us.”

Ventilator. Laurel gulped, barely hearing anything else the briskly professional woman said. The nightmare just kept getting more horrifying.

Jackson had several more questions for Kathleen, and Laurel tried to pay attention, but she had nothing to ask. She couldn’t think clearly enough to form a coherent question.

After Jackson had signed all the forms—Laurel’s hands were shaking too hard to hold a pen—the nurse closed her file. “I’ll go check on Tyler. The two of you are welcome to use this room for a few more minutes if you need some private time. Someone will let you know if the conference room is needed.”

Laurel could only nod again, clenching her jaw to hold back the tortured cry that seemed to be lodged in her throat.

Jackson watched the nurse let herself out of the conference room. The room was entirely too small. There seemed to be barely enough oxygen for two people. Tugging at the open collar of his denim shirt as though it were choking him, he turned to pace again, crossing the entire floor in four long strides.

His entire body practically vibrated with the need for action, the urge to do something to solve this crisis. That was his responsibility, wasn’t it? To keep his family safe and happy. He hadn’t been doing so well in the latter area lately, especially with his wife, but he had done his best to keep them safe. And now even that had slipped beyond his control.

What good was a father who couldn’t protect his child?

Swallowing a sound that could have become a string of curses or a howl of anguish, he pushed his hands more deeply into his pockets and turned to look at Laurel. She sat on the edge of her chair, her back very straight, both hands in her lap, both feet on the floor. Her shoulder-length, dark-blond hair fell in neatly arranged layers, and her red jacket fit her slender frame perfectly. In contrast to that cheery tone, her lovely face was drained of color, so pale she could have been carved of ivory.

When he had met her almost four years ago, Laurel had been a laughing, ebullient, self-admitted party girl. Drawn to her spirit and her laughter, Jackson had swept her into a whirlwind courtship and a hasty marriage. Barely ten months later, their son was born.

Sometime during the course of their marriage, Jackson had realized that Laurel’s laughter and chatter were as effective as any mask at hiding her true thoughts and feelings. As the months of their marriage passed, she had become quieter and more withdrawn from him. He could honestly say that she was even more of a stranger to him now than on the day they had met.

The one thing he knew without hesitation was that she adored their son. She had to be in agony now, just as he was.

He wished she would turn to him for comfort. That was something useful he could do, at least, perhaps finding some reassurance for himself in the process. But in all the time he had known her, he had never heard Laurel ask for anything. Her rather fierce self-sufficiency had drawn him to her at the beginning, but for the past three years it had been slowly driving them apart.

He felt compelled to make the effort anyway. Moving to stand behind her chair, he rested a hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension vibrating in her muscles. “Laurel?”

She looked up at him. “Dr. Rutledge said Tyler should be fine after surgery.”

Jackson suspected she was repeating the doctor’s words as much to reassure herself as him. “Tyler will be fine, Laurel. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”

She swallowed visibly and nodded. Her fingers clenched so tightly in her lap that he heard a knuckle pop. “He’s so little,” she whispered, her sapphire-blue eyes filling with tears. “And they’re going to cut him open…”

Acting on instinct, Jackson drew her somewhat roughly to her feet and into his arms. She stood stiffly there for a moment, and he began to wonder if she would push him away. But then she collapsed against him, her body wracked with shudders as she clung to the front of his shirt. She wasn’t crying, exactly, he noted as he gathered her closer and rested his cheek against her soft hair, but her breath caught in ragged gasps that told him she was holding back sobs with an effort.

His protective-male instincts kicked into full force again. He wanted to promise her anything, do whatever it took to make their son well and ease Laurel’s pain. If he could trade places with Tyler, he would do so in a heartbeat. If money would solve the problem, he would get it somehow, even if it meant working longer than the twelve- to sixteen-hour days he already put in.

It tormented him that there was absolutely nothing he could do. His child’s well-being was in other people’s hands now. He hated that.

The conference-room door opened and an attractive woman in her early fifties rushed in, followed closely by a stocky, worried-looking older man.

“Jackson!” Donna Reiss clutched his arm as Laurel moved abruptly away. “The receptionist told us you were in here. What’s wrong with Tyler?”

Glancing quickly at Laurel, who had composed her face again into an inscrutable mask, Jackson knew their momentary bonding was over. Her thoughts were hidden from him now, as they so often were. Laurel didn’t seem to need him just then, so he turned, instead, to the person who did.

Taking his mother’s trembling hands, he squeezed comfortingly. “I’ll try to explain what the doctor told us.”

She clung to him, gazing up at him with both love and fear in her eyes. In contrast to Laurel, Donna always wore her emotions where everyone could see them. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s going to need open-heart surgery, but the doctor seemed confident the condition is correctable.”

“Open-heart surgery?” Donna repeated weakly. “Oh, no.”

Feeling her sway a bit, Jackson helped her into a chair. “Dad, do you want to sit down?”

Carl Reiss shook his gray head and moved to stand behind his wife. Like Jackson, Carl preferred to be on his feet, ready to do whatever he was called upon to do.

“Tell us what’s going on, Jay,” he said simply, using the nickname he always called his son. And then he glanced at Laurel. “Maybe you should sit, Laurel. You look awfully pale.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” She crossed her arms more tightly over her chest and stood against one wall, as far away physically from the others as possible. And even farther away emotionally, Jackson thought.

Looking stricken anew, Donna turned in her chair to face her daughter-in-law. “Laurel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. It’s just that I was so worried. But you must be frantic. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” The words were exactly the same she had used to answer Carl, but, as always, her tone was just a shade cooler when she spoke to her mother-in-law.

Donna directed her attention back to Jackson. “Tell me everything.”

He told her as much as he could remember, from the frantic call he had received from Laurel that morning through the talk with Dr. Rutledge. “They’re running a few more tests now,” he concluded. “We’ll be notified as soon as we can see him.”

One hand at her throat, Donna shook her head in disbelief. “Thank goodness Beverly is a former nurse’s aide who recognized the signs that something was wrong! If it hadn’t been for her, we might not have had any warning until it was too late.”

Laurel moved abruptly toward the door. “Excuse me. I need to…freshen up. Find me if they come for us,” she added to Jackson on her way out.

Knowing she wouldn’t want him to, he didn’t try to follow her.

Closed into the dubious privacy of a ladies’ room stall, Laurel finally let herself cry. She couldn’t handle this, she thought. Anything else but this.

Maybe if she had been a better mother. More attentive. A perfect stay-at-home mom, like Donna Reiss had been. Then Laurel, rather than Tyler’s nanny, would have been the one who had made note of the light-blue tinge around the boy’s lips after he’d been running, or the slightly ragged edge to his breathing at times.

