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A Matter of the Heart
Patricia Davids


Operating on a sick little boy is Dr. Nora Blake's responsibility. Answering a determined reporter's questions about the surgery is not. Especially because Robert Dale is delving into her life, too. Nora has her share of secrets. She won't allow a newspaper to profit from the child's story–or her own.Granted, the handsome reporter truly seems to care. About young, orphaned Ali. About her. And thanks to Rob's skills at digging deep, there is one question she just might answer with a joyful yes….









“I have my patients to think of,” Nora told him.


“I can’t allow just anyone access to their information.”

She was still fighting, even after the battle was lost. A part of Rob admired her tenacity. Yet while he admired her determination to get rid of him in spite of the pressure on her, Rob couldn’t help but wonder why.

“Do you have something to hide, Dr. Blake?”

Her head snapped around and she stared at him with wide eyes. For a second, he thought he saw fear in their depths, but it was quickly replaced with anger. The elevator doors opened and she rushed off. He followed at a slower pace, but he was more intrigued than ever.

Homecoming Heroes: Saving children and finding love deep in the heart of Texas.

Mission: Motherhood —Marta Perry

July 2008

Lone Star Secret —Lenora Worth

August 2008

At His Command —Brenda Coulter

September 2008

A Matter of the Heart —Patricia Davids

October 2008

A Texas Thanksgiving —Margaret Daley

November 2008

Homefront Holiday —Jillian Hart

December 2008




PATRICIA DAVIDS


Patricia Davids continues to work as a part-time nurse in the NICU while writing full-time. She enjoys researching new stories, traveling to new locations and meeting fans along the way. She and her husband live in Wichita, Kansas, along with the newest addition to the household, a stray cat named Spooky. Pat always enjoys hearing from her readers. You can contact her by mail at P.O. Box 16714 Wichita, Kansas 67216, or visit her on the Web at www.patriciadavids.com.




A Matter of the Heart

Patricia Davids








Special thanks and acknowledgment to Patricia Davids for her contribution to the Homecoming Heroes miniseries.


May he turn our hearts to him, to walk in all his ways and to keep the commands, decrees and regulations he gave our fathers.

—1 Kings 8:58


To Lenora Worth, Marta Perry, Brenda Coulter,

Margaret Daley and Jillian Hart. Working with

y’all has been a pleasure. Thanks for all the help

you gave me.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Discussion Questions




Chapter One


“E xcuse me, where is the patient I’m operating on this morning?” Dr. Nora Blake stood impatiently at the nurses’ station in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. Two nurses in brightly colored uniforms were laughing about something until they heard her voice. Then they immediately fell silent, their smiles vanishing.

Nora knew she wasn’t a favorite with the staff. She didn’t possess the people skills many of her colleagues displayed. Her insistence on attention to detail and her intolerance of mediocre work had earned her the reputation of being difficult.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care what her coworkers thought of her—she did. It hurt to see how quickly their expressions changed from cheerful to guarded, but making sure her patients received the highest quality care was far more important than being popular.

Arching one eyebrow, the slender nurse with short blond hair asked, “Do you mean Cara Dempsey?”

Nora raised her chin. Her skill was saving children with heart defects, not winning popularity contests. Professionalism was the key to getting things done right in the hospital, not sociability.

“I’m looking for the patient who came in from Blackwater General yesterday with transposition of the great arteries. Do you have the chart?” The words came out sounding sharper than she intended.

The ward nurse held out a black three-ring binder. “The patient is in room five. Dr. Kent just finished talking to the parents.”

“Thank you.” Nora nodded, relieved to hear that her partner had arrived first. Peter Kent would have explained the coming procedure to the family. It saved Nora the time and headache of trying to make laypeople understand the complex nature of the upcoming operation.

If she found any fault with Peter, who was ten years her senior and had been her partner for the past two years, it was that he was too upbeat in dealing with the families. As far as she was concerned, he often sugarcoated the truth and offered false hope. She would need to impress on the Dempsey family the risks involved, especially for an infant. Not every patient survived open-heart surgery.

Thumbing through the chart, she paid special attention to the laboratory values and medications being given to the two-day-old infant. Satisfied that everything had been done correctly, she closed the binder and moved to the computer in the corner of the desk area reserved for use by physicians. She pulled up the echocardiogram images of her patient.

She had already studied the scans extensively in her office late last night, but she wanted to make sure that she hadn’t missed anything, so she watched the movie of the child’s beating heart one more time. As always, a profound sense of wonder and awe engulfed her. The human heart was a beautiful thing.

She quickly focused on gathering the information she would need to repair the child’s flawed heart. Operating on a newborn baby was always hard for her. It brought back too many painful memories. She preferred her patients to be at least six months old, but this child wouldn’t live a week without surgery. It had to be done now.

The quality of the echocardiogram and tests were excellent, but Nora wouldn’t know what she was actually dealing with until she looked inside the patient’s chest. If there was one thing that she had learned during her years of training, it was that every heart was unique.

Leaving the desk, Nora walked to room five. Outside, she paused a moment to brace herself. Drawing a deep breath, she pasted a smile on her face, knocked once and then entered.

Inside, she saw a young couple sitting on the small couch at the back of the room with their arms around each other for support. They both had red-rimmed eyes, either from crying or from lack of sleep or both. They looked shell-shocked and barely out of their teens—far too young to be facing what lay ahead.

They both rose to their feet, and their hopeful eyes begged her for help she wasn’t sure she could give. For a split second she envied them each having someone to hold on to during the coming hours. She had been in their shoes once with no one to comfort her. The memory of those terrible days haunted her still.

On the warming bed, a baby girl with thick dark hair lay unnaturally still. A white tube taped to her mouth connected her to a ventilator. IV pumps and monitors took up most of the space around her and beeped softly. Drugs kept her from moving and fighting the very machines that were keeping her alive. Even with the ventilator breathing for her, the child’s lips were dark blue. It wasn’t a good sign.

Nora nodded at the parents. “I’m Dr. Blake and I’ll be performing your child’s surgery this morning.”

The father spoke quickly. “You can make her well, can’t you? Doctor Kent, he said you were the best.”

“As you know, your daughter was born with the blood vessels leading from the heart in the wrong places. Outcomes are usually good with this procedure, but five percent of the children who have this done don’t survive or survive with serious brain damage. You need to be aware of that.”

Cara’s mother laid a loving hand on her daughter’s small head. “God will be with you and with Cara. He will save her. God can do anything.”

Nora bit back the comment that rose to her lips. She didn’t share this young mother’s belief in a benevolent God, but she had learned that revealing her philosophy with families frequently increased their anxiety.

Instead, she said, “I’ll meet with you in the surgical waiting room when the operation is over. It will take several hours, but one of the staff will come out to give you updates during that time.”

The door to the room opened and the blond nurse looked in. “Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey, would you please step out to the desk? I have some forms for you to sign.”

As the couple followed the nurse out into the hall, Nora found herself alone with her patient. Looking down at the baby depending on her for so much, she experienced a pang of overwhelming compassion. Reaching out, she stroked the child’s hair with one hand. The tiny curls were soft as silk.

“If God can do anything, then why am I always fixing His mistakes?” Nora whispered.

She touched the small oval locket that hung on a gold chain around her neck. There was no answer to her question today. There never had been.

