The Wish List Read online

  The Wish List

  by Myrna Mackenzie

  Copyright ©1995, 2014 by Myrna Topol

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed without prior written permission by the copyright holder, except where permitted by law.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Author’s Note:

  This novel is a Special Author’s Updated Edition of The Daddy List, re-titled as The Wish List. It was originally published as Silhouette Romance #1090 Copyright ©1995 by Myrna Topol

  Cover Design by Melody Simmons of eBookindiecovers

  2/12/14

  Dear Readers,

  This book was originally published as The Daddy List in 1995. It won a HOLT Medallion Award and was reprinted around the world, but until now it has never been released as an ebook.

  Because a number of things have changed since the original release date of the book, I have chosen to update it and have added an epilogue, but most of the story remains the same. For those of you familiar with my more recent books, the style of this one may seem a bit different. Writers do evolve over time and I didn’t try to reproduce my current style, but I did stay true to the characters and to the emotional heart of the story.

  I enjoyed revisiting Faith, Nathan and Cory, and if this is your first introduction to them, I hope you’ll enjoy getting to know them.

  Best Wishes,

  Myrna Mackenzie

  The Wish List

  Husband wanted…maybe.

  A wounded doctor with a tragic past is thrown together with the one woman who can heal his hands. But can she also heal his heart when her young son is a constant reminder of the child he lost?

  Nathan Murphy struggles to avoid that question. Because even though he’s wildly attracted to Faith Reynolds, he knows he’s not the man for her and not the father for her four-year-old son, Cory. Still, the two of them make an almost irresistible pair. He’ll have to be strong or risk breaking their already broken hearts all over again.

  Chapter One

  Her four-year-old son was absolutely right, Faith Reynolds thought, looking at her watch and realizing that she was late for her appointment. It was a burnt bacon kind of day.

  Blowing out a puff of air that lifted her bangs, she gripped the steering wheel more firmly and lightly pressed down on the accelerator, trying to make up for lost time.

  The day had started out nicely enough. Blue sky, sunshine. Faith remembered thinking that something wonderful was bound to happen on such a day. But that was before Cory had picked up a spoonful of oatmeal and told her that he wanted to tell her “some- thin’ important.”

  “Billy Wilkins’s daddy is coming for show-and-tell at preschool today,” he’d said, his eyes dark and earnest.

  And the sky had suddenly lost some of its blue. Faith lost the urge to eat. She reached out and brushed back his sleep-tousled hair.

  “I could come for show-and-tell if you let me know in advance,” she offered softly.

  Cory stirred his spoon through the oatmeal, making circular tracks for the milk to fill in. “You came, Mom. You did. ‘Member?”

  She nodded, unable to ignore the lump growing in her throat. She wanted so badly for him to have all he needed. No, she wanted to be able to be everything he needed.

  “We could ask Mandy to come for show-and-tell.”

  Cory let go of his spoon, leaving it anchored in the sticky cereal. He shifted on his chair. “Baby-sitters do not make good show-and-tell,” he told her. “And Scotty Miller’s daddy is coming next week.”

  “I see. And you want to bring a daddy, too, don’t you?” It was no good ignoring the situation; there was no joy in letting him struggle to the painful point himself.

  But Cory sat silent, sucking at his lip. His eyes were round and he held himself very still. Even his bare feet that poked out of the legs of his pajamas were motionless, not pumping back and forth like they usually were.

  It was the moment Faith had always feared, the someday when her child would feel different. Left out.

  “Do you think you’ll ever get me a daddy?” he’d asked in a voice that was much smaller, more strained than the Cory voice she was used to.

  No, Faith had wanted to scream. You had a daddy once and he didn’t want us, he threw us away. I wouldn’t ever risk feeling that way about anyone again. I couldn’t stand that kind of hurt and humiliation for you or for me.

  But of course, she couldn’t say that. She’d worked so hard to make Cory believe that he had been loved all the way around. And in truth, she wanted a father for him. It was what she herself had always wanted as a child, a daddy of her own. But it was time to face the facts; not all marriages were based on strong and scary feelings. There were people who married with more practical intentions; like common interests, mutual benefit, to obtain a father for a child.

  “Do you think I’ll ever have a daddy, Mom? Do you?”

  Faith stared at him, biting her lip, ignoring her cooling cup of coffee. “I don’t know yet, Cory. We’ll have to see. I’ll think about it. I promise.”

  But as she’d worried that perhaps she’d said the wrong thing, the smoke alarm had brought them out of the trance. Faith had scurried to save the unsalvageable bacon. Cory had tried to open a window until Faith had told him to sit down while she took care of everything.

  It was, indeed, a burnt bacon kind of day. And it had only gone downhill since then.

  Now, Faith turned the car into a rutted lane. After driving up and down the bumpy road twice and passing nothing but fields of grass and newborn dandelions, she still appeared to be nowhere near the house she was looking for.

  Running one hand through her long hair, she slowly pulled over and looked at the spidery handwritten map Dr. Anderson had given her. Staring more carefully, she realized that the number she’d been reading as a one was, in fact, a seven. And the words that had looked like Hiller Road, could, by a long stretch of the imagination, also be interpreted as Hidden Road.

