it to Sara.”
Nathan relented so the argument wouldn’t continue. “All right, you can do that. Go ahead and get started.”
Kyle gave Sara an unhappy little wave, then went over to the small table and chairs where coloring books, art paper and crayons were stacked. As he sat, he looked over his shoulder.
Nathan put his hand at the small of Sara’s back and guided her out of the room. Was she trembling? Could leaving Kyle affect her this much? They didn’t even know for sure if Kyle was her son. From what he understood, mix-ups happened in fertility clinics.
She stood silent as he pulled her jacket from the closet and handed it to her. She took it and he saw her eyes were shiny. Yet her voice was steady when she said, “Thank you for letting me meet him. I wish…” She shook her head. “You know what I wish.”
“He might not even be your son.”
“He’s my son. He has my eyes.”
Nathan couldn’t dispute that because he saw it, too.
She crossed to the door and put her hand on the knob. “I gave you my word I’d go back to Minneapolis, and that’s what I’m going to do. But if you ever change your mind about Kyle needing a mother, and if you want to find out for sure if I am or not, that’s where I’ll be.”
As Sara left, Nathan watched her through the window. She practically ran down the walk.
She said she’d keep her word. But as he listened to her start her car, as he watched her drive away, he felt a lead weight in his chest.
If she didn’t keep her word, what was he going to do?
Chapter Two
As Nathan ushered Kyle into the children’s clothing store, he hoped Thanksgiving would return his son to his normal happy, active self. He’d been unusually quiet since Sara Hobart’s visit.
“Boys jeans are over there.” Nathan pointed to a table in the rear of the store. With winter coming on, he had realized his son had outgrown everything, from his jeans to his cold weather gear. Heavier snow was predicted for next week, over the holiday.
Kyle headed toward the back of the store with no enthusiasm at all.
Nathan knew his son hated trying on clothes. Like father, like son.
But he realized there was more to the boy’s mood than an aversion to shopping for clothes. For the past week, Kyle had smiled less and seemed much too pensive. Why? Because he’d liked Sara and wanted her to visit again? Because he missed that kind of nurturing female presence in his life? Nathan had let Kyle mail her the drawings he’d made. Since then Kyle had watched the mail, as if he’d expected something from her in return. Nothing had arrived. Nathan guessed Sara believed he preferred she remain silent.
Over the weekend Nathan had arranged a play day with Bill Norris, a divorced dad with a six-year-old son, who attended the same church they did. Kyle had seemed to enjoy the company Saturday afternoon. Afterward, however, he’d become introspective again. Nathan had asked Kyle if something was wrong. So had his dad, as well as Val. But Kyle had just shrugged and clammed up.
As they stopped in front of the table stacked with jeans now, Nathan laid out three pairs in Kyle’s size for his son to examine. “Uncle Ben said he’s bringing you a surprise when he comes next Wednesday.”
“Do you know what it is?” Kyle asked, looking interested.
“Nope. I have no idea.”
“Is he staying lots of days?”
“Two or three.”
“That’s okay,” Kyle replied with a grin.
Nathan was relieved to see that happy spark back in his son’s eyes. He pointed to the jeans one size up from the short ones Kyle wore now. “Why don’t you pick the pair you like the best. I’ll check out the coats.”
The boys coat rack was a few steps away. Nathan watched Kyle lift a pair of denims, flip them over and wiggle his little fingers into the back pocket.
Engrossed in trying to whittle down the selection of coats to two or three for Kyle to try on, Nathan wasn’t sure he heard a low voice calling “Dad.” But he turned anyway.
When he saw his son gasping for air, he dropped the coats and hurried to him. Fear shone in Kyle’s eyes, and his breathing was labored.
“Hold on.” Nathan tried to keep the panic from his voice as he reached for the inhaler in his pocket. Kyle hadn’t suffered a serious asthma attack in over a year. That day he’d been outside playing too long, and the fall grasses had set him off.
Trying to stay calm, Nathan shook the inhaler, then held it to his son’s lips. Twice Kyle sucked in the puffs of medication.
A store clerk was at Nathan’s side, asking if she could help. The scent of her perfume was strong. He ignored her, all of his attention riveted on his son.
Holding the inhaler himself now, Kyle shook his head to signal the medicine wasn’t helping. “I can’t breathe,” he rasped.
Although he realized he had to give the medication a few minutes to work, Nathan still scooped Kyle up into his arms. His boy’s face was gray and he was struggling to draw in air. Waiting wasn’t an option.
“Should I call emergency services?” the clerk asked.
Nathan hated watching Kyle suffer. His own pulse was racing and his heart pounded in his ears. He had to keep a clear head. If the woman called the paramedics, they would take at least five minutes to get here.
“Call the E.R. and tell them I’m coming—asthmatic child in crisis.” Then he raced out of the store, running faster than he ever had run even when he’d sprinted in a track meet. He could be at the hospital in less than five minutes. Even one minute could be crucial now.
That minute could save his son’s life.
As the automated doors opened for Nathan, he ran into the emergency room of Rapid Creek Community Hospital, yelling for a doctor. Although the hospital was small, it was well-equipped, with a dedicated staff. The clerk’s call must have prepared them, because a doctor rushed to Nathan and showed him to a cubicle. While he administered a dose of medication, a nurse pulled the curtains around them. Kyle’s lips had turned blue and his little face was ashen. Nathan prayed like he’d never prayed before.
As the doctor, whose name tag read Dr. Marshall, began Kyle’s inhalation therapy, Nathan stayed by his son’s side, holding his hand to keep him calm. Every few moments he said, “I’m right here. You’re going to be fine.”
Kyle was breathing easier now.
Dr. Marshall, who was wearing a white coat over a blue oxford shirt and khakis, looked to be in his forties. “I paged Dr. Redding.”
Dr. Redding was the town’s pulmonary specialist. Kyle had seen him for a checkup at the end of the summer.
“This treatment will last about ten minutes. We’ll let him rest for a while, then give him another.