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she closed her eyes and regained the composure she would need in surgery. Intense focus, not sympathy, would save this child.

After leaving the baby’s room, Nora headed to the elevators. At the fifth floor, she stepped out and walked quickly toward the operating suites. She passed the pre-op nurses’ station without pausing, barely noticing the women in green surgical garbs identical to her own standing in a group behind the tall, black granite counter.

Her mind was already intent on the delicate surgery she would be doing in the next few minutes. She rehearsed each move in detail.

Step-by-step, she visualized the course of the entire procedure, taking into account the obstacles and challenges the walnut-sized heart of this baby might present. Once the operation was under way, timing would be critical. The child couldn’t afford to have her surgeon wondering what to do next.

The hallway led her past the family waiting room outside the surgery doors. Nora didn’t bother glancing in. The parents would stay upstairs until the OR and PICU staff moved the baby to the surgery. If all went well, Nora would find Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey in about four hours and tell them their baby was still alive.

If all went well? It was a big if. There were so many things that could go wrong.

“Dr. Blake, may I have a word with you, please?”

Startled by the sound of a deep male voice behind her, Nora spun around. It took her a second to place the tall man with wavy dark brown hair who stepped out of the waiting room. When she did, she scowled.

Mr. Robert Dale, persistent reporter for the Liberty and Justice newspaper jogged toward her.

He was a man most women would notice. Dressed in jeans and a blue button-down shirt, he exuded confidence. His long stride and easy grace had her guessing that he was a runner, an activity that she enjoyed as often as her work permitted. His rugged features and deep tan made it clear that he preferred the outdoors over a treadmill. His bright blue eyes were fixed on her now with the intensity of a sprinter sighting the finish line.

She didn’t intend to become his journalistic prize.

“I’m on my way to surgery, Mr. Dale. I’m afraid I don’t have time to answer your questions.”

Not bothering to hide her annoyance, she turned back toward the OR and quickened her pace. The wide, gray metal doors were only a few yards away. He couldn’t follow her in there.

The man had been practically stalking her in his quest for information about the Ali Tabiz Willis case. The story of a five-year-old war orphan from the Middle East being flown to Texas for life-saving open-heart surgery apparently made a good human interest story. At least, Mr. Dale’s paper seemed to think it did.

Or maybe they were so interested because the boy’s grandfather was a retired U.S. Army general.

Either way, Mr. Dale had called her office enough times over the past few days that she had finally instructed her secretary to stop taking his messages. It seemed he couldn’t take a hint.

A sudden thought struck her—how had he found out that she would be here? She hadn’t known until late last night that she would be doing surgery this morning. Annoyance flared into anger at the possibility that her secretary or one of the hospital nurses had informed him of her schedule.

Determined to find out who had leaked the information, she spun around to confront him. Her abrupt change in direction caught him off guard and he plowed into her. The impact knocked her backward.

His strong hands shot out and grabbed her arms to keep her upright. “Sorry about that, Doc.”

The feel of his long fingers curled around her bare arms triggered a thrill of awareness that shocked her. She drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. It didn’t help. Instead, it flooded her senses with the masculine scent of his aftershave and a hint of caramel coffee.

She focused her gaze on a small damp stain on his pale blue shirt. He must have sloshed coffee on himself just as she walked by the waiting room. The thought that he had been lurking there expressly to waylay her brought her anger rushing back. She used it to suppress the strange and unbidden attraction she felt as she jerked away from him. “Who told you I’d be here this morning?”

His eyes sparkled with mirth and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, revealing a dimple in one cheek. For a split second, she envied his self-confidence and friendly poise.

“Now, Doc, you know a reporter never reveals his sources. Besides, you haven’t returned my calls. I wasn’t left with much choice except to track you down at work.”

She rubbed her upper arms trying to dispel the tingle his touch caused. “How often do you have to hear that I have no comment, Mr. Dale?”

“Call me Rob.”

“I prefer not to, Mr. Dale.” She turned and began walking away.

He quickly fell into step beside her. “I’d like to know why you object so strongly to being interviewed about Ali Willis’s case?”

“Medical information is privileged. I’m sure you are already aware of that.”

“I have copies of a release from the boy’s guardian as well as from the Children of the Day organization. Would you like to see them?” He pulled several folded sheets of paper from his hip pocket.

Ignoring the missives, she paused long enough to swipe her ID badge in front of a small black sensor on the wall. The OR doors swung open, revealing a flurry of activity as men and women dressed in green scrubs moved patients on gurneys and carts loaded with supplies and equipment through the wide, brightly lit halls.

She paused to glare at the man following her with a small sense of triumph. “I won’t help your paper or anyone else profit from a child’s suffering. We’re done. You aren’t allowed in here. If you don’t leave, I’ll have security remove you.”

Granting Rob Dale or any reporter an interview was the last thing she wanted to do. It was their job to pry, to uncover stories and reveal secrets. There were things in her past that were best left undisturbed.

He stepped back as the doors began to close but leaned to the side to keep eye contact with her. “If you won’t talk to me about Ali, why don’t we talk about the Children of the Day organization? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

She merely arched one eyebrow and waited until the steel panels clicked shut, eliminating him from her sight.

The man was certainly persistent…and attractive. There was no denying that fact. Not once since her husband’s death six years ago had a man affected her so strongly. Her reaction to the reporter was an aberration, but not something she couldn’t handle. Rob Dale would have to take no for an answer this time and she wouldn’t have to deal with him again.

Closing her eyes, she reached up and curled her fingers tenderly around the locket at her neck. She had more important things to think about than a man with friendly blue eyes, an engaging grin and strong hands that sent shivers down her spine when he touched her.

This is crazy. Get him out of your head. Refocus.

Forcing thoughts of the man out of her mind, she tucked the locket beneath the scooped neck of her top and proceeded into the scrub room. A long morning loomed ahead of her.



Rob admitted only temporary defeat as the doors closed between him and the intriguing doctor with shoulder-length blond hair, a cute upturned nose and intense hazel eyes. Dr. Blake might not want to speak to him, but he wasn’t about to give up so easily. His paper had sent him to do a story. It wasn’t an earth-shattering feature, but he would have to make do until a better story came his way.

He returned to the waiting room and scooped up his interrupted cup of mocha caramel latte. After taking a sip, he walked back down the hallway. Perhaps he could get what he needed for the story without using Dr. Blake.

At the nurses’ station, he paused to speak to the short, friendly brunette who had told him of Dr. Blake’s surgical schedule after only the mildest probing earlier that morning.

“You were right,” he said, leaning both elbows on the waist-high countertop and gracing her with his best smile.

She closed the chart she was writing on and stuck it in a silver wire rack. “I told you Dr. Ice Princess wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

An older nurse seated beside her looked up and said, “Traci, that’s no way to talk about Dr. Blake. She’s an excellent surgeon. Your patient has just arrived in pre-op number two. I think you’re needed there.”

Traci rolled her eyes and rose with an exaggerated sigh. “I didn’t invent the title, Emily, and you know she’s earned it.”

Rob watched her walk away, then turned his attention and his smile on the woman still seated at a long desk behind the counter. “Emily, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Rob Dale. I’m doing a story on a little boy having surgery soon named Ali Willis.”

“We aren’t allowed to give out patient information.”

