She was unable to take another step. A hauntingly familiar voice reached her ears.

He sat by the bed, his head bent close to Nick’s. He was talking baseball and he had the boy’s full attention.

His shoulders were slightly broader than she remembered, his chest wider, but no gray marred the thick, dark hair. The hand that lay lightly on the bed rails was the same, too—lean, strong.

Kent Berger hadn’t changed. And oh, God, she’d never realized how much Nick looked like him. The shape of his face, the way he cocked his head to listen, even the half smile. She’d never let herself notice. Would he?

Please, no, she begged. She must have made a sound of supplication, because he looked up.

And for the first time in eleven years, Mallory stared into the eyes of the man who could save her son’s life—his real father.

Dear Reader,

Only he can save her son, the son he doesn’t know is his.

When her son, Nick, is diagnosed with leukemia, Mallory Brenner places him in the care of Dr. Kent Berger, the man who fathered him. Now she must face the most difficult decision of her life—to tell Kent the truth or keep her secret. And as Hanukkah, the holiday that celebrates a miracle, approaches, she hopes for her own miracle: life for her child.

Eerily, soon after I began this book, my husband, Ralph, was diagnosed with acute myelogenous leukemia, the same illness Nick has. I completed this story as Ralph waged a courageous battle for his life, and I promised him I’d finish it on time. I dedicate this book to his memory and I plan to donate part of my royalties to the Leukemia-Lymphoma Society as a memorial to him.

Lorna Michaels

A Candle for Nick
Lorna Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LORNA MICHAELS

When she was four years old, Lorna Michaels decided she would become a writer. But it wasn’t until she read her first romance that she found her niche. Since then she’s been a winner of numerous writing contests, a double Romance Writer’s of America Golden Heart finalist and a nominee for Romantic Times BOOKclub Love and Laughter Award. A self-confessed romantic, she loves to spend her evenings writing happily-ever-after stories. During the day she’s a speech pathologist with a busy private practice. Though she leads a double life, both her careers focus on communication. As a speech pathologist, she works with children who have communication disorders. In her writing, she deals with men and women who overcome barriers to communication as they forge lasting relationships.

Besides working and writing, Lorna enjoys reading everything from cereal boxes to Greek tragedy, interacting with the two cats who own her, watching basketball games and traveling. In 2002 she realized her dream of visiting Antarctica. Nothing thrills her more than hearing from readers. You can e-mail her at lmichaels@zyzy.com.

For my husband.

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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Hey, Mom, Rick Howard hit another home run. I bet he breaks his record.”

Mallory Brenner stepped into the family room, where her ten-year-old son sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, watching a New York Yankees baseball game. She ruffled his chestnut-brown hair. “Hey, son, I bet Nicholas Brenner breaks his record for the most home runs in Little League.”

He grinned, showing a mouthful of braces. “Bet you’re right.”

Then he scowled as she leaned over him, thermometer in hand, and ordered, “Open.”

He did. As his hero rounded third though, he mumbled, “If we lived in New York instead of Valerosa, Texas, we could see Rick Howard play.”

Mallory removed the thermometer, set it again and stuck it back in Nick’s mouth. “Haven’t you noticed? You are seeing him play, right here in our living room, through the modern miracle of television.” Nick muttered disgustedly and she held up a hand. “Now zip your lip and watch the game, or I’ll have to start over again.”

Nick turned his attention to the TV and kept quiet. The thermometer beeped and Mallory checked the reading. “Normal. Second day in a row.”

“Cool. Think Dr. Sanders will let me play ball now? It’s been a year.”

“A month,” she corrected, then added, “I’m sure he will, as soon as he gets the results of your blood test.”

The last week of April, Nick had come down with the flu.

Usually quick to shake off any illness, he hadn’t been able to recover from this one. Their family doctor had been at a loss to explain the lingering fever and weakness and had ordered a complete blood count.

“When’s he gonna find out?” A whiny note appeared in Nick’s voice. “I’m tired of laying around here.”

“We should hear today. Tomorrow at the latest.” Seeing Nick’s lower lip inching toward a pout, she quickly suggested, “How about some ice cream? I picked up a quart of Baseball Nut.”

Nick pushed a pillow onto the floor. “No.”

Mallory sighed and prayed for patience. “Come on, Nick, it’s your favorite. And you hardly ate any lunch.”

He glared at her. “I’m not hungry.”

“Why don’t I set up the chess set and we’ll have a game before I go to work?

“It’s your day off.”

“Lauri’s kids are in a swim meet this afternoon. I promised I’d come in around four and relieve her.” Her partner, Lauri Gold, had put in plenty of extra time at Buds and Blossoms, their florist shop, since Nick had been ill. Mallory was glad to do a favor in return. She’d already made arrangements to drop Nick off at her parents’ for the couple of hours she’d be gone. She patted Nick’s shoulder. “How about that game?”

“You’re not very good,” Nick grumbled. “I beat you the last four times we played.”

Patience, she told herself. “Hey, nobody beats Mallory Brenner five times in a row.”

Deciding to interpret his grimace as a smile, Mallory got the chess set. They were setting up the pieces when the phone rang. “Be right back.” She went into the kitchen and picked up the receiver.

“Mrs. Brenner, this is Kelly from Dr. Sanders’s office. He’d like you to stop by to discuss Nicholas’s blood test.”

Stop by? To discuss the results of a routine blood test? Alarm bells went off in Mallory’s mind, and she grasped the edge of the kitchen counter. “I have to be at work soon. Can’t we do this on the phone?”

“I, um, don’t know. He asked me to have you come into the office. He said if you get here in half an hour, he’ll work you in.”

“All right.” Her hand trembled as she put the phone down. Something must be seriously wrong for Dr. Sanders to insist that she come in.

Or maybe not, she reassured herself. Maybe Nick had a vitamin deficiency or needed iron. Something like that. This could be just another instance of Dr. Sanders’s personal interest in his patients. He always took extra time with kids. When Nick had suffered nightmares after Dean’s death three years ago, Dr. Sanders had seen the boy several times just to listen to his fears and his sadness over the loss of his father. And last week the doctor had spent a good ten minutes with Nick, discussing the Yankees’ chances of winning the pennant this year.

“Nothing to worry about,” she told herself firmly as she started back to the living room. But her upbeat statement didn’t banish the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She found Nick absorbed in moving pieces around the chess board. She didn’t want to alarm him, too, so she hid her nerves behind a bright smile. “Change in plans, pal. I have to leave early. Pack up the chess set and you can play with Grandpa. I’m sure he’ll appreciate your company.” Her father was laid up after a knee replacement and was as bored as his grandson.

A sullen look that was becoming all too familiar settled on Nick’s face. “I don’t want to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s. They don’t let me watch South Park.”

“And neither do I, Mr. Brenner.”

“Yeah, but—” He muttered “Oops” under his breath and looked away.

