an impulsive decision. Earlier in the evening she’d had absolutely no intention of going home with
Flynn. A part of her, she knew, was almost afraid to meet Jeremy. She didn’t want to add a face and a per
sonality to the name. It was safer to keep Jeremy an unknown quantity in the difficult equation she faced.
But when she’d seen Flynn make the abrupt shift from would-be lover to concerned parent, something
within Heather gave. Suddenly she had to know the little boy who had such an influence over Flynn
Rammage.
Flynn drove swiftly through the desert night, his concentration split between worrying about Jeremy and
wondering how the hell he’d found himself bringing Heather back to face a sick kid and a sleepless night.
This wasn’t the way he’d wanted it to be at all.
He found the drugstore without any trouble and left Heather in the Porsche while he went quickly inside
to collect the medicine. When he came out he glanced at Heather’s calm face through the windshield. The
harsh parking lot lights revealed almost nothing of her inner emotions and Flynn wondered grimly what she
was thinking.
It occurred to Flynn as he got back into the car that Heather might have decided to come back to the
house with him because she wanted to see his son under less than ideal circumstances. She flung the word
„reality“ into his face, but maybe she was secretly hoping a dose of it was exactly what she needed to help
her sever the last of the frayed bonds that bound her to him. The ideal of motherhood might hold an intrinsic
appeal for a woman with a nesting instinct as strong as Heather’s, but the reality of finding herself dealing
with another woman’s sick, fretful child might be an altogether different matter.
Flynn shoved the car into gear and told himself that it was too late now. The die was cast.
Reality awaited.
Heather found herself half eager and half wary as Flynn left the main road and turned into a residential
area situated in the hills above Tucson. She had never been to his home. During the brief affair eight
months ago Flynn had always come back to her apartment. He’d never invited her to his house. She’d
wondered later if that was because his own home held too many bitter memories.
There was little street lighting, but the moon was almost full, and it revealed a low, sprawling, modern,
southwestern-style structure that displayed unmistakable signs of affluence. Before Heather could get a
good look, Flynn had parked the Porsche in the circular drive and was already half out of the car. He
headed toward the double front doors without waiting to see if Heather was following.
The front doors opened to reveal a girl of about sixteen or seventeen dressed in jeans and a striped
pullover. She looked relieved to see her employer.
„He’s resting now, Mr. Rammage, but he’s been getting more and more fretful.“
„How’s the fever?“ Flynn asked.
„It’s not getting any worse, but he’s definitely too warm. Every time he wakes up he says his stomach
hurts.“
„Has he thrown up?“
„No, not yet.“ The girl cast a quick glance at Heather, who was walking toward the door with her bag.
She smiled. „Sorry to wreck your evening.“
„Don’t be silly,“ Heather said calmly. „You did the right thing by calling Flynn. My name is Heather
Devaney, by the way. Shall I stay with Jeremy while you drive Nancy home?“ she added, glancing at
Flynn.
„Usually I wake him up and take him with me while I drive her home,“ Flynn said uncertainly. Then he
seemed to come to a decision. „But that probably isn’t a good idea tonight. All right, Heather. You keep an
eye on him. I’ll be back in ten or fifteen minutes. Ready, Nancy?“
The teenager nodded. „I’ll get my books.“
Heather followed Nancy into the house. „Where’s Jeremy?“
„In the last bedroom down the hall. He’s sleeping now.“
Heather nodded. „Fine. Good night, Nancy.“
„Good night,
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