A Wolff at Heart. Janice Maynard

her could rapidly become an addiction. Even in a decidedly nonsexual situation like patching up her poor injured foot, he’d been hyperaware of her scent, her soft skin, her slender body. There was something so feminine about her. Which was funny, really, because she’d made it clear that she was strong and capable and didn’t want to admit that a man could do things she couldn’t...even if it was something as basic as lifting heavy furniture.

      His head jerked up at the sound of her feet on the stairs. He met her at the bottom. “Well?”

      She held up a sheaf of papers. “This is going to take a while.”

      Sighing, he held out a hand and motioned to the sofa. “Then let’s get started. The sooner I know, the better.” Suddenly, a thought struck him. “I’m paying you for your time,” he said.

      Nikki sat and fanned out four piles. “You helped me move, remember?”

      “Our agreement was that I help you move and you give me an appointment.”

      Her smile hit him low in the belly. It was luminous, teasing.

      She curled her right leg beneath her and sat gingerly, babying her hurt foot. “What if we call this a pro bono consultation? I’ve taken a personal interest in your case. And as of noon today, I am officially off the clock for six weeks.”

      “You don’t owe me anything. We barely know each other.”

      “Well,” she said slowly, her smile fading, “let’s just say I’m fascinated by what you’ve told me. I love a good mystery, and I have a feeling this one is going to have more twists and turns than a Hitchcock movie.”

      “I’m glad my personal life entertains you.”

      She patted the seat beside her. “Quit sulking. The news might turn out to be better than you think.”

      “How can you say that? My dad is not my dad.”

      “That’s not true. He is your dad. Being a father is so much more than dropping off sperm. He cared for you, spent time with you, showered you with love and affection. That’s what a father does.”

      “You sound like a Hallmark card.” He sat down beside her, preserving a careful distance.

      “I hope you’re not as cynical as you seem.”

      “I’m not cynical at all,” he protested. Staring grimly at the pile of papers, he evaluated her impassioned definition of fatherhood. “I always had this notion that one day I’d produce a kid and he and my dad and I would do things together...you know...generation to generation.”

      “You still can. No matter what. Forget about genetics for a moment. You love your dad. And he’s going to adore any baby that’s yours.” She patted his knee. “Give yourself time. I know the news was shocking, but I think you’ll find that in the end your relationship with your dad is no different than it ever has been.”

      “I can’t help him with the transplant.” His throat swelled shut. His eyes stung. Though he stared blindly now, his eyes locked desperately on the stack of records, he could practically feel Nikki’s compassionate gaze.

      She sighed audibly. “That’s true. But even if you had been his blood son, the markers might not have lined up. As it is now, the most you can do for him and your mom is to get to the bottom of this.”

      “What if he doesn’t make it? What if they don’t find a donor?”

      “You can’t think like that. I know this is huge. I’m not minimizing what has happened to you. Truly, I’m not. But it’s like having the breath knocked out of you when you’re a kid. It feels like you’re dying, and it’s scary as hell. Sooner or later, though, your lungs start working again and you know you’re going to be okay.”

      He straightened his spine, unaccountably encouraged by her sheer conviction. “You must be very good at your job.” He shot her a sideways look and sat back, feeling a bit of his burden shift and lift. “Thank you, Nicola Parrish. You’re a very nice woman.”

      Her cheeks turned pink. “I can be hard as nails when I have to be.”

      “And when is that?”

      “Oh, you know...dealing with a deadbeat dad in court. Talking to a drug addict who’s stealing to support a habit. Facing down a chauvinistic judge who thinks women need to be in the kitchen, not in front of the bench.”

      His eyebrows rose. “Is that still a problem...honestly?”

      “Not often. But occasionally. And though you would think it’s only the older ones close to retirement, sometimes it’s a young man. Jerks transcend age and class. I met more than a few along the way in school.”

      “I’ll bet you were one of those annoying people who ruined the curve for everyone else.”

      Her chin lifted. “I believe in doing a job one hundred percent or not at all.”

      “Which is why you’re going to see this through.”

      “I told you, I love a mystery, a puzzle. And I never give up until I get the answers. But I have to warn you, I’ll keep going to the end. Even if the truth is something you don’t want to hear.”

      He clasped his hands behind his neck and leaned back into the sofa, feigning relaxation, though his guts were in a knot. “I’m scared,” he drawled, only half kidding.

      She uncurled her leg and sat up straight, both feet on the floor. “You don’t have to be,” she said, answering his attempt at humor with an adorably serious expression. “The truth may hurt when we’re not expecting it, but secrets are far more deadly. Trust me, Pierce. You’re doing the right thing.”