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Some of her hurt must have been reflected on her face, because Bryan’s expression shifted, as if he was sorry he’d made that comment. But before he could speak, Ethan Danes loped over to them, his camera equipment slung over his shoulder as he juggled two pieces of pizza and a can of soda. Tall and rangy, his sparkling eyes crackling with energy, it was no wonder he’d been the Hamilton Media heartthrob until he’d lost his heart to Heather six months after his arrival at Nashville Living.
“Have you thought about how you want to illustrate that piece on separation anxiety? Because if you haven’t, I’ve got some ideas.” He took a huge bite of pizza and shifted his cameras into a more comfortable position.
Amy welcomed the distraction. She didn’t want to venture into personal territory with Bryan. It would be safer to confine their conversations to business. “By all means, tell us,” she encouraged.
“It’s a column, right? First person?” At Bryan’s nod, he continued. “Okay, how about we take some pictures of you getting your son ready for his first day of school? Maybe giving him breakfast, packing his knapsack, dropping him off? Readers like that personal touch. It puts a face on the issue.”
Faint furrows appeared on Bryan’s brow. “I’m not sure I want Dylan in the spotlight.”
“He’ll probably get a kick out of it. Unless you think the whole experience of going to school is stressful enough already.”
“No. He’s been in day care for years. Kindergarten won’t be much of a problem for either of us. He’s a little nervous about dealing with new people and a new school, but I dealt with the separation anxiety issue a long time ago.”
The traumatic memory hadn’t faded, however. As if it was yesterday, he recalled how it had just about ripped his heart out to drop his infant son at day care the first few weeks, after all they’d been through together. Born eight weeks early, tipping the scale a whisper above three pounds, Dylan had spent weeks in the neonatal intensive-care unit, much of the time on a ventilator. And it hadn’t been smooth sailing. Twice there had been setbacks, and Bryan had raced to the hospital in the middle of the night. As he’d stood in helpless vigil beside Dylan’s crib during those crises, his heart pounding, his vision blurred with tears, Dylan would look up at him with those huge, solemn brown eyes. Then his son would reach out his tiny hand and grasp Bryan’s finger with a surprisingly strong grip, as if to say, I’m going to make it, Dad. Don’t worry. And he had. But that had been the loneliest, most emotionally wrenching time in Bryan’s life. Not only had he lost the wife he’d loved, but he’d awakened every day to the fear that he would also lose the son she’d died trying to save. So leaving him at day care had been the toughest thing Bryan had ever done.
“Look, I can come up with something else. No big deal.”
At the sound of Ethan’s voice, Bryan pulled himself back from the past. Amy’s pensive expression told him that his face had revealed too much. Most of the time, he had his emotions under control. But for some reason he’d slipped up today.
“No. It’s not a bad idea.” He tried for a casual tone. “And you’re right. Dylan would probably enjoy it. Besides, it might get his mind off the fact that he’s going to be starting a new school and meeting a lot of new people.”
“What do you think, Amy?”
Still struggling to get a handle on the pain that had gripped Bryan’s eyes a few seconds before, it took her a moment to switch gears and respond to Ethan’s question. “Um…yeah, I think it’s a good idea.”
“Do you want to art direct the shoot?”
She often did that. Ethan was great, but she had a good feel for composition, too, and for important pieces she often went along to provide a second opinion. While the introduction of a new columnist qualified the story as important, she knew Ethan could handle it. At the same time, she was curious to meet the little boy, after the expression she’d just seen on Bryan’s face. Still, if she wanted to remain aloof from Bryan, meeting his son wouldn’t be her smartest move. She needed to think this through. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know. Meanwhile, you two can work out the details. Good to have you on board, Bryan.”
Her welcome was perfunctory. As was Bryan’s response.
“Glad to be here.”
As she turned away and headed toward the door, Heather’s voice stopped her on the threshold.
“Amy! Don’t you want some pizza?”
