A family of five, all with red-rimmed eyes, was just leaving as she walked in. There weren’t any other people, and Kate was thankful she was alone. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to strangers. She sat down in the corner by the window, picked up a magazine, and promptly put it back. She was too nervous to read.
The truth was that she wanted to sit down and have a good cry, but she couldn’t do that, of course.
Kate reached for another magazine and noticed how her hands were shaking. Get a grip, she told herself. Jordan would be okay. It was just a little bump, not a lump, and everything was going to be all right. Except that the surgeon had been so grim about it. According to Jordan, anyway, but then Jordan tended to overreact.
Now who was she trying to fool? Her friend never overreacted. She was too . . . practical . . . and cautious to a fault.
The key to an effective pep talk was honesty, she decided, and so Kate decided to come up with some honest reasons why everything would be okay.
She paced back and forth while she thought about it. All right then. Jordan had told her that the surgeon had been quite grim. Maybe he had to anticipate the worst so that he would be prepared, and he needed to prepare his patient for the worst, too, didn’t he? Wasn’t that part of his Hippocratic oath or something?
How convoluted was that reasoning? Time for a little realism. Yes, it was true that one of Jordan’s aunts on her mother’s side of the family had died because of a lump she had pretended wasn’t there until it was too late. And yes, there was a cousin on the same side of the family who had also been given the same diagnosis. But so what? The cousin was in her late eighties, and so was Jordan’s aunt, wasn’t she? Which meant that statistically the odds were on Jordan’s side, and she should and would have a happy, healthy life for the next sixty-five years, give or take a few.
Except that she’d found the lump last week, not sixty-five years from now.
That reminder took the wind out of Kate. She sat down and bowed her head. She was suddenly so tired she could barely think. Early detection was important, right? And Jordan, her sister, Sydney, and their mother had all taken charge of their health. They had the usual examinations—and then some—on a regular basis.
Don’t borrow trouble. Kate’s mother had often said those very words. Oh, God, she didn’t want to think about her mother now. She had enough to deal with.
What was taking so long? Kate was looking at her watch for about the fiftieth time just as her cell phone rang.
Kiera was calling. “How is she?”
Jordan had given Kate permission to talk to Kiera about the surgery but no one else. “Still in surgery,” she answered. “They were running late, so she didn’t go in until almost ten. It’s been over an hour now. Isn’t that long enough for a biopsy?”
“No.”
“But . . .”
“I’m a medical student, not a doctor, and I’m not going to speculate.”
“You’re a fourth-year medical student, which means you’re almost finished.”
“But still not a doctor.”
“Come on, Kiera,” Kate said in exasperation. “Make a calculated guess. I’m not going to sue you if you’re wrong.”
“No, I don’t think an hour is too long. Remember, the surgeon’s waiting for the pathologist’s report. And since you didn’t go into the OR with her, you can’t know exactly when they started.”
Kate relaxed. “Good point. They could just be starting now, for all I know. I’ll call you as soon as I hear something. How are things at home?”
“Fine. Reece Crowell has called here several times.”
“Oh?” Kate asked cautiously.
“He’s been very polite. Almost too polite. When I tell him Isabel isn’t here, he says ‘thank you’ and hangs up, but then a couple of hours later he calls again. I can hear this edge to him, like he’s ready to explode. He’s asked for you a couple of times. Once Isabel is well away at school, I suppose he’ll get the message.”
Kate wasn’t so sure about that.
“Oh yes,” Kiera continued. “A man named Wallace has called and left a couple of messages. He said he works for a bank. Have you ever heard of him?”
The ever-present knot in Kate’s stomach began to swell. “No, I haven’t heard of him,” she lied. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“No,” she answered. “But he asked that you call him right away. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you his phone number.”
Kate closed her eyes. “No. I’ll call him Monday when I get home. Just leave the messages on the machine.”
“He said it was urgent.”
“Urgent can wait until Monday.”
“Aren’t you at all curious to know what he wants?”
Kate knew exactly what he wanted. Everything they owned. And then some.
“Listen, Kiera. Monday we need to sit down and have a long talk.”
“It sounds serious.”
“We just need to make some decisions about the future. I’m going to hang up now. I’ll let you know how Jordan’s doing later.”
She flipped the cell phone shut and dropped it into her purse just as a white-haired volunteer called her name. Kate saw the surgeon turning toward her when she stood. Then she saw his face. The surgeon was smiling.
Chapter Ten
Jordan was going to be fine. The wonderful news from the surgeon made Kate weak with relief. She felt like hugging the man.
She had thought that she would be able to take her friend home a couple of hours after the anesthesia wore off, but the surgeon wanted to keep her overnight. He explained almost as an afterthought that Jordan had had a very mild reaction to the anesthetic, but there was nothing to worry about, the drug would be out of her system by tomorrow afternoon at the latest, and she could leave the hospital then.
Nothing to worry about. Kate remembered those words when she saw her friend. Poor Jordan was as red as a boiled lobster, had welts all over her face and arms, and was itching like crazy.
