Kat Cantrell - An Heir For The Billionaire

He’d never gotten to meet their son. It was the cruelest travesty in a litany of truly terrible circumstances. But Nora still had that tiny piece of her husband alive and present in their little boy, and no gun-toting terrorist could ever take that away.

A woman with thick-framed glasses and hair swept up in a no-nonsense bun appeared at Sutton’s bedside, the tablet in her hand and white lab coat indicating she had medical business at hand. She checked a few things on her tablet and then glanced at the knot of Winchester women.

“I’m Dr. Wilde. We haven’t met.” The doctor rounded the bed to shake Nora’s hand. “You must be the nonlocal sister.”

“Nora O’Malley,” she affirmed. She’d shed the Winchester name as fast as she could after she and Sean tied the knot, and it would take an act of Congress to get her to ever change it to anything else. “So it’s true? My father is dying and there’s nothing you can do?”

Dr. Wilde bowed her head for a moment, her discreet diamond earrings sparkling in the light. “As much as I hate to admit defeat, yes. It’s true. I couldn’t operate, due to the tumor’s location, and then the cancer spread too fast to employ chemotherapy. He probably has another five months, tops. I’m sorry.”

Five months. It was way too fast. How could she find the will to forgive her father for not loving her in such a short period of time?

“Don’t be,” Nora insisted, even as the doctor’s prognosis hit her sideways. “It’s his own fault. We all told him to stop smoking but he thought that deal he’d made with the devil would keep him alive forever, I guess.”

She’d known that’s what the doctor would say. But it was so different to hear it from her mouth personally. That was partly the reason she’d forced herself to get on a plane to Chicago, though traveling with a two-year-old had been exhausting.

And now it was shockingly final. Sutton would be dead by New Year’s Day.

Sutton’s personal assistant, Valerie Smith, poked her head in the door, not one ash-blond hair out of place. “Is your father awake yet?” she asked. “I was going to bring Declan in if you wanted.”

Third order of business: to finally let her father meet his grandson.

It had been a difficult decision. The poison that Sutton managed to infuse into everybody around him couldn’t be allowed to affect her son. But his grandfather was dying. Nora had hoped that on his deathbed, her father might have an epiphany about his character, his choices, his closed heart—something that would allow all of them to make peace with Sutton’s passing and go on.

“No, he’s still asleep.” Nora couldn’t help but feel grateful for the reprieve. She’d steeled herself for this moment of reckoning but nothing magical had happened to the disappointment and hurt inside upon seeing her father in person. “But I’ll take Declan so you can have a break.”

Valerie had offered to take the cranky and bored two-year-old to the cafeteria in search of Jell-O or saltine crackers, the only two things he wanted. He refused to eat the fruit snacks and banana chips Nora had shoved in her carry-on bag—the only two things he’d wanted when she’d been packing back home. Reason was not in the wheelhouse of a toddler, so holding out the packages and telling him that was the snack he’d picked hadn’t worked.

The little boy popped into the room and Nora’s heart lurched, as it always did when she caught sight of his curly mop of red hair. He looked like Sean, of course, and it was both a blessing and a curse to have the visual reminder of what she’d lost. “Hey, Butterbean. Did you find some Jell-O?”

Nora extracted herself from her sisters with a hand to Gracie’s arm and a smile for Eve, guilt crowding into her chest that she’d opted to take the out of caring for her son instead of sitting here with her family. They’d all been by Sutton’s side from the beginning, supporting each other, showing solidarity to outsiders, but Nora just...couldn’t.

Declan nodded. “Jell-O.”

It came out sounding more like je-whoa, but Nora had never had any trouble interpreting Declan-speak. The shiny machines of the hospital room caught his attention and he weaved toward the nearest one, finger outstretched. Nora scooped him up and kissed his head. “Not so fast, Mr. Curious. Have I told you the story about the cat?”

“Cat.” Declan made a sound like one, except it was more of a yowl than a traditional meow. He was so funny and precious and her heart ached that his father wasn’t here to see how he’d grown, how fast he learned things, how he slept with one foot stuck out from the covers—just like Sean had.

As quickly as she could, Nora bustled her son out of the hospital room before anyone saw the tear that had slipped down her face. Sean had died nearly two years ago. She should be ready to move past it. Ready to date again, find someone to ease her loneliness. But she couldn’t imagine being with someone other than Sean, who had been the love of her life, the man who had thoroughly captured her heart the moment she’d met him at a football game during her junior year of college.

Seeking a quiet place to regroup, Nora spied an alcove with two chairs away from the main hospital corridor. She and Declan settled into the chairs, or she did. He sat in the opposing one for a grand total of four seconds before he squirmed to the ground and scooted around like his pants were on fire. Nora laughed.

“Problem with your diaper there, Butterbean?”

That had been Sean’s nickname for the boy the moment he’d seen the ultrasound pictures she’d held up to the camera during one of their Skype calls. She’d kept the name, even after he was born, because Declan still resembled a bean when swaddled in the brown blanket Sean’s mother had bought for her grandson.

Of course, Nora didn’t do much swaddling these days, not with an active two-year-old.

Declan didn’t answer, too preoccupied with his task of cleaning the hospital floor with his butt. Thirty more seconds and she’d use hand sanitizer on every inch of exposed skin, before he got around to sticking a random body part in his mouth. Midwest Regional was a highly acclaimed hospital, but sick people came through these halls all the time. A mother couldn’t be too careful.

“Ms. Winchester?” A young hospital worker in plain clothes stopped near Declan. Her name badge read Amanda.

“O’Malley,” Nora corrected. “But yes, formerly Winchester.”

And she didn’t choke on it. There might be hope for her yet to work through all her anger and disillusionment with her father.

The worker smiled. “There’s a private room set up for the family if you’d like me to show it to you.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

How could she have missed that Sutton’s wealth and influence had extended even to the hospital? It had been a long time since Nora had lived the life of a socialite, and even longer since she’d wanted to. But the lure of a private place, away from the crowded hospital, called to her.

Amanda punched in the code on the keypad outside the room and then promised to write it down for her. Nora pushed open the door and nearly gasped, but not over the sumptuously appointed room. Her mother’s house had far more antique rugs and dark, heavy furniture than this place. No, her attention was firmly on the long table lining the wall that held enough food for four Winchester families. The empty bags under the table sported the logo for Iguazu, a new, trendy Argentinian fusion restaurant so hot that Nora had even heard of it back home in Colorado. A couple of uniformed delivery people were still setting up the warming mechanisms for the silver serving trays, so the food had obviously just arrived.