The Family Man

A soft look stole over Heather’s face. “I heard about your wife. I’m so sorry, Bryan.”

“Thank you. It’s been hard. But my son, Dylan, doesn’t give me a chance to sit around feeling sorry for myself. Five-year-olds have more energy than the Hoover Dam and more questions than Barbara Walters.”

Chuckling, Heather leaned back in her chair. “I imagine you have plenty of ideas for a column on family issues.”

A wry grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “I could write a book. Being a single dad has been—”

The words died in his throat as his gaze flickered over Heather’s shoulder. She didn’t even need to turn to know that Amy had arrived. The tense muscles in her shoulders eased and she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d half expected her sister to cancel at the last minute. Despite Amy’s declaration that Bryan didn’t mean anything to her anymore, Heather knew that she’d been shaken by the prospect of his reappearance. She wouldn’t have been surprised to get a message saying that Amy had been called into an emergency meeting with Typhoon Tim—a nickname bestowed on their brother by the staff since he’d taken over the reins at Hamilton Media. True to his Type A personality, he’d made it clear that the company wasn’t going to miss a beat because of the change in command, and he’d been on a whirlwind fact-finding mission to each department, often leaving chaos in his wake. Amy had been called into more meetings in the past four weeks than she’d attended in the past four years, as she’d grumbled to Heather on more than one occasion. So she could have used that as an excuse to cancel out on today’s interview. But to her credit, she’d shown up.

As Amy paused in the doorway, Bryan took his time rising, trying to reconcile the woman ten paces away with the girl he’d once loved. She was just as blonde. Just as stunning. Just as poised and elegant and self-confident as she’d been back in those heady days when they were in love. Or when he’d been in love, he corrected himself. In retrospect, he wasn’t sure her feelings had ever been as strong as his. But he hadn’t been wrong about his assessment of her beauty then. And he wasn’t wrong now.

In high school, Amy had worn her hair long. Now it was shoulder length, curling under slightly on her shoulders and parted a bit to one side. She was just as trim and toned as ever, and her dark teal suit and matching sling-back pumps were fashionable without being trendy. Her slim skirt revealed a discreet length of shapely leg, and the short jacket called attention to her small waist. The self-confidence she’d exhibited in high school had been a mere preview of the powerful presence she now radiated in her executive position. If he thought he detected a slight tremble in her hand, if her smile looked a bit forced, if a flash of pain seemed to dart across her eyes when she looked at him, he chalked it up to the awkwardness of the situation. This wasn’t comfortable for either of them. They had too much history.

While Bryan did his quick assessment, Amy did hers. She’d recognize Bryan anywhere, of course. His distinctive auburn hair and quiet demeanor hadn’t changed. And he still looked as fit and lean as ever. In fact, if anything, he’d grown more attractive with age. Maturity suited him. Made him even more appealing.

An unexpected quiver raced up Amy’s spine, and for a brief second the years melted away as the memory of their first kiss, beside the lake in Sugar Tree Park, flashed vividly across her mind. As if it had been yesterday, she recalled the way his deep green eyes had softened and warmed, inviting her to look into his soul as he searched her face before touching his lips to hers in a tender, almost reverent, kiss. Now, as their gazes met, she wondered if he, too, was remembering the sweet, heady joy of that moment. But it was impossible to tell. His shuttered eyes reflected wariness, and there was a disillusionment in their depths that had never been there before. It seemed that whatever fascination she had once held for him had long since disappeared. She’d expected that, of course. Yet somewhere deep in her heart, it hurt to have that fact confirmed. But that was her problem. And today wasn’t about them, or the past, anyway. It was about business, and tomorrow. A fact she’d do well to remember.

Forcing her lips to maintain their forced smile, she moved into the room and extended her hand. “Hello, Bryan. Welcome.”

“Thank you.” His clasp was firm, sure—and brief.

Taking her seat across from him, Amy turned to Heather. Her sister had gotten her into this, and Amy intended to let her take the lead. “Heather, why don’t you explain the position to Bryan, since it will report to you.”

As Heather spoke, Amy was content to observe. Her sister did a fine job outlining the job, and Bryan asked all the appropriate questions. When Heather finished, Amy suggested that Bryan walk them through his portfolio.

