It was time for the DNA test results that would finally answer the crucial question: Who was the father?

The silence in the room was taut with suspense as Judge Brown slid a letter opener under the envelope flap. Her agonizingly slow rip of the paper had the same effect on the room’s occupants as running a fingernail down a blackboard.

All drew in deep breaths when the judge extracted two sheets of paper. “For the benefit of the record,” the judge stated, “let it show that I’ve removed individual reports on blood drawn on September fourth by a hematologist at Good Shepherd Hospital laboratory. One report is for Kipp J. Fielding III, the other for Michael L. Cameron, M.D.”

Faith had her fingers crossed that Michael’s name would be inside that envelope—that DNA testing would prove Michael was the babies’ father.

Judge Brown perused first one sheet, then the other. “My stars!” she burst out. Both papers slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor. The judge’s eyes, indeed her whole face, reflected her shock. Composing herself with an effort, she bent and retrieved the pages.

“In my twenty years of serving in various capacities with Family Court,” she said, “I’ve never run across anything like this….”

Dear Reader,

Two separate and quite diverse incidents served as catalysts for this story. First, my daughter had twins, the only multiple birth in our family, as far as we know. Helping out after the birth of the babies, I found that twins are far more than twice the work of having a single child. Two babies had four adults working twenty-four hours a day…to the point of being comedic. Or it would have seemed funny had we not been so blasted tired. Several years ago I’d written a story that included twins (Trouble at Lone Spur), but I knew I wanted to do another one. Infants this time. A story dedicated to all the hardworking parents of multiples.

Sometime after I’d returned home, and recovered from the hectic pace of my visit, the second kernel for this story germinated. I read a two-inch article in a local newspaper about a precedent-setting custody case involving twins. Voilà! A storyteller’s delight—a twisted plot device if I ever saw one. My story has virtually nothing in common with the actual case. That’s the real fun of writing. The story becomes uniquely a writer’s own. I hope you enjoy learning how twins Nicholas and Abigail end up with the loving parents they deserve.

Roz Denny Fox

P.S. I love hearing from my readers. Write me at P.O. Box 17480-101 Tucson, Arizona 85731.

Baby, Baby

Roz Denny Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PROLOGUE

January 4

MICHAEL CAMERON TURNED UP his coat collar before he stepped out of the cab. He took care to shield his medical bag from the cold, relentless rain blowing into New York City. “Keep the change,” he told the cabby, thrusting a folded bill through a slit in the window. Hunched into his topcoat, Michael stared up at the window of his luxury midtown Manhattan penthouse. Now he wished he hadn’t asked his secretary to phone Lacy and forewarn her of his arrival. She would be furious at his leaving her in the lurch again. “As if I have a choice,” he muttered, taking the front steps two at a time.

Bettis, the attendant on duty, opened the building’s main door. He extended Michael a large umbrella. “Nasty weather, eh, Doc?”

“Thanks.” Michael shook wet hair out of his eyes as he ducked under the canvas. “Nasty all right, but at least it hasn’t turned to sleet.” He lingered, making small talk. The longer he avoided the scene that surely awaited him upstairs, the better.

“Home early today, huh?” Bettis closed the umbrella and reached around Michael to press the button summoning the private elevator. “Big evening, I guess.” The older man winked. “Saks delivered Mrs. Cameron’s new dress. Oops. Don’t tell her I spilled the beans. I think she planned to surprise you.”

Michael frowned as he entered the elevator. “Lacy bought a new dress for tonight? Damn,” he muttered. Keeping the door ajar with his bag, he pushed back one cuff to check a flat gold watch. “I need a cab out front by two, Bettis. I’m scheduled on a five-twenty international flight. In this weather, traffic to JFK will be hell.”

The doorman nodded briskly, but his eyes were sympathetic as Michael let the door close. Michael hoped he hadn’t revealed his own unsettled feelings. It galled him to think the staff had probably discussed his rocky marriage—although it shouldn’t surprise him that Bettis was aware of his and Lacy’s problems. After all, the doorman occasionally dated the Camerons’ housekeeper.

Michael dug for his door key as the elevator glided to a stop outside his apartment. Could he really blame staff for talking when the situation between him and Lacy had gone from bad to worse over the past ten months? That was why he’d arranged a night out, hoping to mend their latest rift. An unexpected trip was the last thing he needed. But there was no other option. Throwing back his shoulders, Michael braced for battle as he moved to insert his key in the lock.

Surprisingly, the door swung inward. Caught off balance, Michael pitched forward, hands flailing, as Lacy flung herself at his chest. The key flew in one direction and his bag in the other, and Michael’s arms circled his wife’s too thin frame. His shocked sputter ended with a mouthful of Lacy’s fine blond hair. She paid no attention to his incoherent gurgle, only fused her mouth with his as she stripped him of his coat, jacket and tie.

“Mmm, Michael,” she whispered seductively. “When Maxine phoned to say you were leaving the clinic early, I sent Mrs. Parker to a movie.” Lacy’s momentum propelled Michael into the bedroom where they both toppled onto a king-size bed.

“Lacy, what the…?” He’d barely lifted himself onto his elbows when she unfastened her peachy satin robe to expose naked skin. Pressing her lips against his, she wound around him again. The kiss smothered his second attempt to speak. With sure fingers, she unbuckled his belt and released the zipper of his slacks.

“I see you’re ready, too,” she cooed, leaving his mouth long enough to run a wet tongue from his navel to the bulge of white cotton springing from the open zipper.

Michael exhaled swiftly. “La…c…y.” Her name was a groan ripped from his tortured lungs as she quickly slid over his erection with grasping hands and initiated a frenzied ride.

Release came for Michael before he caught his breath. The speed embarrassed him, yet he was more concerned about their rough coupling. It’d been weeks since they’d said two civil words to each other, let alone had sex. “God, Lacy, are you all right?” he gasped, raising his torso enough to ease her aside.

She pouted as she slid to the edge of the bed. Tossing her shoulder-length hair, she matter-of-factly retied her robe. “I thought this would be an incentive for you to come home early more often, Michael. Heaven knows your technique needs practice.”

He winced, as much at her underlying rebuke as the bright lamp she’d snapped on. “Lacy, what exactly did Maxie Lucas say when she phoned?”

“That you asked her to let me know you were on your way home. Why?” Her blue eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.

Michael rolled off the bed and raked an unsteady hand through tousled brown hair. “Maxie was to warn you that I was on my way home to pack. The fourteen-year-old Norwegian girl I told you about has moved to the head of our transplant list. I got a call an hour ago. We have a match. I’m flying out tonight.”

A crash followed by breaking glass brought his head spinning around. Lacy, her pretty face contorted by anger, had cleared the nightstand with a sweep of her hand. Pill bottles lay strewn amid jagged pieces of glass from their smashed wedding photo.

“Dammit! I didn’t set out to disappoint you, Lacy. But I am the chief surgeon on the international heart-lung transplant team. I’d expect you, of all people, not to begrudge a child her chance.”

“I don’t need a doctor now, Michael. I need a husband.”

One of his eyebrows shot up to meet a rain-wet lock of hair.

“I hate that superior attitude you get, Michael. Almost as much as I hate that the first question out of your mouth after we made love was, ‘Are you all right, Lacy?”’

“Not this argument again,” he growled. “Getting over-tired, flu, colds—anything causing undue stress can still put your transplanted organs in jeopardy. Dammit, I don’t like arguing, Lacy. If it wasn’t such awful weather in Norway, I’d take you with me.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” she drawled sarcastically. “I could sit around a hotel while you spend twenty-four hours a day at the hospital. No, thank you, Michael.”

“Then call Faith. She didn’t have any time off at Christmas to visit, but maybe she’d like a break from Boston now. You two can take in some shows. I don’t think she’s seen the apartment since you redecorated this last time.”

“That’s because my sister spends as many hours at her hospital as you do at yours. I’ll go to the beach house—again. The sailing crowd doesn’t treat me like an invalid.” Her last words were muffled as she pulled a suitcase from the closet and flopped it open on the bed. With an aggrieved air, she folded a new silk dress that hung on the closet door.

“I refuse to be made to feel guilty about this, Lacy. I was a surgeon when you married me, and I’m a surgeon still. Name one thing you’ve ever wanted that I haven’t given you.”

“Your time, Michael.”

He gestured helplessly, then turned away to shed his remaining clothes. He strode into the bathroom and wrenched on the shower, returning to the bedroom just long enough to yank a black flight bag from the closet. “I took an oath to heal, Lacy. It’s what I do.”

“Amen. Not a day goes by that you don’t ask if I’ve taken my pills. If I’m doing my breathing treatments. If I’m warm enough. Et cetera, et cetera.”

“A few precautions seem a small price to pay for enjoying a normal life.”

“Normal?” Lacy paused in the act of pulling on a pair of slacks. “Normal women’s lives don’t revolve around endless checkups and buckets of pills, Michael. The don’ts in my life outweigh the dos. Don’t walk in the rain, Lacy. Don’t play in the snow. Don’t climb mountains. Don…don’t have children.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. “Your anti-rejection drugs place you at risk. Add to that the normal stress of carrying a child—but you know all this, Lacy.”

“Yes, Dr. God. Tell me again how normal I am.” With jerky movements, Lacy tucked in her blouse and began flinging clothing into the suitcase.

“There’s adoption,” Michael ventured after a pause. “But we’d need to solve our differences first.”

Stone-faced, Lacy continued to fill the case as if he hadn’t said a word.

Doubling a fist, Michael smacked the door casing on his way into the shower. When Lacy wore that closed expression, there was no discussing anything with her. Meanwhile, it was getting late. A kid in Norway counted on him. Lacy had been given a second chance. Why in hell couldn’t she appreciate the fact?

By the time Michael dried off and dressed to travel, Lacy had packed the third in a trio of matched luggage. Michael folded two suits and several shirts into his bag. “How long are you planning to stay at the beach?” he asked, eyeing her growing pile of luggage. Not waiting for her answer, he took his shaving kit into the bathroom to fill.

“Why would you care?” She elbowed past him and scooped an array of cosmetics into an overnight case.

“You’re my wife. Why wouldn’t I care?” His bafflement increased when she slammed the lid, tossed the small case with the others, then went to pick up the phone.

After punching in a series of numbers, she spoke into the receiver. “Bettis, this is Mrs. Cameron. Call the garage and have them send the Mercedes around. Then please come to the suite and collect my bags.”

“It’s pouring rain,” Michael said quietly. “If you must go today, call the car service to take you. I’ll arrange a few days off when I get back from Norway. We’ll drive back to New York together.”

