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Copyright by Virginia H. McBlain, 1996
Originally published 1996 by Renlow Publishing, 2000 by New Concepts Publishing
HEART BROKEN, HEART WHOLE is a work of fiction. The situations and characters are a creation from the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is strictly coincidence.
Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two
~ Dedication ~
Thanks and love to
my husband, David, for his unending support
and all those hours brainstorming and proof-reading,
my son, Evan, whose blabber-mouth led me to Diane, and
Diane Wicker Davis, who saw the spark and fanned the flame.
~ Acknowledgements ~
I gratefully acknowledge those generous medical professionals who shared their expertise with me. Any mistakes are my own.
Cathy Blogett, RN, Pediatric ICU, University of Nebraska Medical Center, Omaha, Nebraska
Kathy Bradford, RN, Woman's Hospital, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Paul Dickson, Chief Respiratory Therapist, Woman's Hospital, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
"Gray?" Amanda's voice was soft and sweet. And scared.
Gray Townsend opened his eyelids, blinking to clear his drug-clouded vision. The pain in his shattered left leg had ebbed to a halfway tolerable throb once the powerful painkiller had taken effect. He turned his gaze toward her voice, an arrow of agony shooting through his concussed head. It hurt to move. It hurt to think.
His loyal, stubborn Mandy stood just inside the door, looking as lost and terrified as she sounded. She was his world, his life. He abhorred what he was about to do, but his father had convinced him it was the only fair option.
His heart ached at the sight of her right hand peeking out from between the buttons of an oversized white shirt. The right sleeve hung empty. Broken collarbone, didn't Dad say? She took a careful step toward his bed as if she walked on eggs. His gaze dropped to her flat stomach covered in snug jeans. She'd been so excited when her pregnancy was confirmed two days before the accident. He'd shared her excitement unabashedly.
He shifted as much as the traction apparatus allowed, the movement sending another stabbing pain throughout his body. In truth, he hurt so much he couldn't pinpoint the source. He wondered with a fearful pang if he'd ever be able to father another child.
A nurturer by nature, Amanda wanted a family. She deserved the chance to be a mother. The same as she deserved to live unencumbered by a cripple. This was right. It had to be. His father had said so.
He held out his right hand, needing to touch her one last time.
"Mandy Mine." The pet name slipped out from long use. Never again Townsend, he admonished himself. She can't be yours. "I'm sorry about the baby."
She blinked hard, her face contorted with grief. "So am I. There'll be another one day." She pasted on a pathetic excuse for a bright smile. "You hurry up and get well."
"About the wedding." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I-I think we should can..." He paused, forcing his tongue around the word "cancel it."
"Postpone." She clutched the bed railing for support. "The word you're looking for is postpone, darling."
This was so much harder than he'd imagined during his mental rehearsals. For her sake, he must be cruel to be kind; otherwise she'd never accept his decision. "Since I've been laid up I've come to realize what we had was a campus fling. You were right all along. Our backgrounds are way too different. Go home to the farm and cancel the wedding." He hardened his heart and lied. "It was a mistake in the first place."
"You don't mean what you're saying."
"Yes, I do."
"I don't believe you! You loved me last week." Hysteria escalated with each word.
"Last week I was young and foolish. Be glad we found out before it was too late. Beat it, babe." He reached for the nurse call button, stricken by the ashen hue he'd painted on her face with his harsh words.
"Gray, please...I love you."
"Good-bye, Amanda. It was nice while it lasted."
"Miss Talmadge, Mr. Townsend should rest now," the nurse said from the doorway.
"Gray--" she sobbed.
"Miss Talmadge! You're upsetting my patient."
Gray watched the nurse escort Amanda from the room, knowing she took his heart with her. His bright, beautiful Mandy. There wasn't another like her. There never would be.
Amanda Wagner sat ramrod straight, waiting for the family practice doctor's recommendation. Taut muscles buttressed her back. Her hands were sweaty, yet icy. She clutched Hilary, her two-year-old daughter, close. Still as a statue, the child cuddled Floppy, the bedraggled once-white rabbit that accompanied her everywhere.
Doctor Mercer shuffled a stack of papers, peering through his horn-rimmed half glasses.
"If the indications are what I think they are, Hilary's shunt is closing down. She needs care from a specialist. Let's see," he said running his finger down the list in his hand. "I'm afraid I can't offer you much choice, Amanda. Your insurance company approves one pediatric cardiologist in Omaha and one in Minnesota. As we've discussed before, those are the only two places between Chicago and Denver where the kind of surgery Hilary needs is performed."
"I assume you're telling me Doctor James isn't the cardiologist approved in Omaha," Amanda stated, referring to the specialist who had treated her daughter in the past.
"That's right. You can always take her to Minnesota."
Needing something to do with her hands, Amanda twisted one of Hilary's dark curls around her finger. "But we still can't continue seeing Doctor James."
"Not unless you change your insurance coverage. Many doctors canceled their affiliations with HMOs because of their excessive restrictions and red tape."
"I can't change insurance companies." Having little choice of doctors bothered her a great deal. Under the terms of her divorce, her ex-husband was required to provide group medical insurance for the daughter he had rejected because she wasn't perfect. Last month Roland Wagner notified her that his company had changed insurance plans. As of January first, Hilary was covered by a health maintenance organization. Amanda preferred a less restrictive policy, but the HMO complied with the divorce decree. She supposed she should be grateful Roland obeyed without argument. Self-employed, she did not have a group plan and could not insure Hilary with the same policy she carried on herself. Hilary's heart defect was considered a pre-existing condition and would not be covered.
"Everything else being equal, I'd prefer to take Hilary back to Omaha. I'm familiar with Children's Hospital, and it's closer to home, which is easier for me and my family. But before I decide, tell me about both doctors."
"I went to medical school with Nils Jorgenson, the cardiologist in Minnesota. He's a fine diagnostician."
"I hear some reservation in your voice." Doctor Mercer hesitated, obviously reluctant to elaborate. "Please explain," Amanda urged.
He glanced down at the papers on his desk. "Of course I haven't seen him in action in years." He paused and his mouth tightened, as if he'd come to some decision before he plunged on. "But when I knew him he didn't relate well to his patients. He was brilliant academically and totally lacking in people skills."
"You don't recommended him," Amanda stated flatly.
"I wouldn't go that far. I'm sure he's an excellent cardiologist, however, unless he has changed a great deal, he is very aloof."
"And the doctor in Omaha?"
"Gray Townsend."
The name registered; her head snapped up. "Did you say Gray Townsend?"
"Yes. He's new in Omaha. You've heard of him?"
"I knew a Gray Townsend once, but it couldn't be him." He couldn't possibly be the Gray she had known! "What about Doctor Townsend?"
"I understand he trained down in Houston. He's a real hot shot by reputation, one of the best young pediatric cardiologists in the country. He opened his practice in Omaha last fall." Doctor Mercer stopped and looked Amanda straight in the eye. "This is your decision, of course, but I recommend Doctor Townsend."
Doctor Mercer had taken care of Hilary and herself ever since Amanda had moved to Sioux City. She trusted him implicitly and knew him well enough to know he would never have said the slightest word against a colleague if he hadn't felt it was in her best interest. Besides, having Hilary hospitalized in Omaha was the more convenient of the inconvenient choices. Doctor Townsend's reputation, along with Doctor Mercer's recommendation, was encouraging and in the long run, the deciding factor. She pushed away any thought of the possibility of "her" Gray and Doctor Townsend being one and the same. It didn't make sense. "Omaha it is," she said.
"I'll have Christine set up an appointment for you," the kindly doctor said. "Any time that won't work for you?"
"I'd rather not arrive in the early morning. I'd just as soon avoid rush hour traffic."
While the doctor gave instructions to his nurse, Amanda stared at the Norman Rockwell print on the wall, her thoughts chaotic. Doctor Gray Townsend. He couldn't possibly be her Gray, could he? Her pulse rate accelerated remembering the gorgeous young man she'd almost married. She shook her head. Her Gray. She'd been pretty possessive back then. Had she ever thought of him as anything but her own?
"All set for Thursday at eleven," Doctor Mercer said, handing her an appointment card.
"That should give you plenty of time to drive to Omaha. The address and phone number are on the back. If they don't contact you with specific instructions, call them."
She nodded. "Thanks, Doctor Mercer."
Amanda, Hilary cradled in her arms, exited the doctor's office, oblivious to the cold January wind whipping off the Missouri River.
If this doctor really was "her" Gray Townsend, how could she face him again? She'd loved him so much that no other man, not even her husband, could claim the same feelings she'd experienced with Gray. Even now, on the rare occasions when she thought of him, a warm feeling came over her until she forced herself to remember their end as a couple.
It had taken her a long time to get over the cruel way Gray had dismissed her from his life. She hadn't been able to accept his about-face. Their differences in background hadn't mattered to him until the head-on collision with an eighteen-wheeler. She'd tried to get to the bottom of his change of heart, but he'd refused her phone calls, and returned her letters unopened. It hadn't taken a genius to figure out that Spencer Townsend had been the driving force behind their break-up.
The senior Townsend had visited her in her hospital room the morning following the accident. She'd just been told she'd lost the baby, and he had looked down his aristocratic nose and had the audacity to suggest that she break her engagement to Gray.
Break the engagement? Weren't parts of the marriage vows "for better for worse" and "in sickness and in health"? They hadn't spoken the words, but the ring on her finger told the world of their promise. As far as she was concerned, she'd made the commitment the minute she'd agreed to marry Gray. He had needed her--really needed her--and his heartless father had suggested she dump him. To this day she couldn't believe Gray's father had judged her so mercilessly on first meeting.
While she'd met Mr.Townsend's glacial gray stare and told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his plan, she hadn't reckoned with his power over his son. She'd known the bond between father and son was stronger than most, but until Gray had tossed her aside, she hadn't realized how potent it was. The battle had been lost the moment the semi plowed into Gray's Corvette.
By the time she had returned to the University of Iowa for the fall term, Gray had been dismissed from the hospital. Finally, she'd conceded defeat and mailed her engagement ring to his home address. She'd never seen him again. Years later, it dawned on her that she wasn't in love with him anymore, but she'd never forgotten him, and now she wondered if she'd ever forgiven him.
Gray Prescott Townsend had broken her young heart and in the process shattered her trust in the power of love.
How could she trust him--if the new specialist really was him--with Hilary's heart? Tetralogy of Fallot was no run-of-the-mill congenital defect. After all this time the gravity of the diagnosis still struck terror in Amanda's soul. Her child faced open-heart surgery to repair the worst of the four associated anomalies. She wanted someone with experience to care for her baby, not some young whippersnapper just starting out. Doctor Mercer had said this guy was a hot shot. She hoped he was right. Her daughter had to have the very best.
Hilary whimpered. Amanda slid her into the car seat with practiced ease and tucked Floppy beside her. "Hush, sweetie," she soothed, stroking her hand along her daughter's cheek. "We'll be home soon. You've been such a good girl. Don't start crying and make yourself sick. Okay?"
The brisk breeze hadn't changed Hilary's pale complexion to a normal pink. Her skin exhibited a bluish cast, particularly pronounced around her mouth. Amanda longed for a healthy rosy bloom on the child's cheeks. She clung to the mental image of her daughter running pell-mell across the lawn at her folks' farm, and scrambling up the gnarled apple tree in the front yard. Hilary would giggle while inching out onto that sturdy low branch used--misused was a better word--by a generation of Talmadge offspring. Hanging upside down by her knees, her hair brushing the grass, she'd laugh and yell at the top of her lungs, "Hey, Mommy! Look at me!"
A mother's dream, to be sure, but a possible one with the right doctor, successful surgery, and answered prayer.
Ten minutes later, Amanda parked her six-year-old Thunderbird in front of her garden- style apartment building. Hoisting her feather-light daughter on her hip, she grabbed the diaper bag and proceeded inside.
She wiggled Hilary out of her quilted aqua snowsuit, heading straight to their shared bedroom. It was past naptime. Making sure the baby monitor was turned on, Amanda went to the second bedroom, which she used as an office.
The room, bathed in afternoon sunlight, overlooked the parking lot. Metal lateral file cabinets lined the wall under the window. An oak desk and L-shaped computer work center were placed so she could roll her chair from one to the other without getting up.
The only non-functional furnishings were the pair of upholstered chairs she kept for clients.
