Secret Fires: A Standalone Romance Read online

  Secret Fires

  Candace Camp

  Anastasia Hopcus

  Copyright © 1984 by Candace Camp

  All rights reserved.

  Clutch Books LLC Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places, are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, or events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Turn the page for a preview of

  About the Authors

  Other titles by Candace Camp

  Prologue

  Stephanie looked at the posters of various eye maladies on the wall without really seeing them. The doctors had thought Ty’s problem had something to do with his eyes when they first admitted him to the hospital. When they’d realized it wasn’t his eyes but still didn’t know what it was, they simply left Ty in that wing. The neurologist had asked to speak to her alone and shuttled Stephanie off to this empty exam room twenty minutes ago. She wished she’d brought her jacket from Ty’s room—it was freezing cold in here. Or maybe that was just her.

  Stephanie had sat on a padded stool with wheels, which left Dr. McIlhenny only the examination chair to perch on when he came in. He looked both foolish and grave. Stephanie felt nothing but icy terror.

  “Mrs. Tyler, I ordered a PET scan on your husband. I wasn’t satisfied with CT scan.” He spoke with the detached manner of a frequent observer of grieving. “Mr. Tyler has a very fast-growing brain tumor.”

  Stephanie just stared, unable to absorb the news, while he went on with his clinical analysis of the tumor in Ty’s brain. Ty’s brain. This man was talking as if it were an inanimate object. But it was Ty he was talking about. Ty’s brain that was being destroyed. The neurologist must have seen the sudden, confused panic in her face. He came off the exam chair quickly and reached down to touch her arm. “Mrs. Tyler, is there someone you can call? Someone to be with you? Your parents? Mr. Tyler’s?”

  “No, they live in California. My parents. Ty’s mother is in Florida. She’s—I—we hadn’t told her Ty was ill. We didn’t want to worry her. Ty’s father died just a year ago…” Stephanie’s voice trailed off.

  “A friend?” he suggested.

  “Yes. Neil. I’d like to call Neil.”

  “I could have one of the nurses call him for you.”

  “No. I’d rather do it.” She rose, feeling strangely disconnected from herself, and went to Ty’s room. He lay in the bed, a long, silent mass beneath the sheets. Tubes ran into his arms and nose. His eyes were closed, his face lifeless. He didn’t look like Ty at all, except for the mockery of his bright golden hair against the pillow. Stephanie took her cell phone out of her jacket and headed into the hall. She didn’t want to make the call from Ty’s room, no matter how unconscious he looked. She dialed Neil Moran’s number. Neil had been at the hospital almost every day since Ty entered—helping Stephanie, taking her down to the cafeteria and forcing her to eat, talking to Ty as if Ty could respond to him. It was ironic that he hadn’t been there when the doctor chose to tell her about Ty’s brain tumor.

  A lump filled her throat when Neil’s familiar voice answered the phone, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. Finally she whispered, “Neil?”

  “Stephanie? What’s wrong?”

  She cleared her throat. “Could you come to the hospital?”

  “Has something happened to Ty?”

  “No. Well, yes. Nothing’s happened, exactly, but they—Dr. McIlhenny told me he has a brain tumor.” There was a stunned silence at the other end, and she went on tremulously, “Neil, I need you.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  He must have driven down from his hill like a maniac, for it was only minutes later that he charged out of the elevator. Jaw set, hands clenched at his sides, his face stamped with cold determination, he looked for all the world as if he were running onto the field to turn the game around, except that there was a white touch of fear around his eyes that Stephanie had never seen there before. She jumped to her feet and ran toward him and let him engulf her in his hard arms.

  She clutched at his shirt and buried her face against his chest, sobbing out broken incoherent words. His long, supple fingers smoothed her hair. His cheek caressed the top of her head as he murmured her name. For a brief moment she felt protected. Then reality returned and she pulled away shakily. “The doctor’s still here. Do you want to talk to him?”

  Neil nodded, then impatiently shoved back the thick black hair that fell over his forehead when he did so. They returned to the exam room, but this time the neurologist didn’t sit down. Neil remained standing, already towering over the doctor, and it was obvious that Dr. McIlhenny didn’t want to add to his disadvantage by having to look up at Neil from a chair. The doctor explained again about the tumor. Neil, unconsciously positioning himself between the doctor and Stephanie, snapped, “What are you going to do about it?”

  McIlhenny sighed. “Mr. Moran, this is a very difficult tumor to treat. It has spread, and—well, I’d like a neurosurgeon to see him before I give you a definite answer, but my suspicion is that it’s inoperable. It’s—”

  “Oh, my God!” Stephanie burst out, raising her hands to her mouth. She felt suddenly sick.

  Neil knelt down beside her, one arm going around her shoulders. “Maybe the doctor and I better talk alone. Do you want to go to Ty’s room?”

  “No. I have to hear it.” She smiled weakly at Neil. “I can handle it.”

  Neil squeezed her shoulders and stood. “When do you plan to consult with the neurosurgeon?”

  “I think we should transfer Mr. Tyler to Barrow Neurological Institute at St. Joseph’s. The neurosurgeon I want him to see is on staff there. He’s the best in the state.”

