Millionaires' Destinies

by Sherryl Woods

  Something about her revelation that she’d hardly dated as a teenager had stirred some kind of purely male reaction in him. If he hadn’t known himself better, he might have thought it was some sort of weird attraction to the virginal nature of the admission, which was ridiculous. Not only had Beth not said anything at all about still being innocent, he definitely preferred women who knew the score.

  But that hadn’t stopped him from hightailing it after her like some sort of overheated jerk intent on making a conquest. He was damn lucky she hadn’t guessed all of the undercurrents behind that kiss and leveled him with some sort of sedative, the way a vet took care of an unruly animal.

  Okay, he thought as he unintentionally snapped a pencil in two, that explained the kiss. The assessment wasn’t pretty, nor did it speak well of him, but it was honest. It did not, however, give him a clue about what had happened during and after the kiss.

  The woman had made his supposedly rehabilitated knees weak. When in hell was the last time that had happened? Maybe never. He never lost control of a situation the way he had last night. From the minute his lips had touched Beth’s, he’d been transported to some other dimension, a place where he wanted to take risks and give pleasure, not in some casual, meaningless way, but something real and lasting.

  Which was absurd. Totally and utterly absurd, he decided as another pencil broke in two in his grip. He stared at the little pile of wood and lead and concluded he needed to get out of his office and away from all this unfamiliar introspection before it led him down a dangerous path or at least before he destroyed most of his office supplies. Wasn’t he the one who was always going on and on around here about wasting everything from bandages to paper clips?

  Outside and in his car, a recently developed habit made him turn in the direction of the hospital, but he overrode the instinct and headed instead to Virginia. He hadn’t been out to Ben’s farm in a while. Being around his artistic brother was usually soothing. Ben was an accepting guy. He took people as they came. He didn’t ask a lot of probing questions, especially since his own life was such a mess. Nor was he the least bit inclined to meddle. Yep, visiting Ben was definitely a good choice. Mack would be able to chill out for a couple of hours and forget all about that disconcerting encounter with Beth.

  As Mack approached the farm, the rolling Virginia countryside slowly began to work its magic. Mack found himself unwinding and understanding for the first time what had drawn Ben out here after the tragedy that had shaken him to his core. It was hard to feel anything here except for an appreciation of nature’s beauty in the distant purple haze of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the soft green of the grass, the canopy of towering oaks and the majestic stature of the horses grazing behind pristine white fences.

  Because Ben was always hungry, rarely paused to eat and never stocked his refrigerator with any decent junk food, Mack stopped at a coffee shop in town and picked up sandwiches, sodas and chips to take along as a peace offering for interrupting his brother’s work. He grabbed a few freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies while he was at it. Those would go a long way in diverting Ben’s attention away from the reason for Mack’s unexpected visit.

  By the time he finally reached the gate to his brother’s place, Mack had pushed aside all thoughts of his own tumultuous emotions, if not the image of Beth herself.

  Mack parked in the shade of an oak tree and headed directly to Ben’s studio in the converted old red barn. No one responded to his knock, but that was fairly common. Ben wouldn’t hear a herd of Black Angus cattle approaching if he was absorbed in one of his paintings.

  As he stepped into the barn, Mack noted it was a good ten degrees cooler inside, despite the sun shining through a skylight overhead. As Mack had expected, Ben was staring at a half-finished canvas, his brush poised in midair, a faraway look in his eyes. Something told Mack that look had less to do with the work on his easel than with a sad memory of the tragedy that had sent him scurrying to the country in the first place.

  “Hey, bro,” Mack said, startling Ben, who took a long moment to shake off his mood before he finally met Mack’s gaze.

  “Has the sky started to fall?” Ben inquired. “Surely that must be the case for you to drive all the way out here on a weekday.”

  “Nope. As far as I know, the sky’s still in place. I’m here on an impulse.” He performed a visual search of the studio, then gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “I was hoping you’d have a naked model in your studio.”