Mallory wondered if he got to watch the show she’d banned at one of his friends’ homes, but she’d explore that later. “Hurry up, Nick. We need to get going.”

“Why can’t I stay home?”

“I guess I could call Angela and see if she can sit with you.”

Nick threw another pillow to the floor. “I don’t need a babysitter.” His voice rose. “I’m big enough to stay by myself.”

“Not for three hours.”

“If Dad was still alive, he’d let me.”

That hurt. Mallory swallowed a tear and counted to ten. Since Nick had been ill, he’d tested limits and tried her patience constantly. “Don’t go pushing my buttons, young man. Dad isn’t here anymore and you’re not to second-guess what he might’ve said. Now get your chessboard and let’s go.”

Scowling, Nick got to his feet and shuffled after her to the door. She dropped him off at her parents’ with the admonition to “be nice,” then drove to Dr. Sanders’s office.

The waiting room was crowded, but Helena, Dr. Sanders’s nurse, called her right in. A mother with two cranky preschoolers muttered something unpleasant as Mallory walked past, but Mallory ignored her. The knot of anxiety tightened in her chest. What could the doctor have to say that necessitated calling her in ahead of everyone else?

Helena pointed the way to the doctor’s private office, but Mallory didn’t need directions. She’d been coming here since she was a child herself. She went in, and he rose to take her hand and lead her to a small sofa. As she sat, the odor of cherry lollipops, a smell she always associated with this room, rose from the dish on the coffee table.

Dr. Sanders sat down beside her. Instead of beginning their conversation with a joke as he often did, today the doctor was silent and somber. The knot in Mallory’s chest wrenched tighter as he picked up a sheet of paper from the coffee table. “We have the lab report from Nick’s blood test,” he said.

Though her mouth had gone dry, she swallowed. “Is something wrong?”

He set the paper down and leaned forward. Voice softer now, he said, “Nick’s white blood count is extremely high.”

“Does…that mean he has an infection? Or…”

Dr. Sanders covered her icy hand with his warm one. “I don’t know an easy way to tell you this, Mallory. Nicholas has leukemia. Acute myelogenous leukemia.”

The first two words of the diagnosis meant nothing to Mallory, but leukemia. She’d heard that word and from what she recalled, it meant…death.

She felt herself falling, sliding into a deep, dark hole. Though she still sat beside Dr. Sanders, still felt air moving in and out of her lungs, nothing around her seemed the same. Nothing seemed real. The sounds from the hallway faded, the hum of the air-conditioning stilled. Even her own body seemed alien. She saw that Dr. Sanders still held her hand, but she couldn’t feel it. Her nerve endings had frozen.

“Leukemia,” she muttered. “Cancer.” She gritted her teeth. She had to hold herself together or she’d shatter into pieces like a broken glass. “Nick’s going to… Is…is he going to die?”

Dr. Sanders shook his head and patted her hand. “No, leukemia isn’t a death sentence anymore. The majority of children survive. But he needs treatment, and we’ll see that he gets it.”

She nodded. The thought of treatment gave her something tangible to concentrate on. “When can you start?”

“I don’t have the training or the facilities here. He needs a cancer center, a specialist. Gaines Memorial in Houston is the closest and, fortunately, it’s one of the top three in the country. I’ve already called to check on their admission procedures.”

Houston. Away from her family, her friends. But that was inconsequential if the clinic there could help Nick. “How…how soon will we need to be there?”

“They want you there in three days.”

So soon. “Is Nick…” Her voice faded, but she managed to whisper, “Is he in danger?”

“No immediate danger, but they do need to start as soon as possible.”

His voice was reassuring. But, three days. And so much to get done. Her mind swam with fragments of a to-do list. Call Lauri…arrange for someone to help out at the shop…airline tickets…check her insurance policy… Thoughts jumped into her mind, flitted away.

She rose, sat down again. “I…I don’t know anything about leukemia or how it’s treated. I should check the Internet.” She wondered if she’d have time.

Dr. Sanders nodded. “That’s just what I expected you to say, and you’re right. You need to be informed. This will give you an introduction.” He handed her a pamphlet. “There’s a list of books and Web sites, too.”

“What about a doctor?” Mallory asked. “Who will we see?”

“The hospital gave me names of doctors on staff there. I can check them out and recommend one if you like.”

“I’ll trust you to pick the best.”

“Would you like me to tell Nicholas?” he asked gently.

She hadn’t even thought of that. “No, I’ll tell him,” she decided. “He’s at my parents’ now. They’ll help. And afterward—tomorrow maybe—then you can talk to him, explain the…the illness.”

Dr. Sanders nodded. “You’re a strong woman, Mallory. You’ve had to be, losing Dean, raising Nicholas on your own and running a business. Your son is strong, too, and brave. What the two of you have to face won’t be easy, but I have every confidence you’ll get through it.”

“Thank you.” Though she could barely feel her legs, they apparently worked, because she crossed the room to the door. Dr. Sanders opened it for her, but she stopped, grasping at a last shred of hope. “Could there be a mistake? Could the lab report be wrong? Maybe Nick should have another blood test.”

The doctor shook his head. “You’d just be wasting time.”

Time. It could be Nick’s ally…or his enemy. She wouldn’t waste a minute. She hurried to the parking lot.

Her damp hands clutched the steering wheel as she drove toward her parents’ home. They’d help. Her father, rabbi of Beth Jacob, Valerosa’s only synagogue, had sustained his congregants through times of trouble, and he and her mother had been her chief support through the dark days after Dean’s death. She’d lean on them now, and with their faith and courage to supplement hers, she prayed Nick would battle this illness and conquer it.

Half an hour later, sitting beside her son, Mallory took his hand. She forced her voice to stay steady. “Dr. Sanders found out what’s making you so tired. You have an illness called leukemia.”

She’d already told her parents the news. They’d been shocked, but they’d pulled together, and now she felt her mother’s gentle hand on her shoulder. Nick’s eyes widened and his fingers tightened around hers. But he surprised her and his grandparents by saying, “I knew something was wrong. I’m glad to know what it is.”

Mallory blinked back tears. “The doctors who can help you are in Houston,” she said, dreading the thought that he’d be away from everyone and everything he knew.

His brow furrowed. “Will I have to take shots?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Her son squared his shoulders. “Then I guess I will if they’ll get me well.” A half smile appeared. “Can we go to an Astros game?” The Houston Astros were his second favorite team, after the Yankees.

“Sure we can. Houston has lots of things to do. We’ll make it an adventure,” Mallory said, and hoped they could.

“That’ll be cool, seeing the Astros, huh, Grandpa?” Nick said.

Mallory’s father nodded and smiled, but his face was still pale.

“I’ll go to Houston with you,” Lydia Roseman said, but Mallory shook her head. She hugged her mother.

“I appreciate the offer and I wish you could be there, but you need to be home with Dad.” Although her father insisted he could manage on his own, Mallory would not be swayed. “If Nick…if I need you, then you’ll come,” she said, and finally they agreed.

