Within minutes she’d exited the freeway and was winding through the wet side streets surrounding the hospital. She nabbed a parking spot not too far from the main entrance of Seattle General and braced herself. Her father, irascible and determined, would demand to be released. And would probably insist upon returning to his ranch in Oregon, though he still owned property here. She, as strong-willed as he, would insist that he abide by his doctor’s orders.

“Give me strength,” she muttered under her breath as she locked her car and sidestepped puddles as the wind tugged at the hem of her raincoat and rain pelted her hair.

Inside the hospital, she ignored the sense of doom that threatened to settle in her heart. Barely three months before, in this very facility, Margaret Cawthorne had lost her battle with cancer. Bliss had been at her side.

But it wouldn’t happen again! Not this time. Her father was too strong to let some little heart attack get him. She punched the elevator call button and shook the rain from her hair.

On the third floor, she headed straight for her father’s room and found him lying under a thin blanket, his face pensive, turned toward the window. His television was on, the volume low, tuned in to some golf tournament in progress. Flowers, cards, boxes of candy and balloons were crammed onto every inch of counter space.

John Cawthorne looked thinner and more frail than she’d ever seen him. Hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV he was nothing like the man she’d grown up with, the tough-talking, badgering cowboy-turned-real-estate-mogul. At the sound of her footsteps, he glanced her way and a half grin teased the corners of a mouth surrounded by silver beard stubble.

“I wondered if you were gonna stop by,” he said, pressing a button on a panel of the bed in order to raise his head. The electric motor hummed and he winced a little as his stitches pulled.

“I wouldn’t miss a chance to see you cooped up, now, would I?” she teased.

His blue eyes twinkled. “I hate it.”

“I know.”

“I’m not kiddin’.”

“I know,” she repeated, walking to the windows and adjusting the blinds. “Don’t tell me—you want out of the prison and expect me to help you escape.”

He chuckled, then stopped abruptly, as if the pain was too much. “Look, I’m about to go stir-crazy around here, but the doc, he thinks I need to stay another couple of days.”

“I’m on his side. Don’t even argue with me about it.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “So tell me—and I want the truth—how’re you feeling?”

“Like I was dragged through a knothole one way, then pushed back through the other.”

“I thought so. You’re better off here, Dad.”

“But I’ve got things I gotta do.”

“Oh, quit whining,” she said with a grin. “Whatever it is, believe me, it’ll keep.”

As quick as a cat pouncing, he grabbed hold of her hand and wouldn’t let go. “No, honey, this time, I’m afraid it won’t.”