  “It figures,” she said to no one in particular, and suddenly the whole frustrating situation seemed rather funny. She’d started the day thinking that something wonderful was going to happen, and here she sat, miles from her destination, visiting with the dandelions. Not that dandelions were so awful; their buttery yellow heads had never seemed deserving of the term weed in Faith’s eyes. Still, she was in the wrong place. Nathan Murphy’s house was nowhere near, and she was going to have some explaining to do when she got there. Which was too bad, since she’d already been warned that the man had raised hell when he’d heard that she was coming.

  Darn it, she didn’t want Nathan Murphy to be her patient any more than he wanted her to be his physical therapist. The man had once been Southeastern Illinois Memorial’s top surgeon, a genius, some had said; a man with magic in his fingertips. She was horribly sorry his hands were injured and that his career had been ended in an auto accident that had taken the lives of his wife and daughter well over a year ago. But she had a full caseload of patients, people who needed her and were in the midst of treatment. She had no room for another patient, especially one who’d put off therapy and who would need extended sessions. At least those were the words she’d told her supervisor and Dr. Anderson. Though she knew that wasn’t the only reason for her reluctance.

  She’d met Nathan Murphy once before, soon after she’d joined the staff, and had been instantly spooked by her response to him. He’d barely said a word, barely noticed her and yet,
when she’d looked into his eyes, her heart had raced, her breath had quickened, and fifty-foot Danger signals had flashed red before her eyes—until she’d seen the ring on his left hand and sweet relief had rushed through her veins.

  But that had been two years ago when he’d been safe, married, off-limits. Now things had changed. Or some things had. Faith still didn’t risk letting her feelings get involved in any way, with anyone. She wouldn’t have taken this case had she been given a choice. But there had been no choice. Dr. Anderson had made it clear that she was to be Nathan Murphy’s therapist. Period.

  And now she was late.

  Faith shrugged and turned the car around. “I guess you can’t win on a burnt bacon kind of day,” she said. She wondered if Nathan Murphy understood about those kinds of days. But then he’d have to, wouldn’t he? With his surgeon’s hands injured, stiffened and useless, he’d had many burnt bacon kinds of days in the past year and a half. Far more than she had.

  Suddenly Faith felt chastened, ashamed of her own frustration. After all, it wasn’t Nathan’s fault that she’d had a bad day or that he was an unwelcome reminder of her past mistakes.

  In just a short while, her day would improve. She and Cory would talk. Maybe they would even discuss initiating a practical, unemotional search for a man who wanted a wife and a little boy of his own. Soon her world would be bright again.

  But Nathan Murphy had a longer road ahead of him.

  A hidden road, she thought, looking down at the map once again. In more ways than one.

  Still, she couldn’t take that kind of a defeatist attitude. She had a commitment to fulfill. And her task right now was to find the man’s house, examine him and, set up a workable schedule.

  She needed to establish a simple patient-therapist relationship...and to block out any memory of the way she’d felt the first time she’d ever met the man.

  ~ ~ ~

  Nathan sat in his empty house, listening to the monotonous tick of the clock. Like water dripping out of a leaky faucet, the sound irritated, and prevented his thoughts from wandering where they wanted to. It kept him in the present, reminding him of...something. Something he was supposed to remember. What was it?

  Oh yeah, today was the day Dan Anderson was sending the physical therapist, the best money could buy, he’d said. She was coming...when? Forty-five minutes ago.

  Closing his eyes, Nathan breathed out slowly, letting his head fall back against the cushioned chair. Good. Anderson must have forgotten.

  It was bad enough that the man had stormed in here two days ago bellowing that Nathan had grieved and neglected himself long enough. He’d demanded that Nathan get on with his life. Then Anderson had said he was sending a therapist, like it or not. That he would take whatever steps necessary, legal or otherwise, to ensure that Nathan opted for treatment. He was through leaving him alone—unless Nathan made the right choice and gave in to the inevitable.

  He’d even threatened to call Celine, Nathan’s sister. His sweet, loving, emotional sister, the sister he’d lied to for over a year, reassuring her, telling her he was fine. If Anderson called her, she’d be packed in a heartbeat. She’d come and cry, she’d want to talk about Amy and Joanna and relive memories Nathan had spent months trying to bury. She’d dredge it all up, and worse, she’d bring her family, her five little ones that Amy had played with. She’d bring buckets of love and tears and children, things he couldn’t deal with anymore.

  And in his desperation to have her gone, he would hurt her. Just seeing what he’d become would wound her. He couldn’t risk that. And that was what Anderson had threatened.

  Nathan hadn’t doubted that Dan Anderson would follow through on his threats. He was a tough doctor. He was a terrible pain in the rear end even if he did happen to be a friend. But thankfully, he was also busy right now and had obviously forgotten to send the therapist.

  Good, Nathan thought. It would save him the trouble of throwing her out.

