Excerpt
Prologue
“Miss Howard, we have a serious problem on our hands.”
Elizabeth felt a clutch of fear at the grim sound in her attorney’s voice. Problems were never far from her mind. She gripped the telephone harder. “A problem?”
Jonathan Smithers cleared his throat. “Yes. The baby’s father has found out the circumstances of Boyd’s birth. I heard from his lawyer, and he’s thinking of challenging your adoption. Since your sister never mentioned this man on the birth certificate as the father, we’ll have to do DNA testing to confirm his paternity. He can quite legitimately claim that he never agreed to the adoption. And if--”
“If it’s proved that Boyd is his son, what can he do?” She tried to keep the quiver of fear from her voice. Throughout the massive paperwork necessary to adopt her foster-sister’s newborn child, the thought of having the biological father challenge the adoption was a constant, nagging fear. Now her worst nightmare was coming true.
“He can go to court and attempt to convince the judge that he would provide a better home for the baby,” said Jonathan.
“H-he can’t.” Panic broke through and tinged her words. “He can’t possibly be a better parent than I am!”
“That’s what I’ll try to prove. I’m concerned about this, Elizabeth, I won’t deny it. The man has a history of leaving pregnant women behind. He has fathered at least two other children out of wedlock. But lately the courts are running in favor of keeping babies with their biological parents. You have several strikes against you. You’re single, for one. And he has the advantage – assuming it’s proven that he’s the father – of a paternity claim.”
“But he left Freda when he found out she was pregnant. He didn’t give a damn about her or the baby--”
“Be that as it may, things like this happen all the time. In domestic adoptions, there’s always a risk that one of the bio parents will change his or her mind. With the baby’s mother dead, I was hoping the possibility was too remote to consider. Clearly, though, this guy has other ideas.”
“How soon?” The words came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat and repeated them more loudly. “How soon could he make a move, to try and take Boyd?”
“It might not take long. Six or seven weeks, maybe a bit longer. I suspect he’ll try to set a hearing date around Christmas, to add poignancy to his situation. I’ve seen that kind of thing happen before.” Jonathan paused. “And Miss Howard, I think I should warn you…well, there is even a possibility that until the situation is resolved, Boyd may be placed with a foster family.”
“Oh God, no!” Elizabeth clapped a hand over her mouth. She felt sweat begin to bead on her forehead, and her hands turned icy.
“Yes.” Jonathan sighed. “I’m afraid so.”
“But why?” Her voice was high and strained. “Why does he want Boyd, but none of his other kids? What’s so different about Boyd?” She clutched the phone as a thought struck her. “Jonathan,” she said with sudden certainty, “it’s the trust fund! That’s what he’s after. If he cared two hoots about the baby, he’d have stuck around when he learned that Freda was pregnant. All he wants is the money.” The thought of someone wanting to take her baby away in order to get his trust fund was revolting.
“Possibly, but that will have to be examined in court. I know that your adoption is legal, but domestic adoptions can – and have – been successfully challenged in the past. I just want to warn you, in case this goes to court, that it will come down to what’s in the best interest of the child.”
There was a pause, and Elizabeth could almost see Jonathan running his hands through his thinning hair. “If only you were married,” he muttered in frustration. “It’s different for married couples. It’s harder to justify removing an adopted child from a two-parent household. But at this point it would be his word against yours as to which home would be better.”
“You’re saying that if I were married, then my chances of keeping Boyd would be higher?”
“Absolutely. The courts will look at all aspects of your domestic life, and decide which of you would be the better parent.”
A heavy stone settled on Elizabeth’s heart as she hung up the phone. She stared blindly out the window. Marriage. She’d sworn never to marry. Marriage was a trap.
She walked slowly into the nursery. A bright mobile hung over Boyd’s crib, and she wound it one or two strokes to hear the soothing sounds of music. She picked up the pastel ABC quilt she had stitched by hand, and tucked it around the baby. She touched the feather-soft hair of the sleeping boy; the tiny, vulnerable newborn she loved with the fierceness of a mother bear, and knew that she would not - could not – lose him.
She would move heaven and earth to keep her son.
But how?
Chapter One
Galen McFarland wondered if his day could get any worse.
His secretary was out with the flu, the new general manager of his company’s Eugene branch was proving troublesome, there was a brief but disruptive power outage in the headquarters building, and his Internet service was down.
And to top it off, when he got home he discovered that he was out of beer.
