Expecting His Secret Heir(32)

The receptionist looked contrite. "I'm not at liberty to say where  Graham is. However, Carson is on-site at the new children's hospital  that the Newports are funding and constructing. I'd be happy to give you  directions to the work site or..." She batted her eyelashes at him as  her dimples deepened. "You're more than welcome to wait here."

Just as he had over the course of the last five years whenever a pretty  lady made eyes at him, Josh did a gut check and waited to see if he'd  have a reaction. Any reaction.

But there was nothing. Nothing other than the simple observation that  this was a pretty girl who was flirting with him. He felt no attraction,  no desire. There was absolutely no interest.

He ignored the black loneliness that existed in place of temptation and  slapped on one of his best smiles. "I do need to speak with Carson," he  said in his most apologetic tone. It wasn't the receptionist's fault  that Josh was incapable of feeling anything.

The disappointment that crossed over her face was fleeting. "Let me get  you those directions," she said in a much more professional tone.

"Thank you kindly," Josh said.

He was vastly out of his league and he knew it. He had vowed never to  come back to Chicago, but there he was. The Newport boys were the only  people on this earth who could've gotten him back inside city limits.  They had been there for him at the hospital and at the funeral. In all  likelihood, they'd probably saved his life. Not that Josh would ever  tell anyone that, but when the people he cared for kept dying on him, it  made it hard to put on a brave face and keep moving forward.

He was Josh Calhoun, heir to the Calhoun Creamery fortune and its  current CEO. To the rest of the world, the fact that he had buried his  parents and then his wife didn't matter as much as being one of the most  powerful dairy owners in the country.                       
       
           



       

Well, it mattered to him. Sydney mattered to him. And when she'd been taken away from him, the Newport boys had been there.

Brooks, Graham and Carson mattered to him. It was the only reason he was  in this godforsaken city, because if something happened to any of them,  well, it just might be the end of the world. His world.

"Here you go," the receptionist said. It was a pity that Josh couldn't  work up any attraction for her, but he just couldn't. "Shall I let  Carson know that you're on your way?"

"Much obliged," Josh said, settling his hat on his head. "It's been a  while since I drove in the city-how long do you think it'll take me to  get there?"

The receptionist turned her attention back to her computer. After a few  keystrokes, she said, "At this time of day, it shouldn't take you more  than forty minutes."

Josh didn't try to hide his groan. Back home in Cedar Point, Iowa, forty  minutes would put him three towns over. Here, forty minutes on a good  traffic day would take him all of three miles.

The dimples were back on the receptionist. "It could be worse-it's only two in the afternoon."

"I know." He touched the brim of his hat and headed back out to his  truck. It stuck out like a sore thumb there, parked among the sleek  Jaguars and shiny sports cars of all sorts. But he'd had his truck since  high school. It'd outlasted college, marriage and his wife's death. He  wasn't about to get a new vehicle to meet someone else's preconceived  notions of what a multimillionaire business owner should drive.

Because, most days, Josh didn't feel like a multimillionaire business  owner. Most days he was up by four checking on the cattle in the milking  operations of the Calhoun Creamery farm. He got crap on his boots and  broke a sweat nearly every day. The only break he got was times like  now. He'd been on his way home from Washington, DC, after meeting with a  lobbyist for the National Dairy Council about what regulations they  wanted to see included in the FDA's new organic standards.

As the owner of one of the largest dairies in the country and the CEO of  the Calhoun Creamery, Josh's word carried some weight in those  discussions. It was the only time he left the dairy farm.

Sighing heavily, Josh fired up the old truck and merged back into the  hell that was Chicago traffic. He hoped the Newport boys appreciated the  sacrifices he was making. And he was thankful that the traffic was just  bad enough that he had to really pay attention. People in Iowa did not  run lights like they did in Chicago. There, when the light turned red,  people stopped. Here, when the light turned red, people sped up. He  almost got rear-ended three separate times because he couldn't make  himself run the red.

Finally, the new children's hospital work site came into view. It didn't  look much like a children's hospital at this point-half of the exterior  didn't even have walls. Josh studied his directions and saw that the  receptionist had made a note that he was to pull down a side street and  park in the back. She was a good receptionist. He almost wished that  he'd been able to feel something for her. If he was going to be stuck in  Chicago, a little distraction could go a long way.

He parked in the construction zone and there, at least, his truck  blended in a little better. Josh made himself a promise. He would only  stay in Chicago as long as it took to help the Newport boys get some of  their issues sorted out. The moment he stopped being useful, he was out  of there.

He'd worked too damned hard for a sense of equilibrium after Sydney's  death. He knew better than to tempt fate again, and he simply did not  have the mental energy to let himself fall into another deep depression.

If it were anyone but the Newports, he wouldn't be there.

But he was already there. So he better get this over with.

* * *

"But you understand that he's not dead yet," Dr. Lucinda Wilde said,  trying her very best to keep a grip on her temper. She rarely got mad at  patients-it was a waste of time and emotional energy. "I can only  prolong his life if he stays in the hospital, under constant care. You  do see that?"

Carson Newport stood to the doctor's left, his hands on his hips and a  determined set to his eyes. On the doctor's right, Eve Winchester was  glaring at Lucinda, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed with anger.  All around them, the sounds of construction filled the air-as did dust.  So much dust. She was going to have to shower before she went on her  rounds again.

Lucinda had to hope that the construction materials being used here at  the new children's hospital weren't carcinogenic. She vastly preferred  her own hospital, where everything was already hospital-sterile. And she  was not happy about having to leave her patients to trek halfway across  town to mediate yet another dispute between the Newports and the  Winchesters about her patient, Sutton Winchester.                       
       
           



       

Lucinda sighed and pushed her glasses back up her nose. She would have a  better chance convincing a pack of wild dogs than Sutton Winchester's  children that the scion of the Winchester fortune needed to stay in the  hospital.

Never in her nine years as a practicing oncologist had she run into such  a stubborn set of relatives. She adored her job and Chicago, but days  like these had her muttering "city folk" to herself and longing for the  wide-open spaces of Cedar Point, Iowa. Even cows were more reasonable  than this.

"I understand that you're not interested in doing your job," Eve Winchester said in a tight voice.

"There's no need to be rude," Carson Newport snapped. "The good doctor  is doing her job. No one lives forever-especially not bitter old men."

Eve wheeled on Carson and most likely would have demolished him in a  verbal barrage of slings and arrows, but a voice interrupted them. "What  seems to be the trouble?"

Lucinda froze. Absolutely, completely froze as a voice out of her past  floated up from out of nowhere and made her blood run hot and cold at  the same time.

It couldn't be. It simply wasn't possible that she'd heard him. Not  after all this time. Not right now, when she was barely keeping herself  together in the face of one of her most challenging cases yet.

But then Carson turned and said, "Josh!"

And a little bit of Lucinda died because she wasn't imagining this. She  couldn't be. Josh Calhoun himself had walked out of her nightmares and  into her line of sight.

Oh, God. Her breath caught in her throat as Josh approached. He looked  exactly the same as he had the last time she'd seen him. He was wearing  jeans and a red plaid shirt. His longish brown hair stuck out around the  base of his ratty-looking ball cap that looked exactly like the one  he'd worn every single day back in school.

No, no, no. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.