LITMIR.BIZ

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hazel eyes. He appeared more gaunt than when she’d last seen him more than a year ago, the previous May, at Lacy’s twenty-sixth birthday.

      Good. Faith hoped his new leanness had something to do with the breakup of his marriage and wasn’t because he’d joined a fancy health club. She couldn’t tell if he was suffering. His smoldering regard centered on the room’s other occupant. But the man at whom Michael glared appeared oblivious of the daggers coming his way.

      Sun-bleached hair fell in a perfect cut above the second man’s well-tanned brow. An expensive navy blazer hung loose over pristine white pants. Faith couldn’t determine the color of the stranger’s eyes. They were trained on a magazine with a sailboat on the cover.

      Both men exuded an air of comfortable wealth. Faith could only hope their behavior would be as civilized as their appearance. Taking one last deep breath, she moved around the plant and into the room.

      Michael was the first to notice her. He uncrossed his arms and straightened away from the window, feeling a jolt of recognition. Faith Hyatt had always been so different from Lacy. He doubted he was alone in finding it hard to believe they were sisters. Tall, blond Lacy had had an athletic build—or rather she had before she’d decided it was chic to be model-thin. She wore makeup with flair and was always experimenting with hairstyles. His ex-wife had been happiest when surrounded by people. Faith, however, was small-boned and quiet to the point of being difficult to talk to. She seemed content to spend hours on her own, yet she had a rare ability to calm the sick with a touch. If she wore any lipstick at all today, she’d chewed it off. Her fresh-scrubbed look made her seem much younger than her thirty-four years. Something about this woman had always fascinated him.

      Michael had first met Faith the year before he’d completed his residency. Even then, she’d worn her walnut-brown curls in a pixie cut that emphasized her huge dark eyes. Serious eyes that studied him now as if he were an unwanted specimen under her microscope. Not surprising. She’d played mother bear too long. Lacy had been her cub. Naturally she’d transfer those nurturing habits to Lacy’s babies. His babies.

      From the minute Michael had seen the article in the New York Times, describing Lacy’s pregnancy and her reputed refusal to take her anti-rejection meds, many things that hadn’t made sense to him before the divorce fell into place. For instance, Lacy’s little speech about normal women her age having kids. Her odd behavior that day. The unused packet of birth control pills he’d found after she’d virtually attacked him at the door, frantically initiating sex. A lot added up now—now that it was too late to help her. But it wasn’t too late to help their babies. The infants were said to be about four weeks premature, and that made them his. Period. Nothing left to discuss. He scowled in the other man’s direction.

      Because Faith’s steps slowed as she entered the room and her uneasy brown eyes seemed to be searching for an escape route, Michael took pity on her and softened his harsh expression. Crossing the room in long strides, he reached for her trembling hand. “I’m sorry Peterson disturbed you, Faith,” he murmured. “You must have a million more important things to do today than rush down here. I can’t tell you how shocked I was to read about Lacy’s death in the Times. The report indicated she’d stopped her anti-rejection meds. I wish you’d called me when her pregnancy became obvious, Faith. Whether or not Lacy was mad at me, someone on her transplant follow-up team should have followed her prenatal care.”

      Faith swallowed. “Lacy never contacted me. She never returned any of my calls. The first I knew she was pregnant was when they admitted her to the hospital. She’d had no prenatal care, Michael.”

      The other man in the waiting room rose and glanced at the couple engaged in conversation. Closing his magazine, he walked to the center of the room. “You’re Faith, Lacy’s sister? I’m Kipp Fielding III. The news story I read in our paper said you’d spent time with Lacy before she, uh, went into surgery. She and I were…ah…quite close in January and February. Did she by chance mention me?”

      Faith’s head snapped up. She tugged her hand from Michael’s fingers. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Fielding, she did have a few things to say about you. Except that she never revealed your last name—so you could have remained anonymous.” A rustle near the room’s entrance forced their heads around. Two nurses stood in the hall, chatting with a technician who was rearranging items on a lab cart. Faith knew at once that all ears were tuned to what was being said inside. Gossip lightened the tedious work at the hospital, provided a distraction from pain and death. In the past, Faith had been as big a participant as the next person. However, now that it involved someone she loved, she had second thoughts about the passing of possibly harmful rumors.

      “Gentlemen, let me call Dr. Peterson and see if there’s a conference room available where we can talk with more privacy.”

      Kipp buried his hands in his pockets. “I don’t see what there is to talk about. That baby boy is my son. He’s a Fielding. I intend to take steps to insure his birthright.”

      “Now wait a damn minute.” Michael wrapped long fingers around Kipp’s jauntily striped tie. “Maybe you can’t add, Fielding, but I can. Lacy and I were still married in January. Those are my children she carried.”

      A shrill whistle split the air. Both men swiveled toward the source. They gaped at Faith, who calmly removed two fingers from unsmiling lips. “Maybe you two don’t mind airing your dirty laundry in public. It so happens it’s my recently deceased sister you’re maligning. Have you no decency?”

      Michael dropped his hand. “You’re absolutely right, Faith.” He cast a scowl at the eavesdroppers. “I agree we need a private place where we can settle this issue.”

      Confident that she’d soon set both men straight, Faith went to the house phone and punched the hospital administrator’s number. “Dr. Peterson, please. This is Nurse Faith Hyatt. He phoned me at home earlier. I’m here in the hospital now.” She tapped her toe while she waited for him to come on the line. When she’d explained the problem, he told her the conference rooms were all in use but offered the use of his office. “Thank you,” Faith said. “We’ll be right down.”

      Peterson brushed her effusive thanks aside. “It’s an honor to have Mike Cameron here. I’m on my way to the cafeteria. I’ll have them send over a tray of coffee. Oh, Nurse, when your business winds down, perhaps Dr. Cameron might take a moment to tour our new heart wing. His stamp of approval would be a boon to Good Shepherd.”

      Faith sighed. “I’ll tell him.” She had no doubt he’d prefer a tour of the heart wing over a trip to the funeral home. Of course, she was probably foolish to even think Michael might ask to pay his last respects to his former wife. Hadn’t Lacy said Michael loved his work more than he loved her? If that was how things stood between them when they were married, why would he alter his attitudes after their divorce?

      “Does Peterson have a room or not?” Michael spoke near her ear, making Faith jump.

      “Um, yes. His office. He also said he hoped you had time to tour our new heart facility when we’ve completed our business.”

      “Not today. Maybe later in the week. I’ll catch him and explain. Once we iron out this mess, I plan to spend an hour or so with my babies. And after that…” He swallowed. “Uh…if you have no objection, Faith, I’d like to see Lacy.”

      His chin dropped to his chest and his eyelids closed, and she realized she’d misjudged him.

      “Of c-course,” she stammered. Seeing Michael so emotional triggered her own bleak feelings again. “The service is tomorrow. It’s very small.” She named the funeral home. “Lacy didn’t have many friends left in Boston. Although…I’m not sure of that.” Suddenly flustered, Faith clasped her hands and frowned at her fingers. “Perhaps I should have an official funeral notice placed in the afternoon paper.” Peering up at Michael through her eyelashes, she asked him, “Were you aware Lacy had moved back to Boston?” Unexpectedly her eyes filled. She had to blink hard to contain the tears. “That’s another thing I don’t have any explanation for—why she didn’t let me know. It might have made a difference if she

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