Foundation of Love E-Book

Scotty Cade

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 379

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2011

Beschreibung

Years ago, Wes Stanhope fled his hometown of Charleston to escape the constraints of society and his controlling father, Colonel Robert Lee Stanhope IV. After completing medical school and building a successful practice in pediatric oncology in Seattle, Wes is called home for his mother's funeral and presented with an opportunity to build and run a children's hospital—his mother's legacy—a choice he ultimately makes despite his misgivings about his father's role as chairman of the hospital's board of directors. When Wes begins to build his team, he is introduced to a young, handsome black  architect named Tyler Williams. Sparks begin to fly between the two men, and although Wes doesn't identify as gay, denying his attraction to Ty becomes impossible. But Ty won't be a dirty secret: if Wes wants to build a relationship, he'll have to come out, brave his father's racism and homophobia, and risk his chance to continue as the hospital's CEO and realize his mother's dream.

Leseprobe

Copyright

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

382 NE 191st Street #88329

Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Foundation of Love

Copyright © 2011 by Scotty Cade and Z.B. Marshall

Cover Art by Anne Cain    [email protected]

Cover Design by Mara McKennen

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 382 NE 191st Street #88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-61372-274-9

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

December 2011

Dedication

To my ever supportive Kell. The words “I Love You” just never seem to be adequate enough to describe the feelings in my heart, and I truly could not do this if it weren’t for you! Thank you! To my sisters, Vicki and Lynn, whose continued love and support have made this journey possible. You tirelessly tend to the home fires so I can continue to chase my dreams, and I love you with all my heart. And lastly to Z.B. Marshall, my dear friend and coauthor. I’ll always treasure the many hours of late-night banter as we developed this story and solidified a lifelong friendship. My first attempt at coauthoring has been an incredible experience, and I owe that all to you.

—SCOTTY CADE

I have been blessed to live a life grounded in a foundation of love. Joe, thank you for sharing your life with me and for supporting my every endeavor. My thanks to my friends who encouraged me during this project. My profound gratitude to my mother, Ruth, who has provided unconditional love from the moment I joined the world. And finally to Scotty Cade: mentor, tireless cheerleader, and good friend. Collaborating with you has been a joy.

—Z.B. MARSHALL

All men should strive to learn before they die,

what they are running from, and to, and why….

—James Thurber

Chapter One

ITWASan unseasonably cool day in Charleston and had been raining lightly since the end of the funeral. Dr. Weston Stanhope took a long drink of bourbon and let his head fall back onto the overstuffed wing chair in his father’s study. How like the Colonel to keep me waiting.

Wes gazed around the well-appointed room and, not for the first time, thought how pompous it felt—as though it were a movie set. The tall, slender windows allowed the overcast skies to cast a gloomy, gray light that danced on the engagement portrait of his parents, Colonel Robert Lee Stanhope IV and Elizabeth Pettigrew Stanhope, hanging above the fireplace. Someone, likely John, the “house man,” had built a small fire, and the flames were reflecting off the Colonel’s antique mahogany desk. The highly polished piece of furniture, flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookcases that stood as though guarding the Colonel’s official business like sentinels, seemed so much smaller than it had when he was a child.

Continuing his gaze, Wes stopped at the exquisite shiny brass telescope, undoubtedly pointing toward Charleston Harbor and Fort Sumter, that he’d never been permitted to touch as a young boy. A smile formed on his lips as he was suddenly six years old again and commanding the navy from this very room. But the smile quickly faded when he remembered how many times he’d been shooed out of this study because the Colonel was too busy to be bothered with his foolish games. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the last time he had been in Charleston. The days, months, or years didn’t really matter because however long ago it had actually been, it still seemed like a lifetime.

After graduating from the Citadel, he could barely wait to escape the constraints of Charleston society and the responsibility of being the Colonel’s only child. He’d inherited his mother’s blue-gray eyes and her strong sense of compassion, and because of the latter had decided to forego the long-standing Stanhope tradition of military service, instead enrolling in medical school with a single objective—to get as far away from Colonel Stanhope as possible.

Suddenly, he felt tears well. He would never see or talk to his mother again. Elizabeth “Betsy” Pettigrew Stanhope had died of an aneurysm just three days ago. Wes remembered getting the call from John while he was on rounds at the Seattle Medical Center. A frantic set of activities ensued: arranging for coverage for his patients in the pediatric oncology unit and making harried flight reservations. It was just now, after the funeral, that he began to feel the devastating weight of his loss.