“Of course, and I wouldn’t ask you to do that. I already know that Dr. Blake will be doing the surgery, and I’m interested in finding out more about her. I’ve been told she does quite a bit of charity work. That doesn’t sound like an ice princess to me.”

Emily sent a wary look his way, but he gave her his most disarming grin.

After a moment, she relaxed and said, “If she does, she doesn’t advertise the fact, but then I’ve never known her to give an interview. She’s a very private person.”

Or she has something to hide, he mused to himself. In the past he’d often found that the people who didn’t want to talk to him were the ones that deserved a closer look. The phone on the desk rang, and Emily excused herself to answer it.

Rob straightened but he didn’t move away. With half an ear, he listened in on Emily’s end of the conversation. Dr. Blake’s reluctance to talk to him had piqued his interest. The fact that she was prettier than any surgeon he’d ever met made him consider trying to interview her again, but his assignment was to do an in-depth piece on Children of the Day, a Christian charity devoted to helping innocent victims of war, not specifically on Dr. Blake. The only reason he was here was because of her work for the organization.

It was a fluff piece, but while he was in the States, he had to go where he was assigned. He glanced down at the red puckered scar on his forearm and flexed the fingers of his left hand. He was as healed as he was going to get. How many more of these feel-good stories would he have to do before he could return to the real action?

“You’re not staying home from school unless you’re running a fever, young man. Let me talk to your father.”

Rob couldn’t help but smile at Emily’s unsympathetic tone. He and his three brothers had been subjected to the same stern speech plenty of times while they were growing up. How did mothers everywhere know when their kids were faking it? However they did it, it would be a useful trait for a reporter to learn.

Rob’s cell phone began to ring. A surge of anticipation shot through him when he recognized the distinctive tone he had set for his boss and friend, Derrick Mitchell, the senior editor of Liberty and Justice .

Maybe I’m getting reassigned at last. Please, Lord, let it be the Middle East post that’s open.

Rob walked a few steps away from the desk and answered on the third ring.

“Rob, where are you on the Willis story?” Derrick’s voice crackled with impatience.

“Hello to you, too, Derrick. I’m still in Austin trying to get an interview with the boy’s surgeon, but she’s not talking.”

An orderly pushing a gurney came down the hall. Stepping aside to let the bed transporting an elderly man pass by, Rob frowned at the silence on the other end of his connection. Maybe Derrick was worried about Rob making the deadline.

Quickly, Rob said, “I don’t think she’s that important to the piece. I know you said I had until the end of October to get the story in, but I can have the rest of it on your desk in two weeks. A week if you need to rush it. Then I’ll be free to take the Middle East assignment that’s open. It’s my old stomping grounds. With the people I know in the area, I’ll be a real asset to the paper there.”

Stateside reporting was okay, but nothing was as thrilling as reporting from inside a war zone. He missed it—a lot.

“I’m sorry, Rob. I know how much you want that post, but I’m sending Dick Carter.”

Pressing a hand to his forehead in disbelief, Rob said, “You’re joking, right? Carter’s a greenhorn.”

“He’s got a nose for a story and he’s done some great work for us. You’ll want to check out his piece on the baggage handlers at Memdelholm Airfield.”

“Memdelholm was my piece.”

“Your piece about their special handling of packages to deployed servicemen was good—touching even. Carter’s piece about their drug-smuggling ring using phony names and addresses of Americans overseas is dynamite. It’s on today’s front page.”

“What? That’s crazy. I know men in charge there. Drake Manns and Benny Chase are both buddies of mine. They wouldn’t be involved in something illegal.”

“I’m afraid your friends are involved up to their necks. They were both arrested a few hours ago. My sources say they’ve pled guilty and are each trying to cut a deal.”

Thankful that there was a solid wall behind him, Rob leaned back and covered his eyes with his hand. “I can’t believe it. I served with Drake and Benny for three years. Benny saved my life. They’re great guys. They have so much respect for the men still serving.”

“Didn’t you have an inkling that things weren’t right?”

“They were reluctant to talk about their work, but I thought it was humility. Drake said they didn’t want me singing their praises. I trusted them.”

Rob couldn’t believe how much it hurt knowing someone he had served with had deceived him. How could he have been so easily mislead? That a raw newcomer like Carter had uncovered the story stung even more. “Oh, man. I really blew it, didn’t I?”

“You’re a good reporter, Dale. People open up to you. You could charm the U.S. Mint out of its gold and my grandmother out of her secret mincemeat pie recipe, but your trouble is that you prefer to see the good in people. You didn’t dig deep enough.”

“Overseas it was so black and white. We were the good guys, they were the bad guys.”

“That’s your army mentality speaking. You aren’t a soldier anymore. Your obligation is to report all sides of a story, even when it casts some of our servicemen or women in a poor light. The truth needs to be told, even when it hurts. That’s what journalism is.”

Looking down, Rob shoved his free hand into his front jean pocket. “Am I fired?”

“I’ve given Carter a monthlong trial assignment in our Middle East bureau. If he does well, I may make it permanent. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Then there’s a chance I can go back?”

“All I’m going to say is dig deeper, Rob. Make every story important. Use your instincts. Don’t make me regret giving you this job.”

Derrick hung up, and after a second Rob closed his own phone. He stuffed it in his front pocket but didn’t move from his place outside the surgical waiting room.

How could he have missed that his buddies at Memdelholm were involved in something shady? The fact that he had been so easily deceived was hard to swallow.

Derrick’s right. I wasn’t looking hard enough. I thought it was a simple piece and I blew it.

When he had been among the soldiers and marines on the front lines, the best stories had all but fallen into his lap. Over there, his gut instincts were never wrong. He knew that world inside and out.

He needed to be back there, but that wasn’t going to happen now. Not until he proved to Derrick Mitchell that he had what it took to get to the bottom of any story.

Lord, I failed to make the most of Your gift. It won’t happen again. You sent me here for a reason. I don’t know what that reason is, but I’m going to keep looking until I find it.

He glanced toward the surgery doors. His gut told him that Dr. Nora Blake was more than a woman who didn’t grant interviews. He had no idea what a woman like her might be hiding, but he was going to find out. He intended to dig deep.




Chapter Two


“Y ou can’t be serious!”

In stunned disbelief, Nora sat in the black leather chair in front of Willard Branson, the CEO and chief administrator of Mercy Medical Center, and stared openmouthed at her boss. In the chair beside hers, Rob Dale sat with a smile on his face that wasn’t quite a self-satisfied smirk, but it was close.

She had hoped that their confrontation outside of surgery the day before yesterday would have convinced the reporter to leave her alone. Apparently, it hadn’t.

His audacity provoked a slow burn of irritation, but it didn’t prevent her from noticing how attractive he looked in charcoal slacks, a sage dress shirt that accentuated his lean, athletic body and a tasteful silk tie that made her wonder if a wife or girlfriend had picked it out for him.

“I’m perfectly serious, Dr. Blake,” Willard replied, drawing her attention back to him. “You are free to donate as much time and energy as you wish to Children of the Day, and I applaud your dedication to the organization, but the hospital must weigh the pros and cons of each case. We have already donated many hours of the staff’s time and much of our limited resources to helping your cause. It’s time we got something back.”

“Saving the lives of needy children isn’t enough payback for you?” She didn’t bother hiding her sarcasm.

