Julie Garwood - Slow Burn

How convoluted was that reasoning? Time for a little realism. Yes, it was true that one of Jordan's aunts on her mother's side of the family had died because of a lump she had pretended wasn't there until it was too late. And yes, there was a cousin on the same side of the family who had also been given the same diagnosis. But so what? The cousin was in her late eighties, and so was Jordan's aunt, wasn't she? Which meant that statistically the odds were on Jordan's side, and she should and would have a happy, healthy life for the next sixty-five years, give or take a few.

Except that she'd found the lump last week, not sixty-five years from now.

That reminder took the wind out of Kate. She sat down and bowed her head. She was suddenly so tired she could barely think. Early detection was important, right? And Jordan, her sister, Sydney, and their mother had all taken charge of their health. They had the usual examinations-and then some-on a regular basis.

Don't borrow trouble. Kate's mother had often said those very words. Oh, God, she didn't want to think about her mother now. She had enough to deal with.

What was taking so long? Kate was looking at her watch for about the fiftieth time just as her cell phone rang.

Kiera was calling. "How is she?"

Jordan had given Kate permission to talk to Kiera about the surgery but no one else. "Still in surgery," she answered. "They were running late, so she didn't go in until almost ten. It's been over an hour now. Isn't that long enough for a biopsy?"

"No."

"But…"

"I'm a medical student, not a doctor, and I'm not going to speculate."

"You're a fourth-year medical student, which means you're almost finished."

"But still not a doctor."

"Come on, Kiera," Kate said in exasperation. "Make a calculated guess. I'm not going to sue you if you're wrong."

"No, I don't think an hour is too long. Remember, the surgeon's waiting for the pathologist's report. And since you didn't go into the OR with her, you can't know exactly when they started."

Kate relaxed. "Good point. They could just be starting now, for all I know. I'll call you as soon as I hear something. How are things at home?"

"Fine. Reece Crowell has called here several times."

"Oh?" Kate asked cautiously.

"He's been very polite. Almost too polite. When I tell him Isabel isn't here, he says 'thank you' and hangs up, but then a couple of hours later he calls again. I can hear this edge to him, like he's ready to explode. He's asked for you a couple of times. Once Isabel is well away at school, I suppose he'll get the message."

Kate wasn't so sure about that.

"Oh yes," Kiera continued. "A man named Wallace has called and left a couple of messages. He said he works for a bank. Have you ever heard of him?"

The ever-present knot in Kate's stomach began to swell. "No, I haven't heard of him," she lied. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"No," she answered. "But he asked that you call him right away. Do you have a pen? I'll give you his phone number."

Kate closed her eyes. "No. I'll call him Monday when I get home. Just leave the messages on the machine."

"He said it was urgent."

"Urgent can wait until Monday."

"Aren't you at all curious to know what he wants?"

Kate knew exactly what he wanted. Everything they owned. And then some.

"Listen, Kiera. Monday we need to sit down and have a long talk."

"It sounds serious."

"We just need to make some decisions about the future. I'm going to hang up now. I'll let you know how Jordan's doing later."

She flipped the cell phone shut and dropped it into her purse just as a white-haired volunteer called her name. Kate saw the surgeon turning toward her when she stood. Then she saw his face. The surgeon was smiling.

Jordan was going to be fine. The wonderful news from the surgeon made Kate weak with relief. She felt like hugging the man.

She had thought that she would be able to take her friend home a couple of hours after the anesthesia wore off, but the surgeon wanted to keep her overnight. He explained almost as an afterthought that Jordan had had a very mild reaction to the anesthetic, but there was nothing to worry about, the drug would be out of her system by tomorrow afternoon at the latest, and she could leave the hospital then.

Nothing to worry about. Kate remembered those words when she saw her friend. Poor Jordan was as red as a boiled lobster, had welts all over her face and arms, and was itching like crazy.

Kate did what any best friend would do. She pulled out her cell phone, which happened to have a built-in camera, and took her photo so she could torment her later-maybe even make a screen saver for her computer.

She stayed with Jordan until eight that evening. The rash was still going strong, but the doctor had ordered medication to relieve the itching and help her sleep. Kate waited until she'd fallen asleep again, then drove Jordan's car back to her apartment and took a long, hot shower.

She closed her eyes and let the water cascade over her shoulders. Maybe it would wash away some of the tension. However, each time she tried to clear her mind, visions of her sisters and her company and Reece and mountains of bills swirled through her head.

No, not tonight, she thought. She would not do this tonight. She wasn't going to let herself get all worked up about the future tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

Her stomach began to gnaw at her, and she realized she hadn't eaten anything all day. She toweled off and slipped into her pajamas, a soft gray T-shirt and a pair of gray-and-navy-striped boxer shorts, and headed for the kitchen. Jordan always kept a supply of crackers and jars of peanut butter on hand. There were several old TV dinners in the freezer. Kate was pretty sure they'd been there since Jordan had moved into the apartment. Kate opted for the crackers. She got a fresh box out of the cabinet, put it on the counter, and then opened the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. She was unscrewing the top when, without any warning at all, the tears started.

Within seconds she was sobbing. She leaned back against the refrigerator, bowed her head, and cried like a baby. The release felt good. She could have kept it up for at least another half hour if someone hadn't intruded. She heard a knock on the door, grabbed a paper towel to wipe the tears from her face, and stood frozen hoping whoever it was would go away.

No such luck. Another knock, more insistent this time. She did not want company. Barefoot, she crept to the door and looked through the peephole. Her heart dropped.

There stood Dylan Buchanan, the bane of her existence. God, he looked good. She shook herself. Stop that. He wore a pale blue shirt neatly tucked into his jeans. The shirt was just fitted enough to show off his broad chest and thick biceps. His dark hair was short, and as usual not a strand was out of place.

All of the Buchanan boys were ruggedly good-looking, but Dylan had a little extra something going for him. She thought maybe it was his slow, sexy smile. She only knew one thing for certain. When he turned on the charm, he could melt the most frigid of hearts. Jordan referred to her older brother as the sex machine. Kate thought he had earned the dubious nickname because of all the women he had dated-and no doubt taken to bed-while he was in college. She didn't think he had slowed down much since then, except maybe for a couple of weeks after he'd been shot. The bullet might have slowed him a little.

He looked tired, she thought.

He pushed the doorbell again and leaned against the wall behind him balancing a pizza box and a six-pack of beer on one hand.

Had he heard the floorboard squeak when she'd stepped on that loose one? She moved away from the door, waited a couple of seconds, and then peeked again. Her heart began to pound. It was an instantaneous reaction and one she couldn't seem to control. The conditioned response stemmed from the night he had walked in on her in the shower. He'd had a mighty fine time teasing her about it ever since. She simply wasn't up to sparring with him tonight. In her vulnerable state, he'd eat her alive.