Читать онлайн книгу «The Seven Year Secret» автора Roz Fox

The Seven Year Secret
Roz Denny Fox
The child she loves…Mallory Forrester's six-year-old daughter needs a transplant. But Liddy Bea has already rejected Mallory's kidney, and no one else in their immediate family is a viable donor.The child he's never seen…There's only one person left to turn to–Liddy's father. Mallory hasn't seen him in seven years. The problem is, Connor O'Rourke doesn't know he's a father. Yet Mallory will beg him on bended knee if it means saving her child's life.And Connor? Despite the way things ended between him and Mallory, he'd like the chance to be a dad….



“Connor—we have a child.”
He snorted derisively. “That’s a damned lie and you know it.”
“Look closer, Connor. She is yours.” Mallory shoved Liddy’s photo under his nose. “She’s six now. She’s ill. I swear I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I…we…she needs your help, Connor.”
It was only after Connor stopped to examine Liddy’s baby picture that Mallory began to relax. “I named her Lydia Beatrice,” she ventured. “I, uh, everyone calls her Liddy Bea.”
“This isn’t some practical joke, is it? This child really exists. And she’s mine.” Connor’s shell-shocked eyes rose from the photo at last. He stared at Mallory, who had once again retreated into the shadows.
Something moved deep inside her. Finally, mercifully, she was able to place herself in Connor’s shoes. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you with no advance warning. I’m sorry.” Her hand fluttered. “Liddy Bea is ill, Connor. Her kidneys have stopped functioning.” Fumbling, she extracted a manila envelope from her bag. “Her doctor’s office prepared a report for you.”
He took the report, and as he skimmed it, she backed slowly away from him.
A moment later, the report in one hand, Liddy’s baby picture in the other, he stalked toward her. “You waltz in here after seven years of…of nothing, announce I fathered a child, and oh, by the way, she needs one of your kidneys, Connor. That’s a hell of a monkey wrench to throw in a man’s life, Mallory.”
Dear Reader,
In an earlier career of mine, I had the privilege of working for a doctor who led the race in the pediatric kidney transplant program. Although there have been great medical strides in the dialysis programs since those first forays into the field, the desperate need for organ donors has changed little. Doctors and patients still have to beg for lifesaving organs. And yes, even though transplants are easier than they once were, problems do still occur, even when it seems that all factors point to the perfect donor.
This story is dedicated to a sorority sister and good friend who has had one failed transplant. She’s now near the top of the national donor list, but her “perfect” match hasn’t shown up. The problems facing people in the long waiting list are not as simply solved as I’ve made them for the sake of a happy ending. Yet I hope Mallory, Connor and Liddy Bea’s situation adds in some small way to public awareness of the constant need for organ donors.
I also want to give special thanks, always, to my editor, Paula Eykelhof, for continuing to let me write stories that are close to my heart.
Roz Denny Fox
P.S. I love hearing from readers. Write me at: P.O. Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731. Or you can reach me by e-mail: rdfox@worldnet.att.net.

The Seven Year Secret
Roz Denny Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

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 ONE
A LIGHT TAP AT THE DOOR of Liddy’s hospital room drew Mallory Forrest’s attention. Her daughter’s doctor, Fredric Dahl, motioned for her to come out.
Liddy Bea had fallen asleep. Mallory hated leaving without telling the fretful six-year-old where she’d be. But Tallahassee’s leading pediatric nephrologist was a very busy man. Dropping a kiss on Liddy’s cheek, Mallory slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.
Dr. Dahl strode briskly toward a small conference room near the bustling nursing center. Mallory’s heart quickened, and fear clawed at her stomach as she followed him. Busy doctors didn’t use conference rooms to impart good news.
Fredric pulled out a chair for Mallory. He leaned against one corner of the table, all the while clutching a thick metal hospital binder. Liddy Bea’s chart. Mallory knew from its size. It pained her to think of the number of times Liddy had been hospitalized in her short life. To avoid Dahl’s unsettling frown, Mallory concentrated on smoothing wrinkles from the suit she’d worn that morning for work.
Fredric spoke gently, though ever blunt. “It’s as we feared. Liddy’s rejecting the kidney you donated. I need you to authorize its removal, Mallory.” He drew a paper from the chart and slid it across the table. “The organ is dying. Any delay taking it out means we risk gangrene setting in.”
“How is that possible?” Mallory ignored the gold pen he extended. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and tucked her hands under her elbows to slow their shaking. “Can’t you switch Liddy’s antirejection medication again? Surely there’s something new on the market. Something different we can try?” Tears spilled from beneath Mallory’s eyelids. “She was doing so well. Why? Why her?”
“Now, now, Mallory. We knew it wasn’t a perfect transplant. It’s those rogue antibodies of Liddy’s I told you we’re dealing with. And you weren’t an absolute match.”
“But I should be, shouldn’t I? I’m her mother. Oh, it’s not fair! She doesn’t deserve to have her new life snatched away.”
“It won’t help to beat yourself up over this setback. We weighed all the consequences eight months ago and took the risk. Liddy Bea will go back on hemo, or peritoneal dialysis. I’ll relist her immediately in the national donor computer.”
“But the list is so long…overwhelming. And if transplants from complete strangers work, why did she reject my kidney?” Mallory tried but failed to keep hysteria from erupting as panic built inside her. “If only Mark—”
“Your brother’s out of the question. The malaria he contracted in the military makes him unacceptable. And we both know your dad’s heart condition rules him out. I know how tough it is to accept, Mallory, but you simply have to face the fact that you’ve exhausted your family options. The national list is our best hope now.”
Mallory tore at a tissue Fredric had thoughtfully pulled for her from a nearby box. She focused on the white bits coming apart in her nervous fingers. “We haven’t totally scraped the bottom of the family barrel. There’s…Liddy’s father.”
Uncrossing his ankles, Fredric came to his feet. “The senator—Brad—er, your dad informed me quite succinctly at the outset that Liddy’s father is out of the picture. If you’re planning to start a family feud…well, it’s awkward for me. Your father gave me the opportunity to head kidney studies at the university, and also to supervise Forrest Memorial Hospital’s transplant program. I’m forever in his debt—but for Liddy, I’d be happy to step aside and call in someone else, if you’d like.”
“No, you’re the best, Fredric. Dad wanted the best for his only grandchild,” Mallory said sharply. “He’ll agree this is our only choice, given what’s happened.”
“I hope so. He didn’t mince words when he closed the subject of Liddy’s father.”
“Dad never minces words. Nor do I. Liddy’s my child. It’s my decision. And her father’s, assuming he’ll listen…” Mallory snatched the pen from the doctor’s limp fingers and scribbled her name at the bottom of the surgery authorization form.
Dahl accepted the paper she shoved back. “I recall Brad mentioning your…uh…former husband lived out of the country. On a remote atoll in the Pacific, I believe. That’ll pose a huge logistics problem, Mallory.”
“Connor’s stateside again. And he’s not my ex. We were never married. In fact, he’s unaware he fathered a child. Believe me, Fredric, if I could see another donor on the horizon, I’d let things stand. But I’ll go to any lengths to ensure Liddy’s health and happiness.”
After an uncomfortable silence, she ventured in a less certain voice, “When is Liddy scheduled for surgery? I’ll have to run downstairs and arrange with Alec for more time away from work. Poor Alec. It’s only mid-May. I feel like I’ve barely gotten back into the swing after taking those months off to give Liddy Bea a kidney.”
Dahl leaned over and patted her shoulder. “From what I hear, Dr. Robinson and his staff would make any accommodation to keep you. Our esteemed administrator has said repeatedly how lucky we are to have you heading our fund-raisers.”
Mallory dredged up a thin smile. “I always thought he only offered me the PR job because I’d more or less become a fixture at the hospital during Mom’s illness. It coincided with my pregnancy, and I dashed out of her room so many times to throw up, Alec stopped to find out what was going on.”
“Your family’s suffered more than its share of medical setbacks. Odd how it sometimes works that way. But the illnesses aren’t related. Although, your dad’s arteriosclerotic heart disease has likely been exacerbated by worrying about your mother and Liddy and you. Not to mention all his responsibilities as a state senator.”
“Dad’s heart condition is exacerbated by the rich food he eats, the nightly brandy he drinks and those dreadful cigars he refuses to give up.”
This time Dahl’s chuckle was dry. “Your diagnosis may be closer to the mark than mine. Tough old codgers like Brad can be set in their ways. That’s why I wonder if you ought to reconsider contacting Liddy Bea’s father.”
“If anyone understands doing whatever it takes to help the people we love, it’ll be Dad. I haven’t seen or heard from Connor O’Rourke in almost seven years. But if there’s a chance in a million that one of his kidneys will lengthen Liddy Bea’s life, I’ll crawl to Miami on my hands and knees to beg.”
The slightly stooped, balding physician stared at her gravely. “I know you will, Mallory. I know you will.” He passed a hand over his sparse hair. “Lord knows, I want a perfect donor for Lydia, too. Yet I have to weigh that against worry over what you might be walking into. I’ve been involved with this business of begging for donor organs for twenty years. I’ve witnessed verbal squabbles, fistfights and actual bloodshed. I’ve seen parents divorce and families so torn apart they never speak to one another again. You, Mark and Bradford are rare in that any one of you would have given Lydia a kidney.”
Mallory stuffed the mutilated tissue into her pocket and stood to brush the remaining lint from her skirt. “Once upon a time, the man who fathered Liddy Bea had a tender heart buried under a tough outer shell. Surely it’s still there. Connor may hate me for not telling him he has a child, but he wouldn’t let his anger extend to his daughter.” Although the hand she placed on the doorknob wasn’t steady, Mallory hauled in a deep breath and squared her shoulders before leaving the conference room.
“Liddy’s surgery is at four o’clock.” Lowering his voice, Dahl fell in step with Mallory as they walked back along the cheerily lit hall. “We’ll insert a new cannula and start dialysis immediately. Peritoneal, if the abdominal wall is in good shape. So there’s no dire urgency about confronting her biological dad. I want Liddy recovered from this surgery before attempting another implant. Perhaps a donor will turn up on the national list by then.”
Mallory stopped outside Liddy’s room. “Every piece of literature you’ve given me says blood relatives are the preferable donors.”
Dr. Dahl twisted his lips. “True. But if I set aside the fact that I’m a doctor and view it instead from the perspective of a friend and a father of three—well, I’m worried you’ll be opening a can of worms. Fathers today demand and get parental rights in the courts.”
Mallory stared at Dahl from cloudy blue eyes, all the while twisting a strand of hair around her index finger. “I must be more exhausted than I thought. I don’t understand what you’re implying.”
“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Put yourself in Mr. O’Rourke’s shoes. Liddy is a bright, charming child. And you’ve had her all to yourself for six years.”
A burst of light exploded inside Mallory’s head, leaving her slightly woozy. She groped the doorknob to Liddy’s room for support. “You think Connor may decide it’s time to…share custody?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Then it’s a possibility I’ll have to deal with.” She inhaled quickly. “Liddy Bea was barely two when her kidneys first failed. For the next year and a half, she underwent hemodialysis. I sat there holding her night after night, listening to her sob in pain as one after another her veins collapsed or got horribly infected around the shunt. I rocked her throughout the long, dark hours when it seemed all either of us could do was cry. If only you knew how I prayed for a match on the national donor list—but…there were none. I thought giving her one of my kidneys, even though it wasn’t a hundred percent match, would be better than nothing. For eight months it was. For eight glorious months, she was normal. Happy. So, Fredric…I’d make a pact with the devil to see her that way again.”
Out of breath from her impassioned speech, Mallory wrenched open Liddy’s door, inadvertently banging it against the wall. The child’s translucent eyelids fluttered twice, revealing gray irises so like Connor O’Rourke’s. The gray eyes focused on Mallory, and a huge smile blossomed on Liddy’s face.
“Is it morning, Mommy? Are you here to take me home?”
Mallory steeled herself against the pain of telling Liddy Bea she’d be losing the kidney and going back on dialysis.
