Finally a man wearing blue scrubs stepped out into the waiting room. "I'm looking for the family of Charlie Carter?"

Alison looked up. "Here." She rose as the doctor approached, sliding her hand to her throat, fearing the worst. "I'm his daughter. How is he?"

"He's going to be fine."

"It wasn't a heart attack?"

"No. There's no evidence of that."

Alison let out the breath she'd been holding, but the fear still hung on. "So what happened?"

"He just got a little dehydrated and his electrolytes were out of balance. He passed out and fell. We're giving him some fluids now and he's feeling better. But he took a pretty solid bump on the head, which means he could have a concussion. So we need to watch him overnight."

"That's all? Really?"

"Yes. We've moved him to a regular room. You can see him now if you want to."

The doctor gave them the room number and left. Alison turned to the others and told them it might be best if she visited him alone. She knew her father. Being seen in any kind of compromised position wasn't something he felt comfortable with.

"I hate for you guys to have to hang around," Alison said. "Heather, I know you need to get back to the bar."

Heather nodded. "I'll take Bea home on my way." She turned to Brandon. "Assuming you don't mind sticking around to take Alison home."

"No. Of course I'll stay."

Heather gave Alison a quick hug, and when she pulled away, a furtive wink. Alison didn't know exactly when she'd changed her mind about Brandon. She was only glad she had.

"I'll wait for you right here," Brandon said, as Heather and Bea walked away. "Take all the time you want to with your father."

"Thank you for staying."

"No problem."

She nodded and went to the elevator, feeling a myriad of emotions pulling at her. Relief that her father was okay. Fear that it was only a matter of time before he wasn't. Helplessness to control any of it.

A few minutes later, she peered into room 416. Her father was hooked up to a couple of monitors, and there was an IV in his arm. He wore a hospital gown, and his ashen skin against the white sheets made him look every bit of his sixty-four years.

She came into the room. "Hey, Dad."

He looked over. "Hey, sweetie."

"How are you doing?"

"I feel fine. A little headache is all. I tried to talk them into turning me loose, but they wouldn't do it."

"You hit your head when you fell. You may have a concussion. Those can be dangerous."

"A concussion? Dangerous?" He made a scoffing noise. "Try putting out a four-alarm fire on a hundred-degree day with a twenty-mile-an-hour wind. That's dangerous."

She sat down in the chair beside his bed. "You look pale."

"It was the turkey burger. You want me to have rosy cheeks? Feed me some red meat. Which I bet I'm not going to get in this place."

"Don't give these people a hard time. They're trying to help you. Can you just eat whatever they put in front of you?"

"If it tastes like crap, they're going to hear about it."

"Dad-"

"Okay. Fine. As long as I get to go home tomorrow."

"The doctor is just being careful. And you need to be, too. You can't work as hard as you did today and not drink plenty of water. And then when you put beer on top of that-"

"I know. You think I don't know? I just got busy, that's all."

"That's all? Well, you can't get so busy that you forget. That's what lands you in the emergency room. Not taking care of yourself. You have to take care of yourself."

"Lighten up, kid. It's not like I had a heart attack, or something."

Alison's stomach knotted just hearing the words "heart attack." Ever since they'd found out six months ago that his cholesterol was high, she'd envisioned the worst happening. Most of the time she could just put it out of her mind, but right now, seeing him in this hospital bed, listening to the mechanical sounds of the monitors and breathing in the antiseptic smell of the hospital, it was hard to shake those thoughts. She remembered a time years ago when she'd sat beside a hospital bed like this. When that vigil ended, she no longer had a mother.

"Who came to the hospital with you?" Charlie asked.

"Heather and Brandon." She paused. "And Bea."

"Bea came?"

"Yeah. She's worried about you. Now that we know you're fine, Heather's taking her home."

"Did you know she carries a gun?"

"Yeah. I know."

"She threatened me with it."

"I don't doubt that."

"She's a crazy old broad."

"No crazier than you are, Dad."

A tiny smile curled his lip. "I want all of you to go home so I can get some sleep."

"Are you sure? I can hang around for a while longer."

"I said go."

"Okay. Good night, Dad." She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then headed for the door. "I'll be back in the morning."