She slumped in the castored desk chair, propping her forehead in both hands. Constant, bone-deep tiredness sapped her once boundless energy. With a sigh she jotted Hilary's appointment on her calendar, again puzzling over the new cardiologist's identity.
How many Gray Townsends could there be, especially in Omaha, Nebraska, her Gray's hometown? Logically they couldn't be one and the same. Her fiancé had been a business major, his future mapped out step by meticulous step. No deviations allowed. Besides she couldn't imagine anyone in a wheelchair surviving the rigorous, lengthy process required for a medical degree and specialty training. More to the point, she couldn't imagine Spencer Townsend allowing it. Groomed from birth, Gray was supposed to follow in his father's footsteps at the Townsend Company, the highly successful commercial real estate firm Spencer started from scratch as a young man. All things considered, the names couldn't be anything other than a coincidence. She had enough to worry about without wasting precious energy remembering the past or stewing about an appointment she couldn't change.
A lock of hair worked loose from the clip at her nape and brushed her cheek. Absently, she tucked it behind her ear before she opened the large manila envelope in her stack of mail. Good old never-late Harvey Jacobs. She checked the contents quickly, knowing full well that all his tax records were included and in order. She wished her entire clientele were as conscientious. You'll be rewarded for your diligence, Mr. Jacobs. I'll have your return finished before Hilary sees Doctor Townsend. After that, she might not be so prompt. Her whole life hinged on the outcome of the appointment. The cardiologist would determine if Hilary was ready for the surgery without which she would never reach adulthood.
Her daughter's deteriorating condition couldn't have come at a worse time. Tax season was in full swing and Amanda needed every spare minute to complete her clients' returns, yet Hilary's needs came first.
They always had and always would.
Amanda tried, and failed, to push her frustration aside. Once upon a time she'd commanded a better than average salary--one that made possible such luxuries as her Thunderbird and her extensive dress for success wardrobe. How times change! Here she was, barely scraping by, doing bookkeeping and preparing income tax forms for small businesses and a few individuals. Rust spots marred her car, and her tailored business suits collected dust while she wore practical jeans and sweats. She knew she should be thankful that her expertise allowed her to work at home. Hilary, much too ill for day care, required constant, vigilant attention. Amanda couldn't work outside the home, and work she must. Roland paid generous child support, but with the hidden expenses of caring for a sick child the money didn't go far. Amanda didn't get alimony, nor did she want any. The less dependent she was on Roland Wagner, the better. Well educated, with an impressive resume, she could fend for herself. Thank you very much!
Chuckling at the irony of her situation, her glance strayed to the framed documents mounted on the wall. Spencer Townsend's disapproval of her had spurred an obsession. Determined to prove herself good enough for his son, she'd acquired a bachelor's degree in accounting and a master's in business administration. Now she was a CPA. Along with the formal schooling came a polish she'd lacked at nineteen. Not that the catalyst for her obsession knew or cared. Sometimes when day-to-day living crashed in on her, she discounted her ability and expertise. To counteract those lapses into self-pity she'd hung her diplomas in plain sight. They served as gentle reminders of her professional qualifications.
Never in all the years she'd studied, then worked her way up the corporate ladder, did she envision needing a skill that permitted her to work at home. She wished she could take credit for advantageous prior planning, but it was one of those ironic twists of fate that happens sometimes. Someday she should thank old man Townsend.
She went to the kitchen and made a reviving cup of strong black coffee. At times she thought the only things that kept her going were caffeine and sheer willpower. Occasionally, the tremendous anger she'd experienced when Roland abandoned her and their six-week-old baby reared its ugly head. She'd told herself numerous times not to waste time or energy being angry with him, but it still slipped up on her, especially when Hilary fell victim to a frightening tet spell. Her baby turned eggplant purple during those times of acute respiratory distress, scaring Amanda spitless. Having the sole responsibility for a critically ill child was an overwhelming burden.
Amanda never forgot, even for a minute, that if she failed to react properly, her daughter would die.
Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Hilary was going to be well and strong. Her mother would move heaven and earth to see to it. Taking her coffee with her, she returned to her office. Her fingers poised on the keyboard, she longed for the warm comfort of her bed across the hall. Pushing the tempting notion aside, she began typing Mr. Jacobs' figures into her computer. Hilary's nap time, i.e., Amanda's work time, never lasted long enough for her to catch up.
***
Gray Townsend, M. D. leaned back in the deep leather chair, glad for the brief respite between patients. Resting his left leg on the small footstool placed out of sight under his desk, he breathed a small sigh of relief. He gazed around the room, pleased with his surroundings. The walls were paneled in walnut, broken by built-in bookcases for his medical references. His numerous diplomas, double matted and framed in plain ebony, were displayed behind his large desk. Plush, wall-to-wall carpeting, taupe in color, covered the floor. A brass hall tree stood near the door, and beside it sat a carved oak box filled with old-fashioned toys. He had rescued the wooden blocks and trucks from the attic at his father's home. In preparation for the move to the new house, the maids had been discarding ruthlessly. The box also contained soft rag dolls crafted by his housekeeper Ramona's loving hands. The room was tasteful yet comfortable, and he hoped it helped instill a sense of confidence in the parents of his young patients.
His gaze strayed to the oil painting of a meadow covered in Texas bluebonnets, which dominated the wall in front of him. Those years in Houston away from his father's leash had been the best of his life. He had matured rapidly while recovering from the accident. During those long lonely hours when pain racked his body and sleep wouldn't come, he'd passed the time soul-searching. Concluding his father's love was obsessive and controlling, Gray realized he had to leave Omaha or become his father's puppet.
He swallowed the disappointment surging through him. He had broken away once; now he was back and the possibility of a second escape was remote. He'd returned to his hometown because he had no choice. The father who'd been there for him all his life needed him now.
Confined to a wheelchair because of a debilitating stroke, Spencer Townsend needed the same support and encouragement Gray had needed after the accident. There was no way Gray could--or would--turn his back on his father's plea for help.
He focused on the two tub chairs, upholstered in apple green and sky blue stripes, facing his desk. His thoughts drifted to the anxious parents of his young patients who occupied those chairs while waiting for his verdict on their child's condition. Where his chosen profession was concerned, Gray did not suffer any false modesty. He was a natural in the world of pediatric cardiology. Besides his excellent technical skills, he loved children, especially his patients. He understood their pain and their fear. The rapport he established with the tykes in his care had become legendary in Houston. Bucking his father's wishes had been worth every hardship he'd endured to reach this point.
He opened the medical records in front of him, forwarded by Doctor Mercer in Sioux City. Hilary Wagner, Gray's newest patient, suffered from classic tetralogy and its symptoms. Each of the abnormalities that defined the disease--ventricular septum defect, stenosis of the pulmonary valve, a displaced aorta, and an enlarged right ventricle--were present. He studied the notations, a frown furrowing his brow. Little Miss Hilary was one sick baby.
A knock interrupted his train of thought. "Yes," he called.
"Mrs. Wagner and Hilary are ready in room one," his office nurse, Dinah Sims, reported.
"Thanks." Gray reached for his cane, using it to lever himself to a standing position. He stopped at the hall tree and shrugged into a long white lab coat, leaving it unbuttoned to reveal gray suit pants, a pristine white shirt, and a fuchsia and teal flowered tie. He wore vivid, wildly patterned ties in deference to his patients. They liked bright colors. Somewhere along the way he'd discovered the youngsters responded to him better if he didn't dress in a staid fashion. However, he'd also learned the parents trusted him more when he wore professional attire. He liked to think he'd stuck a good compromise, acceptable to everyone, including himself.
Taking the records he'd been reading with him, he limped into the hall. Glancing around, he noted the staff was elsewhere. Quickly, so as not to get caught, he rubbed his left knee. Blasted, unpredictable, Nebraska weather must be changing again. His leg, especially his knee, hurt like hell today.
He tapped the door open with the rubber tip of his cane and stepped inside. "Mrs. Wagner, I'm Doctor Town--" Gray stopped dead still, stunned. Could it possibly be her? His Mandy? Here in his examining room? No, of course not. He must be hallucinating. He blinked. Yes, it was her. He would have recognized those gorgeous, deep brown "doe" eyes anywhere.
"Amanda?" To his own ears his voice quaked.
She peered at him over the little girl's head, her gaze dropping to the cane in his hand.
Quickly, she focused on the medical records in his other hand. "It is you," she answered, no surprise registering in her tone. "I wondered, but thought it unlikely."
Gray stared; he couldn't help himself. Gone was the vibrant college girl who had stolen his heart. In her place sat a haggard mother, lines of worry etched around the mouth he remembered as wonderfully kissable. Her shining cascade of toffee blonde hair was now a dull mousy shade, pulled back and clipped with a barrette at the nape of her neck. The sparkle was gone from her eyes, replaced by vulnerability. The dark circles under her eyes appeared blackish purple next to her colorless cheeks. Smudged pink lipstick constituted her only make-up. She looked like she hadn't slept in years--which was probably true.
Gray lowered his gaze. Her cadet blue suit was good quality, but the jacket hung off the shoulders. At twenty-one Amanda had been slender. Slender had turned to emaciated somewhere along the way. He suppressed a sudden anger at her gaunt appearance. He had forfeited the right to care years ago.
Her tension was palpable. An appointment of this nature was distressing for any parent without the added strain of a past relationship with the child's physician. From the look of her, he figured their discomfort was mutual.
He shut the door and moved to the stool by the mini desk attached to the wall, summoning every last bit of his professionalism.
His patient, stripped to her diaper, squirmed on her mother's lap. "Down!" she demanded.
"Sit still, sweetie," Amanda cajoled, enticing her with Floppy, the toy rabbit.
Hilary, determined to have her own way, wailed and wiggled.
"Shh! It's okay," Amanda soothed, anxiety apparent in her tone.
"Let her down," Gray instructed, holding out his hands. "Come here, Princess."
Hilary quieted when released and toddled toward him, dropping the worn toy on the floor.
Pulling his stethoscope from his lab coat pocket, he handed it to her, observing the child with trained eyes while striving for a clinical detachment he didn't feel. Hilary wandered around the room, turning the instrument over and over, twisting the rubber tubes. She had her mother's dark eyes. Her curly hair, caught in twin ponytails, was brown with red highlights. The surgical scar running from under her arm up to her shoulder blade bore testimony to previous surgery. He studied the little girl's fingers as she played with the stethoscope. They were clubbed: purplish in color, widened and thickened, with convex nails. The manifestation, typical of her condition, was caused by insufficient oxygen to her extremities.
"She's beautiful, Amanda." He glanced up and caught a hint of the gorgeous smile that had once turned him to putty in her hands. His heart skipped a beat.
"I think so." Her emphasis on the I communicated there were others who didn't agree.
"Look, I can tell you don't feel comfortable with me. I understand why. I'll be happy to arrange for you to see another cardiologist."
Amanda sucked in a deep breath, recalling how often he'd known her mind when they were dating. She hated having to reveal her predicament. If she'd been given any other reasonable option she wouldn't be here in the first place. "I can't take her to someone else. You're the only pediatric cardiologist in Omaha the insurance company approves."
Her pleading gaze locked with his.
He glanced at the child, then back at Amanda. "In that case..." He drew a tongue depressor from his pocket and stood up using the desk for balance. "Hilary," he called softly.
She moseyed over and squatted at his feet, as tetralogy patients instinctively do to ease their overworked hearts. Wincing inwardly, he stooped and picked her up, setting her on the examining table. He smiled and extended the tongue depressor. "Trade you," he said slipping the stethoscope from her fingers.
Gray straightened the instrument, then warmed the diaphragm with his hand before he stuck it on Hilary's bare skin. Amanda appreciated the gentleness with which he examined her baby, his attention never leaving his patient. His deep, mellifluous voice cast a hypnotic spell on the child. That same voice had once worked its sorcery on her senses enticing her into his magic world of dreams come true. She tried to shut out the sound.
And her painful memories.
Instead she concentrated on the physical changes Gray had undergone. He was still very attractive, although in an entirely different way. He'd never been a tall man, only about five feet, ten inches. Leaning on his cane he seemed shorter. She viewed his cane with mixed emotions, rejoicing that he was able to walk at all. Yet the sight of him dependent on the intricately carved aid tore at her heart. He'd been agile, light on his feet-- an accomplished tennis player and an even better dancer. His disability seemed such a waste.