Sitting alone in this room, so full of memories, Wes’s chest began to tighten, and it was suddenly becoming very difficult to breathe. The tears that had welled earlier threatened to overflow onto his cheeks, but he knew the Colonel would join him eventually, and in the Colonel’s eyes, crying was a sign of weakness. He would never give his father the opportunity to call him weak; he would hold it together. He had no choice.

He closed his eyes in an attempt to hold back the threatening tears as he privately mourned the loss of his mother. She’d been his best friend, his strongest advocate, and an unending source of support and encouragement his entire life. His heart was aching from the large hole left there by her departure. And now that she was gone, he felt alone and adrift.

He was slightly startled when his father walked into the room. He stood, more out of habit than respect, and noticed the Colonel had removed his impeccably tailored suit jacket and tie.

“Well, I see you already have a drink, then,” the Colonel said as he turned toward the liquor display.

“Yes, it seemed like an exceptionally good idea,” Wes replied as he folded himself back into the wing chair.

“I was very pleased with the turnout at St. Michael’s this morning,” his father said.

Immediately, Wes felt his resentment rising, an almost visceral reaction—as though the funeral attendance was a measure of the Colonel’s own importance rather than a genuine outpouring of grief for the loss of one of South Carolina’s biggest philanthropists.

He really didn’t know what to say. His parents had been married nearly forty years, and he was tempted to ask the Colonel how he was coping with what must have been a devastating loss, but he knew this line of inquiry would be lost on his father. The Colonel was a lot like Fort Sumter—an island, impenetrable, and somewhat uninterested in vessels floating around it.

Knowing his condolences would mean nothing, Wes simply replied with an even tone, “I have a flight at eight o’clock. John told me you wanted to have a word.”

Wes watched as the Colonel settled into the matching wing chair in front of the fireplace. He thought his father looked a bit uncomfortable and almost acted as if he wanted to assess Wes’s reaction to his next words before they were uttered. Wes decided that a second bourbon would be in order. He stood and walked over to the crystal decanter and poured himself another drink. He smiled sadly at the photo on the Colonel’s desk—a young Weston Stanhope in his Citadel uniform. A lifetime ago, he thought as he settled back into his chair and looked at the fire. He waited for his father to speak.

Wes’s gaze drifted back to the portrait of his parents. He tried to remember every detail of his last visit with his mother. Six months ago, Betsy had flown to Seattle to help Wes organize the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new pediatric oncology wing and had donated a significant amount of money to the hospital. He remembered how she had beamed when he cut the ribbon and how she had lingered long after the ceremony to speak with some of the young patients. She had been the sole reason Wes occasionally regretted his decision to leave Charleston and live on the West Coast.

Robert Lee Stanhope IV was rarely at a loss for words. Born the oldest son to a long line of South Carolina Stanhopes, the Colonel was proud of his lineage and determined to carry on the Stanhope name. It was no small disappointment to him that his beloved wife bore him just one son, and his son had no interest in remaining in Charleston to create a legacy of his own. In fact, Wes had nearly been Robert Lee Stanhope V, but his mother had put a quick stop to that. He recalled her words: “No son of mine will be forced to endure the fifth of anything.” However disappointed, the Colonel was proud of his son’s reputation as the preeminent pediatric oncologist in Seattle, even though Seattle was not located within the borders of South Carolina. True, Wes had fulfilled the family tradition of attendance at The Citadel, although the Colonel had never understood why his handsome and accomplished son had not, at the age of thirty-seven, married and started a family of his own.

The Colonel cleared his throat and directed his gaze at Wes. “Weston, your mother and I had several long discussions after her last visit to Seattle for the dedication of the new pediatric oncology wing. I’m sure you are aware of how proud she was—rather, we are—of all you’ve accomplished there.”

Wes looked at his father and turned his gaze back to the fire.

The Colonel continued. “When your mother returned, she spoke to me about allocating resources from the Stanhope Foundation to build a children’s hospital here in South Carolina, and it was her fondest wish that you would lead this effort.”

Wes felt his mouth go dry and he straightened in his seat. “You’re building a hospital?” His voice was hoarse.

“That’s what I want to discuss with you.” The Colonel leaned forward in his chair. “I am prepared to move ahead with this project. Your mother and I talked about this at length, and we have a large parcel of land in Mount Pleasant that’s been in the family for years. We’ve had some preliminary discussions with the Governor, and he assures me his office will support this initiative.”

Wes’s lips curled into a smirk. Of course he will. The Governor was just one more of the Colonel’s fellow Citadel graduates and would hold true to the Colonel and his wishes.

