it was a minute or two before Faith realized the caller was the hospital’s chief administrator.
At first all she heard was his mention of the twins, and she panicked. Her heart flew over high hurdles, while her ears recoiled in fear. She could only think that something had happened to Lacy’s babies, even though they’d been fine when she stopped by at ten. The nurses had assured her the babies were healthy, small as they were.
Little by little, Faith’s training kicked in, and she relaxed enough to make sense of what Dr. Peterson was saying.
“I don’t understand,” she ventured shakily when she thought she finally had his message straight. “Two men are at the nursery asking to see the twins? Both claim to be the father? Who are they? How do they…” Her voice trailed off, but before Dr. Peterson could say another word, Faith drowned him out. “It doesn’t matter. Allow no one near Lacy’s babies. No one but me. I’ll be there in five minutes. Tell the nursery staff to have the men wait in the room at the end of the hall.”
The taste of fear grew stronger after she dropped the receiver and bolted for the door. The how, the why, the who all whirled in a muddle through Faith’s sleep-deprived brain. She’d hardly closed her eyes since Lacy had reappeared so abruptly in her life…and then vanished for good. Had it really only been last night?
The how fell into place before Faith reached the sidewalk. Local newspapers had built a headline story out of the death of Michael Cameron’s first multiple-organ transplant patient. Faith had briefly glimpsed today’s front page. At the time, she’d only registered pain—to think Lacy wasn’t to be allowed dignity in death. Her sister had despised the condition she thought had stolen her independence. Lacy had been terrified of becoming a burden to others. She would have hated having her weaknesses exposed to the world.
As she hailed a cab, it struck Faith that the who—the two men making demands at the hospital—wasn’t really any great mystery. One of them would be the great Dr. Cameron himself. The other, probably the married playboy. Kipp, the sailor with no last name.
It wouldn’t be long before Faith ferreted out the why, she thought grimly as she paid the driver, and quickly entered the hospital by a side door. Not that anything either man had to say would change the facts. Lacy’s last request had been for Faith to keep her baby safe from the likes of those two. She had papers saying so.
For good measure, Faith stopped by the admitting office and ran off two copies of the custody document. If, by the time she reached the nursery, she still felt as hostile toward the men as she did now, she’d rub their noses in the truth. Neither one of them had loved Lacy enough to stick by her during her pregnancy. As far as Faith was concerned, the jerks didn’t deserve to set eyes on the twins—and that went for the actual birth father, as well as Michael, who must suffer delusions of being the dad. Why else would Dr. Cameron be here throwing his weight around?
Staff members glanced at Faith curiously as she hurried along the corridor and took the back stairs two at a time. Obviously the grapevine had spread the word. An interested crowd would be lurking behind the potted plants in the expectant fathers’ waiting room.
Thanks to one of the larger rubber plants, Faith was afforded a good view inside the room before anyone noted her approach. Her breath did a half hitch that she couldn’t control. Michael Cameron stood near the window. His brown hair, still dark and thick, was mussed as if he’d run a hand through it several times. The inscrutable Dr. Cameron, who rarely, if ever, had a hair out of place.
No matter how hard Faith tried to control her feelings, her heart always did a slow somersault when she came across Michael unexpectedly. It irritated her that she never seemed to have that reaction to other men—eligible men.
Today Faith commanded her heart to be still. She wanted to study these two analytically—the men who’d been her sister’s lovers. Cameron’s summer khaki suit looked new. He wore a pale cream shirt and a tie that matched the gold flecks in his 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.
