Second Chance with the Billionaire

“He thinks he can’t be a good doctor anymore.”

Conor saw how close she was to breaking down. Unbidden, old feelings rushed in. The need to protect Ellie, first and foremost. He’d always wanted to be her savior. Apparently, some things never changed. A crowded bar on a Friday night was not the place for this kind of conversation. “Come on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Outside, he took a deep breath. The night was humid...sticky. But he felt cold inside. Knowing what his friend had suffered made him angry and sad and guilty for all the times he’d grieved for his own lost career. His injury was nothing compared to what Kirby faced.

Ellie’s profile in the illumination from the streetlight on the far side of the parking lot was achingly familiar. Golden-red hair slid across her shoulders. As a teenager he remembered that she always bemoaned her lack of curls. But the silky straight fall of pale auburn was perfect just as it was.

She was curvy, not thin. A very womanly female. He was assaulted with a barrage of emotions that didn’t match up. Part of him wanted to explore the physical pull. But an even stronger part wanted to console her.

“I have to go,” she whispered, the words barely audible.

“Come here, Ellie.” He pulled her into his embrace and held her as she gave in to tears. The sobs were neither soft nor quiet. She cried as if her heart were breaking. And maybe it was. Twins experienced a special bond. Kirby’s injury would have marked her, as well.

Conor stroked his hands down her back, petting her, murmuring words of comfort. Resting his chin on top of her head, he pondered the fact that after all this time, he still experienced something visceral and inescapable when it came to Ellie Porter. Holding her like this felt like coming home. And yet he was the one who had never left.

At last her burst of grief diminished. He released her immediately when she stepped back. Why wasn’t her husband the one comforting her? Where was the guy?

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I guess I’ve been holding all that inside, trying to put on a brave face for Kirby.”

“Understandable.”

“Thank you, Conor.”

Was he a beast for noticing the soft curves of her cleavage above the bodice of her sundress? Or the way her waist nipped in, creating the perfect resting place for a man’s hands?

“For what?”

“For listening.”

He shook his head. “I’m glad you came to find me. And of course I’ll spend time with Kirby. But I have more questions, and it’s late. Why don’t you bring the baby with you and come up to the ski lodge tomorrow? I’ll even feed you.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“All my guys have gone to Asheville for the weekend to catch an outdoor concert. You won’t see anyone but me.”

She nodded slowly. “I’d like that.”

“Silver Glen has missed the Porters.”

That coaxed a smile from her. “And Conor Kavanagh? What about him?”

He ran his hand down her arms, needing to touch her one last time. “Him, too,” he said gruffly. “Him most of all.”

* * *

Ellie drove the short distance home making sure all her attention was focused on the road. She was painfully glad Conor hadn’t asked about Kevin. It would have been hard to talk about that on top of everything else. Her body trembled in the aftermath of strong emotions, and she felt so very tired. Emory was a good baby and slept well as a rule, but he was a handful. Between caring for him and looking after Kirby and her grandfather, she was running on empty.

Leaning on Conor, even briefly, had felt wonderful. He was the same strong, decent, teasing guy she had known so long ago, but even better. He carried himself with the masculine assurance of a grown man. He had been gentle with her, and kind. But something else had shimmered beneath the surface.

Surely she hadn’t imagined the undercurrent of sexual awareness. On her part, it was entirely understandable. Conor was a gorgeous, appealing man in his prime. But maybe she had imagined the rest. She was exhausted and stretched to the limit and at least fifteen pounds overweight.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she felt sexy and desirable. At least not until tonight. Something about the way Conor looked at her brought back memories of being a teenager and having a crush on her brother’s best friend.

Many times she had envied the bond between Kirby and Conor. Though she and her brother were closer than most siblings, there was no denying the fact that an adolescent boy needed someone of his own sex to hang out with. The two guys had included Ellie in most of their adventures. It wasn’t their fault if she sometimes felt like a third wheel.

And of course, she had never let Kirby see how she felt about Conor. Not even when Conor nearly killed himself and Ellie stood in a hospital room, scared but determined as she gave Conor an ultimatum. It was one of the few secrets she had ever kept from her brother.

