Книга - Return of the Rebel Surgeon

Return of the Rebel Surgeon
Connie Cox









“This dance is already taken.”

Using the same fierceness he’d used to make the street gangs of his youth back down, Cole glared at the man who would likely be his partner in the near future.

Rebelliousness set Bella’s jaw, but Wong had already bowed out and turned away before she could protest. “Maybe I wanted to dance with Dr. Wong.”

Most women would protest at Cole’s high-handedness, and rightfully so. But tonight the caveman inside him wouldn’t allow Dr. Wong to put his hands on Bella. Seeing her this afternoon had been such a shock. She had a career. She had a son. She had a life.

“Dance with me instead.”

She glanced around, saw no easy way out, and agreed. No, she hadn’t changed that much. The old Bella always did what society expected of her. Like marrying David Beautemps.

A wave of jealousy flooded through his veins. David had had a wonderful, intelligent and beautiful woman, and a son any man would be proud to call his own. They had seemed to be the perfect couple. What had gone wrong with their marriage? And why should it matter to him?

As he wrapped his arms around her Cole felt as if fragments of himself had fitted into place. There was a fullness, a wholeness about Bella pressed against his body.

He knew why he was dancing with her. Illogical though it was, he couldn’t stand the sight of another man holding her—and he didn’t feel like dredging up the strength of will to push away his baser tendencies. Not tonight. Not after all the turmoil his homecoming had stirred in him when all he’d wanted to do was bring comfort and cures to those who needed it the most.

But why did she clutch him equally as strongly?


Dear Reader

Think back on that one time in your life you wish you had said something—done something—differently. From that moment on your life took a different path.

If you could have a second chance to play out that moment again, would you take it?

Once a debutante whose life was filled with parties, single mother and Cognitive Behaviour Therapist Isabella Allante now devotes her time to providing a stable life for her autistic son. But, no matter how carefully she plans, she can’t keep either her money or her energy from running low at the end of the month.

Specialist hand surgeon Dr Cole Lassiter, who was orphaned and raised by a charity, now gives most of his great wealth away. His life is steady and secure, but he can’t buy what he wants most—a loving home.

How different would their lives have been if they had followed their hearts instead of their heads and got married after high school graduation? But they each made different choices and now they are both alone.

Cole and Bella get their second chance when their paths cross as they volunteer for the Special Games in New Orleans. Will they embrace their second chance or let this moment in time slip away?

I hope you enjoy reading about these two lovers that fate keep throwing together despite the world’s attempts to keep them apart. Please let me know what you think of them and the decisions they make. Reach me at www.conniecox.com

Best wishes for health, wealth and happiness!

Connie




About the Author


CONNIE COX has loved Harlequin Mills and Boon


romances since she was a young teen. To be a Mills and Boon author now is a fantasy come to life. By training, Connie is an electrical engineer. Through her first job, working on nuclear scanners and other medical equipment, she saw a unique perspective into the medical world. She is fascinated by the inner strength of medical professionals, who must balance emotional compassion with stoic logic, and is honoured to showcase the passion of these dedicated professionals through her own passion of writing. Married to the boy next door, Connie is the proud mother of one terrific daughter and son-in-law and one precocious dachshund.

Connie would love to hear from you. Visit her website at: www.ConnieCox.com



This is Connie’s second book for Mills & Boon


Medical


Romance.

Why not check out her fantastic debut?

THE BABY WHO SAVED DR CYNICAL

Available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk




Return of the

Rebel Surgeon

Connie Cox













www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


My admiration and gratitude goes out to all those

who care for both our physical and our mental health.

Special thanks to Kenneth Ashley, Phylis Caskey,

David Caskey, Keith Anderson and Kim Cox, who

share their medical knowledge and their healing hearts.




CHAPTER ONE


COLE had sworn he would never come back, but here he was, on the edge of his seat, watching the boy on the track who had never broken stride the whole five kilometers. He glanced at the second hand on his watch. The boy was doing a consistent six-minute mile.

The boy sprinted for the finish line, his ground-eating stride putting him ahead of the pack. Athletic grace like that could be honed by training but began in the womb.

Despite the New Orleans heat and humidity, Dr. Cole Lassiter kept his attention on the competitions as a way of keeping the painful memories at bay.

Today and tomorrow were track-and-field competitions at Tad Gormley Stadium in City Park. Thursday was the swim meet at the hosting hospital’s full-size facilities and Friday was back at the track for the soccer matches. Then home to New York for the weekend if he could get loose ends tied up—or at least keep things from unraveling.

The wise thing to do would be to stay in New Orleans over the weekend to wine and dine the doctors and their families, and make sure everyone was comfortable with the merger of the two medical clinics.

If he could only keep his own personal unease from showing. His hometown of New Orleans held nothing but nightmares for him—and a lucrative possible partnership between Lassiter Hand and Wrist Institute and the equally renowned New Orleans Sports Clinic. But negotiations were fragile.

A cheer from the bleachers had him turning his attention back to the field and the final lap of the race.

A modest but enthusiastic crowd encouraged the athletes as they competed for a sense of accomplishment as much as for a victory. These regional “special games” were hosted by a leading New Orleans hospital and run by scores of volunteers. It was certainly a different experience from the professional events he usually attended.

These games, free to all who wanted to watch, were every bit as exciting as the big-ticket events Cole usually went to. Maybe even more so, considering what these athletes were up against. All had mental challenges, and many of them had physical challenges, as well. But they had the same heart and courage as any other athlete.

From the sidelines, a distracted girl wandered onto the track right into the boy’s path.

Cole winced as the boy jerked and hurdled to keep from running into her and ended up on his knees.

Without a word, the boy climbed back to his feet and took off running, trying to catch the two runners who had passed him.

He closed the gap to inches. If he’d had three more strides, he would have caught the front runner. Instead, the boy took second place.

An official leaned down to check the boy’s knee, then pointed toward the medical tent. Without needing a prod from the intercom system, Cole headed in that direction.

From the moment she’d entered the stadium that morning, Bella Allante’s attention had been drawn to him as if he had some preternatural power over her.

Why now? Why, when her world spun on the tip of a needle, did Cole Lassiter have to show up now?

Distracted, she tried to focus on the one-sided conversation her teenage helper was carrying on.

“So my mom says to tell you thanks. Working with our family photo album has really helped my sister understand age appropriateness much better.”

“You’re welcome.” Isabella had stumbled upon her son’s fascination with family photographs a few years back. “I’ve used them to teach everything from facial recognition to table manners.”

“My sister is obsessed with photos of our grandmother. Didn’t you tell us that happened with Adrian, too?”

“Yes, it did.” Obsession wasn’t an unusual trait for someone on the autistic spectrum. Isabella just wished Adrian’s obsession had been with anyone other than Cole Lassiter.

The day her son had asked about the tall, dark-haired boy in many of her high-school photos, displaying curiosity but also being able to recognize him in photos at different ages, Isabella had been overjoyed at Adrian’s breakthrough in development but torn about using the image of the man she despised above all others to teach her son.