His shoulders appeared broader, more muscular than before, and his body was as spare as it had ever been. Despite his handicap, Gray Townsend kept himself in excellent physical shape.
He wore his thick, coal black hair in a conservative style that appeared a week overdue for a trim. The streak of snow white running through the shock flopping over his forehead surprised and intrigued her. This, too, she viewed with mixed emotions. She deplored the agony the white streak represented, but on him it looked...oh, so sexy. Her fingers itched to compare the textures of white and black. Where in the world had that errant thought come from? Amanda tried to focus elsewhere but once her scrutiny locked on the startling contrast, the white streak acted like a beacon, drawing her gaze to it again and again. Apparently her thing about his soft, thick hair had not died.
He'd always had a lean face, his features finely hewn. Suffering had added deep grooves from his long, aristocratic nose to the corners of his thin, sensual mouth. Tiny lines fanned from deep set, smoky blue eyes. His lips lifted and his eyes glinted in response to Hilary's babbling. His smile still came easily and Amanda found herself--much to her chagrin--responding to it with something close to the giddiness she'd known all those years ago. Before she got carried away, she shut off the memory, concentrating on the here and now.
Amanda watched him examining her daughter, his long, deft fingers touching Hilary's skin. From the computer bank of her mind flashed the image of those same fingers trailing over her own sensitized flesh, sending erotic sensations roaring through her. Oh, mercy, mercy, what's the matter with me? I'm behaving like a sex-starved idiot. She bit the inside of her lip and studied the scuff mark on the toe of her shoe in an effort to shut off the conflicting emotions flailing against each other.
Guilt surfaced. Lusting after the man charged with making her daughter well was intolerable. He was probably married with a passel of kids by now, although the fact that he didn't wear a wedding ring had registered at some point since he walked into the room.
It occurred to her that all these jumbled feelings stemmed from never having had the chance to have her say in their broken engagement. This was her opportunity to exorcise that particular ghost once and for all. Those dreams were dead, had been dead for fifteen years, and would remain dead forever. She needed Gray for one reason and one reason only: to make Hilary well.
He turned around and started to speak. At age thirty-five, he looked older, wiser than his years. His face suggested he'd been through more than he should've had to endure and come out of it with great sensitivity and compassion for others. Those were the qualities she wanted in her daughter's physician.
"I need x-rays--"
Amanda started, realizing he'd caught her studying him. "I was woolgathering," she said lamely. "What did you say?"
A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as if he was privy to a sweet secret. She groaned inwardly, remembering how transparent she'd been to him. "I said I need x- rays, an EKG and an echocardiogram."
"Oh. All right."
He hoisted Hilary in his left arm and reached for his cane. Amanda was amazed at the ease with which he maneuvered them both to the door. "Dinah," he called, "please take Hilary." In a quiet tone he explained exactly what he wanted.
Amanda rose, intending to carry the baby herself.
"Sit down," Gray said, his order clear in spite of the soft timbre of his voice.
"But I need to go--"
"You can join them in a few minutes. I want to talk to you first."
"She'll cry," Amanda protested.
"And that terrifies you." Gray settled himself back on the stool, stretching his bad leg out straight. "Don't worry. Dinah has lots of experience and can handle Hilary."
Was her anxiety that obvious? She focused on the Plucky Duck poster tacked to the wall above his head rather than expose herself further. "How did you know?" she murmured.
"I'm the doctor, remember? Dealing with the parent's fears is as much a part of my job as treating the child. If Hilary cries and becomes short of breath, Dinah knows what do. Relax."
Amanda sat back down but couldn't relax.
"Tell me in terms you're comfortable with what you know about Tetralogy of Fallot."
She studied her hands folded in her lap, then stared at the door, looking anywhere but straight at Gray. "Hilary's body doesn't get enough oxygen because the hole between the lower chambers of her heart allows blood to bypass her lungs. The pulmonary artery is narrow, restricting the amount of blood that does go to her lungs. She had a shunt put in when she was almost six weeks old. It improved the blood supply to her lungs, but un- oxygenated blood still seeps through the hole. Her heart works too hard and still isn't efficient. The main artery from her heart is out of position and the lower right chamber is enlarged. Surgical repair is the only long term solution."
"You've got a good grasp of the problem."
A cry penetrated the closed door. Amanda jumped to her feet.
"It's okay," Gray insisted. "If Dinah needs either of us, she'll let us know."
"But--"
"Are you always this anxious, or is it that you don't trust me?"
She sank down, feeling heat suffuse her cheeks. "It...it's not that," she stated with more conviction than she felt. There was a grain of truth in his accusation. "I'm all she has."
Gray's eyes widened. "Her father?"
"Doesn't want her. We're divorced." Amanda couldn't keep the pain from her voice, though her expression led him to believe questions wouldn't be welcome.
"I see," Gray said. More than she knew. No wonder she looked so tired and was overanxious. She'd been coping with a very sick baby on her own. For how long? Had Mr. Wagner left because she was pregnant or because his daughter was ill?
"As I started to say, I agree with your doctor in Sioux City. There's evidence the shunt is failing. If tests bear that out, our choices are to put in a new shunt or go ahead with intracardiac repair now."
"I can't see putting her through any more surgery than necessary," she responded, once again in control.
"Neither can I. We'll call Children's Hospital and set up a cardiac catheterization. Once I have the results of the tests, I'll consult with Doctor Svoboda, the pediatric thoracic surgeon who'll perform the actual surgery."
"Explain the surgery to me," she said.
"We open the heart itself and repair the defective areas."
"Open-heart surgery." Amanda stated a simple fact, but her voice betrayed her fear.
"Correct. I know that sounds scary and it is. Let me assure you..." he said, his hypnotic voice as comforting as his words "...modern medicine has made great strides in recent years. Not too long ago Hilary would have had to wait until her pre-teenage years before this surgery could be done. Now we have the technology to repair hearts in the very young. In Hilary's case the size of the pulmonary artery will determine if she's ready for surgery. That's one of the reasons for the tests I'm ordering. However, since I'm the diagnostician, not the surgeon, I'd rather wait and let Doctor Svoboda explain the surgical procedure himself."
Gray reached for his cane and hoisted himself off the stool. "I'll make the arrangements for the cath. You'll find Hilary down the hall and to the right."
***
An hour later, Amanda thrust her cranky daughter's arms through the sleeves of a pink flowered tee shirt. Gray's calm sureness assuaged her doubts. She recognized a polished bedside manner when she saw it, but it was more than that. He projected genuine concern for his patient, as well as a no-nonsense authority. Beyond his undoubted professionalism, he cared and that sparked her confidence.
On the other hand, his presence evoked memories best left in the past. Her reaction was a curious mix. His voice alone rekindled emotions that had been so much dead ash this morning. And his smile! If she allowed it, his smile would turn her to mush. Plainly, he didn't need her pity, yet every maternal instinct she possessed cried for the agony he must have gone through. She wanted to smooth the lines from his face in the same way she wanted to erase Hilary's problems. Her response to him was difficult to describe. Although she wanted to deny it, her innate honesty forced her to admit the attraction was still there, marred by a bucket load of wariness. The one thing she was sure of was personal feelings had no place in the patient-parent-doctor relationship.
Amanda sighed and fastened the straps on her daughter's pink corduroy overalls. What it all boiled down to was simple. No matter how uncomfortable she felt, she was going to have to trust the man who'd trampled her heart into the dust. The thought of the inevitable surgery terrified her, and now she would be forced to deal with ambiguous feelings for her daughter's cardiologist. Surely, as a mature adult, she could forget the past and do what must be done for Hilary's sake.
***
Gray limped into his office, his bad leg dragging more than usual. His last patient had left moments before. Damn, he was tired. Some unkind gremlin had pulled the plug on his energy. If only he could go home and relax in the spa. He rubbed his aching knee, then lowered himself into his desk chair and wrote up his patient notes.
His thoughts strayed to Hilary Wagner and from there bounced to her mother.
Amanda.
He loved her--had never stopped loving her--despite all the years they'd been apart. Seeing her again hit him with the impact of a vicious mule kick in the gut. Even in her present careworn condition, she booted his hormones into high gear. But his reaction was far more than raging hormones. Amanda evoked a wave of tenderness in him. Walks in the moonlight, paddle boating on the river and quiet evenings sharing dreams were as important to him as making love. Above all he wanted her contented, comfortable and fulfilled.
By forcing her from his life, he thought he was paving her way to a happy life. He'd believed in fairy tales back then. Now it looked like happily ever after had been an elusive pipe dream. No divorce, however amicable, left the individuals involved emotionally unscathed. Add to that the sole caregiving responsibility for an ill child; it was no wonder she looked terrible. Even her voice sounded tired. With the naiveté of a twenty-year-old, he had expected her to find an able-bodied Prince Charming and raise the family she wanted. As he'd recognized all those years ago, if ever there was a woman meant to be a mother, it was Amanda. It pained him to know his sacrifice had been in vain.
He had nearly bitten his tongue to keep from suggesting she find someone to care for Hilary while she slept for a week. He reminded himself in the strongest terms that Amanda wasn't his patient--her daughter was. Right now Hilary needed her mother. The sooner the little girl's heart was repaired, the sooner Amanda could rest.
Frowning, Gray shook his head. Amanda's needs weren't his concern. If he couldn't remain objective, he would have no choice but to remove himself as Hilary's doctor. Amanda's insurance left her no choice of physicians. He couldn't forget the pleading he'd seen in her eyes. After what he'd done to her, he doubted she'd even speak to him except that she needed his expertise in pediatric cardiology. For Hilary.
He rested his lower lip on his steepled index fingers. He hadn't seen Amanda Talmadge--no, Wagner now--in fifteen years. Although he thought of her often, they hadn't corresponded or had contact of any sort. They didn't share anything beyond the lost dreams of their youth. In order to develop a closer connection, he would have to give some indication he wanted to be more than just her daughter's cardiologist.
The solution to this sticky situation was really very simple. All he had to do was maintain a proper relationship with the parent of his patient. It wouldn't be easy; he cared too much. However, he must stay friendly and concerned and still remain professional. After all, Hilary Wagner was just another patient.
An hour later, Gray let himself in the front door of the sprawling new mansion his father called home. The house was a show place, a testimony to the work of Omaha's most celebrated architect and interior designer. This was the fourth house his only parent had lived in during Gray's lifetime, and each was more pretentious than the last. Under the guidance of a professional, the decorating scheme changed every five years to keep up with the current trend. Nothing, no matter how near or dear, was left here from his younger days. He'd never felt comfortable in this house; it reeked of sterility. Even his footprints on the thick carpets weren't allowed to mar the perfection for more than five minutes. To his mind, the house wasn't a home. It was about as welcoming as a first class hotel: beautiful, but cold and impersonal.
"Dad," Gray called, "where are you?"
"That you...son? In the...den."
Gray limped down the long hall, locating Spencer in the room the invalid claimed for his own. He tossed his coat over the back of the white leather sectional sofa, and turned toward his father.
"It is about...time...you got here," Spencer complained, his habitual precise speech slowed by his stroke. "I have been... alone...all day."
Gray swore to himself. Not tonight, Dad. I'm too tired to cope with one of your attempted guilt trips. "Why didn't you have Charles take you to the office?"
Spencer snorted. "They...get along...fine...without...me.
He rolled his motorized wheelchair closer to the French doors that opened onto a large deck. Watching Spencer stare at the leaden sky and the bare winter landscape, Gray experienced a sinking feeling. The look in his father's eye was too calculating by half. "Now that...you are...home, I mean...settled in...Omaha...you should...get involved. You...have not been...to the...Country Club...since...you...came back."
I knew it! "Dad, I'm not inter--"
"Here's your dinner, sir." Ilsa, the tall, rawboned woman who ran the house, appeared in the doorway. She set the meal on a hospital-style tray table, then positioned the table into place in front of her employer.
Gray smiled at the housekeeper, silently thanking her for the diversion.
Spencer took one look at the broiled chicken breast and shoved the table away. The tray slid. "I...di...distinctly re...remember...telling you I...wanted...prime rib tonight."
Gray stopped the tray before it hit the floor, amazed as always that his father's speech, although halting, managed to be both arrogant and self-pitying. He nodded to Ilsa, indicating for her to leave. "Dad, you know prime rib isn't on your diet," he said, striving for a reasonable tone.