That, and her current fear that Kirby was going to give up.

As she pulled into the driveway of her grandfather’s tidy 1950s bungalow, she took a deep breath. She gave herself a minute to stare up at the stars before going inside. Loneliness gripped her, tightening her throat. For better or for worse, she was the glue that held this household together at the moment. The burden lay heavy at times.

Inside, she found Kirby sitting in the dark, kicked back in the recliner, watching a cable news program. She turned on a small table lamp and sat down across from him, yawning.

“Hey, sis,” he said. “Feel better?”

She’d told him she was going for a drive to clear her head.

“Yes, thanks. I appreciate your holding down the fort while I was gone.”

No need to tell him where she had been. Not yet.

Kirby shrugged, his expression guarded. “Even I can do that when our two babies are sleeping.”

“How was Grandpa?”

“Not too bad tonight. He spent an hour telling me stories about Grandma and then took himself off to bed.”

“Good.” An awkward silence fell. No matter how hard she tried to pretend things were normal, they were anything but. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Can I get you anything before you go to bed? Warm milk? A snack?”

Kirby’s chest rose and fell in a sigh. “No. I’m good.”

But he wasn’t. He’d suffered wretched insomnia since the accident. Chances were, he’d avoid his bedroom again tonight and doze in the recliner until morning.

Feeling helpless and frustrated, she stood and crossed the room. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, she put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

He put his hand over hers. “Go to bed, Ellie. I’m fine.”

After a quick shower, she climbed onto the old-fashioned feather mattress and lay beneath a cool cotton sheet, listening to the sounds of Emory breathing. The baby had been her salvation over the past terrible months. Her little boy was innocent and precious and totally dependent on her for care. She couldn’t afford to have a breakdown or any other dramatic response to the soap opera that was her life.

She had shed her share of tears over Kirby but always in private. It was important to her that he not feel like an object of pity. Which meant she forced herself to walk a fine line between being helpful and smothering him.

Her own tragedy had been forced into the shadows, because caring for Kirby had taken precedence. Seeing Conor again made her dangerously vulnerable. Even though she had sought him out, she would have to be on guard when they were together. She didn’t deserve his care and concern.

As drowsiness beckoned, she allowed herself to remember what it felt like to be close to Conor, first on the dance floor and later as he held her and comforted her. She shivered, though the room was warm. What would her life have been like if she and Conor had never argued so bitterly...if the Porters had never left Silver Glen?

It was a tantalizing question.

But the truth was, she now traversed a difficult road. Grief and fatigue could be dangerous. She should not mistake Conor’s kindness for something more. Her life had not turned out according to plan. Even so, she would not wallow in self-pity. And she would not cling to a man to make it through this rough patch.

She was strong and resilient. She needed to keep her head up and her eyes on the future. The guilt she carried threatened to drag her under, and she would be mortified if Conor ever suspected the truth. His friendship would be a wonderful bonus, but only if the lines were clearly drawn. Perhaps, if he managed to coax Kirby out of the doldrums, the three of them could be the trio of friends they once were.

* * *

The following morning she fixed breakfast for the men in her life and then made sandwiches for lunch and put them in the fridge. She didn’t like lying to her brother, so she had scheduled a well-baby checkup for Emory and said that she was going shopping afterward.

The doctor visit was real. Kirby wouldn’t expect her back at any specific time. Fortunately, the pediatrician was on time, and the appointment went off without a hitch.

Emory was in a sunny mood. She wanted him to make a good impression on Conor, which was kind of silly, but as a relatively new mom, she was still so proud of her baby and wanted the whole world to see how special he was.

The trip to the ski resort didn’t take long at all. When she pulled up in front of the large Alpine-style chalet that was command central for the winter ski crowd, Ellie was impressed. She’d spent a lot of time here in her youth, but clearly, major updates had been done over the years. The grounds and exterior were immaculate.

Conor waved her over to the door. Ellie slung a diaper bag and her purse over her shoulder and scooped up the baby. As they stepped through the double oak doors carved with fir trees and mountains, she paused to take in the lobby. Although large in scale, it had a cozy feel because of the quilted wall hangings, thick area rugs and half-a-dozen fireplaces scattered around the perimeter.