Despite all the times she had played with him, tickled him, run with him, Laurel had never seen the warning signs. It had taken a nurse’s-aide-turned-nanny to realize that something was very wrong.

Laurel felt like such a failure as a mother—something she had feared since the day she had been told, to her shock, that she was pregnant. Still barely used to the idea of being a wife, she had almost panicked at the prospect of parenthood. What did she know about being a mother when she had never really had one herself?

For three years she had done the best she could at motherhood. She had read all the books, devoted herself to the role with an intensity that had overshadowed almost everything else in her life. Two years ago, after coming to the conclusion that she was hovering on the edge of clinical depression and would be a better mother if she felt a bit more personally fulfilled, she had returned to her job as a social worker. But even then she had tried to keep her hours reasonable, she reminded herself defensively. Certainly more reasonable than Jackson, who was rarely home.

Laurel had interviewed dozens of potential nannies, selecting the woman she had considered the best, even though Jackson had grumbled about the cost. It had taken the lion’s share of Laurel’s salary just to pay for child care, but despite Jackson’s suspicions, she didn’t really work for the money. She just needed to feel as if she was doing something worthwhile. Something that made her feel valuable and competent.

She should have been content with being a full-time wife and mother, she thought now. But, unlike her job, which inspired confidence in her abilities, those other roles left her feeling clueless. As Jackson’s oh-so-perfect mother had just pointed out, it had taken a nanny even to realize that Tyler was seriously ill.

Was everyone judging her for not being the one to notice? Or was she the only one who found that so hard to forgive?

Knowing she had to emerge from the restroom eventually, she splashed cold water on her face, composing her expression as much as possible. The door opened before she touched the handle, and two older women walked in, both nodding greetings to Laurel as they passed.

She found her husband and his parents in the waiting room. Donna and Jackson sat on a vinyl-covered bench, Donna’s head resting on her son’s shoulder. Carl roamed restlessly from a stand of magazines to a saltwater aquarium, which held his attention for only a short while.

Laurel had never gotten to know her father-in-law very well. Almost ten years older than his wife, sixty-one-year-old Carl Reiss was a good-natured but quiet mechanic. His skin was weathered, his sandy-turned-gray hair thinning, and his brown eyes had a perpetual squint, as though from hours of peering into the sun.

Though very much like his father in mannerisms, Jackson was physically more like his mother. Both Jackson and Donna were blond—though Donna’s color was artificially maintained now—and they had the same dark-blue eyes. Laurel had been told that Donna had once been drop-dead gorgeous, and even at fifty-two, she was still slim and striking. Jackson had definitely inherited his good looks from his mother.

Tyler was a blond, blue-eyed, miniature replica of his own father. But from whom had he received his tiny defective heart? Laurel couldn’t help wondering with a catch in her throat.

Jackson stood when he saw Laurel approach. “You okay?”

She didn’t bother lying to him again. “No word yet about when we can go to Tyler?”

“No. Not yet.”

She turned toward the desk. “This is ridiculous. I want to see my baby.”

Jackson moved after her, and for a moment she thought he was going to try to stop her. Instead, he took her arm and walked with her to the reception desk. “We’d like to see our son,” he said to the efficient-looking woman sitting there.

“I’m sure you’ll be called as soon as they’re ready for you, Mr. Reiss.”

“We’re going in now,” he said, moving toward the doors. “You can either call an escort, or we’ll go find Tyler ourselves.”

“Um, just a moment.” The woman hastily picked up the receiver of the telephone on her desk. Moments later a stern-faced nurse appeared to escort them back.

Jackson Reiss had always had a way of getting what he wanted, Laurel thought with a touch of wistfulness.

Unfortunately, this seemed like the first time in almost four years that she and he had wanted the same thing.

Two

T yler burst into tears the moment he saw his parents, and held out his little arms to Laurel. She scooped him up, snuggling her face into his neck. “See?” she said, her voice bright and bracing. “I told you Mommy and Daddy would be close by.”

“Wanna go home.”

“I know, baby.” She shifted him more snugly onto her hip. His legs, bare beneath the thin, child-sized hospital gown, wrapped around her with a grip that let her know he wouldn’t release her again without a struggle. “We have to stay here now, but Mommy’s going to be right here with you, okay?”

“Wanna go home,” Tyler repeated, his lip quivering as he looked to his father for reinforcement.

Jackson reached out to ruffle Tyler’s fine, white-blond hair. “We’ll take you home as soon as the doctor says it’s okay, buddy.”

A chocolate-skinned nurse with a riot of black curls around her appealing face hovered nearby. She nodded toward a deeply cushioned chair on one side of the private hospital room. “That chair converts into a single bed. One of you is welcome to spend the night here with Tyler.”

A wooden rocker sat on the other side of the standard hospital bed on which Tyler had been sitting when Laurel and Jackson entered. Picking up the stuffed penguin Tyler had dropped on the bed, Laurel sat in the rocker with Tyler nestled in her lap. Leaving Jackson to talk with the nurse, she concentrated on cheering up her son.

“You and I are going to spend the night here, Tyler. Mommy will sleep right here beside your bed.”

Tyler sniffed. “Angus, too?”

“Of course Angus, too.” She patted the stuffed penguin’s somewhat grubby head. “And look, we have a TV and a stack of cartoon movies. There are some of your favorites here. We’ll watch one together, okay?”

Tyler nodded tentatively. Her promise that she would stay with him had reassured him somewhat, even if he was still clearly bewildered by what was going on.

Barely three, he was still too young to understand that even though he felt fine, there was something wrong with him that required medical intervention. To him, it must seem that one moment he had been playing with his toys and the next he’d been in the hospital being poked and prodded by strangers.

That was pretty much the way it felt to Laurel, too.

On the suggestion of Beverly Schrader, their nanny, Laurel had taken the morning off on this nice Thursday in early April to take Tyler for a medical checkup. Though she had tried to convince herself that Beverly was overreacting, she had mentioned to the pediatrician the symptoms Beverly had noted. The pediatrician had taken Beverly’s observations seriously enough to run a few tests—and the next thing she’d known, Laurel had been sitting in the Portland General Hospital waiting room while Tyler was rushed to specialists.

She had tracked Jackson down on a construction job he was supervising. He had dropped everything and hurried to join her. And suddenly they were facing open-heart surgery.

It had all happened so fast that Laurel’s head seemed to be spinning. No wonder little Tyler was confused.

She heard Jackson asking a string of questions of the patiently helpful nurse, but she didn’t try to monitor that conversation. She figured Jackson would tell her later what she needed to know. For now she focused on her child.

“I’ll be back at five with your dinner, Tyler,” said the nurse, whose nametag identified her as Ramona. “Do you like spaghetti and applesauce?”

Tyler nodded, then added, “Like ice cream, too.”