The Colonel rose from his chair and walked over to the windows. He gazed at the harbor through the rain. “As you know, your mother was a tireless volunteer and served on the Governor’s council to conduct health education outreach for the state’s poor. When she returned from her last visit with you, I think she had already decided that this hospital would be her legacy. She had planned to ask you to assist her in its development. Now it’s up to the two of us to make sure the Stanhope Children’s Hospital is built.” The Colonel turned back to face his son.

Wes lowered his eyes and stared at the ice in the bottom of his glass. He hoped the Colonel wouldn’t see the tears welling in his eyes again. “I see,” was all he could manage to say.

The Colonel continued. “I, of course, will be the chairman, and we have selected the other members of the Board—most of whom, I daresay, you’ve known most of your life. You will be the CEO and be responsible for the design, construction, staffing, and—once completed—the entire operation. You’ll answer to the Board and be responsible for securing approval for each major milestone leading the project to completion. You will be well compensated, and if you agree, I can have a contract ready for your review next week.”

There was a knock on the study door. John nodded to the Colonel and said, “Dr. Stanhope, your taxi is outside.”

Wes stood and suddenly felt a bit off balance. He wasn’t sure if it was the effect of the bourbon or the shock of the Colonel’s pronouncement. He looked at the portrait above the fireplace once more and then directed his gaze back to the Colonel. “I need some time to think about this. I loved my mother deeply and nothing would make me happier than to build a hospital to honor her memory. But I have a life and practice in Seattle. I can’t just pick up and leave that quickly.”

“Well, move her back here to Charleston with you then. Whoever she is, she would have a good life here. We can make sure she is accepted into society and help her establish a nice network of friends, maybe a job. You’re thirty-seven years old now, son—high time to start a family.”

Wes walked toward the door and picked up his bag. “I’ll give this very serious consideration. That is all I can commit to right now.”

The Colonel nodded. Wes started in the direction of the door and then stopped midstride. He wanted to run to his father and seek the comfort he knew they both needed, but in the Colonel’s eyes, again, he knew that would be a sign of weakness, so he simply said, “Good-bye, Father.”

WES settled into his seat in first class and opened his BlackBerry. After glancing through several e-mails of condolence, he checked his voice mail and breathed a sigh of relief. The five-year-old patient he was most concerned about seemed to be responding well to her treatment. He decided that once he landed, the hospital would be his first stop. He glanced at his watch and frowned. Even with the three-hour time difference, he wouldn’t get to the hospital until one thirty in the morning at the earliest. He laid his head back and closed his eyes with the intention of grabbing some sleep.

Twenty minutes into his flight, he realized sleep was out of the question. The events of the last two days seemed surreal. I can’t believe Mom is really gone. How could I not have known she wanted to build a hospital, for God’s sake? If only I could have spoken to her about her dream—and could have considered the Colonel’s proposal knowing she would work alongside me to build the Stanhope Children’s Hospital. Instead, if I do this, I’ll answer to a Board of Directors headed by the Colonel and likely populated with several of his Citadel cronies. No, it’s out of the question. I’m settled in Seattle. Even if I had someone in my life, the last thing I would do is recommend a transfer to Charleston.

The Colonel had always been very opinionated about “the proper Stanhope life.” In Wes’s case, this would have meant a wife from Charleston society, children, and a large home “South of Broad.” Broad Street is considered by the locals the demarcation point between the very wealthy “old money” Charlestonians and everyone else. In fact, one clever restaurant owner named his establishment “Slightly North of Broad,” or “SNOB,” as a tongue-in-cheek comment about the district. It would be risky to expose anyone he cared about to the rigors of “being a Stanhope.” He’d made a decision, years ago, not to even bother, and that decision had its benefits and drawbacks.

After he’d moved to Seattle, he’d had his share of liaisons to fill in the loneliness. His colleagues would introduce him to women they knew would be a “perfect match.” There was no doubt Wes was considered quite a catch: his thick, sandy-blond hair had a slight wave and his blue-gray eyes were kind and warm. He was tall at six feet three inches and muscular thanks to his daily workouts at the hospital gym. His voice still held a bit of Charleston drawl, which the ladies found irresistible. In spite of their best efforts, Wes never felt a connection with any of the women he met. When asked why he had never married, he would shrug and politely say, “I’m married to my work. A doctor’s life can be punishing for a family.”

Settling in for a long, sleepless flight, Wes opened his laptop case and removed his iPad to catch up on the latest oncology news. As he read, his thoughts kept returning to his mother. How could he not do this for her? What did he have in Seattle anyway? Maybe he should put all the bitterness in his heart aside and focus on creating for the children of South Carolina a hospital that would make his mother proud.

