The Baby Bet: His Secret Son. Joan Elliott Pickart

died and left her everything, but she just hangs around her fancy house drinking and—”

      “Shh. Be patient with your aunt Clara. You’re going to be living with her after…after I’m gone, and I hate the idea that you two will be at odds.”

      “No, I’m not living with Aunt Clara. I can take care of myself. I look older than I really am and I’ll get a job and—”

      “Andrew, please, stop it. Promise me you’ll go with Clara. I know you don’t want to leave your school and all your friends, but you’re to move up the coast to Santa Maria and live with Clara. The only other alternative would be for you to go into foster care, and I can’t bear the thought of your being with strangers. Promise me that you’ll finish high school while under Clara’s roof. Promise me, Andrew, please.”

      Andrew sighed. “Okay, I promise. I’m not going to act like a son living with his mother, though. It will be a place to eat and sleep, nothing more. I don’t like Aunt Clara, Mom, and I don’t trust her. She always has a…a plan, a scheme or something. She looks out for herself and doesn’t give a rip about anyone else.”

      “She just sees things differently than we do.” Sally drew a shuddering breath. “Oh, I’m so tired. I’ve fought this menace within me for as long as I could, but…Oh, my darling Andrew, I’m so sorry to be leaving you. You’ve brought me nothing but happiness from the moment you were born. I’m not afraid of dying. I just wish I could watch you finish growing up, see you marry, hold your babies.”

      “Don’t wear yourself out, Mom. Take it easy,” Andrew said. “I don’t intend to ever marry. Loving someone gives them a power over you, the ability to destroy you, break your heart and…Never mind.”

      “You’re wrong, Andrew. Love can be glorious, like a miracle, when you find the right person. Don’t deprive yourself of that just because I chose the wrong one. Sweetheart, do you resent the fact that I’ve never told you who your father is?”

      “I don’t care who he is,” Andrew said firmly. “You said that you loved him, but he didn’t love you. That’s it. End of story. The guy broke your heart and I have no use for him. We’ve done just fine without him, whoever he is. You’ve said for years that it would serve no purpose for me to know his identity. That’s fine with me.”

      “Thank you, Andrew. I would be upset if I thought you’d been angry all these years because I wouldn’t divulge your father’s name.” Sally closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at her son again. “Andrew? Please hold my hand. Please?”

      “I am, Mom. I have your hand in both of mine. I’m right here.”

      “I can’t feel…your hand. I…”

      “Mom? Mother?”

      “Forgive me for leaving you. Forgive me. Don’t grieve for me, my sweet baby boy. I want…you to…be happy. You deserve…to be happy because…you’ve brought me so much…joy. I’m so…tired. I love…you. I…love…you. I…love…”

      “Mom!” Andrew said, tightening his hold on her hand. “No! Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Not yet. Mom! Oh, God, no-o-o.”

      Andrew had buried his face next to his mother’s head on the pillow and wept.

      The feel of tears on his cheeks jolted Andrew back to the present, and he stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room for a long moment, struggling to regain control of his raging emotions.

      He dragged his hands down his face, then propped his elbows on his knees and skimmed his thumbs over the tips of his moist fingers.

      He hadn’t cried since that day in the hospital when his mother had died, he thought. He’d wept then, until there were no more tears to shed.

      And these tears? They weren’t for Sally Malone or for the lonely fifteen-year-old boy who had been forced into an early manhood. No, they were for Kara, and Robert, and for all the MacAllisters who were going through the horror of a long hospital vigil now just as he had experienced so many years ago.

      They were suffering immeasurable pain because of what he had done. He had set off on a mission that his mother would not have approved of.

      He’d been so determined that Robert MacAllister would acknowledge the existence of Sally Malone. But if she had truly wanted that recognition, what was rightfully hers, she would have approached Robert herself and demanded he take responsibility for her and his child.

      “Ah, man, Malone,” Andrew said aloud, shaking his head. “You went off half-cocked, didn’t think it through, just reacted to Clara’s rantings and ravings, and that photograph in the newspaper, and…”

      And now? An entire family was in pain because of what he had done. He couldn’t reverse it, couldn’t fix it, couldn’t do anything, except wait to find out if Robert MacAllister was going to survive.

      Andrew snatched up the telephone receiver and dialed the number of Mercy Hospital. When someone answered, he asked to speak to Dr. Kara MacAllister.

      “I’ll need your name before I page her, sir,” the woman on the telephone said.

      “Malone. Andrew Malone.”

      “Thank you, sir. Please wait on the line while I page Dr. MacAllister.”

      Yes, he’d wait, Andrew thought. He’d wait for Kara to answer the page. He’d wait for Kara to trust him enough to tell him about her past, reveal her innermost secrets to him.

      But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of one good reason she would even consider doing that.

      “Oh, Kara,” Margaret whispered, “Robert looks so much better. See? There’s even a little color in his cheeks now.”

      “Yes, there is,” Kara said. “He’s sleeping peacefully, Aunt Margaret.”

      “Did you see the smile he gave me before he dozed off?” Margaret said, her eyes filling with tears. “That was my Robert.”

      “It was a beautiful loving smile,” Kara said, nodding. “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours since Uncle Robert’s heart attack, but the specialists feel he is going to make it through this. Now that he’s out of intensive care, they’re discussing what tests they want to run and when they think he’ll be up to going through them. I’m so happy that—”

      The pager in the pocket of her white medical coat buzzed. She took it out and looked at the tiny screen on the top.

      “I have to call the hospital operator,” she said. “I’ll go out to the nurses’ station so I won’t disturb Uncle Robert.”

      “I’ll just sit here and watch him sleep,” Margaret said. “Will that be all right?”

      “Yes, that’s fine,” Kara said. “I know some of the family is here, but you’re the only visitor Uncle Robert is to have for now. The doctors were very emphatic about that. The others will have to be patient. It probably won’t be too long before they can see him. I’ll be back soon.”

      Kara hurried from the room and went to the nurses’ station. She lifted the receiver to the telephone and pressed a button.

      “Dr. MacAllister,” she said.

      “There’s an Andrew Malone holding on the line for you, Dr. MacAllister,” the woman said. “Shall I put his call through?”

      Andrew, Kara thought, a vivid image of him forming instantly in her mental vision. She’d dreamed about Andrew Malone. Sensual dreams. Dreams of being held in his arms, kissed and caressed by him. Dreams that had caused her to toss and turn in the narrow bed in the residents’ room. Dreams that had finally jolted her awake to discover that heated desire was pulsing low in her body.

      “Dr. MacAllister?” the operator said. “Are you still there?”

      “Oh. Oh, yes, I’m here. I’m sorry. Please put Mr. Malone’s call through. Thank