Although she’d been mightily tempted to tell him a half-truth that day, she had never lied to Adrian. So she had confessed that the boy in the photos was Adrian’s father, now a grown man and a renowned surgeon.

Instantly, she’d had to page through copies of her father’s medical journals to show Adrian photos of Cole as an adult.

Since then, Adrian had elevated Cole to the status of superhero, insisting on having a dark-haired plastic doctor doll along with his superhero action figures and adding Cole’s photo to the collection of pictures of family and friends on his bedside table.

She had been so thrilled she had found a way to reach her emotionally locked-away son she had decided to encourage and embrace his fascination with Cole, in the certain belief that she would never have to deal with the man in person.

Was that Adrian in the lead? He never wanted her to watch him compete, so she had only seen him run from afar.

Once more she scanned the crowd, intently watching the athletes take their final lap.

What was Cole doing here—beyond watching the son he had never acknowledged? That small part of her that needed closure nagged at her now like it had so many dark nights in the past. Had she tried hard enough, done enough?

Isabella lifted her chin. An Allante didn’t beg—and she would never stoop that low again. If only he had acknowledged her pregnancy in some way, she could have put her doubts behind her, along with those tarnished memories of first love.

“Ms. Allante, is something wrong?”

Isabella replaced her worried frown with a forced smile. “No—just anticipating a problem that might never happen.”

If only it was just a commonplace problem worrying Isabella now, instead of the man in the front row, sitting all alone with his elbows propped on his knees.

The girl, old beyond her years, nodded with understanding. “My mom does that all the time. My dad keeps telling her to just take it each moment as it comes, but it doesn’t seem to help.”

Isabella tried to follow the same creed, even while she tried to provide an environment as secure and routine as possible for her son. While she was doing well on the secure environment part, she was failing miserably to live in the moment.

Usually her problem was trying to anticipate the future. But today her worry was all about the past.

Only fifteen short years ago, she had wished with all her heart to set eyes on Cole Lassiter.

She had wished it right up to the moment she had repeated her marriage vows to another man. At that point she had begun wishing just as fervently never to see Cole again.

Cole stood and stretched, spreading to the skies those arms that had once held her so tight, and began to amble toward the medical tent.

The loudspeaker popped and squealed, then blasted out, “Will the mother of athlete number 183 please meet him in the first-aid area?”

A burst of panic flipped her stomach with her heart. “That’s Adrian.”

“Go.” The girl threw away the pencil Isabella had snapped in two. “I can take care of this.”

“Thanks.” Like she had every day since the pregnancy test had shown positive, Isabella straightened her spine, put her anxiety behind her, and vowed to do whatever was best for her child.

Under the tent in the makeshift first-aid station, Cole knelt to examine the boy’s skinned knee.

“You’re Adrian, right?” He was careful to move slowly and talk plainly.

“That’s right, Doctor,” an assistant answered for the boy. “Adrian is fourteen years old.”

Cole would have guessed he was a year or two older. The boy was tall and rangy. He rocked back and forth as he flexed his left forefinger over and over again.

Adrian wasn’t Cole’s standard client. As a hand surgeon who specialized in sports medicine, Cole usually treated highly paid professional athletes.

He’d been informed that Adrian was autistic, mostly nonverbal, and skittish around strangers. Adrian particularly disliked being touched.

Volunteering for these special athletic games challenged Cole’s doctor-patient skills. He wasn’t familiar with treating athletes with mental challenges, but he had stepped out of his comfort zone to fill in for one of the future partners who’d had a family emergency.

Family—something else Cole wasn’t too familiar with.

Cole could relate to the boy, though. He himself was more of a thinker than a talker. Thankfully, professional athletes rarely required much chit-chat.

Still, he felt the need to be encouraging. “That was quite a race you ran, Adrian.” Cole kept his voice calm and low despite the noise of the cheering crowd around them.

Adrian smiled with his eyes, showing acknowledgment of the compliment.

“Tough luck about the fall.”

Adrian showed no anger, or even frustration, over the accident. Good sportsmanship personified.

“Adrian’s mother is here, Dr. Lassiter,” the assistant warned.

Before Cole could stand and turn around, Adrian’s mother asked over his shoulder, “Honey, are you all right?”

He knew that voice.

Even after fifteen years, it rasped down his spine. Who would have thought a voice from his past could slam into his gut like this?

Calling on all the stoicism he’d developed over his career, Cole stood and moved aside so she could take his place. Isabella Allante was more beautiful now than the last time he’d seen her—sound asleep in his bed.

For the sake of the boy, Cole used every ounce of professionalism he had to reassure the anxious mother. “Adrian is fine. Just a scrape.”

“Cole,” Bella said in a monotone, as if she’d turned off a switch to her emotions. Her face registered nothing, a mask of calm.

She had always been good at keeping her emotions in check, a trait that would have made her a good doctor if she had gone to medical school as they had planned.

He did the math. Had marriage and pregnancy, not necessarily in that order, caused her to drop out? Had it been her choice or her husband’s?

That husband should have been him.

Betrayal and anger made him turn away from her, even after all these years. No other woman had ever affected him this way. He’d hardened his heart to make sure of it.

Bella bent down to inspect Adrian’s knee.

“Doesn’t look too bad, huh?” she asked her son, the compassion switched on again.

Cole watched Adrian’s face as his eyes shifted up and to the left, then back to his mother’s mouth. Adrian’s way of agreeing, Cole guessed, when Bella gave him a gentle smile.

Feature by feature, the boy didn’t look much like his mother. His eyes were dark, almost black, while hers were a crystal shade of violet. His hair was dark, too. Thick and wavy compared to hers, straight and honey-blonde. At fourteen, he was at least three inches taller than his petite mother. Maybe it was his gestures or the way he held himself that looked so familiar.

Cole glanced at Bella’s bare ring finger. Nobody had told him that her marriage had broken up—if, indeed, that was what her ring-free state meant. But, then, he’d made it clear to everyone back in New Orleans that he didn’t want to hear the name Isabella Allante ever again.

“Worth the ribbon?” She held up a medal dangling on a red ribbon.

Again, Adrian spoke with his eyes, delight showing through their dark depths.

“Want to wear it?” She lifted the ribbon to place it around Adrian’s neck.

His left hand started to pat the air while his shoulders tensed and his eyes took on a wild and startled cast.

Bella rocked back on her heels, giving her son space. “Okay, honey. Why don’t I hold it for you?”

Adrian calmed and smiled, a sweet, pure smile like his mother’s could be. “Momma.”

Bella sucked in her breath. “Yes, honey. Momma. Thank you for that.”

The loudspeaker crackled and the commentator announced refreshments for all the athletes and their guests. Adrian’s eyes lit up. He pushed himself off his chair, not even wincing as he put weight on his injured leg.

Without looking left or right, he started for the snack bar. Abruptly, he stopped, pinned Cole with those deep, dark eyes and gestured, more a command than an invitation. Adrian might not use a plethora of words but his body language spoke volumes.