With growing irritation he pushed aside the nearly-empty jars of mayonnaise and mustard, the moldy cheese, and the wilted broccoli. Last week’s Chinese take-out food was decomposing. So was the take-out food from the week before. But there was no beer.
Galen slammed the ’fridge door shut and gazed sourly out the kitchen window. The sweet gum trees in his yard were brilliant with color, but he was impervious to their beauty. What good were a tidy yard and an orderly house? Without a family to fill it up, he knew the place was sterile. He glanced around at the spacious interior of his home, and thought, Is this all there is to life?
Work, work, work. That’s all he ever did. He had built Scripts, a graphic design company, from the ground up and was aggressively expanding it, but it seemed that he was working toward nothing. He had no wife to share his successes, no kids to come home to, no family life to alleviate the stresses of his job.
He tried dating other women during the last year, but he didn’t let anything progress. The truth was, he wasn’t over the sting of Elizabeth’s rejection.
The thought of marriage didn’t appeal to her, as it would to most women. She had thrown his honorable proposal of marriage back in his face. And that had hurt.
Now, on one of his rare evenings home early from work, he couldn’t even relax with a beer because he had none. Nor, he added to himself, did he have much else to look forward to; no conversations in the evening…no kids…no sex. A bachelor’s life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
He didn’t want to be a bachelor. Maybe it was time to join a dating service or something, and remedy that situation.
Angry at the direction of his thoughts, Galen grabbed his wallet and stuffed it in his back pocket. One of the benefits of having the Scripts headquarters in a small town like Abbity was its compactness. He would walk through the park to the corner market for a six-pack.
It was a gorgeous fall day, unusually warm for late October. The maple leaves were gold and scarlet, laced delicately with a bright, cheerful color that contrasted with his sour mood. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and strolled, kicking the leaves. He smelled the dry, crackly fragrance that rose from the foliage, reminding him of his childhood when he and his uncle would rake the yard. The lawn seemed endless back then, when he’d wanted nothing more than to finish so he could go back to drawing in his ever-present sketchpad. He was always a big one for drawing, sketching, doodling.
In retrospect, he cherished those times with his uncle. His Uncle Wilson Boyd McFarland and his Aunt Lara raised Galen after his parents died. He loved them dearly, despite the hours raking leaves, or “building character,” as his uncle preferred to call it.
The smell and the color of the leaves on the sidewalk made him wistful. Kicking leaves was something he had once thought to do with his own kids.
Abbity was a small town of 2000 people tucked in the southwest corner of rural Oregon. Situated halfway between the larger towns of Medford and Grants Pass, the majesty of the Rogue River flowed through it, coupled with all the advantages of small-town ambiance that Galen loved. There was a decent library, a tiny movie theater, a grocery store, a museum, and some restaurants that he went to when he was tired of his own cooking. The downtown was compact and tidy, the parks agreeable, there was good fishing in the river, and there was a small liquor store that sold Obsidian Stout beer at a decent price. The town was between two larger metropolitan areas that provided business for his company. Abbity was low on crime and high on small-town charm. All in all, reflected Galen, it wasn’t a bad place to live.
There were even some pretty women living there…not that he’d had outstanding luck in that department of late.
Passing through the park two blocks from home, he noticed a specimen of pretty-womanhood sitting on a bench. A nice sight, he thought. Falling leaves drifted down around her. A squirrel ran past her feet, no doubt involved with thoughts of storing nuts. The air was milky warm and full of autumn perfume. Galen took a moment to admire the dark hair and the long line of the woman’s neck as she bent toward something – a book perhaps - on her lap. He’d always had a soft spot for dark hair.
She raised her head a bit and he stiffened. It was more than just a pretty woman. It was Elizabeth.
He hadn’t seen her in…in what, ten months? Eleven months? Something like that. Not since she told him, bluntly, that she had no intention of marrying him or having kids. Not since that hideous argument that made a canyon-sized rift between them.
He stopped halfway behind a large sycamore and watched her. His throat ached when he saw the long lashes lying against her cheek, the shining chestnut hair that she had pinned neatly up in a French twist. Those magnificent hazel eyes once laughed up at him with love. The last time he’d seen them, they looked upon him with anger. He realized that he could still recall every detail about her eyes.
Unaware that she was being observed, he saw her lift something from the crook of her arm and smile at her lap. He blinked. Then he blinked again. For what he saw her lift up was…a baby bottle.
Elizabeth. With a baby.