While they reviewed a number of the stories and columns Bryan had written, Amy let Heather ask most of the questions. When they reached the last page, Heather turned to her. “Is there anything else you need to see?”

“No. That should do it.”

“Okay. We’re interviewing three candidates, Bryan. I’m hoping we’ll be able to make a decision by the end of the week. Have you moved back to town yet?”

“Yes. Until I get settled, Dylan and I are living with my dad.” He jotted a number on the tablet in front of him, tore off the sheet and handed it to Heather. “If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to call.”

After tucking the sheet into her notebook, Heather stood. “We will. Thank you for coming in today.”

Rising, he zipped his portfolio closed and reached out to shake hands with her. “I appreciate the opportunity.” For most of the interview, he’d focused on Heather, looking at Amy only when he couldn’t avoid it. He was well aware that she hadn’t said much, nor asked many questions.

Now, after a brief hesitation, he transferred his attention to the woman who had once stolen his heart, then trampled on it. The quick glimpse of regret in her unguarded eyes jolted him, but it was gone so fast he was sure he’d imagined it. Amy Hamilton had never regretted anything. She’d always been decisive in her choices, wasting no time on second guesses or looking back. He’d admired that confidence years ago, assuming it was a result of being an oldest daughter who had been raised in a life of privilege.

Her poised self-confidence was still very much in evidence as she returned his look. Yet it had changed in some subtle way, he realized. Where once it had been brash and certain, it now seemed tempered by humility. As if she’d learned a few hard lessons along the road of life, had discovered that even the confident sometimes make mistakes. That life itself held no certainties. That all the money and power and prestige in the world couldn’t shield a person from heartache. And the Hamiltons had had plenty of heartache in the past few months.

As he reached out to take the hand she extended, he was tempted for one brief instant to feel sorry for Amy Hamilton. Once upon a time, in the days before life had buffeted him with a succession of harsh blows, back when his faith had been strong, he would have given in to that temptation. But the compassion and charity that had once filled his heart had vanished, leaving an empty void in their place. Just Dylan and his dad, along with his brother and his family, could touch his heart. They were the only ones he let get close. It was safer that way. Caring about others, loving them, led to hurt. As the woman standing across from him well knew. If she cared. Or even remembered.

Not that it mattered, of course. Amy Hamilton meant nothing to him anymore. If he got the job, fine. He would enjoy working with Heather. If he didn’t…well, something else would come along. It had to. Because losing his job had been the final blow. He’d endured all the loss and disappointment he could take.

As he followed Heather back to the elevator, a sense of defeat and discouragement suddenly weighed down his shoulders. With no other prospects, he did need this job. Although it had been a long time since he’d prayed, a long time since he’d done anything but blame God for taking his wife far too soon, he needed help now. Since he didn’t know where else to turn, he spoke in the silence of his heart.

Lord, You haven’t done me many favors lately. To be honest, I’m not even sure why I’m talking to You now. But I don’t know where else to go for help. I need this job. Or some job. I want to provide for Dylan, to give him the best life I can. But I can’t do that without some source of income. This isn’t the job I would have chosen. I’d prefer to stay far away from the Hamiltons. But I can deal with it—for Dylan’s sake. Please, Lord…just give me the chance. Please.

Chapter Two

Amy raised her mug to her lips and let the hot liquid slide down her throat. She needed something to settle her churning stomach, but so far the coffee wasn’t doing the trick. Nor had she helped the problem by skipping breakfast. Eating hadn’t been an option, though. The mere thought of food had made her queasy.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be worried about feeling ill, considering that she never got sick. But the circumstances were anything but normal. Today, Bryan Healey was joining the staff of Nashville Living. Not as a freelance columnist, but as a full-time employee.

Grimacing, Amy set her cup back on her desk with more force than necessary, sloshing brown liquid onto the polished mahogany surface. Disgusted, she reached for some tissue in her desk drawer and sopped up the mess. If she was this rattled before Bryan even started, how was she going to cope with his presence every day?