  “Considering Arizona’s size, I’m not sure that’s saying a whole hell of a lot,” Neil countered.

  “I’d put him up against anyone. Barrow is one of the top neurological facilities in the country. If the surgeon thinks he can operate, Mr. Tyler will be in the best hands. I don’t want to hold out any false hopes, but Mr. Tyler is a very healthy man, and young. A much better candidate for surgery than most.”

  Neil strode to the door and back, his hands clenching and unclenching. Stephanie knew the look. Like Ty, he wasn’t good at accepting things. He was accustomed to competing, to fighting and winning. Neil found it hard to deal with something he couldn’t beat himself. His thick black brows drew together, and his tan face was tight with suppressed anger. The black stare was flat and grim, unfocused. He was struggling to control his rage.

  “What I want to know,” he began softly, his voice building, “is why the hell it took you so long to figure this out. A man comes in here with a tumor and you’re testing him for eye diseases, stroke, diabetes—you thought it was a sinus infection at first, for God’s sake!”

  “I wasn’t called in until this morning,” Dr. McIlhenny interjected, understandably nervous at the fierce anger coming from the other, much larger man.

  “Why not?” Neil thundered. “I’ve watched you do
ctors run around here for a week, doing test after test and not coming up with a scrap of information. Why didn’t they call you in earlier?”

  “Brain tumors have many, very variable symptoms. Because they affect both the brain and the central nervous system, it may seem to the patient that the pain is in the stomach, a leg, or some other completely unrelated area. That’s why it can take a while before doctors realize they need to call in the neurologist.”

  Stephanie rose with a weary sigh. “Come on, Neil, it’s no good blaming the hospital. The team doctor thought it was football-related, too. You guys spend half your life in pain. Everybody was looking for something they could trace back to an injury—sinus problems from his broken nose, a pinched nerve, a hit to the head. Who’d expect Ty to have a brain tumor?” Her voice caught on the words.

  Neil’s face softened. “Stringer, I’m sorry.” His calling her by the nickname he’d given her when they’d first met made Stephanie smile through her tears. She’d always thought it was a cute name for a freelance journalist—though it hadn’t given her the thrill that Ty’s calling her Red had. “I just wanted to lash out at somebody. But it doesn’t make it any better, does it? I feel useless.”

  “I know. Me too.”

  The doctor interrupted gravely. “This tumor is exceptionally fast growing. That’s why it didn’t show up on the CT scan they did at the beginning. I’m not sure it would even have shown up on a PET scan back then.”

  The doctor left soon after that, and Neil and Stephanie returned to Ty’s room to sit numbly by his bed and stare at him. Ty didn’t open his eyes or speak, and finally, hours later, Neil talked Stephanie into going home to rest. They drove in silence to the huge, echoing mansion where she and Ty lived. Neil walked her to the door, and she turned to him with huge eyes. “Will you stay with me for a while? I—I’m scared to be alone.”

  “Of course.” He smiled, but his bleary eyes showed he was just as exhausted as she was. Stephanie fixed coffee for them and they talked about the past, the days before the three of them knew each other, and gradually worked their way back to Ty. Stephanie and Neil laughed about their respective first introductions to the force of nature that was Kenneth Tyler. Stephanie’s laughter suddenly turned to tears. “I don’t know what I’m going to do! Neil, what if he dies?”

  “He won’t. Ty can’t die. Don’t worry, Steph, I’ll be right here with you. All the way.”

  Chapter One

  Stephanie Tyler stretched her legs out on the lounger and settled back to enjoy her morning coffee. Heat waves shimmered in front of Camelback Mountain, the most distinctive of the barren mountains surrounding Phoenix. Although it was the middle of June, the first gentle month of summer in other places, it was already blazing in Phoenix. That was why she had scheduled her appointment with Howard Perry for 9:30 in the morning; she liked to get trips outside the house done before the afternoon.

  Thinking of Perry, she sighed and for the hundredth time wondered what he wanted to say to her. An overlooked team-owned insurance policy or pension plan for Ty? A paper releasing the team from responsibility for his death? A lawsuit was something Perry’s conniving mind might conceive of as a threat. He would cover all the angles. Ty had said the first rule to remember in dealing with Howard Perry was to distrust him. Howard was the vice-president in charge of Player Personnel, and at the time Ty had been embroiled in bitter contract negotiations with him. Howard Perry was all business and practicality; Ty all talent and fire. They didn’t mix well.

  Stephanie herself had had a few tussles with Howard Perry years ago when she was cowriting a book with Mel Williams. It had been about Mel’s life as a former Olympic volleyball player and football wife to Jalyn Williams, the best cornerback the Pumas had, but Howard had demanded approval rights on the manuscript so he could remove anything unflattering about the Puma organization or its players. Stephanie had told him there was no way he’d have any sort of control over what she wrote. She’d had ample access to everyone on the team through Mel and Ty; she didn’t need Howard’s help.

