Only Her Heart

  Only Her Heart

  Lyn Cote

  Copyright © 2019 by Lyn Cote

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Originally published as His Saving Grace by Harlequin Love Inspired, 2004

  Created with Vellum

  Dedicated to my sister, Carole

  “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” from The Lord’s Prayer

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Lyn Cote

  Prologue

  He grinned, staring at the computer monitor, the only brightness in the dark room. Glee roared through him. He was invading files, data, territories not meant for him. Rows and rows and columns and columns of names, dates, diagnoses, procedures done, doctors and prescription names, cost, but primarily numbers.

  His gaze fixed on the many zeros on the glowing screen. An angry voice deep in his memory replayed, “That’s all you’ll ever be—a nothing. A zero.” His hand trembled as it hovered over his mouse, then he moved his cursor to a random column. He hadn’t gone to all this trouble for nothing. He’d add a few 00’s. That would make things interesting again.

  Chapter 1

  Annie Petrov had come to work this morning with a clear goal in mind: to resign. Ten hours later she was still circling it, unable to take the last fateful step and tell this to her boss, Jack Lasater. Dear Father, everything in my mind tells me to do it—say it now. But my heart... She felt a tightness over her heart. She pressed a hand there, trying to suppress the pain. Why did I ever think Jack would notice me as a woman? I’m just his faithful girl Friday, an extension of his computer network.

  The phone rang. She leaned over and picked up the receiver from her oak desk. Her greeting came out automatically: “LIT, Lasater Information Technology. This is Annie Petrov speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Annie, you’re not home.” Her father’s voice scolded her in the kindest tone.

  His concern brought a lump to her throat. She promised herself silently that her next job would definitely have regular hours. “I’m sorry, Dad. I—”

  “I know. I know. You’re trying to get the ‘Brain’ to close up shop for the day.”

  Dad, it’s more than that. “I won’t be much longer.” Speaking these words made her more aware of her fatigue. The inverted triangle of muscles across her shoulders, which created a V between her shoulder blades, ached from sitting in front of the computer for hours.

  “I’ve heard that before. Okay. I’ll make a plate of supper for you and put it in the fridge.”

  “Don’t bother. Jack went out to get us a couple of hot dogs.”

  “That sounds healthy,” he teased. “Just remember you’re staying home tomorrow. It’s Saturday. We have to give your cousin’s room a fresh coat of paint. There’s only a week before she’ll be home.”

  She tried to put a smile into her voice. “Gotcha. Bye.”

  Her father just chuckled and hung up.

  Annie put the receiver in the cradle and stepped away from her desk. Looking out the tenth-story window, she glanced downward and glimpsed Jack. His straight back was toward her—broad shoulders in a tan knit shirt. His reddish brown hair shone in the golden twilight.

  Oblivious to her as always, he had paused at the corner newsstand to talk to Old Louis as he shut down for the night. Everyone called the man Louis because his gravelly voice sounded just like that of the late Louis Armstrong. She leaned her head against the window. Jack always stopped to share a conversation with the toothless, elderly man who most people treated as another streetlamp, not a person. It was one of the things about Jack that had snared her heart. But the flip side of this endearing trait puzzled his partner, Tom. Jack never spoke with their paying customers until after Tom had nailed down the deal. Then Jack only wanted to discuss the software project with the customer. There was no chatting or socializing, strictly business.

  It frustrated Tom, but Annie realized Jack wasn’t merely a quiet man. Long before she’d ever met him, some part of him had shut down. She thought she knew why it had happened, but what could she do about it? Jack needed to deal with this and by now she’d given up hoping he ever would. She still prayed about it and would continue even after leaving. Healing hearts was God’s job not hers. A familiar ache settled deep inside her. Jack was missing out on so much.

  The phone rang again, and forgetting to let the machine pick up, she reached over for the phone and answered it.

  A man cleared his throat. “This is Dr. Cliff Lasater. Is Jack in?”

  Dr. Lasater, Jack’s father? Startled, Annie drew in a deep breath. He had never called here before. In fact, she knew that Jack hadn’t seen his father in...how long?

  But she couldn’t let her curiosity show. To a stranger like Dr. Lasater, she was just the executive assistant at LIT and should act like one. She kept her voice businesslike. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lasater. Jack isn’t here. May I take a message?”

  “I know it’s late. I thought I’d get your machine.’’

  So the father didn’t want to talk to his son either. So why then had he called? “I’m just getting ready to leave.” The truth of this sentence hit with sudden force. She pushed away the heavy feeling of finality.

  “Well, then...I’m glad I caught you. I’d like to schedule a business lunch with Jack as soon as possible.”

  She would have told any other prospective client that Jack’s partner handled customers. But maybe this time, Jack would talk to his father—as a client. She doubted it. She automatically asked him for a phone number, then realized she shouldn’t have to ask for it. Surely Jack had it. Or did he?