As she swiped at the puddle, her thoughts were as dark as the sodden tissue in her hand. In her gut, she felt this was a mistake. Yet, after interviewing all three candidates, it had been clear that Bryan was far and away the best qualified. After much soul searching, Amy had reconciled herself to offering him the freelance job. Then Heather had come to her with the news that one of their most-seasoned feature writers had turned in her resignation because her husband had been transferred. And she’d suggested that they combine that job with the freelance family-columnist position and offer it to Bryan, giving him a much higher income—and benefits.

Heather’s proposal had been logical. And short of admitting to her sister that she found Bryan’s presence disruptive, there had been no alternative but to tell her to extend an offer. Amy’s faint hope that Bryan would turn it down had been quickly dashed when he’d accepted the same day.

The good news was that she wouldn’t have to deal with him one-on-one. Heather would be his boss. The only time their paths would have to cross was at weekly staff meetings—like today. And once they got past the initial awkwardness, things would be fine, she reassured herself. It had just been a shock seeing him the first time. After all, she was an adult. She could cope with this. She ran a magazine, didn’t she? Dealt with dozens of crises every day? The reappearance of an old boyfriend shouldn’t cause too many problems. And if it did, she’d just plunge even more deeply into her work, which had provided a great refuge for her during the past eight years. If some thought she was a workaholic…well, so be it. Keeping busy had always helped her survive when life got crazy. Something it had been doing more and more in recent weeks.

As if to underscore that point, she caught sight of Tim barreling toward her, threading his way through the maze of cubicles that occupied most of the second floor. Tall, with dark, wavy hair and intense eyes, he looked like a man with a mission as he bore down on her. Considering how impeccable he always was about his custom-tailored clothing, the fact that his tie was a bit askew did not bode well. Now what? Amy wondered in dismay.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Tim strode into her office, shut the door, planted his fists on his hips and gave her a furious look. “Are you ready for this? Jeremy is leaving town.”

“What?” The shock on her face was echoed in her voice.

“You heard me. He’s going off to find his roots.” Sarcasm dripped off the last word.

“How do you know?”

“Mom called to tell me. He spoke with her last night before taking off for parts unknown.”

Struggling to remain calm, Amy tried for a reasonable tone of voice. “He’s upset, Tim. He’s angry, and he feels betrayed. How would you like to be told that your father isn’t your father? That the man who’s groomed you to be his successor, who you’ve loved with all your heart, isn’t even a blood relative?”

For a second, Tim’s anger dissipated. “Okay, I’ll admit it’s a tough break. But of all times to leave… Dad hasn’t even been out of isolation for that long. It’s still touch-and-go with the transplant, and he’s already worried about Hamilton Media. He doesn’t need any more stress.”

Amy thought about how pale her father looked each night when she stopped at the hospital to visit, his anxiety about the family business apparent as he plied her with questions. He was under more than enough pressure already. “I agree. So let’s not tell him.”

With a frustrated sigh, Tim raked his fingers through his hair. “That’s what Mom said.”

“She’s right.”

“Then who am I supposed to go to if I have a problem with the newspaper? Jeremy’s gone, and I can’t ask Dad without raising suspicion.” All at once, his shoulders slumped and his voice grew disheartened, reminding Amy of the little boy he had once been, always striving to compete with his older brother yet never able to live up to his own lofty standards. “I don’t want to mess things up and disappoint Dad.”

Because they were so much alike, Amy knew how much that admission had cost Tim. Both high achievers, both driven, both perfectionists, both always striving to please their father, neither had ever handled setbacks or failure well. And neither liked to expose any vulnerability, to show any sign of weakness. Through her faith, Amy had discovered that it was okay to admit that she didn’t have all the answers. And she’d found a way to temper her sometimes unrealistic expectations, to cut herself—and others—some slack. Tim hadn’t learned that lesson yet. She prayed that someday he would. In the meantime, he needed a pep talk.

“Things will work out, Tim,” she reassured him in a firm, quiet voice. “You’re smart and you’re conscientious. You’ll make this work. And you know you have the support of the whole family. We’ll help however we can. If we stick together, we’ll get through this. The Hamiltons are made of strong stuff.”

For a few seconds, he stared at her. Then he expelled a slow breath and straightened his shoulders. “Right. Okay. We won’t tell Dad. And I worked on the Dispatch when I was in college. I just need to get up to speed.” His usual confidence was returning with amazing speed. The matter settled, he swung around and headed for Amy’s door. He was almost out when her voice stopped him.