Without breaking stride, Amy tossed a response over her shoulder. “I’m not that hungry. And I have another meeting to go to.”
Okay, so the meeting wasn’t for two hours, she acknowledged as she strode away. The part about not being hungry was true, though. Her appetite had vanished after her encounter with Bryan. Still, she’d expected the first conversation to be strained. Maybe even traumatic. But it would get easier.
Wouldn’t it?
“Adorable” was the only word she could think of to describe Dylan Healey. From her position near the school entrance, Amy watched Bryan and Dylan get out of their car, then wait for Ethan to find a parking spot and join them. As she walked toward them, she studied the little boy. His tousled auburn hair was the same hue as his dad’s, and he looked healthy and robust. Although his backpack, decorated with superhero cartoon figures, was all little boy, his horn-rimmed glasses gave him a studious and grown-up air. When she drew close he turned toward her, and she noted that he had Bryan’s green eyes, as well as an endearing sprinkling of freckles across his nose.
The little boy tugged on Bryan’s sleeve. “Hey, Dad, is that the lady you said was going to meet us here?”
Raising his head, Bryan looked in her direction. “Yeah.” As she closed the remaining distance between them, Bryan dropped a protective hand to his son’s shoulder. “Dylan, this is Ms. Hamilton. She’s in charge of the magazine where I work. Amy, this is my son, Dylan.”
It had been years since Amy had had much contact with children, and she felt a bit awkward as Dylan stared up at her, his expression solemn, as if he was trying to figure out whether he liked her or not. Adults did the same thing when they met new people, of course, but children were much more blatant in their assessment. For some reason, Amy wanted to pass muster with this little boy. Relying on her instincts, she dropped down to his level and smiled.
“Hello, Dylan.”
“Hi.”
“Are you excited about school?”
“I guess. Dad says I’ll like it. Grandpa does, too.”
“You’ll meet lots of new friends.”
“My dad is my best friend.”
Touched, Amy smiled. “I bet he feels the same way.”
“Do you have a little boy?”
A pang of regret tugged at her heart. “No.”
“Don’t you like kids?”
“Of course. Someday I might have a little boy or a little girl.”
He considered that. “Then you’d be a mommy, right?”
She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. If she’d accepted the gift of love Bryan had offered her years ago, she already would be. This little one could have been hers. “Yes.”
“I used to have a mommy. She lives in heaven now.”
His matter-of-fact response didn’t lessen the emotional impact of his words. Amy’s face softened, and she was tempted to reach out and brush one of the unruly locks of hair off his forehead. Instead, she forced her lips into a smile. “I’m sure she still loves you very much.” And then, feeling out of her depth in this kind of discussion, she changed the subject. “I like your backpack.”
“Dad got it for me.” He directed an adoring look up Bryan. “He said we’d be doing important stuff in kindergarten, and that he wanted me to bring it home in this to show him.”
When she ventured a glance upward, the tender, loving look on Bryan’s face as he watched his son made Amy’s breath catch in her throat, and she blinked away the sting of unexpected tears. His expression reminded her of the way he had once looked at her, with profound love and absolute devotion. If Dylan idolized his father, it was clear that the feeling was mutual. The love between father and son was so strong, so potent, that Amy felt awed in its presence.
Bryan shifted his attention to her, and for a second he seemed thrown by whatever he saw on her face. But when Ethan came up beside them, the mood shifted.
“Sorry. I got hung up behind a stalled car. Hi, Amy.”
She took her time rising, buying herself a few seconds to regain her composure. “How did things go at the house?” She’d begged off joining Ethan at Bryan’s father’s house, unwilling to get that up close and personal.
“Great. It shouldn’t take us long to wrap up here.”
They got down to business, and in short order Ethan had taken a series of photos of Bryan and Dylan arriving, walking into the school, saying goodbye. Amy offered a few suggestions, but Ethan, as usual, needed little direction. It was Amy, however, who noticed the opportunity for the most poignant photo of all.
