The Secret Heir. GINA WILKINS
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start early.”
“I thought maybe I’d stay here tonight. I know they only want one parent to stay in the room all night, but there are recliners in the waiting room.”
“There’s no need for you to do that. You won’t be able to sleep well here, and you’ll want to be rested tomorrow.”
“What makes you think I’ll sleep any better at home?” He turned his head to look at the child on the bed. “I can’t imagine sleeping a wink tonight.”
“Still—”
“Laurel.” He frowned, his voice losing the gentle tone with which he had awakened her. “The decision is mine to make.”
She locked her hands in her lap. “Of course.”
For just a moment the invisible wall between them had lowered. Now it was back. She couldn’t for the life of her decide which of them kept rebuilding it—though she suspected it was a joint project.
He covered her hands with one of his, his work-toughened palm pleasantly rough against her softer skin. “Don’t close me out of this, Laurel. He’s my son. We’re a family. We need to be together in this.”
After a moment, she turned her hand so that their fingers linked. “I’m not trying to close you out. If it makes you feel better, you should stay. I simply wanted you to get some rest, for your sake.”
“I appreciate that, but I need to stay.”
“Then stay.”
He looked down at their joined hands, his expression grave. “We’ll get through this.”
She nodded slowly. For now, for Tyler’s sake, they would put their differences aside, she promised herself. They would face the problems between them when their son was completely healthy again.
Four
J ackson went home only long enough to shower and change and feed Tyler’s goldfish. The house seemed so quiet with no one there but him. To his anxiety-sensitized ears, the few noises he made seemed to echo through cavernous spaces.
Though hardly a mansion, it was a nice house in a safe neighborhood, built for a growing family. Four bedrooms. Two and a half baths. The house also featured a good-sized fenced yard for Tyler to play in, a two-car garage, and a redwood deck Jackson had built himself, with help from his father. Not that he had a lot of spare time to enjoy that deck. He could hardly remember the last time they’d cooked out on the gas grill or dined at the umbrella-shaded wrought-iron table.
Probably Laurel and Tyler ate out there on nice summer evenings, since Tyler usually had his dinner before Jackson got home from work. Jackson was lucky on most days to get home in time to play with the boy for a half or so before bedtime.
He had to pay for this nice home he provided for his family, he thought with a touch of the defensiveness that so often accompanied thoughts of his work. Laurel had told him that she would be satisfied with a more modest house, but he’d wanted his kids to grow up in a good neighborhood. And even though it meant working long, hard hours, he was perfectly able to provide for his family.
He had pictured Laurel staying home to enjoy this nice house with their son and maybe another child or two. That had been before Laurel had changed so drastically, drawing away from him and going back to her social work. He hadn’t expected her to return so soon to her job finding homes for other kids, leaving their young son in the care of an expensive nanny.
They’d never gotten around to discussing more children.
Shaking his head impatiently, he glanced down at the sheet of paper in his hand. Laurel had sent him another list of things she needed him to take back to her. The hospital provided showers for parents of hospitalized children, so she would be able to freshen up there. Reading the list, he entered her bedroom and opened the closet door.
Her bedroom. He scowled as he glanced around the impeccably neat room decorated in light woods and cool pastels. It had been over a year since Laurel had moved into what they had originally intended for use as a guest room. Tyler had been going through a spell of having nightmares, and since the master bedroom was downstairs, Laurel had slept up here to be closer to Tyler’s room.
Once the nightmares had ended, her excuse for staying in this room had become that Jackson’s frequent late hours were disturbing her sleep. It wasn’t at all uncommon for him to be in meetings until after ten. He would often arrive home to a dark and quiet house. Much like it was now, he thought with a scowl.
Despite having separate bedrooms, he and Laurel hadn’t maintained a strictly platonic relationship. The physical attraction between them had always been strong. Sometimes when he held her after making love with her, he could almost pretend they were happy.
Because they were in for a long day of sitting and waiting at the hospital tomorrow, she had asked him to bring one of the knit jogging-style outfits she liked so much when she wasn’t dressed for work. The fitted T-shirts, elastic-waist pants and zippered jackets were comfortable for her and flattering to her slender figure. He chose one in navy with baby-blue piping and a matching baby-blue T-shirt. He’d always liked that color on her. It brought out her clear blue eyes.
Did he tell her often enough that he noticed what she wore? That she always looked beautiful to him? Flowery speech and fulsome compliments didn’t come naturally to him, but that hadn’t seemed to matter to her during their courtship, when they had never seemed to lack for anything to say. It was only much later that he had realized that in all their carefree chatter, she had shared very little of her deepest thoughts.
He supposed he had shared no more of his own. He had always tried to display his feelings through his actions, not his words. He would say that lack of communication was a definite problem in his marriage.
But that was something they could try to solve later. As he stuffed her clothes into an overnight bag, he told himself they had more urgent matters to worry about now. Once their son was well, there was no reason why he and Laurel shouldn’t be able to work out the rest of their problems.
He refused to accept the possibility that either situation might not have a happy ending.
Laurel felt as though she could easily jump right out of her skin. She wanted to pace the hospital room, but she was afraid she would disturb Tyler, who had dropped off rather fretfully only a couple of hours earlier.
With the help of a pediatric social worker, she and Jackson had tried to prepare Tyler for what to expect tomorrow, but Laurel knew the child was still confused and somewhat frightened. As for herself, she was terrified. And no amount of calm, patient counseling from experts could change that.
The door opened and she looked around from her chair, expecting to see one of the nurses popping in for a routine check. Instead, it was Jackson who tiptoed in, his gaze going first to the child in the bed, and then to her. “Can’t sleep?”
“No. You, either?”
“No.”
“I knew you couldn’t sleep out there in those uncomfortable recliners.”
He knelt beside her chair. “The recliners are comfortable enough. A couple of other guys are out there snoring away. I just can’t close my eyes without thinking about the surgery tomorrow.”
She sighed and nodded. “I know that feeling.”
“Laurel—” His voice was hardly loud enough for her to hear, certainly not loud enough to carry to Tyler, even if he were awake. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? How do we know the diagnosis we’ve been given is even right? Maybe there’s nothing wrong with Tyler’s heart, after all. Maybe Rutledge misread the tests. Maybe we should take him to a few more doctors before we do something as risky as major surgery.”
“The doctors didn’t misread the tests. Dr. Rutledge is one of the best in the business. He wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”
“Everyone