“Go to hell,” she said in a voice that dripped honey.

“Lacy, dammit!” He faced her across the bed. “Why do you always have to pick a fight before I go on a trip?”

“And you’re forever off on one, aren’t you? For all we’re together, I may as well be single. I…I’ve made up my mind, Michael. I’m filing for divorce.”

“Divorce,” he said in a strangled voice. “God, Lacy.” His knees buckled and he dropped heavily to the bed just as a sharp rap sounded at the front door. Michael couldn’t force words past the lump in his throat. He knew things hadn’t been good, but—

Lacy left the bedroom. Moments later she led Bettis in to get her bags. The doorman eyed the broken glass. He made no comment, only gathered the cases as Lacy directed.

Michael caught her wrist or she would have gone without saying goodbye. “Don’t do anything rash until I get back,” he begged in a low voice. “Give me a chance to put things right. I’ll take a few weeks off. We’ll go to the Bahamas or something.”

She jerked from his hold. “It’s over, Michael. I’ve never been anything more to you than your first transplant.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes. Find another star patient. I want a man who sees me as a woman.”

Stunned, Michael watched her walk away. It was some time before he stood and resumed filling his shaving kit. He studied the hands reaching for his razor. A surgeon’s hands. His skill had brought them together. Well, technically, Lacy’s sister, Faith, had brought them together. She was a nurse at the Boston hospital where Michael had done his residency. Lacy was the one who’d demanded he set up practice in New York.

How had they gone from building a future together to…contemplating divorce? With hands not quite steady, Michael knocked a packet of pills from a shelf in the medicine cabinet. Absently he retrieved it. Lacy’s birth control pills. In her haste she must have forgotten them.

Michael dashed out of the apartment to catch her. Halfway to the elevator, he stopped. This was a full dispenser. Probably an extra that Lacy’s gynecologist had given her in case they had to travel on short notice.

A shiver coursed through Michael’s body as he recalled what had happened earlier. Replaying the scene in his mind, he felt his blood begin to flow again. Granted, Lacy could be impulsive, but she wasn’t foolhardy. Those were just angry words she’d thrown out, hoping to make him stay home. Her threats had become habit—a way to manipulate him. And he’d refused to bend. They were both at fault.

Sighing, he retraced his steps. He’d phone her the minute he reached his hotel in Trondheim. Once he turned the patient over to her own team for follow-up care, he’d talk to his partner about taking time off. Dominic would understand.

Michael finished packing and wrote a note to the housekeeper, letting her know that he and Lacy would be away for a week or so. He felt better for having a solid plan in place. Shifting his bags, he locked the door and went down to meet his cab.

CHAPTER ONE

August

A PERSISTENT RINGING dragged Faith Hyatt from a deep sleep. As one hand fanned the air above her nightstand in an effort to silence the sound, her sleepy brain insisted the call had to be a wrong number. She’d just come off two weeks of back-to-back shifts at the Boston hospital where she worked. Half the staff was laid low by flu. Maria Phelps, who scheduled shifts, had promised Faith four uninterrupted days off.

“’Lo,” she said in a raspy voice, burying the receiver in the pillow under her ear. Faith covered a yawn and tried to focus on the voice at the other end of the line.

In spite of exhaustion, she shot upright. Her head and heart began to pound, and the receiver slipped from her shaking fingers. Scrambling to find it in the dark, she brought it to her dry lips again and croaked, “Gwen, you’re positive the woman admitted through E.R. is my sister? Lacy Cameron?”

Long used to being ejected from bed in the middle of the night, Faith turned on a light and found clean clothes as the caller relayed details. “Yes,” Faith said, bending to tie her sneakers, “It’s possible she’d revert to Hyatt now that she’s divorced. I’ll be there in ten minutes, Gwen.” Smack! The receiver hit the cradle. Faith’s mind continued on fast-forward as she splashed cold water on her face, brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her short brown hair.

Her last contact with either Cameron had been in June. It was now the end of August. Lacy’s husband, Michael Cameron, had thrown Faith for a loop when he’d phoned late one night in early June to inform her that he and Lacy had divorced. At the time Faith had been crushed to think her sister hadn’t confided in her. But family ties had never meant to Lacy what they did to Faith. In fact, it was pretty typical of Lacy to arrive here in the middle of the night after months of silence, expecting her big sister to haul herself out of bed and put in an appearance at a moment’s notice. Lacy had always thought the world revolved around her needs. And when hadn’t Faith turned herself inside out for family? Sighing, she strapped on her nurse’s watch and rushed from the building. Lopsided though the relationship was, she and Lacy were bound together by blood.

Faith set out to jog the four night-shadowed blocks that separated her apartment building from the hospital. Passing the corner deli, she realized she hadn’t asked Gwen what was wrong with Lacy. No one detested being sick more than Lacy did. As her worry increased, Faith broke into a run.

At last, lights spilled onto the street at the corner where Good Shepherd had stood for over fifty years. Breaking her stride only long enough to press the button that operated the front doors, Faith rushed into E.R.

“Hi, Cicely.” Breathing hard from her sprint, Faith latched on to the plump arm of a passing nurse, another friend. “Gwen phoned. About my sister,” she managed after the next deep breath. “Do you know where she is, or which doctor admitted her?”

“Finegold. He sent her up to Three East. Said he’d do a complete workup after he finishes the emergency surgery that brought him in tonight. Your sister just dropped in, said she hadn’t seen a doctor. Finegold ordered tests, which Lacy refused until after you see her.” The nurse rolled her eyes. “The great Finegold doesn’t take kindly to anyone vetoing his edicts. I don’t envy you having to unruffle his feathers.”

Faith gave a puzzled frown. Finegold was senior staff gynecologist. “Uh…Cice, did Lacy say why she happened to be in Boston at this hour? She lives in New York City.” Faith frowned again. “Or she did. Perhaps Newport, Rhode Island, now. Her husband, er, ex, said she’d received their beach house in the divorce settlement.”

“I thought her chart listed a Boston address, but maybe not. Uh-oh. Hear those sirens? Headed our way. You’d better get out of here, girl, while the gettin’s good.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Faith ran and boarded the elevator as two ambulances screeched to a halt under the portico. Loudspeakers began to drone the names of staff who were needed in E.R. Doors opened and nurses spilled out.

By comparison to the E.R. chaos, the third-floor ward was silent. Faith stopped at the nursing station and spoke to a nurse she knew. “You admitted my sister, Lacy Camer…er, Hyatt.” Shedding her coat, Faith tossed it over a rack. “May I see her?”

Two nurses at the desk appeared to be relieved. “In 312,” one of them said. “We hooked her up to oxygen, Faith. It was all she’d allow.”

“Lacy hates hospitals.” Especially this one. First, their mother had been chronically ill. She was in and out of Good Shepherd for years. Then, in college, Lacy had developed degenerative cardiopulmonary disease. Faith stared into space as memories of those unsettled years crowded in. Her sister had been terrified of their mom’s cystic fibrosis. On their mother’s bad days—and there were many—care of the household fell to Faith. She was just seven when she first assumed responsibility for her baby sister, since their dad could only afford part-time help. About the time Lacy hit her teens, life became doubly traumatic for Faith, who by then attended nursing school at night. Her sister rebelled and refused to help take care of their mom. In spite of everything, the family had endured—until worse tragedy struck.

Mrs. Hyatt died and shortly after that, Lacy fell ill. Their dad folded inside himself. Only good thing happened that year—Faith met Dr. Michael Cameron, Good Shepherd’s rising star of heart-lung transplant surgery.

As she turned away from the nursing desk and approached her sister’s room, Faith guiltily recalled the secret crush she’d once harbored for the handsome, brilliant surgeon. The man who’d ultimately married her sister. How fortunate that Michael had never had any inkling of how she felt. Before she’d begged him to take Lacy’s case, Faith had rarely drummed up enough courage to even smile at the man. He’d left her tongue-tied and feeling giddy. Nurses didn’t feel giddy. It wasn’t allowed.

Hearing that Dr. Cameron had fallen in love with her more attractive, more outgoing sister really hadn’t come as any big surprise to Faith. The real shocker came when Michael telephoned to say he and Lacy had split up.

Now Faith wished her shyness hadn’t kept her from asking pertinent details. Michael had volunteered nothing—merely mentioned he’d been out of the country and he didn’t know about the birthday gift Faith had sent Lacy until a full month after her twenty-seventh birthday. Michael promised to forward her package to the beach house, which he said Lacy had received in the divorce settlement. He’d signed off, leaving no opening for questions of a more personal nature.

Faith, who’d observed numerous doctors’ infidelities, took for granted that Michael had ended the marriage. She knew from experience that all sorts of attractive women stood ready to trap doctors who were as successful and handsome as her former brother-in-law. Few men had the integrity to walk away from such easy bait. Michael had fallen off the pedestal she’d placed him on, and that disappointed Faith. She wondered if her reaction was a result of being more mother than sister to Lacy; after all, mothers resented people who hurt their kids. Lacy had probably been humiliated by Michael’s defection. That was, Faith had decided, the reason her sister had slunk off in private to lick her wounds. The reason Lacy had never returned any of her calls.

Refusing to dwell on those unhappy circumstances, Faith cracked open the door to Lacy’s room. Her legs refused to step over the threshold. Was that motionless body in the bed her once-vibrant sister? Perhaps this wasn’t Lacy’s room.

Letting go of the door, Faith tiptoed to the bed for a closer look. She gasped as her eyes lit on the patient’s swollen belly. She stumbled backward a step, not wanting to startle a stranger.

But…no. The hair, the features, were Lacy’s. Her sister was pregnant. Faith muffled an involuntary cry as the room spun wildly. It was impossible to stop statistics from running through her head. How many heart-lung transplant patients had successfully delivered babies? She battled the hysteria clogging her throat. Because of Lacy’s condition, Faith regularly sought out articles concerning organ transplants. She remembered reading in a discarded medical journal about one young woman’s successful delivery. One. And that woman’s journey hadn’t been easy.

In spite of her reluctance to disturb Lacy, Faith must have made a noise. The dark lashes that brushed her sister’s pale cheeks lifted slowly, revealing unfocused blue eyes. “Faith?” Lacy’s voice was thin, breathless. Even with a steady infusion of oxygen, it was obviously a struggle to talk and breathe simultaneously.

“Lacy, honey.” Faith dragged a chair to the bed and sat, grasping the cold fingers. She rubbed gently, trying to share her warmth. “Michael told me you were living at the beach, Lace. I tried calling—left quite a few messages—but you were never at home. Or were you too sick to return my calls?”