"Diet...schmiet! I...do not...need a bunch of na...namby-pamby doctors...telling...me...what to eat."
"This namby-pamby doctor is telling you you'd better shape up. Stop being ornery and eat your dinner." He's worse than my patients. "This is a great meal."
"Great...my foot. No...hollandaise...on the broccoli, that is corn oil...margarine, not...butter and sour cream...on the potato and...diet...Italian dressing on the salad. I...like... bleu cheese."
"No wonder your cholesterol was sky high."
Spencer picked up the TV remote control and punched the on button. "When...I...need a...lecture...from a...baby doctor...I will...ask...for it."
Gray sank down on the puffy sofa cushions and stretched his left leg out straight, choosing to ignore his father's bad temper. Maybe the world news would shift the old man's ire elsewhere.
"Would you...look...at that," Spencer exclaimed. "The world ...is going to...hell...in a hand basket. Peter Jennings'...tie...is crooked."
"Maybe a bit," Gray agreed in placating tone.
Spencer whirled his chair in Gray's direction. "Speaking of...ties, yours...is atro...cious. No...self-respecting... businessman...would be caught...dead...wearing a...rag...like that."
Gray sighed, grabbed his cane and pushed himself to a standing position. Enough was enough. He wasn't in any mood to put up with his father's shenanigans tonight, nor would he defend his attire. His father knew why he wore bright ties. "I'm going home."
"You...just...got here."
"Ramona'll have my supper ready."
"You can...eat...with...me."
Gray donned his overcoat and moved to the hall. "You're not eating. Besides Ramona's expecting me."
A snowflake landed on Gray's nose when he stepped out the front door. The forecasters were right for once. He wished they'd missed this time. So far this unusual--not that usual could ever be applied to Nebraska weather--winter Omaha had accumulated twenty inches of the tiresome white stuff, and it was only early January. Weeks of sub- freezing temperatures prevented any melt-off.
He slid under the wheel of the cranberry Lincoln Town Car parked in the circular driveway and started the engine. He understood, perhaps better than most, the frustration and helplessness his father felt. Once strong and dynamic, with the energy of three average men, Spencer's stroke was a crushing blow. His speech had been restored to a fair extent through therapy. However, he still experienced severe weakness on his left side. Being right handed he could do many things for himself--when he elected to do so. More often he wallowed in self-pity, making life difficult for anyone and everyone who crossed his path.
Gray turned off West Dodge Road onto Cass Street. The big car slid on the snow- covered pavement. He slowed down to a crawl.
He inched along peering through the snowflakes. A snowstorm much worse than this one was responsible for the first night he and Amanda had spent together. They'd driven to Ames for the big basketball game between the Iowa Hawkeyes and the Iowa State Cyclones. Following the game, they headed back to Iowa City. The storm had intensified the further east they'd gone. At Newton, even Gray, who was supremely confident in his ability to navigate in the snow, conceded defeat. He exited the interstate and found a motel. There was only one room left, an actuality that didn't hurt his feelings a bit. The rest of the night took the most predictable turn. But somewhere during those hours of loving something profound happened. The woman in his arms wasn't just a female whose body was available to assuage his desire, but Amanda, whom he wanted to please and protect and treat with respect. His lust had transformed to a love that nothing could kill, not even his most noble gesture.
He pulled himself from his memories ten minutes later--it should have taken five-when he pulled into his driveway. He was tempted to leave the Lincoln under the portico by the laundry room door, but if he did the young man who cleared the driveway and walks would have a more difficult time of it. He drove on through and put the vehicle in the separate garage, located toward the back of the yard.
His home, built in the 1920s and extensively renovated since, was located in one of the fine old residential areas of central Omaha. He'd selected the area for two reasons: the proximity to the hospitals and the charm of the older neighborhood. It was fashionable without the poshness of Regency, where his father had moved in the seventies or Barrington Park, the new subdivision in far west Omaha where he now lived.
Gray followed the walk across the yard, hoping that the momentous encounter of the day didn't show in his demeanor. He wasn't ready to share the news with Ramona--or anyone else--until he figured out what he was ultimately going to do about it. Until Hilary was out of his care, his hands were tied, but after that... Ever since he'd made his earlier resolve Amanda's chocolate eyes had haunted him. What he'd give to see the love she had for him radiating from her like it had during their engagement.
He stopped on the back porch and stomped the snow from his shoes. A searing spasm shot through his left leg. When would he remember not to jar his leg like that? Somehow Ramona's scoldings for tracking up her polished floor made more impression than the pain. Undoubtedly because the pain was always there to a greater or lesser degree; he'd learned to live with it. He'd never learned to live with Ramona's displeasure.
Officially she was his housekeeper, as she had been his father's during Gray's childhood. If the truth be known, she was much more than that. Ramona Sanchez was the only mother he could remember.
"That you, bambino?" the subject of his thoughts called from the kitchen.
"When are you going to stop calling me bambino?" he grumbled in an often-voiced complaint. "Thirty-five's a little old to be called baby."
The short, gray-haired woman eyed him up and down. "Until you see fit to bring a baby home, you're the closest thing I got."
Hilary Wagner's image flitted into Gray's mind. If the child he and Amanda lost--a twinge of profound grief knifed through him with the thought--had been a girl, he imagined she would've looked just like Hilary. He groaned to himself. Stifle it, Townsend. Notions like that asked for trouble with a capital T.
"You're early tonight," Ramona said. "I thought you were goin' out to Barrington Park."
It didn't escape his notice that she didn't refer to the place as home. "Dad was more impossible than usual. I didn't stay long."
"You went? His imperialness--"
He wagged a finger at her. "Have a little respect!"
She snorted. "His imperialness," she repeated with deliberate emphasis, "didn't mention he'd seen you when he called ten minutes ago." She stuffed her fists in her apron pockets. "He wants you to go to Crossroads Mall and pick up a book he ordered."
Gray started to re-button his trench coat. At the same time pain stabbed through his knee. He clutched the work island counter top for balance.
"Sit down before you fall down," Ramona commanded, motioning toward the breakfast nook, her tone tempered with love. "When are you goin' to quit jumpin' through hoops for that ill-tempered old man?"
Gray, leaning heavily into his cane, crossed the kitchen to the breakfast nook. Sliding into an oak Windsor chair, he sighed, grateful to have his weight off his leg. "It's payback time, Ramona." He pulled a matching chair over and lifted his leg onto it. "He was there when I needed him, now he needs someone. I'm all he has."
"I know that." Ramona slid a small, lean steak under the broiler. "But you shouldn't sacrifice your own health bowin' to his selfishness."
"I'm the epitome of glowing health."
"You won't stay that way long if you don't start takin' better care of yourself." She looked him straight in the eye. "Tell me that leg don't hurt like hell tonight."
"Why, Ramona, did I hear you swear?"
She waved a wooden spoon in his direction, her snapping brown eyes trained on his face. "Don't change the subject, bambino. That leg hurts, yes?"
He winced under her steely gaze. He could no more lie to her now than he could the time he pilfered cookies and broke her treasured fat bear jar in the process. He'd been all of five years old, but he'd never forgotten.
He dropped his gaze to his leg propped on the chair. "Yes," he admitted. Cripes! His voice sounded cowed. She was his housekeeper, for Pete's sake! Of course she put the accent on the keeper part.
"Then you got no business traipsin' around in the snow. You'd be in a fine pickle if you slipped and fell." Her pronouncement carried a ring of authority that wouldn't be denied. "We both know that book is just an excuse to get you back out there. Go wash up. We'll eat soon."
Everything she said was true. Lending support to his father was one thing; becoming a slave to his every whim was another entirely. Gray shrugged off his coat. He wasn't going anywhere tonight. The boss had spoken.
***
Amanda turned up the shawl collar on her jade velour robe and pulled it closer to her neck. Standing at the window in her assigned room at Rainbow House, she watched the falling snow in the glow of the streetlight. Go to bed, she scolded herself; four-thirty would be here before she knew it. Hilary's cardiac catheterization was scheduled for seven a.m. at Children's Memorial Hospital outpatient surgery. She didn't move.
Rainbow House was a godsend. Within walking distance of the hospital, the facility provided, for a very nominal fee, a place for patient's families to stay. She was grateful Gray's office staff had advised her to be prepared to remain in Omaha overnight. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, she couldn't have driven the one hundred miles home to Sioux City this afternoon and back tomorrow for a six a.m. check-in. Especially in bad weather.
Despite her exhaustion, her mind whirled. She couldn't sleep. Her earlier thoughts of Gray had been overshadowed by contemplation of tomorrow's procedure. An important diagnostic tool, the cardiac catheterization was nothing compared to the open-heart surgery to come, but it was surgery all the same. Inserting a catheter through a groin vein into the heart involved risks, although she knew the beneficial information gained far outweighed the risk of problems.
Biting her lip, Amanda wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned her head against the cold glass. If only there were someone with whom she could share her fears. You can handle it alone, Amanda. You've done it before; you can do it again. She gave a fleeting thought to calling her mother. Cora Talmadge's common sense and sage counsel would be reassuring, but Amanda refused to disturb the dear lady at midnight.
Farm life began before dawn and ended after sunset. Her parents would have turned in hours ago. If this was a real emergency she wouldn't hesitate to call, but it wasn't. It didn't seem necessary to ruin their sleep, especially since her father's arthritis had been acting up lately. If he'd managed to get comfortable enough to doze off, she would feel guilty if she wakened him.
The expense of a long distance phone call was another consideration. At this time of night the toll didn't amount to much, but Amanda practiced thrift. Thrift, ha! She penny- pinched almost to the point of parsimony. To call home for something as unnecessary as reassurance would be downright self-indulgent. Self-indulgence was a luxury she never, ever allowed herself.
Standing here getting chilled while she worried seemed counter-productive. She yanked the cord to close the drapes, then removed her robe and slid under the covers. She might as well do her worrying in the warmth of the bed.
***
Cold to her bones, Amanda rubbed her arms and checked her watch for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. Ten to nine. It couldn't be much longer now. Her stomach churned. No sleep, no food, too much coffee. Nerves. Waiting was the hardest part.
She adjusted the angle of the clipboard balanced on her lap, then selected a gray colored pencil and drew a chubby mouse in the foreground. Adding a green hat with a pink flower, she tried to think of an appropriate verse for the greeting-card-in-the-making. No words came, only thoughts of Hilary, and the procedure the child was undergoing.
Amanda glanced at the clock on the wall. Five to nine. Any time now someone would come to tell her it was all over.
Choosing another pencil from the box, she sketched a clump of daisies in the background. She'd begun drawing cutesy animals in art class in high school. Over the years she'd perfected her technique, and along the way discovered drawing helped when she needed to lose herself from the world. Her family had persuaded her to hang some of her better pieces in the living room at her apartment, and she'd given others as gifts.
As luck would have it, one of Amanda's clients owned a card and gift shop. He noticed her artwork once during an appointment and commissioned her to produce an exclusive line of greeting cards for his store. Her output was limited by the demands of her daughter's illness and her accounting business, which was unfortunate because she enjoyed the creative outlet. Still the hobby stood her in good stead now. The financial rewards didn't amount to much, but at the present time any little bit helped. Besides, she needed something soothing to do with her hands or she'd pick at her nails until they were peeled down to the quick.
The telephone rang. Amanda's head--and every other person's in the waiting room-- snapped up.
"Mrs. Wagner?" One of the smock-clad hospital volunteers stood before her.
Her heart leaped to her throat. "Yes."
"Your daughter's procedure is finished. The doctor will be here shortly to talk to you."
Her heart settled back where it belonged. "Thank you."
Amanda stuffed her drawing supplies in a tote bag and scrambled to her feet, pacing until Gray arrived.
"Hilary came through fine, Amanda."
She released a long breath, one she hadn't realized she'd held all morning. "She's okay?"
"She's as okay as she can be in her condition," he assured her. "I won't know anything specific until the film is developed. You can see her in the recovery room shortly. I'll find you there and we'll talk further."
He was gone before Amanda could say a word. She didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't the clipped, impersonal speech he'd just delivered. Then again, she admitted, he'd been considerate as well as professional. Wasn't that what she required of her daughter's physician?