Bradford Forrest’s timely arrival gave Mallory a reprieve. The senator always entered a room as if he owned it. And considering the amount of money he’d donated over the years to the private hospital he’d been instrumental in seeing built, he probably did own a fair portion. Florida’s senior statesman remained a suave, handsome man, if one overlooked his tendency toward portliness.
Because Mallory loved him, she overlooked many of his faults. Friends and acquaintances were prone to say that her thick brown hair and direct blue eyes came from Brad, even though his hair was shot with silver now. The same folks joked that it was fortunate his daughter’s slender build and sweet disposition came from Bradford’s beloved wife. Beatrice had died just the day of Liddy’s birth, and he’d never truly recovered.
Recently reelected for a fifth term, Bradford was a powerful and influential force in Tallahassee and in many parts of the state. This man who made others quake turned to mush in the presence of his only grandchild. Like now, he drew a huge stuffed bunny from behind his back and plopped it on Liddy’s bed.
“Grandpapa!” The girl’s face lit up as her arms circled the toy. “Thank you! I’ll call her Flopsie Rabbit. Are you going to give me and Mommy a ride home? And will you and Davis drive me to school tomorrow?”
It was well-known that Liddy Bea loved riding to school in her grandfather’s chauffeured limousine, and that he often rearranged his busy schedule to accommodate her. He kept the limo’s bar stocked with her favorite juices, since hydration was of the utmost importance with her condition.
Senator Forrest was a man always in charge of any situation. This might be the first time he’d ever been at a loss for words. He flashed Mallory a helpless glance and mumbled, “I…uh…came because Fredric’s office left…ah…a message with my secretary.”
Mallory understood. Dr. Dahl, who’d become a good friend of the family, hadn’t wanted her to go through Liddy’s impending surgery alone. They’d moved out of their own apartment and in with her father a few weeks before the first transplant, and ever since then, the three Forrests had functioned as a more traditional family might. Just now, Mallory appreciated having her dad’s strength to draw on.
Pushing the huge rabbit aside to sit on the edge of Liddy’s bed, she cradled the child’s smaller, warmer hand between her cold ones. “Liddy Bea, baby…the kidney Mommy gave you isn’t working right.” Mallory’s breathing grew labored. “It’s, uh, what’s been making you sick lately. Dr. Dahl has to take it out.”
Liddy blinked away tears, her stoicism another O’Rourke trait. At birth, Liddy Bea had appeared so like him, Mallory was moved to name her baby after Connor’s mother and hers. Even if he wasn’t around to set eyes on his child, Mallory determined then and there that Lydia Beatrice would forever be a composite of both Forrest and O’Rourke. If only she’d informed Connor then that he had a daughter. Maybe…
“Will…it…hurt?”
Bradford wheeled to face the window overlooking the pediatric nursing station. He rammed his hands deep in the pockets of an expertly tailored jacket. Mallory couldn’t help noticing how the stalwart shoulders bent. Perhaps she should’ve sent her dad off on some fool’s errand. He’d weathered his wife’s premature death, his daughter’s unplanned pregnancy and his granddaughter’s kidney failure. Was it any wonder the man’s heart had weakened?
While Mallory was solicitous of all her dad had been through, she’d made a point of never lying to her child.
“It’ll hurt some. About like it did when Mommy gave you the kidney. But anytime you feel pain, tell me. Or if I’m not here, push this bell and the nurse will give you something to make you feel better.”
“Will I be able to go to school tomorrow?”
“No. We’ll have to ask Dr. Dahl if you’ll get to finish out this year. Liddy, do you remember the tube you used to have in your arm, then in your leg? You may have another of those for a while. Until we can find you another kidney.”
The little face puckered. “I didn’t like those things. Why can’t we find ’nother kidney today?”
Yes, why? Mallory wanted to rage and shout. “That’s what Dr. Dahl, Mommy and Grandpapa are going to do. Search until we find the perfect kidney.”
“Okay. But hurry, please. I hafta get back to school, ’cause my teacher said we get a vacation party on the last day.”
“I’ll hurry my fastest. And I’ll ask Dr. Dahl if I can take you to the party.”
Bradford fumbled for his handkerchief, found it and blew his nose. He turned slowly, discreetly blotting his eyes. “Listen, sugar pie. If Fredric says no, I’ll bring the party to our house when you’re better. I’ll hire the clowns we had for your last birthday. And we’ll have cake and all the ice cream you kids can eat. And—”
“Dad.” Mallory interrupted, cautioning him with a glance.
“What? Are clowns too extravagant? I commissioned a three-ring circus for your tenth birthday, missy.”
“A circus? Oh, goody.” Liddy clapped her hands.
Mallory rolled her eyes. “Dad! You promised not to overindulge Liddy Bea if we moved in with you.”
The practiced southern statesman didn’t look the least bit contrite.
“Liddy, play with your bunny a minute,” Mallory said. “Mommy and Grandpapa are going to walk down the hall for a soda.”
“Can I have grape juice?”
“Oh, baby, I don’t think Dr. Dahl wants you to eat or drink anything until after the surgery.” Mallory leaned over and kissed Liddy’s nose before sliding off the bed, raising the side rail and locking it in place.
Liddy buried her face in the rabbit’s soft fur, but she didn’t cry or beg for juice as another child might. She accepted her mother’s decision.
The senator waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. “If you’re going to nag me about offering to throw a party for Liddy’s class, you may as well save your breath. What good is all the damn money I have if I can’t spend it on the people I love? I’d hire all the characters in Disney World and fly them here if I thought it’d give her pleasure.” His drawl was never more pronounced than when he was passionate about something. The same impassioned manner had won him prestige as a lawyer and later convinced junior legislators to vote his way. However, his daughter had never quaked before him.
“I know you mean well, Dad, and that you love Liddy Bea to bits. But I want her to value things money can’t buy. I want her friends to value her for who she is and not worry that they might have to compete with the Forrest fortune.”
His eyes narrowed as he held open the door to the room with the soda machines. He forged ahead and shoved in money, then smacked a selection button. “You’re not talking about Liddy Bea now, are you? We’re back to what happened with you and O’Rourke.”
“It’s all tied together. And yes, I need to talk to you about Connor,” she said, accepting the cola and closing her eyes as she rolled the cold can across her suddenly hot forehead. “He’s back in the States. In Miami.”
Brad turned around to get his own soda, effectively hiding the guilty flush that climbed his neck. “I know. So I take it he’s finally contacted you?”
“No.” Mallory wasn’t nearly as effective at concealing her pain. “I read an article on him in one of your business magazines while I was recovering from my part of the surgery. Connor’s become a leading expert in baroclinic instability relative to cyclostrophic and thermal winds.” She rattled the words off with ease. “A gadget he’s invented might facilitate early detection of hurricanes. They’re testing it at Miami’s weather center.” Mallory’s voice held a tinge of pride, even as she studiously avoided the scrutiny in her father’s eyes.
Brad took a deep pull from his soda. “I assume there’s a point to this recap of O’Rourke’s success? By the way, I read the article. I also happened to walk into your room the day of his TV interview. You were so engrossed you didn’t realize I was there. I went back to my study to see the remainder of the program. Must say I was impressed by everything he’s accomplished.”
That tidbit stopped Mallory cold. She’d been impressed, too. She’d also foolishly waited, expecting Connor to phone her. He could easily have done so, had he wanted. After all, she wasn’t the one who’d left home to flit all over the globe. Yet, even now, she couldn’t bring herself to discuss the barrage of emotions seeing Connor had evoked. Her first thought was that Connor had matured well. As the interview progressed and she heard his voice, observed the intensity in his gray eyes, all her old feelings for him had flooded back. After the show, she’d been oh-so-tempted to phone him—to unburden her conscience. Her next reaction had been who was she kidding? With Connor, it was out of sight, out of mind. She owed him nothing.
Her fingers tightened on the soda can. “I’m flying to Miami to see Connor. I wanted you to know so you could arrange to spend extra time at the hospital with Liddy. I’ll wait until she’s out of the woods, of course. Then I’ll fly down one day and back the next.” She didn’t want to accost Connor at work. Evening, at his home, would be better. Mallory skewered her father with the “Forrest look.” “Will you use your clout to get me his home address?”
Bradford heaved a sigh. “I’ve been expecting something like this.”
“You have?” She gaped. “It only occurred to me today. So, you aren’t going to try and talk me out of it?”
“I can see your mind’s already made up. But…is it wise? Isn’t O’Rourke a stone better left unturned?”
“I’m assuming he has two functioning kidneys. Maybe I sound mercenary, but his child needs one. And the rest of her family has been ruled out.”
“I don’t think you’re mercenary, Mallory. In fact, I’ve toyed with the thought of contacting Connor myself. But it wasn’t my place. I’m frankly worried about how he’ll react. He could get nasty, or even deny that Liddy’s his.”
Mallory crushed her can, hardly aware of what she was doing. “I guess I’ve always had more faith in Connor than you or Mother did. She hated him, you know? Or rather, she looked down on him. Mom couldn’t handle the fact that Lydia O’Rourke worked as a maid to support herself and Connor after his dad ran off. Mom could be such a snob.”
“That’s enough, Mallory. Make peace with Connor for Liddy’s sake. Leave your mother out of it. Whatever Beatrice did, she did out of love for you. I won’t let you speak ill of her.” Spinning on the heels of his polished wingtips, Brad stomped out of the room. He pitched his soda can in a wastebasket outside the door. Then he waited for Mallory.
“I’ll go make a few calls,” he said tiredly. “See if I can turn up a current address on O’Rourke. Tell Liddy I’ll be back before they give her the anesthetic. Her surgery’s at four, right?” He shot a cuff to check his watch. “It’s two-fifteen. That allows me time to twist a few arms.”
Mallory hugged him. “Thanks. I may not always sound like it, but I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and Liddy Bea. You’re our rock. And just because I felt Mom treated Connor unfairly doesn’t mean I love her less. It’s certainly not her fault he went off to the South Pacific chasing storms. I made a conscious decision not to tell him I was pregnant, so I wouldn’t stand in the way of his big dream. It’s taken a while, but I can finally accept that I never meant to him what he meant to me. What I won’t do is take the easy way out now. Not if there’s even a remote possibility he can help Liddy Bea.”
Brad’s brow furrowed. “I could hire someone to tell him. Then you wouldn’t even have to speak to him.”
“I should’ve tracked him down when Liddy Bea was born. It would have been the right thing to do. If Mother hadn’t been so ill…if she hadn’t suddenly died…” Mallory gnawed at the inside of her mouth. “Time seemed to drift away from me, and…well, I rationalized that if he didn’t care about me, he didn’t deserve to…” Her voice faltered, her throat too tight to go on. The truth was, Connor had hurt her terribly by forgetting she existed.
Her dad’s shoulders slumped. “All hell will break loose, but it can’t be helped. I told Beatrice that someday…” The senator pulled himself up short, turned and stalked heavily off, shaking his head as he went.
Mallory stared after him. He seemed to shuffle down the hall. Her father, who did everything decisively. He’d suffered so much with her mother’s death. And Mallory hadn’t been as cooperative as she might have been. Her dad had begged her to live at home and assume the many social duties Beatrice had once performed so perfectly. But Mallory craved a life of her own, and she’d been determined to raise Liddy without the Forrest money—money she blamed, at least partially, for Connor’s lengthy silence. Yet after Liddy Bea got ill, she’d gravitated again toward her family.
When Liddy was an infant, Dr. Robinson had offered Mallory the job in the hospital’s public relations department; it had been an answer to a prayer. Life was idyllic until Liddy Bea took sick. Thinking of Alec prodded Mallory to action. She had to make arrangements for another leave. Or perhaps it’d be better for the hospital if she just quit this time.
Robinson didn’t agree when she went to see him. “We muddled along without anyone to do fund-raising until you fell into our lap, Mallory. There’s nothing crucial in the works until our winter dance. And you’ve already booked the site. Fredric will find Lydia a kidney soon. For now, take whatever time you need.” Alec checked to see that no one was watching, then kissed Mallory’s cheek.