Pulling free, Lacy groped in a bedside cabinet. “We, ah, haven’t got much time. In my purse…papers for you to sign.” There was no question that she considered her request urgent.

“Hush. Save your strength. Admission forms can wait.” Faith recaptured her sister’s hand. “I understand Dr. Finegold ordered some tests. If you’d prefer, I’ll notify your own obstetrician and the two doctors can consult first.”

“I haven’t seen an obstetrician since I moved to Boston. That was…three months ago. The papers…are from my attorney. Sign them, Faith. K-keep a copy and mail the other. Envelope is attached. I’m giving you full custody of m-my baby, in case…” The icy fingers tightened on Faith’s hand.

“Custody? Oh, hon, I know you feel rotten. It’s tough enough going through pregnancy alone, to say nothing of getting sick.” Tears squeezed from Faith’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? Did you think I wouldn’t help? I’ll be the best aunt ever. And you’ll be a wonderful mom.”

Lacy again tried to reach the cabinet. “Sign…papers,” she panted.

Faith knew it could spell disaster to upset a patient in Lacy’s condition. “Okay, if you’ll lie still, I’ll sign the blasted forms.” She hurriedly found Lacy’s purse and retrieved the documents. Without reading a word, Faith dug out a pen and wrote her name beside every X. “There,” she exclaimed, tucking one copy into the pocket of her uniform and the other into a stamped envelope. “All done. Now will you please relax?”

Lacy tossed her head from side to side. “After it’s mailed.”

Faith heaved a sigh. “You always were stubborn. There’s a postal box right outside the entrance. I’ll post this after the doctor examines you.” Faith was no stranger to bartering with Lacy. Once it had been a game with them, everything from coaxing her younger sister into eating oatmeal to doing her homework.

“Now.” Lacy’s demand was punctuated by a siege of choking that turned her lips blue.

“Hey, hey. Breathe slow and easy. See, I’m on my way to the mailbox. I’ll just have the duty nurse page Dr. Finegold. Oh, and Lacy, Finegold may act gruff, but he’s the best OB-GYN in Boston.”

Once Lacy’s choking eased, Faith scurried out. After stopping at the nursing station to ask them to hunt up Dr. Finegold, she completed her mission as fast as humanly possible. Lacy’s condition frightened Faith more than she wanted to admit. She was afraid her sister needed more than an OB-GYN. She needed a pulmonary cardiologist.

Passing a pay phone in the hall, Faith was tempted to call Michael. He, more than any heart-lung specialist, had the expertise to help Lacy. But she dared not contact him, not without Lacy’s consent. Maybe now that those all-important papers were dispatched, her sister could be persuaded to listen to reason.

Inside the room again, Faith met Lacy’s anxious eyes with a smile. “Mail gets picked up from that box at six in the morning. Now let’s discuss you. I think we should call Michael. Whatever happened between you two, Lacy, he’s one of the world’s leading transplant authorities. Plus,” she said around a quick gulp of air, “he’s your baby’s father.”

“No. Well, probably not.” Lacy’s voice rose and fell convulsively. “Sit. Listen.”

Faith found that her legs wouldn’t hold her. She thought she was beyond shock. Obviously not. Recovering marginally, she sank into the chair, gathered Lacy’s clammy fingers and kissed the white knuckles. “I’m here for you no matter what, Lace. I won’t call Michael. But don’t ask me not to hate him for booting you out.”

“Michael, ah, didn’t boot me out.” Lacy’s fingers fluttered. “He…we—he was so rarely home. He loved his work. M-more than he loved me.”

“That’s doctors, Lacy. Surgeons, especially. I thought Michael was different. The times I visited you, he seemed so devoted. I thought you had everything, honey.”

“Isolation. Drawers full of pills. Endless poking and prodding by my follow-up team.” Lacy ran a restless hand over her swollen stomach. “I quit taking everything when I found out I was pregnant.”

“Oh, Lace! You shouldn’t have stopped the anti-rejection pills. Your body needs them to function properly.”

“Yes, but I…” After struggling to catch a breath, Lacy whispered, “I…want her to be perfect. N…or…mal.”

“You know it’s a girl?”

Lacy shook her head and cradled her abdomen again. “No. I haven’t consulted a doctor. I just call my baby Abby. You remember my best friend in high school? Abi…gail?”

Faith’s flicker of a smile was soon replaced by a frown. “So, if you’re not having Michael’s baby—then whose?” She bit her lip and glanced away. “I’m sorry to be nosy. But it occurred to me that if you cared for a man enough to make love with him, he ought to be here seeing you through this.”

Lacy grew fretful again. “I…I—K-Kipp’s on the U.S. sailing team. We, ah, met the day I left Michael. After I fi-filed for divorce, I…I stopped at the club. Kipp…well,” she explained haltingly, “he was lonely, too. The next day he took me sailing and we, ah, made love on the boat. In the weeks after, we danced, sailed, combed the beach. He brought me flowers. Kipp never treated me like a…a…an invalid.” Lacy took a long time to finish her sentence.

“Sounds…wonderful.” Faith didn’t want to hear more, and Lacy should rest and save her strength. “Dr. Finegold ought to be out of surgery by now. I’ll go see what’s keeping him.” She rose and started away.

Lacy plucked at Faith’s arm. “Let me fin…ish. Kipp’s team went to Florida for a race. H-he phoned every day.” A weak smile lifted her blue-tinted lips. “I expected him to visit when the team returned. He didn’t. A few days before he was due back, I got sick. Flu, I thought. I went to the clinic for antibiotics.” She labored to catch her breath. “And…learned I was pregnant.”

Again the room fell silent except for the muted puff of oxygen combined with Lacy’s raspy breath.

“Shh. We can talk after you’ve recovered.” Lacy’s breathing had changed. Her respiration had become so shallow and erratic it frightened Faith. “It’s obvious the guy didn’t stick around. But don’t you worry. I make enough to hire a nanny to help with the baby. Lie quiet now, please,” Faith begged.

Lacy wouldn’t be denied. “I’d never been to Kipp’s house. He always came to mine.” Color splashed her ashen cheeks. “I…found his address and dr…ove there.” Tears flowed from the corners of her eyes.

Wanting to save her sister pain, Faith wiped the tears away with her thumbs. “Please don’t do this, Lacy. Some men are just jerks. Forget him.”

“I…I…parked and was admiring his house. His…his wife came out to…see if I was lost. I didn’t know he was m-m-married.” Tears rolled over Faith’s thumbs and onto Lacy’s pillow.

“The bastard!” Faith couldn’t help herself. She wished she could have five minutes alone with the man responsible for causing her sister this agony.

“The…irony, Faith. Kipp and his wife separated because she couldn’t conceive. They ar…gued over adopting. His dad, a bigwig on Wall Street, wants a grandson to carry on the family name. Kipp…dropped by later. To apologize. Seems his wife heard of a new fertility treatment. He felt obligated to l-let her try it.” Lacy’s thin body was racked with sobs. “I…he…doesn’t know about the baby. I don’t want him to.”

Straightening, Faith adjusted the oxygen hoses. “Oh, sweetie, don’t do this to yourself. You’re getting all worked up and it’s sapping what little capacity you have to breathe. I’m going to get a doctor.” Increasingly worried because Lacy’s skin felt clammy and her face now had a waxy cast, Faith sprang up and hurried across the room.

She yanked open the door and bumped into someone coming in. “Dr. Finegold!” she said, tugging him inside. “Faith Hyatt, sir. I’ve assisted you on post-op rounds. This is my sister.” Letting go of his sleeve, Faith waved toward the bed. “Lacy is a post heart-lung transplant patient,” Faith whispered. “At the onset of pregnancy, she quit taking her anti-rejection meds. Please, she needs help.”

The doctor walked to the bedside and swiftly began an exam. Each time he paused to write in the chart, his scowl deepened. “Who did her transplant?”

“Dr. Cameron. Michael Cameron,” Faith added, darting a guilty glance at Lacy.

“I only know him by reputation. Get him on the phone. Stat! Meanwhile, see if our staff cardiologist has ever assisted with a post-transplant delivery. And while you’re at the desk, Hyatt, order a sonogram.”

At each barked order, Faith nodded. Everyone on staff knew Finegold expected blind obedience. Still she dragged him aside. “You wouldn’t know, but Lacy is Dr. Cameron’s ex-wife,” she murmured. “She won’t authorize calling him.”

“She’s been assigned to my care, Nurse. I’m making the decisions.”

“Yes, sir.” As Faith turned and grasped the door handle, Finegold swore ripely. She felt the flap of his lab coat as he hurtled past her and bellowed into the hall. “Code blue. Get me a crash cart, on the double.” Racing back to the bed, he tore away blankets, sheets and the flimsy oxygen lines and started CPR.

Faith’s senses shut down totally until a cart slammed through the door accompanied by a trained team whose purpose it was to restore a patient’s vital signs. For the first time since she’d become a nurse, Faith didn’t see a patient lying there. She saw her baby sister. Pictures swam behind her eyes. Lacy as a newborn. Taking her first steps. Starting school. Going on her first date. A hospital-room wedding that had somehow led to this debacle. If Michael Cameron had been more of a husband, Lacy would be well and happy and living in New York. Lacy might not blame him, but Faith did. He’d promised to care for her sister in sickness and in health—until death parted them. Panic filled her as Finegold ordered the paddles applied to Lacy’s thin chest.

Lacy’s body jumped and so did Faith’s. She didn’t breathe again until a technician gave a thumbs-up sign, meaning Lacy’s heartbeat had resumed.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” Finegold cursed, yanking the stethoscope out of his ears to let it flop around his neck. “We have a pulse but it’s thready. Clear me for an O.R. This woman doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in the tropics if we don’t take the baby. How the hell far along is she? What kind of prenatal care has she had? Get Epstein, Carlson and Wainwright to scrub. Round up an anesthesiologist.” Finegold all but foamed at the mouth.

As he barked orders, Faith grabbed his arm. “My sister hasn’t had any prenatal care, but I’m familiar with her heart problems. Let me scrub with you.”

The doctor shook her off, never slowing his steps toward the door. “I know you’re qualified to assist, Hyatt, but you aren’t in any shape. Take a seat in the OB waiting room. I’ll find you when I’m finished.”

“But I want to help!”

“Pray,” he said, spinning on a heel. With that, he flew down the hall.

The hardest thing Faith had ever done, outside of burying her mother or maybe waiting anxiously through Lacy’s long and tedious heart-lung transplant, was to step aside while they wheeled her out of the room. Even though Faith heartily disliked clingy relatives who impeded the progress of staff readying a patient for surgery, she doggedly kept pace with the squeaky cart. At the elevator, she elbowed aside a technician and kissed Lacy’s cheek.