“I need to go by the shop and talk to Lauri,” Mallory said.

“Of course.” Her father put his arm around her and walked her to the door.

“I’m scared,” Mallory whispered.

“I know, but remember, ‘For every mountain—’”

“‘There is a miracle,’” Mallory finished, smiling through her tears. Her father collected quotes to build his sermons around. He had a proverb for every occasion and this was one of his favorites. “I’ll remember,” she promised.

Leaving Nick in her parents’ loving hands, she hurried to the florist shop to tell her partner. Lauri hugged Mallory close. “Don’t you worry about a thing. This store’s way down on your priority list. There are plenty of college kids home for the summer who’d love to have a job in a nice, air-conditioned shop. Now, what can I do to help?”

They came up with a list, then Lauri shoved Mallory out the door. “Go home and don’t show your face here anymore.”

Grateful, Mallory went back to her parents’ house. She found Nick playing with his Game Boy. That, she thought, was the best distraction for any child.

At dinner that evening they all joined hands around the table as her father led them in a prayer for Nick’s recovery. The familiar Hebrew words comforted Mallory, and her father’s voice, as deep and calm as it was in the synagogue, steadied her. For the first time since she’d heard the grim news, her frozen limbs seemed to thaw.

Still, she couldn’t sleep that night. She wished for Dean, who’d been her rock for the eight years of their marriage. He’d been a wonderful husband and father. And when a drunk driver had hit his car head-on, she’d at least had the chance to tell him so. She’d held him in her arms in the hospital and told him how much she loved him…and then, in an instant, he was gone.

“Don’t let me lose Nick, too,” she prayed and vowed she’d fight this disease in every way she knew.

News spread quickly in a small town, and by the next afternoon, Mallory had dozens of calls with offers of help. Lauri’s husband Mark offered to drive Mallory’s car to Houston. She’d need it there, but she and Nick would fly in. Nick’s fever and listlessness had returned, and Mallory didn’t think he could handle a long car trip.

The members of her Torah study group already had a schedule for checking on her house and taking care of the yard. All that remained were the arrangements with the cancer specialist, and Dr. Sanders would let her know about that.

When they arrived for their appointment, he visited with Nick first, then called Mallory into his office.

“Have you found us a doctor?” she asked.

“Yes, he’s young—well, young by my standards—but he’s highly regarded.”

“That’s good to hear.” Mallory reached into her purse for the notebook and pen she’d brought. “What’s his name?”

“Berger. Dr. Kent Berger.”

“Berg…” The pen dropped out of her hand. With the other hand she grasped the arm of the couch. Surely she’d heard wrong. “Wh-who?”

The doctor bent to retrieve the pen. “Kent Berger. Everyone I spoke to says he has a superb reputation. I’m putting you in capable hands.”

Mallory bit the inside of her lip and suppressed the impulse to laugh hysterically. Kent Berger. She’d buried that name deep inside, never in eleven years allowed herself to speak it or even think it.

Dr. Sanders glanced at her sharply. “Is something wrong?”

Mallory shook her head. “I, um, just thought you’d have several names.”

Dr. Sanders frowned. “You asked for the best. From what I hear, Berger is the best.” He studied her face, glanced down at the trembling hands she hadn’t thought to conceal. “Mallory, if something makes you uncomfortable about seeing this man, say so and make a change now.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you know him?”

“N-no,” she said. “For a minute I thought the name sounded familiar, but…but I’m sure I was wrong.” She clasped her hands together and fought to control her breathing.

The name was all too familiar. She knew him all too well. Kent Berger. Nick’s…father.

Years had passed since she’d thought of him as the parent of her child. And now—

There couldn’t be a worse time to face Kent Berger again.

Chapter Two

Dr. Sanders picked up a sheet of paper. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Berger’s nurse, Catherine Garland. She wants you to call.” He handed her the paper and rose.

Mallory stared at him blankly. What was she supposed to do? Get up. She got to her feet, watched the papers she held scatter over the coffee table. “Oh,” she murmured.

Dr. Sanders looked concerned. “Mallory, are you all right? Do you need some water?”

“No, I’m…okay. Just stressed.” She gathered the papers and stuffed them in her purse. With an effort, she pulled herself together and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you for everything.”

Dr. Sanders put his arm around her and walked her to the door. “Dr. Berger will keep me informed of Nick’s progress, but if you want to ask questions or just talk, I’m a phone call away.”

She hugged him. Voice breaking, she said, “I’ll remember. Thanks.”

She got Nick from the waiting room and drove home, and was surprised she could control the car, her hands shook so badly. Kent Berger…Kent Berger…

She remembered the first time she’d seen him. She’d had a summer job lifeguarding at the Comanche Trails Resort just outside of Valerosa. On that bright June morning her gaze swept over the Olympic-size swimming pool and stopped at the nearby high board, trapped by the sight of the man halfway up the ladder.

The morning sun shone on him, scattering chestnut highlights through his dark brown hair. He wasn’t tall, perhaps a couple of inches under six feet, but his body was magnificent. Broad shoulders, wide chest covered with curly, dark hair, flat belly, thighs roped with muscle and not a spare ounce of flesh.

Her stare must have drawn him, for he turned his head. From her perch on the lifeguard chair, Mallory’s eyes were even with his. Their gazes locked, and everything else faded—the noisy shouts and splashes of children, the odor of chlorine, the North Texas heat. She saw nothing but the dark eyes that captured hers, felt nothing but the sudden pounding of her heart.

He smiled, a slow, lazy curving of his mouth that she felt as intensely as if it had touched hers. Barely realizing what she was doing, she lifted a finger to trace her tingling lips. He held her gaze a moment longer, then continued up the ladder…and the world came back into focus.

He strode across the board, and Mallory held her breath. He bounced, then rocketed through the air in a powerful jackknife. The breath left Mallory’s lungs in a whoosh as he plunged downward and cut the water with barely a splash. He reminded her of some ancient god, plummeting from heaven to earth.

In a moment, he emerged from the water, swam to the side and pulled himself out. Shaking the drops from his hair, he glanced toward her…and winked. A warmth that owed nothing to the June sunshine spread through her body.

High-pitched shrieks distracted her, and she turned. Two toddlers were fighting over a toy sailboat. One grabbed the boat and darted away, heading toward the deep end of the pool, dangerously close to the edge.

Alarmed, Mallory scrambled down from her chair, but the man she’d been watching was ahead of her. He strode forward and blocked the little boy’s path. Startled, the child stared up at what must have looked like a giant to him and began to wail. But the man squatted down to eye level with the little boy and said something to him. Within seconds, the child’s tears vanished and he broke into a grin. The man took his hand and led him back to his mother.

Most guys would have cringed at facing a screaming two-year-old, but not this man. Later, Mallory learned he was a pediatrician….

