“The scars on his feet will heal, Dana. You need to focus on helping them heal the scars on the inside.”
Dana shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Caroline. I’m so tired.”
Caroline bit back a frown. Dana never got tired. She’d never once spoken of giving up. Even when funding was non-existent and she had to give herself paycut after paycut, even when there were more women and children than beds. Even when the women themselves gave up. Dana was always strong. But not today. I suppose everyone has her limit, Caroline thought. Any words of inspiration were stowed for another day.
“Then go to sleep, honey. Things will look better when you’re rested. Use my bed. Help yourself to anything here, although my own cupboards are a bit bare.” She pressed a paper napkin in Dana’s hand. “Hurricane Tom and his friends descended last night after their basketball game. What didn’t move, they ate. I think I may even be missing a fork and three spoons. I hope they don’t set off the metal detectors at the school.”
Dana managed a small chuckle and dried her eyes. “Thanks, but I can’t. I’ve got to get back and check on Cody.”
“The little boy? I can go by on my lunch hour, Dana. I’ll check on him. If he needs a doctor, I’ll call Dr. Lee.” Dr. Lee was a retired pediatrician who volunteered his time to the shelter. When Dana opened her mouth to refuse, Caroline held up a warning finger. “Don’t even think of saying no. If you push yourself, you’ll get strep, then you’ll have Dr. Lee sticking one of those ahh things down your throat.”
Dana’s shoulders sagged wearily. “You’re right. I think I will stay here for a few hours. Will you see Evie today?”
“Probably. She works this afternoon in the office.” Evie was their latest joint project, a teen runaway grown into legal age. Evie roomed with Dana while she took classes at Carrington College where she assisted Caroline in the history department’s office.
“Then tell her I’m okay. She gets worried when I don’t come home.”
“I will. Now I need to go to work. I certainly don’t want to keep Dr. Maximillian Hunter waiting on his very first day.”
Asheville
Monday, March 5
8 A.M.
“Are …” Sue Ann cleared her throat. “Are you all right, Rob?”
God save him from stupid women. Winters sat on the edge of his bed in his jockey shorts, head in his hands and Miz Brainiac here wanted to know if he was all right. “Do I look all right, Sue Ann?”
She paused a beat before answering in her whiny little whisper. “No, Rob. Can I get you something? An aspirin?”
He thought of the empty bottle on the nightstand. Another drink. Behind his hands he clenched his eyes shut even tighter. My son. I want my son. But his son was never coming home. He knew that now. “No, you may not get me anything,” he answered bitterly. “Just get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”
The floorboard squeaked and he could smell her cheap perfume as she moved closer. The scent overpowered him, sickened him. She sickened him. “Rob, I know you’re upset, but—”
Her cry of pain was followed by a long moment of silence.
“What part of ‘leave me alone’ don’t you understand?” he gritted, flexing his fist.
Slowly Sue Ann picked herself up from the floor, gingerly testing her cheekbone. “Do you want breakfast?”
Winters felt his stomach roll at the mere mention of food. Savagely he brought his fist around, narrowly missing as she jumped back a foot. “What I want is for you to shut your fuckin’ mouth. What I want is for my son to be here and not at the bottom of Douglas Lake. What I want is for whoever touched a hair on his head to die.” He watched his own hands clench and release. What he wanted was to track down whoever took his son and kill the sonofabitch himself.
“You don’t know he’s dead, Rob. They didn’t find any …” She cleared her throat again. Pushed a straggling hair back into her tired old bun with one hand. “Maybe you could have another son. Ours.”
A red haze clouded his vision and he slowly rose to his feet. “You think any whelp of yours could take his place?” Warm satisfaction washed over him at the feel of her jawbone against the back of his hand. At the muffled sound of her body hitting the wall. At the strangled sob she tried to hide as she crawled into a corner. Stupid bitch. “Just get out.”
“But it would be your baby, Rob,” Sue Ann whispered from the corner. “Your son.”