Ramona flashed a smile. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”

Left alone, Laurel and Jackson studied each other over Tyler’s head. More at home in the chaos of a construction site, Jackson looked restless and uncomfortable in the sterile and studiously cheery setting of a hospital pediatric room.

“I should probably go get my parents,” he said, glancing toward the door.

Laurel’s arms tightened spasmodically around her son and words of protest rose instinctively in her throat, but she swallowed them and nodded. Jackson had every right to want his parents with him, just as they had a right to be close to their grandchild. She was being selfish to want to keep Tyler all to herself until this whole ordeal was over.

It was just that once the close-knit Reiss family was together, Laurel always felt like the outsider. Changing her surname to theirs hadn’t made her one of them.

It wasn’t that they had ever treated her badly. They had been nothing but politely gracious to her, just as they were to everyone outside the family. She knew much of the problem was hers. Since she hadn’t been raised in a family like this, she had never quite known how to behave with them, resulting in her being a bit guarded around them.

Though adept at making small talk and swapping repartee with others, she’d turned stilted in the presence of Jackson’s parents. Jackson, for one, had certainly noticed. He had accused her almost from the beginning of not liking his parents, and the more he had pushed her, the more defensive she had become. Especially when it came to his paragon of a mother.

Laurel had fifteen minutes alone with her son, and she savored every one of them. Though his vocabulary was limited, he managed to tell her about the people who had looked at him and done so many things to him. Laurel and Tyler had actually been separated for just over an hour, but it had seemed much longer to both of them. Tyler admitted he had rather liked nurse Ramona, but he was glad to be with his mommy again.

Snuggled into her arms, he stuck his left thumb into his mouth and allowed himself to relax, his eyelids getting heavy. Laurel rested her cheek on his silky blond hair and closed her own eyes, desperately wishing—

“There’s my sweet baby.” Donna Reiss rushed into the room on a wave of floral perfume and grandmotherly concern. She knelt beside the rocking chair and rested a trembling hand on Tyler’s arm. “Gammy’s here, darling, and so is Gampy. We’re all going to take very good care of you.”

“Gammy,” Tyler murmured with a sleepy smile. But it was Laurel’s heart he nestled closer to as he drifted into a restless nap.

It was almost eight o’clock that evening when Jackson convinced Laurel to leave the hospital room for a short break. Reminding her that she had missed lunch, he persuaded her to join him in the hospital cafeteria for a quick dinner. Tyler was sleeping, and Donna and Carl said they would stay with him until Laurel returned. They had already eaten, Carl having almost dragged Donna out of Tyler’s room for forty-five minutes earlier.

Laurel had tried to talk Jackson into joining his parents then, but he had refused to eat until she did. Though she wasn’t hungry, and she hated to leave her son even for that brief time, Laurel finally conceded because she knew Jackson needed the break.

The serving line closed at eight, so there weren’t many diners left, and not much food, either. Laurel ordered a bowl of soup, Jackson a sandwich.

They carried their trays to a small table next to a glass wall that looked out over a beautifully landscaped courtyard bathed in soft lighting. Because she knew he would insist, Laurel forced herself to take a few bites of the soup.

“How is it?” he asked, looking up from his food.

“Rather cold,” she replied with a shrug. “But it tastes fine.” At least, she assumed it did. For all the attention she had paid to the soup, it could have tasted like wet sawdust.

Jackson finished his sandwich while she made a pretense of eating, both of them lost in their own thoughts. And then he pushed his plate aside, leaving the chips and pickle untouched. “I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”

Laurel set down her spoon. “Neither am I.”

“You barely touched your soup. You’ll need to eat to keep your strength up. We’ve got a tough time ahead.”

“I’ll eat. I’m just not hungry now.”

He nodded and looked down at his hands, which were gripped together on the table in front of him. “This has all come up so fast that we’ve hardly had time to think about details. We’ll have to talk about what we’re doing for the next few days.”

“I’ll be staying here with Tyler, of course. I’ll take an indefinite leave of absence from work. It’s a bad time for the agency, with all the rumors and investigations going on there, but they’ll have to manage somehow without me.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure they can?”

Because her work had been such a sore subject between them for so long, Laurel immediately went on the defensive. “Regardless of what you so often imply, I have always put Tyler’s needs ahead of my job.”

He held up a hand, his expression suddenly weary. “I’m not trying to start anything. I know Children’s Connection depends on you, that’s all.”

“Yes, they do, but Tyler needs me more. I’ll call Morgan first thing in the morning to arrange for my leave.”

He nodded. “I’ll need to check in on the job site a few times during the next few days, but I won’t have to spend much time there.”

Laurel bit her tongue, but her expression must have revealed more than she had intended. This time it was Jackson whose defenses went up. “I’ll be here as much as I need to be, but I can’t afford to lose my job now. I’m the one who carries Tyler’s health insurance, remember? Your job isn’t going to pay the medical bills, especially with you taking a leave of absence.”

Laurel looked down at her lap and shook her head. “I’m not trying to start anything, either. I didn’t say anything about your work.”

“You always make it clear enough that you think I spend too much time working. Even though you know we need the money.”

“And you make it just as clear that you’ve never wanted me to work at all, even if it helps with the money.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve never needed help supporting my family.”

It was an old argument, and one Laurel doubted they would ever settle. When it came to family roles, Jackson’s attitudes were straight out of the last century—the early part of the last century.

Carl Reiss had taken such pride in the fact that his wife—a hardworking, financially strapped waitress when he’d met her—had never had to work since he’d married her. Jackson had always believed it was his responsibility to provide his son with a full-time mother, like he’d had during his entire childhood.

No matter how often Laurel had tried to explain it to him, he just couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that her work gave her something she simply couldn’t find within the walls of their nice, middle-class home. And it wasn’t money. Yes, she dealt with every working mother’s guilt and stress, but she truly felt as though she was a better mother because of her career.

Jackson had never quite understood that Laurel was nothing like Donna Reiss, whose whole life revolved around her husband, son and grandson, and who had never seemed to need anything more. Unfortunately, Laurel and Jackson had been married for several months with a child on the way before that first glow of giddy infatuation had dimmed enough to let them see their differences.

Drawing a deep breath, Laurel reminded herself that a crisis with a child’s health could cause stress in even the healthiest marriage. She and Jackson were facing months of difficult times ahead. It would do no one any good, especially their son, if they fell apart now.

“I really don’t want to quarrel with you tonight,” she said, making no effort to disguise her fear and exhaustion. “I just want to get back to Tyler.”

Jackson released a long sigh. “I don’t want to quarrel, either. I’m sorry. It’s been a…rough day.”