Weighted eyelids slowly opened. Oxygen tubes from a portable tank pinched Lacy’s nose. IVs ran in both arms. “Take c-care of my b-baby. L…li-like you did me.” The dark pupils of her eyes swallowed all but a narrow ring of blue. It took every ounce of her energy to breathe. Still, she reached feebly for Faith’s hand.

Faith closed the icy fingers between her palms. “We’ll take care of your baby together.” Hardly aware that the elevator door had slid open and someone on the team had roughly disengaged their hands, Faith’s wavering promise bounced off a rapidly closing door. “You fight, Lacy. Hang in there,” she cried in a fractured voice.

THE WAIT SEEMED INTERMINABLE. At about five in the morning, Faith walked to the phone to call her father, just to hear his voice. He and she were all that was left of Lacy’s family. But Dwight Hyatt had escaped into a dreamworld when his beloved wife died. Though only fifty-six, he resided in an assisted-living facility. He played checkers with other residents, watched TV and occasionally went on supervised outings. He recognized Faith at her weekly visits, but he rarely asked about Lacy unless prompted. More times than not, he didn’t know Faith when she telephoned.

Fighting a sense of disorientation, Faith did as Dr. Finegold ordered. She prayed—until she ran out of words and tears. Three hours had passed when she wandered over to the waiting room coffeepot and poured a third cup of sludge. Through the window, she noticed that pale golden threads had begun to erase a solemn gray dawn. The promise of a sunny day lifted Faith’s spirits and gave her hope, the first she’d had throughout her long, lonely vigil.

Muffled footsteps intruded on her optimistic moment. Glancing up, she experienced another rush of relief at seeing Dr. Finegold striding toward her. He untied his mask and dropped it wearily as he drew closer, still wearing full blue scrubs. The cup of muddy coffee slipped from Faith’s fingers and splashed across her feet.

Even at a distance, she recognized the look on Fine-gold’s face. “No, no, no!” The scalding coffee seeped through her socks, but Faith felt nothing until a crushing pain descended and great, gulping sobs racked her body. She stumbled and fell heavily into the nearest chair. She wasn’t aware that tears obscured her view of the approaching man or that they dripped off her cheeks when she stared mutely up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said brokenly. “We did everything we could. Her heart and lungs had been overtaxed for too long. Without anti-rejection drugs…” The doctor shut his eyes and massaged the closed lids. “God, I’m sorry,” he repeated, as he continued to loom over Faith’s shuddering frame. “This part never gets easier,” he said quietly, shifting from one foot to the other.

“And the baby?” she finally asked in a wooden voice.

“Babies,” he corrected, pulling out an adjacent chair and sinking into it. “A boy and a girl. Both under-weight, but scrappy as hell. My best guess is that your sister was seven to eight months along. The male baby weighed in at four-two. The female, an even four. I put in a call to Hal Sampson. If you want a different pediatrician, I’ll cancel him.”

“Two?” Hysteria tinged Faith’s tearful voice. “Twins?”

“Yeah. None of us were prepared. With no history, we were flying by the seat of our pants.” Leaning forward, the doctor clasped his hands between his knees. “You’ve got a lot to deal with. I suggest visiting your niece and nephew before you tackle the unpleasant chores that face you. I think they’ll give you the will to do what needs to be done.” He stood then, and gripped her shoulder briefly. “Well, I have to go complete the paperwork.”

“I, uh, thanks for all you did.” Dazed, Faith rose. Automatically blotting her eyes, she stood and held on to a chair back. Order and organization had always been her greatest strengths. Dependability ran a close second. In an isolated portion of her brain, Faith knew she could get through this ordeal by focusing on one task at a time.

Task one: Mop up the coffee she’d spilled.

Task two: Welcome Lacy’s babies into this harsh, cruel world.

Task three: See her sister properly laid to rest.

Only after she’d done those things would Faith allow herself to think about the future. Struggling with a fresh surge of tears, she groped in her pockets for a tissue to wipe up the coffee. In doing so, she encountered her copy of the custody agreement. In sad hindsight, Lacy’s urgency became all too clear. Lacy must have sensed how badly off she was if she’d had custody papers prepared. Oh, why couldn’t she have had the care to preserve her own health?

She hadn’t. And Faith had promised to be the babies’ guardian. She would do a good job of it, even if right now her loss seemed too great to bear.

Once she’d mopped up the spill—but before she notified the mortuary who’d handled her mother’s funeral—Faith took Dr. Finegold’s suggestion. She made her way to the nursery. With her first glance into the isolettes, she lost her heart to these two tiny scraps of humanity. The baby swaddled in blue screwed up his red face and bellowed, letting the world know he was a force to be reckoned with. His sister pursed a rosebud mouth and slept on, the barest hint of a sigh raising her chest.

A pediatric nurse placed a bolstering hand on Faith’s shoulder. “I’ll get you a mask, gown and gloves if you’d like to hold them.”

“May I?” Faith’s heart fluttered with both joy and sorrow. Joy for herself. Sorrow for the sister who’d never comfort these little ones with her touch.

She made an effort to curb her sadness and concentrated on counting the babies’ fingers and toes. “Oh, aren’t you sweethearts? It takes both of you together to weigh what your mama did at birth.” Lacy had been a solid eight pounds. Faith rocked them and talked on in a low murmur, determined that they should start life hearing about the good, fun-loving side of their mother. “Your mama loved you,” she whispered. “She gave up her own life for you. I’m going to make sure I bring you up the way she would have wanted….”

Soon after, Faith fed both babies with special tubes the nurses prepared, tubes designed to teach the babies to suck properly.

By staying, rocking the dear little bodies and holding them close, Faith was able to delay dealing with her loss. Dr. Finegold was right, she decided, staring at the babies who were now curled up, sleeping peacefully.

Lacy’s twins gave her the strength to go on. To take the next step, complete the next task.

CHAPTER TWO

THE TELEPHONE WAS RINGING when Faith walked into her apartment the next afternoon. She’d spent most of the morning attending to the numerous details associated with Lacy’s funeral. The cloying scent of funeral-home flowers remained in her nostrils. Although she’d walked home in the late-summer sunshine, she still couldn’t warm up.

Physically and mentally drained, Faith considered letting her machine take a message. The red light already blinked, so there were others. News traveled fast in a hospital. It was probably someone from the staff wanting to express condolences. But what if it was the funeral home? The director had said he’d be in touch if any problem arose. Maybe she’d neglected something important.

She snatched up the receiver on the fifth ring. After an initial exchange of hellos, 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. 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 had.” A tear did creep out and slip down her cheek.

Michael gently clasped her upper arms. “Don’t beat yourself up, Faith. It’s taken me some time since she asked for the divorce to realize that Lacy always did what Lacy wanted, and to hell with how it affected others. I believe she planned this pregnancy from the getgo. It wasn’t accidental.”

Kipp broke into the conversation. “Look, I need to catch the three-o’clock shuttle back to New York. Do you suppose you two could take care of family business after we settle my parental rights?”

Faith felt like hitting his supercilious jaw. “I imagine your wife is expecting you home at the usual time. Does she have any idea where you are and what you’re doing, Mr. Fielding?”

“Wife?” Michael repeated, bristling.

The well-placed barb brought a wave of crimson to Kipp’s tanned cheeks. “Shelby doesn’t know yet, Ms. Hyatt. I assure you she’ll welcome the boy into our home once the details here are finalized and I have a chance to tell her. Shelby has wanted to adopt a child for some time.” Lowering his voice, he said hesitantly, “My father hasn’t favored adoption. He’s pressed for a blood grandson. And now he has one.”

Faith cocked her head to one side. “Lacy had twins, Mr. Fielding. A boy and a girl. You’ve only mentioned her son. But then girls can’t carry on the family name, can they?” she said coolly. In an even colder tone, she added, “Lacy’s son will never be Kipp Fielding IV if I have any say in the matter. And I have a lot of say.”

Michael stepped between the two combatants before Kipp could rebut. “Shouldn’t we go to Dr. Peterson’s office before we shed blood on this shiny tile?”

Faith clammed up immediately. She hadn’t intended to lose her temper. And she’d forgotten their audience. Aiming pointed glances at the bystanders still lurking in the hall, she squared her shoulders and marched past them. Michael and Kipp fell in behind her. Michael, though, paused at the nursery window and leaned his forehead against the glass. He cupped both hands around his eyes in order to see better.

“Lacy’s babies are in the premie unit,” Faith informed him stiffly.

Backing away from the window, Michael joined her. “The paper said they were approximately four weeks early. Are they well, Faith?”

Kipp halted midstride. “They are, aren’t they?” he demanded. “The article I read said the boy was under-weight.” He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “Lacy never told me she’d had organ transplants. Is there a possibility her son will inherit her medical problems?” he asked, sounding both worried and unsure.

Michael shot him an incredulous stare. “I’m a good surgeon, Fielding, but no one is that perfect at cracking open a chest. If you and Lacy got down to bare skin, fella, it’d be hard to miss her scar.”

A flush streaked up Kipp’s throat. He fingered his tie.

“Stop it, you two.” Faith pasted a smile on her face for the gray-haired woman seated behind a desk outside Dr. Peterson’s office. “The world doesn’t need to know all the sordid details of Lacy’s history. Both babies are in good health. Hal Sampson examined them. Michael, you remember him—he was pediatric chief when you were here.”

“Yes, I remember. Sampson’s top-notch.”

The men dropped back and let Faith address Peterson’s secretary. “Mrs. Lansing, I phoned Dr. Peterson a few minutes ago. I’m Faith Hyatt.”

Nodding, the woman rose and led the trio into an oak-paneled room. She pointed out a tray with a coffee carafe and cups that sat on a low table. While she withdrew, but before she closed the door, Michael poured Faith a cup of coffee, and then one for himself. “Still take cream in yours?” he asked, passing the carafe to Fielding so he could pour his own.

“Yes,” she said, surprised he’d recall such a mundane thing. “Too much straight caffeine gives me jitters. Today, especially, I’ve got enough acid running in my stomach to charge a battery.”

Michael gazed at her over the rim of his cup. “I’m sorry so much has fallen on your shoulders, Faith. How is Dwight handling Lacy’s death? Has he been any help, or are you having problems there, too?”

She perched on the edge of one of the three chairs someone had arranged in a triangle around the coffee table, and clutched the hot cup to warm her suddenly cold fingers. “I tried telling Dad we’d lost Lacy. He got it all mixed up in his mind and thought I was talking about Mother. The doctor had to sedate him. I decided there wasn’t any sense in putting him through the grief of attending her service.”