Steepling his fingers together, Willard leaned forward on his wide mahogany desk. “I hired you because you had a reputation for being the brightest new pediatric cardiologist to come out of the Cleveland Clinic in years. I hired you because I wanted someone who could grow our program.”

“Haven’t I done that?”

“You have to an extent. Your surgical success rate is impressive, but the publicity generated by a series of articles like Mr. Dale is proposing could very well increase the number of patients referred to this facility. Patients you will operate on.

“It might even generate substantial donations to us and to Children of the Day. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that Liberty and Justice is an international and very well-respected paper. Frankly, I don’t understand why you aren’t jumping at this opportunity.”

Everything Willard said was true, but Nora couldn’t abide the thought of someone poking about in her life and in her work.

She tried one last avenue. “I’m sure Dr. Kent would be delighted to have Mr. Dale shadow him on a day-to-day basis.”

“But he doesn’t do volunteer work for Children of the Day,” Rob interjected.

She glared at him. “Dr. Kent has aided me a number of times. If you’re so interested in the organization, I suggest you spend your time with Anna Terenkov. She is the founder of Children of the Day. I’m certain she will answer any questions you have.”

“I’ve already spoken to Ms. Terenkov. She’s the one who pointed out how frequently your expertise has been utilized even before little Ali Willis’s case was brought to their attention.”

He pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket, flipped it open and began to read. “And I quote, ‘Dr. Blake is personally responsible for saving the lives of a dozen children in the past year who would otherwise have died of their congenital heart defects in war-torn third world countries.

“‘Besides doing these surgeries without compensation, she has been instrumental in convincing Mercy Medical Center to provide the additional care needed at a greatly reduced fee. She oversees the donated medical supplies and has convinced numerous drug companies to donate badly needed medications—medicines that families in these countries would otherwise have to buy on the black market at exorbitant prices.’”

He paused and looked up. “Shall I continue? There’s a lot more. Like the fact that you also work part-time at Fort Bonnell Medical Center and have even traveled overseas on a medical mission for Children of the Day. It must be difficult to maintain any kind of private life with this much on your plate.”

“I’m well aware of my workload, and my private life is off-limits. Is that understood?”

His eyes brightened. “Then you’ll allow me to tag along with you for Ali’s surgery?”

She glanced at Willard, the man responsible for hiring her and approving the amount of charity work Mercy did. He nodded slightly. She closed her eyes in resignation. “It seems I have little choice.”

“You won’t regret it, I promise,” Rob quickly assured her.

“Strange, but I already do.” She looked at Willard. “Are we done here? I have rounds to make.”

She hated confrontations, especially when she didn’t emerge the winner.

“We’re done, Dr. Blake. Mr. Dale, when would you like to start?”

“There’s no time like the present. Care to show me around, Dr. Blake? May I call you Nora?”

She rose to her feet already uncomfortable with his close scrutiny. How was she going to tolerate having him around for days? She had to see that he kept his distance. Cool professionalism was the key.

“You may address me as Dr. Blake. Ali’s surgery isn’t scheduled for another two weeks. I see no reason for you to hound me until then.”

He tucked his pad and pen back in his shirt pocket. “I’ll need some background information about how heart surgery is carried out, and the best way would be for me to see a few surgeries for myself.”

“I’m not taking you into the operating room.”

Turning on her heel, Nora left the CEO’s office and walked quickly toward the elevators. She knew Rob was following without looking back.

“Now, Nora, I know that you have students and visiting physicians who observe your surgeries. It won’t be any different having me in the room.”

For some reason, she knew it would. She was aware of him on a level that she had never experienced before. The last thing she wanted was him disturbing her concentration while she was operating.

At the end of the hall, she punched the down arrow and the elevator doors immediately slid open. The car was empty. Why couldn’t it have been crowded? She stepped inside and turned to face the opening. Rob slipped in behind her. The doors closed, shutting them in together.

Music played softly overhead. She could see a blurred reflection of herself and Rob in the brightly polished metal panels. The simple white blouse and fitted navy skirt that she had picked out that morning made her look like a schoolgirl instead of a thirty-five-year-old woman with a demanding career.

The scent of his cologne tickled her nose. It was a brand she liked, and on him it smelled particularly good—spicy but not overpowering. She tried not to breath.

His reflection leaned toward hers. She tensed as he spoke; his breath tickled her earlobe and the nape of her neck. “I think you have to push the button.”

Blood rushed to her face, staining it crimson above her white collar. She jabbed her finger into the button for the third floor so hard it hurt.



Rob leaned away from Nora and let his gaze skim over her trim figure. She was tall for a woman, maybe five foot eight or five foot nine. She wore her hair pulled back into a French twist today, and the style accentuated the graceful curve of her neck. She radiated cool grace.

“I have my patients to think of, Mr. Dale. I can’t allow just anyone access to their information.”

She was still fighting even after the battle was lost. A part of him admired her tenacity.

“Mr. Branson has made me aware of the patient confidentiality issues. Everything I see or hear regarding patients will remain strictly confidential.”

While he might admire her determination to get rid of him in spite of the pressure Willard Branson put on her, Rob couldn’t help but wonder why. He decided to try a direct approach.

“Do you have something to hide, Dr. Blake?”

Her head snapped around and she stared at him with wide eyes. For a second, he thought he saw fear in their depths, but it was quickly replaced by anger. She turned her back on him. “I have no idea why you would even suggest such a thing.”

The elevator doors opened and she rushed off. He followed at a slower pace, but more intrigued than ever. She entered the second doorway on the left and slammed it shut behind her.

After pausing to read her name and the name of her partner stenciled in gold lettering on the glass panel, he made a mental note to look up her partner’s credentials. Rob had already checked Nora’s. They were impressive.

He opened the door and stuck his head inside. A middle-aged woman with impossibly black hair teased in a 1970s flip sat behind an immaculate rosewood desk centered between two identical doors. Nora stood beside her. Two additional open doorways at each end of the reception area revealed examination rooms that were currently empty.

Rob winked at the secretary. “You must be Carmen. I’m Rob Dale. Is it safe to come in?”

She hid a smile with difficulty as she glanced between Nora and him. “For the moment.”

“Good.” He entered the stark office with plain white walls and a half dozen reception-style maroon chairs lining the perimeter. “How’s Harold getting along?”

“He’s much better, thank you.”

Nora’s frown deepened as she glared at her secretary. “Do you know this man?”

Rob walked forward and grasped Carmen’s plump fingers. He gave them a squeeze. “We’ve spoken on the phone so many times this week that I feel like Carmen is an old friend.”

Carmen batted her eyes. “You’re just as charming in person as you are on the telephone.”

“Not nearly as charming as you are. I would have braved the dragon days ago if I had known how pretty you were. I’m so glad to hear Harold is doing better. I’ve been praying for him.”

Nora’s mouth dropped open. “Who are you calling a dragon and who is Harold?”

“Harold is Carmen’s husband. He had a nasty bout of pneumonia. It’s a good thing her daughter was able to come over and take care of him since Carmen couldn’t get time off from work,” Rob said, enjoying Nora’s obvious confusion.

Nora folded her arms across her chest as she frowned at her secretary. “You didn’t mention you needed time off.”

Tilting her head to one side, Carmen said, “Actually, I did ask for a few days off last week, but you said your schedule was full and that I was needed here.”

“Oh, yes. I remember that. Well…you should have made a point of telling me it was a family emergency.”