Cole could feel the tension radiate from Bella.

He had no problem reading her body language either. While Adrian clearly wanted Cole to accompany him, Isabella wanted exactly the opposite.

“Adrian, honey, Dr. Lassiter is busy. I don’t think he can take a break with us,” she said, making herself clear.

The odds were stacked against her. First off, Cole was thirsty. Secondly, Adrian wanted his company—and Cole sensed a specialness in that. And, thirdly, Bella had just issued a challenge Cole wouldn’t walk away from.

“Au contraire, Mrs. Beautemps. I’m ready for a nice cold drink.”

Cole had once lived or died by Bella’s slightest desire, but now he wanted nothing more than to prove that what she did or didn’t want had no influence on his decisions.

“It’s Allante,” she corrected.

“Divorce?” Not that it should matter. He wondered purely out of curiosity. He’d always thought she and David Beautemps would stay together forever. But, then, he’d thought that about himself and Bella, too, until she’d dumped him.

“My decision,” she clarified, as if that would mean anything to him.

He shrugged. “Not my concern.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked.”

Sorry. The flippant apology stuck in his throat.

“You’re right,” he forced out, swallowing down the bitter taste of concession.

He and Bella were ancient history—bad ancient history at that—and long since archived under “foolish youth.” Any feelings between them should have been put to bed a long time ago.

Put to bed. Not the best metaphor to choose, not when he still remembered how that honey-gold hair spread across his pillow and down her trim, bare back all those years ago.

He took in her simple T-shirt dress, flattering but not new, and her wedge-heeled sandals that showed wear around the soles. Her simple clothes were very different from the fashions she’d once worn.

Fifteen years ago, her clothes had come straight off a Paris or New York runway. From the looks of things, she would have benefitted from a better lawyer, settlement-wise.

She brushed her hand down her dress then lifted her chin. “What are you doing here?”

“Business.” The multimillion-dollar merger was the only thing that could have brought him back to his old hometown. Bella’s father had been one of the founding partners of the sports clinic a few decades previously but Cole’s lawyers had assured him that Dr. Allante had been out of the partnership for over a dozen years.

“You’re not doing business at a track-and-field meet, are you?” Her question dripped of disbelief with a tinge of suspicion.

Cole knew she had deliberately twisted his answer.

He couldn’t have told her anything even if he’d wanted to. He’d done enough of these mergers to know how tenuous early negotiations could be. Confidentiality and secrecy played a big role in making these kinds of deals run smoothly.

But, then, he had no desire to tell her anything about himself or his life. They had nothing in common anymore but a painful past.

“As you can tell, I’m a volunteer for the special games’ medical staff. I’m a last-minute substitute.” Is that what he’d been to Bella? A substitute while David was away at college?

None of this mattered anymore, he reminded himself as he swallowed down a bitterness he’d thought was long gone.

At eighteen, he’d been sure he and Bella had a soul-deep connection, more than just teenage infatuation, but he’d been wrong.

Apparently, he’d been wrong about more than one thing. Cole had expected David Beautemps to provide Bella with the high-society lifestyle she’d always had. But people changed. He certainly had.

“What’s up with David?” he asked, to prove—to himself as much as to her—that he didn’t care.

Two years older than him, and almost three years older than Bella, David had been kind, gentle and generous, as well as wealthy. When Bella had chosen David over him, Cole had understood, on a rational level.

Still, he felt raw. He thought he’d extinguished that internal firestorm long ago, but seeing Bella seemed to have stirred up embers from the ashes.

“Daddy,” Adrian said.

Next to him, Bella sucked in her breath.

Cole looked around for the man Bella had married, but didn’t see anyone approaching them. Was she wary of her ex?

If so, David would have to come through him to get to Isabella or Adrian. Cole might not be a part of her life anymore, but he would never stand by and let a woman or innocent child be hurt. Especially not these two. Cole brushed that thought away. Any honorable man would do the same.

Adrian started to flap his hand in impatience.

“Adrian, the doctor is busy. He doesn’t have time for a break with us.” A breeze blew through, plastering Bella’s dress against her, outlining her petite figure.

He couldn’t stop himself from wanting Bella now just as strongly as he had wanted her on their last night together. Though now he understood that desire was purely a sexual response. Then, he’d wanted her enough to consider giving up his lifelong dream of becoming a doctor.

But dreams hadn’t been enough for Isabella Allante. Not his dreams, anyway. Her own dreams of marrying sugarcane plantation heir David Beautemps and taking her privileged place in society had superseded his foolish plans for the two of them together, carving out their own unique niche in the world.

“I can take a break.” Now he wanted to prove to her, and—he had to admit—to himself that she had absolutely no sway over him. “Lead on, Adrian. I’m with you all the way.”

Maybe sitting across the table from her as if they were two old acquaintances with nothing more between them but a couple of sodas—and another man’s son—would close a chapter of his life that should have ended a long time ago.

After this quick encounter, he would throw the book of his youth against the wall and get on with his life—as he’d thought he already had until their chance meeting today.

Isabella forced her shaky knees to carry her. She let her steps lag as she watched father and son walk in front of her. She needed time to think—time to breathe.

How could this happen? She had spent so many nights, so many years trying to resign herself to the loss of the only man she had ever loved. And here he showed up, made an immediate connection with his son and stepped back into her heart as if he’d never been gone from it. She had thought she’d locked him out of that sacred place for ever.

Pain radiated from her chest throughout her whole circulatory system. She felt as dizzy as if she had been whirled in a fast circle for the last fifteen years.

Stop it, Isabella. You don’t have time for childish theatrics, she told herself. She used all her training as a cognitive behavior therapist to pull herself together. Taking note of her mental state and subsequent physical reactions, she exerted mind over matter to bring her heart rate under control.

Only through sheer willpower did she force her world to stop spinning. Now to evaluate the situation. She looked at the pair in front of her.

They both had that same easy, long-legged stride. Adrian’s hair was a shade lighter but in time it would darken to that deep cocoa brown like Cole’s.

Side by side, there could be no denying that Adrian was Cole’s son. Adrian had that same olive complexion and would soon have the same heavy beard that Cole had at such an early age.

Bella had taken full advantage of Adrian’s fascination with Cole in so many ways. Photos of him had convinced her son to swim, to eat his vegetables and, most recently, to shave.

She had always had a worry in the back of her mind. What would Adrian do on the off chance he ever met his father? Now that worry was a reality. But there were no fireworks, no meltdowns, no drama of any kind.

The only volatile reactions going on were inside her own heart.

Unpredictably, her son took meeting his father in his stride, accepting Cole as someone he’d known for years. And, in a way, he had.

Why was he here—and why now, fifteen years too late?

Why the cat-and-mouse game, as if he didn’t know who Adrian was to him?

Was he assessing the extent of Adrian’s autism before deciding on whether to claim him as his son or not? That seemed far too cold for the Cole she had once known. But, then, so had his abandonment of her all those years ago.