“Excuse me, Dr. Stanhope. In preparation for landing, would you please bring your seatback to the upright position?”

Wes opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. He must have fallen asleep. Well, that’s good, he thought as he began to wonder about his patients at the Seattle Medical Center.

WES stepped off the elevator onto the fifth floor of the pediatric oncology unit. After rounds, he decided to grab a coffee in the cafeteria.

“Buy you a coffee, Doc?”

Wes turned to see his good friend and colleague, Aaron Goldstein. “Hi, Aaron. Thanks, and you can buy my breakfast while you’re at it.”

“When did you get back?”

“A few hours ago. I just finished rounds.”

“I’m sorry about your mother, Wes. You flew out of here so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to tell you sooner. Your mother was quite a woman, and I’m so glad I had the chance to meet her at the dedication.”

“Yes, she is—” Wes hesitated and felt his throat tighten. “Was an incredible human being.”

The two settled at a table next to the windows. Outside, dawn was just beginning to break. Wes sipped his coffee and stared out toward the city.

“Anything I can do for you, Wes? Perhaps you’d like a couple of days—you know, some personal time.”

Wes hadn’t intended to share his conversation with his father, but he looked at Aaron and said, “I’ve been offered a significant opportunity to build and run a children’s hospital back in South Carolina.”

“What? What do you mean? I thought you went home for your mother’s funeral?” Aaron queried.

“I did.” He relayed the details of his mother’s plan and the Colonel’s proposal.

“My God, Wes! Are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know, Aaron. I’ve been thinking of little else since I left Charleston. There are so many reasons it could be a bad idea and only one reason why it would be a good one—to honor my mother’s legacy.”

Aaron leaned across the table and looked directly at Wes.

“Wes, my friend, you’re wrong. There are so many reasons to do this—you just haven’t met them all yet. Each child who would become a patient at this hospital represents a very big reason to move forward. Believe me, I would hate to see you leave, but how many people get the opportunity to have such an impact on so many lives? I don’t think you have a choice.”

Wes considered what Aaron was saying as he sipped his coffee; he hadn’t touched his breakfast. “You’re right, of course, Aaron. I can’t have anyone else design and staff the Stanhope Children’s Hospital. I don’t have a choice.”

Aaron nodded in agreement.

“Can I ask you to keep this conversation between us until I’m ready to announce my decision?” Wes asked.

“Absolutely.”

At seven o’clock, Wes took a taxi from the Medical Center to his condominium. After a long, hot shower, he crawled into bed and slept soundly for the first time in four days. When he woke, he made a large pot of coffee and placed the call that would change his life.

Chapter Two

AT HILINE LAKE, winter arrived early and lingered well past the calendar’s designation of spring. Brad Mitchell and Mac Cleary had adjusted to the lengthy Alaskan deep freeze, and on this morning, they decided to linger in bed a little longer than usual.

“Braaaaad,” Mac whined, “it is definitely your turn to make the coffee and get the fire going.” He pulled the covers up and snuggled into Brad’s shoulder.

With mock outrage, Brad pulled away from Mac’s embrace. “No way, I made the coffee and stoked the fire yesterday morning!”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s so warm and cozy, and if you make the coffee and add wood to the fire, I’ll stay here and think of ways to show my appreciation,” Mac replied coyly.

Brad groaned and sprang out of bed. Mac sat up to admire his beautiful lover’s bare backside as he leaped across the cold cabin.

Brad and Mac had met many years before but had reconnected and fallen in love two and a half years ago, about a year after Brad’s previous partner, Jeff, had died of cancer. Right after Jeff’s death, Brad had decided to leave Seattle and his oncology practice behind and head to Hiline Lake, where he and Jeff had planned on living one day. At that time, Mac was running a successful air charter business between Hiline Lake and Anchorage and had remembered Brad from his and Jeff’s prior visits to the lake. Mac had been a tremendous source of emotional support for Brad in the weeks following his arrival because he, too, had suffered a devastating loss when his wife Lindsey had passed away years ago, leaving him alone to raise their adopted daughter, Zoe-Grace.

Soon after arriving at the lake, Brad had found an old cabin in much need of repair and had decided to buy it and spend his time renovating it. Mac, wanting a base when he wasn’t in Anchorage, had asked to get in on the deal, and their arrangement began as a business venture. But over the months of renovation, both men were surprised at the feelings they were developing for one another. Mac had a particularly difficult time accepting he was in love with another man—not because he was homophobic, but because it was counter to everything he believed about himself. Eventually, he came to realize that his life had changed in a fundamental way and to deny his love for Brad would be to deny the opportunity to live a happy, meaningful life in a loving relationship.