“Ethan, take one more. Use the telephoto, and get the school in the background,” she said in a low voice, motioning toward Bryan as the photographer began to store his equipment in his SUV. During the entire photo shoot, Bryan had been upbeat with Dylan, kidding him, laughing with him, encouraging him. Now the mood had changed. He’d opened the driver-side door of his car, propped one elbow on the roof and rested his chin on his wrist. His other hand was in his pocket, and he was staring toward the school with a pensive, melancholy expression that tugged at Amy’s heart.
Without commenting, Ethan switched lenses and clicked off a series of shots, unobtrusively changing angles and positions each time. When he finished, he rejoined her. “That may be the best stuff we did. The expression on his face is priceless.”
Directing her attention back toward Bryan, Amy could only agree. It was clear that this parting from Dylan was hard on him, no matter what he’d said after the staff meeting. It was just as clear that he was doing a stellar job as a single dad. Although Amy didn’t know the details of his wife’s death, Dylan seemed to be coping fine without a mom, thanks to Bryan. But that didn’t surprise her. Bryan had always been the type to rise to the occasion, quietly stepping in to do what needed to be done.
A memory from high school surfaced, one she hadn’t thought of in years. There’d been a fire in the computer lab, and Amy—as yearbook editor—had been most affected. Her final files had sustained serious damage. They’d represented weeks of work, and she’d been panicked, distraught and frenzied. Until Bryan had stepped forward to help.
Prior to that, Amy hadn’t said more than a dozen words to the quiet, soft-spoken senior who had been destined to steal her heart—and who, he later confessed, had been carrying a torch for her since their sophomore year. Their paths had crossed a few times during the first half of their senior year, since he was the editor of the school newspaper, but only when he came to her rescue did she really notice him. He’d spent every evening for the next week—surviving on high-caffeine soda—helping her to salvage what she could, even as he tried to keep up with the demands of his classes and his duties as newspaper editor. As she’d discovered, he was the kind of guy you could count on. Dylan was lucky to have him for a father. And the woman he’d married had been lucky to have him as a husband, Amy acknowledged.
“How about we stop at the Bakeshoppe? I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning, and I don’t think Bryan did, either. He fixed oatmeal and scrambled eggs for Dylan, but he didn’t eat anything himself.”
Ethan’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and Amy turned back to him. It would be safer if she sent the two men for a meal and headed back to her office. And far more conducive to her peace of mind. She was just about to suggest that when Bryan looked her way. His bleak expression and the grooves at the corners of his mouth told her just how hard the parting had been for him. Sensing his aloneness, she wanted to do her part to help him over this hurdle.
“Sounds good to me. I’ll meet you guys there.”
As Amy walked back to her car, she wondered if she was making a mistake. Bryan had only been at the magazine for a few days, and their contact had been limited, but already her long-buried feelings were bubbling up, like boiling water from a covered pot. Still, given the look on his face just now, spending a little time with him seemed like the compassionate thing to do.
But she wasn’t sure it was the smart thing.
Chapter Three
Ethan and Bryan were already ensconced in a booth at Betty’s Bakeshoppe by the time Amy arrived. Although the popular eatery was crowded as usual, the two men had managed to snag one of the small niches. But she noted with dismay that Ethan had brought his precious camera equipment in with him instead of dropping it in his office at Hamilton Media across the street. It now occupied the seat next to him. Meaning she’d have to sit beside Bryan.
For a second her step faltered. They hadn’t seen her yet. She could still make a quick escape, use some excuse about a crisis at the office. But just then Ethan caught sight of her and waved. Too late. With a sinking feeling, she urged her feet forward. Bryan eased over in the booth as she approached, giving her as much space as possible. Almost as if he didn’t want to be any closer to her than necessary, Amy thought with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sliding onto the bench, she stayed as close to the edge as she could.
