Lorna Michaels - A Candle For Nick

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

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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 lmichaels@zyzy.com.

For my husband.

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

“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 office. He’d like you to stop by to discuss Nicholas’s blood test.”

Stop by? To discuss the results of a routine blood test? Alarm bells went off in Mallory’s mind, and she grasped the edge of the kitchen counter. “I have to be at work soon. Can’t we do this on the phone?”

“I, um, don’t know. He asked me to have you come into the office. He said if you get here in half an hour, he’ll work you in.”

“All right.” Her hand trembled as she put the phone down. Something must be seriously wrong for Dr. Sanders to insist that she come in.

Or maybe not, she reassured herself. Maybe Nick had a vitamin deficiency or needed iron. Something like that. This could be just another instance of Dr. Sanders’s personal interest in his patients. He always took extra time with kids. When Nick had suffered nightmares after Dean’s death three years ago, Dr. Sanders had seen the boy several times just to listen to his fears and his sadness over the loss of his father. And last week the doctor had spent a good ten minutes with Nick, discussing the Yankees’ chances of winning the pennant this year.