Mac watched as Brad slipped flannel pajama bottoms up his long legs and rock-hard ass. God, he’s beautiful, Mac thought and began to wish he hadn’t hurried Brad out of bed. “Tell you what, Brad. Skip the coffee, add wood to the fire, and then how about tending to the fire starting between these sheets.”

Brad howled from across the cabin, “Happy to oblige, Flyboy!”

Three hours later, Brad opened his eyes and glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed. He nudged Mac. “Hey, sleepyhead, we must have dozed off—it’s almost ten o’clock!”

Mac stretched and yawned. “Okay, now you can start the coffee,” he moaned.

“Again?” Brad complained as he elbowed Mac and climbed out of bed. He started the coffee, grabbed his laptop, and settled in front of the fireplace. Mac was scheduled to fly to Anchorage at noon for supplies, and out of habit, Brad flipped open his laptop to check the weather. Once he had verified a clear day for flying on the forecast, he opened his e-mail. “Oh gee, that’s too bad,” he said out loud.

“What’s too bad?” Mac called from under the covers. “Do we have weather coming in?”

“No, I just received an e-mail from Aaron that one of my former colleagues, Wes Stanhope, lost his mother last week. She was a very generous donor to the pediatric oncology wing. I need to call him. Wes specialized in pediatric oncology, but he was very good to Jeff and me when Jeff was sick. He would take extra rounds so I could spend time with Jeff—especially toward the end—and he’s just an all-around nice guy. He came from a lot of money down South somewhere—Charleston, I believe—and I always had the idea he came to Seattle to escape something. I’ll try to give him a call after you take off.”

Mac crawled out of bed with a blanket wrapped around him, poured two cups of coffee, and joined Brad on the sofa. “Oh, so Dr. Wes Stanhope is rich and mysterious? Don’t tell me he is drop-dead gorgeous too!”

Brad shrugged and said, “Actually, he is drop-dead gorgeous, but you know I only have eyes for you, Flyboy.”

WES decided to head out for a long run. It was a beautiful day in Seattle, and running always provided him with a sense of clarity. As he stepped out of his condominium and headed up Broadway East, he felt a sense of excitement he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

The Colonel had seemed pleased he’d decided to consider the offer and had agreed to have a contract prepared for Wes’s review. Although he’d been trained to be highly analytical, he felt optimistic that the contract would not present terms he would find objectionable. After all, the Colonel wanted his prodigal son to return home to lead the development of the Stanhope Children’s Hospital, and Wes knew his father well enough to know the Colonel wouldn’t let terms and conditions stand in the way.

While keeping his running at an even pace, Wes allowed himself the luxury of reviewing the mental checklist he’d been compiling over the last few days; the details were almost overwhelming. If he signed the contract, wrapping things up in Seattle was the easy part. All he had to do was tender his resignation and put his condominium on the market. The overwhelming details that consumed his thinking were related to the design and staffing of the hospital. He knew the Colonel would have lots of ideas about who he should hire to complete the project, but Wes wanted complete control to assemble the best team possible. He wanted to hand-select everyone, from the architects and construction companies to the staff, from the physicians and nursing staff right down to the reception team, and of course from the best equipment to the top technology available.

He was so deep in thought that he was almost surprised when his eight-mile loop came to an end. He decided to grab a coffee and sit at one of the café tables outdoors. He removed his BlackBerry from his running armband and called for messages.

“Yes, Dr. Stanhope. No, everything is quiet this morning, but you do have a message from a Dr. Brad Mitchell. He asked you to call him if you have a moment. Not critical, just social.”

Wes smiled. He remembered his mother telling him, “There are no coincidences in life, my dear. Sometimes angels are afoot.”

Wes remembered Brad fondly; he had an excellent reputation and at one time was considered to be one of the best oncologists on the West coast. Wes remembered his shock at Brad’s decision to leave Seattle Medical Center after his partner died of colon cancer. He had wondered if his resignation would be a temporary leave of absence, but it had been nearly three years since he’d left. He dialed Brad’s number.

“Dr. Mitchell, I presume?” Wes inquired when Brad answered his call. He heard Brad chuckle.

“I never get tired of that.”

“Hey, Brad—it’s Wes Stanhope, returning your call.”

“Damn, Wes, it’s good to hear your voice. Thanks for calling me back. I wanted to tell you how very sorry I was to hear about your mother. How are you holding up, man?”

The two former colleagues spoke for over an hour. They discussed the changes at the Seattle Medical Center since Brad’s resignation and Brad’s new life in Alaska.