She had to face facts. A decade and a half ago she hadn’t known Cole as well as she’d thought. And she certainly didn’t know him now.

For the first time since Adrian’s birth Isabella was glad he rarely talked. She felt bad about it, but she didn’t wish it only for her own selfish purposes. She needed to find out what Cole’s intentions were.

Maybe Cole would satisfy his curiosity and simply go away, and she could get back to the steady, stable routine that served Adrian so well. What would she do if he wanted to become involved in Adrian’s life?

She might not be able to predict Cole’s behavior, but she knew what she intended to do—what she had always done. She would protect her son at all costs.

Resolution made, she glared at the back of the man who had left her and never looked back all those years ago.

She’d tracked his meteoric rise in the medical community as a leading hand and wrist surgeon. How could she help it, being the daughter of a renowned surgeon herself? He now had institutes in major cities all over the U.S. to care for his high-profile clients.

His latest patient had been a promising child gymnast with a wrist injury. Under his care she’d made a miraculous recovery. Rumors said the girl’s mother had received Cole’s personal attention as well—for a little while.

And there was her answer. Cole would be in and out of their lives so fast they would barely notice the blip. She just had to keep everything as smooth as possible for Adrian—and for herself.

Isabella caught up to them as Cole and Adrian stood before the counter. Quietly, she observed them, still not sure what she should do, what she should say in front of her son.

“Want a drink?” Cole asked, intently watching Adrian’s face.

As Adrian looked down and to the right, Cole tried again. “Ice cream?”

Seeing a positive response, Cole narrowed the choices. “Vanilla? Chocolate? Whipped cream?”

While it took Adrian’s new aides days to learn his subtle form of communication, it had taken Cole only minutes.

Of course he could communicate with his son. They were so much alike in so many ways. Cole had always been a man of few words—the ultimate strong, silent type.

And Adrian had spoken to him. Isabella waited weeks, sometimes months, for a single sound from her son. Cole had known him for only a few minutes and had already been gifted with one of Adrian’s few words. Daddy.

Without turning around, Cole asked, “Bella, what would you like?”

You, Isabella thought before she could stop herself. “A diet drink, please.”

Cole ordered for her while Isabella deliberately amended her thoughts. What did she want?

You, fifteen years ago.

Answers.

This day never to have happened.

But Isabella had learned a long time ago about wanting something, wanting someone. She couldn’t always have her heart’s desire just because she asked nicely. Cole had taught her that lesson well.

Isabella warred within herself. Her ingrained etiquette insisted she make small talk, but her protectiveness cautioned that an effort to communicate could be misconstrued as an effort to forge a bond.

They ate in silence. In the past, Isabella had been comfortable with Cole’s contemplative moods. But today she knew he wasn’t thinking. He was seething. Fire was in his eyes as he stole glances at her between bites. But why?

She was the one with the right to be angry. He had left her, accepting the scholarship for pre-med and, eventually, the residency at New York’s Hospital for Special Surgery when she’d thought he would come back to New Orleans for her.

She’d been sold out for a ten-thousand-dollar grant. If Isabella had known that was how much money Cole could be bought for, she would have written the check from her own trust fund.

But, then, she hadn’t known she’d needed to buy his love.

Adrian looked up at Cole, happiness shining in his eyes as he sat with his real-life hero in the flesh.

Cole returned the look, adding a smile and passing Adrian a napkin. Adrian took it from Cole’s hand instead of insisting Cole lay the napkin on the table. That kind of trust usually took a carer weeks to establish.

The intercom blared, paging Dr. Lassiter to the first-aid tent. “I’ve got to go.”

As he stood, a storm built in Adrian’s face.

Please, not a meltdown. Not now. Isabella braced herself for the scene she would be dealing with the moment Cole walked away. At fourteen, Adrian’s pubescent temper tantrums were becoming more and more difficult to deal with. She began digging in her purse for Adrian’s scarf, hoping the scrap of fabric would have a calming effect should Adrian’s emotions overcome his learned behavior.

Cole turned to face Adrian, without doubt noting the mottled red in his face.

Would Cole judge her to be a bad mother? Many people would, if they had never had to cope with autism.

He looked Adrian in the eye, not flinching away as his son’s whole body started to shake. While taking the scarf from Isabella and handing it to Adrian, he subtly put himself between her and her son. Did he realize his protective maneuver? Did he think she needed to be shielded from her own son?

Isabella herself prayed that day would never come.

Adrian twisted both hands in the scarf, his thumbs tracing the pile of the heavy cut velvet while he raised the satin side to his lips, taking deep breaths like they’d practiced.

Isabella held her own breath as she watched Cole.

If Cole showed any sign of belittlement or disdain for Adrian’s self-soothing, it could set off Adrian’s barely restrained emotions.

Cole gave Adrian a respectful nod. “Good job, Adrian. A man controls his temper around a woman.”

He took a card from his wallet, scribbling on the back. “Here’s my cellphone number, in case you ever need me.” His glance took in both of them.

He put the card down within Adrian’s reach then once again walked out of her life, leaving his empty promise behind.




CHAPTER TWO


COLE walked away, feeling Bella’s eyes burn into his back.

Maybe he had overstepped the mark, giving Adrian his card. But an inexplicable compulsion deep within him had prevented him from cutting off his connection with the boy.

There was no connection—could never be a connection—between him and Isabella. She had severed that with a knife in the back.

The rest of the morning dragged by with only one other patient, a mother with a minor ankle sprain. While he tried to explain that four-inch heels and bleachers didn’t mix, she attempted to seduce him with invitations for drinks on the veranda after her ex-husband picked up the children that evening.

She was exactly the kind of Southern belle he always imagined Bella would have turned into. Not that he thought of Bella often. He’d had to train himself quickly to put her out of his mind or he would have never made it through medical school.

But forgetting about her after seeing her today took all his mental prowess.

While he’d rather head to the hotel to put a heat pack on his aching neck, he headed toward the classrooms instead. He’d promised his office manager he would pick up some information on early recognition of learning difficulties. Her daughter’s pediatrician was starting to suspect a problem. And heat packs wouldn’t cure his problem anyway. Only time would heal a neck and shoulder strain—just like only time would heal his heartache. But how much time? Fifteen years should have been long enough.

He ducked into a full auditorium and leaned against the door frame. The man next to him handed over a sheaf of lecture notes that Cole took with a politely absent nod, intending to drop out as quickly as he dropped in.

That was when he noticed the speaker, Isabella Allante, at the podium. A video on a giant screen behind her showed Adrian in his younger years, staring into the camera, while other children enjoyed a birthday party.

“So you see, I understand. I’m one of you.” She met the eyes of parents scattered around the room. “My son has autism and I can’t cure him.”

A frisson of emotion quivered through him, an emotion that was too big to name.

He had to look away from Adrian’s stare.

Cole frowned and glanced at the paper he held then glanced at his watch. Wrong time zone. He was late for the workshop on early detection by an hour.

As unobtrusively as he could, he turned to leave. From the podium, Bella fell silent. Just a pause. Just a beat. Just enough to make everyone turn and look at him.