Because she understood him well enough to know what Tyler’s illness was doing to him, especially considering Jackson’s compulsive need to take care of his family, she felt her irritation with him fading. “Yes, it has. For both of us. And I’m sorry, too.”

Their eyes met across the table. For just a moment they were connected again, mentally bonded, the way they had been that first time they had met at a party he hadn’t wanted to attend. It was as if they had been able to sense each other’s emotions, an ability they seemed to have lost sometime after the birth of their child.

Someone dropped a tray on the other side of the room. The crash made Laurel and Jackson start, breaking the visual contact between them, along with everything else. Laurel reached for her purse while Jackson disposed of their trays.

They didn’t say much as they returned to Tyler’s room, simply agreeing that Jackson would return early the next morning with a change of clothes for her. He offered to stay the night with her, but she reminded him of how small the room was, adding that someone had to take care of things at home during the next few days.

Tyler was still sleeping when they entered his room, his beloved penguin clutched against his chest. Donna sat in the rocking chair, very close to the bed. Carl paced from his wife’s side to the single window and back again.

“Go home, Mom. Get some rest,” Jackson urged her. “It’s going to be a long week.”

Donna reached out to smooth Tyler’s hair. “I hate to leave him here.”

“Laurel’s staying with him.”

“Yes, of course.” Without looking at Laurel, Donna bent to brush a kiss over Tyler’s flushed cheek. “Good night, precious. Gammy will see you tomorrow.”

Jackson ushered his parents out. Donna bade Laurel a polite good night, but it was Carl who stopped in front of her, taking her hands in his work-roughened ones as he searched her face. “You’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You call if you need anything, you hear? Anything at all.”

This was where Jackson had gotten his deeply in-grained sense of responsibility to his family. Just as Carl had been providing for Donna for more than thirty years, he now seemed to feel as though he should offer his protection to his son’s wife in a time of crisis.

Donna thrived on being pampered and cosseted, while Laurel was more likely to feel smothered and stifled. Still, she couldn’t help but respond to the genuine concern in Carl’s kindly eyes. “Thank you. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

Satisfied with her answer, he released her and turned to follow his wife out of the room. Jackson stayed another hour. Keeping their voices low to avoid disturbing Tyler, he and Laurel continued to discuss the practicalities of the next day—rearranging their work schedules, contacting their insurance agent, canceling a couple of appointments. Both very cordial and efficient, they kept their emotions—about their son and each other—tightly reined.

Eventually, Jackson glanced at his watch and sighed. “I might as well head home. You’re sure you don’t need anything before I go?”

“Just bring back the things on the list I gave you when you come back in the morning. I’m set until then.”

He nodded. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

“I will.” She watched as he stood for a moment beside the bed, looking down at their sleeping child. Jackson reached out a hand as if to stroke Tyler’s tousled hair, but then drew it back, perhaps because he didn’t want to disturb the boy. He turned away from the bed with visible reluctance.

Laurel stood beside the door as Jackson prepared to leave. Though it was quiet in this room, sounds from the hallway outside drifted in—staff talking and laughing at the nurses’ station, carts squeaking on the linoleum, the rhythmic swishing of the janitor’s broom. They were sounds she heard often in her job as a placement social worker for the Children’s Connection adoption agency, which was affiliated with this hospital, but it was all different tonight. Unnervingly so.

Jackson must have read something in her expression. “You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”

Even as she assured him once again that everything would be fine, she wondered how many more times she would have to say it before she believed it herself.

Jackson bent his head to kiss her goodbye. The very slight hesitation just before their lips touched had nothing to do with current circumstances; she had noticed it several times when he’d kissed her during the past few months.

Watching the door close behind him, she couldn’t help thinking of the kisses they had shared early in their whirlwind courtship—eager, passionate, joyous and thorough. There had been no hesitation between them then, not even at the very beginning. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the kisses had changed, or what had caused the change, but she felt the gulf between them growing wider all the time.

Impatiently shaking her head, she turned back to the rocking chair. She had a sick child to worry about now. This was no time to analyze the condition of her ailing marriage.

Thursday was, perhaps, the longest day in Jackson’s life. Every minute seemed to crawl past with agonizing slowness. He had never been one to sit still for very long, and the forced inactivity of hospital waiting was a frustrating ordeal for him.

Laurel’s attention was focused exclusively on their son, of course. Jackson’s mother spent most of the day at the hospital and she, too, dedicated herself to keeping Tyler calm and entertained. Laurel and Donna were, as always, impeccably polite to each other.

Jackson paced, restlessly roaming the room and the hallways, rocking on his feet, trying not to think about the surgery tomorrow and trying not to envy his father, who had decided to spend the day working, since there was nothing productive he could do at the hospital.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend the day with his family, Jackson assured himself with a touch of guilt. It was just that there was nothing here for him to do. Nothing to make him feel as though he was accomplishing something worthwhile.

He lasted until midday. When it occurred to him that he, Laurel and Donna were all simply sitting there watching Tyler eat his lunch, he surged impatiently to his feet. “I think I’ll go see how things are going at the job site.”

Tyler immediately set down his spoon and pushed away the rolling bed tray. “I go, too.”

Forcing a smile, Jackson ruffled his son’s hair. “Not this time, buddy.”

The boy’s lower lip protruded in a familiar manner. “Don’t wanna stay here.”

“I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

But Tyler had had enough of this place. Shaking his head, he held out his arms to his father, looking fully prepared to launch into one of his rare, but daunting, tantrums. “Daddy. Wanna go with Daddy.”

Jackson could almost feel Laurel’s disapproving look on the back of his neck, silently blaming him for starting this when things had been going so well before. He grew immediately defensive in response, as he so often did with her lately. “There’s really nothing I can do here for now,” he said to her. “And I have responsibilities to my job.”

“As do I,” she murmured.

Always the peacemaker, Donna jumped in hastily to avert Tyler’s impending outburst and placate his parents. “Tyler, sweetie, Gammy’s going to play a game with you as soon as you’ve finished eating, remember? We talked about it. And, Jackson, there’s no reason for you to stay here twiddling your thumbs now when you’ll very likely be here all day tomorrow. Run along to take care of things at your job site. Actually, Laurel, you can check in at your office, too, if you’d like. It isn’t as if you would be far away. Tyler and I will be just fine here, won’t we, darling?”

She spooned a bite of orange sherbet into the boy’s mouth as she spoke. That treat, and the promise of a game with his beloved grandmother, was enough to mollify him somewhat. He sniffed and reached again for the spoon.

“I’ll stay with my son,” Laurel said.

Was that another dig at him? Jackson could no longer tell if he was only imagining disapproval in her eyes when she looked at him. “Guess I’ll go on, then. Have fun playing your game with Gammy, Tyler. I’ll be back soon and I’ll have a surprise for you, okay?”