  His brother grinned, the last shadows finally disappearing from his eyes. “I paint landscapes,” Ben reminded him. “Which you would know if you weren’t such a culturally deprived human being.”

  “Hey, I appreciate art,” Mack objected. “Especially yours. I have a sketch you did of me on my refrigerator door.”

  “How flattering! I believe I was six when I did that.”

  “Yes, but you showed promise even then,” Mack said with total sincerity, then had to ruin it by adding, “And I’m sure when you’re really, really famous that little scrap of paper will be worth a fortune.”

  “Not if you get mustard and ketchup all over it,” Ben retorted, then caught sight of the bag in Mack’s hand. “You brought food. I take back every mean thing I said to you, if that’s lunch for me. I had an idea when I woke up this morning and skipped breakfast to come straight out here.”

  Mack glanced at the canvas. As Ben had said, he was no expert, but this didn’t look like his brother’s usual style. “How’s the idea working out?” he inquired carefully.

  “Not quite the way I envisioned it,” Ben admitted. “Now hand over the food. If one of those sandwiches is roast beef, it’s mine.”

  “Which is why I got two roast beef,” Mack said. “I’m tired of you stealing mine.”

  Ben chuckled. “Took you long enough to catch on. Did you get orange soda?”

  Mack regarded him innocently. “I thought you liked grape.”

  “Very funny. Hand it over.”

  “Damn, but you’re greedy. What happened to the whole starving artist thing?”

  “I was never a starving artist. I can thank our parents for that. I’m famished. There’s a difference.” Ben took a bite out of the thick roast beef, lettuce and tomato sandwich and sighed with obvious pleasure. “Nothing on earth better than a fresh tomato in midsummer.”

  “Unless it’s corn on the cob,” Mack countered, falling into the familiar debate. “Dripping with butter.”

  “Or summer squash cooked with onion and browned.”

  Mack regarded his brother wistfully. “Do you suppose we could plant an idea in Destiny’s head and get her to cook all our favorites this Sunday?”

  “You mean, could I plant the idea in her head?” Ben guessed.

  “You are the one she loves best,” Mack pointed out, drawing a sour look. Ben refused to admit that their aunt was partial to him, and Destiny would deny it with her dying breath. “Besides, she thinks you don’t eat enough. She’d have pity on you. It would just take one little word.”

  Ben regarded him curiously. “Since when has the cat got your tongue? Nothing’s ever stopped you from pleading with our aunt to fix you something special.”

  “Truthfully, I’m trying to avoid Destiny these days,” Mack said casually.

  “Won’t that make eating all these goodies you want a bit tricky?”

  “I was kinda hoping you’d pack up some leftovers and bring ’em to me,” Mack admitted.

  Ben chuckled. “Don’t tell me. She’s found a woman for you. What’s wrong with Destiny’s selection? Does she have buckteeth and wear glasses? Or is she simply not up to a ten on the Mack-o-meter for beauty?”

  “I am not that shallow,” Mack protested. “And there’s nothing wrong with the woman. Nothing at all.”

  Ben studied him quietly. “I see,” he said slowly, fighting a grin. “In other words, Destiny got it just right and you’re running scared.”

  “Go suck an egg,” Mack suggested mildly.
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  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “But panic is what brought you flying out here bearing gifts,” Ben surmised.

  “Can’t a guy go visit his brother without getting cross-examined about ulterior motives?”

  “Sure, but since you haven’t been here in weeks, you’ll have to excuse me for being a little suspicious.”

  Mack frowned at him. “We could talk about your social life.”

  Ben’s expression immediately shut down. “No, we couldn’t,” he said tightly.

  Mack instantly felt guilty for turning the tables on Ben. “I’m sorry. I was only teasing, but I should know better. The wound’s still too raw, isn’t it?”

  “Drop it,” Ben said, his tone angry, his eyes dull.