He’d never been one to be swayed by general consensus—unlike Bella. How had sweet, pliable Bella managed with a son as challenging as Adrian? Still, he chose to stay to keep from disrupting Bella’s talk any further.

“I’ve learned to deal with the ups and downs of life with honesty about my strengths and weaknesses.” She stumbled on her closing sentences before she found her rhythm again. “And honesty about my emotions.”

If that was true, she’d certainly changed.

The ring of sincerity in her message kept the crowd enthralled. “As many of you know, my background is in cognitive behavior therapy. But my specialty is in pain management, not autism. Like you, I can’t stay immersed in the study of my child’s disability to the exclusion of all else. Also, like you, I want to do everything within my power to help my child live a contented and worthwhile life. And that includes taking care of myself, mentally, physically and spiritually, and asking for help when I need it. I encourage you to do the same.”

Was Bella staring straight at him? How could she even see him through the crowd? He must be imagining her focus on him, imagining her eyes accusing him of—of what?

When Bella stepped down from the podium and a website address and phone number flashed on the video screen, replacing the birthday scene, Cole felt like he’d been given a reprieve.

Back when Cole had known her, Isabella had been the kind of girl who’d avoided confrontation at all costs. But she was no longer that insecure, unconfident girl she’d been. She rushed to catch Cole, almost running in her three-inch wedges, hoping her favorite shoes would hold together long enough to overtake his long-legged strides.

In the parking lot, he stopped next to a BMW with a rental sticker on the window and took a look behind him, pinning her with his stare. “You want to say something to me?”

Isabella glared right back. “Why are you here?”

She winced when her confrontational words came out soft and breathless. Her wispy tone had nothing to do with the flaring ferocity of emotion in Cole’s eyes but was completely due to her being out of shape. She needed to start running with her son—if she could find a free slot in her schedule.

Cole gave her a once-over, a quick assessment from head to toe. She resisted the impulse to smooth her hair behind her ear or cross her arms over her chest.

“I’m consulting on a few cases with the sports clinic.”

“It’s hard to imagine you working with the SC.”

Cole had always wanted to work for charity, not for big money. In fact, he had been a bit of a reverse snob about money. He’d definitely gotten over that hang-up.

“It’s hard to imagine you as the mother of a teenage boy.”

She smirked. “Time does have a way of changing us—some of us for the better.”

“You, Bella?”

“Definitely. And you?”

He lifted an eyebrow then redirected the conversation. “Where’s Adrian?”

She had the petulant instinct to answer, None of your business. But she was more mature than that. Besides, wasn’t it better to figure out his intentions instead of antagonizing him, so she could be prepared?

“At a boy-girl mixer.”

Getting back on track, she asked, “How long will you be in town?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He said it defensively, tensing his shoulders with a grimace.

His evasiveness set off warning signals. In her profession she had learned to trust her instincts and to read the unspoken message behind tone of voice and body language.

“You have changed, Cole. You were never unsure before. You were always so cocky and full of bravado.”

“Bluffing my way through was the only way I could get where I needed to go. A poor boy on scholarship to one of the wealthiest college prep schools in the United States has to convince everyone—incuding himself—that he’s good enough to be there.” He stood incrementally taller. “I don’t have to prove myself to anyone anymore.”

Sadness swamped her. Sadness for what could have been. But Cole had chosen ambition over her and their child—when he could have had it all if he had stayed. “You never had to prove yourself to me.”

“That’s not how I saw it. You needed approval from your family and friends. Therefore, I needed their approval to be with you. You never even told your father we were dating, too afraid he’d forbid it if he found out.”

“He would have, too, if David’s mother had advised him to. And you know Mrs. Beautemps. She would have made sure we couldn’t see each other.”

Isabella loved her father with all her heart, but he had been totally overwhelmed at raising a teenage daughter after her mother had died, and had turned over all decisions, major or minor, to her mother’s best friend, Marjorie Beautemps. Trying to honor her friend, David’s mother had taken Isabella to her bosom, almost smothering her, until the divorce.

Even though Mrs. Beautemps’ hostile rejection hurt, Isabella could now draw a full breath without being reminded of society’s proprieties.

Where would she and Cole be now if she had been a rebellious wild child instead of a submissive and insecure teenager? Of course, getting pregnant with Adrian could have gone a long way toward eroding her good-girl image if David hadn’t married her, letting the world assume Adrian was his child.

But Cole wasn’t part of that world. She’d done everything in her power to let him know the truth and he had chosen to ignore it. She searched his eyes for a sign, a flicker of guilt or remorse. All she saw was cold, hard pride.

Cole gave Isabella a tight smile. “What we were, what we might have been—that’s all in the past, isn’t it? Anything between us is best forgiven and forgotten.”

Isabella thought of her beautiful son as Cole shrugged off their past together. How could Cole dismiss Adrian so easily? He had seemed genuinely interested in their son earlier. Something wasn’t adding up.

What about the letter written in his scrawled handwriting that was locked away in her jewelry chest? For the first time since she’d ripped open that envelope, a niggling of doubt wormed its way into her thoughts. There was no way he couldn’t know—was there?

“Cole, maybe we need to talk.” Her phone vibrated a warning alarm, reminding her it was time to pick up Adrian. “But not now.”

He gave her a hard frown that finally softened around the edges. “Anytime, Bella. For old times’ sake.”

It was the last day of the games. It seemed they’d gone on for four years instead of four days. Isabella was exhausted. She wanted to rub her eyes with the back of her hand, but smeared mascara wouldn’t make the fashion statement she was going for.

To say her nerves were frayed was like saying the Titanic had hit an ice cube. This morning she felt like she was going under just as fast and fatefully as that famous ship.

All because of Cole Lassiter.

She’d been waking up in the middle of the night, going over and over in her mind those weeks she had spent trying to get a response from Cole.

Cole had to know about Adrian, right? After all she had done to inform him, how could he not know? How could he act so unparent-like toward Adrian? But, then, it took more than sperm to be a father, didn’t it?

At her side, Adrian’s hand rhythmically beat the air. Such big movements only happened when his world was off-kilter.

Her son was picking up on her mood. Out of the blue, he’d decided he didn’t want to brush his teeth this morning. Heaven help her, she’d resorted to her old method of persuasion and told him that his father always brushed his teeth so he wouldn’t have stinky breath and people would like him. That had promptly taken care of the problem.

It had also set her to wondering what woman got to take advantage of Cole’s minty-fresh breath nowadays—even while she castigated herself for caring.

She took a look around the field where the coaches organized their teams while waiting for the start of today’s activities. Since Adrian didn’t play soccer, he would have to stay by her side while she took care of her volunteer duties.

For the past few days Isabella had invoked all her willpower to give Adrian the privilege of wandering the grounds within her eyesight instead of making him stick with her. She was trying her best to let him have more independence, but was having a hard time letting go.

But today had nothing to do with independence but with mother’s intuition. She could tell by the rebellious glint in his eye that she couldn’t trust him to stay out of trouble by himself.