Kate did what any best friend would do. She pulled out her cell phone, which happened to have a built-in camera, and took her photo so she could torment her later—maybe even make a screen saver for her computer.
She stayed with Jordan until eight that evening. The rash was still going strong, but the doctor had ordered medication to relieve the itching and help her sleep. Kate waited until she’d fallen asleep again, then drove Jordan’s car back to her apartment and took a long, hot shower.
She closed her eyes and let the water cascade over her shoulders. Maybe it would wash away some of the tension. However, each time she tried to clear her mind, visions of her sisters and her company and Reece and mountains of bills swirled through her head.
No, not tonight, she thought. She would not do this tonight. She wasn’t going to let herself get all worked up about the future tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Her stomach began to gnaw at her, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything all day. She toweled off and slipped into her pajamas, a soft gray T-shirt and a pair of gray-and-navy-striped boxer shorts, and headed for the kitchen. Jordan always kept a supply of crackers and jars of peanut butter on hand. There were several old TV dinners in the freezer. Kate was pretty sure they’d been there since Jordan had moved into the apartment. Kate opted for the crackers. She got a fresh box out of the cabinet, put it on the counter, and then opened the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. She was unscrewing the top when, without any warning at all, the tears started.
Within seconds she was sobbing. She leaned back against the refrigerator, bowed her head, and cried like a baby. The release felt good. She could have kept it up for at least another half hour if someone hadn’t intruded. She heard a knock on the door, grabbed a paper towel to wipe the tears from her face, and stood frozen hoping whoever it was would go away.
No such luck. Another knock, more insistent this time. She did not want company. Barefoot, she crept to the door and looked through the peephole. Her heart dropped.
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There stood Dylan Buchanan, the bane of her existence. God, he looked good. She shook herself. Stop that. He wore a pale blue shirt neatly tucked into his jeans. The shirt was just fitted enough to show off his broad chest and thick biceps. His dark hair was short, and as usual not a strand was out of place.
All of the Buchanan boys were ruggedly good-looking, but Dylan had a little extra something going for him. She thought maybe it was his slow, sexy smile. She only knew one thing for certain. When he turned on the charm, he could melt the most frigid of hearts. Jordan referred to her older brother as the sex machine. Kate thought he had earned the dubious nickname because of all the women he had dated—and no doubt taken to bed—while he was in college. She didn’t think he had slowed down much since then, except maybe for a couple of weeks after he’d been shot. The bullet might have slowed him a little.
He looked tired, she thought.
He pushed the doorbell again and leaned against the wall behind him balancing a pizza box and a six-pack of beer on one hand.
Had he heard the floorboard squeak when she’d stepped on that loose one? She moved away from the door, waited a couple of seconds, and then peeked again. Her heart began to pound. It was an instantaneous reaction and one she couldn’t seem to control. The conditioned response stemmed from the night he had walked in on her in the shower. He’d had a mighty fine time teasing her about it ever since. She simply wasn’t up to sparring with him tonight. In her vulnerable state, he’d eat her alive.
When he winked, she knew he was perfectly aware that she was standing on the other side of the door.
She was going to have to be grown up about this. She would simply open the door and tell him to go away. She looked through the peephole one last time.
The man was a force to be reckoned with, and she was not in the mood tonight. She needed to finish crying and go to bed.
Get it over with, she told herself. She unlocked the double deadbolts and pulled the door open as she said, “Jordan’s not—”
“It’s about time. The pizza’s getting cold and the beer’s getting warm. Move out of the way. Come on, Pickle. Move.”
The silly name he called her had always gotten under her skin.
He was already over the threshold and about to step on her toes.
The pizza smelled wonderful and so did he. She got a tiny whiff of his cologne when he strode past her on his way to the kitchen. She followed him and got trapped behind the refrigerator when he opened the door to put the beer inside. He popped the tab on one can and offered it to her. She shook her head. He shut the refrigerator, stepped closer, and pinned her to the counter as he slowly reached over her to get to the pizza.
He was deliberately trying to get a reaction, and from the sparkle in his eyes, she knew he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
“I’ll be happy to move.”
“No need.”
His chest rubbed against hers, and it was then that she remembered what she was wearing.
“Jordan’s not here,” she told him.
“I noticed.”
“You should have called first and saved yourself a trip. I’m not dressed for company.”
“Yeah, I noticed that, too. You’ve got great legs, Pickle.”
“Dylan . . .”
“I’m not company.”
She pushed against his shoulder to get him to step back. When he winced, she realized what she had done. “Oh, Dylan,” she whispered as she jerked her hand back. She’d forgotten about his injury. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”
“It’s okay.”
He left the pizza but took his beer into the living room and dropped down on the sofa. Kate followed him.
“I hurt you, didn’t I?”
“Let it go,” he said. He knew he’d sounded irritated and softened his tone when he added, “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look fine. He looked ready to pass out. His complexion had turned gray, but if he wanted her to let it go, then that’s what she would do. She went into the kitchen, grabbed the pizza, some napkins, and her bottled water, and then decided to take him another beer as a peace offering of sorts.