Wait a minute, Mallory thought now as she braked for a red light. The Kent Berger she’d known wasn’t a cancer specialist in Houston. He was a pediatrician in Chicago. Of course! This had to be a different man.

Relieved at the idea, she drove home, turned on the TV and settled Nick on the living room couch with his ever-present remote, then went into the kitchen and pulled the slip of paper with the nurse’s name and the office phone number out of her purse.

As soon as she heard Catherine Garland’s voice, Mallory knew she was in good hands. Catherine explained that their stay in Houston might be as long as several months. “But you don’t need to worry about living arrangements. The clinic maintains an apartment complex right around the corner where families can stay.”

She could cross that off her list. “My son won’t have to be in the hospital?”

“Probably for a few days. You’ll come to the clinic first, so Nick can have additional blood work and bone marrow testing. We do as much as we can on an outpatient basis. We believe in keeping lives as normal as possible during treatment.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Perhaps the Astros game wasn’t as far-fetched as she’d thought. “What about Dr. Berger? When will he see Nick?”

“When the tests are finished. He’s out of town now but he should be back the day you arrive.”

Even though she’d convinced herself he wasn’t the man she knew, she had to ask. “I’d like to know more about him.”

“He’s wonderful, and I’m not saying that because I work for him. You can ask anyone. He’s truly the best.”

“But how is he with kids? My son has had the same doctor nearly all his life, and I’m…well, I’m a little nervous about how he’ll react to a stranger.”

“Oh, Dr. Berger will win him over right away. He specializes in children’s cancer. He was a pediatrician before he started working with cancer patients.”

“Where?” Let her say Boise or Anchorage or someplace I’ve never heard of.

“Chicago.”

Mallory sank into a chair. He was that Kent Berger after all.

She managed to thank Catherine and disconnect before the phone fell from her shaking hands and clattered to the floor.

“What was that?” Nick called from the living room.

“Nothing.” She bent down and retrieved the phone. “It doesn’t matter who he is,” she whispered. All that mattered was that he could make Nick well. She set the phone on the counter and went into the small room she used as a home office.

She sat down at the computer and typed in Kent’s name. Funny, she’d never even imagined doing that before. She’d closed the door on Kent Berger years ago just as he had on her. She’d never let herself wonder where he was and if he were doing something important. Now she had to know.

The search engine turned up dozens of articles in medical journals, some she even recognized, like the New England Journal of Medicine. He’d given seminars and interviews to the media and was considered one of the top specialists in the U.S. on childhood leukemia—acute myelogenous leukemia, Nick’s type, in particular.

So it didn’t matter that she knew him, that she’d once thought she’d spend the rest of her life with him. It didn’t even matter that he’d lied to her about their future. She could handle seeing Kent again. All that was important was that he could make Nick well.

He probably wouldn’t even remember her. She’d been a brief diversion for him, nothing more. To him, their love affair hadn’t been a life-changing event. He didn’t know the aftermath of that long ago summer—Nick.

Should she tell him? No, she thought fiercely. If he found out Nick was his child, he’d turn Nick’s care over to someone else, someone who might be only second best. This wasn’t about Kent’s rights; it was about Nick’s. And with her son’s life at stake, she couldn’t take chances.

Kent Berger may have given Nick life, but he hadn’t been Nick’s parent. But now, please, God, he’d make up for that. He’d save the life of the son he would never know he’d fathered.

Two days later, sitting in her son’s hospital room at Gaines Memorial, Mallory watched Nick’s small chest move up and down. Worn out from yesterday’s plane trip and the clinic visit this morning, he’d fallen asleep as soon as he’d gotten into bed. He’d been stoic in the face of technicians bearing needles and residents poking and prodding, but Mallory had to admit that the clinic itself had a lot to do with his bravery. For a place that specialized in children who were sick, it was remarkably cheerful and welcoming.

As Catherine predicted, Nick was admitted to the hospital that afternoon. Mallory hated hospitals—the sounds, the smells—but she chose to view Gaines Memorial as a battle station in the war against Nick’s disease. She would not let the environment depress her, or Nick, either. She hung up the New York Yankees banner he’d brought along, and as soon as she could, she went down to the gift shop and bought a painting of bright yellow chrysanthemums and a grinning stuffed monkey to liven up his room.

Now Mallory glanced at her watch. Still a long time before the doctor was due. She intended to think of Kent Berger as “the doctor,” or if necessary as “Dr. Berger, without a first name.” Nothing personal. She would not remember summer nights in his arms, the taste of his lips, or the scent of his skin.

She stood and paced the small room. If she was jittery, she had every right. Today, or tomorrow at the latest, the verdict on her son’s future would be delivered.

She had plenty of time to call her parents, Dean’s parents, and Lauri and let them know how the day had gone. With another glance at Nick to assure herself he slept peacefully, she left the room, found a small waiting area down the hall and took out her cell phone. She checked to be sure she could use her cell in this area of the hospital, then dialed.

Her calls took a good fifteen minutes. She had so much to say, and yet so little. But she could give the people waiting at home some reassurance. She’d brought Nick to a good place. She hung up and, trying to ignore her aching feet, headed back to his room.

A nurse hurried out of his door. Was something wrong? Propelled by fear, Mallory dashed forward, then halted in the doorway, unable to take another step, as a hauntingly familiar voice reached her ears.

He sat by the bed, his head bent close to Nick’s. He was talking baseball and he had the boy’s full attention.

He must have come directly from the airport because he wore a white dress shirt that contrasted starkly with his tanned skin. His shoulders were slightly broader than she remembered, his chest wider, but no gray marred the thick, dark hair. The hand that lay lightly on the bed rails was the same, too—lean, strong.

He hadn’t changed. And oh, God, she’d never realized how much Nick looked like him. The shape of his face, the way he cocked his head to listen, even the half smile. She’d never let herself notice. Would he?

Please, no, she begged. She must have made a sound of supplication, because he looked up.

And for the first time in eleven years, she stared into his eyes.

Chapter Three

He didn’t recognize her.

His expression was cordial, but she saw no hint of awareness in his gaze.

What made her think he would remember? What made her believe she’d meant enough to him to remain in his mind? Pride forced her to square her shoulders and step into the room. She’d deal with her feelings of hurt and anger later. What mattered now was Nick.

As she came into the room, Kent smiled and extended his hand. “Mrs. Bren—”

His hand froze in midair. He glanced at the chart on the stand beside him, then up again. “Mallory Brenner…Mallory Roseman?”

Her breath backed up in her lungs. He did remember her after all. Silently, she nodded.

“You…cut your hair,” he blurted, his words seeming to surprise him as much as they did her. His cheeks flushed, and abruptly his eyes swung back to his hand, still suspended. He reached out and, reluctantly, Mallory did the same.

Their hands met above the bed where Nicholas—where their son—lay staring at them with curiosity. “You guys know each other?”

“We did, years ago,” Mallory muttered and managed a casual shrug. She hoped she communicated that whatever had happened between them was inconsequential and done with long ago. Realizing she still grasped Kent’s hand, she let it go and stepped back. What she needed now was his medical skill. “About Nick—” she began.