“I’ll be more clear in the future, Dr. Blake.”

“Carmen is not my regular secretary,” Nora said, giving Rob a pointed look.

Carmen nodded. “I’m a temp. I fill in for Delia when she takes time off. She goes to Vegas every chance she gets. I think she has a boyfriend there.”

“All right then.” Nora’s smile looked forced. “Carmen, Mr. Dale will be shadowing me for a few days. Please get him a set of scrubs.”

Rising from her chair, Carmen said, “Dr. Kent has several sets in his office. I’ll get one for you. You look about the same size.”

Nora walked toward the inner office on the right and Rob followed.

Inside, a quick glance around the room revealed a large oak desk with two chairs facing it. They matched the chairs lining the outer office—none of which looked made for comfort. On the desk were an oversized paper pad and a computer screen. Several filing cabinets sat beneath a wide window with a nice view of downtown Austin in the distance. A tall, gray metal wardrobe took up the remaining space in the corner. There was a closed door on the near wall. Rob assumed it connected to the exam room. On the opposite wall was a small taupe sofa. He crossed the room and sat down.

Reaching out, he plucked several long blond hairs from a faint depression in the padded arm. A green-and-red plaid throw blanket lay draped over the other end of the couch.

“Do you sleep here a lot?” he asked, looking to where she stood pulling open the small wardrobe.

She withdrew a set of green scrubs on hangers. “Occasionally, when I need to remain in the hospital.”

“Your home is in Prairie Springs, isn’t it? That’s only thirty minutes from here.”

“Thirty minutes is a long time when a patient needs their chest reopened.” Spinning around, she held the scrubs close to her chest like a flimsy cloth shield. “How do you know where I live?”

He rose from the sofa and crossed to stand in front of the wall behind her desk where a half dozen framed certificates hung in two neat rows.

“I do my research, Nora. You graduated from Albertville High School in Boston at the precocious age of fifteen and at the head of your class. You finished pre-med at Columbia in three years and entered medical school with top honors. You joined the army and studied at Walter Reed where you chose to specialize in cardiac surgery. After that, you did your peds cardiac fellowship at the Cleveland Clinic. You were married briefly—”

“I know my own history,” she interrupted quickly.

“Of course.”

He turned to study the silver-framed photo on her desk. Picking it up, he compared the young woman’s face in the picture to Nora’s. There wasn’t a resemblance. The snapshot was of a smiling woman in her early twenties with thick brown hair that cascaded around a delicate oval face. “Pretty girl. Who is she?”

Nora took the frame from him and replaced it in the exact spot at the right-hand corner of her desk. “My stepdaughter. Since you seem to be so well versed about me, Mr. Dale, I think it’s only fair that you reciprocate.”

He held his hands wide. “My life is an open book.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“What would you like to know? I graduated from high school in Dodge City, Kansas—not even close to the top of my very small class. I drifted between majors at the local junior college and finally ended up in the army. It didn’t take me long to realize that I wanted to be a ranger. Those guys do the fun stuff. Twelve years later, I decided I was getting too old to go jumping out of planes. A desk job or training new recruits didn’t appeal to me, so I opted to leave the service.”

“How does one decide that digging into other people’s lives makes a worthwhile second profession?”

“That was easy. I was sitting in a café in the busy capital of a small Middle Eastern country and relating the tale of how I met a pair of gunrunners to some friends. A man at the next table leaned over and asked me if I could help him get an interview with the unsavory duo. The guy turned out to be Derrick Mitchell, a senior reporter for Liberty and Justice . When my story panned out, he got promoted and asked me to come to work for him.”

“Just like that? You didn’t study journalism for years or work your way up from copy boy to the newsroom?”

Her sarcasm didn’t offend him. He rather enjoyed the way she lifted her chin and tried to talk down to him although she was a good four inches shorter than his six-foot frame. He sensed it was a ruse designed to put him off. It didn’t work.

“Nope. The job just fell into my lap. I believe the good Lord puts me where I am needed most.”

She looked down and smoothed the fabric she held with one hand. “Yes, I imagine you would have a simplistic outlook. I think a person should have to work hard to achieve what they want, otherwise it is meaningless.”

“You don’t believe that God led you to become a surgeon in Austin?”

She gave an emphatic shake of her head. “No. It took fifteen years of hard study, grueling clinical hours and painstaking attention to detail. I’ve earned my place here—it didn’t fall into my lap. God had nothing to do with it.”

Something about her answer intrigued him. At first he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, then he knew. Her vehement denial of God’s role in her life, like her sarcasm, didn’t ring true. There was more to this woman than she allowed others to see. His sudden intense urge to understand her better caught him off guard.

This was more than his usual need to find the story behind the person. He studied her face for a long moment, noticing her high cheekbones and full lips, the stubborn jut of her chin and the delicate winged brows above her expressive eyes. And then it hit him.

He expected annoyance, even arrogance from her, but what he saw in Nora’s eyes was infinite sadness—a longing for something precious that had been lost. In the war-torn countries where he had served he’d seen the same look all too often. It touched something deep inside him.

Gently, he said, “That doesn’t mean God didn’t lead you here. What made you stop believing?”

He watched the struggle on her face. For a second, it seemed as if he had connected with her, but the outer door opened and Carmen entered with a pair of scrubs over her arm.

The moment was lost and Nora turned away. Rob moved to take the scrubs from Carmen and offered his thanks. She nodded and left without speaking.

Nora closed the door of her closet. “I don’t have time to argue the existence of a higher power with you, Mr. Dale. I have rounds to make. If you’ll excuse me, I need to change. You may use the exam room through that door.”

Her cool tone conveyed in more than words that she was done talking to him. Rob touched one finger to his forehead in a brief salute and pulled open the door she indicated. As it closed behind him, he heard the lock click with a snap. Unbuttoning his shirt, he acknowledged that he’d uncovered more questions than answers in his brief time with Dr. Nora Blake.

He looked forward to the rest of the day with a growing sense of anticipation that he hadn’t experienced since he’d arrived back in the States. Dr. Nora Blake presented an intriguing puzzle—one he found himself eager to solve.



Nora walked to her chair and sank onto the familiar seat. A second later, she put her elbows on the desk and dropped her head into her hands.

Why now? Why after all these years? The pain of her past never truly went away, but there were days that she didn’t think about those difficult, sad hours and what she had lost. In the past year, there had even been times when she didn’t think about Bernard and the terrible debt she had to repay.

How ironic that the charity work she was doing to make amends was the very thing that might shine a spotlight on things best left hidden.

Looking up, she focused on Pamela’s picture. Her stepdaughter had endured enough pain in her life. Nora wasn’t about to let Rob Dale add to that burden.

He might appear cute and harmless, but so did a terrier puppy. It was only after one had turned your backyard into a crater-filled moonscape that you realized their true purpose. They had been bred to dig out vermin.

Rob Dale of Liberty and Justice struck her as the same kind of animal. He was no one’s lapdog.

She needed to steer him away from anything that involved her personal life. As a plan it wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

She rose and quickly changed out of her skirt and blouse and into her scrubs. She didn’t have any surgeries today, but she needed to follow up on three of her patients who were still in the hospital.