“Hi,” drawled a deep Southern male voice behind them.

Isabella’s heart skipped a beat until her head caught up with her and she realized it wasn’t Cole.

The man was the father of one of Adrian’s friends.

Why was she jumping every time she heard a man speak? She’d been doing that every day since her first encounter with Cole, and not once had he approached her.

Just because today was the last day of the games, did she think he would seek her out to say goodbye? Not likely.

“Could Adrian hang out with us today? My wife is helping on the field and we could use the company.”

“Sure.” She watched as the two boys raced each other up into the stands safely under proper supervision. The resourceful father produced two pair of cheap binoculars from his bag.

Adrian held a pair of binoculars up to his eyes and scanned the field, looking for his own father, his hero come to life.

Because she couldn’t stop herself, Bella took a look toward the medical tent with little expectation of finding Cole there.

Everyone took pride in the special games being conducted as safely as possible and this week’s regional competitions were no exception. Which left a doctor with too much time on his hands. Apparently, sitting in a stifling medical tent while awaiting a medical incident wasn’t Cole’s style.

For the last several days he’d been everywhere, helping out at the registration table, chaperoning the non-competitive activities and handing out medals, which pleased her athletic son beyond imagining as Cole presented him with a slew of blue, red and green ribbons for his various competitions.

Everywhere Cole could be found, there was Adrian. And all that time Cole had said nothing, done nothing, to acknowledge Adrian as his son.

He’d seemed to be avoiding her, too. Not that she had sought him out. She didn’t have to. That same awareness of each other they’d shared all those years ago gave her a sixth sense in knowing where he was the whole time he was on the stadium grounds.

What was his game? That was the thought that had been uppermost in her mind the past four days.

She had reverted, she was ashamed to admit, back to that passive girl who waited for answers to come to her.

Well, she had waited long enough.

Today she would make him listen. She would look him in the eye to make sure there was no misunderstanding and tell him he was too late. Neither she nor Adrian wanted him in their lives …

But Adrian did want his father in his life.

She stumbled over a lost pompom, almost losing her balance.

Still, she needed to protect her son from the emotional highs and lows of his father dropping in once every fourteen years or so. Adrian didn’t handle upsets well. Better to keep Cole as a fantasy superhero than a flesh-and-blood man.

Was she doing the right thing for Adrian? That was what it all came down to.

Taking a deep breath, she started the long walk toward the medical tent.

Once there, she asked the volunteer, “Have you seen …?” Why was it so hard to say his name? “Dr. Lassiter?”

The white-haired grandmother working the desk gave her a quick shake of the head. “Not today. He’s a busy one, isn’t he?” She gave Isabella a wink. “And handsome, too. If I were a few years younger, I’d be looking for him myself.”

“You’d have to stand in line,” the nurse on duty added. “In fact, I’m old enough to be his—ahem—older sister and I would catch a drink or supper with him if he asked. He’s as nice as he is beautiful.”

Isabella shoved down the absurd possessiveness that welled up in her. History proved that even when he had vowed undying love, Cole had never been hers to keep.

“When Dr. Lassiter shows up, could you page me?” Isabella felt like an overaged groupie as the two women raised their eyebrows at her. “It’s important,” she added. Even to her own ears, she sounded like a desperate woman pathetically trying to attract the attention of a rich, handsome doctor.

“Aren’t you Isabella Allante? Dr. Allante’s daughter?” the nurse asked.

Isabella nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“I worked for him right before he retired.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember …”

“Understandable. You were busy getting married and having babies.”

“Baby. Just one.”

“A boy, right? Your father was always talking about his grandson. He was so proud. Dr. Allante was a brilliant doctor and a pleasure to work for. Please give him my regards.”

“I will. He still keeps up with the progress in his field.” The subscriptions to his favorite medical journals and newsletters cost her dearly but they fed her father’s mind and spirit even though the stroke had taken away his mobility. And they gave her a chance to keep tabs on Cole—for Adrian’s sake, of course.

“I’m afraid you’ve missed out on seeing Dr. Lassiter. I still work for the sports clinic as Dr. Wong’s office nurse. Since Dr. Wong will be in surgery all day with Dr. Lassiter, he asked if I would mind working the medical tent at the games today. I understood that Dr. Lassiter was headed back to New York after that.” The nurse gave her a lighthearted grin. “A lot of us are wishing he would stay a little longer. He certainly adds something to the scenery.”

Isabella had the strongest urge to tell the nurse that Cole was more than just another pretty face. Instead, she clamped down on her own confused feelings, a mixture of relief and disappointment.

The relief came from avoiding a confrontation. No matter how direct she learned to be, she still didn’t like confrontation.

The disappointment, she told herself, was because Cole’s departure left unfinished business between them. He didn’t owe her a goodbye, although he certainly owed Adrian that and a lot more.

“Thanks for letting me know.” Did that mean he’d left without saying goodbye to his son?

Isabella tried to suppress the thought that kept popping up over and over again. Somehow, by some weird twist of fate, could it be possible Cole didn’t know Adrian was his son?

As she headed back to her volunteer post, she shrugged away that crazy notion, just like she’d shrugged it away a thousand times in the last few days.

How many messages had she left on his voicemail all those years ago? For days and weeks she’d called, trying to reach him over and over again at all hours, hoping he’d pick up the phone so she could say what she needed to say in person. She’d written to him every day until a week before the wedding, hoping the deluge of mail would break through the barrier David’s mother had built between them.

She’d thought that if she could only make him listen, she could explain that the engagement announcement to David had been none of her doing. That she had no intention of marrying anyone but him. That she carried his child.

But the letter she sent, the one she’d poured her heart into that he’d returned in pieces, had said it all.

Anger at Cole, confusion about what to do next and relief that Cole was gone and life would eventually get back to normal warred within her, making her stomach roil.

Isabella evaluated. The only action she had to take was to tell her son his father had returned to New York.

It was a discussion she dreaded more than any other conversation she’d had in her life.

Cole walked into the doctors’ lounge, soaking in the atmosphere he thrived on. The E.R. doctor snored on the couch in front of a muted television. Two other doctors consulted quietly at a side table over cups of coffee.

Successful surgeries always sent Cole Lassiter’s spirits on a soaring high.

Still, it didn’t replace the lift Cole had gotten used to for the last few days whenever he’d seen that sweet, shy smile of Bella’s son. How could a kid worm his way into his heart so fast? Was it a pseudo-affection for what might have been?

That boy should have been his.

“Glad to have you on board, Dr. Lassiter.” One of the radiologists greeted him. Cole recognized him as a radiologist contracted with the sports clinic.

“Thanks.” He held out his hand to shake. “Call me Cole.”

He wanted to explain that he wasn’t staying. He had applied for and received hospital privileges as a matter of course since that was where the sports clinic mainly practiced. But negotiations were too tenuous.

That was the excuse he gave his office administrator when he told her he needed to stay over the weekend. That was the excuse he gave himself in the light of day.