  Dr. Lasater didn’t act surprised, and gave her his work and home numbers.

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll give Jack the message.” As she hung up, she tried to come up with the reason for this unexpected contact. None came to mind, other than the obvious one. Dr. Lasater needed Jack’s professional services. But was she correct? Something didn’t feel right but she gave up for lack of information. Her mind reverted to her own dilemma, trying to leave the man she loved. But her tender feelings for Jack were a one-way street, had been and would always be.

  He was handsome, brilliant and an up-and-coming light in the medical software and now security with computer forensics.

  But so far neither she nor any other woman possessing more beauty and better credentials than she had broken through to him. His preoccupation with what fascinated him most—designing intricate programs for the medical field especially security was his impenetrable shield.

  How much longer can I keep my feelings about Jack hidden? Why put off resigning any longer? The time had come to make the break. She’d write her letter of resignation and then go home for the night. When Tom returned from vacation, she’d give it to Jack. But she would write the letter now and have it ready.

  Sighing, she turned away from the window and plunked down in front of her desk. I can’t face another mood-filled day like this. And if I don’t leave now, one of these days my feelings for Jack will bubble over. I’ll say or do something that will emb
arrass both of us. Jack is not going to change. It would take a miracle.

  Opening a new document, she began typing. “Dear Mr.…” She paused. She didn’t call Jack “Mister.” She deleted “Mr.” and started again. “Dear Jack, After five years, I think it’s time I moved on to a new challenge...”

  What new challenge? She’d loved every minute of her time at LIT. She’d been part of their team of three. Jack, Tom and she had built this business from the ground floor up, an exciting experience, a privilege. Not a boring day in five years—more than she’d hoped for, fresh out of business school. At twenty, she’d interviewed for this job with LIT, got it, and fallen in love with Jack, all in the same day. Now she had to break away.

  The door opened. Jack walked in.

  Quickly, she set up a file to save her resignation letter under the name “Sassafras,” a word her late mother had used to express frustration over something she couldn’t get to work right.

  Carrying two white paper sacks, Jack nodded and walked past her into his office. His lack of verbal greeting bothered some people. It made them think Jack was snubbing them. But she knew his mind was probably working on some intricate software problem.

  Rising, she walked into Jack’s office, now rich with the scent of hot dogs and onions. He’d left her proofreading a letter to a client while he’d gone out to pick them up two Chicago hot dogs with everything. Now, they’d eat. Afterward she’d make herself finish the client letter and her letter of resignation.

  Her stomach rumbled, the aroma of onions getting to her. “Jack?” No response. “Jack?” she persisted.

  His clear blue eyes gazed up at her.

  Bracing herself against his attractiveness, she lifted an eyebrow at him. “So what did Louis have to say for himself?”

  As he handed her the wax paper-wrapped hot dog slathered with mustard, celery salt, relish and onions, he let his face form a broad grin. “He says the Cubs won’t make it to the Series, no matter what anyone says.”

  “Big news.” She grinned back and just enjoyed standing there looking at him, having him look back at her. He always affected her this way, drawing her to him. She could almost forget the letter she’d just started, the decision she’d made. Oh, dear Lord, how can I leave? But how can I stay?

  “Hey!” The outer door banged open. “What are you two still doing here? It’s nearly eight.”

  “Yes, Tom, we’re still here.” An idea flashed into her mind, a way to get Jack to return his father’s phone call. With Tom on vacation, she knew Jack would never pursue this lead. And something in Dr. Lasater’s voice had prompted her to think the call had been an important one and maybe not just business.

  Tom, dressed in jeans and a white knit polo shirt, breezed in. “What’s up?”

  She swung around. “We got a call. A customer wants to set up a business lunch—”

  Tom waved his hand, cutting her off. “Then, you two are going to have to take care of it. I’m due at O’Hare and I’m not canceling this trip. I haven’t had a vacation for nearly two years and I’m outta here.”

  Probably at a normal office, the executive assistant would keep her mouth shut. But this wasn’t that kind of office—and what did she have to lose now anyway? A file marked “Sassafras,” lurking on her computer, tugged at her midsection, gave her a shot of urgency. Maybe she could get Jack and his father talking before she left. To reproach Tom, she lifted her chin. “You’re still leaving, even though you realize that Jack’s almost done with the St. Louis system—”

  “Don’t scold, Mother.” Tom walked past her and dropped into a chair that angled toward both of them. “I know I haven’t brought in a big job, and we need one. But while I’m gone, our resident genius—” he motioned broadly toward Jack “—will keep busy doing a few little tasks I’ve lined up for him. Just think how refreshed I’ll be after two weeks in San Francisco, the City by the Bay!”

  Tom had the gift of gab, the main tool of a salesman. Annie’s father had said the first time he’d met Tom that “the man’s tongue runs on wheels.” But now Annie frowned. Tom was the one in the partnership who enticed, met and negotiated with clients. But he’d been distracted lately. What was going on beneath this loquacious man’s surface? Something didn’t click.