  It would keep him from having to argue that none of Anderson’s lofty plans would change a thing. They wouldn’t bring Nathan’s wife and daughter back to life. They couldn’t erase what had already happened. Because even if Anderson and his therapist worked a miracle and gave him back his hands tomorrow, even if he went on to save a life a day for the rest of his own days, that wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference to him. He would still hear his daughter’s cries in the night, still wake up sweat-soaked and shaking in the dark...just as he deserved to.

  He didn’t want a damn therapist or a second chance. All he wanted was to be left alone.

  The doorbell rang, two long peals, shredding the silence. Damn. It had to be her. No one else but Anderson was foolish enough to come around anymore. And Dan would be at the hospital now.

  Nathan rose and went to the front door, staring down at the slippery doorknob. He made no attempt to touch it.

  “It’s open,” he said, standing to one side. Of course it was always open. He couldn’t manage the nightmarish lock mechanism, and wouldn’t have even if he could. What was the point in keeping out the bogeyman when he was on speaking terms with his own personal demons?

  But then the door opened, and all thought of locks and doorknobs and demons drained away. A woman stood there in the tunnel of sunlight that streamed through the open door. She had long, honey brown curls. Curls that the wind had tossed about her face. Nathan noticed that the top of her head barely cleared his shoulders. He also noticed that while she was smiling, her blue-green eyes were wary.

  The wariness was something, a tool Nathan could use. Dan Anderson thought he had Nathan under his thumb, but he’d bet that Dan hadn’t witnessed those worried blue-green eyes firsthand. If this was the best Southeastern Illinois Memorial had to offer, then he was home free. She’d be running back to Dan inside of five minutes.

  A thread of a smile made its way to Nathan’s face. At least that was the way it felt. He knew it wasn’t real. Smiles weren’t a part of his life anymore.

  But she was still looking up at him.

  “Dr. Murphy, hello. I’m Faith Reynolds. Dr. Anderson told me that he’d spoken to you.”

  “You might say that.” Nathan didn’t step aside or invite her farther into the room. He would have liked to cross his arms, something that might have suggested menace, but that only would have called attention to the fact that his fingers no longer folded around his biceps, no longer bent at all. Instead he leaned on the narrow edge of the open door, one arm hidden. With some difficulty, he managed to shove the stiff thumb of the other hand through the back belt loop of his jeans. He leaned forward into Faith Reynolds’s face.

  “You and Dan must have gotten your signals mixed, Ms. Reynolds. I didn’t request a therapist.”

  By Nathan’s calculations, she should have taken a step backward right around now. He was taller than her, bigger than her, and he was in her space. He was crowding her.

  Instead, she turned the wattage up on her smile. He could almost feel the heat on his face. That’s how lit up she looked. But in the small V of delicate peach-tinted skin at her throat, Nathan saw that her dancing pulse didn’t match her “I’m so happy to meet you” smile.

  “I know you didn’t ask for a therapist, Dr. Murphy. Dr. Anderson made the situation very clear. You don’t want a therapist. But I’m afraid you’ve got one.”

  She lifted one small shoulder in a tiny shrug. “By the way, I am sorry I’m late, but I made a few wrong turns. You really live pretty far from civilization, don’t you?”

  Ignoring the fact that he was still a breath away from her face, she slipped out from beneath his glare and moved into the room.

  Nathan turned as she passed him. He still hadn’t closed the door. He didn’t intend to. At least not until this petite and unwelcome woman had gone back to where she came from.

  He watched in amazement as she moved to the curtains, the ones he never opened. Pulling on the drawstring, she drew them wide, letting in more light than he’d seen in a long time.
>
  Nathan felt the heat rising within him. He didn’t bother trying to tamp it down.

  “I thought I made myself clear, lady,” he said, straightening to his full six feet. “I want you gone from here. Now. No matter what Dan told you, this is my body, my life, my house. I didn’t invite you, and I sure as hell don’t have to have you.”

  Her face was turned slightly toward the window, though she heard him well enough. He could see it in the way her lips trembled slightly. And he noticed her lips because errant strands of her hair had caught on them, tawny wisps that she brushed away with her fingers, like a child dusting chocolate bits from a candy-smeared mouth. She shoved her hair away from her face, and the movement called attention to the small, pale earlobe that had been hidden before. He suddenly wished she was bigger, meaner looking, with thin lips and cold eyes. He wished she’d put all that honey-toned hair in a bun, hide it under a hat, chop it off. He wished she’d get out of here. Fast.

  “It’s so green here,” she said wistfully, gazing out at the trees surrounding his house, totally ignoring his request that she leave. “My son would love this place. He’s just four, and there’s so much room to run. It’s almost wild. Is that what attracted you to it?”

  The mention of her son cut through Nathan, snapping whatever human feelings and concerns he’d had, stealing her protection. So what if she was small and fragile? She was all that he didn’t want to deal with. A therapist, someone who would try to help him when the last thing he wanted was to be helped. A woman, one who was delicate, soft and pretty, with a voice like silk on naked flesh. A reminder of what he’d lost in more ways than one. A woman with a small child.

  “I live here because I want to be left alone, and no one comes out this far to bother me, Ms. Reynolds. Understand?”