“Yes. Why don’t you sit down,” Kent suggested, “and we’ll talk about what happens next.”

His voice was calming, and Mallory remembered again the little boy he’d spoken to at the pool that long-ago summer morning. She took a chair beside the bed.

Kent turned to Nick. “Nick, you’ve had some people sticking you today, and they tell me you’ve been very brave.”

“Is the sticking over?” Nick asked.

“I’m afraid not. Tomorrow morning you’re going to have a spinal tap.” Gently, matter-of-factly, he explained the procedure.

Nick’s hand slid to Mallory’s and clasped it tightly, but his eyes were glued to Kent’s. When Kent asked if he understood, he nodded. “I won’t cry,” he said. “At least I’ll try not to.”

“Good,” Kent said, smiling at him. “And I won’t spring any surprises on you. Whatever we have to do to lick this illness, I’ll tell you beforehand. Is that a deal?”

“Deal,” the boy said, and Mallory saw with relief that Kent had won his trust.

Kent turned to her now. “The usual course of treatment for AML, Nick’s type of leukemia, is several rounds of chemotherapy, then a transplant…”

“Transplant?” She didn’t know much about transplants except that there was always a chance of rejection.

Kent seemed to sense her fear. “Transplants are getting to be commonplace in many types of cancer,” he said reassuringly. “You’ll meet lots of kids who’ve had them and are doing quite well.”

Calmer now, Mallory nodded.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Kent continued, “I’ll go over the results of the tests and talk more about the treatment with you and Nick…and Nick’s father.” He glanced toward the door. “Is he here with you?”

Mallory didn’t allow herself to wince at the phrase Nick’s father. “My husband died three years ago,” she said flatly.

Something flashed in Kent’s eyes, disappeared. “I’m sorry. I met him, I believe.” Without glancing at the chart, he said, “Dean,” and Mallory nodded.

He picked up Nick’s chart. “See you tomorrow, pal,” he said and ruffled the boy’s hair.

When he left, Mallory let out a long breath. She was over the worst. She’d survived the first meeting. From now on she’d be fine, as long as they didn’t dredge up old memories that might lead to dangerous questions. And why should they? They were doctor, patient and patient’s mother. She suspected Kent would want to keep it that way as much as she did. Besides, he surely had a life beyond the hospital. Eleven years had passed. He must have a wife and…and children.

“Mom.” Nick’s voice brought her out of her reverie.

“Yes, hon.”

“How do you know Doctor Berger?”

Trust her inquisitive son to ask. “He, uh, spent a summer in Valerosa a long time ago. I met him then.”

Nick eyed her with interest. “Was that before I was born?”

About nine months, she thought with a pang. “Uh-huh.”

“Did you like him?”

Mallory felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Yes, he was very nice.”

“I like him, too,” Nick said. “I’m glad he’s going to be my doctor.”

On that, she could agree. “Me, too.”

“He’s going to make me well,” her son said, with total confidence.

Mallory bit her lip. Oh, God, she hoped so. “Yes, he is. Now, why don’t you get some sleep? You have a big day tomorrow.” She bent to fluff his pillow and drop a kiss on his forehead.

He caught her hand. “Mommy.”

Rarely did Nick call her Mommy anymore. He’d pronounced himself too big for that several years ago. She squeezed his hand. “Yes?”

“Will you sit here by me till I get to sleep?”

“I’d like that,” Mallory said, “and maybe we could hold hands, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Mallory kept watch as he shut his eyes and fell asleep.

Only when the room was still did she allow her thoughts to drift back to Kent. He’d turned out to be the doctor she always imagined he’d be, with a bedside manner worthy of Albert Schweitzer. But why did he have to look like every woman’s fantasy lover?

Why couldn’t he have lost his hair or developed a paunch? That would make things so much easier.

Whack.

Kent served the ball against the wall of the racquetball court and when Stan Ferguson returned the shot, whipped it back with another satisfying smack. He slammed the ball again and again, the whoosh of air loud in his ears.

Mallory. Why did she have to be as pretty as ever, her mouth still so enticing, so kissable? Why couldn’t she have turned into a hag?

“Point,” Stan called. “Hey, man, you’re killing me. You’re up thirteen-two.”

“Yeah,” Kent muttered. Ordinarily if he beat Stan by this much, he’d be elated. Now he only focused on the force of his arm, the slap of the ball against wood.

Why hadn’t he taken time to look at the boy’s chart more carefully yesterday? He’d rushed in from the airport with barely enough time to read the test results, so he hadn’t glanced at the parents’ names. He’d gotten a monumental shock when he’d recognized the mother.

Stan missed a ball, then another.

“Game over.” Kent caught the ball and bounced it, then tossed it and the racquet into his gym bag.

“Hey, good buddy, you’re on a tear today,” Stan said as they walked off the court. “Letting out some anger, are we?”

Kent managed a laugh as he stared straight ahead. “Remind me never to play racquetball with a psychiatrist.”

“We can’t help noticing displays of emotion. One of the drawbacks of the profession. Last time I saw you murder the ball that way was when you and Lisa divorced.”

“Spare me the psychoanalysis.” Kent swiped a towel over his sweaty face. “What you saw isn’t anger, it’s athletic skill.”

They halted in front of the showers, and Stan gave him a penetrating look. “Well, if you ever want to talk about your newfound ‘skill,’ you can have a discount.”

“Not necessary, but thanks.” He pulled the damp T-shirt over his head. He’d feel foolish spilling his guts about an affair that ended years ago.

“Have time for lunch later?” Stan asked.

“Not today. Too busy.” Kent tossed his shorts aside and stepped into the shower. He turned the water on full force and let it pour over him. Damn, he hated being so transparent, but running into Mallory after all this time brought back memories and emotions he thought he’d put to rest years ago.

Getting over her hadn’t been easy. No, it had been tough facing the fact that she’d played him for a fool, used him as bait to snag Dean Brenner. Remembering his last phone call to her, he shut his eyes as icy water droplets stung him as if they were needles.

He’d called from the hospital in Rome, three weeks after he’d planned on returning to Valerosa. She’d have been back at school in Lubbock by then. But when he called her dorm, he learned she wasn’t enrolled that semester. Surprised and worried, he tried her at home.

“Mallory?” A deep, rich laugh sounded over the wire and Ophelia, the Rosemans’ housekeeper, said, “She’s not here. That girl’s done gone and got herself married.”

Staggered, he gasped, “Married? When? Who?”

“Few days ago. Married Dean Brenner. I always knew those two’d wake up someday and see they was meant for each other. Been hangin’ around together since they was little tykes.”

She paused. “You want their number in El Paso?”

For some reason, he wrote it down, hung up, then sat back and stared unseeing out the window. After a minute he glanced at the slip of paper in his hand, crumbled it into a ball and tossed it in the trash.