  “Who called?” Tom asked. “Someone we’ve done business with before?”

  Well, she’d brought it up. There was no going back. She braced herself. “It was Jack’s father, Dr. Lasater.”

  “What? What does he want?” Jack’s face showed surprise and annoyance.

  Tom leaned forward. “Hey, that’s great news. Hope Medical Group’s Board is one of the biggest in the city.” Tom’s tone changed. “Though I know Jack ignores that unimportant stuff. A job for them could turn out to be a nice chunk of change.”

  Jack scowled.

  Tom grinned. “You’re the one who’s been champing at the bit for more business.”

  “Not his business.” Jack’s jaw jutted out at a stubborn angle. “You’re the negotiator. I’m the designer. It can wait till you get back.”

  “What’s wrong with a little nepotism?” Tom teased and then shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if we lose it, don’t blame me.” With that, Tom rose, gathered up a few items from his desk and escaped.

  Just the two of them again. Annie gazed at Jack’s profile. He’d turned on his monitor and opened a file. Did he do it to shut out Tom, or was he avoiding responding to the news of his father’s call?

  She didn’t even try to catch Jack’s attention. She’d guessed how he would react to his father’s call and she’d given it her best shot.

  Walking out, she closed the door behind her. LIT needed money, but Jack clearly wouldn’t contact his father, not even as a customer. She’d been wrong to spring the news of Dr. Lasater’s call in front of Tom. When Dr. Lasater called again, she’d let him do his own persuading.

  She sat by the window, chewing her juicy hot dog and worrying over what was going on with Tom. He definitely wasn’t telling them something. Why am I stewing over this? I’ll be leaving soon.

  The phone rang and Annie regarded it with a sinking heart. Jack’s father wouldn’t call back so soon, would he? Glancing at the clock, she pursed her lips. Doesn’t anyone know that offices should close at five? “LIT—”

  “Annie, is...Jack...there?” Pain made itself heard in tiny gasps between words.

  Annie recognized Jack’s mother’s voice immediately and grabbed the receiver. “What’s wrong, Sandy?”

  “I took...a...fall—”

  “Where are you?” Annie stood up. Sandy, who suffered from rheumatoid arthritis, had become her friend over the past five years.

  “At the bottom of...my basement stairs. I...finally crawled over to…my phone. It flew out of my pocket when I fell.”

  “I’ll get Jack. Are you bleeding?”

  “No, I’m...just having...trouble breathing. Maybe I...cracked a rib.”

  Annie started toward Jack’s door. “Did you lose consciousness?”

  “No. I’m just in a...lot of pain.”

  “We’ll call 9-1-1

  “No, that’s not—“

  Annie cut her off. “We’ll call 911 and be right over. Hang up and we’ll call you back on Jack’s cell phone.” Annie hung up. “Jack!”

  The cloying warmth and humidity of the summer night closed around Jack, but it didn’t touch the chill snaking through him. He fumbled with the key at his mother’s back door. Come on. Come on.

  Beside him, Annie spoke into his phone. “We’re here, Sandy.”

  “Great. I’m really...feeling bad.”

  The lock released and Jack shoved open the door. “Mom!” He raced down the steep steps to the basement.

  “Jack.” His mother lay crumpled on the rubberized mat at the bottom of the stairs. Her face, so pale in the scant light, jolted him.

  “I think...I need...to go to...the hospital—”

  Her words were cut off by the sound of the siren. Thank God. J
ack knelt beside her. “We called 9-1-1 on our way out of the office. The ambulance is really close.”

  “I’ll go up and let them in.” Annie turned and ran back up the steps. “I can’t believe they didn’t beat us here.”

  “Where does it hurt?” Jack gently touched his mom’s shoulder, angry with himself for not knowing what else to do for her.

  “I may have cracked...some ribs.” She paused, her breathing labored. “I can’t...get up. I feel everything...but—”

  Two EMTs charged down the steps. Jack fell back, giving them room in the area at the base of the stairs.

  The men in uniform rattled off questions as they took her pulse and checked her limbs.

  “Is it serious?” Jack asked.

  “We’ll get her to hospital for X-rays. You are her...?”

  “Son.”

  They nodded. Soon the men had his mom on a rigid stretcher and were carrying her upstairs and out to the ambulance. He and Annie got back in his small sedan and drove behind them to the hospital.

  “I need to call my dad.” Annie opened his cell phone.

  “You should have gone home. I shouldn’t have let you come along.”

  “I couldn’t have just gone home,” she said with a sharpness in her voice he rarely heard. “I’d have been worried sick.” She began talking into the phone, explaining to her dad what had happened.

  Jack concentrated on following the red taillights of the ambulance. He tried to pray, but no words came to his worried mind. He’d known something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. He’d warned Mom about those stupid steep basement steps. But what good did that do now?