“Did you order yet?” she asked, striving for a casual tone.
“No. We waited for you.” Ethan handed her a menu, then motioned over her shoulder. A few seconds later, Betty appeared.
“My now, isn’t this like old times.” The owner whipped out her order pad and turned her attention to Amy and Bryan, her eyes twinkling. “Seems to me your favorite order used to be hot-fudge sundaes, but I expect you’d rather have something else for breakfast.”
A hot flush crept up Amy’s neck, and she stole a look at Ethan, who was watching the exchange with amused interest. From his expression, it was clear that Heather had filled him in on the history between Amy and Bryan.
“I think I’ll just have some toast and tea, Betty.” Amy handed her unopened menu back to the owner.
Betty tucked it under her arm and gave Amy a concerned look. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I’m fine.”
“You always order an omelet for breakfast.”
Gritting her teeth, Amy prayed that the flush on her neck wouldn’t work its way up to her cheeks. “I’m not that hungry today.”
“Humph.” Betty made a notation on the order pad. “How about you, Bryan?”
“Coffee. Black. And scrambled eggs.”
“What about some bacon or sausage? Maybe a pancake or two? And you know our cinnamon rolls are to die for.”
“Not today, thanks.”
“Humph.” Again, she scribbled on her notepad. “Ethan?”
“A three-egg omelet with ham and mushrooms, a side order of country potatoes and a biscuit. Oh, and coffee with lots of cream.”
“Now that’s what I call a breakfast.” Betty nodded her approval as she jotted down the order, then stuck her pencil in among the strands of brown and gray hair that were woven into a bun on the back of her head. “Coffee and tea will be right out. Amy, you better slide yourself in a little or you’re going to end up on the floor.”
As Betty hustled away, Amy lost her battle to keep the warm color from invading her face. It surged onto her cheeks, intensifying as she risked a peek at Bryan and found him watching her with an unreadable expression as she eased in an inch or two. Ethan, on the other hand, seemed amused by the whole thing, and she glared at him across the table.
Clearing his throat, the photographer had the good grace—and the good sense—to change the subject. “So…Dylan is a cute kid, Bryan. But being a father must be a challenge. I admit I’ve been giving it a lot of thought since Heather and I got engaged. To be honest, raising a family wasn’t one of my top priorities until I met her. But it’s amazing how love can change your perspective. Still, the responsibility of that whole parenting thing kind of blows my mind.”
Betty deposited their mugs and joined right in on the conversation. She’d been in Davis Landing so long that she knew everyone—and felt like part of their families. “You’ll be a natural, Ethan. Don’t you worry about it. Just love your kids. That’s the main thing. And you bring that son of yours in here soon.” Betty directed her last comment to Bryan. “Get him one of those hot-fudge sundaes you and Amy used to like. My treat for his first visit.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks.” Bryan watched her leave, then turned back to Ethan. “Betty’s right. Love is the best thing you can give your kids. Just let them know that they come first in your life, and that you’re on their side. My dad and mom did that with my brother and me, and I’m trying to follow their example with Dylan. It’s a little harder when there’s just one of you, though.” A shadow passed over his face, and he reached for his mug and took a sip of coffee.
“Heather told me you’d lost your wife,” Ethan sympathized. “I’m sorry. Was it very long ago?”
“Five and a half years.”
Twin furrows appeared on Amy’s brow, and she turned to him for the first time since Betty had deposited their drinks. “How old is Dylan?”
“Five and a half.” As Ethan and Amy stared at him, Bryan answered the unspoken question suspended in the silence. “Darlene had a condition known as preeclampsia. It’s not an uncommon complication of pregnancy, and most of the time it’s mild. Hers wasn’t. In its most severe form, it can endanger the mother and put the child at risk. There’s no cure except delivering the baby, and timing is everything. Ours was off. Darlene suffered a cerebral hemorrhage, and Dylan was taken eight weeks early by C-section. He made it. She didn’t.”