Kent opened his eyes. Didn’t matter now. Couldn’t. Both of them had one very sick kid to worry about. Nick was their only connection.

The next night, Mallory tiptoed out of Nick’s room and made her way down the hall to the waiting area. She bypassed an armchair, sat on the window ledge and stared into the night. It was 1:00 a.m., and lights were still on all over the medical center. Hospitals never slept.

She leaned her forehead against the glass. Today had been the worst day since Nick had gotten sick, even worse somehow than the afternoon Dr. Sanders had told her he had leukemia.

She’d felt so optimistic when she awoke this morning. Kent—Dr. Berger—had explained that AML was nearly always amenable to chemotherapy. The transplant, whether of bone marrow or stem cells, would come later, but first things first. The chemo would begin immediately.

She was proud of the way Nick reacted. He said he and his mom planned to beat this disease, then asked when he’d be out of the hospital. His grin broke out when Kent—Dr. Berger—said probably in a few days, as soon as they saw how he tolerated the chemo.

Tolerated? Mallory thought bitterly. Such a bland word. The nurses had told her reactions to chemo could vary from mild to severe, but only now did she realize what “severe” meant. Nick had first developed an excruciating headache, then nausea so fierce he screamed every time it gripped him. The nurse said the doctor would adjust the dose next time. How could they have been so far off? How could Nick—and she—endure a next time?

Oh, it hurt to see her baby so sick. And not to be able to help. All she could do was hold his hand.

For the first time she wondered if they’d come to the right place. Maybe they should have gone to Sloan-Kettering in New York or another big cancer center. At least there she wouldn’t have the added stress of wondering if Nick’s doctor had noticed the boy’s birthday and done the math.

Tears slid down her cheeks and dampened the window-pane. She was homesick. She wanted someone to lean on.

A hand touched her shoulder.

Startled, she turned. And met Kent’s eyes.

Damn, Kent thought, he hadn’t meant to touch her, but he’d seen her at the window, shoulders slumped. Her son’s reaction to his first dose of chemo had to be tough for her. He’d decided to stop and reassure her, as he’d do for any parent. A brief word of explanation and sympathy, and he’d be on his way.

She’d been crying. He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes as she turned.

For the first time in his medical career, he couldn’t think of the right words. He settled for, “Rough day.”

“Too rough.” Pain and accusation shone through her tears. “He shouldn’t have to be so sick. Can’t you tell ahead of time what dose he needs?”

“No, reactions vary. Sometimes a child will tolerate one dose, then the next time react poorly to the very same one.”

“So we can expect more of the same?”

He sighed. “Maybe.” He saw her swallow, and added, “I won’t sugarcoat this, Mallory.”

She bit her lip. “No, of course not.”

“Once Nick is out of the hospital and you’re settled at the apartment complex, you’ll meet other families. You’ll have a built-in support system.”

She brushed away the tears that stained her cheeks and nodded. “That’ll help.”

It would, of course. And he shouldn’t get personally involved. He should leave it right there, turn away from her, go home and crash. But he found himself saying, “Walk down to the doctors’ lounge with me. I bet you haven’t eaten. We’ll find you a snack.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t eat a thing.”

Another opportunity to back off. Instead he said, “Join me then, while I have something. Come on.”

She glanced back down the hall toward her son’s room. “But what if he—?”

“He won’t wake up. He’s sleeping like a log.” At her questioning look, he said, “I looked in on him.”

“Oh, well, then…” She rose and brushed her hair back from her face. It was a gesture he remembered from long ago.

They walked down the hall silently, Kent automatically adjusting his stride to hers.

The lounge was dim and empty. Kent didn’t bother turning on the overhead light. Instead he flipped on a small light over the counter. They’d only be here a few minutes. He’d make himself some tea, insist she have a cup, too, then get out of here. That’d be five…okay, seven minutes tops.

He grabbed two plastic cups, filled them with water and put them in the microwave. Mallory sat at the table, waiting. He used to imagine meeting her again and letting his anger spew out as he confronted her about the ending of their relationship. But now, when she was worn out and frightened, wasn’t the time. He fixed the tea, got some packets of cheese and crackers out of the cabinet and sat down across from her.

She shook her head at the food. “Eat,” he said firmly. “You have to stay strong.”

“Okay, doc.” She used to call him that, her voice teasing. She must remember, too, he thought as he saw her cheeks redden. She stared at the crackers, unwrapping them carefully, then methodically folding the paper. She picked up a cracker, took a bite and grimaced.

“Eat,” he repeated.

She nodded, dutifully finished the cracker and sipped her tea.

Kent put his cup down. “Tell me about Nick.”

Her shoulders tensed, and she looked at him for a moment, as if gauging the reason for his question. Then she let out a breath. “He’s a typical ten-year-old. He does pretty well in school, loves math, likes reading and would like writing, too, if it weren’t for punctuation. He plays Little League, and he’s really good. This spring he led his team in home runs before he—” her voice trembled “—got sick.” She looked up, and tears welled in her eyes. “Will he…will he be able to play again?”

Kent sighed. “There are no guarantees, but the chances are good. Maybe not this year, but eventually.”

“Then I can hope for that.” She smiled but he sensed it was forced. “At least he can watch baseball on TV.”

“The Yankees.”

Her eyes flew to his, and she tensed again. “Yes, how do you know?”

“He told me. We were talking after I examined him this morning.”

“He wants to grow up to be Rick Howard.”

“Reminds me of myself at the same age, only I wanted to be Reggie Jackson.” Kent smiled, but Mallory didn’t smile back. Instead, she stared into her tea cup. She picked it up, but her hand shook and she set it back on the table.

Hoping to distract her, Kent changed the subject. “How are your parents?”

“They’re fine. They’d have been here but my dad’s recuperating from a knee replacement.”

“I’m sorry. I know that’s a painful operation. I’m sure they’re here in spirit.”

“Yes. I have a lot of support from back home. My business partner, Lauri Gold—”

“You have a business?”

She smiled. “A florist shop. Buds and Blossoms.”

“I’m surprised. If I remember correctly, you talked about going into psychology.”

“If I’d gone with that, I’d still be in school.”

Her perfume wafted across the table to him. The same scent she’d always worn. He cleared his throat. “Hard to be in school with a kid to raise.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve done a good job, Mallory. Nick’s a great kid.”

“Thanks.”

He wanted to keep her talking, to know about the Mallory of today, so he asked more questions. The room was quiet, strangely intimate, and he felt the pain and outrage he’d carried all these years slipping away. Melting in the warmth of her presence. Maybe this was one of the vivid dreams he used to have of her, dreams that left him aching, wanting.

Finally, she glanced at her watch. “It’s after two.” She stifled a yawn. “Won’t your wife worry?”

“My…? I’m divorced.”

She stared at him for a long, charged moment, then dropped her gaze. “I’d, um, better get back to Nick’s room.” She began gathering the cups.