  Mack regarded his brother helplessly. “Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it would help if we all made you talk about it.”

  “Graciela’s dead, dammit! What’s to talk about?” Ben all but shouted in a fierce tone rarely used by Mack’s soft-spoken brother. “Why the hell doesn’t anyone get that?”

  Mack barely resisted the urge to go to his brother, but Ben wouldn’t appreciate any gesture of sympathy. Ben still blamed himself for Graciela’s death and was convinced he wasn’t deserving of sympathy. He only resented anyone’s attempt to assuage his grief or his guilt.

  “I’m sorry,” Mack said again quietly. “I didn’t mean to stir up the pain. That was the very last thing I wanted when I came out here.”

  Ben gave him a haunted look. “You didn’t stir up anything,” he told him. “It never goes away.”

  Telling Ben that Graciela wasn’t worthy of the kind of guilt or misery Ben heaped on himself wouldn’t help. Mack knew that much by now. He wasn’t sure what it would take to finally shake Ben out of the dark, brooding mood which kept him isolated out here at his farm, but he prayed it would happen soon. Ben’s ongoing despondency worried the whole family. Once in a while they caught glimmers of the old, easygoing Ben, but those reminders were all too rare.

  Mack studied his brother. “Anything I can do?”

  “Nah,” Ben said, obviously fighting to shake off his mood before Mack could make too much more of it. “Just keep coming around despite my general crankiness.”

  “That’s a promise,” Mack assured him.

  Ben glanced across the table and his expression brightened. “You gonna finish that sandwich?”

  Mack chuckled. “I thought the big, hulking football player in the family was supposed to be the one with the insatiable appetite,” he grumbled even as he shoved the other half of his sandwich toward his brother. “Take the chips, too. I have to hit the road.”

  “Big date tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Damn. You know I live vicariously through what I read about you in the papers.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m living life in the slow lane right now.”

  “There has to be a story there,” Ben guessed.

  “None I intend to share.”

  “But it does have to do with that woman Destiny picked out for you, right?” Ben prodded.

  “I came out here because you never pry,” Mack grumbled.

  “But this news is too good to pass up,” Ben told him.

  Mack frowned at him. “Get back to your canvas. Right now it looks a lot like a squashed pumpkin. Is that what you were going for?”

  Ben groaned. “Heathen!”

  “Hey, I have a good eye.”

  “For women, maybe.”

  Mack deliberately squinted intently at the half-finished painting. “The very large rear of a woman in an orange two-piece bathing suit?”

  Ben laughed. “You were closer with the pumpkin.”

  “Well, what the hell is it?”

  “Since you’re having so much fun guessing, I think I’ll let you wait till it’s finished. Then you can try again.”

  “I’m usually better at this,” Mack said. “Then again, you usually paint recognizable fields and trees and streams.”

  “This was an experiment,” Ben reminded him.

  Mack regarded him seriously. “A word of advice?”

  Ben nodded, his expression wary.

  “Stick to what you know,” Mack said, then dodged when Ben tossed his empty soda bottle straight at his head. For an artsy kind of a guy, his brother had dead-accurate aim.

  Better yet, for most of an entire hour, Ben had kept Mack’s mind off one very disconcerting lady doctor.

  “I’m not happy with Tony Vitale’s blood count,” the hematologist sitting across from Beth said. “He’s not responding the way I’d hoped. I think we ought to consider a transfusion before he gets any weaker.”

  Beth bit back a sigh. She didn’t have a good argument against that, but she was afraid that scheduling a transfusion would be demoralizing for Tony and for his mom. They would both know that all the other steps being taken weren’t working. Transfusions were commonplace enough with kids in Tony’s situation, but none of them were crazy about the process, even if they felt temporarily better in the end.

  “Do you disagree?” Peyton Lang asked.

  “Not really, but I know how discouraged Tony and his mother will be. I was really hoping that this last medicine and the food Mack’s been bringing by for him would do the trick and get his blood count back up again, at least for the short term.”