“What about your aunt Lorraine?”

“Still on the mission field in Tanzania. When things calm down, I’ll write her a letter. Or perhaps I should try calling her via the field office. But maybe it’s pointless to worry her when she can’t come.” She broke off abruptly. “Why this pretended concern, Michael? Your obligations to the Hyatt family ended when the divorce was final. By the way, exactly when was that?”

“July.” Michael shifted his gaze to Kipp Fielding. “The divorce wasn’t my idea. Lacy filed in January while I was on a medical mission to Norway. I phoned her at the beach house to ask her to reconsider. She refused to talk, and said she had company. It was too late, anyway—she’d already filed the papers. That was January fifth. Two days later, divorce papers arrived by courier at my hotel.” He massaged the back of his neck. “I might have convinced her to drop the request if I’d been able to make it home the next week as I’d originally planned. But we ran into complications with the transplant and I couldn’t leave Norway until much later. By then, her lawyer and mine had pretty much settled the particulars. Mine said I shouldn’t contest. He said she was seeing someone else.”

“That would be you,” Faith said testily, her soft brown gaze hardening as she pinned it on Kipp.

“Yes, it would,” he returned without a hint of shame.

Faith’s gaze never wavered. “I guess you forgot you had a wife.”

“Shelby and I separated before Thanksgiving. I assumed she intended to get a divorce—not that it’s your business. Having spent the holidays alone, I felt at loose ends. Lacy was lonely, too.” His lip curled slightly. “She said she was on her own a lot. Her husband devoted his life to his career.” Meeting Michael’s angry glare, Kipp continued speaking to Faith. “Lacy hadn’t been out with her husband in months. She’d never been sailing. Had never dug for clams. You’d have thought I’d given her diamonds when I bought her flowers. If ever a woman had been neglected, it was Lacy Cameron.”

Michael clenched a hand in the front of Kipp’s shirt. “Damn you, Fielding! I didn’t neglect my wife.”

“That’s enough.” Faith pulled a tissue from her handbag and mopped up the coffee Michael had spilled when he vaulted from his chair. Their macho posturing irritated her so much she forgot to be shy. “Lacy did feel you were obsessed with work, Michael. But Kipp, although you treated her like a queen for a few weeks, that hardly makes up for concealing the fact that you were married.”

The men gaped at Faith’s furious scrubbing. They both frowned, and Michael recognized the anger in her movements as she wielded the tissue. The table was more than polished to a shine when she finished.

Michael broke the silence first. “Lacy had all of my heart and as much of my time as I was able to give.” If he sounded hurt, he thought dully, it was because he still had his moments. “I took an oath to heal.” He thought Faith should understand that, even if Lacy had somehow forgotten.

Getting to her feet, Faith tossed the sodden tissue into the trash. While she was up, she dug in her purse again and removed the copies she’d made of the custody agreement. She shoved one into each man’s hand. “What drove either of you to do what you did doesn’t make any difference to Lacy now. In seeking love, my sister obviously made some bad choices. Maybe even selfish ones. But in the end, her decisions weren’t selfish. No matter how difficult it was for her to breathe when she was admitted, her focus was on the life that had been created within her.”

“Custody papers?” Kipp skimmed through the stapled packet. “She can’t do this. Her babies have a father.” The man scowled openly at Faith. “You just admitted that Lacy was in distress during her last hours. Any attorney worth his salt will prove you coerced her into signing these. Not only that, who witnessed your signatures?”

“I didn’t instigate this agreement. Lacy brought it with her, Mr. Fielding. If there was duress involved in the signing, it was directed toward me. Lacy refused all treatment except oxygen until I not only signed the forms but mailed them to her lawyer. If you’ll check closely, on page three she acknowledges my signature. And someone notarized each line Lacy endorsed.”

Faith wasn’t about to tell them Lacy’s witness signature had already been in place when she herself signed the document. That didn’t change the facts. Lacy had watched her sign. Most importantly, the agreement represented her wishes.

A range of emotions flitted across Michael Cameron’s face as he read the document from start to finish. Sadness. Longing. Grief. But Faith didn’t see anything like resignation as he folded the papers and tucked them into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. While his eyes darkened sympathetically, his jaw remained tensed, his posture determined—as though they’d entered a fight ring and the bell had rung.

Fielding drained his cup and thumped it back onto the tray. Wadding a paper napkin, he threw it into a nearby wastebasket. “Lacy told me a little about her childhood. I recall she said her mom was an invalid. And that you sacrificed your youth to run the household, Ms. Hyatt.”

“I was the oldest child. If Lacy had been born first, it would have been the other way around,” Faith stated flatly.

Michael moved forward. “If you have a point, Fielding, I’d like to hear it. But don’t try to say Lacy slandered Faith. I know she admired her sister.”

Faith gave him a surprised glance. She and Lacy had grown closer after Lacy’s marriage—and before her divorce. Faith was pretty sure familial love had existed. But admiration? Her heart swelled at the thought. During all those troubled years, she would have settled for a simple hug from her sister. Faith roused as Kipp spoke again.

“My point is that Faith missed the things kids do for fun. Lacy said Faith never participated in school activities. No dances. No sports. No guys. A while ago, you two talked about her ailing father. If she assumes care of two infants on top of that, I think she’s kissing any chance for a normal life goodbye. This is when she should concentrate on meeting someone and getting married.”

A startled gasp escaped Faith’s lips. But she was too embarrassed by Kipp’s rundown of her life to make any comment. More like her lack of a life. He’d managed to make her sound pretty pathetic. Oh, she’d dreamed of falling in love, she’d even had a brief affair with a hospital accountant. He’d ended the relationship, eventually marrying another nurse and moving to another state. Faith continued to hope for marriage and a family someday. But she never felt as if she needed a husband to be complete. Her life hadn’t been all that bad.

Michael, too, seemed astonished by Kipp’s blunt statement. Since no one interrupted, Kipp hammered his point home. “I’m offering you an out here, Faith. Shelby and I have a six-bedroom home. It sits on three acres. She’s able to devote all her time to motherhood. I made some inquiries this morning. I know how much you earn. And I know you work some oddball shifts. I sincerely doubt anyone would think you derelict of duty if you signed Lacy’s babies over to their natural father.”

“You’re claiming that role, huh, Fielding?” Michael slapped a hand on the glass table. “We have a difference of opinion on that score. The twins are mine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Kipp’s chest expanded a few inches. “I hate bringing this up with a lady present, old man. Your ex-wife was pretty outspoken about the infrequency of your lovemaking.”

Michael’s face went suddenly florid. “It so happens, pal, we were intimate the day I left for Norway. January fourth. You’re welcome to calculate that out.”

Kipp seemed shaken by Michael’s announcement. “I—I…that’s the day before we, ah, that is…when Lacy and I first slept together. I think you’re lying, Cameron. Lacy said she had to schedule an appointment with you to make love.”

“Think what you want. Lacy’s forte was high drama. I guess I always knew she was impulsive. I’m only just realizing how impulsive.”

Faith slumped down hard in her chair. She blinked up at them, stomach roiling. “So what you’re, uh, both saying is that it’s a mystery as to who fathered the twins?”

Neither man acknowledged Faith’s conclusion.

Kipp checked his watch for about the third time in five minutes. “I have to get back to New York. I don’t have any more time to argue. Here’s the bottom line. There’s a boy upstairs in the nursery with Fielding genes. Because of that, he’s entitled to a legacy. I won’t go into everything that entails. Suffice it to say he’ll be well taken care of. You two will be hearing from my attorney. That’s a promise.”

Faith and Michael watched in silence as he stalked out.

“Two can play his game,” Michael said, his expression thunderous. “I don’t care how many damned Roman numerals he has after his name. Fielding will be hearing from my lawyer, too. Meanwhile, I’m going up to visit the babies. I don’t advise trying to stop me, Faith.” Giving her only seconds to respond, he, too, stormed out.

Faith’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, Lacy,” she murmured. “What kind of mess have you left me with this time?”

Sighing, she regained enough composure to pick up the phone and call the duty nurse in charge of the premie ward. “My sister’s ex-husband has asked to visit the twins, Eileen. I’m willing to extend him that courtesy today, but make sure everyone on the duty roster knows Lacy left custody papers on file. If Michael or anyone else wants to see the babies from here on out, staff will have to call me for authorization. Is that clear?” When she was certain the charge nurse understood, Faith rang off.

Stopping at the reception area, she thanked Dr. Peterson’s secretary for the use of his office. After that, she went upstairs to her own ward, post-surgical. Faith wanted to see the babies again after Michael left. Somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he presented a threat.

Her mind not on work, she nevertheless emptied her mailbox. It was full. Among the usual junk was a notice to stop at the finance office and discuss Lacy’s hospital bill. Faith stared at the statement. She had a tidy savings account. She’d expected to use it to stock a nursery; she’d also figured it would allow her to take six months or so off work. Last night when she couldn’t sleep, she made lists of what the babies would need. Planning for two of everything ate up money fast. To say nothing of the fact that the cost of funerals had skyrocketed since she’d arranged her mother’s.

Closing her eyes, Faith rubbed her forehead. It hadn’t entered her mind that she’d owe for Lacy’s care. But then, what company would insure her sister? Even if she had a policy, it probably excluded her preexisting condition. Faith placed this new worry at the bottom of her stack. The next envelope she opened was almost as distressing. The babies needed names before the state could issue birth certificates.

Faith picked up a pen. Abigail was easy. That had been Lacy’s wish. Abigail Dawn. It was a middle name denoting hope, and the two went well together, Faith thought. Hyatt. She wrote the last name in block letters. Writing it felt good. Like thumbing her nose at Kipp Fielding III and his father.

The form for Lacy’s son remained mockingly blank. Faith made a list of names she thought sounded strong. Nicholas kept floating to the top. “Nicholas it shall be,” she murmured, then chewed on the eraser while she searched her list for an acceptable middle name. John. A solid biblical name. Also, it’d been Faith and Lacy’s grandfather’s. Faith remembered him as a soft-spoken man with twinkling eyes.

Once that chore was complete, she dispatched her remaining mail quickly. A glance at her watch suggested she’d wasted enough time; Michael should be long gone from the nursery. She dropped off the birth certificate forms in the outgoing mail on her way to visit the twins.