“Dammit, don’t argue with me.” He winced as his toe vibrated against her leg bone. “Don’t you ever argue with me.” Then he straightened, walked over to the bed and laid himself out flat. “Leave me alone.”
He heard the sound of her dress rustling as she levered herself to her feet. She’d been acceptable once. Even pretty if you squinted hard enough. But the years hadn’t been kind to Sue Ann. She could still cook and clean, true. But the thought of marrying her was enough to make him even sicker to his stomach. And he’d have to do that. Marry her. If he were to have another son, he’d have to be married to the woman that bore him. Nobody would say that Rob Winters didn’t do what was right by his boy. Nobody. He turned his head enough to see her retreating for the door.
“Sue Ann?”
“Yes, Rob.”
“Call Ross and tell her I have the flu. I’m not coming in today.”
He caught her glance at the empty bottle and narrowed his eyes at her, satisfied to see her moon-face pale even more.
“Yes, Rob.” The door creaked as she pushed it open.
“I left some boots out on the back porch. They need cleanin’.”
“Yes, Rob.”
He waited until the door closed. Slowly he rolled over to his stomach and picked up the framed picture from his nightstand. As always the little tow-headed boy with the serious blue eyes looked up at him. And as always Rob Winters closed his eyes and visualized punishing the man that had stolen his son. But today … Today was different. Today the punishment would be infinitely more severe. For before Hutchins had pulled up the car there’d been the smallest shred of hope that Robbie would come home. Now Winters knew Robbie was never coming home.
Chapter Three
Carrington College, Chicago
Monday, March 5
10:15 A.M.
The world claimed Mondays were supposed to be hell, but to Caroline they brought a welcome sense of routine. There had been so few constants in her life. Somehow the budgets, the filing, the constant questions of clueless students all seemed to bolster rather than bore. This was her world. A small one, and some might say insignificant. But it was her world and she thrived here.
A sad smile tugged at her mouth as her gaze happened upon the framed picture of Eli on her desk. He’d been her first professor here at Carrington. Her first and best. He had the uncanny gift of creating a three-dimensional picture of history, one that lived and breathed, and called out to Caroline from the beginning. She’d been considering many majors that would support her pre-law program. One class with Eli Bradford made her decision a piece of cake.
She remembered that first week of night school. The unfamiliar feeling of sitting in a classroom again after so many years. She’d been a young mother with a seven-year-old son, a grueling full-time job and so little time to enjoy the only class she’d been able to afford that quarter. Eli had taken notice and asked her to remain behind when their third evening class concluded.
He’d noticed her scared-rabbit fear at the prospect of remaining alone with him and she could see the compassion in his kind old eyes. “You eat up my class, Miss Stewart,” he’d said. “I like that.” Then he’d offered her a job as his secretary, complete with the deep tuition discounts Carrington College provided to employees. He’d been flexible, allowing her to fit her work around her class schedule, allowing her to bring Tom to the office during school holidays and the weekends she worked. Thanks to Eli and Dana, she’d never had to hire a babysitter, not once in the seven years since arriving in Chicago with little more than the
shirt on her back.
And now he was gone. Eli was gone. Regret speared like a lance. He’d never see her graduate, and she was so close. Only one more quarter and she’d have her degree. It was still hard to believe. She, a high-school dropout would soon have a college degree. Deep in her heart she thanked Dana for pushing her to get the GED high school diploma. Deep in her heart she thanked Eli for giving her the chance to achieve so much more than she’d ever dreamed possible.
Her hefty sigh rattled the papers on her desk. And now he was gone.
Caroline glanced at the clock, determined not to grieve the day away. She had only another hour before Dr. Hunter was due, just enough time to finish the payroll report.
It was the shuffling sound that drew her from her concentration on the payroll. She’d heard that sound before, so long ago. It was the sound of hospitals, of patients dragging their feet against tiled floors, walkers and canes supporting them as they took on the agonizing task of learning to walk again. It was still a sound that could make her shudder. But she didn’t shudder. It was an unwritten law in rehab. You never showed pity or revulsion for those around you. It was a very strong ethic amongst the broken and recovering.
