Lilian Darcy - Her Sister's Child

“It isn’t?” Her mind was whirling now. What game was he playing? He was on his feet now, close enough for her to feel his pull on her senses. He couldn’t be hoping to seduce her into any sort of concession, could he?

“No,” he answered, his dark gaze boring into her eyes. “It’s about as personal as you can get. So can we get out of here? I want to take you to dinner.”

Why am I here? Why on earth did I agree to this?

Adam could see her thinking it as they sat at an intimate corner table in the Italian restaurant she’d nominated, waiting for their drinks to arrive.

She had argued at first, bristling and indignant and trying very hard to stay professional. Dinner? With him? Absolutely not! Without wanting to, he found himself smiling at the memory, and had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide it, pretending to scratch his nose.

She was incredibly…interesting…when she was angry, he decided, deliberately picking the safest word he could think of. She unconsciously stretched straighter to try and make more of her modest height, so that her neat, rounded breasts thrust forward, vying for prominence with her determined chin. Her eyes shot hot sparks, although cool gray eyes like hers ought not to have any fire in them at all. Her voice rose, and her vocabulary leaned heavily on her years at law school. Outside of the hospital, he hadn’t heard so many multisyllabic words in one sentence in a long time.

And he didn’t quite know how he’d finally talked her round. Didn’t remember what he’d said. He only knew that he’d fought for it with all the tenacity he had because it was crucial…literally a matter of life and death…that he and Meg Jonas get past their mutual hostility over the custody issue so he could tell her about Amy and ask her to look at making a bigger sacrifice for his little girl than she’d probably ever needed to make for anyone before in her life.

Well, he’d carried his point somehow. She’d finally stopped her indignant arguing, searched his face with shimmering, troubled eyes then murmured something about Lorenzo’s Trattoria and him following her car on his motorcycle. They’d both been so distracted that she hadn’t waited for him to put on his leather gear, and he hadn’t even thought of it, and now they were here and his body was still warming up after the chilly five minute ride in the rapidly cooling April evening.

“What is this about, Dr. Callahan?” she burst out as soon as her drink arrived.

He hadn’t taken in what she’d ordered, but it was long and cold and the glass was already beading with moisture. The way she held it, her fingers left five neat oval prints on the wetness when she took a sip and put the glass down again.

He took a slug of his beer before he answered her, still playing for time. Gut instinct told him that he had to establish at least a semblance of rapport with her before he answered her question properly.

“Let’s eat first,” he said.

But she wasn’t having that. “No! I’ve already given you more than enough latitude in this. You claim you’ve got something to say. Something that changes the whole situation. Well, I want to hear it! Now! And if I don’t, then I’m going to walk right out of here.” Her index finger stabbed in the direction of the door. “And the next step you’ll need to take will be to find yourself a good attorney to handle your side of the case.”

“Okay, okay.” Unfortunately, he could see that she wasn’t bluffing. Why should she? She had nothing to lose by maintaining their antagonism.

Or rather, he amended to himself, she thought she had nothing to lose.

But she was wrong. She had Amy to lose. And that was his greatest asset, he realized, because it meant that even if he did have to tell her the cruel facts now, bluntly, with no lead in, she just might understand.

Their waiter appeared, and Adam waved him away. “Not yet,” he said. “Give us a few minutes, okay?”

“No problem.”

Adam waited until the man was out of earshot, then just bit the bullet and came out with it as simply as he could. The words, as usual, tasted bitter and painful and impossible in his mouth.

“Amy is ill, Ms. Jonas. She has leukemia.”

“Leukemia!”

He saw the shocked widening of her eyes, and went on urgently, “She needs a bone marrow donor, and if we can find someone compatible, then she should…she will…recover completely. But if there’s no one…That’s why I needed to contact Cherie so urgently. I’m not a good match, and neither is anyone in my family. We all got tested when we heard of her illness, but it just didn’t work out. Cherie was our only hope, and even though she wasn’t the best mother in the world—hell, we both know that!—I know she would have done it.

“When you told me just now that she’d been killed…You know we weren’t involved long enough or deeply enough for me to carry a life-long grief over that, but my little girl…if I lost her…”

“Yes…”

“I thought she’d lost her best chance when you gave me the news, until I thought about the fact that you and Cherie were sisters. Would you be willing to do it? To get tested? And, if you’re compatible, donate your bone marrow to my baby?”

“Dad, sorry it’s so late. I know you’ve been waiting for me to call,” Meg said into the phone, just moments after she arrived home that night.

Her father had picked up on the first ring. Now he didn’t waste words. “Okay, shoot, Meggie. Did it go well? Was he what we were expecting?”

The two impossible questions she had known he would ask. She had the answers prepared, but her throat suddenly felt dry all the same. Unbearably so. She went into the galley-style kitchen of her one bedroom apartment with the cordless phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear and got some sparkling mineral water from the fridge. She spoke as she went. Carefully.