He heard Laurel sigh, but Tyler smiled. For now Jackson told himself that was enough.

As he left the hospital room, he couldn’t help remembering a time when Laurel had smiled at him with such affection. And he wondered sadly whatever had happened to those smiles. He missed them. He missed her, damn it.

Stalking through the hospital exit doors, he headed for his truck on the parking deck. He needed to be at work. At least he felt somewhat in control of that part of his life, if nowhere else.

Three

L aurel knew the day was moving too slowly for Jackson, but as far as she was concerned the time was speeding past too quickly. Every hour that went by was another hour closer to the time when her baby went under the surgeon’s knife.

She felt as though she was clinging to her sanity by her fingernails. Nervous from the beginning about her ability to be a good mother, especially considering the miserable example set by her own, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do now, in this time of crisis. She didn’t even know what questions she should be asking of the medical professionals who bustled in and out of Tyler’s room during the day.

Lacking a strong role model and reluctant to reveal her maternal insecurities to Jackson or his parents, Laurel had long ago come up with a plan of sorts. Her own mother had been so incompetent in the role, had made so many mistakes, that it seemed obvious that Laurel should ask herself what her mother would do in any situation—and then do the opposite. Since Janice had tended to disappear whenever Laurel needed her most, Laurel had no intention of leaving Tyler’s side during this ordeal.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a break, Laurel?” Donna asked late that afternoon. “Except to go with Tyler for his tests this afternoon, you haven’t left this room all day. You even ate your lunch in here, what little you choked down. At least I had a chance to get out for an hour when Carl came by for a late lunch with me. Why don’t you go out for a walk in the meditation garden? It’s lovely out there now that it’s stopped raining.”

“I’d rather stay with Tyler,” Laurel replied, keeping her voice low, as Donna had. Tyler had fallen asleep a short while earlier. Though he was a heavy sleeper, neither of them wanted to risk waking him from his nap too soon, which would leave him cranky for the remainder of the evening.

Donna glanced at the wall clock. “Jackson should be back soon. Maybe you and he can have dinner in the cafeteria.”

“Perhaps.” Laurel made a show of studying one of the informational brochures a nurse had given her earlier, though she was having trouble concentrating on the guidelines for postoperative care.

“I, um…” Donna cleared her throat delicately, a sign that she wasn’t sure how her next words would be received. “I hope you aren’t annoyed that Jackson felt the need to work this afternoon. He’s so much like my Carl. Neither of them can sit still for long when they could be doing something worthwhile, instead. Carl instilled a strong work ethic in Jackson from a very early age, you know.”

“I’m not annoyed.” And she didn’t need Donna lecturing her about her husband, she thought resentfully. And then she sighed and ran a hand through her dark-blond hair, aware that weariness and stress were making her cranky. Maybe she should be the one taking a nap.

“Jackson tries so hard to be like Carl.” Donna’s eyes were unfocused now, her voice barely louder than a whisper; it almost seemed that she was talking more to herself than to Laurel. “It’s almost as if—”

“As if what?”

Donna blinked, then shook her head impatiently. “I suppose I’m just tired.”

“Then maybe you’re the one who should get out for a while. There’s really no reason for you to sit here with me.”

Donna’s red-tinted lips twisted into a smile. “You probably wish I would leave for a while. But I…well, I just need to be close to my grandson today.”

Because that was one sentiment she understood completely—perhaps the only thing she and Donna had in common—Laurel merely nodded and looked down at the brochure again. She really needed to prepare herself for Tyler’s postoperative care.

Jackson sat at the same cafeteria table at which he had sat the night before, overlooking the same rapidly darkening courtyard. It was dinnertime again, though a bit earlier than he had eaten the night before. This time it was his parents, rather than his wife, who faced him from the other side of the table.

Despite Jackson’s attempts to coax her out of the hospital room, Laurel had insisted on dining from a tray in Tyler’s room. He’d gotten the distinct impression that she wanted the rest of them to leave her alone with her son. And he couldn’t help resenting that she seemed to be closing him out again.

“We may have to physically restrain her from going into the operating room with Tyler in the morning,” he muttered, stabbing his fork into the pasta on his plate.

“She’s just worried about him,” Donna said soothingly, toying unenthusiastically with her own chef’s salad. “She doesn’t want to let him out of her sight, as if nothing bad can happen to him as long as she’s with him to protect him. I understand completely.”

Jackson shrugged. “Wish I understood her completely.”

There was a taut moment of silence.

“Jackson,” Donna said rather tentatively, “you and Laurel are going to need each other during the next few weeks. Don’t let this ordeal drive a wedge between you.”

Jackson figured his parents had to be aware that his and Laurel’s marriage had been shaky for a while now. They weren’t stupid, nor were they unobservant, especially where he was concerned. “To be honest, I don’t know what, if anything, Laurel will need during these next few weeks. Even if she does need something from me, she sure as hell won’t admit it.”

It wasn’t like him to complain, and he was almost surprised to hear the words escaping him. Apparently the stress of his son’s illness was affecting him more than he had realized.

He knew Laurel hadn’t been as fortunate as he had when it came to having supportive, always-available parents. Her father had abandoned her early, and her mother had been, from what little Laurel had told him, pretty much worthless as a parent, finally getting killed in a car accident while Laurel was still in high school. But knowing about Laurel’s troubled upbringing didn’t help him understand her much better, especially since she absolutely refused to open up to him.

“I’ve been aware that your marriage has been strained lately,” Donna admitted with regret. “But I’m sure you can work it out, darling. Laurel loves Tyler so much. As reserved as she is about her feelings, anyone can look at her and see that. And since you love him just as much, that’s something the two of you share. Maybe this crisis will draw you closer together, if you’ll let it.”

Because he thought his mother needed to hear it, Jackson nodded and murmured, “Maybe you’re right.”

He wasn’t so sure himself. Laurel seemed like a stranger to him these days. So different from the laughing, playful, passionate woman he had swept into marriage.

God, he missed that earlier Laurel. He would give anything to understand what had become of her.

And then Carl spoke, typically uncomfortable with the strong emotions surging around him. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

That simple. And that certain. Carl Reiss would do anything in his power to keep his family out of harm’s way. Unfortunately, when it came to this particular emergency, Carl was powerless. Jackson didn’t have the heart to point that out. It was the first time he had been faced so incontrovertibly with the proof that his wise, calm, mechanical-genius father couldn’t fix everything.

The remainder of his appetite evaporating, he set his fork down and reached for his water glass.

“You should eat, Jay,” Carl said gruffly. “Keep up your strength.”

“Yeah. In a minute.” He figured it was time to change the subject. “You know what’s been bugging me all day?”

“What’s that, dear?” Donna inquired.