  Stephanie shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. She wasn’t going to let Howard Perry spoil the precious morning peace of her garden. Her eyes turned to the high oleander hedge that shaded her back yard and separated it from her neighbor’s. In front of it several hardy irises bloomed in a graceful, nodding arrangement. The pint-sized pool was a fresh blue rectangle, and the fragrant lemon and lime trees made a splash of waxy green against the white wall of her office.

  Her office. That was a joke. It had been weeks since she’d done any work. Stephanie swung her legs off the lounge chair. If such disagreeable thoughts were going to intrude on her morning contemplation, she might as well go to Howard’s office. She stood up and went into the house to get ready for her appointment.

  Her house was smaller than the sprawling wood-and-glass home in which she and Ty had lived, but it suited her. She hadn’t been able to stay in Ty’s house after his death, and the settled charm of this older neighborhood appealed to her. There was something comforting about the white stucco, red-roofed house. The last family had lived there for almost thirty years, and the love seemed to have settled into the walls. That had been what Stephanie needed at the time, a place to curl up and be comforted. And the one-room guesthouse in the rear, perfect for a freelance writer’s office, had completely sold her on the house.

  Stephanie put on light make-up and swept her long red-brown hair into a knot so it wouldn’t straggle and cling to her face in the heat. She had chosen a light linen sundress with blue stripes that brought out the color of her eyes. She knew that her eyes were her best feature. They were large and an unusual blue-gray color that glowed or darkened with whatever she was feeling, and they were strongly accented by the slash of dark brows above them. Looking her best always bolstered Stephanie’s confidence. As Ty had said, you couldn’t let Howard Perry see you sweat. She didn’t know what Howard was after, but their conversations had a tendency to turn into arguments.

  The business offices of the Phoenix Pumas lay beside the stadium and practice field south of Tempe on Interstate 10. The closer she drew to the familiar gold-glass building and the looming stadium beyond it, the tighter her stomach knotted. She hadn’t been here since Ty died, and it was a jolt to face Ty’s home ground again.

  But by the time Stephanie got past security at the gate and parked, she had shoved aside the sadness and the nerves—or, at least, locked them away well enough they didn’t show. She lifted her chin and strode through the front doors. Just inside, she had to pass through a metal detector. That was new since she’d been here last. And she didn’t recognize either of the guards. Everything moved on.

  The halls were carpeted in dull gold to match the no-longer-trendy gold glass of the exterior, and the walls were decorated with large paintings featuring famous players and scenes from their games. Stephanie didn’t look at the one of Ty leaping through the air to catch the game-winning touchdown of the Super Bowl. No expense had been spared on this dream-child of the Ingram brothers back in the 90s, but, while they kept everything in immaculate shape, the design of the place was now rather dated.

  The Ingram brothers had taken a family fortune and parlayed it into a staggering multibillion-dollar enterprise dedicated to real estate and entertainment. The centerpiece of their empire was the Phoenix Pumas. They’d hired the best of the best to make their fledgling team competitive and profitable. The result was a team that had won the championship of their division multiple times and even one Super Bowl.

  Stephanie took the elevator to the top floor, where the executive offices lay. Howard’s secretary—who looked like she’d probably marched in the first women’s suffragist parade in 1913—took her name and ushered her into the spacious corner office. Howard Perry rose to greet her, flinging his arms out wide and smiling like she’d just made his day.

  “Stephanie! Damn, but you look good, girl!” Perry always laid his Texas accent on for all that it was worth when he was try
ing to be charming. Stephanie thought it just sounded like he was imitating Matthew McConaughey. That was where any resemblance ended though. Howard was as short and rotund as the actor was lean. “Come in, come in. How are you?”

  Stephanie answered, but her words were drowned out by the wild yapping that erupted behind her.

  She turned to see a small white dog that looked like two cotton balls glued together with spindly legs and a tail emerging from the fluff like a Q-tip. The dog was standing on a pink satin pillow and barking so hard its entire body lifted off the pillow with each yap.

  “Well, who is this?” Stephanie started toward the animal, hand stretched out for the dog to sniff, but she stopped when the little dog flew into such a paroxysm of barking that she was afraid it might tumble off the couch entirely.

  “Princess Fleek! Shut up!” The dog stopped barking, whirled around a few times and dropped back to its cushion, heaving an enormous sigh. Howard’s sigh was just as loud. “Jeez...” Howard, who was not exactly a big man, looked like he could hold the puffy dog in one hand—though Stephanie could tell by his expression he had less than zero interest in doing that. “Her name is Princess Fleek. And don't even ask me what that means. My youngest daughter who named her tried to explain it to me. I had to wash down six aspirins with a scotch afterward and I still don't have the slightest clue.”

  “And she stays at your office?" Stephanie asked. “It’s certainly a different look.”

  “Ha!” Howard gave one of his loud short laughs and gestured toward the chair nearest his desk. “Sit down, sit down. Not on the couch; it’ll set the fluffball off again. Princess was ‘diagnosed’ with separation anxiety, and my wife started her on some kind of doggie Xanax, but it hasn't kicked in yet. She’d bark at her own shadow if it was big enough to notice—though, nothing could compare to the pure terror that is our Roomba.” Howard glared at the dog. “Little rat should be scared I'm gonna tie her leash to a park bench and never return.”