Free Counting Stars by Michele Paige Holmes Page B

he’s become well acquainted with. Having cancer does that to a person,” she finished meaningfully.
    “What?” Jane gasped, her gaze pulled from the window to Marion.
    Paul froze, hoping she hadn’t seen him.
    Marion misinterpreted Jane’s exclamation. “Yes, dear. I had cancer too—breast cancer. I was only forty-two when I had a mastectomy. It was quite terrifying—and I don’t just mean the surgery. It’s the uncertainty of it all—not knowing how long you’ll be around.” She shook her head. “What Mr. Bryant must be going through . . . I count my blessings each and every day that I’m here with my grandchildren.” She gave Jane a final squeeze. “And now I’d better get in to see that grandson of mine.” She turned and headed for the sink, nearly running into Paul. She smiled at him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bryant. Eavesdropping were you?” she asked with a knowing wink. Then, before Paul could reply, she added, “She’s a keeper, that one.”
    Unaware of the drama unfolding around her, Marion continued across the room. Adrenaline surged through Paul as he walked toward Jane.
    She stared at him, her eyes wide.
    “What are you doing—?” Paul broke off, studying her face for the first time. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but it was her intense look of longing that stopped him.
    She’s the one.
    Paul looked around, wondering who had spoken. But there was no one near them. The only sound to be heard was the water running on the far side of the room.
    “I’m sorry,” Jane began. “I had no right, I only wanted . . .” She glanced back at the window as her voice trailed off.
    She wants to be a mother . The voice again.
    Paul didn’t bother looking around this time but instead watched Jane as she folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself as if she were cold.
    Another awkward moment passed, and she spoke again. “I’d better be going.” She brushed past him, heading for the elevator.
    “No—wait.” He heard himself speak before he realized what he was doing.
    Jane turned around slowly, a questioning look on her face.
    He took a step toward her and his eyes locked with hers. She wasn’t what he’d planned on, what he’d expected. How could he even be considering a woman who sold real estate, wanted to have her own business, and had fluorescent toes? And yet . . . She was looking past him again, toward the nursery. Paul turned around, following her gaze. The nurse stood at the window, carefully holding Mark.
    Paul heard Jane’s breath catch.
    “He’s so tiny. So perfect.”
    Perfect? Paul looked at the mess of tubes and wires coming out of his son. Perfect?
    Yes. She is perfect.
    Suddenly it felt as if a portion of the weight lifted from his shoulders. A bit of his tiredness faded away as he turned back to Jane. He walked toward her, his lips curving in a half-smile.
    “I think, maybe . . . Can we start again?” he asked, stopping in front of her. He didn’t wait for a reply. “Hi. I’m Paul. I have terminal cancer. My wife was killed in a car accident, and I’m looking for a woman to raise my children.” He extended his hand.
    Jane hesitated for the merest second before a smile broke out over her face and she put her hand in his.
    “I’m Jane.”

Chapter Nine
    Paul held up a limp french fry. “I’ve eaten way too many of these lately.”
    Across the table from him, Jane moved her fork slowly around her own plate. The macaroni and cheese and wilted salad weren’t doing much for her. “Kind of makes you wonder if the hospital has some sort of contract with the cafeteria. You know, they supply so many new patients per day from food poisoning cases, and the hospital gives them a deal on rent or something.”
    Paul grinned. “That’s a good theory, though I haven’t succumbed yet . . .” His smile faded, and he looked up at Jane, his face grave.
    “Will you tell me about your cancer?” she asked.
    “There’s not much to tell.” Paul pushed his plate