“Thanks.” She drew back so the kiss barely grazed her face. “Once Liddy Bea’s out of the hospital, I’ll finish building the database for the ball invitations. I can do that at home, while we wait for a donor.”
Sliding an arm around her shoulders, Alec escorted Mallory from his private office. Concentrating on the ball helped take her mind off the impending surgery and a larger concern—visiting Connor. Mallory wasn’t sure why she hadn’t mentioned her plans to Alec. Maybe because she suspected he, too, would disapprove.

LIDDY’S SURGERY WENT WELL. By nine that evening, Mallory marveled at how quickly the child bounced back. Her own recovery as a donor had been slow. Liddy also had an optimistic outlook, a willingness to assume the best, something for which Mallory was extremely grateful.
The doctor elected to keep Liddy hospitalized a few days to monitor her for infection and to set up her dialysis schedule, but he told Mallory there was no valid reason to stay with Liddy around the clock. Which was why, Friday noon, she found herself on a Miami-bound commuter plane.
It was still officially spring, yet the air in Tallahassee was already summer-muggy. She actually looked forward to the coastal breezes. Mallory wasn’t sure, though, whether she looked forward to meeting Connor again, or dreaded it. At one time, she’d loved him more deeply and completely than she’d ever loved another human being. He, on the other hand, had been the one to drag his feet in their relationship. Despite that, she’d never dreamed he’d go off and forget all about her.
In fact, she thought she’d scaled all his barriers the year he entered grad school at Florida State University. She’d collected her public relations degree and moved into his apartment to devote herself to making him happy. That was the first time he’d used the word love in connection with her name. He’d even said he didn’t think he could live without her. But he’d certainly managed to do just that.
The eve of his master’s graduation, Mallory had news of her own—which she held back, planning to surprise him after they’d enjoyed his favorite meal of fat Gulf shrimp and tarragon rice, topped by skewers of mushrooms and tomatoes. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the Cajun spices—could feel the sultry air in the tiny apartment.
Connor, it so happened, arrived home with an MS and his own exciting news. A plum job offer—on a remote atoll in the South Pacific, complete with an opportunity to get his Ph.D. via correspondence. Courtesy of a Tallahassee manufacturer, and in conjunction with the national weather service, he was awarded a chance to realize his dream of developing an early-detection system for hurricanes.
Excited for him, Mallory suggested she accompany him as far as Hawaii. “I’ll find a job, then when you have breaks, I’ll be waiting there for you,” she’d said.
Although she’d tried hard to wipe out his answer, it came back as clearly now as the night he’d broken her heart. “You stay here. Marry one of those up-and-coming lawyers your folks keep parading past you. It’ll take me years to finish my work. You’re a distraction, Mallory. A huge distraction. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and I can’t afford to blow it.”
She’d given in to tears. Connor had relented marginally, saying they’d keep in touch by mail. And she had written once or twice. Until her mother’s illness worsened, and pregnancy sapped her own flagging energy. In all those nine months before Liddy Bea was born, Mallory never received so much as a word from Connor.
Beatrice Forrest died the day Mallory left the hospital with her new baby. After that, her life changed drastically, and she’d lost the courage to write him again. But she’d kept tabs on him occasionally by checking the national hurricane site on the Internet.
Sipping lime water provided by the stewardess, Mallory checked the creased blue paper on which her dad had scribbled Connor’s address. When the hour came to actually face him, she hoped the words would flow and her tears would not.
The plane landed on time. Her dad had ordered a car service to take her to the Biltmore, an elegant old hotel that rose like a terra-cotta wedding cake from the middle of residential Coral Gables. The driver said he’d return at six-thirty to drive her to Connor’s. Mallory knew without asking that the man had orders to wait outside the apartment while she went in and said her piece. She didn’t doubt that he might also drag her out if she didn’t leave in a reasonable period of time.
Nervously Mallory showered off the dust of travel. She dressed in a no-nonsense pin-striped suit. One glimpse in the floor-length mirror, and she stripped out of it again. She wanted to appear mature and professional. But pride demanded she look feminine, too. Connor, never stingy with compliments, had always liked her in blue. In a weak moment, she’d packed such a dress. A sleeveless sapphire silk with a flared skirt, banded by a straw belt. She had shoes and an oversize bag to match. The last thing she did was spritz her throat and wrists with her trademark perfume. If nothing else, the familiar scent bolstered her courage.
At the preappointed hour, her driver wove unerringly through thickening traffic, arriving outside Connor’s apartment building in record time. “There’s nowhere to park, miss. Shall I circle the block until something opens up?”
“Yes, please.” Mallory found speaking difficult because her throat had gone dry. “I don’t expect this to take long.” She figured on giving Connor her canned spiel. Then she’d hand over Dr. Dahl’s business card, plus his typed report, and leave Connor to work things out for himself. If he hadn’t changed, it was how he operated best. Facts before action.
Mallory thanked providence that his apartment was at ground level. Her weak knees would never propel her up a set of stairs. Blocking out the boisterous laughter and loud music pulsing through his open window, she rapped loudly enough to be heard over the din.
A casually dressed man with sun-bleached blond hair juggled two frosty glasses of beer in one hand as he opened the door. His wolf whistle and shouted “Greg, she’s here!” had Mallory stepping back. A second man appeared. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her inside. Mallory squeaked out a protest as, against her will, she entered what was clearly a keg party made up of fifteen to twenty males.
“We thought you’d be wearing a skimpy sequined cop uniform,” the man clutching Mallory confided with a wink. “I guess the costume and handcuffs are in this bag.” Releasing her arm, he began pawing through her straw purse.
Mallory yanked it back. A tug-of-war ensued, which upended her bag. Photos of Liddy Bea at various ages, which Mallory had included to show Connor if all else failed, fell out and slid across a slick tile floor.
“Stop!” Dropping to her knees, she scrambled to gather up the pictures before the oaf with the beer spilled it on them. Her heart hammered madly. “I’m afraid you’ve confused me with someone else. I’m looking for Connor O’Rourke.”
“This is his place.” The man holding the beer did splash foam on Mallory’s bare arm. “Oops. Sorry. I’m Paul Caldwell. That’s Greg Dugan. We contracted with your agency for you to come here and do your cop routine.”
Still on her knees, Mallory stared up at him, uncomprehending.
“Jeez, you know—where you handcuff Connor to a chair and then do a little…uh…bump-and-grind number. Hey, it’s for his bachelor party! Connor’s getting hitched.” The beer drinker enunciated slowly this time, as if Mallory were addle-brained.
Indeed she was. She’d envisioned Connor O’Rourke in a whole lot of ways over the past seven years. On the verge of marriage was not one of them.
She went hot, then cold, then hot again. Her fingers groped for the baby picture of Liddy Bea.
She hardly noticed that another broad hand had reached over her shoulder to scrape the photo off the floor. Nevertheless, Mallory froze as a voice she remembered too well rained down on her head. “Paul? Greg? What’s going on? Who is this woman? I thought we agreed there’d be no females at this party.”
Mallory couldn’t say how she found the courage to stand and face the man she’d come to see. But she did. And she managed to pluck Liddy’s picture from his suddenly slack fingers. Clearly the advantage of surprise was on her side.
“Mal…lo…ry?” Her name fell from Connor’s lips in three distinct syllables.
In spite of all the time that had passed and all the rehearsing she’d done, Mallory couldn’t speak. She couldn’t do anything but swallow repeatedly and stand before him like a statue, watching the play of dark shadows cross features she’d never forgotten.
A jumble of heat and fury contorted Connor’s angular face as Greg and Paul lamely attempted to explain the surprise they’d arranged. He silenced them with a slice of his hand. “I don’t know what the hell kind of sick joke you and these idiots are pulling, but I’m not amused, Mallory. Not in the least. You have a hell of a nerve coming here, tonight of all nights.”
As his friends stepped back, the real performer rushed up the steps. She wore a very minuscule rendition of a cop uniform. So minuscule, the well-endowed woman hardly had room for the badge she’d pinned above one ample breast.
Paul and Greg ran to greet her. Mallory felt Connor’s cool hand propelling her toward the door. His jaw was locked in place. Figuring she had maybe two seconds at best to make him listen, she dug in her heels.
“Connor, you have to give me a minute.”
The instant he glanced down at her, Mallory shoved Liddy’s photo under his nose. “We have a child, you and I. She’s six now. She’s ill, I swear I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I…we…she needs your help, Connor.” Her plea was uttered in spurts.
He snorted derisively. “That’s a damned lie and you know it.”
“Look closer, Connor. She is yours.”
At that moment the CD player suddenly stopped. All movement in the room beyond ceased. A hush descended as a now-uneasy group of guys waited for Connor’s response. Regardless of his obvious fury, he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the five-by-seven glossy print wavering in Mallory’s unsteady hand. A single second went by before he tightened his grip on Mallory’s wrist. Lips tightly compressed, he practically slung her into a nearby room. In the process of shutting them both inside, he glared at the men huddled around the exotic dancer. “Paul. Greg. When I come out, I want everyone gone. Not just out by the pool, either. Gone, as in goodbye!”
Mallory felt her knees knock as Connor’s rage swirled over her. Why, oh why hadn’t she heeded Fredric Dahl’s warnings? And her dad’s? She should never have come here.

CHAPTER TWO
MALLORY HAD THOUGHT SHE’D steeled herself for this encounter with her child’s father. The only man who’d ever touched her heart. In reality, being closeted in a small room with him, knowing he was on the brink of marrying another woman, was Mallory’s worst nightmare. Or perhaps it was watching him pace the perimeter of his study, gazing in outrage and denial at Liddy’s photo, that broke Mallory’s heart and turned her stomach inside out.
Why didn’t he say something? Anything? Although, Connor O’Rourke had never been a wordy man. In the past she’d been content to spend hours with him, often without a single comment passing between them. Now, as she tracked his tense, jerky movements, she found his silence hell on her nerves.
It was only after Connor stopped in front of an oak desk in the center of the room to examine Liddy’s baby picture under the light that Mallory’s rubbery legs felt strong enough to let her join him. She’d carefully selected pictures of Liddy taken at birth, two years, four and six. “I named her Lydia Beatrice,” Mallory ventured as Connor glanced at the new offerings. “I, uh, everyone calls her Liddy Bea.”
“This isn’t some practical joke Paul and Greg conjured up, is it? This child really exists. And she’s mine.” Connor’s shell-shocked eyes lifted at last from the photo he tenderly caressed. He stared at Mallory, who had once again retreated into the shadows.
Something moved deep inside her. Finally, mercifully, she was able to do as Dr. Dahl suggested earlier—place herself in Connor’s shoes. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you with no advance warning. I’m sorry.” Her hand fluttered. “Liddy Bea is ill, Connor. Her kidneys have stopped functioning.”
Fumbling, Mallory extracted a manila envelope from her handbag. “Her doctor’s office prepared a report for you. It explains her condition more clearly than I can.”
She thought he wasn’t going to take the envelope, but eventually he did “Considering the shock I’ve given you…” Mallory tossed back a lock of hair. “I’m sure you’ll want to study the facts and probably ask Dr. Dahl some questions before you agree to be tested. I’ve attached his card with office and home numbers. Meanwhile, I won’t intrude on your evening any longer. I have a car waiting.” She slipped by him and began collecting the photos.
“Leave them.” Connor’s hand collided with hers as they both attempted to rake in the pictures. He’d already skimmed the doctor’s report and found it difficult to comprehend. He rubbed his temple with his free hand.
She backed away slowly. The pictures had been removed from her album. But Connor deserved to have a set. With the exception of the recent school photo, all had been taken by a Tallahassee studio. She could get copies. Feeling the doorknob press into her back, Mallory reached behind her and twisted it. The outer room, which had bubbled with sound, now lay quiet as a tomb.
“Where are you going?” Connor’s ragged voice halted her retreat. “Lord, Mallory. What in hell am I supposed to think—to do—here?”