By now she knew the routine and proceeded to don sterile gear before she entered the nursery. Tying the last set of strings on her mask, Faith pushed open the door to the premie ward. And froze. A fully gowned and masked Michael Cameron sat in Faith’s usual chair. He had a baby lying along each of his forearms, their little heads cradled in the palms of his big hands. Both pairs of baby eyes were wide-open. Faith was near enough to see their mouths working. Oh, they looked like perfect little dolls.

Fuzzy dark hair spilled from beneath Nicholas’s blue stocking cap. Abigail’s wispy curls glinted pale gold in the artificial light.

Faith’s gaze shifted to Michael’s face. Her stomach knotted and her knees felt watery. There was no mistaking the tears that tracked down his cheeks. An involuntary protest rose in Faith’s throat, blocking the breath she tried desperately to suck into her lungs. She didn’t want to empathize with Lacy’s ex. Throwing out a hand, she clutched the privacy screen to keep from falling.

Michael heard the sound. His rapt gaze left the twins. “Faith.” He said her name softly. “I know I’ve been here beyond the time you set, but…but they’re incredible. I’ve never been so humbled. Since Lacy risked everything for them I really hope that somehow she knows how perfect they are.”

Faith watched him transfer his attention to a tiny hand that had worked free of its gown and felt the blood drain from her face.

With one gloved finger, he captured the baby’s waving fist. “Fielding said they’re labeled Babies A and B Hyatt. I stopped in finance to pay Lacy’s bill and discovered she’d never legally changed her name after the divorce. Officially the babies are Camerons. As they should be,” he said sternly, his eyes lifting in time to witness Faith’s retreat. Michael called her to come back, to no avail.

Hands over her ears, Faith stumbled into the hall. She needed to get home and call Lacy’s lawyer. Maybe the custody papers, which plainly stated Lacy wanted the babies to go by the name of Hyatt, were flawed. She took the time, however, to detour by the nursing station to retrieve the birth certificate forms she’d filled out incorrectly.

What was in a name, anyway? Michael had admitted the divorce was final. And she certainly hadn’t asked him to pay Lacy’s hospital bill. Maybe he was being thoughtful. Then again, he might have an ulterior motive. At any rate, Faith felt disloyal to Lacy as she crossed out Hyatt on the forms and wrote Cameron. As she dropped her gown, mask and bootees in the laundry, she mentally rearranged her budget to include attorney’s fees. If Fielding and Cameron expected her to fade quietly into the woodwork, they’d better think again. She intended to be a devoted mom to her sister’s babies. The kind she’d never had time to be for Lacy. She’d been too young then and stretched too thin in caring for their ailing mother. Still, the thought of so many lawyers getting involved made Faith almost sick to her stomach.

CHAPTER THREE

ATTENDING LACY’S FUNERAL was even harder than Faith had imagined. She was touched by the number of people from the hospital who came out of respect for her. Likewise, by the number of Lacy’s old friends from high school and college who’d shown up. Faith made a mental note to catch Abigail Moore after the service so that she could tell her about her namesake.

A few acquaintances had sent flowers and cards. Including Kipp Fielding III. His was an ostentatious arrangement of red and white roses. They dwarfed Michael’s small white basket of violets. The violets brought tears to Faith’s eyes; they were Lacy’s favorite flower and Michael must have gone to a great deal of trouble to find a florist to provide them at this time of year.

More surprising than his thoughtful gesture, however, was seeing the man himself walk into the chapel. He paused at a back row and greeted two couples who’d arrived earlier. People Faith had never met. Now it was obvious they’d known Lacy through Michael.

He didn’t tarry long with his friends. Head bent, he walked slowly down the center aisle and knelt in front of the closed casket. Faith had thought her tears were all cried out until she watched his jaw ripple with emotion several times before he leaned forward to kiss the oak-grained lid. There was a decided sheen to his eyes when he rose. Or maybe she was watching him through her own tears.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say when he sank onto the bench beside her. Even if she’d thought of something, she didn’t trust her voice not to break.

“I swung past the apartment to pick you up,” he murmured. “You’d already gone. You must not have listened to the messages on your answering machine. The last one I left said I’d booked a car service for us. I know you don’t own a vehicle.”

Faith clasped and unclasped her hands. The truth was, she had listened to the message. But Lacy’s lawyer ordered her to have as little contact as possible with either of the two men. The attorney, David Reed, had been quite adamant, in fact.

Fortunately, Faith was saved from answering Michael when the minister stepped up to the pulpit. She’d asked Reverend Wilson to keep the service short in deference to the people who had taken time off work. However, his opening prayer droned on and on.

Ending at last, the minister segued into a poem by Helen Steiner Rice. The words celebrated life, and Lacy had been particularly fond of them. Anyone who’d ever received a note from her would recognize the piece, as she’d had it reprinted on the front of her monogrammed note cards.

Next, a singer—a woman Faith had selected from a generic pool on file at the funeral home—had half the people in the chapel sniffing and wiping their eyes with her rendition of “The Rose.” Faith chose the song because Lacy had worn out two CD copies of it. Too bad if anyone thought the lyrics inappropriate for a funeral. Faith wanted the service to epitomize Lacy’s life.

Her own cheeks remained wet as the minister delivered a tribute she’d written yesterday. The words hadn’t come easily, but Faith wanted people to know that her sister wasn’t shallow and vain, as some might remember her from high school and college. For one thing, Lacy had artistic talents. Before her debilitating illness, she’d dreamed of becoming an interior designer. If the media chose to cover the funeral, Faith also wanted them to report how selfless Lacy had been, giving her life in exchange for healthy babies. But it was all she could do to listen to the eulogy. The tears coursed down her cheeks and plopped on the lapels of her new navy suit.

Before Reverend Wilson brought the service to a close, Michael turned to Faith and whispered, “May I say a few words?”

“Of c-course,” she stammered. When he stood, she was shocked to discover her right hand had been tightly entwined in his. Faith immediately pulled away, but she missed the warmth of his hand as Michael stepped to the pulpit and faced the small gathering.

“Lacy Ellen Hyatt Cameron passed through our lives at warp speed,” he began in an unsteady voice. “Her sojourn with us was much too brief.” He paused to clear his throat, and Faith saw his fingers tremble. She lowered her gaze to the floor and sucked her upper lip between her teeth, biting down hard to hold off a new bout of tears.

However, Michael didn’t dwell on Lacy’s death. He invited everyone to remember the woman who’d lived life full-tilt. “The Lacy we all knew brightened a room just by being in it. She hated sitting still. She loved to go and do. She loved to argue and debate.” His voice cracked a little, but a semblance of a smile curved his lips as he suggested she was probably even now testing St. Peter’s mettle. “It’s that Lacy who’ll live on in my heart and I hope in yours as well.”

People were dabbing at their eyes as he sat down again. Faith felt as if a weight had been lifted. She’d blotted away her tears while the minister offered a final prayer. “Thank you, Michael,” she managed to say once everyone began to mill about. “Lacy kept things to herself this last year. I…we…stopped communicating.” Faith licked a salty tear off her upper lip while twisting a tissue into bits. “If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in work, I keep thinking she might have confided in me more. I’m afraid I gave up too easily, trying to reach her at the beach house. When she didn’t return my calls, I…” Faith didn’t finish the statement.

“I’m more at fault than you are, Faith,” Michael said, his hazel eyes dark and troubled. “I let our lawyers act as go-betweens after she filed for divorce. I should have sat down with her when I returned from Norway. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that she ended up hating me.”

“I’m sure she didn’t feel that strongly, Michael.”

“Then how come Fielding believes I’m a first-class SOB?”

“On the phone, Lacy seemed happy enough at Christmas. She didn’t give the slightest indication you two would be splitting up in January.”

“When you called, she put on a convincing act. She was pretty upset with me for missing most of the major holiday parties we’d received invitations to. Every passing day, she seemed to feel more resentful of the time I devoted to my patients. I didn’t know how to bridge the chasm between us.”

“I’m sorry, Michael.” Faith stood and bent down to pick up her purse. She started to walk away, then turned back. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Lacy’s craving for attention goes back to her childhood. To when our entire household centered on our mother’s poor health. At the same time, it terrified Lacy to think her illness might somehow force her to become dependent on others—like our mom had been. Looking back, I believe Lacy assumed the transplant would make her one-hundred percent good-as-new.”

Michael tugged at his lower lip. “Which explains why she became so terribly hostile toward follow-up care. I wish you’d said something sooner, Faith. You’ve answered my biggest question. I never understood how Lacy could act so cavalier about the second chance she’d been given. I’m a doctor, for God’s sake. You’d think I’d have picked up on her feelings.”

Faith touched his arm. “You were too close to the problem. It dawned on me gradually, after you two had left Boston.”

“We were married for five years. How could I completely miss what bothered her so much?” he asked with a snag in his voice. “Kipp got the picture, didn’t he?”

“It’s a little late for recriminations. Kipp treated her so shabbily he’s hardly in a position to judge you.” Removing her hand from Michael’s arm, Faith backed away. “Uh, Michael, I have to go. The funeral director just signaled that it’s time for me to get in the family car to make the trip to the cemetery.”

“You’re doing that alone? I’d planned to ride with friends.” He waved toward the back of the chapel. “I’ll keep you company if you’d prefer.”

“No. Please don’t change your arrangements. Someone from the funeral home will accompany me. Right now, I need a minute to decide which flowers go to the cemetery and which I want sent to the hospital to brighten our waiting rooms.”

“All right,” he said, frowning. He let her go, yet didn’t join his friends until the director approached Faith and the two left the room.

THE ASSEMBLY AT THE GRAVESIDE was smaller than the gathering at the chapel. As there wasn’t to be a formal reception, friends took the time to speak with Faith before claiming seats beneath a shade tent. She was so caught up in talking to Abigail Moore, relating Lacy’s desire to name her daughter Abby, Faith didn’t realize Michael had arrived and had slipped into the seat beside her. Or not until he exhaled sharply.

Abigail sobbed. “I’m so surprised and…and humbled. Lacy phoned me once after she’d moved back to Boston. Just to talk, she said. I suggested meeting for lunch, but she put me off. I never knew she was pregnant, Faith. I feel as if I let her down. Call me when you take the babies home. I’d love to visit.”

Faith nodded and pressed Abby’s hand. She winced when Michael leaned over and hissed in her ear. “I was under the impression Dr. Finegold lost Lacy during the delivery. When did she name the twins?”

“Before she went up for her C-section. Lacy gave me custody, remember. And she wasn’t aware that she carried twins. It’s common for women to name their babies, Michael. Abby was what Lacy had called her child. I chose Nicholas,” Faith said, injecting a challenge in her voice.