“I’d like you to meet Mac one day,” Brad said. “After Jeff died, I never dreamed I would be in love with anyone again. You were such a good friend to me during that awful time. I’ll never forget the extra shifts you picked up to give Jeff and me more time.”

“I was happy to do it,” Wes admitted.

“By the way, Wes, what’s happening with you? Are you still a confirmed bachelor?”

“Yeah,” Wes responded, laughing off Brad’s question. “Brad, your call saved me the trouble of tracking you down. I have some news of my own.” Wes went on to fill Brad in on the details of the proposed Stanhope Children’s Hospital and his decision to leave Seattle.

“Brad, I’ve been thinking about who I would want to work with me in the design and staffing of the hospital. I know you’ve left active practice, but would you consider joining me as a staffing consultant? Charleston is a hell of lot warmer than Alaska this time of year. I could really use your help. What do you say? Will you consider it?”

Brad looked out the window toward the lake. A light snow had begun to fall and the tops of the evergreens were coated in a delicate, white frosting.

“I’m flattered and I’m very excited for you, but I’ll need to discuss this with Mac. I would only consider this if he’ll join me.”

“Of course, talk it over with Mac, but—” Wes smiled. “Make sure to mention it rarely snows in Charleston during the winter.”

TWO days later, Wes received his employment contract from Ernest Lawford, one of the Colonel’s oldest friends and head of one of Charleston’s most prestigious law firms: Lawford, Beaumont, and Sullivan. As he read the law firm’s name in shiny gold-embossed print on the cover letter, he remembered his father telling him stories about how Ernest had been the butt of many jokes at the Citadel for being a lawyer with the last name Lawford. But Ernie really hadn’t had a choice in the matter. He’d come from a long line of Lawfords who had been part of the Charleston Bar Association for at least one hundred years, and it was simply expected of him.

Wes also remembered accompanying his father to “Uncle Ernie’s” office on Broad Street many times as a young boy, and as he grew older, he’d been encouraged to spend time with Uncle Ernie’s daughter, Alicia. Wes smiled when he thought of Alicia. She was the product of the perfect Charleston society upbringing. Tall, athletic, and able to charm every single person she had ever met. Although an accomplished pianist, she had always given Wes the impression that she had no real ambition of her own other than to marry well, have servants, live SOB, and produce another generation of perfect Charleston society.

He thought back to the funeral and tried to remember if he’d seen Alicia there, but the entire three days back in Charleston were a blur. He read the cover letter included with the contract. It appeared Ernie was happy Wes would be returning to Charleston, and as a member of the Board of Directors, he looked forward to working with him on the development of the Stanhope Children’s Hospital.

After scanning the contract, he phoned Barbara Clarke, the only attorney he knew in Seattle. Barbara’s firm did a lot of work for the Medical Center, and Wes wanted her advice on who might review the employment contract on his behalf. Wes waited on the line, and after a couple of transfers, he finally heard, “Hi, Wes, sorry to keep you holding.”

“No problem, Barb. How are you?”

“I’m great, and you?”

”Pretty good, but I need your expertise.”

“I’m at your beck and call,” she promised.

“I need a confidential review of a document from someone I can trust.”

“I’ll handle it personally, Wes. What type of document are we talking about?”

“A contract for a potential job offer back in Charleston,” Wes explained.

“Back in Charleston!” Barbara exclaimed. “Does that mean we’re going to lose you to the South?”

Wes chuckled. “Well, this is not an easy decision, but I’m inclined to move ahead. But… I want to make sure there are no land mines waiting for me. The Chairman of the Board is not someone I entirely trust.”

“Wait a minute, honey—two things. First, anything I do for you or any other client is done with the utmost confidentiality. Second, why would you consider going to work for someone you don’t entirely trust?”

“Because he’s my father.”

”Your father?” Barbara asked. “Did I hear that right?”

“Yep, that’s what I said.”

“Now this all makes a little more sense. How about if I have a courier drop by your condo in thirty minutes to pick up a copy of the contract? Will you have time later this week to meet with me so we can discuss the terms?”

“Perfect, and I’ll make the time, just let me know when.”

Wes and Barbara met three days later at Barbara’s office. Although it was difficult for Wes to get away from the hospital, he felt meeting at Barbara’s office would provide fewer distractions and more privacy. After hellos and a quick embrace, Barbara walked around her desk and took a seat. Wes was too nervous to sit, so he stood back and crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Barbara. She simply smiled at him, and the suspense was killing him.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Barbara responded.

“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much,” Wes accused. “Did you find anything hidden in the contract that concerned you?”