Enormous plate-glass windows afforded a view of the ski slopes below. In December it would be breathtaking. Even now, at the height of summer, it was impressive.

Conor urged her toward a mission-style sofa upholstered in crimson and navy stripes. “Have a seat. I’ll round up some drinks and a snack.” He paused to stare at Emory. “He’s a cute kid.”

“His name is Emory.”

“Does he take after his dad?”

Her heart clenched. Was Conor deliberately fishing for information? If so, she wasn’t ready to talk about that subject. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “I think he’s beginning to look like me,” she said lightly, nuzzling her nose in the baby’s strawberry blond curls.

Conor stared at her and then looked back at Emory. “I suppose so.”

Without knowing it, she had been holding her breath, because when Conor walked out of the room, she exhaled, all the oxygen in her lungs escaping in one whoosh.

Emory was unconcerned. He squirmed in her arms, wanting to get down. He was already close to walking and proved it yet again by cruising around the edges of the coffee table with confidence. When Conor returned, Emory gave him a big, slobbery grin.

As Conor set down a tray with lemonade and shortbread, Ellie lifted an eyebrow. “Somebody’s domesticated,” she said teasingly.

Conor shuddered theatrically. “Not me. I have a housekeeper who looks after my place and the chalet. She apparently thinks I’m in danger of starving to death, because every time she comes to clean, I find baked goods on the kitchen counter.”

“She must like you very much.”

Conor shook his head ruefully. “It’s not like that. She’s seventy-two years old. She likes the fat paycheck I give her because it supplements her income.”

“If you say so.” She had a hunch that the unnamed housekeeper had a soft spot for her generous boss.

Conor sat down beside Ellie on the sofa and chuckled when Emory let go of the edge of the coffee table and sat down hard on his bottom. The baby’s look of indignation was comical. “He’s going to lead you a merry chase as soon as he realizes he can go anywhere and everywhere.”

“Don’t I know it. I’ve already been baby proofing my grandfather’s house.”

“How is Mr. Porter doing?”

“He has his good days and bad. Sometimes he puts his reading glasses in the freezer and forgets to wear pants, but with Kirby and I around, he seems happy. I think he was afraid he would have to go into a rest home, so he’s being extra sweet and cooperative.”

“He’s lucky to have you.”

“That goes both ways.”

Conor leaned forward, scooping up Emory and putting him back on his feet. “There you go, little man. The world is yours.”

“Or at least this table.” Ellie chuckled. She was torn between being excited about her son’s prowess and worried that he would hurt himself. “He has no fear. Which scares me to death.”

Conor nodded, his eyes on Emory’s progress. “I don’t know how my mom did it. Seven boys.”

“That should qualify her for sainthood.”

They both laughed and, for a moment, their eyes met. Ellie looked away first, her cheeks heating.

Conor leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze trained on the floor. “Are you going to tell me about Emory’s dad?”

Ellie inhaled sharply, stunned that he would ask so bluntly. But then again, Conor had never shied away from difficult conversations. “No,” she said. “I don’t believe I am. I came here to talk about Kirby.”

She saw Conor flinch. “You’ve developed a hard edge, Ellie.”

“I’m not a child anymore, if that’s what you mean.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder, his warm, masculine gaze taking in her navy tank top and khaki skirt. “I’m well aware of that, believe me.” Conor must have noticed that she didn’t wear a wedding ring. Was that why he felt the freedom to say such things to her?

“I believe you offered me a snack,” she said calmly, though her heart was beating overtime.

Conor sat back, his wry smile rueful. “I suppose that means I’m pouring.”

She corralled Emory when he seemed ready to try his luck climbing onto the sofa. “No, sweetheart. No lemonade for you. I have your sippy cup of milk right here.”

Conor shook his head. “Poor kid. I’ll bet you won’t let him have a cookie, either.”

“Of course not.”

Conor laughed as he handed her a glass. “I was only kidding. Even I know a little kid isn’t supposed to have sugar. How old is he? I’m guessing his first birthday is not far off.”

“Ten months. He’s big for his age.”

“I’ll bet Uncle Kirby loves him.”