Michael’s brows puckered. He probably would have said more if the minister hadn’t asked them to stand for a prayer. Relieved, Faith tore her gaze from Michael’s flinty eyes. Bending her head, she willed her bucking heart to slow. David Reed had specifically warned her not to provoke either Michael or Kipp Fielding III. He said to refer them to him for answers to any and all questions concerning the babies.

She shouldn’t have let Michael’s earlier vulnerability reach her. Well, it wouldn’t happen again. He and Kipp were her enemies. She’d do well to remember that.

Faith was first in the circle of mourners to lay a carnation atop Lacy’s casket. An attendant had provided each person with a flower. The director sidled up to Faith as she stepped out from under the awning, asking if she preferred to mingle a bit or return to town. “Town, please,” she said with a tremor. “I’ll come back tomorrow for some private time with my sister.”

The short walk to the waiting car proved to be the hardest part of the entire ordeal for Faith. Her knees wobbled like the front wheel of a novice bike rider. She would have stumbled and maybe even fallen if the director hadn’t had a firm grip on her elbow. The shaky feeling kept her from turning back for a last look. Not that she would have had a clear picture anyway. Once she was sitting in the car, her nose pressed to the side window, the lovely hillside with its spreading elms and soft carpet of green all ran together. There was such finality attached to the ritual of leaving the cemetery. Up to now it had been easy to pretend that Lacy was only a phone call away. Watching the blur of row after row of headstones stripped away the fantasy, underlined the truth. Her only sister was gone, and there were too many things left unsaid between them.

On the ride back to town, Faith went through half a box of tissues the director had thoughtfully provided.

It was barely noon when the black car pulled up outside her apartment. So little time, Faith thought frantically—it took so little time to cut you forever from the sphere of a loved one.

The long afternoon that lay ahead seemed interminable as she stepped out of the car into the sunlight. And once she’d changed clothes, she found she didn’t want to be confined with her thoughts. She could go mad worrying about what Michael and Kipp might be plotting with regard to Lacy’s babies. Yet, if she stayed here, Michael could call or show up unexpectedly and further debate her right to name the babies. He hadn’t seemed happy with the names she’d chosen.

She considered going to the hospital nursery. There she could hold part of Lacy close, thus assuring herself and the babies that she’d protect them from the men who’d taken such a recent interest in fatherhood. Though in a worst-case scenario, Faith knew one of the two men was the children’s biological parent. She might be more willing to face up to that fact if the loss of the twins’ mother wasn’t so terribly real just now.

On the spur of the moment, Faith grabbed her purse and left the building, deciding to wander aimlessly downtown; she’d visit the twins later. She had no particular destination in mind—until she found herself in front of a major department store. Then she remembered the list of items needed to set up a nursery for the babies. Why not shop now? After all, David Reed, Lacy’s lawyer, had told her to outfit a room. He said a judge would certainly take her readiness to provide the babies with a home as a positive sign if it came to a court battle. In her heart, Faith feared it would come to that. What she didn’t want to think about was which of the three combatants would win such a fight. Kipp Fielding III, Michael Cameron…or her.

“Be optimistic,” she muttered under her breath as she hurried into the store.

Upstairs, the baby department, with its array of pastels and primary colors, infused warmth back into Faith’s cold limbs. Buying for Lacy’s babies was going to be fun. Faith so rarely shopped for fun. In her mother’s stead, she had learned at an early age to weigh price against serviceable value. To be frugal. It was a practice she adhered to when buying for herself. She was determined to give Lacy’s babies all the things she’d never been able to give Lacy. That included lavishing them with her undivided attention. She’d been so young, so totally inadequate as a surrogate parent to her sister. Things were different now. Her life was different.

As she wandered through the baby furniture, Faith chose cribs and dressers with clean, classic lines. Beautiful wood that would endure. Crib bedding was another matter. Faith tried to imagine what Lacy would have wanted for her children. Lacy’s taste in clothing and furnishings, had tended toward flashy colors while Faith gravitated toward softer shades. She thought about her apartment done in ivory, gray and mauve, and deliberately purchased two wild circus quilts richly patterned in blocks of green, yellow, orange and blue.

The saleslady steered her toward matching crib sheets, bumper pads and a diaper stacker. Next, she added large clown decals for the wall. She’d already decided to paint the nursery walls four different primary colors. She might even pick up paint on the way home and begin the project this evening.

Toys. Faith spotted them across the aisle. She headed straight for a large plush monkey with a funny face. How foolish, she thought, squeezing its soft body. The stuffed animal was bigger than either of the twins. It’d be far more practical to buy a nice mobile or a couple of small rattles. But she couldn’t make herself let go of the monkey. It remained hooked on her arm as she reached for an equally impractical giraffe. Faith had to stand on tiptoe to grab the giraffe from the top shelf. In so doing, she dislodged a pile of bears.

“Goodness!” Bears of all sizes tumbled onto the other side of the display.

“Hey!” Faith heard a faint, gruff protest. She dashed around the corner and almost bowled over a man covering his head with both arms to ward off raining bears.

It took Faith a moment to realize she knew that profile. “Michael? What are you doing here?”

“Uh, hello, Faith.” Michael shifted two small teddies to his left hand, and began to pick up the larger ones spilled across the carpet—a move that placed him in direct visual alignment with Faith’s trim ankles. Hands unexpectedly clumsy, Michael dropped the bears he was collecting. His mouth felt dry as cotton. Lord, what was the matter with him?

Faith’s attention focused on the two bears Michael kept separate. One was pink and the other blue, both washable terry cloth. They matched two soft receiving blankets draped over the crook of his elbow.

Several silent minutes passed before Michael realized he was the only one righting the bears. Faith’s gaze remained fixed on his intended purchases.

“I stopped off at the nursery after the funeral,” he explained, halting his task long enough to meet her eyes. “A nurse, Teri I think was her name, said premies respond to having the type of blanket they’ll be wrapped in at home laid over their isolettes. She also suggested tucking small toys inside. Along with frequent holding, she said, that gives premature babies a sense of well-being.”

A sharp pain sliced through Faith’s stomach. Her first reaction was to wonder why Michael hadn’t gone straight back to New York where he belonged after the funeral. Her second was more an overwhelming sense of fear than a clear thought. A fear that this situation was cartwheeling out of her control.

“You don’t have any idea what type of blankets Abigail and Nicholas will have when they go home,” she said tartly. “I’m outfitting their nursery. Not in pink or blue. Lacy liked wild colors. Bright colors.” She said it almost desperately.

Michael’s face appeared so crestfallen, she almost regretted her outburst. Or she did until it struck her that he was going behind her back to gain entry into the nursery, despite her request. No doubt he’d used his status as an eminent surgeon to inveigle his way in.

Faith’s voice dropped. “Go home, Michael. Don’t make me get a restraining order against you. I spoke with Lacy’s lawyer last night. He said she was very much of sound mind when she came to his office to draw up those custody papers. He further said that if you or Kipp Fielding want visiting privileges, you’ll have to request approval through Family Court. Any questions you have are to be directed to him. His name is David Reed. You’ll find him in the phone book.”

“Why would you drag Lacy’s good name through court? Look at her recent behavior. The doorman at our apartment knows she left me that night in January in a fit of anger. From there she had a torrid affair with a married man. Then she ran off without telling anyone and hid out. Think, Faith. She deliberately went off her lifesaving medications.”

Faith heard only the warning that overlaid his apparent concern. Pain exploded in her chest. She should have suspected Michael was being nice at the funeral to put himself in a good light. Now she could believe this steely-jawed man with the hard eyes had driven her sister away. “And you’re lily-white?” she said angrily. “Lacy left you because you were obsessed with work. Somehow I doubt a judge will find it her fault that Kipp pretended to be single. No one knows better than you, Michael, that Lacy’s anti-rejection drugs were experimental. Who’d fault her for not wanting to jeopardize her unborn child?”

“I see. You and Lacy’s lawyer have it all figured out, don’t you, Faith? Well, I wouldn’t spend a lot of money furnishing that nursery if I were you.” Michael drew himself up to his full six-foot-three height. “Courts have been more favorable to fathers over the last few years, especially if they have the means to provide for their kids. I have the means several times over. And the desire. Tell that to your David Reed.”

Faith watched him stride down the aisle. She felt as if she’d been trampled by an elephant. Michael stopped to pay for his purchases, chatting easily with the sales-woman as she rang them up. He appeared impervious to the fact that he’d left Faith shattered and it struck her how little effect her words had had on him. Michael Cameron intended to apply the same tenacity that had made him a world-famous surgeon to overturning her guardianship of Lacy’s babies.

He obviously didn’t realize she could be tenacious, too. More determined than ever to outfit the nursery as Lacy would want, Faith finished her shopping and requested everything be delivered. Leaving, she visited a paint store. And lugged the heavy cans up to her third-floor apartment. Then she put all other plans on hold while she ran to the hospital to visit the babies. She needed to touch them. To hold them.

Faith cuddled Abigail first, and then Nicholas. “You’re going to love the room I’m fixing for you,” she told them both as they gazed at her with unfocused eyes.

The pediatrician came in while she was there. He unwrapped the babies and checked them over thoroughly. “They’re gaining like champs,” he said over their chorusing squalls. “Two more weeks at this rate and you’ll be able to take them home.”

“So soon? That’s wonderful news! The nurses seemed to think they’d have to stay here much longer.” Faith couldn’t contain a happy smile.

“If they’d lost a lot of weight, that would have been true. Nicholas only lost an ounce and Abigail two. The way they’re chowing down, unless something unforeseen crops up, my guess is they’ll both top five pounds soon. Dr. Finegold mentioned your predicament, Faith. For what it’s worth, I’ll be glad to put in a good word for you. The babies may be stable, but caring for premie multiples can be tricky. I like knowing they’ll be under the care of a trained nurse.”

“I appreciate your vote of confidence, Dr. Sampson. I’m planning to take at least six months off from work. A year if I can swing it financially. Our administrator said he’d hold a position open as long as possible. Otherwise, I’ll use our on-site day care. I’ve already placed my name on the waiting list. Gwen in E.R., said the day care has openings from time to time.”

“If you’re able to stay home six months, that’s great, Faith. A year would be icing on the cake. After I examine the twins next week, I’ll give you a call. I should be able to give you their actual release date then.”

“Thank you,” Faith murmured. She watched him cuddle Abigail while she diapered Nicholas. She felt all thumbs and hoped he didn’t hold that against her. She hadn’t diapered a baby since Lacy was little. “I’ll get the hang of this soon,” she promised.