“The report is self-explanatory, Connor. Read it, think about it, call Dr. Dahl.” She shrugged nervously. “No point in wearing out my welcome. There’s really no need for us to deal with each other again. I imagine you’ll want to meet Liddy Bea. I can leave authorization with the nursing staff at Forrest Memorial if you visit while she’s there. Or…other arrangements can be made. From here on, though, any contact you have will not be with me but with Dr. Dahl or his staff. That should ease your mind a lot.”
“Really?” He stalked toward her, the report in one hand, Liddy Bea’s baby picture in the other. He shook them both under her nose. “You waltz in here after seven years of…of…nothing, announce I fathered a child, and oh, by the way, she needs one of your kidneys, Connor. Then you flit merrily out again. That’s a hell of a monkey wrench to throw in a man’s life, Mallory.” His lips twisted harshly.
She took in each feature of his rugged, anguished face before saying quietly, “You have a right to be angry with me, Connor. But it won’t change the fact that we had a child together. Nor will it alter Liddy’s situation. I’m not going to fight with you. I will get down on my knees and apologize if that’s what you need from me. There’s nothing I won’t do for Liddy Bea. Nothing.” Her quavery voice broke.
A muscle in Connor’s jaw jumped twice, and his face contorted in pain. He turned away from Mallory and made his way back to the desk, where he dropped the items he held. Flattening both palms on his desk, he braced himself with his back toward her. “I have arrangements to make, people to consult before I can go to Tallahassee,” he said, sounding raw.
Mallory noted how the muscles in his shoulders bunched beneath his knit shirt. She resisted a strong impulse to cross to him and massage away his tension. The feeling came as a shock, considering he’d gone off seven years ago and never looked back once to see how she’d survived the breakup. Or even if she’d survived.
But she no longer had the right to console him in any fashion. The right now belonged to his fiancée. Merely thinking about Connor’s engagement almost crushed the breath from Mallory’s lungs.
Whirling, she ran from the room, damned if she’d let him see a single one of the tears that blinded her.

CONNOR SENSED THE MOMENT Mallory left. It was more than an absence of a perfume called Desire, a scent he never failed to associate with her. One he’d missed so terribly that first year he’d been stuck on a solitary outpost, he’d wandered up to a department store perfume counter on his first R and R to Honolulu, just for a whiff of the bergamot-and-magnolia mixture. A whiff he’d never, ever assumed would lodge in his nostrils for so many years.
He lifted his hands then slammed them down on the desktop, hoping the subsequent pain would eject him from this pointless reverie. Needless to say, it didn’t.
“Dammit to hell!” He’d finally made a new life for himself. One that didn’t include lingering memories of Mallory Forrest. He had found a new love. Claire Dupree, who was at home with her best friends in the midst of a bridal shower.
Claire’s shower. For their wedding, scheduled the day after tomorrow!
“Lord.” Groaning, Connor lifted the picture of a child fashioned in his image. “How in hell does a guy break this kind of news to his fiancée?”
Staggering around the desk, he dropped into a swivel chair. Pulling the most recent of the photos toward him, he traced dark-lashed gray eyes, an off-kilter smile and a slightly narrow yet stubborn jaw. The O’Rourke jaw. Connor couldn’t refute the evidence staring him in the face. And Lord help him, deep down, unmistakable pleasure seeped upward until it squeezed his heart.
He had a child. A daughter Mallory had named after his mother. Why had she done that? It seemed out of character for someone who hadn’t seen fit to answer any of his damned letters, who’d ignored every one of his pleas for forgiveness.
Connor rocked gently in his chair as the anguish surfaced, displacing even his outrage at Mallory. His mom, Lydia O’Rourke, had lost her life in a storm the folks in the weather-reporting business had failed to class as a hurricane. She would never experience the joy of meeting her first grandchild.
The telephone sitting near Connor’s right hand jingled loudly, making him jump. He fumbled it to his ear, scrabbling to gather up the baby pictures the cord had knocked askew.
He shut his eyes. Claire. He wished he could ward off the questions that would undoubtedly come.
“Hi,” she said cheerily. “I know you didn’t expect to hear from me until we met at the church on Sunday. But Paul just came by the house to pick up Lauren. He acted really odd. He said your bachelor party broke up early, but he wouldn’t say why. In fact, he was so insistent I ask you, it frightened me. Of course, I realize I’m suffering prewedding nerves.” She gave a short laugh. “Janine and my other bridesmaids said I wouldn’t feel better until I phoned you. So here I am.”
Connor felt the pressure of her unspoken need to have him alleviate her fears. He ran a hand through his hair, not having a clue where to begin. He’d known Claire for almost a year. In their early, getting-to-know-you phase, he’d mentioned that there’d once been someone special in his past. Hadn’t he? Still silent, he tried to recall those initial conversations.
“Connor? Say something. You’re really frightening me.”
“We have to talk,” he said abruptly. “But not over the phone. Can you get away if I come by in…say, twenty minutes?”
“I guess so,” Claire said a little shakily. “It’ll be after nine o’clock, though. You have to have me home by midnight. Not that I’ll turn into a pumpkin,” she murmured, stabbing weakly at humor. “But if the groom sees the bride the day before the wedding, it’s supposed to be bad luck for a marriage….” Her voice trailed off.
“We’ll go for coffee at that burger place just off Twenty-seventh, okay? I could use a cup of strong Cajun coffee about now.”
“Did you overindulge tonight? I know you didn’t really want a bachelor party.”
“No,” he said stiffly. “But I’ll admit we made a fair dent in the keg Paul brought. If you’d rather not go for coffee, Claire, I can do without.”
“Coffee’s fine. And twenty minutes will give me time to tell the hangers-on goodbye, and hide away all the lacy lingerie I received at the shower,” she said, giving a feeble rendition of a sultry growl.
“That’s right. I forgot you had a—what did you call it?—personal shower.”
The woman at the other end of the line sighed. “Honestly, Connor, aren’t you intrigued enough to sound at least a little excited about the lingerie I got?”
“Sorry, I guess my mind’s not the sharpest it’s ever been. Knowing Janine, Lauren and Abby, I suspect what they bought won’t leave much to a man’s imagination.” This time, his drawl could be considered closer to normal.
“No. My friends aren’t what you’d describe as conventional.”
“That’s a fact.”
“You sound as if you disapprove of them.”
“Because I agreed with you? Look, Claire, I’ve explained that I’m not myself tonight. And for whatever reason, you seem oversensitive. Perhaps it’d be best if we saved the rest of this conversation for when we’re sitting face-to-face.”
“One question first,” she said abruptly. “Connor, why haven’t we slept together yet?”
“What?” he said too loudly as a strange wave of guilt washed over him. If Claire had asked that question even last week, he wouldn’t have known why he’d continued to resist their spending an entire night together. Unfortunately, it was no longer a mystery. Miami, and indeed all of Florida, was tied to his prior history with Mallory Forrest. Plain and simple, his memories of her in and around this city held him back from making love with Claire.
Unable to see Connor’s guilty look of alarm, his fiancée charged ahead. “I don’t consider myself promiscuous by any means. But during the shower, when it was only us girls talking, the subject of sexual compatibility surfaced. I didn’t tell anyone we haven’t…ah…done the deed. They’d never believe it. So…I’m willing to toss out my superstitions if you’ll forgo convention. Let’s be wicked and book into one of the beach hotels tonight. Janine said couples who do are more relaxed at the wedding ceremony. They aren’t so anxious to dash off to start their honeymoon. What do you say, Connor?”
He couldn’t say anything. His conscience played havoc with his mind. In the end, he didn’t have to make lame excuses. Claire, typically accommodating, let him off the hook. “Okay. I won’t ask you to sacrifice your principles because I let Janine and the others override my good sense. I’ll be waiting on the porch in twenty minutes. I can tell something’s really bugging you. Just one last thing. Remember—together, we can overcome anything. That’s what people in love do.” She blew kisses into the phone, as had been her habit since he’d given her an engagement ring three months ago.
Connor heard the soft click when Claire replaced the receiver. Still, he continued to hold the buzzing instrument to his ear.
Had he ever believed that a nebulous emotion like love could conquer any and all adversity? No. He placed his faith in the logic of science. Yet he did love Claire, didn’t he?
Throughout his five-and-a-half-year hiatus on an atoll in the Pacific, he’d been too engrossed in his work to want a substitute for Mallory. The restlessness, the feeling that something was missing in his life, didn’t emerge until after he returned to Florida. Co-workers said that since he’d been out of the social circuit for so long, he needed a woman. He’d decided they were right.
Not counting the years he’d been with Mallory—for two of those they’d even lived together—he’d been pretty much a loner. Maybe that was why on the day he flipped the calendar and turned up his thirty-third birthday, he’d judged it was high time he settled down and started a family.
In areas where there were major weather centers, meteorologists formed tight-knit communities. Claire, an operational weather-support person and part-time forecaster, fit in his world. Short and blond, she looked nothing like Mallory Forrest, who was tall, willowy and brunette. Somehow, he and Claire hit it off. For eight months, they’d dated exclusively. And why not? From day one, she’d bent over backward to please him.
In that aspect, Connor realized, Claire was like Mallory. Was that why he’d proposed marriage so fast? Hanging up the phone, he planted his elbows on the desk, buried his face in his hands and rubbed away a fine tension that tightened the skin around his mouth. Damn, if he didn’t love Claire for herself, he was a class-A asshole.
Figuring he’d better leave if he was meeting Claire in twenty minutes, he tucked the pictures of his daughter and the report about her condition into an envelope to take along, then dug out his car keys. He would lay this newest development in his life on the table and let Claire decide if she still wanted to hook up with a guy who had a shady past.
As usual, Claire was ready. And, also as usual, she looked immaculate. That always amazed Connor about her. Her pale hair never had a strand out of place. Her blouses matched whatever else she wore, whether skirt or pants. Her makeup and nail polish were perfectly applied.
Connor complimented her appearance as he helped her into the front seat. She linked her hands tightly atop her purse, frowning worriedly.
He hauled in a deep breath, walked around the car and climbed back into the driver’s seat. Guessing it was going to be a silent ride, Connor selected one of Claire’s favorite tapes, popping it into the player before entering into traffic. The soft piano strains of “On My Own,” a tune from Les Miserables, floated from the back speakers.
“Balmy night,” Connor remarked, thinking the weather a safe topic.
Claire nodded but kept her eyes ahead as she twisted her engagement ring around and around her finger.
“Sorry I was a few minutes late. I didn’t allow for weekend traffic.”
“Connor, if you aren’t going to tell me why we need this impromptu talk, just hush. Please.” Claire unclasped her hands and massaged her neck. “If I’d known we were going to do this, I wouldn’t have had so much of the champagne Lauren brought.”
“If you hadn’t phoned me, Claire, I wouldn’t have bothered you until morning.”
“No. No.” She let her hands fall. “I have a hunch it’s something we need to settle tonight.”
Connor battled a sick feeling in his stomach. He probably should’ve asked Mallory more questions, particularly as he didn’t have any idea why she’d never informed him she was pregnant in the first place. But maybe the details didn’t matter. Claire was right; they needed to hash out the primary issue tonight.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the neon sign of the café looming up on his right. Connor parked in a lot behind the building, glad to see it was sparsely populated. By ten-thirty or so, after the movie houses let out, his favorite local hangout would get crowded. He’d counted on business being slow at this hour.
“If the back-corner booth is available, let’s take it,” he said, locking the car after helping Claire out. “Or any booth that offers privacy.”
Again she said nothing. Not that Connor blamed her. Paul shouldn’t have shot his mouth off. And yet it certainly saved him having to dive headlong into deep water.
The back booth was vacant. Connor waited until the waitress had delivered water and two cups of black coffee before he eased the envelope from his jacket. He set it unopened on the table between them, studying Claire with a troubled expression.
“I’m not going to like this, am I?” she finally whispered.
He shook his head, his own pain rising. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he said, turning his coffee cup around in its saucer several times.
Claire ran a forefinger along the rim of hers. Neither of them seemed inclined to test the dark, steamy brew, although both of them loved chicory coffee. “At the beginning is probably best,” she said reluctantly.
