Luring a Lady by Nora Roberts

machine.”
    Nodding, she walked to the curb and tried to hail a cab.
    â€œWhere’s your car?”
    â€œI sent him home. I didn’t know how long I’d be and it was too hot to leave him sitting there. Maybe I should go back in and call a cab.”
    â€œIn a hurry?”
    She winced as the siren shrieked. “I want to get to the hospital.”
    Nonplussed, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “There’s no need for you to go.”
    She turned, and her eyes, in the brief moment they held his, were ripe with emotion. Saying nothing, she faced away until a cab finally swung to the curb. Nor did she speak when Mikhail climbed in behind her.
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    She hated the smell of hospitals. Layers of illness, antiseptics, fear and heavy cleaners. The memory of the last days her grandfather had lain dying were still too fresh in her mind. The Emergency Room of the downtown hospital added one more layer. Fresh blood.
    Sydney steeled herself against it and walked through the crowds of the sick and injured to the admitting window.
    â€œYou had a Mrs. Wolburg just come in.”
    â€œThat’s right.” The clerk stabbed keys on her computer. “You family?”
    â€œNo, I—”
    â€œWe’re going to need some family to fill out these forms. Patient said she wasn’t insured.”
    Mikhail was already leaning over, eyes dangerous, when Sydney snapped out her answer. “Hayward Industries will be responsible for Mrs. Wolburg’s medical expenses.” She reached into her bag for identification and slapped it onto the counter. “I’m Sydney Hayward. Where is Mrs. Wolburg?”
    â€œIn X ray.” The frost in Sydney’s eyes had the clerk shifting in her chair. “Dr. Cohen’s attending.”
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    So they waited, drinking bad coffee among the moans and tears of inner city ER. Sometimes Sydney would lay her head back against the wall and shut her eyes. She appeared to be dozing, but all the while she was thinking what it would be like to be old, and alone and helpless.
    He wanted to think she was only there to cover her butt. Oh yes, he wanted to think that of her. It was so much more comfortable to think of her as the head of some bloodless company than as a woman.
    But he remembered how quickly she had acted in the Wolburg apartment, how gentle she had been with the old woman. And most of all, he remembered the look in her eyes out on the street. All that misery and compassion and guilt welling up in those big eyes.
    â€œShe tripped on the linoleum,” Sydney murmured.
    It was the first time she’d spoken in nearly an hour, and Mikhail turned his head to study her. Her eyes were still closed, her face pale and in repose.
    â€œShe was only walking in her own kitchen and fell because the floor was old and unsafe.”
    â€œYou’re making it safe.”
    Sydney continued as if she hadn’t heard. “Then she could only lie there, hurt and alone. Her voice was so weak. I nearly walked right by.”
    â€œYou didn’t walk by.” His hand hesitated over hers. Then, with an oath, he pressed his palm to the back of her hand. “You’re only one Hayward, Sydney. Your grandfather—”
    â€œHe was ill.” Her hand clenched under Mikhail’s, and her eyes squeezed more tightly closed. “He was sick nearly two years, and I was in Europe. I didn’t know. He didn’t want to disrupt my life. My father was dead, and there was only me, and he didn’t want to worry me. When he finally called me, it was almost over. He was a good man. He wouldn’t have let things get so bad, but he couldn’t…he just couldn’t.”
    She let out a short, shuddering breath. Mikhail turned her hand over and linked his fingers with hers.
    â€œWhen I got to New York, he was in the hospital. He looked so small, so tired. He told me I was the only Hayward left. Then he died,” she said wearily.