When Alison came back downstairs, Brandon hoped she'd look at least a little relieved, but her face was still pinched with worry. He was happy to be here to take her home, but expressing sympathy wasn't his strong suit. It always felt awkward to him, and he never knew what to say.

"Ready to go?" Brandon asked, standing up.

"Yeah."

"How is he doing?"

"He's okay. For now."

They went through the automatic doors into the parking lot. "What do you mean, for now?"

"It's going to happen someday," she said. "He's going to have a heart attack."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He has high cholesterol. He doesn't eat right, and he doesn't exercise. But he tells me the devil doesn't want him because he's too mean, so he's going to live forever. That's his rationale to get me off his back."

They got into Brandon's car. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Alison dropped her head against the headrest.

"You look tired," he said.

She took a long, deep breath and let it out. "Yeah." And she didn't say another word until he pulled into a parking space in front of her condo. Being around Alison for a full ten minutes without her talking was something he'd never experienced before, and it worried him.

"Thank you for taking me home," she said, and started to get out of the car. He caught her arm.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Don't take this wrong, but you don't look fine."

She took another long, deep breath. "I'm just worried."

"You don't need to be. It was just a fluke. It had nothing to do with his heart. It could have happened to anyone."

"But what if it had been a heart attack?"

"It wasn't. Don't borrow trouble."

"But he has high cholesterol. It isn't inconceivable that he could have one."

"That's true. But there was nothing about this tonight that makes that any more likely."

"And hospitals. God. They're full of disease. I've heard of people going into hospitals with ingrown toenails and then getting horrible bacterial infections and dying."

"Aren't you getting a little carried away?"

"No, I'm not. I've read about it. It happens all the time."

"Yes, but it's not going to happen to your father."

"Are you one of those 'glass half full' people? Because I am not in the mood for that right now."

"Just relax," Brandon said. "He's fine."

"But he might not have been!"

"Alison. Calm down."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you to tell me to calm down?"

Her sudden anger surprised him. "This just isn't worth getting worked up about. Your father fainted and got a bump on the head, and you're acting as if he's at death's door."

"You know nothing about this," she said fiercely. "Less than nothing. So if I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut."

This was it. This was exactly why he didn't get too involved with women. Sooner or later all their emotions came roaring out, emotions he had no idea how to deal with. He needed to get out of Alison's world and back to his own, back to a place where things made sense to him and he didn't get tangled up in stuff he knew nothing about.

"You're right," Brandon said. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

Alison closed her eyes, her anger fading away.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to bite your head off." She folded her arms protectively and looked away. "It's just that I can't lose him, Brandon. I can't."

"I understand that. You're very close."

She nodded, but suddenly her eyes were glistening with tears. He hated that. Hated it.

"You were so right about me," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"My childhood was wonderful. The kind every kid ought to have. My father seems crabby and everything, but that's just his way. He was such a good father."

Brandon didn't know what to say, so he just let her talk.

"And my mother was one of those who was born to the job," she went on. "And the two of them together..." Her mouth turned up in a brief smile. "Fireworks. The good kind. They loved each other more than anything. Sometimes I think I must remember it wrong, that my life growing up couldn't have been all that wonderful. But then I look back at pictures, and sometimes my dad and I talk, and I realize that it really was. It really was perfect." She paused. "But when I was sixteen, everything changed."

"What happened?"

"My mother got cancer. She died three weeks before Christmas."

Oh, God. This was way out of his league. Way out. "I bet that was hard."

"Yeah," Alison said. "After her funeral, it was about the time of year when she would have started decorating and baking. But the house was silent. My father hid himself away in his bedroom most of the time. I couldn't stand it. I'd just gotten my driver's license, so I grabbed my brother, took my father's truck, and I bought a Christmas tree. And I got out her mixer and baked. And when Christmas day came, I fixed dinner and played Christmas carols. It helped my brother get through it, I think. But my father..." Her voice quivered at the memory. "He sat through Christmas dinner. Barely ate anything. Then he went to his bedroom for the rest of the night. I cried myself to sleep, thinking I'd never have a real family again."

Brandon didn't know what to say. Christmas had never meant much to him, because it had been just he and his father from the time he was four years old, and his old man sure hadn't given a damn about the glow of the holiday season. Hell, until he'd lived with his grandmother, he'd never even had a Christmas tree. But he could imagine what it must be like for somebody like Alison.