Barbara opened the file on her desk marked “Stanhope.” “First of all, I have to say they are paying you a shitload of money.” She chuckled. “I looked it up, and you’ll make a considerable amount more than the CEO of Seattle Medical, so I don’t think you’ll need to worry about negotiating the compensation!”

“Uh-huh,” Wes said. “And…?”

“The employment contract is for a two-year term, renewable based upon the Board’s assessment of your performance. So the contract details the terms of your two-year commitment, and it is consistent with what I’ve seen in other employment contracts of this type. I would encourage you to read this for yourself, but Wes, there’s nothing here I’m concerned about—no red flags.”

Wes took a deep breath. “Thanks, Barbara.”

“So, when are you planning to give your resignation to Dr. Phillips?”

Sighing, Wes said, “Yeah, that’s the tough part. Soon, Barb, soon.”

Wes left Barbara’s office and walked the six blocks back to the hospital. He was not looking forward to his conversation with Howard Phillips. As President and CEO of the Seattle Medical Center, Howard was Wes’s mentor and a strong advocate for Wes when he applied to lead the pediatric oncology unit. He considered Howard to be the father he never had—to tell him he was leaving the hospital and the position Howard had encouraged him to pursue would be more difficult than any task that lay ahead of him, but it had to be done, and quickly. The sooner he talked with Howard, the sooner he could begin work on his mother’s legacy.

Chapter Three

BRAD stoked the fire in the woodstove and checked the clock. Mac was due back from Anchorage shortly. He loved to cook for Mac and planned to surprise him with a dinner of hearty beef stew, homemade bread, and a fine bottle of Cakebread Cabernet Sauvignon.

Brad’s other surprise this evening was Wes’s request that he and Mac move to Charleston so Brad could help him with staffing plans for the new children’s hospital. Brad hadn’t stopped thinking about this since his conversation with Wes earlier, but he wanted to be careful not to pressure Mac into anything.

He heard the familiar drone of Mac’s de Havilland Beaver tour seaplane and decided to pull on his boots and down jacket and walk down to the lake to greet him.

By the time he made it to the lake, Mac had already taxied in and was climbing out of the plane.

“Hey, Flyboy!” Brad yelled.

“Hey yourself,” Mac said as he hopped onto the wooden dock and stole a quick kiss and a hug.

Brad was bouncing on the balls of his feet and clapping his hands. “What goodies did you bring me from Anchorage, Daddy?” he asked with childlike excitement.

Mac grinned. “Now, let me see. Everything on our list and one more surprise, but it’s, uh, in my pocket.”

Brad laughed. “Heard that one before, Flyboy. You need some new material.”

Mac frowned, a slight pout on his lips.

“Oh come on, stop pouting. I have a hot fire, warm beef stew, and a bottle of Cakebread waiting for you.”

Mac’s frown turned in to a smile. He reached for Brad and kissed him again. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Sure you do. No one else can torture you the way I do,” Brad teased. “Let’s get this plane secured and head back up the mountain.”

WHILE Brad set the table and lit the candles, Mac selected some music and plugged in his iPod. Soon the room was filled with Dinah Washington singing “September in the Rain.” The two men exchanged the news of the day and, while lingering over their wine, Brad decided to discuss Wes’s proposal.

“Mac, I had an interesting call from Wes Stanhope, the former colleague at the Seattle Medical Center I told you about this morning.”

“Wait, isn’t that the guy you said you were going to call—didn’t he lose a family member or something?”

“Yes, the same. When he returned my call, he told me when he was back in Charleston at his mother’s funeral, his father sprung this project idea on him.”

Brad relayed the details for the development of the hospital and Wes’s plans to leave the Seattle Medical Center to head the project.

“Evidently,” Brad continued, “his mother was a huge philanthropist, and I guess the Stanhopes are loaded—the foundation is practically bankrolling the entire project.”

Mac looked up and locked eyes with Brad. “I feel like there’s something more to this story.”

Brad took a deep breath and, without stopping, said, “Well, Wes asked me if I would consider joining him as a consultant on the initial stages of the project. He knows I’m no longer practicing and, well, of course, I told him I wouldn’t dream of moving to Charleston without you, and I was concerned you would be bored there if I was working and….”

“Whoa, Doc, take a breath will you? Baby, would you like to do it?” Mac asked.

“Yeah, I think I would.”

“Then by all means, you should do it.”

Brad smiled. “You know I won’t go without you. I mean, this could be several months, but I am concerned you might be bored to tears….”

Now it was Mac’s turn to smile. “Hey, Doc, of course I’ll go to Charleston with you. You’re my home, and wherever you are is where I need to be.”