He broke out in a cold sweat.
She lifted a wrapped bundle over one shoulder and gently patted its back. Oh God, it was a baby! His mind went off into incoherent sputters of alarm and surprise. A baby! Oh God, she had a baby!
But whose?
The question caused a moment of pain between his eyes. Jealousy attacked him in a searing flash, followed by anger. A baby? After all that nonsense about not wanting to get married, she now had a baby? Whose baby was it? Was she babysitting someone else’s kid?
She was dressed in a soft plaid sweater of sage and cream, over jeans. A black scarf was draped over her shoulders, and she tossed one end away before bending to place the infant into the carriage he now noticed by the bench. He saw her smile as she tucked a blanket around the little body. She exuded the maternal affection he’d once hoped to share with her, with their children. Now, she was directing it to the child in front of her. Alone.
Still numb with surprise, he had a sudden thought that sent cold ripples of fear down his spine. He recalled when he’d last seen her. It was the morning he’d asked her to marry him, the morning after he’d last spent the night in her arms. And that morning was…let’s see…
His face drained of color. That morning was nine months, three weeks ago. He remembered the date because, ironically, it had been the day after his thirtieth birthday.
And the child…surely it couldn’t be more than a month old?
He saw her give a little kick to the wheel of the stroller, as if releasing a brake. She began walking slowly, not at all hurrying. He could see her bending over, as if talking to the infant.
His baby?
His throat closed up, and he clenched his fists with a gesture of hopeful longing. His baby? Could it be…?
He darted away from the tree and began sprinting toward her, only to stop after a few yards. He could hardly go barging into her life after nearly a year’s absence, to demand to know the paternity of the child. He could hardly run up to her, panting, and grab her shoulder to make her explain. After the argument they’d had, and some of the unpleasant things he’d said, he wouldn’t blame her for kicking him in the shins. Or worse.
He stopped and rubbed his stubble-shadowed chin in frustration. How could he find out if the child was his?
Subtly, Galen, he told himself. Slow and easy. Don’t scare her, and don’t bring back unpleasant reminders.
So he strolled instead, angling himself so that he would intersect her near the tinkling fountain at the center of the park. That’s it, Galen, old buddy, he told himself. He shoved his cold hands in his pocket. Walk slowly, shuffle the leaves as if you’re just out for a walk, pretend you never noticed her, and then…
Whamp. He banged shoulders with her. “Oh, excuse me…” He scaled up his voice and put a surprised expression on his face. “Elizabeth?”
* * * *
The day was glorious, sparkling with color and smelling of heaven. Elizabeth knew that she could no more stay holed up with her computer than she could convince Boyd to take another nap. So she gave in to her urges, bundled the infant in a terrycloth sleeper, and packed the diaper bag.
It took longer to get out of the house nowadays, but to her considerable astonishment she didn’t mind it. Since Boyd came into her life, she learned the art of slowing down. You couldn’t hurry babies, after all.
She sat in the park, fed him his bottle, and watched the pert squirrels and listened to the chuckle of a robin and smelled the dry, crackly smell of the fallen leaves. Except for the disturbing call from her attorney, the day couldn’t be more perfect.
Boyd finished his bottle, and she wiped under his chin with a cloth diaper. “You were hungry,” she murmured to him, marveling that talking to a baby now seemed the most natural thing in the world. The infant gazed at her with wide, dark eyes. Her heart melted at the trusting stare of her son. “C’mon, little buddy, up you go.” She gently hoisted him over her shoulder and patted his back until a satisfactory braaap emerged from his mouth. He looked content and a bit sleepy. She flipped back her scarf and tucked him back into the carriage before releasing the brake.
Motherhood, she mused as she started walking, pushing the carriage. Who would have thought she would enjoy it so much?
She walked and admired the trees and sniffed the air and watched the squirrels and…whamp. Someone banged shoulders with her.
“Oh…excuse me,” said a man.
Her lips parted to murmur forgiveness, but then her jaw dropped and her mouth stayed open. Elizabeth felt a shock go through her system. It was Galen who had banged into her, Galen who stood there now, as handsome and masculine as ever.
He was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved plaid cotton shirt that was well-rumpled. His dark hair, flashing auburn highlights in the autumn sun, was faintly curly and looked as if it could use a comb. His green eyes were tense and wary as he gazed at her, unsmiling. Right now he was sporting an afternoon shadow that somehow made him look a bit on the dangerous side – especially since he looked decidedly close to scowling. As she gaped, she saw him tuck his hands in the pockets of his blue windbreaker.