***
Strung-out by what seemed an interminable wait, Amanda entered the outpatient recovery room. Hilary slept in a hospital-style crib, the mattress of which was raised to waist level on an adult. Her skin was very pale. Amanda made a sincere effort to tamp down her fear. Gray had warned her to expect the loss of color. Tiptoeing closer, she set the tote in a padded rocking chair. Going to the crib, she clutched the metal bars, gazing at her daughter. "Oh, baby," she whispered, "I wish it was me instead of you."
Hilary's breathing was normal. Except for the paleness and the large surgical dressing on her inner thigh, she looked fine.
Still Amanda couldn't relax. What had the heart cath determined? Was surgery imminent? Was she doing the right thing by going ahead with the operation? Her shoulders slumped. Her head fell forward, coming to rest on the top rail. The burden of the responsibility for this decision weighed so very much.
***
An hour later, Gray observed Amanda from the doorway. A clipboard with an incomplete drawing attached and an open box of pencils rested on her lap, but her hands were idle. Her eyes were glued to Hilary, who was still sleeping off the effects of the cardiac catheterization. The circles beneath Amanda's eyes were more pronounced than they had been the day before, giving her a washed out appearance. Her wool slacks were rumpled, and the oversized ski sweater she wore swallowed her. She looked as fragile as her daughter.
He experienced another mule kick, right in the stomach. He couldn't stand to see her this way, yet he knew her ordeal could only get worse before it got better. A helpless feeling washed over him. He wished he could spare her the rough days ahead. The maxim "no pain, no gain" flashed through his mind. He cringed at the callousness of the thought, at the same time acknowledging its basic truth. With any other patient he'd focus on the end result. With Amanda, the intervening steps-- He put the skids on his train of thought. Hilary, not Amanda, was the focus of his concern.
"Amanda," he said softly.
She jumped. The pencils slid to the polished tile floor with a muffled clatter. She grabbed the clipboard just before it too descended. "Oh! I didn't see you."
"I've checked the cines..." he noticed her puzzled expression "...the film from the cath. As
I suspected the shunt is closing down. I'd like to schedule Hilary for Tuesday, next week, unless you have an objection."
She sucked in a breath. Her eyes revealed her terror. "So soon?" Her voice quivered.
Gray limped into the room, compassion warring with his common sense. She needed someone, and he was the only one around. Yet to touch her...His hand clasped Amanda's shoulder before he finished the thought. Instantly he knew he'd made a grave mistake. A Pandora's box of emotions erupted inside him. His mind slid back over the years and settled on the future they'd planned together. In those few seconds in the rain, that future had been shattered as effectively as his left leg. The woman under his hand was here and now. Even knowing he still loved her, his strong reaction amazed him. He looked at her and the years disappeared. He wanted to pick up where they left off, to hold her and comfort her, to shield her from the demons in her path. Yet the time apart couldn't be ignored. Too much had happened to both of them.
Giving no hint of his inner turmoil, Gray addressed the business at hand. "We've got to increase the blood flow to her lungs one way or the other. Didn't we agree to go ahead with the total repair now?"
"Y-yes," she answered in choked voice.
"I know this isn't easy for you, but the reality is you have no choice." His thumb stroked her taut neck. Her smooth skin felt like velvet. Beneath the softness of her sweater, her shoulder was all delicate bones. Once upon a time, he'd rested his head there. He closed his eyes, savoring the memory of the nuzzling kisses he'd placed along her neck...and jaw...and cheek. Those kisses had changed from teasing to deeply passionate when he reached her lips. With difficulty he opened his lids, forcing his thoughts back to the sleeping child. "I'll go make the arrangements, then come back, and we'll discuss what you can expect."
Amanda nodded, her heart too heavy to speak. He left the room as quietly as he'd come.
A strange feeling of loss came over her. Her head dropped forward, and her shoulders slumped. For one brief moment while his hand rested against her neck, she'd experienced comfort. She would have liked to bury her head against his wide shoulder and beg him to hold her. Stop being silly, she admonished herself. Just because once upon a time Gray Townsend had been her rock didn't mean a thing. That was then and this was now. He wasn't the man she loved anymore. She reminded herself once again that she was strong enough to handle her own problems--alone.
***
Awaking with a start early Sunday morning, Amanda blinked and tried to orient herself. She was groggy; vivid dreams had disturbed her much-needed sleep. Her mind refused to turn off, even when her body demanded rest. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. The practical and business arrangements that needed to be made before she left town for at least a week and half had vied with memories--old and new--of the man who had once been such an important part of her life.
She hadn't stopped since they'd arrived home after seven on Friday night. Hilary was cranky and demanded even more attention than usual when she was awake. While the child slept, Amanda concentrated on her work. She wanted as many loose ends as possible tied up before returning to Omaha. Consequently, she'd stayed up until 1:00 on Saturday morning and 2:30 this morning working at her computer.
Abandoning the temptation to go back to sleep, she hauled herself out of bed and headed to the kitchen. Her eyelids cracked at half-mast, she measured coffee grounds into the filter-lined basket. While the rejuvenating beverage dripped, she consulted the must-do list lying on the table, wondering how she would manage to complete everything in the time she had left. At least her family was coming later in the day--not to be entertained but to help. Amanda reached for the largest mug in the cabinet, filled it with the black brew, then went to her office. If Hilary would sleep one more hour, she could finish the paper work she'd begun last night.
She turned the computer on, her mind racing a mile a minute while the machine booted up. As soon as she completed the set of books she was working on, she would pack the things she and Hilary needed to take with them.
"Ma-ma," Hilary cried from the bedroom across the hall.
Amanda stopped tapping on the computer keys, her fingers poised to continue. Just a few more minutes, please, sweetheart. I've got to get this done. She sat, quiet and still, hoping her daughter would go back to sleep.
"Ma--" There was no ignoring the baby's plaintive cry, broken by a choking cough. Amanda bolted across the hall, sliding to a stop beside the crib. Hilary was sitting in the middle of the mattress, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She had thrown up--again.
"Poor baby," Amanda soothed, picking the child up and testing for a fever at the same time. Carrying her to the bathroom, Amanda washed her daughter's face, then stripped off the soiled pajamas and wet diaper. Hilary didn't feel feverish, so she assumed the vomiting resulted from the catheterization. The nurse at Children's had warned her of the possibility of such a side effect. The child needed a bath, which meant they both got a shower. Hilary wasn't allowed to soak until the wound at the catheter insertion site healed.
Amanda set the baby on the rug, removed her robe and gown and adjusted the water. A quick dunk was in order. Besides exercising care not to soak Hilary's wound, the computer was still on in the office.
***
"Hey, Sis! I can't get Hilly to drink her juice."
"Do the best you can," Amanda called from the bedroom, wondering to which of her triplet brothers she was speaking. They sounded alike, especially since they'd developed those deep voices. "She needs the fluids to keep her from getting dehydrated."
Tucker appeared in the doorway. She knew it was the elder--and ringleader--of the three because, although they were identical, each bore a different souvenir of their active childhood. Tucker's nose was crooked, courtesy of eighth grade football. Nathan held the honors for the most bizarre accident. The small scar over his right eye was the result of dashing blindly around a corner in the church basement and colliding with a pizza pan held by a lady serving supper. A chipped front tooth, acquired when he fell from the apple tree in the front yard at the farm, distinguished Tyler from his brothers.
Otherwise they were as alike as slices from the same loaf of bread. From their sandy brown heads to their size thirteen feet, they were six feet, four inches of broad-shouldered young manhood. Their engaging, lopsided grins were as much their trademark as the battered purple pickup they shared. They most often dressed nearly alike--not to be identified as triplets, but jeans, sweatshirts and athletic shoes were the de rigueur uniform of the high school crowd. Seniors this year, they were known collectively as TNT, the backbone of the defensive line on the football team last fall. In spite of the vast difference in their ages, Amanda maintained a close relationship with her "little" brothers.
She quirked an eyebrow in Tucker's direction. "Need something?"
"Mom says come eat. Now, not tomorrow."
"That a direct quote?"
He flashed her a patented Talmadge grin. "Not quite, but close enough. C'mon. I'm starved."
"Aren't you always?"
"What can I say? I'm a growing boy. Hop to. I may be hungry, but you need to eat. Looks like a strong wind'll blow you away."
"Who appointed you my keeper?"
Tucker's face lost its grin. "Hey, somebody's gotta do it."
Amanda stuffed a sweatshirt in the tote bag she was packing. "I'll be right there, just as soon as I finish this."
He strode into the room and latched onto her arm. "Nope. That can wait. The food's hot."
"Tuck, I really don't have time to stop now. There's so much to do, and Hilary will be awake soon."
The look he cast her was pure exasperation. "Look, Sis, we came to help. You don't have to do it all." He pulled her into the hall. "Nate, Ty and I'll play with Hilly while you finish whatever else you have to do."
The tantalizing aroma of pot roast and the rumble of her stomach forced Amanda to acknowledge her hunger. She knew she could count on the guys to keep Hilary happy. They were old hands, well aware of her limitations. Amanda realized she could rely on
them to be careful to keep their antics on a level that did not tax their niece's heart.
***
Cora Talmadge brought a cherry pie to the maple table, which was placed in the nook of her daughter's blue and white kitchen. Seating herself, she cut the ten-inch pastry into six pieces. "Mom," Amanda pleaded, "cut one of those in half for me. I can't eat one of those monster slices."
"Oh, pooh," Cora shot back. "You love cherry pie."
"Ah-ha!" Amanda exclaimed. "I knew I smelled a conspiracy. First pot roast, then my favorite dessert."
She might have known. The whole family had been on her case lately. She couldn't deny she'd lost more weight than she should in the last two years. By the time she'd taken off the extra pounds she really needed to lose following Hilary's birth, her life had been turned upside down by the baby's illness, Roland's desertion, and her subsequent divorce. Her stomach stayed tied in knots. Even when she felt hungry, if she ate more than a few bites, nausea set in. Amanda knew her family was worried. Not only that, but her mother, whose greatest pleasure in life was feeding people large, wholesome, field-hand-style meals, took her lack of appetite as a personal affront. She'd tried to explain, but her food- loving family didn't understand. Consequently, she'd eaten more today than she should have with the usual result. She didn't dare turn the pie down. The whole meal, especially the final course, had been planned to tempt her palate. She hoped a couple of bites would satisfy her mother. More than that and Amanda was sure she'd get sick.
Cora divided a piece and passed one to her daughter. "Mandy, honey, I only want to keep you well."
"I know, Mom," Amanda sighed, "I'm doing the best I can."
Taking a small bite, Amanda watched sweet, sensitive Nathan, who was seated next to her, coax another sip of apple juice down Hilary's throat. Warmth and belonging swept over her. These were the people--her family--who loved her best in the world. They were the only ones who really cared what happened to her.
Amanda's gaze roved around the table, resting on each one in turn. Nathan, the middle triplet, was the peacemaker of the family, always ready and willing to smooth the rough edges for the rest of them. The role of clown went to Tyler, the youngest. He'd carry out any prank instigated by Tucker, the leader of the bunch.
Cora, her once-blonde hair faded gray, managed her household with a calm, assured presence. Nothing her boys did surprised her. They were fun loving, but not malicious. She teased that they were responsible for every gray hair on her head, but Amanda knew as sure as the corn needed sun and rain and heat to grow that the boys could be depended upon to behave within the bounds of propriety. Mama ran a tight ship.
Her brothers were, above all else, good students and hard working farm kids who had shouldered a larger and larger share of the chores as their father's condition worsened.
Amanda's gaze moved, coming to rest on her father's hands. She wanted to cry. Calloused by decades of hard manual labor, his hands were now gnarled by the arthritis that plagued him. As a child she had thought Roy Talmadge was indestructible. Over the years he weathered every crisis, ranging from the unexpected birth of triplet sons when he was sure he and Cora were long out of the baby business to the disaster in the farm economy, without any visible signs of stress until recently. He'd rather die than complain, but anyone could see how hard it was for him to get around.
"Down," Hilary demanded.
Amanda welcomed the need for a washcloth as an excuse to leave the table. After wiping the sticky juice from the baby's mouth and chin, she turned Hilary over to the boys and went to finish packing.
A while later, Amanda poked her head into the living room on the way to the kitchen to gather the dirty dish towels. She smiled at the sight of her three strapping brothers
sprawled on the floor building a tall tower of blocks. Hilary squatted beside the tower. When the height reached her satisfaction, she batted it down, crowing with glee at the playful protests of whichever uncle had placed the last block.