“One more thing.” He turned mid-stride to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ease up a little on the staff, okay? They’re starting to duck when you pass by.”

“I haven’t been that bad.”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Trust me. You’ve been that bad. Poor Dawn was almost in tears the other day. You’ll be looking for another administrative assistant if you don’t change your ways.”

At least that seemed to get his attention. A flicker of panic flashed across his face. “I can’t afford to lose her right now.”

“And I can’t afford to lose anyone. A word to the wise. Try being nice. You remember that word, don’t you? Nice. It goes a long way.”

“I have a business to run. I can’t afford to waste time on niceties right now. We’ll give everyone a bonus at Christmas to thank them for their patience through all this turmoil.”

“You can’t afford not to be nice. And dollars don’t build loyalty or longevity or commitment in employees.”

“They can’t hurt.” His pager began to vibrate, and he reached for it, then gave the message a rapid scan. “Gotta run. See you later.”

As Amy watched him hurry away, she shook her head again. One of these days, she hoped someone would find a way to tame Typhoon Tim. But it sure wasn’t going to be her. Sisters just didn’t have that kind of power—even when they really did know best!

The staff meeting had gone well. Amy had let Heather introduce Bryan, and as the group had tossed around story ideas for upcoming issues, he’d jumped right in, impressing her with his suggestions. He’d always had good instincts, and it was clear that time hadn’t changed that. If anything, they’d been honed through the years, seasoned with experience and polished with practice. She’d particularly liked his idea about a story on separation anxiety…in parents. It was a unique twist on a familiar topic, and with his only child starting kindergarten in two days, he could write with authority on the subject.

As the meeting wound down, Amy stood. “I think that wraps things up, unless there are any other issues we need to discuss?” When no one spoke, she reached for her notepad. “Okay. The pizza should be here any minute, so don’t wander too far. Although I don’t think I’ve ever had to twist anyone’s arm to take advantage of a free meal.”

Her comment elicited some chuckles, and as everyone gathered up their papers and rose, Amy turned to Heather. “Would you check with Herman? The pizza should have been delivered by now.”

“No problem.”

This was the part of the meeting Amy had been dreading. After regular sessions, the staff just dispersed. But Amy had started a practice of welcoming new employees with a casual lunch after their first staff meeting. If she skipped the custom this time, it would raise questions—which she didn’t need or want. Better to act as if this was any other welcome party. Meaning she had to stick around, mingle, chat with the new employee. The thing to do was talk business, she counseled herself. Stay away from personal topics.

Steeling herself, she walked over to the tub of soft drinks on a side table and chose a diet soda. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Bryan was talking with a couple of other writers in the far corner. Good. As long as they kept him occupied, she could lay low. And once the pizza arrived, she’d grab a piece, say a few words to Bryan and disappear.

“Pizza’s here!” Heather called from the doorway, juggling several large flat boxes. As she spread them out on the conference table, the staff converged like hungry buzzards. All except Bryan, Amy realized. He was still standing off to the side, one shoulder propped against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks. As if sensing her perusal, he angled his head her direction and looked at her. Short of being rude, she saw little option but to join him. Better to get it over with, anyway.

As she walked toward him, he straightened up. With her heels adding three inches to her five-foot, five-inch height, Amy was only two or three inches shorter than Bryan. As a result, she didn’t have to look up very far to get a good view into his deep green eyes. Though cool and dispassionate now, Amy recalled with a pang how they had once radiated warmth and devotion. The contrast produced an almost physical ache in her heart, one she didn’t intend to dwell on. It was obvious that Bryan had gotten over her long ago. And she had no one to blame for that except herself.

Looking back, she knew that her cavalier assumption that he would wait around until she was ready to make a commitment had been arrogant and insensitive. She’d known how much family meant to him, how much he wanted to establish a home of his own. But she’d selfishly disregarded his needs, his hopes and dreams. Maybe if they’d talked, they could have found a compromise. Instead, Amy had expected him to dance to her music. Even when he’d stopped calling, she’d just assumed he was giving her the space she’d asked for. His profession of love had been so ardent, so sincere, that it had never occurred to her that he was giving his heart to someone else.