Sampson laughed. “I have no doubt you will. Call my office and ask my receptionist to put you in touch with a parents-of-multiples support group. They have a newsletter and meetings where other parents of twins, triplets and upward exchange information. My other advice is to lay in a mountain of diapers. You won’t believe how many you’ll go through in a day.”

“Diapers.” Faith snapped her fingers. “I went shopping today and bought out the store. Even paint for the nursery walls. How could I have forgotten diapers?”

The physician handed her Abigail and gave a wry glance at the wet spot on the front of his lab coat. “Breaks of the trade,” he said as Faith apologized for leaving him holding a near-naked baby so long.

“Always remember to diaper Nicholas first. Or he’ll decorate those newly painted walls.”

“They aren’t painted yet. As soon as I leave here, I’m going home to do that. Two weeks,” she mused happily, giving each baby a kiss before she tucked them back into their warm cocoons.

By dinnertime that evening, Faith’s muscles ached so badly she could hardly stand up straight. The result of her labors pleased her, however. The walls looked cheery, complementing the soft gray carpet and white ceiling. She liked the room.

It suited her to keep busy and to restrict her thoughts to the subject of the babies. So after eating a light dinner, she went to work recovering the cushions on a comfortable rocking chair—the only piece of furniture she’d saved from the old house. The chair had belonged to her mother. Faith remembered how on good days her mom would sit by a sunny window and rock the infant Lacy. As the cushions cut from jungle-print chintz took shape, Faith imagined herself rocking Nicholas and Abigail to sleep.

It was an image that remained with her until she received a phone call from David Reed the next day. “Faith, could you come down to my office, please? I’ve got faxes from Kipp Fielding’s legal team, and also from Michael Cameron’s attorney. I want you to see what we’re up against. We need to plan our strategy.”

“What strategy?” she asked weakly. “Lacy signed custody of the children over to me, as you know. I agreed to raise, clothe and feed them. What other strategy do we need?” She heard his sigh and the creak of his chair.

“I know you’re not naive, Faith. I explained during our first phone consultation how messy custody fights can get. On top of that, this case is quite unusual.”

“How so?” she asked, although she knew more or less what he’d say.

“Normally it’s a matter of determining visitation rights for a noncustodial parent. Occasionally Family Court has to intervene for grandparents. But your case has two men claiming to be the twins’ father, and an aunt—you—to whom the biological mom assigned full custody. To say nothing of a very influential grandpa. Fielding Junior made a fortune on Wall Street. It looks as if he’s prepared to use it to guarantee himself a grandson.”

Faith’s legs wouldn’t hold her. She fell into a chair. “So are you saying it’s hopeless?”

“No. Oh, my, no. Your position in the triangle is equal to the others at this point. Old man Fielding may have New York judges in his pocket, but his clout won’t be half as great in Boston. I’ve cleared an hour on my calendar at one o’clock. It would be in your best interests to meet with me, I think.”

“Of course.” Faith barely had time to say she’d be there before he hung up. Her nerves were completely jangled. She could practically see Reed rubbing his hands together. He’d struck her as something of a barracuda. Maybe that was good. She hoped it was. And hoped he was clever enough to solve the matter in her favor, preferably within two weeks.

Faith showered and dressed with care, then left for her appointment. After all, if she expected the man to represent her enthusiastically, it would help if she made a good impression. She hoped his fees would be manageable—another thing that worried her. They hadn’t discussed what he charged. Faith had a fair savings account, but she’d need it to allow her to stay home with the twins.

Broad-winged bats beat up a storm in Faith’s stomach as she walked downtown to the building where Reed’s offices were housed. Passing a corner café, it dawned on Faith that she’d skipped lunch. She didn’t think she could eat a bite, but she certainly hoped her stomach didn’t growl at an inopportune time during their session.

“You’re prompt,” said a matronly receptionist when Faith checked in. “Mr. Reed likes that in a new client. Just let me ring his office and let him know you’ve arrived. Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea, Ms. Hyatt?”

“No, nothing, thanks,” Faith murmured, hoping she was the only one who knew her hands were shaking so hard she’d spill a beverage. As she’d only seen one other lawyer in her life, when she needed power of attorney to take charge of her father’s welfare, she didn’t know what to expect of this so-called strategy visit.

“Come in, come in, Ms. Hyatt,” boomed a jolly voice.

Faith leaped out of the chair she’d taken in the corner of the waiting room. No wonder he sounded so jolly. David Reed resembled Santa Claus. Though dressed in conservative blue rather than a red suit, he was round and sported white hair and a full beard.

“You don’t look a thing like your sister,” he said, clasping Faith’s cold hand.

“No,” she murmured, “I don’t.”

He merely nodded, indicating she should take a chair near his desk as he closed his office door. “Well, I hope you’re more solid than you look. This fight could be long and nasty.”

Faith’s heart sank. “I…I assumed the court would uphold my sister’s wishes.”

Reed steepled pudgy fingers. A fair-sized diamond winked in the sunlight streaming through a window that overlooked Boston Common. “Your sister was less than forthright with me, Faith. May I call you Faith?”

“Please do. How, uh, in what way did Lacy lie to you?”

“For one thing, she led me to believe the baby’s father was dead. Oh, she didn’t come right out and offer to produce a death certificate, but she implied as much. She never said a word about being divorced. In essence, Lacy let me think the money she willed you and her unborn child had come to her through an inheritance.”

“I didn’t know she’d left any money. She never said anything. We hardly had time to cover the custody papers, which, to be truthful, I signed quickly to ease her mind. I never expected her to d-di-die.”

“I believe you, Faith,” Reed said, bouncing his fingers together again. “I hope the judge will. Either of the other two legal counsels could imply you want custody only for the money.”

Faith gasped. “Surely not! I’d planned to care for the babies out of my own savings. I doubt that whatever Michael settled on Lacy was a huge amount.”

“The living trust your sister set up is approximately half a mil. You, if made custodian, have access to the interest until the babies turn twenty-one. Add to that proceeds from the sale of a beach house. Another seven hundred and fifty thousand.”

Faith tried to keep her jaw from dropping but didn’t succeed.

“I see you had no idea,” David said. “I wish I’d gotten your reaction on video. Now you understand my concern. The Fielding team will surely make an issue of the money. And I’ve got no doubt that Dr. Cameron knows how much his ex-wife was worth.”

Clasping her hands tightly, Faith brought them up under her chin. “I don’t want Lacy’s money, Mr. Reed. Is there a way to put it completely in trust for the twins?”

“There is. But you might not want to be so hasty. If your aim is to win full custody of those infants, it could get costly.”

“Of course that’s my goal. As I explained, I have three bedrooms. I rented a larger place, assuming my dad would stay with me after he sold his house. In fact, he’s living in an assisted-care facility, so I have lots of space. I’ve already turned one bedroom into a nursery,” she said passionately. “I can’t believe either Michael or Kipp will offer the twins as much love and attention as I’m prepared to give.”

“Maybe not,” David said bluntly. “But one of them is the natural father. That’s why I wanted to talk to you face-to-face, Faith. Fielding’s team has demanded that the court order DNA testing. It takes four to six weeks after they give the go-ahead—and they will,” he added. “The test will establish paternity beyond any doubt. If we dig in and fight after that, we’ll be contesting a bona fide parent. I’m not saying we couldn’t win, considering the mother didn’t think highly of either Cameron or Fielding. It does mean that preparing our case will require a lot of expensive hours. I’ll need a full-time legal researcher and a legal secretary assigned exclusively to this.” He paused. “To be honest, the case intrigues me. Hell, I foresee it being a tremendous boost to my practice.”

For the longest time, Faith chewed the inside of her mouth and stared out the window. “I only want what’s best for Nicholas and Abigail,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I realize it’s a monumental decision. Maybe you’d like to go home and sleep on it. Those men both have the best counsel money can buy. I want you one-hundred-percent committed before we jump into a dogfight.”

Faith refocused and looked into his serious blue eyes. “I am committed,” she said. “You just hit on the whole point. Kipp Fielding has money coming out his ears and a Roman numeral after his name. Oh, he wants Nicholas all right. To carry on his prestigious family name. He doesn’t give a damn about Abigail. Michael has money, too. But my sister divorced him because he was never home. He’s a world-famous doctor, who’s completely consumed by his work. Lacy thought I’d be the best person outside of herself to raise her child, er…children. Unless the court can show something colossal to make me change my mind, I’m going to fight. I don’t need to sleep on it. If holding on to custody takes every penny of my portion of Lacy’s estate—so be it.”

Her impassioned speech set the wheels in motion. All the way to Lacy’s apartment, where—as she’d promised Reed—she’d handle the disbursement of her sister’s belongings, Faith prayed she was doing the right thing for the babies. Unfortunately, she couldn’t shake the image of the tears Michael had shed when he held the twins. A court fight would turn Michael against her. He’d most likely end up hating her. But she’d promised her only sister—and she’d lost her heart to those babies. What did it matter that she’d lost her heart to Michael years ago? That was then. This was now.

CHAPTER FOUR

THROUGHOUT THE REMAINDER of the week, Faith dashed about town in search of the items left on her list. As she entered each store, she looked over her shoulder to see if Michael skulked nearby. After the third day had passed without incident, and since he hadn’t popped in at the hospital, she began to relax and enjoy her shopping sprees.

She bought a double stroller that did everything but talk. Before setting out to buy one, Faith hadn’t had any idea how many types were on the market. The one she selected was blue canvas awash with white daisies. It included sunroofs and a basket large enough to hold a sack or two of groceries plus a big diaper bag. Perfect for walks in the park. There was mosquito netting to drape over both infants during nice weather and clear plastic that zipped on to make the interior cozy if the weather turned blustery. The whole thing folded easily to fit into the trunk of a car.

Pleased by that purchase, Faith then bought what the clerk referred to as “a diaper system.” The microfiber bag had waterproof linings and pullout changing pads and removable totes.

The clerk insisted Faith needed two infant carriers. Those were in the event she had to take the babies in a cab—to their appointments with Dr. Sampson, for instance. Faith wondered if the fact that she didn’t own a car could be counted against her at the hearing. But if she purchased one, the men’s lawyers could say she was spending Lacy’s money on personal pleasures. Not to mention she’d have to take driving lessons.

In the end, Faith elected to drop the problem in David Reed’s lap. Let him argue that she’d lived in Boston for thirty-four years without owning a car. If the judge thought she needed one to be a good mom, the expense wouldn’t be her decision.

As her purchases arrived at her apartment, Faith assembled cribs and a changing table. She added two small chests of drawers and saw the room shrink. Later, when the twins were older, she’d give one of them the third bedroom. Right now, they needed to be together.

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