At the door leading out to the reception area, she paused with her hand on the knob. Letting Rob or anyone on the staff see her rattled would only undermine what she hoped to accomplish at Mercy Medical Center. When she felt she had control of her emotions, she exited the room with brisk strides. Rob, already changed, hastened to follow her.

“Where are we going?” he asked, working to tighten the drawstring on his scrub pants while he tried to keep pace with her.

“We are going to the PICU. That stands for Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. I have three patients there.”

“I thought we were going to surgery.”

“Not today, but I have an AV canal repair scheduled for the day after tomorrow.”

“AV canal. What kind of injury is that?” He finished cinching up his pants and pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket.

“An atrial ventricular canal is a congenital cardiac defect, as are the vast majority of the patients I see at this hospital. When I work at the base hospital, I do mostly follow-ups on adult patients after bypass surgery.”

They passed the elevators, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she pushed open the stairwell door and headed up. Two floors later she opened another door and strode out onto the pediatric floor. Unlike the rest of the hospital, the walls here were brightly colored and decorated with oversized cutouts of cartoon characters.

Rob noticed she didn’t seem winded by the rapid climb. “So you don’t get many injures like Ali’s?”

“To be perfectly honest, I have never seen a case like Ali’s and I’ve only read about a very few in the literature. Most of them were adults involved in motor vehicle accidents. The vast majority of people who sustain enough trauma to tear apart an internal structure of the heart don’t survive.

“The fact that Ali has is amazing. Two of the cases I studied healed on their own. Two required surgery to repair the tear when they began to show signs of fluid buildup in the lung. Three others died due to heart tissue death after approximately four days. However, Ali’s operation will be the same as for a simple VSD repair.”

“How can you operate on the kid if you haven’t had a case like this before? What’s a VSD?”

Nora paused outside a pair of wide double doors marked with PICU in large letters. “A VSD is a congenital cardiac defect.”

“You said that before.”

“And my answer was correct both times. We have several good handouts that we give to parents explaining the defects in detail and how they are repaired. I’ll make sure Carmen gets you some to study.”

“When do you see patients in your office?”

“Consults and a few follow-ups are scheduled once a week on Mondays. Ninety-five percent of my patients are direct admits to the PICU. Heart defects in children often go undetected until they are in crisis. Unless they have need of a second surgery in the future, I don’t normally see them after they leave the hospital.”

“Doesn’t that make it hard to get to know the families?”

“My focus is on my patients, not the families. There are social workers and others who deal with any issues that arise with them.”

Pushing open the doors, Nora entered the unit and walked to the nursing desk. Theresa Mabley, a stout woman with short salt-and-pepper hair was dressed in her usual blue scrubs. Standing behind her were a collection of residents and nurses, all waiting to begin reporting to Nora on the patients.

“Good morning, Theresa. Mr. Dale, this is the head nurse in our PICU. Mr. Dale is a reporter, and he’ll be rounding with me for the next several days. You may answer any questions he has.”

Theresa nodded in his direction. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Dale.”

He extended his hand. “Call me Rob. I promise not to get underfoot more than fifty times a day, Theresa.”

His lopsided grin gave him the look of a charming rogue, and it was painfully clear to Nora that even the stalwart charge nurse wasn’t immune as Theresa shook his hand and smiled back at him. “I doubt you’ll be underfoot at all, Rob. Is this your first visit to a PICU?”

“My very first. Be kind to me.”

Theresa chuckled. “Let me give you the tour. We currently have an eight-bed unit. However, thanks to a recent quarter-million-dollar gift made to the hospital in our name, we’ll soon be resuming construction to expand to a fifteen-bed unit with all new, state-of-the-art equipment.”

Nora held her breath thinking he would ask questions about the money, but Theresa was already on to her favorite topics—the need for more nurses and her grandchildren.

Nora stared at the two of them. How did he do it? How did he connect with people so easily? She didn’t get it. It had taken months for Theresa to warm up to Nora, and even now they were far from friends. Yet Theresa was chatting away with this reporter like she had known him for ages.

Suddenly, the code-blue alarm rang. Glancing down the hallway, she saw the light flashing over Cara Dempsey’s doorway. Rob Dale was completely forgotten as Nora raced toward the room.




Chapter Three


R ob watched Nora bolt down the hallway. Several people in lab coats came running into the unit and rushed passed him, closely followed by a security officer. Rob had no idea what was going on, but it didn’t look good.

He moved to where he could look through the door and yet be out of the way. All he could see was a ring of people crowding around a warming bed. Theresa entered the room, but she didn’t join the crowd. Instead, she went to stand beside a young couple huddled together watching the activity with wide frightened eyes.

Draping an arm around the young woman’s shoulder, the nurse gently explained to them what was going on. Rob couldn’t hear everything over the noise of the alarms, but it was clear that their baby was in serious trouble.

The young mother burst into tears and pressed her hands to her mouth, then shouted, “Don’t let her die! Please, God, I’ll do anything, just don’t let her die!”

Nora, at the side of the bed, looked up and motioned with her head toward the door. “Take them out of here, and someone silence that alarm!”

Theresa gently but firmly herded the couple out of the room. A tall, thin, young man with blond hair and dressed in a dark suit met them at the unit door and led them away. Rob noticed he was holding a Bible in one hand.

Theresa came back and stopped beside Rob. In a weary voice, she said, “That little one has been looking for the light ever since her surgery.”

Sending her a puzzled glance, Rob asked, “What do you mean?”

“Her condition has been getting worse instead of better.”

His heart dropped like a stone. “Can they save her?”

“They are doing everything they can.”

The alarm stopped, and in the sudden silence he heard Nora calling out orders for medication and asking for a stat blood gas. Her face was calm, but her voice vibrated with intensity. After the requested drugs had been given, Nora studied the monitor intently, then turned to one of the nurses. “Why wasn’t I paged?”

“I was told Dr. Kent was covering for you. I’ve paged him three times, but he hasn’t answered.”

“I want to be paged every time one of my patients is in trouble. It doesn’t matter if Dr. Kent is covering or not. You call me. Is that clear?”

Meekly, the nurse nodded and said, “Yes, Doctor.”

Leaning toward Theresa, Rob asked, “What’s wrong with the baby?”

“She had what we call transposition of the great arteries. Think of the heart as two separate pumps fused together. The right side of the heart collects blood from the body and sends it to the lungs for oxygen. The left side of the heart collects blood from the lungs and sends it to the rest of the body.”

“Okay, I get that.”

“Early on, the blood vessels coming out of the top of Cara’s heart began to grow incorrectly. The right side of her heart collects blood from the body but the blood vessel that should take it to the lungs lead out to the body instead. So blood leaves the heart without oxygen. The left side still collects blood from the lungs but then sends it back to the lungs again.”

“Wait a minute. You can’t live if your body isn’t getting oxygen. How did she survive until now?”

“The same way all babies do. In the womb. Cara got her oxygen from her mother’s blood. It wasn’t until after Cara was born and had to breathe on her own that the trouble began.”

“I take it Dr. Blake couldn’t fix her heart?”

“From what I understand, Dr. Blake did a beautiful switch of the arteries. Cara’s blood is now going exactly where it should.”

He shook his head. “Then why isn’t she getting better?”

“Because sometimes life isn’t fair, Mr. Dale. Cara suffered a stroke. Her brain is damaged. It’s one of the risks involved in being put on the heart–lung bypass machine during open-heart surgery. We see a lot fewer cases like this now than we did ten years ago, but it can happen to anyone who undergoes this kind of surgery.”