By the time she’d realized what she’d lost, it had been too late. He’d been committed to another, and pride had kept her from contacting him. End of story. Or so she’d thought—until his résumé had crossed her desk. Now he was back, stirring up the embers of the flame that had once burned in her heart for him. And she had no idea how to deal with it.

She stopped beside him and tried for a smile, hoping that her inner turmoil wasn’t reflected on her face. “So…did you find the meeting helpful?” Her tone was a little too bright, and the speculative look on his face told her that he’d noticed.

“It was a good chance to get a feel for everyone’s working style. I’m glad you came over. I wanted to thank you for offering me the job.”

“It was Heather’s decision.”

“But not without your stamp of approval, I’m sure.”

Since she couldn’t refute that, she remained silent.

Glancing over her shoulder, he lowered his voice. “I hope this isn’t too awkward for you.”

Jolted by his direct approach, Amy stared at him. But she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Bryan never had been one to dance around issues. Put the problem on the table, deal with it and move on. That had always been his philosophy. And still was, it seemed.

“Not really,” she responded, carefully lifting one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “Our history is…ancient. A lot of things have happened since then. And we’ve both moved on with our lives.”

“True.” His gaze flickered to her ringless left hand, which had a death grip on the notebook she was clutching to her chest. “I hear you’ve never gotten married.”

His unexpected comment threw her for a second, but she made a quick recovery. “No time. Work has been pretty all-consuming.”

A sardonic smile touched the corners of his mouth. “You always did have more important things to do.”

That hurt. Especially since he was right. Back in college, when she’d planned to take the publishing world by storm, the only thing on her radar screen had been her career. But her priorities were different now, even if Bryan had no way of knowing that. Or of knowing that her workaholic style was an escape from loneliness.

Some of her hurt must have been reflected on her face, because Bryan’s expression shifted, as if he was sorry he’d made that comment. But before he could speak, Ethan Danes loped over to them, his camera equipment slung over his shoulder as he juggled two pieces of pizza and a can of soda. Tall and rangy, his sparkling eyes crackling with energy, it was no wonder he’d been the Hamilton Media heartthrob until he’d lost his heart to Heather six months after his arrival at Nashville Living.

“Have you thought about how you want to illustrate that piece on separation anxiety? Because if you haven’t, I’ve got some ideas.” He took a huge bite of pizza and shifted his cameras into a more comfortable position.

Amy welcomed the distraction. She didn’t want to venture into personal territory with Bryan. It would be safer to confine their conversations to business. “By all means, tell us,” she encouraged.

“It’s a column, right? First person?” At Bryan’s nod, he continued. “Okay, how about we take some pictures of you getting your son ready for his first day of school? Maybe giving him breakfast, packing his knapsack, dropping him off? Readers like that personal touch. It puts a face on the issue.”

Faint furrows appeared on Bryan’s brow. “I’m not sure I want Dylan in the spotlight.”

“He’ll probably get a kick out of it. Unless you think the whole experience of going to school is stressful enough already.”

“No. He’s been in day care for years. Kindergarten won’t be much of a problem for either of us. He’s a little nervous about dealing with new people and a new school, but I dealt with the separation anxiety issue a long time ago.”

The traumatic memory hadn’t faded, however. As if it was yesterday, he recalled how it had just about ripped his heart out to drop his infant son at day care the first few weeks, after all they’d been through together. Born eight weeks early, tipping the scale a whisper above three pounds, Dylan had spent weeks in the neonatal intensive-care unit, much of the time on a ventilator. And it hadn’t been smooth sailing. Twice there had been setbacks, and Bryan had raced to the hospital in the middle of the night. As he’d stood in helpless vigil beside Dylan’s crib during those crises, his heart pounding, his vision blurred with tears, Dylan would look up at him with those huge, solemn brown eyes. Then his son would reach out his tiny hand and grasp Bryan’s finger with a surprisingly strong grip, as if to say, I’m going to make it, Dad. Don’t worry. And he had. But that had been the loneliest, most emotionally wrenching time in Bryan’s life. Not only had he lost the wife he’d loved, but he’d awakened every day to the fear that he would also lose the son she’d died trying to save. So leaving him at day care had been the toughest thing Bryan had ever done.