Claimed

“My god,” she whispered to the dark. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Chapter 4

“I must say, I’m quite surprised, Jim.” Bob Reynolds ran a hand through his thick mane of silver hair, a serious expression on his tanned face. “Kelsey Rowan struck me as a serious young woman, not the flighty type at all.”

James nodded soberly, ignoring the man’s persistence in calling him Jim, even after years and countless requests to call him James. “I agree, sir. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I got her message this morning. I’d have at least expected a little notice, even if we didn’t ask her to stay on for the full two weeks.”

“Did she say where she went?” Reynolds pressed his hands flat on his huge, shiny desk. “First Savings & Loan’s been trying to steal away some of our lending officers.” He balled his hand into a fist and pounded his desk. “Damn it, did she take proprietary files with her?”

“No, no,” James said quickly. “That was the first thing I checked, believe me. She didn’t take a thing from her desk, not even her personal items. She just said she’s quitting effective immediately and moving out of the state.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’m guessing it’s something, uh, personal. You know, guy trouble. Or something worse. You never know these days. It’s a shame though. She was starting to really contribute to the team. And now…” James drew in a deep breath and let it out as a long sigh. “Now, in light of the other news I have to tell you, it’s especially unfortunate that we’ll be understaffed.” He pressed his lips together and looked down at his lap, blinking rapidly as if to fight away the tears.

“What?” Reynolds demanded. “What do you have to tell me? Is there something wrong?”

James drew in a deep breath, as if girding himself for what he was about to say. He looked up directly into Reynolds’ pale blue eyes. “Um. Well, in a word, yes.”

“What is it, Jim? More trouble with your staff?”

“No. It’s, uh,” James hesitated, and then plunged on, “it’s personal. I guess I’ve been putting it off—using work as an excuse to keep from focusing on the possibility something might be wrong. I—I finally went to the doctor earlier this week when the pain just got too bad. I got the results of the lab work yesterday evening and it’s really thrown me for a loop. It seems I have,” he paused and swallowed hard, putting a brave face on it, “a rare kind of cancer.”

“Cancer?” Reynolds exclaimed. His face creased with sympathy. “But you’re so young.”

“Yeah.” James gave a defeated shrug and, for extra effect ran his hand over his eyes. “My mom died of cancer. I guess”—he let his voice crack—“I guess it runs in the family.”

Reynolds rose to his feet. He stepped around the desk and came to James, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. “You’ll need a second opinion. Damn it, we’ll fight this thing. When’s the last time you had a vacation, anyway?”

Perfect.

“Gosh, it’s been a while, sir. Work’s been so busy and—”

“Damn it, Jim. That’s part of your problem. Life’s too short. Haven’t you heard that old adage about all work and no play? You need to take some time off, man. Get that second opinion, rest up, figure out how you’re going to lick this thing.”

“But my staff—”

Bob held up his hand. “Forget about your staff. Forget about the damn bank. Take a week, two weeks, all the time you need. I’ll talk to HR. We’ll get that end sorted out. Your job will still be here when you get back, don’t worry. Your number one job right now is to get better. Got it?”

“But my work—”

“No buts. Now get the hell out of here. I’ll talk to your staff myself. Go on.”

James stood, making a show of his reluctance. He felt almost guilty when Reynolds suddenly grabbed him in a bear hug and said in a strangled voice, “Hang in there, Jim. You’ll beat this thing. I know you will.”

James drummed the steering wheel as he drove. His body felt light, his muscles taut with nervous energy. If he could have run home instead of driven, he would have been glad for the release.

“I did it. I fucking did it!” he shouted over the pulsing beat of the song on the radio.

It had been so easy. Laughably easy. He shook his head as he thought about the way Bob Reynolds’ face had crumpled with pity at James’ mention of the word cancer. It was one of those words that made people turn away, not wanting to probe too much, not willing to ask the questions that might make them think about their own mortality. He hadn’t even had to bring up the idea of sick leave or vacation—Reynolds had beaten him to it.