“The doctor said Tyler’s condition is hereditary. That Laurel or I carry a recessive gene that causes it. Yet Laurel insists there’s no history of sudden cardiac failure in young males on either side of her family. Though she and her mother were estranged from most of their family, Laurel said she would have known about something like that. Apparently, both of her parents bragged about what strong and healthy families they came from—people who tend to live to ripe old ages. It’s ironic, of course, that Laurel’s mother was only in her thirties when she died in a car accident.”

He watched his parents exchange a quick, grave look.

“Dad, are you sure you don’t remember hearing about any young uncles or cousins who died unexpectedly? You lost a younger brother, didn’t you? You told me he drowned, but it is possible he suffered heart failure first?”

“My kid brother drowned when the old fishing boat he and his friends were in sank in the middle of a lake,” Carl answered without looking up from his food. “Had nothing to do with his heart.”

Something in Carl’s tone let Jackson know that he found this line of questioning disturbing, perhaps because of the painful memories of his long-lost brother. Jackson regretted bringing that old pain to the surface, but for some reason this question had been nagging at him since the first conversation with Dr. Rutledge. “Okay, so that was an unconnected tragedy. But what about—”

“Really, Jackson, there’s nothing to be gained by fretting about this, is there?” Donna’s voice sounded unusually sharp. “What does it matter whether you or Laurel carry the gene—unless you’re worried that you have the condition?”

“I don’t,” he assured her. He still hadn’t confirmed that with his own physician, but he felt confident in that respect. “Still, if I carry the gene—if the Reiss family carries the gene—we should probably let Uncle Bill’s boys know about it. They’re still in college now, but they’ll want to be screened, and they’ll want to know about this recessive-gene thing when they have kids of their own.”

Donna and Carl looked at each other again, and this time Jackson was puzzled by their expressions. As Jackson watched, Carl reached out to place a hand reassuringly over Donna’s. “We’ll think about that another time. Let’s just concentrate on getting Tyler well, okay?”

There was something there, Jackson thought with a frown, his intuition ringing warning bells. Something that blanched his mother’s face and deepened the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. What the hell?

He decided to let it go for now. “I stopped by the blood bank on the way back from the job site and gave blood, since they said that’s a standard request when a family member is having surgery. They won’t actually use my blood for Tyler, of course, but having family members donate keeps the blood supplies healthy. Maybe you want to stop by sometime tomorrow, Dad? Have you ever given blood before?”

Jackson had always considered his dad the bravest, strongest man he knew, so it was with some amusement that he watched a bit of the color drain from Carl’s tanned, weathered face. “Um, no. I haven’t ever gotten around to it.”

“It wasn’t bad, really. Didn’t hurt at all. I’ll probably donate again when enough time has passed. I’ll get a card in the mail in a couple of weeks that designates me as a donor and tells me my blood type. Funny, I don’t even know my blood type. I assume it’s the same as yours or Mom’s,” he added, glancing with a smile at Donna.

His smile faded when he saw her expression. “Mom, are you okay? You’ve gone as white as a sheet. It’s okay, you don’t have to give blood if you can’t bear the thought of it. It won’t affect Tyler.”

“I’m—” Donna looked to Carl.

“Your mother’s tired,” Carl said. “And worried about the surgery tomorrow. Maybe I should take her home to rest.”

“Maybe you should.” Jackson didn’t like seeing his mother in this condition. She had seemed fine earlier. Maybe it was just all catching up with her.

He felt suddenly guilty for unburdening his problems with his marriage on her at this stressful time. “Take a sleeping pill if you have to tonight, Mom. Get some rest. Everything will be fine tomorrow, just like Dad said.”

She nodded and whispered, “Yes, I’m sure it will.”

Jackson was startled to see a glimmer of tears in her eyes as she looked away from him. He might have pressed for a better explanation of her distress then, but Carl put an end to the discussion by gathering plates and trays and escorting Donna out of the cafeteria.

Jackson followed with a puzzled frown, wondering what, exactly, had been going on beneath the surface of that odd conversation.

Laurel accidentally overheard a snippet of disturbing dialogue a short while after Jackson and his parents returned to Tyler’s room after dinner. Donna and Carl had said they were on their way home as soon as they’d had a chance to kiss Tyler goodnight. While they did so, Laurel slipped out of the room for a few minutes to walk down to the soda machine in the waiting room.

Jackson used to tease her about what he called her addiction to diet soft drinks, she remembered as she fed quarters into the machine and pressed the selection button. He didn’t tease her about much of anything anymore.

She had paused at the end of the hallway to open the bottle for a sip of her drink when she heard Carl speaking just around the corner. “Let it go, Donna. You don’t know for sure where the gene came from.”

“I could call and ask if he knows anything about it.” Donna’s voice sounded different than Laurel was accustomed to hearing it. High-pitched. Almost scared.

“And what good would that do? Tyler’s condition was discovered in time for treatment. That’s all that really matters. Jay doesn’t have to know.”

“He’s going to find out, Carl. Don’t you see? Somehow during all this testing and discussion, he’s going to find out. And I’m not sure what that will do to him. He’s already under so much stress, with his relationship with Laurel so strained and Tyler so ill.”

The sound of her name roused Laurel out of her temporary paralysis. She had no business listening to this, even if they were talking about her family.

Making sure her heels clattered as she walked, she turned the corner and looked surprised to see Carl and Donna standing there in a quiet alcove, their heads very close together as they talked. Donna’s face was ashen and Carl’s grave as he held his wife’s hands. Both of them started guiltily when they saw Laurel.

“I thought you two were on your way home,” she said, hoping her voice sounded natural. “Is anything wrong?”

Donna made a visible effort to pull herself together. “I’m just having a bit of a panic attack, I suppose. Even though I’m confident everything will go well tomorrow, I can’t help but dread it a bit.”

There was obviously much more to Donna’s distress than concern about Tyler’s surgery. Knowing this wasn’t the time to pursue it, Laurel merely nodded. “I know. I feel the same way.”

“I’m taking her home to rest now,” Carl said, tucking Donna’s arm beneath his and moving toward Laurel. “I hope you manage to get some sleep tonight.”

“I’ll try.”

Carl reached out to rest a work-roughened hand against Laurel’s cheek. “You lean on Jay through this, you hear? He’s a strong man. He’ll take care of you.”

Laurel knew Carl was trying to help, but her instinctive response was to assure him that she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She was strong. She’d always had to be. She had learned very early in her life that being strong and self-sufficient earned her the respect and approval of others, while depending on someone else too often led to disappointment and heartbreak.

“Take Donna home,” she said rather than directly responding to his words. “She needs to rest.”