Amanda entered the kitchen. "Thanks for all your help, Mom. I don't think I'd have made it without you guys."
Cora turned from the sink, where she was scrubbing the roasting pan. "Anytime, you know that." She wiped her hands on one of the dishtowels in Amanda's hand. "Hilary seems more blue around the mouth to me. For what it's worth, I think you've made the right decision."
"I guess I'm too close to her. I hadn't noticed any change in color, but Gray says we have to increase her oxygen flow without further delay."
"I'm still having trouble with Gray being your daughter's physician. What's he like?"
"Kind, caring. Firm. He seems very competent and sure of what he's doing. He has an approach that inspires my confidence."
"I was afraid you might be wary."
"Oh, I'm wary all right. I find it difficult to forget the past, the good and the bad. It's hard to trust someone when they once hurt you badly. The problem is I don't have a choice, and the truth is Gray hasn't given me any reason to question his competence."
"How did you feel--if you don't mind a nosy question--seeing him again?"
It wouldn't matter if she did object; her mother usually asked nosy questions. This one seemed fair though. "A lot of buried memories have resurfaced. I'm not sure I want to remember. It still hurts too much. We were head over heels in love; everything was wonderful. Without warning, our hopes and dreams--all our marvelous plans--crashed down around our heads. I find myself still attracted, or attracted all over again. I'm not sure which, and I don't know how to deal with it. There's an element of guilt, too. He's the professional I've commissioned to help my child. I shouldn't have feelings for him."
"Mandy, you were going to marry the man. I think your feelings are natural."
"But that was so long ago." Amanda paused before she went on. "Sometimes I've wondered how he was doing, and now I know. I'm sorry he limps and needs a cane. But he's ambulatory, which is a whole lot better than life in a wheelchair. I guess what I felt most besides confusion was compassion. You can tell he's suffered a lot. It shows on his face. My guess is his ordeal has made him a better doctor."
"I hope you're right for my granddaughter's sake."
"I hope so, too. I've got to run downstairs and start a couple of loads of laundry. Don't forget..." Amanda reminded Cora, turning toward the door "...to take any food that'll spoil home with you."
"I'm almost finished here. Is there anything else you need me to do?"
Amanda shook her head. "Can't think of a thing. I'm almost finished packing. Once Hilary goes down for the night, I'll tie up some loose ends for my clients on the computer. Then we're all set."
"In that case," Cora said, "we'll take off as soon as you get back with the wash. I want to get Roy home."
"Good idea," Amanda agreed. "I can tell he's hurting."
***
"Mandy!" Amanda spun around from the dryer at the urgency in Tyler's tone. "You'd better come quick."
She didn't waste time with questions. Something had happened to her baby. It never crossed her mind that the summons could be for any other reason. With a whispered prayer, she dashed up the stairs two at a time, her heart pounding. Why now when they were so close to the surgery that would transform Hilary from a sickly baby into a healthy toddler? She burst into the apartment. Hilary was lying on the floor. Her skin was purple; her breathing rapid and shallow.
A tet attack!
Amanda drew a deep breath. Calm down. You've been through this before. You know what to do. She knelt beside the little girl and pushed Hilary's knees into her chest. At the same time she barked out orders with the unruffled precision of an experienced general.
"Nate, get a blanket to wrap her in. Tuck, find my purse and car keys. I need you to drive me to the emergency room. Ty, my coat's in the hall closet. Dad, Floppy's there on the floor beside you. Toss it here. Mom, call St. Luke's emergency room and tell them we're coming in with a tetralogy patient having a tet attack."
The family scurried in all directions and in two minutes flat Amanda and Hilary were installed in the back seat of the Thunderbird, while Tucker chauffeured them to the nearest hospital.
Amanda was plumb scared. Her stomach roiled with fear; her mouth was dry from it. She couldn't let her family know how frightened she was--she just couldn't.
Gray understood in ways no one else could. She longed for his reassurance. But he was a hundred miles away.
"Shouldn't we have called an ambulance?" Tucker asked.
"Takes too long. If I didn't know what to do, then the answer is yes. But she needs to get
to a doctor as quickly as possible."
He wheeled the car around a corner. "I never meant to hurt her." Tucker's voice shook. "I'm sorry, Mandy."
Amanda continued to hold Hilary's knees tight against her chest. In the glow of the streetlights they passed, she could see that Hilary's color had deepened to almost black.
Hurry, she pleaded silently, knowing Tucker was already breaking the speed limit.
"What do you mean?"
"She knocked down the tower I built after only three blocks. I scooped up her and held her over my head, and called her a little rascal. She was laughing, then all of a sudden she was breathing fast and turning blue."
He turned the car into the emergency entrance. "Tucker, listen to me." Amanda met his gaze in the rear view mirror. "Nothing you did brought on this attack. They happen. I don't want you feeling guilty about something that wasn't your fault. Got it."
"Yeah, sure." He sounded unconvinced.
"She's had these before and each time under different circumstances. You are not to blame."
He braked to a stop at the emergency room door. "Okay, okay! I believe you."
An orderly, nurse, and gurney erupted from the hospital. The car door swung opened, and the nurse lifted Hilary out of Amanda's arms and onto the gurney.
Free of her burden, Amanda scurried to the pavement. "Park the car and come inside, Tuck, until we see what's what," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared inside.
"Ma'am!" The receptionist motioned her over to the desk. "I need your insurance information."
Amanda dug her insurance card from her wallet and handed it to the woman. While the receptionist keyed the information into the computer, Amanda glanced anxiously toward the disappearing gurney bearing her daughter.
"This won't take long," the lady assured her. "Patient's name?"
Amanda supplied it and her address before the woman could ask. Anything to get to Hilary faster.
At last the lady slid the admitting documents onto the counter for Amanda to sign. "Examining room one. Through those doors, to the right."
The scene in the examining room was a familiar one to Amanda. Hilary lay on the examining table, an oxygen mask over her face and an intravenous drip supplying the needed medication to her body. Her color was already improving.
"I'm Doctor Martin," a young man in a lab coat introduced himself. "Your daughter was in extreme circulatory distress. We've administered morphine. The drug decreases the vascular resistance."
Amanda nodded. "I understand. Hilary has had these attacks before." She glanced over at the table and was relieved to see her daughter's skin back to normal. "She had a cardiac catheterization last Friday. She hasn't been able to keep much in her stomach since then."
"Dehydration probably brought on this attack. What did the cath show?" Doctor Martin asked.
"It confirmed her shunt's closing down. We're leaving for Omaha in the morning. She's scheduled for surgery on Tuesday."
The doctor fingered his chin a moment in thought. "She needs to get down there now. Who's her doctor? The best way is to medevac her. Which hospital?"
"Doctor Townsend at Children's."
He looked at one of the nurses. "Contact Sky-Med."
The sleek, red and silver, SkyMed helicopter set down gently on the helipad at the Methodist-Children's Hospital complex. Amanda peered out the window and spotted Gray with several other hospital personnel. His trench coat flapping around his legs in the stiff wind, he was a welcome sight. A sense of security washed over her.
He could have waited inside. He could have delegated seeing Hilary to someone else. After all it was the middle of the night. But, no, Doctor Gray Townsend stood in the bitter cold waiting to be the first of the medical staff to meet the patient when the rotors ceased spinning. Deep, heartfelt gratitude--and something else she didn't want to put a name to-- flooded over her. Any lingering doubt Amanda might have harbored was erased once and for all by this show of caring and concern for her daughter, his patient.
The door slid open and the attending flight nurse hopped out. Gray spoke briefly with the man, then stood aside while Hilary, along with all the tubes, wires, and the heart monitor connected to her small body, was transferred to a waiting gurney and rushed inside.
Amanda moved to the helicopter doorway and accepted proffered assistance to the ground. Only after her gloved hand was firmly encompassed in his, did she realize it was Gray who aided her descent. He squeezed her hand. His gesture offered its own reassurance. She felt less alone. Someone in this strange city cared.
"We're taking Hilary straight to the ICU," he said, moving to follow his patient as fast as his weak leg would allow. "I'll meet you in the waiting room on the fourth floor after I've examined her. Try to relax. It'll be awhile."
She nodded, anxiety choking back her numerous questions and the heartfelt appreciation she wished to express. She took two deep breaths to calm her jangled nerves. Her lungs burned from the glacial air. It was an ungentle reminder that the natural, effortless process of moving oxygen through her body was hard work for her little girl. But not for long! Soon--very soon--this nightmare would be over. In six short weeks Hilary would be normal.
Tagging along in the wake of the hospital entourage, Amanda watched Gray stride ahead. Her flash of optimism faded, replaced by a feeling of abandonment. Left alone-- again. Draining, useless resentment swamped her, directed not at Gray, but at her ex- husband.
Hilary was in serious trouble. The baby needed both her parents, and Amanda needed her daughter's father to help shoulder the responsibility for the tough decisions ahead. Roland had refused to accept any emotional obligation to their child, had even gone so far as to insinuate that the heart defect was Amanda's fault. She'd get no support from that quarter; it made no sense to leave herself open to more rejection, more heartache by asking. Roland Wagner had made his position abundantly clear. He could not cope with his less than perfect child. Entering the elevator that would take them to the fourth floor, Amanda welcomed the hospital's interior warmth.
"The waiting room's that way," a nurse said, waving her hand down the hall when the elevator came to a stop. "Someone will get back to you as soon as Doctor Townsend..." admiration filtered through when she spoke his name "...completes his examination."
Watching the gurney disappear through the large pneumatic door leading into the intensive care unit, Amanda fought the urge to cry. Having no control over anything that was about to happen to her only child left her feeling lost and scared. At one o'clock in the morning the hospital was hushed, the normally busy hallways empty. The eerie atmosphere underscored her solitude and fear.
In a daze, she moved across the hall to the small waiting room. The lights were dim. Some of the chairs were occupied by bodies contorted every-which-way in what looked like a futile effort to find a comfortable position to sleep. One brave--or desperate--soul had stretched out on the floor in a sleeping bag. Amanda eased her tired body into the chair nearest the door and slid her coat from her shoulders. How long would she have to wait for news? She twisted her hands in her lap determined to leave her fingernails intact.
Having left home in such a hurry, she didn't have any of the things she'd packed for their stay in Omaha. At the moment, she wished most for her colored pencils and drawing paper. What in the world was she supposed to do with her hands? She slid her garnet birthstone ring over her knuckle and back into place--again and again and again.
She couldn't get the image of Gray shivering in the wind and cold waiting for the helicopter to land out of her mind. There was a vast difference between the kind man who'd handed her to the ground and the indulged youth who'd resorted to cruelty to break their engagement. There was an aberration somewhere. She wanted to believe with all her heart that his behavior all those years ago was out of character. Maturity could explain the disparity, but so could the extenuating circumstances back then.
It dawned on her with sudden insight that she really had forgiven Gray Townsend for the anguish he'd caused her. She wasn't sure when it had happened: an hour ago, last week, or sometime farther distant than that. The only thing she knew for sure was that she didn't hate him for what he'd done.
Tonight his performance from the moment they'd arrived had strengthened her trust in him as a doctor. However, her trust did not extend beyond his role as her daughter's pediatric cardiologist. Anything personal was another question, one that didn't really matter. Her only concern now was his professional ability.
Her thoughts hopscotched to other problems, one after another. Would the insurance company cover SkyMed? She didn't have a clue to the expense, but it wouldn't be cheap. Her car was still in Sioux City, leaving her trapped at the hospital or at the mercy of public transportation, however that wasn't a big concern until Hilary was released. They'd have to use a truckload of dynamite to move her from close proximity to her baby. The one thing she couldn't do without was her suitcase. The very idea of spending the next week and half wearing the clothes on her back made her cringe. She'd have to arrange for someone to send her bag.
Time crept by. Waiting was always difficult, but waiting in the middle of the night was the pits. Amanda knew her folks were worried sick, yet it made no sense to call until she had something--anything--to report. Dear Lord! What was taking so long? She picked at her right thumbnail until it peeled off at the quick.
"Amanda."
At the sound of Gray's low-pitched voice, her pounding heart went into overdrive. She jumped up, tripping over her feet in her haste to join him in the hall.
He reached out and grasped her arm, steadying her against his chest. "Hilary's stable."
Amanda sagged in the circle of his arm. At the moment he was the pillar of strength she needed desperately.