But last night, as he’d lain in his bed, he had dreamed of Bella and woken up heavily sad when he’d realized it had only been a dream.

He needed closure and he now had a few extra days in New Orleans to find it.

He sent silent thanks to his excellent office manager, who was shuffling schedules so he could steal this time for himself, a rarity in his hectic calendar.

Walking over to the kitchenette, Cole spread out his lunch of oyster po’boy sandwich and sweet iced tea, a New Orleans specialty.

“Mind if I share this table?” the radiologist asked.

“Not at all. I would enjoy the company.” And the distraction. Normally, after a complex surgery like the one he had just finished, all he could think about was the details of the procedure and the next step to recovery.

Today, he thought about her.

Cole picked up his sandwich and took a bite, letting the flavors roll around on his tongue. Yes, it was as good as he remembered—proof that New Orleans wasn’t all bad for him. He hoped this good feeling carried over into his partnership talks.

After that morning’s surgery, he was more convinced than ever that merging his institute with the sports clinic was the right thing to do—even if the practice had originally been built by Dr. Allante.

Who would have ever thought he wanted a relationship with anything that had to do with an Allante?

What role had Bella’s father played in their break-up? Once he had gotten over the immediate pain, he had been grateful to David’s mother for sending him that engagement notice. Just when had Bella intended to tell him about David? Would Bella have continued to play him the whole time she’d been planning her nuptials with the Beautemps heir?

Thinking of Bella made his stomach churn. Even the delicious sandwich lost its appeal.

“Filling, isn’t it?” the radiologist asked as he took his last bite.

Cole stared at the half-eaten meal before him. “Yes, it’s certainly a full plate. Much more than I want.”

What an analogy for all the emotional trauma seeing Bella was causing him. All the stirring up of old hurt was much more than he wanted, much more than he had expected.

“So how did a New Orleans boy end up going to college in New York? We’ve got so many great medical schools here.”

“I got a scholarship.” But he’d had local scholarships, too. “I wanted to get away.”

He’d never been further north than the Louisiana state line. Going to the big city of New York had seemed like a grand adventure. He had taken it for granted that Bella would wait for him.

The engagement announcement had come at the worst possible time. He’d been having a tough time adjusting to the rapid pace of New York after the slower pace of New Orleans. The accelerated undergraduate program he had thrown himself into required keen focus to stay caught up, let alone to excel.

“I’d like to see New York, but the wife always wants to go the beach on our vacations.”

“Hmm.” Cole gave a noncommittal grunt.

The radiologist took the hint and ate the rest of his meal in silence.

Cole turned his attention back to his meal but couldn’t turn his thoughts away from Bella.

Bella had always seemed content to Cole. That was one of the qualities he’d liked best about her, always willing to go along with whatever he’d wanted to do. But, then, he hadn’t been that special after all. She had gone along with whatever anyone had wanted her to do.

He had been at school a few short weeks when he’d received the newspaper clipping with Bella’s beautiful smile in black and white along with the announcement of her marriage to David. The notice had included details of both their pedigrees and social standings, and it had been the only answer Cole had needed as to why she had chosen David over him.

The thick French bread of his sandwich sat too heavily in his stomach and the highly seasoned Cajun fries tasted flat and cold.

He’d made the official break-up as quick and painless as possible, a fast call that had gone directly to her voicemail—the fact that he hadn’t had to speak to her in person had been his only break. That should have been the end of it.

But then she had started in. Call after call. Letter after letter. How many times had she called him? Hundreds?

They had all finally stopped after he’d written his own letter, making it perfectly clear there could be nothing between them anymore.

He took a sip of his sweet tea, trying to rinse the bitterness from his attitude.

He had deliberately got drunk on Bella’s wedding day—for the first and only time in his life. For his own sanity as much as for the sake of his grades, he’d exerted great willpower and erased each call, destroyed each letter, before reliving the betrayal over and over again.

Instead, he’d thrown himself into his studies, the one thing he could always count on in his life to distract him from his grief.

Cole gathered up the remains of his meal and threw it in the trash.

Nothing about Bella should matter to him. How could he make himself stop wanting her? Why, after fifteen years, was he still asking himself that question? It was about time he found an answer.

Cole stretched, trying to stop the dull throbbing in his left shoulder that traveled down his arm to his fingertips—the results of tensing during surgery.

“Long surgeries will cramp you up, won’t they?”

“Yes, they will. Occupational hazard.” Only the surgery hadn’t taken that long, a mere hour and a half compared to the five and six hours of reconstructive surgery Cole was used to performing. And he’d been a consultant while Dr. Wong had done most of the work.

He flexed his numb fingers.

Strained shoulder muscles took a while to right themselves. He’d give it a few more weeks before he had it checked out. Of course, that was what he’d told himself a few weeks ago. Maybe he should schedule a therapeutic massage soon.

Some pain-management specialists studied massage, didn’t they? He reined in that runaway thought. It didn’t really matter what Bella had studied, did it?

The natural high Cole felt after that morning’s successful surgery was starting to fade, replaced by a need he wanted to deny.

Bella.

After only a few short days he had become addicted to that jolt of energy the sight of her gave him.

Neither of them fit with his old memories of a more pubescent, hormonal time. She had changed even more than he had. Why did it matter to him? How could he make it stop mattering?




CHAPTER THREE


AFTER a long, leisurely swim and a nice parboil in the whirlpool, Cole checked his messages before making rounds.

His office manager had made sure his tuxedo was delivered to his hotel room for that night’s special games reception.

He could tell himself he was staying to firm up the partnership, but in reality today’s observance of Dr. Wong in surgery had put all his fears to rest. The lawyers could now go forward without further input from him.

Bella. His own personal temptress. But he was no longer that insecure boy hiding behind bravado. That was what he had to prove to himself. That was why he’d changed his plans. That was why he’d stayed.

He donned his best bedside manner and pushed open the door.

Without a greeting, his patient, Heath Braden, confronted him. “Tell me the truth, Doc. What are my chances of regaining full use of my hand?”

Heath no longer had the grip of a fireman.

Cole made himself look into Heath’s eyes. “Slim. You will be able to do tasks that don’t require as much strength or dexterity as you’ve had in the past, but passing the assessment tests to get back to active duty may not be possible.”

Cole inwardly winced at the fear crossing the young man’s face. He’d seen it time after time—would his loved ones still love him if he wasn’t the man he used to be? Sadly, too often the answer was no, but Heath wasn’t a highly paid athlete with a high-maintenance spouse.

Heath’s wife leaned down to kiss her husband’s forehead. “I don’t love you for your hand. I love you for your heart.”

The emotion between the two made Cole feel superfluous.

He excused himself and headed to the nurses’ station.

Heath’s nurse gave him a rundown of the report. “Mr. Braden’s condition could be easier on him but he doesn’t want to take his pain meds, Dr. Lassiter. He says he doesn’t want his son to see him all drugged up. He wants to be able to focus enough to enjoy his son’s visits.”

