dismay, Luke Strickland shook his head.
“I’m sorry. The leukemia has not responded to treatment.”
Nora gasped, and Heather closed her eyes. Standing behind them, Chris lifted protective hands, resting one upon her shoulder and the other upon their mother’s.
As a police officer, Chris alone had not gone into the family business, finding nothing at either Nashville Living magazine or its sister publication, the Davis Landing Dispatch newspaper, to spark his interest. Tall and dark like his brothers and just as intelligent, Chris was somehow more physical than either of them. He was also devout in his faith, though his work schedule made regular church attendance more difficult for him than for Jeremy, whom Heather could always count upon to join her and their mother for services.
It was Amy who asked the pertinent question, “What can we do, doctor?”
“The next step is the bone marrow transplant, isn’t it?” Jeremy said.
The doctor nodded. “Yes. In fact, it’s our only other option at this point.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Tim demanded impatiently. “I assume that the sooner it’s done the better.”
“That’s true,” Dr. Strickland agreed, his gaze moving purposefully around the room before coming to rest on Wallace himself. “Unfortunately, none of you is a perfect match.”
Heather covered her mouth with a trembling hand as Nora swayed before abruptly stiffening her spine.
“What does that mean?” Amy asked quietly.
“That we have to go to the national database for a suitable donor,” the doctor explained.
“How long will that take?” Tim wanted to know.
Dr. Strickland shook his head. “That’s impossible to say. We’ll match him as quickly as possible, though.”
“People wait years for transplants,” Amy murmured, frowning.
“That’s true,” the doctor informed her, “but your father’s condition is sufficiently grave to put him at the top of the list. I have to warn you, though, that if we don’t find that perfect match soon, we may have to go with our second choice and hope for the best. Time is our enemy here.”
“But we do have some time, don’t we?” Nora asked with obvious desperation.
“Some. We’re not beat yet, and while we’re looking for that perfect donor we’ll keep him comfortable and support him with appropriate treatments.”
“Meaning more needles, I suppose,” Wallace groused.
Unruffled, the doctor smiled compassionately. “As if a little thing like a needle ever intimidated you.”
Wallace humphed. “Entirely beside the point. No pun intended.”
“We’re going to beat this,” Nora declared insistently, ignoring her husband’s weak attempt to inject some normalcy into a nightmarish situation.
“Goes without saying,” Wallace retorted, waving his free hand dismissively, but Heather noted that his knuckles were white where they gripped her mother’s fingers.
“Mom’s right,” Heather said softly. “We’ll just keep praying and trusting God. He knows how much we need you, Daddy.”
“Thank you, dear. Now, if that’s all, doctor, there are more important matters to consider at the moment.”
Heather bit back a groan, knowing what was coming, just as did everyone else in the room, including Nora. Well or ill, Wallace would always be about Hamilton Media. Heather took comfort in knowing that nothing had changed in that regard. Nora, whose primary concern would always be the well-being of her family, obviously did not.
“Wallace, I forbid you to worry about business at a time like this.”
He sent her an affectionate, amused glance. “Might as well forbid me to die, sugar, which, by the way, is something else I have no intention of doing anytime soon.”
Tammy Franklin entered the room just then through a second door that opened onto the corridor. Busily efficient, the petite, pretty nurse checked the bedside monitors and the IV line at the patient’s wrist, her blue eyes flicking intently from equipment to patient. Wallace ignored her, fastening his dark gaze on his eldest child.
“Jeremy, I want to know why you haven’t signed that contract with the new accounting firm.”
Jeremy squared his shoulders and calmly replied, “Because I don’t believe it’s in the best interest of the company. Why pay to have done what we already do so well ourselves?”
“Well?” Tim echoed disbelievingly. “How can you say that?”
The whole family knew that Curtis Resnick, a trusted employee, had betrayed both the company and the family—and Jeremy, in particular—by embezzling thousands of dollars.
“We have adequate oversights in place now,” Jeremy insisted.
“Nevertheless, doing our own accounting is what allowed the problem to develop in the first place,” Wallace stated sharply.
“What makes you think an outside accounting firm will be any more honest than our own employees?” Jeremy countered. “The people left in that department are faithful and loyal. They had no part in what happened. They deserve to keep their jobs.”
“Jeremy’s right,” Chris put in. “It’s not fair to punish a whole department for one person’s malfeasance.”
“You have no say in this matter!” Wallace snapped. “Since you opt to put yourself in danger every day rather than take your place in the company—worrying your mother sick in the process, I might add—you have no right to comment.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Dad,” Chris said carefully. “Nevertheless, I agree with Jeremy.”
“You would,” Tim muttered.
“Meaning what exactly, Timothy?” Jeremy asked, sounding genuinely perplexed. “That he takes his faith too seriously for your comfort?”
“Please, boys, that’s enough,” Nora pleaded. “Now is not the time. Your father is too ill for this.”
“I am not too ill to look after the welfare of the company!” Wallace insisted. “My father and grandfather devoted their lives to Hamilton Media, and I simply will not allow a momentary physical weakness to harm it in any way!”
“Please, Daddy,” Heather interjected softly. “If you can trust God with your health, surely you can trust Him and your sons to take care of the company for a while.”
Wallace grimaced shamefacedly. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s just that…” He passed a hand across his forehead, and Nora followed it with one of her own. “I feel so helpless, stuck here in this bed.”
“All the more reason you should rest and let us take care of things,” Tim said.
“Good advice,” the doctor agreed.
“Have a little faith, Dad,” Jeremy put in. “We won’t let you down.”
“Not that faith is an adequate substitute for hard work and dedication,” Tim muttered, and Heather inwardly winced.
Jeremy immediately bristled. “Are you implying that I’m not dedicated, that I don’t work hard enough?”
Tim had the grace to look abashed. “I didn’t say that.”
“You might as well have, so let me remind you, little brother, that I hold the reins at Hamilton Media now.”
“Then do what you should,” Tim demanded. “Bite the bullet and sign that accounting contract!”
“It’s my decision, Tim, and I’m not bound