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She was unable to take another step. A hauntingly familiar voice reached her ears.
He sat by the bed, his head bent close to Nick’s. He was talking baseball and he had the boy’s full attention.
His shoulders were slightly broader than she remembered, his chest wider, but no gray marred the thick, dark hair. The hand that lay lightly on the bed rails was the same, too—lean, strong.
Kent Berger hadn’t changed. And oh, God, she’d never realized how much Nick looked like him. The shape of his face, the way he cocked his head to listen, even the half smile. She’d never let herself notice. Would he?
Please, no, she begged. She must have made a sound of supplication, because he looked up.
And for the first time in eleven years, Mallory stared into the eyes of the man who could save her son’s life—his real father.
Dear Reader,
Only he can save her son, the son he doesn’t know is his.
When her son, Nick, is diagnosed with leukemia, Mallory Brenner places him in the care of Dr. Kent Berger, the man who fathered him. Now she must face the most difficult decision of her life—to tell Kent the truth or keep her secret. And as Hanukkah, the holiday that celebrates a miracle, approaches, she hopes for her own miracle: life for her child.
Eerily, soon after I began this book, my husband, Ralph, was diagnosed with acute myelogenous leukemia, the same illness Nick has. I completed this story as Ralph waged a courageous battle for his life, and I promised him I’d finish it on time. I dedicate this book to his memory and I plan to donate part of my royalties to the Leukemia-Lymphoma Society as a memorial to him.
Lorna Michaels
A Candle for Nick
Lorna Michaels
LORNA MICHAELS
When she was four years old, Lorna Michaels decided she would become a writer. But it wasn’t until she read her first romance that she found her niche. Since then she’s been a winner of numerous writing contests, a double Romance Writer’s of America Golden Heart finalist and a nominee for Romantic Times BOOKclub Love and Laughter Award. A self-confessed romantic, she loves to spend her evenings writing happily-ever-after stories. During the day she’s a speech pathologist with a busy private practice. Though she leads a double life, both her careers focus on communication. As a speech pathologist, she works with children who have communication disorders. In her writing, she deals with men and women who overcome barriers to communication as they forge lasting relationships.
Besides working and writing, Lorna enjoys reading everything from cereal boxes to Greek tragedy, interacting with the two cats who own her, watching basketball games and traveling. In 2002 she realized her dream of visiting Antarctica. Nothing thrills her more than hearing from readers. You can e-mail her at [email protected].
For my husband.
Contents
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Chapter One
“Hey, Mom, Rick Howard hit another home run. I bet he breaks his record.”
Mallory Brenner stepped into the family room, where her ten-year-old son sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, watching a New York Yankees baseball game. She ruffled his chestnut-brown hair. “Hey, son, I bet Nicholas Brenner breaks his record for the most home runs in Little League.”
He grinned, showing a mouthful of braces. “Bet you’re right.”
Then he scowled as she leaned over him, thermometer in hand, and ordered, “Open.”
He did. As his hero rounded third though, he mumbled, “If we lived in New York instead of Valerosa, Texas, we could see Rick Howard play.”
Mallory removed the thermometer, set it again and stuck it back in Nick’s mouth. “Haven’t you noticed? You are seeing him play, right here in our living room, through the modern miracle of television.” Nick muttered disgustedly and she held up a hand. “Now zip your lip and watch the game, or I’ll have to start over again.”
Nick turned his attention to the TV and kept quiet. The thermometer beeped and Mallory checked the reading. “Normal. Second day in a row.”
“Cool. Think Dr. Sanders will let me play ball now? It’s been a year.”
“A month,” she corrected, then added, “I’m sure he will, as soon as he gets the results of your blood test.”
The last week of April, Nick had come down with the flu.
Usually quick to shake off any illness, he hadn’t been able to recover from this one. Their family doctor had been at a loss to explain the lingering fever and weakness and had ordered a complete blood count.
“When’s he gonna find out?” A whiny note appeared in Nick’s voice. “I’m tired of laying around here.”
“We should hear today. Tomorrow at the latest.” Seeing Nick’s lower lip inching toward a pout, she quickly suggested, “How about some ice cream? I picked up a quart of Baseball Nut.”
Nick pushed a pillow onto the floor. “No.”
Mallory sighed and prayed for patience. “Come on, Nick, it’s your favorite. And you hardly ate any lunch.”
He glared at her. “I’m not hungry.”
“Why don’t I set up the chess set and we’ll have a game before I go to work?
“It’s your day off.”
“Lauri’s kids are in a swim meet this afternoon. I promised I’d come in around four and relieve her.” Her partner, Lauri Gold, had put in plenty of extra time at Buds and Blossoms, their florist shop, since Nick had been ill. Mallory was glad to do a favor in return. She’d already made arrangements to drop Nick off at her parents’ for the couple of hours she’d be gone. She patted Nick’s shoulder. “How about that game?”
“You’re not very good,” Nick grumbled. “I beat you the last four times we played.”
Patience, she told herself. “Hey, nobody beats Mallory Brenner five times in a row.”
Deciding to interpret his grimace as a smile, Mallory got the chess set. They were setting up the pieces when the phone rang. “Be right back.” She went into the kitchen and picked up the receiver.
“Mrs. Brenner, this is Kelly from Dr. Sanders’s