The Secret Heir

“Nothing bad’s going to happen,” she said aloud, feeling almost as if she had to keep reiterating the affirmation to make it come true.

Jackson tightened his arms around her shoulders and brushed his lips against her forehead. “We won’t let it,” he murmured.

She leaned against him. Maybe if they focused together on the same compelling wish—Tyler’s complete recovery—it would come true, she thought somewhat fancifully. They were a team, he kept reminding her. They were stronger together than apart. At least, that was what she wanted to believe.

Taking advantage of the seclusion of the nook in which they stood, the deepening shadows, the seductive music of the falling water, Jackson moved his lips from her forehead to her cheek. And then to her mouth.

He’d kissed her so many times and in so many ways during their four years together. She had thought she knew every nuance of his kisses. Yet this one was different in some way she couldn’t quite define. It was almost as if, for the first time since she’d met him, Jackson wasn’t quite so sure of himself. As if his inability to protect Tyler from this crisis had shaken his confidence in every way.

She reacted instinctively. Putting her arms around his waist and tilting her head back to return the kiss, she offered comfort and reassurance, even as she sought the same things in his embrace.

Being held by Jackson was always a heady experience. His body was toned from years of hard work, his shoulders broad, his arms roped with muscle, his thighs long and solid. He was the very model of virile masculinity. On the night they had met, she had been swept off her feet by all that overwhelming maleness. She still was at times, even when she was equally tempted to strangle him for it.

He ended the kiss very slowly. For just a moment he rested his forehead against hers, as if clinging to the closeness. And then he sighed. “I suppose we’d better go back in.”

Did his tone mean that he was as reluctant as Laurel to return to the realities waiting inside the hospital?

For the brief time they’d been out here in the garden, shielded from view of the hospital, they could almost pretend everything was fine. But now it was time to go back in.

Swallowing a sigh, she dropped her arms and stepped away from him.

There were eight other children in the pediatric ICU that night—fewer than usual, Laurel was told by one of the nurses. Other families huddled in the ICU waiting room’s chairs and recliners.

When she entered just before 10:00 p.m., Laurel noted that several families had made little nests for themselves, their chairs surrounded by bags of snacks, books, magazines and craft materials to help them pass the long hours of waiting. She found out very quickly that the parents who had been there longest had claimed certain sections of the room as their own.

There was no television in this room, though she was informed that a TV lounge was located just down the hall. This room was for resting, waiting, visiting quietly with family and friends. During the nights, it became a place f

or exhausted parents to sleep as best they could. At ten, the lights were dimmed, blankets and pillows were distributed and all but two visitors per patient were asked to leave.

There were other facilities available for the families of hospitalized children. A Ronald McDonald House was located not far from the hospital, providing sleeping and recreation quarters for people who lived too far to commute easily to visit their children. Most of the people settling into the waiting room for the night either lived nearby or simply refused to leave the hospital while their children were there. Laurel could have gone home, of course, but she simply couldn’t bear the thought of being a full half hour away if Tyler needed her for any reason.

“Here you go, honey. These two recliners are free tonight.” A pleasantly homely woman who looked to be in her late forties patted the arm of a chair next to her as she spoke to Laurel. “Mr. and Mrs. Carson’s boy was moved to a regular room this afternoon.”

“Lucky them,” Laurel said, sinking into the recliner closest to the woman while Jackson took the one beside her.

“Yes. Their boy was in a bad car accident with his grandparents. Both of them were killed, I’m sad to say. It was touch and go for young Daryl for a while there, but he’s on his way to a full recovery, praise be.”

Laurel set the blanket and pillow she had been given to one side of her chair. “That is good news.”

The older woman nodded. “We get to know each other in here after a while. All of us start to care about the other patients. My name is Carol Grissom, by the way. My fourteen-year-old daughter’s in unit 4. She was hurt riding her bike day before yesterday. I told her always to wear her helmet, but she didn’t listen that day.”

The woman stopped for a hard swallow, and then she added with forced cheerfulness, “She has a head injury, but the doctors tell me she’s showing signs of improvement. I’m sure she recognized my voice this evening, even if she couldn’t respond yet.”

Brought out of her own anxiety for the moment, Laurel touched the woman’s hand. “I hope everything goes well for her.”

“Thank you, dear. It’s been a tough time for me. I’m a single mother—Patty’s dad died several years ago—and my only family is a brother who lives in San Francisco. Patty’s all I have.”

How lonely it must be for this woman to have to go through this ordeal alone, Laurel thought with a wave of compassion. It made her grateful to have Jackson’s support, grateful even for his parents, whom she knew would do anything she asked of them during Tyler’s crisis.

She felt vaguely guilty for not recognizing how much luckier she was than other people. At least Tyler’s chances of recovery were excellent, barring unforeseen complications. That was more assurance than many of these worried parents had to cling to.

“I’m Laurel Reiss. And this is my husband, Jackson. If there’s anything we can do for you—”

“Isn’t that sweet of you.” The woman cut in with a faint smile, looking genuinely touched by the offer. “I know you have troubles of your own. You have the little boy who had the heart surgery this morning, don’t you?”

“Why, yes. His name is Tyler.”

“You look a little surprised that I know about him. There hasn’t been much to do to keep me distracted except to find out about everyone else,” Carol admitted candidly. “I’ve spent as much time with Patty as they would allow, but when I’m not in there with her, I’d go crazy if I didn’t have something to do to take my mind off her condition.”