There were newspapers spread on the coffee table. Kate put the box down on top and then excused herself and went into Jordan’s bedroom to borrow one of her robes. Her friend was taller than Kate, and the pink robe dragged on the floor. It was missing a belt.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink as she walked past and inwardly groaned. She’d forgotten she’d clipped her hair into a ponytail that was more out than in, and there were mascara smudges under her eyes. “Lovely,” she muttered.
She grabbed a washcloth and started scrubbing. By the time she came back to the living room Dylan had finished his third slice of pizza and was reaching for a fourth. He’d also emptied her bottle of water and gotten her another one.
She shook her head. “I wasn’t gone that long.”
“You snooze, you lose. At least in the Buchanan family you do. Come sit.” She must have looked wary. “I won’t bite, unless you want me to.”
He was smiling at her, and oh, Lord, he was something. Good thing she wasn’t interested, she reminded herself. Like the big bad wolf, he’d devour her. No, thank you.
He was sitting in the center of the sofa and took up a fair amount of space, but she didn’t ask him to move over. She shoved several pillows out of the way and sat down.
“I was wondering . . .” he began.
She stacked the pillows neatly between them. “Yes?”
He was smiling at her again. She wanted to tell him to stop it, that when he smiled, she lost her ability to concentrate. Wouldn’t he love hearing that? He’d have something more to tease her about.
“Where’s the remote?”
The question jarred her. “The remote?”
“Uh-huh,” he drawled. “The remote.”
“You mean the remote for the television. Let me guess. Sports channel.”
“I’m that predictable?”
“Afraid so. You’re a Buchanan male.”
She threw a couple of pillows on the floor and dug between the sofa cushions. She fished out the remote and handed it to him.
“It was nice of you to bring Jordan a pizza. I’ll save this for her,” she said.
“I didn’t bring it for her. It’s for you.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Jordan told me.” She shook her head. He nodded. “She also told me to keep you company tonight.”
Kate was taken aback. “When did she tell you?”
“About an hour ago.” She didn’t look like she believed him, and so he added, “In the hospital.”
“You were there . . . in the hospital?”
“Sure was.”
“But . . . but how did you find out she was there?” She didn’t give him time to answer but said, “She didn’t call you. Did she call you?”
“No, she didn’t call me. She didn’t call any of us,” he added, referring to his brothers, “and I’ll be discussing that with her as soon as she’s feeling better. We’re her family and she shouldn’t have—”
She interrupted him before he got all wound up. He was well on his way.
“You still haven’t told me how you found out.”
“A friend of Nick’s works in outpatient and just happened to notice the name on the surgical schedule.”
“And called Nick?” She was outraged by the possibility.
He shrugged. “Something like that. She didn’t know Nick had gotten married.”
“That’s unethical.”
“What is? Getting married or . . .”
She was going to argue with him about confidentiality and realized he was trying to get a rise out of her.
“You’re an extremely exasperating man,” she said, and then she nudged him and nodded. He nudged her back and sent her flying off the sofa. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up next to him.
“Nick’s sitting
with Jordan now, and like I said, I’m here because she told me to keep you company.”
“And you do whatever Jordan tells you to do?” She scooted forward and picked up a slice of pizza. The bottom was still warm.
“When it’s something I want. You’re lucky she didn’t send Zack.”
Zachary was the youngest. He was still in high school but was already as arrogant and full of the devil as his brothers were. According to Jordan “the baby” wasn’t really wild but wanted everyone to think he was. He was giving his parents fits—after raising so many children, they were clearly worn out—but Kate thought Zack was adorable.
“I like him.”
“Yeah? Well, be careful. I think he likes you a whole lot more.”
She took a bite of the pizza and was suddenly starving. She devoured it and reached for another. Dylan turned on the television and straightened the cushions on the back of the sofa. Kate smiled inside to see that he hadn’t changed. He was still a bit obsessive about having things in their place.
He wasn’t paying much attention to her now and yawned loudly. There was some sort of sports recap show on, and he seemed mesmerized by it, so she picked up the empty can and pizza box and took them into the kitchen. She was trying to figure out a diplomatic way to get him to leave.
She decided the direct approach was best.
“You should go now,” she said as she returned to the sofa.
He glanced up. “You look worn out. How come you’re so frazzled?” he asked.
“I’m not frazzled. I’m tired.”
“You were crying before I came, weren’t you?”
“No.”
“Yeah, you were.”
“If you knew, then why did you ask?”
“Why’d you lie?”
“It’s been a difficult week,” she said. “And I’ve had a lot of frustration. Crying sometimes helps me get rid of it.”
“There are other ways to get rid of pent-up frustration.” He wiggled his eyebrows after making the comment.
He was an outrageous flirt. Kate decided it was high time she called his bluff. She was determined to make him squirm.
“You would probably have heart failure if I . . .”