“He does. The two of them are sweet together.”

“So tell me about Kirby. Why do you think he needs to talk to me?”

Ellie took a long drink and set down her glass, still half-full. “The last year and a half has been really hard for him. Not only losing the foot, but being a patient instead of a physician. He’s used to being the one in charge, the one caring for other people. So not only has he been dealing with the changes in his physical capabilities, he’s gotten it in his head that he won’t be a good doctor now. He has offers waiting from at least four prestigious medical centers across the country, but he refuses to deal with them.”

“I’m not a counselor, Ellie.”

“I know that,” she said. “But you have some inkling of what it’s like to have your whole life turned upside down. You’ve moved on. You’ve made new goals. You’ve accepted your limitations.”

Three

But had he? Had he really? Conor didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he still grieved the loss of his adolescent dreams. He’d put on a brave face for his family...pretended that he was okay with no longer competing. But deep down, a tiny kernel of futile anger remained that he’d been robbed of doing the one thing that gave him such an incredible rush of exhilaration.

“I didn’t get there overnight, Ellie. Acceptance takes time. And Kirby has lost far more than I ever did.”

“That’s not really true, if you think about it. You had to give up competing completely. But Kirby can still be a doctor.”

Her words sent shock reverberating through Conor’s gut. Had all his pretending been wrong? Would it have made life easier if he’d been up-front about his grief?

He cleared his throat, stunned that a woman he hadn’t seen in a decade and a half could analyze the situation so succinctly. “I’ll talk to him. If you think he wants to see me. But I can’t promise miracles.”

“I appreciate it, Conor.”

Ellie’s grateful smile made him uncomfortable. She glowed this morning, no other word for it. Motherhood suited her. If Conor started hanging out at the Porter household, he would see her regularly. That was probably not a good idea given his fascination with her.

Because there was still the mystery of Emory’s father.

Even so, he was drawn to her warmth and caring. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he was sexually attracted to her. She had a body that was lush and ripe. He ached to touch her, much as he had as a teenager. Only now, he knew the kind of pleasure a man and a woman could share.

Imagining Ellie in his bed was definitely not smart. Tormenting himself was pointless. Conor hadn’t changed. He still courted danger. He still relished the exhilaration of pitting himself against the elements. Which meant that Ellie would be as disapproving as ever when she found out the truth about him.

He picked up Emory and blew raspberries on his tummy, anything to distract himself from the image of Ellie’s naked body. “When do you want me to see Kirby?” he asked, wincing as Emory grabbed handfuls of his hair.

“Whenever it’s convenient for you. I know you have a business to run.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s the off-season. I’m not exactly tied to a desk. What if I order lunch from the deli and we pick it up on the way to your grandfather’s house?”

“That would be perfect. I’d already made some sandwiches for Kirby and Grandpa and left them in the fridge, but they’ll keep until tomorrow.”

“You want to ride with me?”

“I can’t. The car seat, you know.”

“Ah. Yes. Does your grandfather still live in the same house?”

“Yes.” She scooped up Emory.

“Well, in that case, I’ll see you over there in half an hour.”

He helped Ellie load up the car and watched as she drove away. Already he felt a connection that was stronger than it should have been given their long separation.

It occurred to him suddenly that he had asked questions about Kirby, but he still had no idea what Ellie did for a living. Though she downplayed her intelligence in comparison to her twin, he knew she had done well in school, also. The teachers had loved her.

Conor had wanted her. But her refusal to accept him as he was had kept his adolescent urges in check. Nothing had changed. He’d be smart to ignore this inconvenient attraction. Ellie wasn’t the woman for him.

* * *

The deli was accustomed to him placing to-go orders, but they were surprised by the size of this one. The cute teenager behind the counter smiled teasingly. “Having a party, Mr. Kavanagh?” she asked.

Mr. Kavanagh? Hell, did he seem that old to this kid? “Lunch with some friends.”

“We have fresh strawberry cake in the back. One that’s not even sliced yet. You want a few pieces?”

“I’ll buy the whole thing.” Conor would take any help he could get in the way of a welcome offering. He wasn’t at all sure his invitation from Ellie was going to get Kirby’s stamp of approval. Men liked to hide out and lick their wounds. Kirby might not appreciate having Conor show up out of the blue.