“No, he wasn’t what we were expecting. I can’t go into any details yet.” She took a big gulp of the mineral water and her parched mouth felt better.

“You’re calling from your office? He can’t still be with you…”

“No, I’m calling from home. I’m alone.”

“Then why can’t you talk?”

“Because I want to be cautious about this, Dad. There’s…more going on than we realized.” A lot more. “It’ll be a few days before I can really be clear about what’s happening.”

There was a clatter in her ear and the sound of Patty’s warm voice. “Meg, I have to know. Your dad’s asking all the wrong questions. Is this Callahan man a total low-life, or not? Did you see Amy?”

Answer the easy one first. “No, I didn’t see her. She was staying with his mother overnight.”

“His mother? Men like that don’t have mothers! Not ones you can safely leave a baby with, anyway.”

“He’s not a ‘man like that,’ Patty,” she had to say. “Or if he is, he’s a darn good liar.”

“Of course he’s a good liar! Men like that are!”

“And he’s not going to give Amy up easily. I don’t even know if—”

“But we can win it, right? Her own grandparents? Financially secure, with me giving up work as soon as she’s with us, so I can care for her full-time? And after everything Cherie said about him? Oh, I’m just aching for that poor little girl, and what she must have to endure!”

“I know.” Meg was aching, too. For different reasons.

She managed to deflect another five minutes of questions and finally put down the phone, exhausted by the effort of holding back what she knew. She wasn’t going to frighten Dad or Patty with the specter of Amy’s leukemia.

Not yet. Not until she’d satisfied herself that this whole thing wasn’t just some sick scam, and that Adam Callahan was really the man he said he was.

She didn’t know why the issue of trusting him was building such conflict inside her. Was it a lawyer’s instinct? A lawyer’s caution? Those things had been drummed into her constantly through three years of law school and she put them into practice daily in her legal work now.

Even a simple real estate closing could turn into a minefield of problems. People lied. Just last month, she’d saved some clients from handing over every penny they’d put away to a man who was trying to sell them a house he didn’t even own. He was a plausible character, too. Attractive and sophisticated.

Yes, there were people out there who deliberately, brazenly, believably lied, and for a dozen different reasons. Financial gain, self-preservation, easy sex…Was it just her lawyer’s instinct to fear that Adam Callahan might be one of them?

Restless, she downed the last inch of her mineral water and wandered into the bathroom to wash hands that felt clammy with tension, then caught sight of her flushed face in the mirror.

She’d resorted to a glass of wine over dinner in an attempt to stay cool and focused as they discussed Amy’s illness. It hadn’t worked. But she knew it wasn’t the wine bringing this color to her face. It was Adam Callahan.

She couldn’t remember when any man had had such a powerful, immediate effect on her senses, or on her emotions. It wasn’t just his dark, lively good looks. She’d never been instantly susceptible to good-looking men, so it couldn’t be that. What was it, then? The apparent strength of his feelings? His determination? His way of listening, with those black-coffee eyes of his fixed on her, liquid and intent, and his well-drawn mouth serious and sensitive?

“Oh, boy, he really did a number on me tonight, didn’t he?” she muttered to her reflection. “He probably got exactly what he wanted. I swallowed every word he told me and started treating him like a hero.”

She saw that flushed cheeks weren’t the only difference in her appearance tonight. Her eyes shone, her breathing was shallower than usual, and even her lips looked fuller. Swollen. As if they’d been kissed. Which they hadn’t.

But she’d wanted him to.

Oh, lord, might as well be completely honest about it! By the end of the evening she’d hardly been able to drag her gaze from his mouth as he talked. Then, when they’d said goodnight outside the restaurant, after arranging to meet at the hospital tomorrow for her blood test, she’d actually swayed toward him for one tell-tale second before getting a grip on her physical response to him.

But maybe he hadn’t noticed, she prayed now. Maybe he’vd been distracted, because I’d finally gotten him to agree to my meeting Amy tomorrow, after the blood test.

He hadn’t wanted the meeting, she recalled. Why? That was strange, wasn’t it? Suspicious?

“No, I don’t trust him!” she told the mirror forcefully aloud. “I really don’t!”

Saying it so decisively like that felt like taking control at last, and she sensed her body beginning to unwind from its state of coiled tension. To her surprise, after a mug of hot chocolate and the late TV news, she actually slept soundly.

He was afraid I wouldn’t show.

Meg could see this at once. He was waiting for her outside the Pathology department of the hospital where he worked, prowling restlessly. She had seen him just seconds before he looked along the corridor to see her. The relief in him when he did was totally apparent and sincere. His big, hunched shoulders relaxed, his dark eyes opened wider, his mouth softened like summer fruit ripening and he actually smiled.

Cautiously.

“I should have told you where to park,” he said, not wasting energy on a hello.

“I’m a big girl,” she answered. “I managed.”