Digging deep and finding a true smile, Caroline looked up from her paperwork as the shuffling ceased to find a smooth, wide hand with long fingers clutching the end of a curved wooden cane. She shifted her gaze a bit higher to find a trim waist and very broad chest covered with the coat of a double-breasted suit. She swallowed. And looked farther up. Her eyes continued upward until they reached the face of the man standing before her desk. He was tall, taller than Tom. He was dark, but certainly not menacing, his jaw strong and square, his dark brows slightly bunched. His hair was thick and black, trimmed close to his nape. A lock fell over his forehead, giving him an almost boyish look. His suit was navy and tailored and fit his broad shoulders very well. His tie was paisley and emphasized the strong muscles of his neck. Smoky gray eyes looked back at her, a serious mouth showing no trace of a smile. He abruptly hooked the cane on his belt at his back, hiding it with his suit coat.
Inexplicably, Caroline’s heart beat a little faster. This was a man, with a capital M, as Dana would say. Now Caroline understood the meaning of “sex appeal.” He all but exuded it from his perfect pores.
Mercy.
She cleared her throat. “Can—” She stumbled over the syllable and felt her face heat in embarrassment. Although a man who looked like him probably left drooling, stuttering women in his wake every day. She cleared her throat again. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m looking for Caroline Stewart.”
The woman’s eyes widened and Max felt the room grow suddenly smaller. Her smile had been genuine, almost enough to tug him from the stern façade he wished to portray on his first day. Her dark brown hair hung to the middle of her back in a loose braid, a few curls escaping to frame her face. It was a nice face, all the features in the requisite places. A nice medium nose, full lips, dainty brows arched in question. But it was her eyes that drew him. Blue as the sea in the Caribbean and readable as a book. She was impressed with his face. He got that a lot. She was surprised, but not put off by his cane. That reaction was less common and meant quite a bit more.
Then she stood, extending a steady hand. Nice, neat, unpolished nails were consistent with the simple makeup barely dusting her face. The top of her head wouldn’t reach his shoulder. Just looking at her made him feel larger, stronger. She spoke again, her voice dripping with honey. A strong, deep sexy drawl.
“I’m Caroline Stewart.”
Her smile had brightened a notch, drawing an answering twitch of his own lips. His secretary. Well, well. Life was finally beginning to roll his way, he thought as he shook the hand she offered. “I’m Dr. Hunter.” She blinked, her mouth dropping open. Her small hand went lax in his. “You were expecting me, weren’t you?”
“I—uh.” She swallowed hard and regained her composure. “Yes, of course I was.” Her lips curved and a dimple appeared in one cheek. “I just wasn’t expecting you. Exactly.” She shook his hand heartily.
“Who were you expecting? Exactly?”
“A sixty-five-year-old man.” She tilted her head to one side, those eyes of hers narrowing slightly. “That old sneak. You’ve met Wade Grayson, one of the other professors, haven’t you?”
He nodded warily. “Once. At my interview with the dean.”
His secretary chuckled, the sound rich and full of rueful merriment. “He’s let me go on and on since the dean announced you were coming, thinking you were a senior citizen bachelor.” She looked up and her dimple deepened. “Not to worry. He’ll pay sooner or later. So you are my new young boss. Welcome, Dr. Hunter.”
Pretty and charming. This is growing better by the moment, he thought. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Stewart.”
“I’m Caroline to everyone around here. What do you prefer to be called?” Her deep blue eyes danced at him. “I’m hoping you don’t want us to use your whole name.”
This time his grin broke through. “It would serve you all right if I did.” He hesitated, then decided. He’d start this new phase of his life without the old barriers. No more “Dr. Hunter.” “You can call me Max.”
“A marked improvement over Maximillian Alexander.” She shook her head, her eyes still filled with amusement. “Your parents had big hopes for you.”
He appreciated her sense of humor. “Isn’t that the whole point of having children?”