“Sure.” He helped her clear the table, and they walked back together.

She stopped in the doorway to Nick’s room. “Talking to you helped a lot,” she said softly. “Thanks for getting me through this night.” She reached out, almost touched his arm, then abruptly dropped her hand. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Mallory stepped inside the room, listened as Kent’s footsteps receded down the hall, then shut the door. Divorced, she thought as the full implication sank in. Oh, no.

Chapter Four

Two days later, Mallory sat in Nick’s room, entering information in her laptop. She’d met several other mothers of young cancer patients, and one had suggested she keep a daily log of Nick’s progress.

Nick was feeling better. This afternoon he was engrossed in a baseball game on TV. “Not the Yankees,” he’d complained, “but better than nothin’.”

“Nothing,” Mallory corrected automatically.

“Aw, Mom.”

As she continued typing, Mallory heard the commentator say, “A high pop fly to short right field.”

“Come on, get it,” Nick urged.

Mallory looked up, pleased by the excitement in his voice.

She glanced at the TV screen. The right fielder jogged in, lifted a glove and bobbled the ball.

“Aw, man, can’t you hold on to the ball, you jerk?”

“Nick,” Mallory chided. “Watch your language.”

“Geez, Mom. Don’t you ever get excited about a ball game?”

“Never…well, hardly ever.”

“Dad did.”

“I know,” Mallory sighed, as the next batter struck out.

“Sure. You and Dad knew each other forever.” He grinned when she glanced up at him. “Tell me the story of how you met.”

Her fingers poised on the keyboard. “I thought you were watching the game.”

“Mom, hel-lo. End of inning. Commercial break.”

“You’ve heard the story a hundred times.”

“Yeah, but I like it better than listening to someone go on about oatmeal.” He pointed to the screen, where a family was cheerfully devouring their breakfast, and broke into the endearing little-boy grin she loved.

How could she turn him down? She saved her file and turned the computer off. “Okay, when your grandpa became the rabbi at Beth Jacob and we moved to Valerosa, our house was across the street from your Brenner grandparents. The first morning we were there I went outside to check out the neighborhood when I saw this kid across the street, scowling at me.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘My mom said the new rabbi has a kid named Mallory. Are you Mallory?’ And when I said yes, he said, ‘I thought Mallory was a boy’s name. You’re a girl.’”

“Yeah, he was disappointed.”

“He was, but I fixed him. I chomped my gum, blew the biggest bubble I could and popped it, and then I said, ‘Yeah, so what? I can run as fast as you.’”

Nick chuckled. “And he said, ‘Prove it.’ And you beat him to the corner.”

“Well, almost. It was a tie, but I guess he was impressed because he said, ‘You’re not bad for a girl. Wanna see my bug collection?’”

“And you said, ‘Sure, got any scorpions?’”

“I did, and from then on, we were best friends.”

“And you grew up, got married and had me and lived happily ever after, well, until—” He broke off and turned. “Oh, hi, Dr. Berger.”

“Hi, pal.”

“We were talking about my dad,” Nick said as Kent strode into the room and sat beside the bed. “Did you know him, too?”

“I did,” he said evenly and shot a glance at Mallory. The warmth and caring she’d seen the other night in the doctors’ lounge were gone. Today his gaze was cold, almost angry. Why? What did he have to be mad about? Surely he couldn’t be jealous that she’d married Dean, not after all the promises he’d made and broken.

“Feeling better, hmm?” Kent asked Nick. When the boy nodded, he said, “We’re going to give you another chemo dose tomorrow.”

Nick’s face fell. “The one the other day made me awful sick. Do you have to?” His voice trembled, and Mallory pulled her chair closer to the bed.

“Yeah, we do,” Kent said, his voice gentle. “Remember you told me you and your mom were going to beat this disease?”

Nick swallowed. “Yeah, the two of us, we’re a team.”

“Well, I’m on the team now, too. You could say I’m the manager.” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The opposing team has these blasts—big, fat white blood cells they’re using against us—and the chemo zaps them.” Mallory saw that Kent had Nick’s full attention as he continued. “We’ve adjusted the chemo so you won’t be as sick this time, but we have to use it. It’s our strongest weapon. Okay, pal?”

“Okay,” Nick said in a small voice.

“Good. See you tomorrow.” He rose. “Nine-thirty.”

Kent left the room without speaking to Mallory and strode toward the nurses’ station. Resentment seethed in his veins. The anger that had dwindled the other evening had returned full force when he’d overheard the conversation about the happy Brenner family.

He stopped at the counter and made an entry on Nicholas’s chart. He’d spent many sleepless nights wondering about Mallory’s marriage to Dean Brenner. How “sudden” was it? How much had been in the works even while Mallory was supposedly in love with him?

She was here now and one day when her son was better, he’d ask the questions. And by God, before she left Houston, he’d have some answers.

Mallory paged through a copy of Good Housekeeping as she sat in the waiting room of the clinic. After only a minimal reaction to his second dose of chemo, Nick had been discharged from the hospital. Mallory was relieved. Not only was Nick feeling a little better, but she only had to encounter Kent once a week when he checked Nick and went over the results of blood tests.

She and Nick had settled into their two-bedroom apartment, and Nick had immediately made friends with Jeremy Spellman, another ten-year-old, who had been in treatment only two weeks longer than he. Mallory and Jeremy’s mother Tamara and several other moms had bonded, too. No one could better understand what they were going through than other parents experiencing the same fears and hopes.

Nick had told her that he and Jeremy were designing a video game. Now they were seated, heads together, giggling as they drew on a piece of typing paper. Mallory listened.

“…and the monster Leukemator is waiting at the end of the tunnel,” Jeremy said.

“Yeah, and he sends his blasts out to destroy Battleforce Bazooka.”

“But Doctor Bergermaster has a secret weapon. It’s…um, let’s see, it’s…Cheem.”

“Cheem, the Extreme,” Nick said. “Hey, Jer, this is really good. We should show it to Dr. Berger. Maybe he’ll have some ideas to improve it.”

“Maybe he could test it out on his own kids,” Jeremy suggested.

“Nope, he doesn’t have any kids.”

Mallory frowned. How did Nick know that?

An hour later, as they left the clinic and headed for the exit, she asked him.

“Oh, we talk when he’s checking me over. I asked him.”

“Why?”

Her voice came out sharper than she intended and Nick said, “I just wondered, that’s all. You’re sure cranky today.”

“Sorry. How about I make it up to you?” she offered. “Since you’re feeling better and your blood counts are up, we could go out to dinner. I’ll treat you to McDonald’s.”

“Cool.”

“Let’s do it, then.” She’d have to be careful not to let her emotional reactions to Kent affect the way she behaved with Nick.

They left the building and were heading across the parking lot just as Kent emerged from another door. Mallory grimaced. Think of the devil, and he appears. And her heart leaped at the sight of him, just as it had years ago. She kept her eyes straight ahead.