At Mr. Porter’s place, Conor parked on the street and unloaded the bags from the deli. With the cake box balanced in one arm, he made his way up the walk. The property was not in great shape. Not too surprising for an older person who didn’t have the strength to handle fix-it jobs.

The paint on the house was peeling in places. He saw a section of rotting wood on a soffit. Several dead plants needed to be replaced. Even the driveway needed to be resurfaced.

Ellie and Kirby no doubt had plenty of financial resources to take care of things, but maybe Conor could offer to do a few odd jobs. It would give him an excuse to hang around, and maybe he could coax Kirby into holding the ladder or drinking a beer while he kept Conor company.

Ellie waited at the door, the baby on her hip. She looked anxious but incredibly beautiful. “I told him you’re coming,” she said. Her eyes were darker than usual. In their depths he saw worry.

“Point me toward the kitchen,” he said. “And I’ll dump all this stuff. What did he say when you told him?”

“Not much.”

“Great,” Conor muttered. “Does the term busybody mean anything to you?” He put the cold items away and leaned back against the counter. The kitchen was small and dated, but cozy and welcoming in a retro way. He and Kirby and Ellie had visited here on occasion as kids.

“That’s not fair,” she said, her gaze mulish as Emory yanked on a strand of her hair. “Kirby needs company. Even if he doesn’t realize it.”

“So I’m your token guinea pig?”

She shrugged. “I’ve done all I can do. If there’s going to be a change in the status quo, I’m betting on you.”

“No pressure.” He was stalling, honestly scared that his longtime friend was going to kick him out after an obligatory five-minute visit. “Let’s get this over with. But if he doesn’t want me here, I’m leaving.”

“We may have to ease him into it, but I know this will be a good thing.”

“I wish I had your confidence.” What did Conor possibly have to say to a man who had lost part of a limb? Yet even amid his doubts, Conor knew he would do anything to put a smile on Ellie’s face.

Mr. Porter was napping, so Kirby was the only one in the living room when Ellie and Conor walked in. In a flash, Conor saw that Kirby had changed. More than Conor could have imagined. The teenage boy Conor remembered was a man with lines at the corners of his eyes and a tight jaw that spoke of pain suffered and battles fought.

Conor crossed the room, holding out his hand. “Hey, Kirby. It’s great to have you back in town. Don’t get up, man.”

But Kirby had already risen awkwardly to his feet, his arms outstretched. “What took you so long?”

Conor hugged him hard, feeling a reciprocal level of emotion in his friend’s embrace. “I had to pick up the food.”

After a moment, they separated. Kirby settled back in his recliner. Conor took a seat close by. Kirby shook his head. “I’ve missed you, buddy. More than you know.” The tone in his voice said a whole lot more than his prosaic words.

Conor had only a split second to ponder his next move. He tapped Kirby’s knee. “So let me see this fake foot.”

“Conor!” Ellie’s shocked exclamation fell into a pit of silence.

Kirby blinked in shock. His jaw worked. And then he burst out laughing. A gut-deep, hearty, belly laugh that went on and on until Conor and Ellie joined in.

Kirby wiped his eyes, his grin a shadow of his former self but a grin, nevertheless. “God, it’s good to see you.” He lifted his pants and extended his leg. “Carbon. Latest issue. The best money can buy.”

“Comfortable?”

“Hurts like hell most of the time, but I’m getting there.”

Conor stood and gave Ellie his most reassuring look. “Why don’t you give us some guy time? I’ll keep little Emory if you don’t mind. We have to train him up right.”

“God forbid,” Ellie said. But she handed over her son without protest. “I’ll have lunch ready in half an hour.”

Kirby nodded. “Thanks, sis.”

When Ellie left the room, Conor juggled the baby. He’d assumed, and rightly so, that Emory’s presence would fill any awkward silences. “So how are you really doing?”

Kirby grimaced. “Honest to God, I don’t know, Conor. Most mornings when I wake up, it still seems like a dream, until I try to stand up and forget I don’t have the damned prosthesis on. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve nearly fallen on my face.”