"We're going to operate at seven."
He might as well have punched her in the stomach. Like a prizefighter, she knew the blow was coming, but being prepared didn't diminish the pain. "May I see her?" Amanda begged.
"Sure," he said, guiding her with his hand on the small of her back. "This way."
They stopped at the double size door leading to the ICU. Her jelly legs wobbled, and she was grateful for his support. He slapped a plate-sized, chrome button with the palm of his hand. The door swung open into a room that seemed, in the fleeting moment her surroundings took to register, a jumble of gleaming stainless steel contraptions, colorless white and very ill little people. A long row of cribs lined the wall, each with its own set of lifesaving equipment. Gray ushered her to one of the middle beds.
Her stomach churned. At least Hilary's color was normal, not the grotesque purple of a few hours earlier. Amanda clung to that lone piece of encouragement. Hilary lay sleeping on her back with a cannula providing oxygen attached to her nose, an IV inserted in the jugular vein in her neck and other IV lines fixed in her immobilized leg. She was also hooked up to the omnipresent heart monitor.
"Oh, baby," Amanda whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
Gray draped his arm around her shoulders. "The IV in her hand slipped and we had to move it to a viable vein," he explained the drip in the baby's neck. "She still needs the fluids because her blood is thickened from dehydration. I've established the other IVs in preparation for surgery."
Bile rose in Amanda's throat at the sight of the IV in Hilary's neck. Though long past her childhood aversion to needles, seeing her baby used as a pincushion, especially in weird places, tormented Amanda despite her understanding the necessity for locating workable veins.
"I know all those lines look distressing, but they are necessary," Gray said. As if he understood her need, he hugged her shoulder. "It's okay to touch her."
His voice was reassuring, but not nearly as reassuring as the warm, baby softness of the top of her little girl's hand. "Hilly, sweetheart, Mommy's here. I love you." Amanda stood with her fingers caressing Hilary for countless moments. Her tender voice mingled with the beeps and whines of the various machines.
"Try to sleep a bit," Gray suggested, his voice laced with sympathy. "It's going to be a very long day."
"I don't think I can."
"At least try," he insisted, his tone authoritative. "There're pillows in the waiting room. You can come check on Hilary any time you want to, but you need some rest. You won't do her any good if you collapse."
"All right." Even to her own ears, Amanda's voice sounded tired. "I guess so."
***
Gray parked under the portico instead of putting the Lincoln in the garage. Why bother when he'd be leaving again soon? Knees creaking worse than the stair treads in his old house, he dragged himself from his car. Only the wind stirring the bare tree limbs disturbed the quiet neighborhood, lying under the black velvet of the star-studded sky. The scene was as eerie as the hospital at night. He hardly noticed; he was so tired. The Wagner case drained him more than most.
Climbing the stairs, he debated whether to pamper himself in the bubbling warmth of the spa or to head straight to bed. The grandfather clock in the downstairs hall chimed three. Bypassing the spa, he headed for the master suite. In less than three hours, he had to be back at the hospital.
The warm, water-filled coils of the soft-sided water mattress relaxed his exhausted body while concern for Amanda filled his mind. She was so alone. From the moment he'd helped her out of the helicopter, he'd wanted to hold her in his arms and whisper that everything would be all right. Those innocent touches at the hospital were tame compared to how he really wanted to hold her. Talk about restraint! Each time he saw her, the love that had lain dormant all these years surfaced once more, stronger than before. If only he could express his true feelings.
His natural inclination was to begin the age-old courting process all over again. Except he doubted she would notice. Her total concentration centered on her child's health. He wondered if seeing him again sparked any emotion at all. If she felt anything beyond gratitude for what he was doing for Hilary she managed to hide it well. After the way he'd treated her, she couldn't possibly reciprocate his love.
Although it sounded hard-hearted, he realized caring for Hilary presented him with a golden opportunity. He could become acquainted with the Amanda of today before she disappeared once more. How he yearned for her to view him as more than her daughter's physician. When Hilary was well, he'd work on reestablishing a personal relationship with Amanda.
***
Amanda propped herself against the wall and cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder. She crossed her arms under her breasts, tucking her freezing hands into her armpits. "Surgery is scheduled for seven, Mom."
"Oh, dear. If I leave right now, I won't make it by then."
"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine." Amanda spoke with more confidence than she felt. "How's Dad? He seemed so much worse yesterday."
"He is. In fact, Nate and Ty carried him up to bed."
"You can't leave him." Her father must be hurting something awful if he permitted his sons to help him. Why did everything always happen at once? "Really, I'm okay and Hilary will be. You stay home and take care of Dad so he can enjoy Hilly when she is up and running around."
"Are you sure, Mandy?"
"I'm sure." Would she rot in hell for the white lies she'd just told? The truth was she'd reached the end of her rope. "I promise I'll call as soon as it's over. Bye."
Amanda hung up the phone, staving off further depleting discussion. She straightened, squaring her shoulders. No sense pulling her mom in two directions. It wasn't fair to insist that Cora make the almost four hour drive to Omaha from the farm. Somebody had to stay with her dad when he had these bad spells and the boys were in school. She lifted her chin a notch. Tie a knot and hang on tight. And pray like you've never prayed before.
***
"Mrs. Wagner?"
The masculine voice sounded too chipper for six o'clock in the morning. Amanda looked up at the balding gentleman standing in the waiting room doorway. "I'm Ms. Wagner."
"Doctor Svoboda," he said, extending his hand in greeting, "the surgeon on your daughter's case."
She rose, her whole body stiff from sitting so long, and shook his hand. Over his shoulder, she spotted Gray coming down the hall. "How do you do," she murmured, focusing on the surgeon's face. He exuded a kindliness and warmth she hadn't expected.
"Let's go over the procedure we'll be doing on Hilary." He slouched in the seat beside her, relaxed and assured.
His manner inspired Amanda's confidence, but nothing could ease her building tension. She sank back into the deep, rust-colored chair she'd occupied on and off for the last several hours. It was beginning to feel like an extension of her anatomy.
Gray came in flashing her a compassionate smile and sat down next to his colleague.
"You understand we'll hook Hilary up to a heart-lung machine during surgery. The device keeps oxygenated blood pumping through her body while we have her heart stopped for repair." He rattled off a rapid-fire, step-by-step description. "The incision will be right down the center of her chest, through the breastbone. You with me so far?"
So many technical details to understand! Some parts sounded familiar from when Hilary's shunt had been created; others didn't, but the doctor spoke in comprehensible terms. "I think so."
"I'll stitch a Dacron patch over the hole between the lower chambers of her heart." His eyes twinkled. "It's more delicate but not unlike patching a pair of jeans."
A tiny laugh bubbled up inside Amanda, releasing a smidgen of her anxiety. This man had an easy way about him. Bedside manner, in spades.
"I may have to move the aorta to do my mending job, but I'd prefer to leave it alone. Next, I'll tackle the pulmonary valve. I would rather 'roto-rooter' the inside..."
Amanda pictured the plumber's machine used for cleaning clogged drainpipes and knew exactly what the doctor intended to do.
"...to enlarge it, but if that doesn't do the trick, I'll cut and patch."
It sounded straightforward and simple presented this way, although Amanda understood open-heart surgery was far from simple. He went on to explain the rest of the lengthy, complicated procedure.
"I'll wire the sternum together when it's all over. The wires stay the rest of her life, but you needn't worry about her setting off metal detectors at airports." He smiled again. "Any questions?"
Her head awhirl with facts, she drew a complete blank. There should be some detail she needed to know, but at the moment no questions came to mind. She shook her head. "I'll probably think of a million as soon as you leave."
Both doctors stood and paused in the doorway. "My nurse, Dinah Sims, will monitor the surgery and will check in with you periodically," Gray said. "If you think of something later, ask her."
"Thank you both."
Gray reached over and patted her arm. "Hilary is in excellent hands. I only trust my patients to the best. Take it easy," he advised, his mellifluous voice full of warmth. "I'll be around later."
Amanda tried to smile despite the immediacy of Hilary's open-heart surgery. The operation was going to happen, not in some nebulous time in the future, but today, this morning, in the next hour.
Amanda's naturally buoyant spirit surfaced. She pictured Hilary running around the farmyard, her sneaker shod feet pounding on the newly sprung grass. Then Hilary squatting--not to tax her heart less, but for simple convenience--to pick a bouquet of bright yellow dandelions. A whole, healthy, happy child. Amanda's smile became genuine. Today was the beginning of better days.
***
Relax, Amanda admonished herself, and loosened her tight grasp on the couch arm. She had exchanged one waiting room for another, although there wasn't much change of scenery. Both were populated by uncertain, vulnerable people and decorated in the same earth tones.
Moments ago she'd accompanied Hilary, who clutched Floppy in one arm, as far as the operating room door. Amanda felt detached and isolated. Her voice had echoed in the sterile, empty hallway as she whispered to Hilary. Falling apart inside, unable to hold back tears, she'd allowed the staff to push her baby through those doors. On a scale of one to ten, watching them wheel Hilary away ranked number twenty-four. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done.
Now she tried to absorb all that Doctor Svoboda had explained about the surgical procedure. It would be quite awhile before the actual surgery began. She glanced around, envious of the others waiting who had family or friends for company. She picked up a well- thumbed news magazine and settled back. Might as well get comfortable. Undoubtedly, this was going to be the longest day of her life.
The morning dragged by, minute by sluggish minute, broken by a sustaining visit from the hospital chaplain, progress reports from Gray's nurse, Dinah Sims, and endless cups of coffee. From the vantage point of the couch nearest the coffee urn, Amanda watched people come and go, overhearing snatches of their conversations here and there. Realizing that others were in a worse situation than hers prevented her from succumbing to self-pity. At least for Hilary the prognosis was for full recovery. Others weren't so lucky.
When one man came in brushing snowflakes from his shoulders, her heart sank. Snow torpedoed the faint hope she'd harbored that somehow her folks would drive to Omaha regardless of her instructions to the contrary.
A short time later, Gray entered the waiting room, his limp pronounced. The lines bracketing his mouth appeared deeper than before. No wonder he looked bushed; it was only nine-thirty in the morning, but he'd left her around two-thirty and been back by six. Had he gone home at all?
"Hi." He lowered himself onto the couch beside her, and extended his bad leg out straight, eyeing the coffee table in front of them with longing. He handled his handicap with considerable grace. She'd noticed he spurned any concessions to his weakness and speculated as to how long it had taken him to get to that point. He'd been self-centered, as well as cruel, the day he'd broken their engagement. And in tremendous pain, she reminded herself. And now?
"Go ahead," she urged, cocking her head toward the table. "Use it for a footstool."
"No need. Besides, Ramona would have my head. Feet belong under the table, not on top of it. Quote, unquote."
Amanda chuckled remembering his tales of his family's formidable housekeeper. "Who's going to tell her? Certainly not I!"
Her quiet chuckle sparked nostalgia for their far off youth. Gray shook his head as much to throw off the memories as to deny needing to ease his leg. "I figured you'd like a progress report. Doctor Svoboda has started the patch. It'll take an hour and a half, give or take, before he starts closing."
Her shoulders quaked. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "How long before she's back in the ICU?"
"Not before one. Probably closer to three."
She gripped the edge of the couch cushion until her knuckles turned white. "Like you said before, a long day."
Gray knew she needed a distraction before she exploded from sheer tension. Every nail on both hands was ragged, every muscle tense. He couldn't spare her the drawn-out, anxious wait, but he could provide a diversion.
"Remember the day we built the snow fort outside your dorm," he reminisced, propping his cane against the edge of the couch, "then bombarded all your unsuspecting friends?"
"That was so long ago." She sighed. "Didn't you cut class that day?"
"Yeah. Business Law. I hated that course!"
She twisted in her seat, folding her leg underneath her and faced him. "How did the business major I knew become a pediatric cardiologist?"
"Long story."
"I'm not going anywhere," she replied. "But I'm sure you don't have time to explain right now."
He'd make time. He'd intended to stay with her a while anyway. Filling in the gaps during their years apart was an essential part of rebuilding their relationship. This was as good a distractive device as any. "They'll call if I'm needed," he said, patting the beeper attached to his belt.
Gray leaned back and looked into Amanda's chocolate brown eyes, remembering the mischief that had glinted there during their snowball battle. Her expressive eyes had mirrored her soul, glowing with love for him back then. Would he ever see that love again?