Her son, bless his heart, didn’t. “Hey, Dr. Berger,” he called and stopped. When Kent came alongside them, Nick said, “Guess what. We’re going out to dinner, to McDonald’s. Wanna come?”

Mallory jumped in quickly. “Nick, I’m sure Dr. Berger has things to do—”

“Nothing on the calendar for tonight,” Kent said. “I’d love to join you.” He flashed his killer smile, the rat. “My car’s right over there. I’ll follow you home and we can go together.”

“Oh, that’s not nec—”

“Wow! You have a Jaguar. Mom, is that awesome or what?”

“Awesome,” Mallory muttered. If anything, the car vaulted Kent even higher in Nick’s pantheon of heroes…that is, if a higher position were available. Dr. Bergermaster was, after all, already the leader of Battleforce Bazooka.

Saying nothing, she steered Nick to their own car, not at all surprised when her son groused, “Our car is so nothin’. We should get something classier.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll put us on the list for a Ferrari as soon as we’re back in Valerosa.”

As she drove the few blocks to the apartment, Mallory pondered Kent’s acceptance of Nick’s invitation. Surely this wasn’t standard procedure for a busy doctor to go out for fast food with one of his patients. She chewed on her bottom lip as she glanced in the rearview mirror at the sleek black Jaguar behind them. Did he have some inkling that Nick was more than just a patient?

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. For the thousandth time, she asked herself why she’d come to Houston. Didn’t she have enough to worry about without this fear lurking in the back of her mind? And for the thousandth time the same answer came. She wanted the best for Nick, and Kent was the best.

She’d just be cautious around him.

She pulled into her parking space and shook her head in disbelief as Nick fairly leaped out of their car and trotted over to Kent’s. Nick hadn’t had this much energy since he’d gotten sick. She followed slowly, hoping Nick would get into the front seat of the Jaguar beside Kent. Instead he hopped into the back and left the passenger seat for her.

Resigned, she got in. As she fastened her seat belt, she caught a whiff of Kent’s cologne. Sandalwood. Masculine, sexy—oh, dear.

She let Nick do most of the talking as they drove to the nearest McDonald’s. He had plenty to say, of course, chattering excitedly about the “awesome” car, his collection of model cars and the video game he and Jeremy were designing.

They slid to a stop in front of McDonald’s and Kent got out of the car. By the time Mallory had unfastened her seat belt and picked up her purse, he’d come around to her side and opened the door for her. Always the gentleman, he extended his hand to help her out. She remembered how impressed she’d been with his manners the summer they’d been together. Today she ignored his hand. Manners were all surface, she told herself. What was important was inside. And Kent had let her down when it really mattered. She would keep that in mind and not allow his sexy cologne and beguiling smile to sweep her off her feet again. She was older and wiser than she’d been eleven years ago.

Nick scrambled out and glanced around the parking lot. “We’ve got the best car here,” he announced.

Of course, Mallory thought. How many prominent physicians patronized fast-food restaurants?

Inside, they gave their orders, and Kent reached in his pocket. “I’ll get it,” he said.

“No, thank you.”

Kent shrugged, and she thought she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. Let him laugh. She would not allow this to become a…she wasn’t sure what, but letting him pay for their meal seemed a step toward a more personal relationship. A complication she couldn’t dare to encourage.

They carried their trays to a booth and sat down. She continued to let Nick carry the conversation, relieved at first and then concerned that he and Kent had so much to talk about.

Nick ate half his burger, then pushed it away. His appetite was still poor. Tonight hers wasn’t much better. She nibbled at her food, wishing the meal over so they could leave.

But Nick was eyeing the outside playground. “Can I go out, Mom?” he asked.

Mallory hesitated, worried that he might overextend himself. And she didn’t want to be alone with Kent. “I don’t think—”

Sensing defeat, Nick said, “Let’s ask Dr. Berger.” He turned to Kent.

“Ten minutes,” Kent said. “If you get tired sooner, come back. Your body will tell you when it’s had enough.”

“Thanks.” Flashing a triumphant grin, he left them.

Alone.

Mallory began gathering up their leftovers. If she walked to the trash can really slowly, she could use up maybe two minutes. Coward. But she had reason to be afraid.

“I’ll get us some coffee,” Kent said.

“Thank you.”

“Still take yours with two sugars?”

She nodded, surprised he remembered. With another man, she’d be flattered. With Kent—

She deposited their trash in the container and returned to the booth. Kent set the cups on the table and slid in across from her. Her hand closed around the coffee cup. His was inches away, close enough to reach for, to touch. She remembered the feel of his fingers clasping hers, the warmth of his palm…

“The first time we went out, I took you to the Burger Bar,” he said softly.

She remembered, of course. Everything about that first afternoon was as vivid in her mind as events of the past week—the smell of broiling meat, the jukebox playing Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You,” the heady excitement that Kent had noticed her and actually asked her out.

“Is the Burger Bar still there?” he asked.

She nodded, stirred her coffee. “I wasn’t supposed to go out with you,” she blurted.

He frowned. “Really? Why?”

“You were a guest at Comanche Trails. Employees weren’t allowed to socialize with guests.” Yet without a qualm, she’d said yes the minute he asked. She, the rabbi’s daughter who never broke rules, hadn’t given the restriction a second thought. And that was only the first rule she’d broken.

Kent’s lips curved into the slow smile Mallory used to adore. “I didn’t know that. I’m glad you decided to go.”

Mallory didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

What if she’d stuck with her usual behavior and said no when he asked her out? She’d have avoided all the grief, all the anguish.

But she wouldn’t have Nick.

She glanced out the window at her son, who was talking to another youngster on the playground. She’d endure everything she’d gone through again because of him. She glanced back at Kent and found him watching her thoughtfully, a half smile on his face. “What?” she asked.

“After we left the Burger Bar, you took me to see a prairie dog town.”

Mallory laughed, half-embarrassed that she’d thought such an unsophisticated outing would impress a man who’d spent his last four years in Chicago. But he’d kissed her there, on that sun-scorched afternoon, with a chorus of tiny creatures chattering in the background and the whistle of a train sounding from somewhere far away.

She’d fallen in love that hot June day, and those same feelings, long buried, were stirring now. Again. Fool. Now you know better.

Abruptly she said, “How long were you married?”

He blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Three years.”

“What happened?”

Kent hesitated, then answered, “Lisa and I were a bad match.”

Curious now, she asked, “In what way?”

“We wanted different things. I met Lisa in New York when I was at Sloan-Kettering. She was a model. Then when we moved here, she had some offers and…she didn’t want to spoil her body having children.”

Mallory studied him thoughtfully. “Would you have sacrificed your career for children?”

“Yes,” he said.

His voice rang with such intensity, his eyes shone with such pain that Mallory was staggered. Beneath the table she clenched her hands, which had suddenly gone cold. If he wanted a child this much, didn’t he deserve to know that Nick was his?

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