Both Carl and Donna looked vaguely disappointed by Laurel’s evasion, but then, she was used to sensing disapproval in them, she thought as she watched them walk toward the elevators. Still thinking of the words she had overheard, she entered Tyler’s room.

Jackson sat in the rocking chair with Tyler on his knee as they watched a cartoon on the television together. Scooby-Doo. Their favorite.

As usual, Tyler clutched the stuffed penguin he called Angus. Jackson had bought him that toy on one of their trips to the Oregon Zoo. Tyler was almost obsessed with the famous Humboldt penguins display there. He never tired of watching the funny little creatures waddling along their rock walkways or torpedoing through the waves and currents of their pool. Whenever Jackson took a rare Saturday afternoon off from work, he and Tyler usually visited the zoo, their special place.

Laurel paused just inside the doorway for a moment, studying them. They looked so much alike. So perfect together.

Emotions roiled inside her as she looked at them. Her feelings for Tyler, at least, were clear-cut. Overwhelming love. Pride. Fear for his future.

It wasn’t so easy to define the way she felt about Jackson.

He glanced up when she entered. Though he noted the soft-drink bottle in her hand, he made no comment other than to say, “Your boss called while you were out. He said to call if you need him or Emma for any reason. Said they would be checking on you tomorrow.”

“That was thoughtful of him.”

Jackson’s grunt could have been an agreement, or merely an acknowledgement that she had spoken. They rarely talked about her job, or his either, for that matter, since their work seemed to represent so many of the problems between them.

Laurel settled in the recliner, cradling her soft drink between her hands. “I saw your parents on their way out,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Your mother seemed rather stressed.”

“I thought so, too.” He glanced at Tyler, whose attention was still focused on the television program. “I guess we can both understand why.”

“I suppose.” But Donna hadn’t been fretting about the surgery. Laurel had gotten the distinct impression that her mother-in-law was worried about something else instead. It had sounded very much as if Donna were keeping a secret from her son—a secret she was terrified Jackson would discover.

Laurel couldn’t help speculating about what that secret was, especially since Donna had worried about medical tests bringing it to light. Was Jackson adopted?

And if that were the case, how would Jackson react to the news if he were to find out? Why would Donna and Carl have kept it from him?

Through her job with the adoption agency, Laurel frequently counseled prospective adoptive couples. Her advice was that such information should be provided to the adopted children from an early age. Secrets had a way of coming to the surface, and it was easier for everyone concerned if the truth was known from the start.

Knowing how close Jackson was to his parents, she couldn’t begin to predict how he would react if he found out they had kept something like this from him for so long.

Laurel was also disturbed by Donna’s comment about the strained state of Jackson’s marriage. Had Jackson been talking to his parents about her? The very possibility made her chest tighten.

She stretched out in the recliner, propping her feet up as she took another sip of her drink, then set the capped bottle aside for later. She hadn’t slept much the night before, and weariness and stress were catching up with her.

Still mentally replaying Donna’s overheard words, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the cartoon and Tyler’s giggles wash over her.

Laurel dreamed of the day she met Jackson.

The summer-afternoon party wasn’t a typical event for either of them. The purpose of the gathering was to celebrate the adoption of the homeowners’ infant son, and Laurel had been invited as the social worker who had helped arrange the adoption. The new father was a successful businessman who had recently hired the construction company Jackson worked for to build several new stores for him. Jackson, along with several of his management-level co-workers, had been invited to the gathering to welcome their client’s son.

Later Laurel would think what a cliché their meeting had been. Eyes meeting across a crowded room. Everyone else fading into a misty background. Her toes curling when he smiled. Sparks of sexual awareness coursing through her when their hands touched.

They had left the party together a short while later. They’d driven to Cannon Beach, where they’d walked barefoot in the sand at sunset, listening to the shorebirds that nested on Haystack Rock. The salty breeze tossed their hair and tugged at their clothes—clothes they had abandoned in a hidden nook among the rocks after sunset. They had been daring and reckless and impetuous that night. By dawn the next morning, they had been in love.

She dreamed of that beach. Of the birds and the rocks and the sand and the stars spread above them like an endless, bright future. She dreamed of conversation and laughter, of passionate whispers and hoarse cries. Of two young people so desperately in love that they had let their emotions sweep them into a life neither of them had been prepared for….

It was his gentle touch on her cheek that woke her.

She opened her eyes to find Jackson’s face close to hers as he knelt beside the recliner. The room was quiet now, the television dark and silent. Tyler lay on the bed, curled around his penguin, sound asleep. Even the clatter from the hallway seemed unusually muted just then.

“How long have I been asleep?” she asked, her voice still husky.

“About an hour. You really went out.” His thumb moved against her cheek again. “There are tears on your face. Are you worried about tomorrow?”

Tears? Remembering snatches of her dream, she pushed herself upright and ran a hand through her hair. “I suppose I am.”

“It’s going to be okay, Laurel. Everything’s going to be okay.” His tone, combined with the set of his jaw, made it clear he would accept no other possibility.

That obsessive need of his to be in control, to make sure everything in his world turned out exactly the way he wanted it to, was etched all over his face.

As if he had read something of her thoughts in her expression, Jackson gave her a crooked smile. “I sound just like my dad, don’t I? Making well-intentioned guarantees I can’t back up. Dad’s philosophy has always been that nothing bad can happen if he refuses to acknowledge the possibility. I guess he passed some of that trait to me.”

His comment reminded her of the conversation she had overheard between Carl and Donna in the hallway earlier. She wondered again how Jackson would react if it turned out that he was adopted. Would Jackson understand, as she had come to see during her years as a social worker, that Carl was no less his father even if it had been love, rather than biology, that had bestowed that title upon him?

Or maybe she had completely misinterpreted what she’d heard. She’d never been a particularly skilled eavesdropper, had never wanted to be. And even if her guess had been right, that was between Jackson and his parents. Now that Tyler had been diagnosed and was being treated, she couldn’t see how Jackson’s genetic history mattered at the moment.

“You’d probably better head home and try to get some sleep,” she told him, changing the subject. “Tomorrow’s going to be a trying day and it will start early.”

“I thought maybe I’d stay here tonight. I know they only want one parent to stay in the room all night, but there are recliners in the waiting room.”

“There’s no need for you to do that. You won’t be able to sleep well here, and you’ll want to be rested tomorrow.”

“What makes you think I’ll sleep any better at home?” He turned his head to look at the child on the bed. “I can’t imagine sleeping a wink tonight.”

“Still—”

“Laurel.” He frowned, his voice losing the gentle tone with which he had awakened her. “The decision is mine to make.”

She locked her hands in her lap. “Of course.”

For just a moment the invisible wall between them had lowered. Now it was back. She couldn’t for the life of her decide which of them kept rebuilding it—though she suspected it was a joint project.

