Offhand, Kay expected Mitch was not unknown to a lot of women. One look from those dark eyes and most women would turn to putty in his hands. Kay, of course, was not susceptible. Sex without commitment was one of her taboos.

His eyes seared hers again as they rounded another corner, and she wondered vaguely if that wasn’t rather a prudish philosophy for a twenty-seven-year-old woman.

What was a night? Who’d know? Her mother was three thousand miles away.

That’s not funny, the puritanical part of her brain announced repressively.

They maneuvered the stretcher into the elevator. A few minutes later, they were on the ground floor. Orderlies and nurses passed, then a doctor. To heck with it; Kay offered a brazenly cheerful “hello” to the last. In for a dime, in for a dollar.

In front of room 104, Mitch gently pushed the gurney against the wall, adjusted the pillows under Peter’s leg and disappeared inside the hospital room, leaving Kay in the corridor with Peter.

He seemed to be gone years before a feminine voice softly called out, “Petie?”

Peter promptly burst into tears, crushing Kay’s hand so tightly he hurt her. “Mom?”

“Honey, I’m fine. I miss you, darling. And in just three more days…”

They talked, mother and son. They weren’t able to see each other, but it was enough. Mitch came back out and leaned against the doorway, staring at Kay. She knew darn well there were tears in her eyes. Not the kind of tears that fell, just the kind that welled there, causing a soft blur. She lifted her chin, not really caring a whit if he saw them.

Any one of them could have done it, Kay reflected. The nurses, Peter’s doctor, his mother’s. She should have thought of it herself. All the child had wanted was to know his mother was all right.