  “Believe me, so was I,” Peyton said. “We’re running out of options.”

  “We can’t give up on him,” Beth said, unable to keep the frantic note out of her voice.

  Peyton gave her a sharp look. “We may not win this one. You know that, Beth. It’s time you started accepting the possibility. Maybe you need to pull back a little, let someone else step in as Tony’s attending physician.”

  “Absolutely not. Besides, losing Tony is just a possibility,” Beth said fiercely. “And I refuse to accept it until there are no other options. He’s such a brave kid. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  Peyton gave her a sad look. “None of them do.”

  “No, they don’t, do they?” she said wearily. “Okay, then. Schedule the transfusion for first thing in the morning. I’ll talk to Tony’s mom tonight.”

  The hematologist looked as if he wanted to say more, but he finally shrugged and left without another word. Some things just couldn’t be said aloud, even though they both might be thinking them. And no doctor ever wanted to acknowledge that a fight might be nearing an end.

  A once-familiar sense of outrage and anger stirred in Beth’s chest. She needed to get back in the lab and look over the latest test results from her current research one more time. The first batch hadn’t held much promise, but this recent round was looking more hopeful. She needed more time, dammit. More time to get it right, so she could help Tony and some of the other kids who were at the end of the line with current treatments.

  She was at the door, about to open it, when Mack appeared. He took one look at her and steered her right back inside her office.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded at once. “Sit down. You look like hell.”

  “Just what every woman wants to hear,” she muttered, even as she gratefully sank back onto her chair. The longer she could postpone seeing Maria and Tony, the better.

  “I’m not here to flatter you.”

  “Obviously not. Why are you here?”

  “I just saw Tony. He’s not looking so good.”

  Beth nodded. If it was apparent even to a layman, then her decision a few minutes ago was the right one. “He needs a transfusion to buy him a little time,” she admitted bleakly.

  Mack looked stunned by the blunt assessment. “A little time?” he echoed warily. “What are we talking here, Beth? Days? Weeks?”

  “No more than that.”

  “What about the bone marrow transplant?”

  “He’s not a candidate right now. It would be too risky.”

  “You just said he’s only got a few days or weeks. Isn’t it about time to s
tart taking a few risks?”

  “There’s protocol,” she began, only to have him cut her off with a curse. She looked into his eyes and saw the same torment she’d been feeling before his arrival. “I’m sorry, Mack.”

  “I won’t accept this.”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “I have a choice,” he all but shouted. “We’ll find another doctor, another treatment. That boy is not dying unless we’ve exhausted everything available.”

  Beth tried not to feel hurt that Mack didn’t think she knew what was best, that he didn’t think she was up to the task of saving Tony. She understood the kind of powerless rage he was feeling all too well. If she’d thought for a second that another doctor or another course of treatment might improve Tony’s odds, she would have called for the consultation herself.

  “Mack, right here at this hospital, we are his best hope,” she said quietly.

  “But you’re giving up,” he protested.

  “No,” she said vehemently. “Never. I’m just trying to be realistic.”

  “Damn being realistic,” he said heatedly, then sighed and gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t take this out on you. I know how hard you’re working on his behalf. I know how much he matters to you.”

  “It’s okay. Believe me, I understand your frustration.”

  “And I see now why you looked so beat when I got here.” He met her gaze. “What’s the plan?”

  “A transfusion in the morning and then we wait to see if it helps,” Beth explained. “A little prayer wouldn’t be misplaced, either.”

  Mack nodded. “Okay, then.” He held out his hand. “Want to go with me to pay Tony a visit?”

  “I was on my way when you got here,” she said, taking his hand because right now she desperately needed the contact with someone who shared her dismay. She also needed the little spark that came with it, the reminder that no matter what happened with Tony she was alive, that she would still be here fighting for other kids down the road.