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the right wing so he could see what she was staring at. “Who is he?” he asked, spotting the man fixing a flat by the side of the road.
    â€œHawk Wainwright.”
    â€œYou can’t just drop it at that,” he told her in that gentle way he had when he knew a person was upset.
    â€œMy father had an affair with someone. A Native American woman. Hawk was the result. I never knew of him until he moved here and took a job at a nearby ranch.”
    â€œIs he why your parents divorced?”
    â€œYes. My mother found out when I was a baby. My father admits nothing, but Hawk bears his name and…and there is a family resemblance. The threelegitimate kids, Justin, Rose and myself, have never known how to handle the situation, so we’ve mostly ignored him. He’s pretty standoffish, too. It must be terrible to be an outsider to your own family—” She stopped abruptly. Hawk was a family secret that no one talked about.
    â€œYeah, tough,” Michael agreed.
    She appreciated his sympathetic yet nonjudgmental tone. “We lived in Houston while growing up, but Mother moved back here to be near her family a couple of years ago. Father remodeled a house on the ranch for her. She stays there when she’s not in Houston. I think they still love each other, but…”
    â€œIt’s hard to forgive and forget?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWould you?” he asked.
    A chill attacked her neck at the softly spoken question. She shook her head. “I think women still require fidelity in a marriage. Otherwise, why bother?”
    â€œYet, in a recent report in a medical journal, twenty-eight percent of the DNA tests for paternity turned out not to be the reputed father’s, but some other man’s kid. Females don’t appear to be much more faithful than males.”
    â€œThat number doesn’t extend to the whole female population. Those were cases in which paternity was already being questioned. I think it’s pretty revealing that in seventy-two percent of them, from marriagesthat were obviously in trouble, the child was the husband’s.”
    â€œA point well taken,” he conceded.
    â€œYou said that once before, on Saturday when you nearly ran over me.”
    â€œYou have a good memory.”
    His eyes met hers. They suddenly seemed darker as thoughts she couldn’t read darted through them. She pulled her gaze away from the mesmerizing quality of his.
    â€œI’ll never marry,” she said, then was appalled at herself. Why should he care?
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œI don’t have time for a husband or children.”
    â€œMmm,” he said. “Childbirth would probably be too much of a strain on your present heart, but with a new one, once past the early rejection stages, there’s no reason you couldn’t have a normal life.”
    â€œMy normal life is ballet,” she reminded him.
    â€œYou might have to give up professional dancing,” he told her. “But you could probably teach.”
    The unvarnished truth was a bitter pill to swallow, she found. “You can afford to be sanguine about it, but this is my life we’re talking about.”
    â€œI’m always truthful with my patients, Susan,” he said quite gently.
    Tears stung her eyes. She forced them back and managed a laugh. “Maybe we’d prefer a little less honesty.”
    He considered, then shook his head. “I would never lie to you. Perhaps you’re more courageous than you think. I think you’re capable of taking whatever fate dishes out.”
    She wished she was as sure. However, she discovered she did feel better about this trip and the possible diagnosis the famous Dr. O’Day might give her.
    â€œI haven’t agreed to an operation,” she quickly reminded him. “I’m only here because of my mother. And my grandmother. She’s nearly ninety, but her mind is good. They ganged up on me