He covered her hands with one of his, his work-toughened palm pleasantly rough against her softer skin. “Don’t close me out of this, Laurel. He’s my son. We’re a family. We need to be together in this.”

After a moment, she turned her hand so that their fingers linked. “I’m not trying to close you out. If it makes you feel better, you should stay. I simply wanted you to get some rest, for your sake.”

“I appreciate that, but I need to stay.”

“Then stay.”

He looked down at their joined hands, his expression grave. “We’ll get through this.”

She nodded slowly. For now, for Tyler’s sake, they would put their differences aside, she promised herself. They would face the problems between them when their son was completely healthy again.

Four

J ackson went home only long enough to shower and change and feed Tyler’s goldfish. The house seemed so quiet with no one there but him. To his anxiety-sensitized ears, the few noises he made seemed to echo through cavernous spaces.

Though hardly a mansion, it was a nice house in a safe neighborhood, built for a growing family. Four bedrooms. Two and a half baths. The house also featured a good-sized fenced yard for Tyler to play in, a two-car garage, and a redwood deck Jackson had built himself, with help from his father. Not that he had a lot of spare time to enjoy that deck. He could hardly remember the last time they’d cooked out on the gas grill or dined at the umbrella-shaded wrought-iron table.

Probably Laurel and Tyler ate out there on nice summer evenings, since Tyler usually had his dinner before Jackson got home from work. Jackson was lucky on most days to get home in time to play with the boy for a half or so before bedtime.

He had to pay for this nice home he provided for his family, he thought with a touch of the defensiveness that so often accompanied thoughts of his work. Laurel had told him that she would be satisfied with a more modest house, but he’d wanted his kids to grow up in a good neighborhood. And even though it meant working long, hard hours, he was perfectly able to provide for his family.

He had pictured Laurel staying home to enjoy this nice house with their son and maybe another child or two. That had been before Laurel had changed so drastically, drawing away from him and going back to her social work. He hadn’t expected her to return so soon to her job finding homes for other kids, leaving their young son in the care of an expensive nanny.

They’d never gotten around to discussing more children.

Shaking his head impatiently, he glanced down at the sheet of paper in his hand. Laurel had sent him another list of things she needed him to take back to her. The hospital provided showers for parents of hospitalized children, so she would be able to freshen up there. Reading the list, he entered her bedroom and opened the closet door.

Her bedroom. He scowled as he glanced around the impeccably neat room decorated in light woods and cool pastels. It had been over a year since Laurel had moved into what they had originally intended for use as a guest room. Tyler had been going through a spell of having nightmares, and since the master bedroom was downstairs, Laurel had slept up here to be closer to Tyler’s room.

Once the nightmares had ended, her excuse for staying in this room had become that Jackson’s frequent late hours were disturbing her sleep. It wasn’t at all uncommon for him to be in meetings until after ten. He would often arrive home to a dark and quiet house. Much like it was now, he thought with a scowl.

Despite having separate bedrooms, he and Laurel hadn’t maintained a strictly platonic relationship. The physical attraction between them had always been strong. Sometimes when he held her after making love with her, he could almost pretend they were happy.

Because they were in for a long day of sitting and waiting at the hospital tomorrow, she had asked him to bring one of the knit jogging-style outfits she liked so much when she wasn’t dressed for work. The fitted T-shirts, elastic-waist pants and zippered jackets were comfortable for her and flattering to her slender figure. He chose one in navy with baby-blue piping and a matching baby-blue T-shirt. He’d always liked that color on her. It brought out her clear blue eyes.

Did he tell her often enough that he noticed what she wore? That she always looked beautiful to him? Flowery speech and fulsome compliments didn’t come naturally to him, but that hadn’t seemed to matter to her during their courtship, when they had never seemed to lack for anything to say. It was only much later that he had realized that in all their carefree chatter, she had shared very little of her deepest thoughts.

He supposed he had shared no more of his own. He had always tried to display his feelings through his actions, not his words. He would say that lack of communication was a definite problem in his marriage.

But that was something they could try to solve later. As he stuffed her clothes into an overnight bag, he told himself they had more urgent matters to worry about now. Once their son was well, there was no reason why he and Laurel shouldn’t be able to work out the rest of their problems.

He refused to accept the possibility that either situation might not have a happy ending.

Laurel felt as though she could easily jump right out of her skin. She wanted to pace the hospital room, but she was afraid she would disturb Tyler, who had dropped off rather fretfully only a couple of hours earlier.

With the help of a pediatric social worker, she and Jackson had tried to prepare Tyler for what to expect tomorrow, but Laurel knew the child was still confused and somewhat frightened. As for herself, she was terrified. And no amount of calm, patient counseling from experts could change that.

The door opened and she looked around from her chair, expecting to see one of the nurses popping in for a routine check. Instead, it was Jackson who tiptoed in, his gaze going first to the child in the bed, and then to her. “Can’t sleep?”

“No. You, either?”

“No.”

“I knew you couldn’t sleep out there in those uncomfortable recliners.”

He knelt beside her chair. “The recliners are comfortable enough. A couple of other guys are out there snoring away. I just can’t close my eyes without thinking about the surgery tomorrow.”

She sighed and nodded. “I know that feeling.”

“Laurel—” His voice was hardly loud enough for her to hear, certainly not loud enough to carry to Tyler, even if he were awake. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? How do we know the diagnosis we’ve been given is even right? Maybe there’s nothing wrong with Tyler’s heart, after all. Maybe Rutledge misread the tests. Maybe we should take him to a few more doctors before we do something as risky as major surgery.”

“The doctors didn’t misread the tests. Dr. Rutledge is one of the best in the business. He wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not this time. The whole staff agrees with him.”

“Still, how do we know that surgery is the best option at this time? Maybe we should—”

She reached out to lay a hand on his arm, feeling the tension that seemed to vibrate through him. “I understand your panic. Don’t you think I’m feeling the same way? But the longer we put this off, the more risk there is to Tyler.”

“Just listen, okay? I was talking to Chandra at work today and she told me about this doctor in Seattle—”

“We already have a doctor I trust and respect,” Laurel cut in, pulling her hand back into her lap. “I’m not interested in hearing about some doctor in Seattle.”

Jackson sighed gustily. “Look, she was just trying to be helpful.”

“Well, it isn’t helpful.” Nor did she appreciate the fact that he had left the hospital today and spent the time he was gone listening to medical advice from his boss’s attractive and predatory secretary.

Laurel had known for some time that the brunette and buxom Chandra had her eye on Jackson, and while she didn’t think there was anything going on between the two of them, she resented knowing he had been talking about Tyler with the other woman. Of course, she had talked to several of her co-workers today, too, but that was different, she assured herself. None of her associates was trying to seduce her away from her spouse.

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