Connor shifted one hip, slumping sideways a little. “There’s this woman I used to be best friends with. Mallory Forrest. She, uh, we met here in Miami at a science camp when I was a junior and she was a sophomore in high school. We both lived in Tallahassee. She attended an exclusive private school. I went to public.” His voice faded, as Connor recollected that long-ago first encounter. Mallory, the beautiful dynamo who outclassed everyone at that camp, and forever after.
Noting Claire’s stony expression, Connor cleared his throat. “Given the disparity in our backgrounds, that camp should have been the beginning and end of our friendship. Her dad was a prominent attorney. A year or so later, Bradford Forrest was elected to the state senate. He’s still there. Mallory’s mom headed the state’s volunteer hurricane-relief program. It was through Mallory that I got involved in relief work. I told you my mother died, and we lost most of what we owned in a hurricane the year I was a senior. Disaster insurance on mobile homes was too expensive, and after the hurricane, my application for government relief got bogged down in the system. Mallory found out. She tracked me down in the aftermath. I don’t really know how she did everything she did. Like helping me arrange a funeral. Wangling me a place to stay, and later, a full-tuition scholarship to FSU. At the time, Mallory believed in me more than I did. She was convinced I could invent a system for early detection of hurricanes even though I wasn’t nearly as sure about my abilities. I…uh…always felt in awe of her, but one step behind, too, if you know what I mean.”
Connor saw the light dawn in Claire’s eyes.
“You’re going to tell me this woman suddenly appeared again, aren’t you? That she…she…wants you back.”
Wanting to save Claire as much pain as possible, he decided to bypass everything that had happened between him and Mallory at college and during his grad-school years. Though his hands were far from steady, he pulled open the envelope flap and dumped out the pictures and the report Mallory had brought him. “She doesn’t want me back, Claire. She came to tell me I’d fathered a child. Her child.”
Claire turned chalk-white. “Obviously she’s lying. Why, you spent almost six years alone, for all intents and purpose, on a remote island.”
He nodded miserably. “My rationale, exactly. But this little girl—named Lydia after my mother, by the way—is six now. There’s no mistaking she’s mine, Claire. These baby pictures could be me at the same age.”
Claire pressed her lips together tight, then poked gingerly through the photos until she came to the report. “What’s this? Proof of some kind? A demand for child support? What precisely does this woman want from you, Connor?”
“A kidney,” he said, straightening again. He lifted the cup of now-cold coffee to his lips and took a healthy swig, grimacing as he did so.
“This is hardly the time to crack jokes,” Claire snapped.
“I’m not joking. Read the paper. It’s from a Tallahassee doctor. A detailed explanation of my daughter’s condition, and the subsequent need for me to be tested as a possible organ donor.”
“Why you, Connor? Why can’t her mother give her a kidney?”
Connor rolled his head around his shoulders, failing to relieve the tight muscles in his neck and back. “The report says Mallory did give one of her kidneys eight months ago. Lydia’s body started rejecting the organ last month. Recently that kidney had to be removed.”
Claire picked up and read the report. Once she reached the end, she folded it neatly and glanced past him, fiddling with her cup. “It’s a unique way to get a man back, I have to admit.”
Connor stirred, angry at Claire for the first time since they’d met. It was the most cutting thing he’d ever heard her say. “This isn’t about my renewing a relationship with Mallory. In fact, the last thing she said before she left was that I’d deal exclusively with Dr. Dahl, who wrote the report. Mallory said there’d be no reason for my path and hers to cross again. For all I know, she may be married.”
Claire stared at him. “You didn’t ask? Come on, Connor, what did you talk about after she broke up your bachelor party? She did, didn’t she? Break it up? That’s why Paul was so rattled.”
“Yes. Although Paul was already rattled because he mistook Mallory for an exotic dancer he and Greg hired to perform at the party.”
“A stripper?”
Connor shrugged. “I can’t say. The party didn’t progress that far. The dancer showed up as I was trying to throw Mallory out.”
“Really? You were going to throw her out?”
“Yes. Before she shoved one of those baby pictures into my hands and announced in front of everyone that she and I had a child together.”
Claire fingered the report. “According to this, the mother’s dad and brother have been ruled out as potential donors. It doesn’t mention her mom. You said she headed up the state’s hurricane-relief volunteers.”
“Beatrice. Yeah. There was never any love lost between us. She wanted Mallory to marry an up-and-coming lawyer. She referred to me as that storm-chaser. Bea looked on me as a stray her daughter had rescued from the slums. I can’t tell you why she’s not a candidate. Her name only came up in passing today, when Mallory told me she named Lydia after both our mothers. Lydia Beatrice. She said everyone calls her Liddy Bea.”
“This is really happening, isn’t it,” Claire declared unhappily. “You have a child with another woman.”
Connor reached across the table and tried to take her hand, but she deflected him so fast, she bumped her cup and spilled coffee all over. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, using his napkin to soak it up while he moved Lydia’s pictures out of harm’s way. “I’d give anything for us not to be having this conversation. But, frankly, I doubt the news comes as any greater shock to you than it did to me. I haven’t seen or heard from Mallory Forrest since the night before I left Florida, headed for that remote island.” He thought it was probably wisest not to mention that he’d tried desperately—and unsuccessfully—to contact Mallory.
“Did you fight over your going away? Is that why you split up?”
A perplexed frown settled between his eyebrows. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. She seemed happy I’d gotten the grant. Honestly, Claire, seven years is a long time to recall a specific conversation.” Connor didn’t see any need to describe his and Mallory’s final parting. She’d cooked his favorite meal to celebrate the fact that he’d received his master’s. At the ceremony, a courier had brought him news of the grant.
What he hadn’t told Claire was that Mallory had wanted to go live in Hawaii. He informed her it’d be a bad idea to pack in what she had in Florida and trek halfway around the world on the off chance he’d see her a couple of times a year when or if he got breaks. She’d burst into tears and stormed out. A week later, after he realized how terribly he missed her, he’d written Mallory a letter, telling her he’d changed his mind. But she didn’t write back. In fact, she didn’t answer a single one of his letters. He’d poured out his heart in them, talking about love and marriage and the future. It was plain to see she hadn’t spent any time pining away for him.
“I don’t know, Connor. This all seems so ludicrous. So unreal. Like something out of a daytime soap.”
The waitress came by with a pot of hot coffee. “Oh, my. Didn’t your coffee taste right?” she asked.
“I’m afraid we let it get cold.” Connor slid their cups to the edge of the table. “Would it be an imposition to have you dump these and pour fresh?”
“Not at all. I would’ve come by earlier, but you two seemed engrossed.”
“Thank you” was Connor’s only comment. Claire said nothing. However, she was the first to sip from the new coffee when it arrived.
“What are your intentions toward this child?” she ventured, during a moment when Connor seemed content to let silence reign.
“Intentions? What do you mean? This is all brand-new to me, Claire. I haven’t made any concrete plans. But I don’t see how I can ignore the situation, do you?”
“No. No, of course not. She’s an innocent, regardless of what went on between you and her mother.”
“Nothing went on between us—not what you’re implying when you use that tone, Claire. We were best friends who drifted into a…a…well, when I began work on my master’s, Mallory got a job at a PR firm near the campus. We shared an apartment. In the beginning, it was to save money….”
“You lived with that woman?” Claire’s voice rose. “And we’re engaged, yet we’ve never spent a whole night together? Boy, do I feel like a fool, bragging to my friends about what a perfect gentleman you are.”
Connor swore under his breath. “I like to think I am a gentleman, Claire. I asked you to be my wife. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“I don’t know anymore. Right now I’m confused, Connor. I’ve built this image of you in my mind. Now I find out you’re not that person.”
“I’m exactly the same man you’ve been dating since we met. This all happened in another life. Which doesn’t alter the fact that I have obligations toward a child I unknowingly helped bring into this world.”
Claire looked completely unhappy as she murmured, “You make it sound so logical. I don’t want to lose you, Connor. But neither am I ready to go into marriage with this hanging over our heads.”
He forced her to connect with his eyes. “What’s your solution, then?”
“I think we should postpone the wedding.”
“All right. That shouldn’t be a monumental task, since we planned such a small gathering. I’ll phone half our guest list tomorrow. What excuse shall we give people?”
“Much as I dislike being the subject of gossip, Paul and Greg and half the guys we work with were at your bachelor party and heard this woman… Mallory,” she said, choking out the name. “Don’t you figure we owe our friends the truth?”
“I do, yes. But I’ll say whatever you want, to save you embarrassment.”
“It’s too late for that, Connor. I do have one request, however.”
“If I can grant it, you know I will.”
“Like I said, at the moment I’m not sure of anything where you’re concerned. What I’d like to do is go with you to Tallahassee. You’re planning to consult this doctor in person, I assume.”
“I…uh…yes. I’ll take the tests. Mallory indicated she’d arrange with the hospital for me to visit Liddy. I have to see her, Claire.”
“Am I welcome?”
Connor felt the tension shrouding her question. He shouldn’t have hesitated, but he felt caught in a vise without fully knowing why. “Sure. No problem. We’ll ask this Dr. Dahl whether or not we should both visit Lydia. I’ll need a few days to set up an appointment.”
“Will you make the flight arrangements, or shall I?”
“I’ll do it. This is my—” he didn’t want to call his daughter a problem or a mistake, so he settled on a more neutral word “—my responsibility.”
“All right. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go home now. You can come over around eleven tomorrow. That’ll give me a chance to warn my parents and also the minister before we begin phoning guests.”
“I repeat, I’m so sorry, Claire.”
She rose without a word. While he paid the bill, she walked out to the car.
If possible, the ride back to her cottage was more strained than the trip to the café had been. Both of them remained locked in private misery. Neither took the initiative of switching on the music that had previously softened the strain.
“Don’t bother getting out,” Claire said, when Connor stopped in front of her house. He did, anyway, and walked her to the door as was his habit. He bent to kiss her good-night, but she turned her head so that his lips only grazed her hair. Claire hurried inside, leaving him standing on a pitch-black porch.
Burying his hands in his pants pockets, Connor wandered slowly back to his car. He couldn’t blame Claire for how she felt. He’d hit her with a hell of a mess. But he’d told the truth when he said it was as great a shock to him.

CHAPTER THREE
“DO I LOOK ALL RIGHT?”
Connor shifted his eyes from a blueprint he’d pulled from his briefcase to Claire, who sat next to him on the commuter plane. “Great. You always look great.”
She fussed with a silk scarf nailed to the lapel of her suit by a brooch. Connor recognized it as the art deco pin he’d given her for her birthday. A gold cloud, crossed by a diamond-studded lightning bolt. He’d seen it in the window of a jewelry store and had hoped that Claire would appreciate the significance. “Hey, you’re wearing the pin.”
“Yes. So if any of your old friends in Tallahassee remark on it, I can point out your generosity.” Her fingers traced the sparkling stones. “What type of gifts did you used to buy Mallory?”
Connor’s brows drew in. “None. I could rarely spare a dime in those days.”
“Oh.” She leaned close and slid her arm through Connor’s.
He eyed her sideways. “Claire, this trip isn’t about Mallory. It has to do with a sick child who didn’t ask to come into this world. A child I helped create. That’s as hard for me to comprehend as it is for you.”
“I doubt that,” she murmured. “My mother, Lauren and Janine all took pretty pointed shots at your obvious switch in principles. They asked how you could claim to love me and never try to get me into bed when it’s obvious you had unprotected sex with another woman. Lauren said maybe we should both get blood tests.”
“Do we have to discuss this in public?” Connor flushed and glanced around surreptitiously. “And we never had unprotected sex,” he whispered. “Something must have happened.”
“Obviously!” Claire arched a penciled eyebrow. “Or maybe it’s not your kid at all.”
“You never saw baby pictures of me, Claire, because all my family albums were lost in the hurricane. Most of what we owned was lost. But if you get to see Liddy, the resemblance will be as plain to you as it is to me.”
“Maybe.” Claire pulled away, and Connor buried his nose in his work again.