Cole understood completely. “The pain meds are for his comfort. Taking them won’t affect the surgery or his recovery as long as he keeps taking the anti-inflammatories. But he will be in quite a bit of pain when he starts his physical therapy rehab. Do we have anyone who could do pain-management counseling with him?”

The nurse nodded. “We have a great therapist on staff who works wonders with biofeedback and hypnotherapy. Her schedule is always booked with a waiting list, though.”

Having enough personnel to go around was always an issue, especially in a teaching-charity hospital like this one.

“Surely she could be convinced to add one more patient to her list. Give me her name and number and I’ll have my staff set up an appointment for Mr. Braden.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re open to cognitive behavior therapy, Dr. Lassiter,” the nurse said as she scrolled through the contact list. “Not everyone is willing to give CBT a chance. But we’ve seen great results as long as the patient trusts and believes in the therapy.”

“I’m open to whatever works.”

The nurse handed him Bella’s contact information on a slip of paper. If Cole had been a fanciful man, he might believe fate was playing tricks on him to throw Bella his way. But it all added up. The hospital sponsored the games and Bella had volunteered, just as he had, to be part of that sponsorship.

Of course, with Adrian, she had a vested interest in the special games. So it was rational, almost inevitable, they would end up in the same medical circles.

The odds of their ending up in the same circle all those years ago had been much higher. And he’d been on the outside perimeter while Bella had been at the center of it all.

He made a quick call to his office manager, giving her Bella’s contact information.

“Monday morning. Make it happen,” he instructed his office manager.

“Yes, Dr. Lassiter. I will.”

He surrounded himself with competent staff, so he could confidently put this problem out of his mind and focus on what was important. But, then, he’d been trying to put Bella Allante out of his mind for the last fifteen years and hadn’t succeeded yet.

As Cole tucked the note in his pocket and turned away, a sharp pain arced through his neck and down his arm. He could use some pain management himself. Could Bella help him work through his pain?

There had to be a high level of trust between a medical professional and a patient, especially with the kind of work Bella did. No, with what they had between them, Bella couldn’t help him. Not if he needed to trust her first.

Isabella’s hands ached from gripping the steering wheel of her sensible fourteen-year-old car too tightly. Consciously, she relaxed, head to toe. Stress would only eat up the little energy she had left after such a long week.

Pulling into the hotel’s parking lot, Isabella pasted on her social smile and summoned up her last smidgeon of energy, hoping it would be enough to get her through the special games recognition and fundraising event.

If she could find reserves for just a few more hours, she could go home and collapse for the rest of the evening. She might even be tired enough to sleep through her worries about Cole and the paternity discussion they needed to have. Or did they, since he had now gone back to New York, where he belonged?

Starting now, she would forget about this week and go back to providing a safe and predictable world for her son. If life was too predictable for her at times, that was one of the sacrifices of motherhood she willingly accepted for her son’s well-being.

When she’d left Adrian in David’s care, he had been fingering his scarf while hugging the framed photo of Cole that usually sat on his bedside nightstand, all the while keeping a steady pace in the gliding rocker next to her bed. His favorite video played so quietly on the television she could barely hear it. His plastic doctor action figure lay next to the television control within easy reach.

She’d been worried about overstimulation from the active weekend so different from their normal routine. And that had just been from participating in the local games. With Cole on the scene, she would have expected Adrian’s reactions to be all over the board.

Instead, Adrian was taking the appearance of his father in his stride while she was struggling to contain her own anxieties.

Take a step back, Bella, she told herself.

She might be borrowing trouble. Cole might have made his once-in-a-lifetime appearance and now be gone for ever and her life could get back to the way she’d organized it.

Illogically, on top of the anger, confusion and relief, that idea made her very sad.

She had explained Cole’s absence to Adrian by telling him Daddy had to work. It was the total truth, and Adrian had understood. Tomorrow, when both she and Adrian were better rested, she would break the news that Cole had gone back to New York.

She wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow.

As she had so often since Adrian’s birth, she vowed to live one moment at a time and let the future work itself out—but it was such a hard thing to do for a planner like her.

Tonight Isabella’s job was to work the room, making a subtle plea for donations of time and money to support their local special games, a program her family had always championed before they’d ever had an athlete of their own participating. She recognized most of the faces in the crowd from her inner circle—or what had been her inner circle—as well as from the volunteers who gave so much of their time to make this program work.

Normally she could call up her inner sparkle and zest on demand, but Cole had knocked her off her game.

She smoothed the vintage wool skirt she’d inherited from her mother’s collection of expensive and well-preserved clothing and wished she hadn’t gone with an upswept French twist. Her bare neck made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

From the podium, the local chairperson was giving his standard speech, against a backdrop of happy athletes on a screen behind him. “Three and a half million athletes will train and participate in local games like ours on a state, national and global level. None of this is possible without dedicated volunteers and generous donors.”

While there was no more Allante money to give, Isabella did what she could. One thing she’d been taught from birth had been the social graces that made working a room one of her greatest talents. She just needed to put Cole from her mind, pull herself together and get on with it.

She looked for those not with partners. Group mentality being what it was, a single mixing into a circle of couples took more charm than she had energy to give at the moment.

Being single usually didn’t bother her—or rather she’d been able to bury all her disappointments and regrets. How could she look at her beautiful son and wish her life had been different?

But there were times like tonight, being single in a world of couples, when she felt incredibly, soul-searingly lonely.

She often had to go days, maybe even a full week, without human touch. Although she advised others to make friends with affectionate people, friendships took an investment of time to nurture. If anyone were to accuse her of not being the best at taking her own advice, that person would be right.

Lately, she’d been incredibly busy with her practice. Any time and energy leftover had gone into helping to organize this weekend’s games and fundraiser. Then there had been all the mental work with Adrian so he could ready himself to step outside his routine comfort zone and participate in the games. She could only be stretched so thin.

Thus was the life of a single parent of an autistic child.

But, being a therapist, Isabella knew there was no such thing as a “normal” life. She glanced over at Darla with her practiced expressions of frivolity. One outwardly perfect husband with straight white teeth, a politician’s smile—and a mistress stashed in an apartment downtown that they all pretended didn’t exist.

Then there was Corrine, with her two beautiful, over-achieving daughters, one in rehab and the other fighting bulimia. Corrine, herself dangerously close to being addicted to pain meds, came into her office twice a month, trying to master drug-free ways to control her migraines.

In her private practice catering to the rich and powerful of New Orleans, Isabella knew many of these people’s secrets—

which only positioned her even more squarely on the outside, looking in. She was only able to discuss the most banal of topics lest she reveal confidential information. Always on guard, keeping secrets so that everyone appeared perfect on the outside.

But, then, she’d been trained for pretending to be perfect her whole life. Perfectly poised. Perfectly in control. Perfectly satisfied with her solitary life.

David’s mother had made sure she’d learned those lessons when she’d become Isabella’s mother figure after her own mother had died—except for the solitary life one, of course. The plan had been to marry Isabella to her son. It had been a good plan for a while.





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