Letting her go had been the biggest mistake of his life. And yet, if he could wave a magic wand and go back in time he wasn't sure he would undo his error. Because then he'd be stuck running the Townsend Company today. He knew without a doubt his choice of careers was the best decision he'd ever made. Had he married Amanda then, he wouldn't be a doctor today and wouldn't be in a position to help sick children like her daughter. Maybe it was true that things work out for the best.
Although the very best for him would be, without a doubt, winning her back. Reconciliation was becoming an obsession, gnawing at him with a hunger similar to a bear just awakened from hibernation.
"I never really wanted a business career," he began, his tone manner-of-fact. "I dreamed of teaching high school science, but Dad pushed me into business. After the accident, everything changed. I'd nearly died. I wasn't supposed to walk again. I spent most of the summer in the hospital, then came back to Omaha for rehabilitation. Eventually, more surgery, more rehab. I had endless hours to reflect on the meaning of my existence and my place in the scheme of things. When push came to shove, I realized I couldn't waste my life doing something I hated just to please Dad. The longer I spent around doctors and medicine, the more convinced I became I wanted to be a doctor." He squirmed in his seat and dropped his gaze to his lap. "It sounds corny, but I honestly want to make a difference in my patient's lives."
"Doesn't sound corny to me. As a parent of one of your patients, I'm grateful for your dedication." Amanda paused, astonished by the slight pink coloring his cheeks. The poor man was embarrassed! "Did your father accept your decision with good grace?"
Gray plowed his hand through his hair, moving it off his forehead. The white streaked black shock flopped right back across his brow. Amanda's throat tightened. She wished her hand could replace his, but that would never do!
"Not at all. In fact, he refused to pay my tuition unless I studied business."
Amanda gasped. Spencer Townsend had been even more manipulative than she'd imagined. Gray had been very close to his father and extremely eager to please him. It must have cost Gray a great deal to stand up to him--literally as well as figuratively.
He waved his hand in the air. "No biggie. Grandmother Prescott was loaded and I was her only grandchild. She and my father never saw eye-to-eye. It gave her great pleasure to help me thwart the old man."
"I still find your complete change of direction hard to picture."
"Sometimes I find it hard to believe I did it. Always was a stubborn cuss. Dad shouldn't have been surprised." He flashed a self-deprecating smile. "I got it from him."
She remembered an instance or two that proved his claim. "Hmmm. Go on."
"I dug my heels in. Enrolled in medical school at Creighton U. here in Omaha which enabled me to continue with the rehab I'd started."
"You're happy with your decision?"
"Absolutely."
He studied her face. The shadows under her eyes were almost eggplant-purple. She was rumpled and pale, wearing the same baggy jeans and sweatshirt she'd been wearing when she arrived in the middle of the night, yet she seemed more relaxed. His ploy--little thing that it was--worked. "Tell me about you. Did you get your accounting degree?"
"Yes, and an MBA. I'm a CPA."
His eyes widened. "That's quite an impressive accomplishment."
"Let's just say I had incentive." She didn't elaborate further.
"Then what?"
"My career took off. I worked my way up the corporate ladder to comptroller of a small, growing firm. I married an insurance executive. Everything was...fine. Until Hilary was born." Her daughter's precious face flashed through her mind. What in the world was she doing sitting here chatting like she didn't have a care in the world while Hilary was being subjected to the surgeon's knife?
"And then?"
Something--caring, compelling--in his voice released the knot of self-recrimination inside her. Total concentration on what might or might not be happening to her daughter wouldn't change a thing that was occurring in the operating room. Would most likely reduce her to a useless basket case. What harm could a little catching up with an old friend do?
"Mandy?" He waved his hand in front of her face. "How did your husband react?"
She blinked and chewed the inside of her mouth. "Roland Wagner is a perfectionist in the truest sense of the word. He genuinely can't settle for less. When we discovered our daughter was born with a heart defect, he couldn't accept it. Or her."
Gray sensed there was an important omission somewhere in this tale. One day he hoped she'd trust him enough to tell him the rest.
"He left us and filed for divorce."
Her voice sounded flat, but he could still hear the underlying pain. Gray swore under his breath and voiced one of the questions that had plagued him since she walked back into his life four days before. "How do you manage alone with a sick baby?"
"I have my own tax preparation business now, working out of my home."
"I'll have to hire you to do my taxes."
Amanda stiffened ramrod straight. "I don't need your pity," she muttered fiercely.
His lips compressed to a thin line. "I'm sure you don't, but I do need someone to do my taxes." He scooted around on the seat. In the process his cane slipped and clattered to the floor.
Amanda reached down and retrieved the walking stick, sorry she'd gotten on her high horse. It was just that she'd put up with about as much misplaced sympathy as she could stomach. One still found old-fashioned mores in the farm country where she came from. Some folks couldn't understand her need to maintain her independence, but that had nothing to do with Gray's remark. The good Lord knew she couldn't afford to turn down a legitimate offer of business. "Sorry. If you're really serious, let's discuss it."
"Sure. Later, though."
Feeling embarrassed by her outburst, as well as guilty for allowing herself to relax, she fingered the intricate carving, admiring the cane's unusual craftsmanship. She wished he'd leave, but she couldn't be so rude as to ask him to go. Sometimes a person just had to muddle through the best they could. "This is beautiful."
"I'm very proud of it." His tone reflected not only pride, but also a sense of accomplishment. "The grandfather of a patient of mine in Houston carved it for me. The child was a charity case at the teaching hospital where I did my residency. The old man wanted to express his gratitude with something I could use when the boy got well. I treasure the cane because it came from the heart."
Amanda blinked mist from her eyes. He used the unusual aid, not to show off, but because the cane was a special gift. That shouldn't surprise her. He'd never flaunted his possessions like so many kids she'd known who were hung up on always having the correct brand and the "in" style. His total lack of snobbishness was one of the things she had admired about him.
"I could use some coffee," she said, checking her watch as she rose to her feet. An hour had gone by faster than any hour since she'd arrived in Omaha. How close was Doctor Svoboda to closing? "Want some?"
"Thanks. Black."
She filled two disposable cups from the urn beside her and passed one to him. Twisting from side to side, she attempted to loosen her stiff muscles. The kinks would be permanent by the time Hilary was well enough to leave this place.
"Are you hungry?" Gray asked. "We can grab a quick bite. The Round Table is just through the lobby."
"You go ahead," she responded. "I wouldn't dare eat. My stomach's tied in knots."
He shook his head and frowned. "And you're drinking notoriously strong hospital coffee?"
She shrugged and sat down again. "I live on coffee." Her fingers flew to her mouth. "Whoops! I shouldn't admit that to a doctor."
"Probably not, but I don't recommend changing bad habits during times of stress."
A stir in the doorway drew Amanda's attention. "Oh!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and striding across the waiting room.
Gray watched her accept bear hugs from three strapping, look-alike lads, wearing high school jackets with their names embroidered on the front. Her beloved brothers, had to be. Those hulks had been two-years-old when he and Mandy had been engaged. Seeing them, Gray felt old and decrepit.
"What're you guys doing here?" Amanda demanded in a severe tone of voice. Her delighted smile spoiled the effect of her reprimand.
Tucker dangled a set of car keys under her nose. At the same time Nathan dropped her tote bag and a small suitcase at her feet. "We reckoned you needed your wheels and clean skivvies, Sis," Tucker said.
Gray thought the young man looked mighty pleased with himself.
"You could've waited until the weather cleared."
"Best time for a road trip!" Tyler declared. "Just enough snow to scare sane folks into staying home, but not enough to worry about."
Amanda rolled her eyes.
"We thought," Nathan inserted quietly, "you could use some company. Is the surgery over yet?"
"Not yet," Amanda said softly, her eyes clouded. Then her expression became stern. "You're supposed to be in school. Does Mom know you're here?"
"Nah," the three chorused in unison. "We figured you and Hilly were more important, so we cut," Tucker added.
"Look, guys," she sighed, "I appreciate your coming more than I can say, but you can't stay. Tuck, go call home and let Mom know you are on your way back."
Tucker shook his head, his mouth set in a mulish line. The triplets stood shoulder to shoulder--an immovable wall of youthful determination. "We're staying until we know Hilly's okay."
"We thought you needed somebody with you," Nathan mumbled, looking at his feet. "Couldn't stand your waiting all by yourself."
Disheartened, Gray levered himself to his feet and slipped from the room. Amanda didn't need him anymore.
"Who was the dude with the cane? The one you were talking to when we came in?" Tyler asked.
Amanda spun on her heel and eyed the vacant couch. Gray was gone. She felt as if her prop had been knocked out from under her. She gave herself a mental shake. Allowing herself to become dependent on him again would be a grievous error. True, but today had been professional. Yeah, sure, Mandy. Trips down memory lane are purely professional.
Tyler snapped his fingers an inch from her nose. "Gonna tell us who the dude is?"
"Oh! Sure. That was Gray Townsend."
"The Gray Townsend, the jerk who jilted you?" Tucker questioned in a loud voice.
Amanda winced and nodded.
"He'd better not show his face around here again or I'll shove that fancy cane up his aristocratic nose!"
Amanda gulped. "Whoa, bro. Climb off your charger and sheath your sword. In case you didn't notice, he belongs here. You know...white coat, stethoscope. He's Hilary's doctor."
"Oops."
Suddenly, she became aware of the attention they were attracting. Please floor, open up and swallow me! She picked up the bags and led the way to a conversation grouping in the corner.
***
Out of sight, but within earshot, Gray winced at the threat. At least now Amanda wasn't alone. That was one worry off his mind. But...he'd wanted to be the one to help her through this difficult time. Him, the hotshot doctor. He'd wanted to impress her with his mastery and use the opportunity to further his cause.
Pretty selfish, Townsend.
Her three snot-nosed brothers had crashed his party. Better not let them hear him calling them snot-nosed. Each was big enough to rip him in two without breaking a sweat, and without help from the others.
Damn Amanda anyway! She'd been too engrossed with her siblings to even notice when he left the waiting room. Hadn't she realized he'd gone out of his way to spend some time with her? Did she think he dallied away that much of his working day with every patient's family? Didn't she know...
He was jealous.
Gray stopped dead still in the middle of the busy corridor. Jealousy was an alien emotion, beyond the realm of his experience. He had thought he was above such a petty response. It astounded and confused him. As the only child of a single parent he'd never had to vie for attention.
The Talmadge's loving warmth was very different from his relationship with his father. He didn't doubt his father loved him, but it was a smothering kind of love.
The Talmadge family dynamics puzzled him. Mandy was almost old enough to be the triplet's mother, yet their closeness astonished him. How many teenagers were thoughtful enough to remember that their older sister needed her automobile and clothes, and most important, emotional support? Those young men had tried to make their expedition sound like a lark, but their love and devotion for their sister and niece came shining through.
Theirs was a different kind of family warmth and closeness from his own experience. The kind he longed for. The kind he was determined to have. With Amanda. And of course, her precious daughter.
The moment that sweet tyke had gazed at him with her trusting brown eyes and taken the stethoscope from his hand she had stolen his heart. His affection was more than his special rapport with kids. Even though only two, the little princess reminded him of her mother in many ways. The resemblance had sucked him in and now, sick as she was, Hilary's own personality held him.
It crossed his mind that he'd been thinking of Mandy, and of course, Hilary, as a single entity to be wooed.
Failing to consider the rest of the Talmadges was a serious blunder. He couldn't expect her family to welcome him with open arms. From what he'd heard, at least one of the boys bore a grudge. What about Mandy's parents?
Another thought hit him with the pain and force of a lightning bolt. What if, after all these years, Amanda hated him? If her brothers expressed the necessity to protect her from him, then she must have given some hint of negative feelings, which prompted the threat. The triplets weren't old enough back then to remember the broken engagement when it happened.
Gray entered the doctor's lounge, grateful to find the room empty. Remorse shrouded him like a heavy California fog. He'd never meant to hurt her. He'd loved her enough to give her up rather than subject her to the pain of having to deal with his recovery and disability. It simply hadn't occurred to him that she wouldn't understand his motives as time went on. Now, apparently, he was going to have to heal her wound before the relationship he wanted could progress. The crusade would require the hard won patience he'd learned during that grim time he had spared her. The task wouldn't be easy, but the good things in life rarely were.
The first step was to make Hilary well.