Ten or so minutes passed before she nudged him. “I forgot to ask what hotel you booked us into. I should tell the station where I can be reached.”
“The two motels I contacted were completely booked. It’s Florida State University’s graduation, one of the hotel clerks told me. He said most of the better accommodations were already full.”
“Well, what are we going to do?”
“He also said there are always cancellations. And apparently hotels usually keep rooms in reserve for drop-ins. It’ll be okay, Claire. I didn’t have time to do an extensive search, but we can check some places when we arrive. Someone will have a couple of free rooms.”
“Two? Not just one?”
“Claire, if you’re questioning my commitment, sleeping together will only muddy the waters even more. Let’s get this ordeal behind us, then we’ll sit down and work through any remaining doubts before we reschedule the wedding.”
“Why are you always so damned logical, Connor? Haven’t you ever done anything on pure impulse?”
A period in his life when Mallory had drawn him into some pretty wacky, spur-of-the-moment outings flashed past Connor’s eyes. Images he quickly erased. “Not for a long time,” he said in all seriousness. “What you see is what you get, Claire. I hope you understand this is who you’d be marrying.”
She turned to stare out the window. “I thought I knew you.” She swung back. “Surely you realize that the curve you threw me two nights before my wedding—a day I’ve dreamed about since I was fourteen—would upset any woman? I don’t think I’m being unreasonable, Connor.”
“No. I just think you’re forgetting that the same curveball came out of left field and hit me, too.”
The plane took a decided dip. The stewardess announced their descent into Tallahassee, noting they were half an hour late. Connor returned the blueprint to his briefcase and placed the case under the seat in front of him. It wasn’t lost on him, however, that Claire neither agreed nor disagreed with his statement.
Collecting both their bags from the overhead bin, Connor stepped aside and let her lead the way off the plane.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked, seeming not to notice that he juggled her suitcase, cosmetic case, his duffel bag and a briefcase, while her hands were free.
With difficulty, he glanced at his watch. “My appointment with Dr. Dahl starts in twenty minutes. He’s sandwiched me in between a speech he had to give at the U and an afternoon surgery. We’ll have to go directly to his office instead of phoning hotels from here.”
“Go to the clinic with our bags? We’ll look like a couple of vagabonds.”
“Just me. I’m wearing jeans. You look like a million bucks, as usual. Come on,” he said, motioning over her head to one of the waiting cabdrivers.
Once he’d given the driver the address and they’d settled into the back seat, Connor took Claire’s hand. “It’ll be fine. We won’t see a soul who knows us or who’ll likely ever see us again. I’ll ask the clinic receptionist if you can use their phone book along with my cell phone to locate rooms. Cost is no object,” he added, having learned early on that Claire liked everything first-class.
“Really?” She perked up at that. “Okay, but you may be sorry. I may find an indecently expensive resort. I mean, if the doctor’s able to schedule your tests for tomorrow, I’d rather sit by a pool than hang out in some hospital waiting room.”
“Can they do blood tests on demand?”
“You mean you might have to come back a second time?”
“Possibly. I’m operating in the dark, too, Claire. I’ve never met anyone who’s donated an organ. Well, except for Mallory, who gave Liddy a kidney. I should have questioned her more, I guess.”
“That’s all right, Connor. I’m sure the doctor will have all the information you need in order to make an informed decision.”
He smiled. Not his best effort. He’d managed to avoid hospitals since his mother died in one during emergency surgery, but even the thought of voluntarily allowing a surgeon to cut out a vital organ left Connor feeling edgy. Oh, he’d get over it, he supposed. No “supposed” about it. This was his child. He’d get over it.
What he’d have a harder time getting past, he feared, was the fact that Mallory had kept from him the news that she’d borne his baby. Anytime he thought about that, his blood boiled.
The cab swung into a circular drive, stopping under a brick portico. A profusion of greenery and blooming flowers flanked glass doors. “This is a clinic,” the driver said in accented English. “You take your bags inside?”
Claire jammed an elbow in Connor’s side. “See? He thinks we’re tacky.”
Connor peeled off the fare plus a generous tip. “We’ll be going to a hotel after we’re done. I’ll request your cab number.”
The driver smiled and nodded happily.
Connor manhandled the bags inside, discreetly depositing them behind a huge potted fern. There was only one other patron in the posh waiting room, a woman who had her nose stuck in a book. She didn’t glance up.
Claire took a seat. She pawed through magazines spread out on a glass-topped table. Connor approached a bank of windows. One slid open to reveal an elegant woman with smooth, coffee-colored skin. “Dr. O’Rourke, I presume?”
“Connor, please. I hope I didn’t keep Dr. Dahl waiting. Our plane was late.”
She smiled. “When aren’t they? Or other forms of transport, for that matter? The doctor’s with someone else—a last-minute meeting. If you’ll fill out this paperwork,” she said, handing Connor a clipboard with a sheaf of documents, “we’ll have you hooked up with Dr. Dahl in no time.”
Connor felt a door breeze open behind the receptionist and heard the jovial rumble of male voices.
“I believe he’s concluded his business,” the receptionist murmured. “You’ll have to write faster than I anticipated.”
In spite of her warning, Connor ignored the clipboard he held. “Due to FSU’s graduation, I wasn’t able to book a hotel,” he said. “I was told to check for possible cancellations when I arrived. I wonder if you can spare a phone book? Claire, my fiancée, will call around while I see the doctor.”
A door situated on Connor’s left flew open. A booming voice exclaimed, “Connor? Connor O’Rourke? Fredric said you had an appointment, but what’s this about a fiancée? Mallory didn’t mention you were engaged.” Bradford Forrest’s dark eyes canvassed the room. “Is that the little lady? Come, introduce us.”
Connor was too stunned at seeing Mallory’s father to act on his demand.
And Claire, although she rose, bristled at being called a little lady. She was petite compared to the bulk of Senator Forrest, however. Also compared to Connor, who topped six-two in his stocking feet.
Even Bradford Forrest, bear of a man that he was, had to reach up to clap Connor’s shoulder. “You’ve filled out since I last saw you, my boy. That was when? At Mallory’s graduation?”
“Yes, sir,” Connor said, recovering. “Claire, meet Senator Forrest.” At one time, Connor had been plenty intimidated by Mallory’s folks. Now he felt on a more equal footing with the senator, who’d aged.
Brad headed for Claire, saying to Connor, “I read good things about you in the Florida Business Review. You’ve done all right for yourself. Let me say how grateful I am that you’ve consented to set aside important work in Miami to come here for Liddy Bea’s sake. Gotta say, I did my damnedest to talk Mallory out of contacting you. To be perfectly honest, I expected you to dodge responsibility.”
Connor stiffened at that. “You and Mrs. Forrest always had a mistakenly low opinion of me, Senator.” Connor’s earlier congenial manner downshifted noticeably.
Bradford shrugged. “I was too busy back then to get to know Mark or Mallory’s friends. And Beatrice, rest her soul, loved them both to distraction. Some say she spoiled them. Really, she wanted the best life had to offer for our kids.”
Connor laid a hand on Claire’s arm. His bluster faded a bit. “I didn’t know you’d lost your wife. I’m sorry.”
“Bea went rather quickly after being diagnosed with a neuroblastoma. Under a year. We…the family has weathered some rough patches, what with the discovery of Liddy Bea’s polycystic kidneys, and now her latest downward spiral.”
“And Mark? How’s he?”
“Still career navy, stationed at Pensacola. He pops in and out. Not often enough, considering he keeps an apartment in town and a boat docked down on the Wakulla. But here we are discussing old times, leaving a beautiful woman in the dark.”
Claire edged closer to Connor, appearing to look on the senator with somewhat more favor after his last remark.
The receptionist glided up to the trio, who had yet to complete introductions. The woman passed Connor a thick telephone book. “I’ve marked the lodgings section with a paper clip. I hope you can find something. I saw on TV that FSU is graduating record numbers this semester.”
“What’s this?” Brad growled. “You two need a place to stay? Nonsense. I insist you stay with me. The old place has twelve bedrooms, eight of which have private baths. When Beatrice was alive, most of ’em were full every weekend.” He shook his head sadly. “Every year at tax time, I say I’m going to downsize. But the house holds so many good memories of Bea…. I know, I know—you wouldn’t think I’d be a sentimental old fool. Don’t tell anyone who sits on my senate subcommittees, or I’ll deny every word.”
Everyone laughed, except Claire. She was trying to catch Connor’s eye.
“Anyhow, I won’t take no for an answer.” Brad gestured to the receptionist. “Here, Rhonda, Connor doesn’t need the phone book. He and Claire will be my guests for as long as Fredric needs Connor in town.”
The senator relieved Connor of the book and replaced it with a business card he extracted from his jacket pocket. “Ring the second number after you’re finished here. My driver will bring the car around.”
Claire, standing fully behind the senator, shook her head vigorously at Connor.
“Senator, this is very kind of you,” Connor began. “But we really can’t impose.”
Claire relaxed, until Dr. Dahl opened the door to say gruffly, “What’s the delay, Rhonda? Where’s O’Rourke? I’m due in surgery at Forrest Memorial in fifty minutes.”
“Sorry, Fredric.” Bradford stepped out to where Dahl could see him. “I’m afraid I detained them. Connor’s going to be staying at Forrest House. That way, he’ll have my car at his disposal if and when you need him. I’m on my way to the hospital to look in on Liddy Bea. Shall I swing past surgery and tell them you’ll be late?”
“Yes, thanks, Brad. Tell them to delay preop for fifteen minutes.”
Connor, not fully comprehending how disgruntled Claire was, turned toward the doctor. “Dr. Dahl, our plane landed late. I haven’t even begun to fill out your paperwork. If rescheduling my appointment is more convenient, I’ll take these with me. That’ll give us a chance to locate lodging. There’s really no need to put Senator Forrest out.”
“Put me out? On the contrary. In fact, if Claire doesn’t mind my stealing you away for an hour or so, I’d like to discuss the work you’re doing on early hurricane detection. Look, I’ll phone my housekeeper right now and have Marta prepare a room.” He proceeded to pull out his cell phone and do just that.
Dr. Dahl moved into the waiting room. Smiling, he grasped Connor’s elbow. “What Brad really wants to learn is who dropped the ball and let you go to Miami’s weather center instead of ours. I guess, technically speaking, I should be referring to you as Dr. O’Rourke, should I not?”
“No, please. Only in a work environment do I use Dr.”
“Well, it’s your choice. Come, then, Connor, we’ll fill in your chart as we go. Today is going to be nothing more than me explaining what’s entailed in donating a kidney, should your tests be positive. I’ll talk a little about the tests themselves, and answer your questions. Have you visited Liddy Bea yet?”
“No.” Connor glanced uneasily back at Claire, whom he’d left more or less on her own to deal with the senator. “Mallory said she’d arrange with the hospital to give me access. I, uh, planned to ask what’s appropriate to say—about who I am. And also, if possible, I’d like my fiancée to meet Lydia. The news that I had a daughter came as a shock to us both. Our wedding was scheduled for this past Sunday. We, uh, postponed the ceremony.”
Sympathy and understanding entered the doctor’s eyes. “It speaks well for you and your fiancée that you’re here. I told Mallory it’d be best for now if Liddy Bea thinks you’re an old friend of her mother’s. If I’d known you were engaged, we could have included your fiancée in today’s appointment. I’ll give you literature to take back to her.”
“She’s here. That’s Claire with the senator. Claire Dupree.” Connor left the doctor and crossed the reception area to retrieve their luggage.
Dr. Dahl walked over and greeted Claire. “Please, you two come to my office. And Brad,” he added, “since they’d both like to visit Liddy, will you clear that with Mallory? Is it possible to have Davis collect them at the hospital? Oh, I see they have luggage.” He stared at the items now grouped at Connor’s feet. “It’d free them considerably, Brad, if you sent their bags with Davis now.”
No sooner had the suggestion been made than it happened. Bradford Forrest stepped to the door and wiggled two fingers. A man in a dark blue uniform materialized to whisk away Connor and Claire’s bags.
