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her out to be something of a
reckless, privileged playgirl. But whatever the rumors and innuendo regarding
Derian Winfield might be, she had dropped whatever she’d been doing and flown
halfway around the world to be by Henrietta’s side. And for that, she’d earned
Emily’s respect. Her curious urge to know what had put such pain in Derian’s
faraway gaze and the unexpected heat Derian’s touch ignited were something
altogether different.

Chapter Four

    A youngish-looking man with skin the color of
cinnamon, a broad jaw lightly dusted with what looked like a day’s worth of
beard, and a stethoscope slung around his neck appeared in the hall. The
laminated badge clipped to the pocket of his maroon scrubs had a big MD in one corner. He
glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand. “Is there anyone here with
Henrietta Winfield?”
    Derian shot to her feet. “We are.”
    The doctor came forward and held out his
hand. “I’m Jim Burns, one of the ICU residents.”
    “Derian Winfield, Henrietta’s niece.” Derian
gestured to Emily. “This is my…sister, Emily.”
    Burns gave a perfunctory nod. “This is the
first chance I’ve had to speak with anyone from the family. I apologize that
you’ve been waiting so long.”
    “I understand,” Derian said tightly. So
Martin hadn’t bothered to ask about Henrietta’s condition. Probably hadn’t even
visited her. She wondered why he’d come at all, but then, he’d want to see for
himself she was incapacitated so he could plan his next campaign to force
Henrietta out of the business. Tamping down the familiar surge of rage whenever
Martin came to mind, she concentrated on what really mattered. “Can you tell us
how she’s doing?”
    “She’s stable and intermittently awake,”
Burns said, “although heavily sedated at the moment. Her CPK and troponin”—he
paused, catching himself—“sorry, her blood tests measuring cardiac injury are
pretty conclusive. She had a substantial MI…heart attack…and the thallium scan,
which is a test to show heart function, indicates a serious area of damage.”
    A cold hand squeezed around Derian’s insides.
“What does all that mean?”
    “We’ve already started her on a fibrolytic
agent—an intravenous drug to help break up the clots in her coronary arteries.
The cardiologists will repeat her noninvasive cardiac tests, but there’s a very
good possibility she’s going to need open-heart surgery within the next day or
two to reverse the damage.”
    “And then?” Emily asked, her voice steady and
calm. “What’s the prognosis?”
    Burns regarded her directly for the first
time. “Very good, luckily. She got here fast, and we started treatment right
away. With adequate reperfusion, the cardiac muscle will likely recover, and
once the blood starts flowing again, the heart will return to a near-normal
state.”
    Emily’s shoulders relaxed. “So we can expect
her to make a full recovery?”
    “Barring complications, of course, and
assuming she follows a reasonable cardiac care plan.”
    Derian laughed shortly. “If that includes no
stress and a slower pace, that’s not likely to happen.”
    “Not uncommon in these patients,” Burns said,
“and that’s exactly why surgery is the best approach. If everything goes well,
your aunt won’t need to curtail her lifestyle.” He held up a cautionary finger.
“However, she’s still going to need significant time to recover from the
surgery, rehab, and work back into her full daily schedule. I take it she’s
pretty active.”
    Emily huffed. “A locomotive headed down a
steep incline would be an apt comparison.”
    He nodded. “Not surprising.”
    “Can we see her?” Derian asked.
    Burns glanced at his watch. “For a minute or
two. The nurses will be busy getting vitals and labs in ten minutes, but…come
with me.”
    When Derian moved to follow him, Emily
hesitated. Derian glanced back and held out her hand. “Come on, sis.”
    Emily’s lips pressed