Horrified, Amy stared at Bryan. His spare, curt speech had been delivered in a clinical, dispassionate voice as he stared into the murky depths of his coffee. But his white-knuckled grip on the handle, the deep creases of strain around his mouth and the tense line of his jaw spoke of a pain and trauma undimmed by the passage of years. She wanted to say something, anything, to comfort him, but her throat was too tight to let any words through, even if she could find some that were appropriate.
Ethan seemed just as much at a loss as she was. As they exchanged a What-do-we-say-now? look, Betty came to their rescue and deposited their plates on the table.
“Here you go. Ethan, I put a packet of honey on your plate. I know you like that with your biscuits. Bryan, I had Justine add a little parsley to those scrambled eggs. Dresses them up quite a bit. Amy, here’s a little cinnamon-sugar mixture for that toast. I remember you used to like that as a little girl. I like it myself. Turns plain toast into comfort food. Can I get you folks anything else?”
Ethan found his voice. “No, thanks. This looks good, Betty.”
“Just give me or one of the girls a wave if you need something. Eat up.”
As Amy stared down at her plate of toast, she doubted whether she’d be able to choke down more than a few bites after listening to Bryan’s sad story. Maybe the cinnamon sugar would help. But as for turning the toast into comfort food…not today. It would take more than that homey recipe to ease the ache in her heart that Bryan’s story had produced.
He stirred beside her, and she heard the clink of cutlery against crockery as he forked a bite of egg. Ethan, bless him, had shifted the conversation to an innocuous discussion of fishing conditions on the Cumberland River, and Bryan was responding. Amy let them chat, keeping her attention focused on her plate. She didn’t want to look at Bryan. Not yet. Not until she worked through the emotions his story had stirred up. Not until she felt enough in control that she could risk letting him look into her eyes without worrying that he’d see right into her heart and know that she still cared for him. That his pain had touched her far more than it could have if she’d truly moved on with her life, as she’d told him she had in the staff meeting.
At least everyone ate fast. Ethan cleaned his plate, and Bryan put a good dent in his scrambled eggs. Amy tore her toast into little pieces and clumped them in a pile, hoping no one would notice that most of it remained uneaten. However, as she slid from the booth, followed by Bryan, he gave her plate a quick scrutiny. When he stood beside her, his face just inches from hers, his green eyes were questioning, probing.
Feeling somehow exposed, Amy checked her watch. “Well, I’m off. I’ll see you two back at the office. Just put this on my tab,” she instructed Betty, who was passing by.
“Sure thing, hon,” the owner called over her shoulder.
Then, without a backward glance at the two men, Amy headed for the exit. And tried not to run.
Leaning back in her office chair, Amy rested her elbows on the arms and steepled her fingers as she stared at her computer screen. Since breakfast two hours before, in between phone calls from the printer and an impromptu—and disruptive—visit from Typhoon Tim, she’d managed to find out an awful lot about preeclampsia by surfing the Net. And none of it was pretty. The disease could cause headaches, visual disturbances, high blood pressure, confusion, impaired liver function, seizures, kidney failure, coma—and death. And that was just in the mother. The baby could suffer slower-than-normal growth, oxygen deficiency, low birth weight, premature birth—and death. According to everything Amy had read, dilemmas arose when early delivery would solve the mother’s problems but put the baby at risk of the effects of extreme prematurity.
Bryan’s passing reference about his and Darlene’s timing being off led Amy to believe they’d faced that very dilemma. As it was, Dylan had been born two months early—borderline for many problems, according to the Internet. But he didn’t seem to suffer from any lasting effects. Except maybe the glasses. It seemed that premature children were at higher risk for eye complications. She leaned forward to read a bit more on that subject. She’d had no idea that preemies could…
“Can I interrupt for a minute?”
At the sound of Bryan’s voice, Amy spun toward the door, a guilty flush suffusing her face.