Connor knew that if he felt steamrollered, Claire must be feeling it twice as much. But he had no time to make amends. Rhonda, Dahl’s receptionist, handed the doctor a message as she ushered Claire into the clinic’s inner sanctum.
Gazing helplessly toward the entry where Bradford, his driver and the bags had now vanished, Connor had little recourse but to fall in behind the women.
Rhonda directed them to roomy leather chairs that flanked a large mahogany desk. She left, returning a moment later with two frosty glasses of fruit juice. Claire sat and drank from hers. Connor wiped the condensation off his glass as he made a slow circuit of the room, closely eyeing the framed certificates on the wall. A low whistle escaped his lips. “Dr. Dahl has impressive degrees, including a fellowship in the Academy of Pediatric Nephrology.”
“Sorry for the delay.” Dahl breezed into the room. “I had to phone the hospital and change medications for a patient experiencing a lot of pain.”
Connor quickly went and sat next to Claire. As Dahl launched into a description of kidney transplants, the implications of the news Mallory had brought him a few days ago well and truly sank in. At a nearby hospital lay a child who was his. She, too, had undoubtedly endured a lot of pain. The thought humbled Connor, and also renewed his anger at Mallory. His child. He should have been there for her in times of crisis.
Half an hour later, the doctor’s detailed interview wound to a close. He handed Claire and Connor packets containing diagrams and brochures. “You both have that dazed expression, which tells me I’ve nattered on too long. Basically, everything I’ve discussed is covered in the packet. You’ll want to study the material and discuss the impact such a surgery will have on your lives. I’m sure questions will arise. I or my staff will answer them as forthrightly as possible.”
“Thanks,” Connor said, getting to his feet. “Perhaps after I visit my daughter, all of this will make perfect sense.”
Claire leafed through the pages. She pulled out one that bore the letterhead of the clinic’s legal counsel. It absolved staff in cases where complications developed as a result of the surgery. “What, exactly, is Connor’s legal obligation to give this child one of his kidneys?”
Dahl stroked his chin. “Probably none at the moment, since Liddy’s mother withheld news of her birth. If Connor walks away, Mallory has the right to petition the court and ask a judge to order paternity tests. Once paternity’s established, it would be up to a judge to rule whether or not to force Connor to take the next steps. I’m obliged to tell you that in my twenty-plus years in the field, I’ve never known a judge to force anyone to give up an organ involuntarily.”
“You said she’s on dialysis,” Connor said. “How long can she live on that?”
“Well, under normal circumstances, a patient can exist until we find a donor from the national donor list. However, Liddy’s had a great deal of trouble with veins collapsing around her cannula. Those have resulted in numerous infections.”
“Still, you’re saying she’s not in imminent danger of dying without Connor’s kidney?” This came from Claire.
“I can tell you that with an operating kidney, Liddy’s quality of life will dramatically improve. I wouldn’t presume to predict anyone’s life span. Any one of us could walk out of here today and be wiped out by a drunk driver.” The doctor drew back his sleeve, exposing his watch. “If either of you think of other questions, I’ll answer them en route to the hospital. I must say, I’d hoped you were committed to the idea of being a donor, Connor.”
Connor folded his papers and stepped aside to let the doctor pass. “I flew here from Miami to be tested, Doctor. What more do you need in the way of a commitment?”
Dahl’s steps slowed. A smile lit his careworn features. The smile faded as Claire grabbed Connor’s arm. “I, um, think you’re agreeing far too hastily. This affects both of us, Connor. As the doctor said, we need to discuss the pros and cons.”
“What cons? The pro’s a given. The quality of Liddy’s life improves.”
Claire pursed her lips. “Shouldn’t we fully explore all the ramifications to you? In private,” she stressed, opening the door through which Rhonda had led them earlier.
“We’ll use the back entrance if you’re riding with me,” Dr. Dahl said.
“That’s another thing,” Claire murmured. “Will we be able to talk freely at the senator’s? Clearly, it’s in his best interests to convince you to have the surgery, Connor.”
Now Connor frowned. “As our bags are there, and since the senator’s inconvenienced his entire household on our behalf, we have to accept his hospitality for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll make other arrangements. Surely not everyone who came for the graduation will stay on once the ceremony’s over.”
Fredric Dahl stripped off his white medical coat and donned a suit jacket. After informing his office staff where they could reach him for the next few hours, he escorted Connor and Claire out to his roomy Mercedes. “Forrest House is like a small hotel,” he told Claire, once he had the air-conditioning cooling the car’s interior. “Were you ever at the mansion?” Dahl asked Connor.
“Inside? Once. For Mallory’s sixteenth birthday party. I’d been living out of my car. Wrinkled as I was, I didn’t make a very good impression on Mrs. Forrest. Mallory soon realized her mother and I mixed like oil and water.”
“Why on earth were you living out of your car?” Dahl seemed truly horrified.
Connor explained briefly about losing his mother and his home to a devastating hurricane. “I bounced back and forth between friends during the last half of my junior year. Finally a few parents caught on to the fact that I was more or less homeless. They wanted to notify the authorities. I’d known kids in bad foster situations, so I didn’t want any part of it. I swore my buddies to secrecy and got fairly adept at living in the old Chevy. Until Mallory heard about it. She talked a family friend into giving me a job as his part-time gardener. The job came with quarters over his garage. I lived there until I got my initial degree from FSU.” He broke off guiltily, remembering again how much he owed Mallory.
“Who’d have thought gardening would provide enough money for tuition.”
“It didn’t,” Connor admitted. “Again thanks to Mallory, a local organization awarded me a full scholarship to the meteorology program.”
“A lot of people have fallen prey to Mallory’s silver tongue. You probably know she’s the PR department’s fund-raiser at Forrest Memorial. According to our chief administrator, her fund-raising is single-handedly responsible for all the perks we’ve enjoyed these past five years. We’re lucky Dr. Robinson discovered her haunting the hospital halls when Bea Forrest was so ill. Alec now says it’s the best move he ever made. He calls Mallory our fund-raising goddess.”
Connor noticed that Claire grew stonier with each new mention of Mallory’s name. While he might like to hear more about what Mallory had done in the years since they’d parted—mostly to understand why she’d felt a need to hide the birth of their daughter from him—he also realized how inconsiderate it was to constantly throw Mallory’s name in Claire’s face.
“Why don’t you tell us a little about Liddy Bea, Dr. Dahl? Is she well enough to play with toys? I didn’t think to bring a gift, but I’m sure the hospital has a shop.”
“Ah. You know the way to that child’s heart.” The doctor grinned. “Brad’s constantly trying to lavish toys on her, but Mallory has managed to rein him in. She’s raised a delightful child. Liddy Bea is bright, and funny and articulate beyond her years. I’m warning you—she’ll steal your heart.”
Connor caught himself smiling, until he glanced across at Claire and sobered. “I’m not aiming to compete with her grandfather. I was just thinking of a small icebreaker, maybe a stuffed animal. Something soft and cuddly.”
“Our gift shop stocks a nice selection. I don’t think you can go wrong with books or huggables. We don’t try to keep our pediatric rooms clutter-free. Children do better in a homey atmosphere.” Dahl swung into a drive that wound through a parklike setting of well-tended flower beds. Brick walkways crisscrossed lush green lawns. Every now and then they passed statuary of elves and fairies, strategically tucked beneath cypresses and palms.
“Practicing at this hospital doesn’t look like hardship duty,” Connor murmured.
“It’s privately endowed. Generously so by men like the senator. But Forrest Memorial is also a top-notch teaching facility. Unlike other private hospitals, we take indigent cases. And anyone admitted here receives the best medicine has to offer.”
“So, having Liddy in and out of here hasn’t strapped Mallory financially?” Connor asked the question of Fredric Dahl, but Claire jumped in with an answer.
“Are you kidding, Connor? Read the plaque. The name of the place is Forrest Memorial. Daddy endows it. I’m sure he got Mallory her cushy job. I’d ask if the word nepotism rings a bell, but isn’t that a foregone conclusion?”
Connor disliked these jabs Claire was making. Dr. Dahl mildly rebuked her. “Bradford may exert influence when it comes to building additions and hiring doctors. He doesn’t meddle in support staff. He didn’t want Mallory to work. In the end, he couldn’t stop her. As for the service his family gets, they pay full freight. Mallory’s only perk is the decent insurance package all hospital employees receive. She’s refused government benefits for Liddy because she said there are patients in far greater need. You’re mistaken if you think this has been easy on her.”
Connor thought it was fortunate they’d reached the parking space marked with Dr. Dahl’s name. He’d plainly been dreaming when he hoped Claire wouldn’t be jealous of Mallory. It was a side of Claire he’d rarely seen. There’d been the occasional glimpse, but never enough to instill serious doubt. Nervous though he was at the prospect of meeting his daughter for the first time, he could do little but squeeze Claire’s knee reassuringly. “We won’t stay long, this visit,” he said, hoping to set her mind at ease. “Lydia doesn’t know me, and I don’t know her.”
“Then what’s the point in coming?” Claire demanded.
Dr. Dahl exited the car and opened Claire’s door, while Connor scrambled out his side.
“Please don’t argue like this in front of Liddy Bea,” Dahl cautioned. “She’s recovering nicely from last week’s surgery. Being only six, she may not totally comprehend the significance of what it means to have lost her donor kidney. All the same, her emotions are fragile.”
Connor clasped Claire’s hand. “This situation has us all stressed. Claire and I will be mindful of what we say, won’t we, darling?”
She blinked several times. When she opened her eyes, they were filmy. Still, she nodded. “I am upset. I’ll let Connor do the talking.”
That seemed to satisfy Dr. Dahl. He escorted the couple to the lobby. After pointing out the gift shop, he gave them Lydia’s floor and room number. “Connor, nice meeting you. Understand, my hands are tied until you phone my office and give the go-ahead to schedule preliminary tests.”
“Claire and I will talk tonight. I’ll phone your office tomorrow.”
“Good. Enjoy your visit with Liddy Bea. She’s a normal six-year-old in every way except for her nonfunctional kidneys. Oh, and she’s a regular authority when it comes to Blue’s Clues, and Hello Kitty.”
When Connor was obviously stumped by that, Dahl laughed. “Blue is a cartoon dog. Hello Kitty is a cat logo that appears on almost every type of little-girl merchandise imaginable. Liddy Bea loves books and videos, too.”
“Thanks,” Connor called as the doctor quickened his pace and left them.
Claire entered the gift shop first. She picked up a white bear sprouting angel wings and a glittery halo. Its hard body was hidden by layers of a frothy net covered in glitter.
Connor reached for a floppy-eared pink elephant. “Squeeze this,” he told Claire. “He’s huggable, don’t you think?”
“Okay if she was three. First-graders are more sophisticated. Angels are the in thing, Connor. I recommend buying this.”
He continued to eye the elephant he put back on the shelf.
“Trust me. My cousin Pam has a daughter who’s seven. Her room is filled with angel junk.”
“What do I know about little girls?” Taking the angel bear to the counter, Connor paid for it and asked the cashier to remove the price. “We’re delivering this to someone upstairs.”
Purchase complete, they walked to the elevator and rode upstairs. The closer they came to Liddy’s room, the more Connor hung back. Eventually they reached her half-shut door. “Show time,” he muttered, taking a deep breath. Pinning on a nervous smile, he stepped into his daughter’s room.
A pixielike child with russet Shirley Temple curls reclined on a bed framed by a battery of beeping monitors. She gazed at him from eyes exactly like the ones that stared back at him each morning from his bathroom mirror. Connor’s stomach heaved, and something seemed to tear inside his chest. He wanted to burn this image into his brain—and then run like hell.
Instead, he moved closer to the bed. Up to now, he’d thought his most important contribution to mankind was his hurricane-detection system. How wrong he was. This beautiful child made every other accomplishment pale in significance. She looked part imp, part angel, with an unruly mop of dark curls bobbing around a swollen face. Dr. Dahl had warned them Liddy would appear puffy from having returned to steroids. To Connor, she looked absolutely perfect.