Brad threw his arms around Mac. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“Baby, no need to thank me,” Mac assured him. “It wasn’t that long ago you were following me on a wild-goose chase for hidden treasure with my brother-in-law Jack, and the way I see it, one good turn deserves another.”

“A goose chase that paid off handsomely,” Brad reminded him.

“You are right about that.”

“I love you, Flyboy.”

“I love you too, Doc. And besides, maybe I can contribute to the project somehow.”

“That would be great. What do you think you’d like to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe I can help by pulling together a proposal to support airlift services or something along those lines. I bet there are some parts of South Carolina that are pretty far away from an airport…. I’ve never been south of the Mason-Dixon, and I would kinda like to see that part of the world. If this is what you want, count me in!”

Brad lifted his wineglass and said, “Here’s to another great adventure with the man I love!”

INTHEend, Wes knew Howard Phillips only wanted the best for him and so had accepted his resignation with a little reluctance and a great deal of grace. Wes felt a mixture of relief and excitement as he left Howard’s office, knowing that with his resignation tendered, the work to build the Stanhope Children’s Hospital could really begin. He’d agreed to stay on for another few weeks to transition his responsibilities as chief of the pediatric unit to his good friend Aaron, whom Howard had suggested for the position. They both trusted Aaron, and Wes felt he was leaving the pediatric unit in excellent hands. He decided to celebrate and pick up some sushi and a bottle of his favorite Pinot Grigio before heading home.

As he walked through the lobby of his condominium, he felt the familiar vibration of his BlackBerry in the holster on his belt. He glanced down and smiled—a text message from Brad Mitchell read, “We’re in!”

He set a place for himself at his dining room table and ate his dinner, deep in thought while looking at the Seattle skyline through the enormous wall of windows.

A light rain had begun to fall, and the raindrops against the windows cast the city lights in a soft, dreamy glow. He took the last bite of his dinner and looked around his condo. He’d always liked his home. The large windows, high ceilings, and open floor plan gave the space a feeling of structure. He’d enjoyed working with the interior designer and had liked the stark combination of white walls, white upholstered furniture, and chrome. Now, however, the apartment seemed barren, and he found himself noticing for the first time that his environment was, largely, sterile, and he suddenly felt chilled. He picked up the half-empty bottle of wine and his glass and headed into the living room. He stopped in front of the fireplace and glanced above the mantel at the large landscape by Charleston artist West Fraser, which his mother had given him when he moved to Seattle. He held his glass up to the painting in a mock toast. We’re really going to do this thing, Mom.

He flipped the switch on the hearth and heard a woof sound as the blue and yellow flames filled the fireplace. He took a seat on the couch and picked up his BlackBerry to call Brad. While he was waiting for Brad to answer, he made a note to instruct the realtor to offer all of the furnishings as part of the sale—all except for the West Fraser.

“Brad, it’s Wes.”

“Hey, Wes, did you get my text?”

“I did. And I’m thrilled we’ll be working together.

“Mac and I are very excited. It’s yet another adventure for us.”

“Do you have some time to talk now?”

“Hell, yeah—I’m stretched out on the couch with a glass of wine and Mac is giving me a foot rub,” Brad confessed.

They spent the next hour outlining the staffing requirements and coming up with a plan of attack.

Wes glanced up at the West Fraser landscape. “You know, Brad, I feel like this is the most important thing I will ever do in my life. If my mother hadn’t died, I would be working with her to make this hospital a reality, but I want you to know how much it means to me that you and Mac will help me get this off the ground.”

“It means a lot to us just to be included,” Brad shared. “You know, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about the hospital, and I wondered whether you’ve selected an architect for the project yet?”

“No, I haven’t. It’s just not my area of expertise.” Wes looked around his condo once again. “The environment has to be just right. I don’t want this to be a cold and sterile clinical setting.”

“I know what you mean, and I’m not trying to push you in any specific direction, but….”

“Brad, your expertise is why I brought you on for this project. If you have any suggestions, I want to hear them.”

“Okay. I’m sure there are great architects in Charleston, but before you leave Seattle, why don’t you plan to meet Tyler Williams? Ty was Jeff’s business partner. He is one of the most sought-after architects on the West Coast, so I don’t even know whether he will be able to do it, but he is brilliant and I think he might give you some perspective on the process.”

“I’ll take any help I can get.”

“Good. I’ll give Ty a call and make the introduction, and you follow up with him tomorrow.”

Wes got Ty’s number from Brad and agreed to call him the next afternoon. They said their good-byes, and Wes finished his glass of wine and turned in for the night.