Heartbreaker. Laurie Paige

kind of anemia, thal—”

      Daisy plopped Michael’s plate down with a hard thunk. “Thalassemia,” she said in a low voice.

      Michael caught distress vibes from her. Reaching back to his medical school days, he came up with a stray fact. “It’s a type common to those of Mediterranean descent,” he explained to his friend. “Hereditary factors are definitely indicated.”

      “Yeah, that’s what the doctor told us,” Flynt said. He looked at Daisy curiously. “How did you know about the disease?”

      “I got this friend,” Daisy said in her brash Texas hill country accent. “She has it.”

      “Josie and I have been concerned about the effects on Lena’s growth. Did your friend mention any particular difficulties with that?”

      Flynt had hired Josie as a nanny for Lena, then ended up marrying her. Turned out, they were now expecting a little bundle of joy of their own. Fate was a funny thing, Michael thought with a silent chuckle at his friend’s expense.

      His gaze was drawn to the Wainwright princess while Flynt and Daisy discussed the necessary testing that should be done regularly to watch for recurrences of the anemia in baby Lena.

      Susan was listening to some male friend who had stopped by her table. From what Michael could discern, the man was posturing and showing off, bragging about his hole-in-one win over some friends. She was full of congratulations, smiling as if bestowing the gold cup on the guy. Michael suppressed a jab of irritation.

      What did he care whom she talked to and flirted with?

      He didn’t, he told himself firmly. Ah, but she was easy to look at…

      “Who is that man you keep looking at?” Kate Wainwright asked. “The one sitting with Flynt Carson.”

      Susan jerked as if caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. “No one.”

      “An interesting nonentity,” her mother murmured. “He looks familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen him before.”

      “I don’t know his name,” Susan admitted, “but he nearly ran me over on the street near the airstrip. I was on my way to the phone to give you a call and let you know I was in. We had words.”

      Susan wished her mother wouldn’t study the man quite so openly. She didn’t want him to think they were interested in him in the least.

      “Words?” her mother inquired.

      “I called him a baboon and told him he shouldn’t be driving, or something like that,” she reluctantly admitted.

      Her mother looked from the man back to Susan, amusement in her eyes as if she laughed at something only she could see. Susan tried not to be irritated.

      “He and his friend are leaving,” Kate reported.

      Susan deliberately turned her chair toward the golf green beyond the patio so she wouldn’t have to look his way. “Mmm,” she said.

      “Oh, he’s coming over.”

      Susan jerked around. Sure enough, the impolite stranger was approaching their table.

      “My, he’s certainly good-looking,” Kate whispered. “Tall. And the bluest eyes. I’ve always liked blue eyes with dark hair. Such a handsome contrast.”

      “Mother!” Susan whispered, reminding the other woman that the man was almost upon them.

      “Hello,” he said, stopping by their table.

      She nonchalantly glanced up at him. “The baboon.”

      He laughed as if she’d said something witty, which made the heat rush to her face for some reason she couldn’t fathom. Nor did he take the hostile hint to leave.

      “I came over to apologize for my lack of manners when we, uh, first met,” he continued. “My only excuse is that I was running late.”

      “Is that your usual mode of operation?” she asked coolly, ignoring the increased beat of a pulse through her temple. She pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear.

      “Susan, introduce me to your friend,” her mother requested, all smiles for the obnoxious man.

      “We haven’t formally met,” he said, and held out his hand. “Michael O’Day.”

      Kate shook his hand. “Won’t you join us?”

      To Susan’s further chagrin, the big ape—he was easily a couple of inches over six feet tall—pulled out a chair and sat down. “Iced tea,” he said to the waiter who hurried over.

      “I’m Kate Wainwright. This is my daughter, Susan.”

      “Flynt mentioned your names,” he said in an affable manner, as if they were all the very best of friends.

      His voice was deep, almost a bass, and it rushed along her nerves like one long, drawn-out note from a cello, quiet yet vibrant, as if nature itself whispered through his rich cadences.

      An unexpected shudder washed over her. A faint but persistent pain pinged in her chest with each heartbeat. She pressed a hand there to still it.

      “I know where I’ve seen you,” her mother suddenly exclaimed. “I mean, besides here. There was a write-up in the Sunday paper a few weeks ago. You performed miracle surgery on the head of state from some foreign country. You’re the heart specialist from Houston.”

      Michael bowed his head briefly in acknowledgment.

      So, he wasn’t falsely modest about his skill, Susan noted. He was one of the top five heart surgeons in the U.S., per her own doctor. “Bold, innovative and determined” had been said of him in the article her mother referred to.

      “Susan,” Kate said, a plea in the word.

      Susan shook her head, warning her mother not to say anything to the arrogant heart doctor. Her own physician wanted her to go to Dr. O’Day for a consultation. So far, she’d steadfastly refused.

      “Susan,” her mother said, more sternly this time.

      “I’ll see someone,” she promised.

      Her mother wasn’t at all deterred by her tone. “This is like…like a nudge from God. You can’t ignore it.”

      Susan could and was determined to do so. “Don’t be sil—” She broke off, unable to be rude to her mother. “I’ll see a doctor soon.” But not this one.

      “This is a golden opportunity.”

      “Is there something I should know about?” the irritating doctor wanted to know.

      “Susan has a heart condition,” Kate answered before Susan could reply.

      “Ah, I see.”

      Susan felt his gaze on her, as incisive as a laser beam. “It’s nothing,” she said, and heard the stubborn denial in her tone. “I’m fine.”

      “You collapsed on the stage at your last performance,” her mother reminded her sternly.

      “I—I was tired.”

      “Collapsed?” he questioned. “I’ve seen you perform. You were magnificent.”

      Amazed, she stared at him. He looked sincere. Maybe he wasn’t such a baboon, after all, she conceded, since he obviously recognized her talent. She silently laughed at her own cockiness. She was as sure of her skills as the famous doctor seemed to be of his. “Thank you.”

      “Did you have any symptoms before you fainted?” he asked, lifting the glass of iced tea the waiter had placed before him, his attention focused and sharp. “Chest pain? Shortness of breath? Tingling in the left arm?”

      “I didn’t have a heart attack,” she informed him. “I checked out fine in that department.”

      “She