The child stared openly back at him, her lips quirked in a slightly crooked smile also reminiscent of his own. The coy way she cocked her head reminded him of a younger Mallory. As his child’s features coalesced before him, Connor’s memory flew back to the day he’d first met Liddy Bea’s mother.
Suddenly, another thought crowded in, refueling his anger at her for keeping his daughter a secret from him for six long years of her life—and nearly seven of his. He’d never hear Liddy’s first coo. Never see her crawl, or take that all-important first step. He’d missed her first words. So many milestones gone. Lost to him forever. And why? Why had Mallory cut him out?
Liddy rose on one elbow. Her other arm was taped to an IV drip. “Hi. I’m Lydia Beatrice Forrest. I don’t know you, so you’ve probably got the wrong room. I can ring a nurse. She’ll help you find where you want to be.”
Connor rallied. “Thanks. Actually, uh…we came to see you. I’m Connor and this is Claire. I’m an…old friend of your mom’s. I’ve been away a long time, but I’m back visiting Tallahassee. Your grandpa said you could probably use some company. So here we are,” he finished, sounding as if he’d run a fast mile.
The child’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, good. I love comp’ny.” She settled back.
“The bear,” Claire muttered, jabbing Connor.
“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot.” He produced the bear, which Liddy instantly shied away from. “Go ahead, take it. Claire picked it out.”
Liddy frowned and shook her head until her curls danced. “Angels took my grandmas to heaven. Don’t want no angel coming for me.” The child’s own eyes brightened with tears as she tried to crowd into the far corner of her bed.
“It’s just a toy,” Claire exclaimed.
“That’s okay, honey,” Connor quickly consoled the child. “We’ll give this bear to the playroom,” he promised, handing the toy to Claire. “Anyway, it looks to me as if you have stuffed animals aplenty to bring you cheer and good luck.”
“Stuffed animals aren’t for luck, silly.” Liddy giggled and brushed at the tears lingering on her dark lashes. She pointed to a small figurine of a fat pink elephant sitting centerstage on her windowsill. “Ellie’s my good-luck charm. She’s really Mommy’s,” Liddy confided in a whisper. “I only got her ’cause I had surgery.” An oversize sigh escaped. “Ellie watches over me, but I can’t touch her. She’s special.”
Connor followed her finger to the glass figurine. Memories suddenly overwhelmed him, dumping him headlong into a long-ago afternoon when Mallory discovered that very elephant in the window of a beach shop. She had no money or credit card with her, which was unusual. But, oh, how she’d coveted that odd little piece.
The next day he’d cut class and hitchhiked back to buy it—all the while fearing it’d be gone. It wasn’t. But buying it had taken every cent he had to his name, with not one red penny left for wrap. So he’d wrapped it himself, in newsprint, for Mallory’s sixteenth birthday. Even now, heat crept up his neck as he recalled his later embarrassment. His badly wrapped gift had looked worse than tacky sitting among the expensive things Mallory’s other friends had brought to her party.
“I can’t believe Mallory saved this,” he blurted. “I gave it…uh, I mean, your mom’s had this since she was sixteen.” Extending an unsteady finger, Connor stroked the cool glass.
Liddy Bea sat up straighter, her eyes suddenly alight with interest. “Did you know my daddy?” she whispered. “Mommy said Ellie’s the only present my daddy ever gave her, ’cept for me. Isn’t that silly? Nobody can give somebody a girl.”
Claire inhaled sharply.
Connor caught himself seconds before he slipped and said that he and Liddy’s daddy were one and the same. Luckily, a nurse popped her head into the room just then. “Visiting hours are over,” she announced. “You can come back this evening.”
Thoroughly rattled, Connor uttered a hasty goodbye. Fast though it was, he still had to jog down the hall to catch Claire. “Hey! I thought we’d leave this bear at the desk. Claire, what’s your rush?” he called, puzzled that she continued walking rapidly in the direction of the elevator. Once there, she jammed the button several times.
“As if you don’t know,” she hissed when he reached her. “You lied to me. On the plane, when I asked what gifts you’d given Mallory, you said nothing. That elephant sure looks like something to me. Now I see why you wanted to buy the stuffed one. It’s some kind of family good-luck symbol, isn’t it?”
Silently, the elevator door opened. Claire wedged herself into the only space left on the packed car. Without warning, she threw the angel bear at Connor. It bounced off his chest as the doors slid closed.
Connor juggled the toy to keep it from striking the floor. “Honest, I didn’t remember buying the elephant,” he shouted—too late for explanations. He felt a sharp ache behind his eyes. Floundering momentarily, Connor turned to stare back at Liddy’s room, which was a wash of light and warmth. The unexplained pain receded, and at once his world righted itself. Granted, Claire had a lot to contend with just now. In time, they’d be able to agree on the course of action that was best for everyone.

CHAPTER FOUR
ON AN EVEN KEEL AGAIN, Connor found the stairs. He clattered down the first flight in pursuit of Claire. He couldn’t get mad at her. Poor Claire was caught in a mess of his making. His and Mallory’s. Lord knew his feelings for Mallory still ran hot and cold. One minute old memories—good memories—let him go soft on her. Then he’d think about her deception, and he’d be as angry as a man could be.
Claire was the innocent here. Her only fault lay in falling for a guy who had a shady past she knew nothing about. Hell, he hadn’t known about it himself.
As he burst from the stairwell into the lobby, Connor saw Claire pacing near an occupied public phone. Relieved to see her, he loped across the room, still holding the angel bear.
Slowed by the tense set of her shoulders, he automatically gentled his tone. “Claire?”
“That man,” she burst out. “The senator’s driver. He’s waiting for us outside. I know they took our bags, but how can you put me in a position of staying in a house with your former mistress?”
“Mistress? Mallory wasn’t my…” Connor’s brows dived together. “No, Claire—our relationship wasn’t like that.”
“Then how was it? You admit you two lived together.” Her lower lip protruded. “What should I think, Connor? Am I supposed to just accept these little surprises?”
“Listen…Mallory and I were teenage friends who grew closer during a horrible time in my life. She helped pull me through. Looking back, I think we saw each other differently. Oh, hell, I’m not doing a good job of explaining, am I?”
“Maybe I should go home to Miami now and let you work this out.”
Heaving the stuffed toy into a vacant lobby chair, Connor took Claire’s arm and herded her toward the revolving door. “Please stay. You heard what Dr. Dahl said about how huge the Forrest home is. Let’s go there, at least accept their hospitality long enough to freshen up. We’ll probably have the house to ourselves for a few hours. Once we’re rested, it’ll be easier to discuss things rationally.”
“And what will your Mallory be doing throughout our rational discussion?” Claire sniped, balking at the door.
“She’s not my Mallory. Anyway, Dr. Dahl said she works. Here at the hospital.” Glancing at his watch, Connor saw that it was five, normally quitting time. “Even if she’s finished for the day, I imagine she’d go to her own home rather than her dad’s.”
Seemingly mollified by that prospect, Claire shook off Connor’s hand and exited the hospital under her own steam. He stopped a passing nurse and asked her to donate the angel bear to one of the children’s play areas.
Outside, Brad Forrest’s driver bounded from the limousine to whip open the back door. “The senator asked me to let you know he has a cocktail party that started at four-thirty. I’ll pick him up at seven, in time for dinner at eight. Meanwhile, Marta—she runs the house—will make you comfortable.”
“Thank you. And your name is?” Connor asked politely before he slid in next to Claire.
“Davis, sir. I’ve been with the senator since he was first elected.”
“Well, Davis. Thanks for waiting. It’s been a tough trip for us, but you probably know the situation.”
“Yes, sir,” the old man murmured, gently closing Connor’s door.
“The ride across town ought to be relatively short,” Connor informed Claire. Then, because the sliding window between them and Davis remained ajar, he didn’t bring up anything personal. Instead, he drew Claire’s attention to remembered landmarks as they drove past. “Look, there’s the old capitol. Over there’s the new one. Clyde’s is a locally famous bar. By day,” he said, grinning, “state legislators conduct high-level meetings there. After hours, college students swarm the place.”
He rattled on with such fondness for the sights that Claire finally interrupted. “You miss Tallahassee, don’t you.”
Connor, who still had his nose pressed to the side window, turned to stare at her. “I haven’t thought much about it. The culture’s more Old South here than in Miami. I like that. Remember, I was born and raised here. But there are good memories, and bad.” A muscle in his jaw jumped as he studied the landscape over her shoulder. “Ah—there’s the cemetery where my mother is buried.”
“Really?” Claire spun to see it.
“Yes. I’d like to bring flowers, maybe tomorrow. It’s been a while since I’ve visited. Too long.” He craned his neck to keep the wrought-iron fence in view.
“Mrs. Forrest’s buried there, too.” Davis glanced at Connor in the rearview mirror. “The senator takes white roses by her grave every Monday, rain or shine. White roses were the missus’s favorite.”
“Then you’ll be able to direct me to a florist. I’m afraid that when I lived here before, I never had money for extras—like flowers.”
Claire gave a little snort. “Only hand-blown glass elephants. And that’s a pretty ritzy cemetery.”
“Meaning what? There’s a difference in cemeteries?”
From Claire’s dry expression, Connor figured there must be. “I…uh, didn’t purchase the plot.” He paled under his robust tan. “I guess I was too out of it at the time to notice. Mallory took charge. She handled the entire funeral.”
“She was how old? Sixteen? Obviously her parents made the arrangements.”
“No. I’m absolutely sure she got no help from them. She did it all by herself.”
“I forgot. St. Mallory.”
Connor gnawed on his upper lip, deciding silence was the safest bet. Which was okay, because Davis slowed and turned into a driveway facing a massive set of iron gates. One gate swung open when he pressed a button under the dash.
Forrest House, an antebellum, white-columned structure, commanded the entire top of a grassy knoll. Stately magnolias and spreading live oaks flanked the residence. The postcard picture it presented was grand enough to draw a gasp from Claire.
“Intimidating, isn’t it?” Connor muttered.
“Impressive,” she said in a small voice. “Oh, my, is that a pool near those cabanas off to the left? Um…maybe we shouldn’t be too hasty about finding another place, Connor. This is like a five-star resort.”
“What about privacy?” Connor twisted in his seat, realizing belatedly that Davis had circled a bronze sculpture of towering pine trees and stopped at the bottom of marble steps leading to an even more imposing set of carved wooden doors. Troublesome memories assailed him. Connor helped Claire out of the car this time, and Davis drove on to a detached seven-car garage situated at the end of the cobbled terrace.
“Place looks deserted,” Connor observed, trailing Claire up the broad steps.
“Just ring the bell,” she said, still attempting to take in all the sights around the parklike grounds. “Surely the senator’s staff is home. Davis said the housekeeper would take care of us. I can’t recall her name. Do you remember?”
Connor shook his head as he pressed the bell. Suddenly, he wished he’d heeded Claire’s first preference and found another place to stay.

INSIDE HER FATHER’S HOUSE, Mallory, who’d entered moments before, having indulged in a rare after-work swim, heard the door chimes. “I can tell you’re busy cooking something delicious, Marta, judging by that wonderful smell. I’ll get the door. Are you or Dad expecting anyone?” she called into the kitchen, her voice muffled as she toweled her wet hair.
Marta responded from the depths of the commercial-size kitchen. But her words didn’t penetrate the fleecy towel.
Concerned more with the water tracks she was leaving on the black marble entry floor than with who might be calling on her dad, Mallory hurriedly yanked open the heavy door, expecting at most to direct a deliveryman elsewhere.
It’d be impossible to judge who was more shocked by her sudden appearance in a skimpy bikini—Mallory, Connor or Claire, whose breath escaped audibly. “I thought you said she had her own place,” Claire muttered in an accusing voice.
“Mallory?” Connor sounded incredulous. And Mallory’s hands shook so hard, she had trouble dragging the wet towel off her head. She made a fumbled attempt to cover the greater expanse of flesh left open to the scrutiny of her unwelcome guests.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/roz-fox-denny/the-seven-year-secret/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.