Caroline thought of Tom and everything she’d sacrificed, would continue to sacrifice for him. “Yes, you’re absolutely right.” She stepped from behind the desk and stood before him, her head still tilted back. “I’ll show you your office, then you need to tell me how you want to proceed.”
She walked towards a closed door and Max stood where he was for five hard beats of his heart, his eyes locking on her round hips swaying gracefully as she moved. The very fierceness of his body’s response took him by surprise. Don’t be insane, he chided himself. Don’t make up for Elise by falling for the first female that crosses your path. He wasn’t listening to himself, he knew, his gaze still locked on her round rear end in its modest black skirt. He swallowed, barely wrenching his eyes upward in time when she paused, her hand on the doorknob. She looked over her shoulder to find him rooted in the same spot.
“This is your office,” she said, her eyes gone sober. The change was as abrupt and unmistakable as the resulting prick of sadness at his own heart. Her voice said “Your office.” Her eyes said it would always belong to Eli Bradford. She’d loved the old professor, that was clear.
Retrieving his cane, Max followed her into an office covered in wood paneling with rows and rows of built-in bookcases. Plush wine carpet covered the floor, contrasting well with the wood. The tang of lemon furniture polish mixed with the pleasant smell of old books and the leather of a long worn sofa, perfect for an occasional nap. Framed prints covered the walls, an eclectic medley of Monet, Warhol, and O’Keeffe. A model airplane fight was taking place in one corner of the room, a British Spitfire and a German ME-109 hanging from thin wires. With a smile Max noted the ME-109 going down in flames. It would seem the good guys won in Dr. Bradford’s world.
A large old mahogany desk dominated the room, accompanied by a matching chair, lit from behind by a large picture window that looked out onto the snowy courtyard where an occasional student braved the early spring cold snap. It was a very nice office, he thought, pleased. But the desk was worn, pitted and quite bare. He raised an eyebrow at the sight. The rest of the room was filled with books, making the empty desk stand out.
Caroline crossed the room and adjusted the blinds, cutting the glare of the morning sun. “This is one of the best views on the campus. You’ll be able to see the flower gardens at the school of agriculture in another month.” She turned and saw his pointed glance at the empty desk. “That was … Dr. Bradford’s. I wasn’t sure if you would have your own, or if you’d want
to use his.” Her hand brushed the worn surface, an unconscious caress. “I have a catalog you can use to order any supplies you want to fill it, if you choose to keep it.”
She raised her eyes to meet his, and he wasn’t certain if she was even aware of the entreaty that filled the blue depths. It was more poignant than the smile from a few minutes before. Dean Whitfield had told him how well Bradford had been loved. It was obvious his secretary held one of the strongest attachments.
She swallowed and turned her head, but not before he caught the glimpse of sorrow in her eyes. “If you choose … not to keep his things, please let me know. There are so many of us who will be happy to take them for you.”
The hand that brushed the desktop trembled, sending a pulse of compassion through him. Unfamiliar, the feeling caught him by surprise. He had a desk, one he’d had custom-built to accommodate his height years before, but the very idea of putting more sadness in her eyes was suddenly untenable. “I’d consider it an honor to keep the office as it is, Caroline.” Her relief was a tangible thing. “I may, however, require some additional furniture.” He turned and took in the square footage. “I have a footstool. For my leg,” he added, his brows drawing together slightly. To her credit, she didn’t flinch or look uncomfortable in the least. His opinion of her inched up another notch. “And a computer table.”
“I’ll take care of it. Are they still in Denver?”
“No, they’re in my house in Wheaton, about an hour drive from town.”
Caroline looked up at him, surprised. “You have a house in Chicago already?”
“My grandmother’s. She left it to me a few years back, but one of my nephews has been living there, keeping the place up. He was offered a job on the East Coast and moved last week. Hearing from Dean Whitfield was … providential.” He thought of Denver, of the pain of leaving behind what he’d never really had. Coming to Chicago now was providential indeed.