“What can be done for her?”

Theresa gave a deep sigh and laid a hand on his shoulder. “If you believe in prayer, pray for her recovery. Everything humanly possible is already being done.”

Rob nodded and breathed a silent prayer for the baby and for the men and women working to save her.

The unit doors opened. A distinguished-looking man with wings of silver in his dark hair and a deep tan walked briskly toward them. His white lab coat flapped open to reveal a gray silk shirt and a red tie above well-tailored slacks. He smoothed his sleek hair with one hand as he asked, “Did someone page me?”

Theresa left Rob’s side to confer softly with the man Rob assumed was the missing Dr. Kent. After listening to what the head nurse had to tell him, Dr. Kent nodded and walked into the room.

At the foot of the bed, he thrust his hands in his coat pockets. “I see you have everything under control, Nora. Is there anything I can do?”

She was reading a slip of paper from one of the machines beside the bed and didn’t glance up. “We have a stable heart rhythm at the moment.”

He ran a finger between his neck and his collar. “The batteries were dead in this silly pager of mine.”

Nora looked up but she didn’t smile. “Yes, one of the nurses mentioned she paged you several times. I find changing the batteries on a regular basis prevents such problems.”

She moved away from the bed and turned to the residents who had been watching her. “Let’s get started on rounds, shall we? Dr. Dalton, perhaps you can give us an overview of this patient’s neurological status, and Dr. Glasgow can give us fluid recommendations.”

A nervous-looking young man with thick glasses swallowed hard, then begin reciting a list of facts and numbers. Most of the nurses filed out of the room, leaving only one to answer questions posed by Nora and the other doctors. It was as if nothing special had happened. One minute Rob had been watching Cara Dempsey’s life hanging by a thread and the next minute everyone had gone back to other duties. It was almost bizarre.

He turned his attention back to Nora. What kind of woman did it take to make life-and-death decisions for children like this on a regular basis? What did it take for her to do such a job? He wanted to know what kind of toll it exacted on her, how she handled the pressure, what made her tick. He wanted to learn a lot more about her—and not just for his story.



Nora clasped her arms across her middle as the adrenaline rush ebbed away, leaving her feeling weak and shaken. It took all her strength to maintain a calm, controlled demeanor. It was important for her students to see that panic had no place in a critical care setting. Getting them to focus on the details of their patient might very well prevent a crisis from occurring again.

Glancing down at Cara, Nora bit the corner of her lip. She had helped the baby cheat death once more, but would it be enough?

I want to fix her. I’m a surgeon. That is what I do. I fix broken kids.

Only some children couldn’t be fixed. She knew that better than anyone. She had done all she could do for this one at the moment. She accepted it, but she didn’t like it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Rob enter the room and stand at the far edge of the group. As she listened to the young residents list the baby’s treatments, she turned so that she could see Rob better without being observed.

What was he thinking? Was he looking for a story angle or was it genuine concern that she saw in his eyes when his gaze rested on the baby?

And why did she care what the man thought? Determined to put him out of her mind, she looked at the residents. “Who is next on our list?”

Rounds were accomplished in a relatively short time. As the group broke apart to attend to various other duties, Nora returned to the computer corner and started dictating her notes for the day. When she was finished, she looked over to see Rob straddling one of the office chairs nearby. His arms were crossed on the seat back and his chin rested on his forearms. He watched her intently.

“What?” she asked, growing uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

“Is Cara Dempsey going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.” The faces of the children who had died while under her care would never be forgotten. Their names crowded into her mind.

For a moment, she was tempted to share with him how truly difficult it was to do the job she loved. Fortunately, her pager began to beep. She checked the message. “It looks as if we are done for the day. I’ll show you back to the office so you can change.”

“Do you often have to save the day because Dr. Kent can’t be reached?”

She scowled at him and began walking down the hall. “Of course not. We’re a team.”

“He isn’t much of a team player if the nurses can’t get ahold of him when he’s needed.”

As much as Nora didn’t like Rob prying into her life, she wasn’t about to turn him loose on Peter. Her partner had been going though a rough time of his own since his recent divorce.

“Dr. Kent’s pager battery was dead. It happens. You may shadow me and ask questions about open-heart surgery or Ali Willis’s care, but I will not discuss my colleagues with you. Are we clear on that?”

“Crystal clear.”

“Good. I’m finished with my rounds for the day and I don’t have any patients scheduled in the office. Unless you wish to sit and watch me sign insurance forms and wade through the paperwork waiting for me now, I suggest you leave.”

“Okay then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No, I won’t be here.” She stopped at the elevator instead of taking the stairs. Her legs were still feeling shaky. It opened quickly, and she punched the button for the third floor.

“You mean you actually get a day off? That’s great. Perhaps we could get together over lunch and you could tell me more about your work with Children of the Day.”

“That won’t be possible. I’m working at the Fort Bonnell Medical Center tomorrow. I cover a few shifts a month there so that the army cardiac surgeons can get a little time off.”

“What if there is an emergency with one of the kids in this unit?”

The elevator doors opened and she stepped out. “Dr. Kent will be covering here. My next surgery is scheduled for the day after tomorrow at 8 a.m. sharp. If you wish to join me, you should be here at six-thirty.”

As they entered her office, Carmen looked up and held out a stack of notes. “You have two requests for consults. One from a doctor in Waco and one from here in Austin. Oh, and Tarkott Pharmaceuticals returned your call.”

“It’s about time. Get them on the line for me again.”

Walking into her inner office, Nora noted with relief that Rob chose not to follow. She didn’t like feeling as if she were constantly on display.

Sitting behind her desk, she turned on her computer and waited for it to boot up. The welcome screen flashed on and Nora opened the files she needed to update. Typing quickly, she had finished her first case when the phone buzzed and Carmen’s voice came over the speaker. “I have Tarkott’s CEO, Mr. Sawyer, on line one.”

Quentin Sawyer had once worked with her husband. His reputation for being a hard businessman was well earned. This wouldn’t be easy. She pressed the button. “Good morning, Quentin. Thank you for returning my call. I hope you and Merilee are enjoying the cooler weather.”

She engaged in a stint of small talk in spite of her discomfort at trying to do so. Quentin and his wife had been friends of her husband, but Nora never felt she belonged in their social circle. Still, her old contacts in the pharmaceutical world came in handy at times like this.

When Quentin paused for breath in his description of his latest classic car acquisition, Nora jumped in. “As you know from my messages, Quentin, my charity, Children of the Day, is in desperate need of antibiotics. Our doctors in one of our refugee camps have reported a severe outbreak of staphylococcus, and we are asking for your help. We need four thousand vials of penicillin, and I’m not going to take no for an answer.”



Rob stood beside Carmen’s desk and listened through Nora’s partially open door to her side of the conversation. He might be guilty of eavesdropping, but she was talking about Children of the Day and that was his story. He smiled at the secretary and took a seat in one of the chairs just outside Nora’s door as if he were waiting for her to finish.

“No,” Nora said emphatically. “Five hundred vials isn’t enough. We need four thousand. Your company’s tax break on such a donation will more than offset the cost of sending us the drugs. We both know the drugs are sitting in your warehouse taking up space. Your newer generation antibiotics are in much more demand.”

In the silence that followed as she listened to the person on the other end of the line, Rob caught Carmen’s eye. “Does she do this often?”

“All the time. She knows a lot of drug people. I think that’s what her husband did before he died.”

Nora’s voice cut in again. “You must be joking. I’m willing to take products with less than one year’s shelf life but not something that is going to expire in two months. Six months is as low as I will go, and only because I know exactly where the drugs are going and that there won’t be a delay in using them. I’m sure your company wants to be seen as ethical as well as charitable.” Nora’s tone was cool as ice. Rob didn’t envy the person on the other end of the line.

He pulled out his notebook and began to jot down some notes.

“I have a reporter here from the paper Liberty and Justice. You may have heard of them,” Nora continued. “I’m sure you don’t want them doing a story about how Tarkott Pharmaceuticals is giving away drugs that are worthless in exchange for a hefty tax break.”

Rob’s eyebrows rose in surprise. So she wasn’t above using the power of the press when it suited her. He admired her nerve.

“Good. Send the drugs directly to me. I’ll take care of the international shipping costs and the needed forms. I thank you, and Children of the Day thanks you. We’ll make sure that your company is given the recognition it deserves for your kind gesture. Please give Merilee my best. Goodbye.”

The sound of her receiver hitting the cradle signaled Rob that she was free. He rose to his feet, then stepped inside her office. At the sight of him, her expression hardened in a way that would have made most people turn tail. “I thought we were through for today.”

“I have a couple more questions, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation just now. Do you often solicit drugs for Children of the Day?” He flipped open his notepad and began writing.

“I help when I can.”

“It must make it easier for you than for some since your husband was in the pharmaceutical business.” He waited to jot down her comments, but when she didn’t speak he glanced at her.

During his years in the army he had seen fear in the eyes of many people, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to see that emotion on Nora’s face at this moment. Her eyes were wide with alarm, her skin drained of color.

He lowered his pen and took a step toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She recoiled and looked away. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong except that you are keeping me from getting my work done. I really have to insist that you leave now.” Her voice trembled ever so slightly. She pulled a folder from the stack at the side of her desk and opened it.

He stood rooted to the spot, uncertain of what to do. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“I’m not upset. I’m simply busy.”

Her tone was stronger, but he didn’t believe her. Part of him wanted to know what had caused her distress, and another part of him wanted only to reassure and comfort her.

“Good day, Mr. Dale!” This time the command was unmistakable. She didn’t even glance in his direction.

“Good day, Nora.” He walked out of her office with a dozen unanswered questions whirling though his mind.



Calling herself every kind of fool, Nora closed the file she was holding and rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. The tension headache building behind her eyes didn’t ease.

She had overreacted to Rob’s comment about Bernard’s business. She had seen the look of speculation in the reporter’s eyes when he left the room. Her hopes that he wouldn’t look too closely into her past might have just flown out the window and she had thrown up the sash. What could she do? How could she fix this?

By giving him what he wanted.

The answer that occurred to her was surprisingly simple. Rob wanted an in-depth look at her work for Children of the Day. The more she resisted his attempts to do that, the more likely he was to wonder why she wouldn’t cooperate.

If she decided to help him, would he think it was strange? Would it make him more suspicious?

She glanced at Pamela’s picture. What choice did she have?

Rising, she hurried to her door and pulled it open. To her relief, he hadn’t left yet.

“Rob, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

She didn’t know who looked more surprised by her apology, Rob or Carmen.

He shook his head. “Don’t give it another thought. Are you sure you’re okay?”

She took a step toward him. “I’m stressed, that’s all. With baby Dempsey’s condition on my mind and then hearing a pharmaceutical company tell me they don’t want to help sick children…I just lost it. You were a handy target. I’m sorry.”

“I can see how you might feel stressed.”

“That’s no excuse for my behavior. I do understand what you are trying to do with your article. If you can raise the awareness of what Children of the Day does, then I’ll try not to hinder you.” She smiled broadly. “You said you had a few more questions. I’ll try to answer them.”

He waved one hand. “It can wait.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll get out of your hair and let you get back to work.”

“All right then. Good day.” Nora walked back into her office and sank into her chair. She hoped that Rob had accepted her explanation and would be satisfied with that.



He watched as Nora went back inside her office and wondered why she had undergone such a change of heart. Her explanation was reasonable, but it didn’t feel quite right.

He nodded to Carmen. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. I’m going into surgery with the good doctor.”

“You won’t see me. Delia will be back tomorrow.”

“Then I look forward to meeting Delia.”

“I’m not so sure you should look forward to it. Delia is a bit of a dragon. She runs a very tight ship.”

“Then I look forward to taming the dragon.”

Carmen tilted her head to one side. “If anyone can do it, I think you’re the man for the job.”

He touched his brow with one finger and gave Carmen a wink before heading out the door. In the hallway, he glanced at his notes. He had written the words husband, company name and background check.

After pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Rob scrolled through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for. He placed the call, and on the second ring it went to voice mail.

A man’s gravely voice said, “Encore Investigations. Leave a message at the tone.”

“Murray, this is Rob Dale. Call me when you get this. I have a job for you. Dig up anything you can on a charity called Children of the Day in Prairie Springs, Texas.”

Rob paused as he considered his next request. Was he doing the right thing by prying into Nora’s past? If she was no different than any other person he was writing about, why did he feel guilty about doing this?

Maybe it was because he already felt a personal connection to her that he couldn’t quite explain. He needed the information for the piece, but he also wanted to get to know more about Nora for selfish reasons. He’d never met anyone as complex, as driven, and yet with an underlying vulnerability that touched something deep inside him.

If they were simply two people getting to know each other, he wouldn’t invade her privacy this way, but she was part of a story. He’d let his personal feelings get in the way of good reporting only a short time ago and it had cost him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

Finally, he said, “Murray, I also want you to do a background check for me. Find out what you can about a cardiac surgeon named Dr. Nora Blake, about her deceased husband and about the company he worked for. Something tells me Dr. Blake isn’t exactly what she seems.”




Chapter Four


T he sun was just peeking over the horizon the next morning when Nora pulled into the nearly empty parking lot at the Prairie Springs park. Only a half dozen cars dotted the spaces. Five of them she recognized as other runners who preferred to exercise in the quiet of the early morning hours. The red SUV was one she hadn’t seen here before.

As she opened her car door, the beast tried to get out first, climbing over Nora in his exuberance at the idea of a run in the park. Nora held on to the leash with grim determination as fifty pounds of Airedale terrier hit the end of the nylon strap.

“Conan, stop it. Sit!” Nora commanded, getting out and rubbing the bruise she knew she’d have on her thigh.

The russet brown, curly coated dog with a black saddle marking on his back dropped to his haunches and gave her a wide doggy grin. Once they were on the jogging paths, he would be the perfectly behaved running companion, but sometimes he was too eager to get under way.

“Good dog. Stay until I’ve done my stretches.”

The big terrier lay down to watch her. Officially, he belonged to Pamela, but his preference for Nora began the minute they brought the wiggling puppy home from the breeder.

Getting a puppy had been Nora’s idea, a fact Pamela reminded her stepmother of when Conan destroyed some piece of furniture or dug up the flower beds. The only way to keep his exuberance in check was to see that he got plenty of exercise. Hence, he had become Nora’s running partner.




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