She hadn’t seen Galen in…what was it…not quite a year? What was he doing, walking through a park on a Tuesday afternoon? Coupled with the surprise and astonishment was a strong dose of dismay. “G-Galen?”
“I haven’t seen you in awhile. How are you?”
“Busy.” She bit her lip, feeling like the flaming hypocrite she knew she was. “Very busy.”
“So I see.” He gave a nod of his head toward the baby carriage where the pastel plaid blanket was visible. She could hear the coolness in his voice. “Busy in a line of work I never thought I’d see you in.”
She stiffened. She knew how badly Galen wanted kids, and she had felt completely unequal to the challenge. The terrible morning when he’d actually gone down on one knee and asked her to marry him resulted in a horrific argument. And then she’d left him.
She knew he’d gone to Eugene to start a second branch of Scripts. She’d read articles about him in the local paper, but she doubted he’d kept track of her at all.
She flipped the edge of her black scarf back over her shoulder and stood up straighter. “There have been a few changes in my life,” she offered rigidly.
“Yeah, I see.” He bent down as if to look under the hood of the carriage. She moved as if to ward him off, a defensive action that surprised her with its quickness.
She saw him straighten up and felt more than saw the flush of anger moving through him.
“Whose baby?” he asked tightly.
“Mine.” The venom reserved for Boyd’s biological father slipped out before she could stop it. Boyd was hers – she had the adoption papers to prove it. She lifted her chin.
“Come on, Elizabeth!”
“He’s mine.”
She saw a muscle twitch beneath Galen’s eye. “And where precisely did you get this baby?” he demanded. “Last time I saw you, you were adamant about the supposed trap of marriage and motherhood. This strikes me as a rather abrupt about-face on your part.”
“So what if it is? I don’t see that it’s any of your business. Now excuse me, Galen, I’m going home.” She whirled and began to push the stroller down the path. She kept her shoulders squared and her steps dignified, conscious that his gaze was on her back.
But within a moment he grasped her arm and whirled her around. “No, you’re not.” He had the same wounded expression on his face that he had had when she’d turned down his marriage proposal. “You’re not going anywhere yet.”
“Stop it, Galen. Let me go.”
He dropped her arm. “Not until you tell me whose baby he is.”
Through her own defensiveness, she wondered why he cared so much. It wasn’t as if he had made any effort to contact her after they split up, after all. He’d moved on – and so had she.
It came over her like a thunderclap that Galen was entirely ignorant of the events in her life over the past year. He knew nothing about how her business was going. He knew nothing about Freda’s pregnancy, cancer, and death. He knew nothing about her adoption of Boyd. While she had kept up – marginally – with his activities, he clearly hadn’t kept up with hers.
“He’s mine,” she repeated stubbornly. Stubbornness, he’d always said, was one of her strongest characteristics.
“Knock it off, Bess.” He scowled. “This is a baby we’re talking about. You can’t just up and leave the park as if nothing has happened.”
“Look, Galen, just because I said no when you asked me to marry you doesn’t give you the right to barge into my life and badger me about things that are none of your business.”
“I happen to think it is my business. The baby is yours and who else’s?”
“Just mine.”
“A scientific miracle, then? No one else was required to participate?”
“Now you’re getting personal.”
“Damn right, I’m getting personal.”
What did he care? She wondered dimly. Why did he care if she had a baby or not? Unless…unless…
Of course. Her mind stretched back, calculating, thinking.
The last time they’d been together had been a bit over nine months ago. She went pale. Oh God, did he think that Boyd was his?
Her mind whirled away in confusion, a swirling mixture of longing and remembered passion and recalled anger and…
He broke into her thoughts with a grim voice. “Let me see the baby, Elizabeth.”
“Okay, fine.” Still feeling defensive and inexplicably angry, she pushed back the hood of the carriage, revealing Boyd’s startlingly auburn hair. “There he is.”
Elizabeth watched Galen peer into the carriage at the sleeping child. Boyd’s coloration was a shade lighter than Galen’s, perhaps, but not out of the realm of possibility. Elizabeth saw his cheeks flush and a pulse beat in his neck. His son. He thought he was gazing at the face of his son.
He straightened up, vertebrae by vertebrae, as he met her defiant look. Rather insolently, she saw his eyes drop down the length of her figure before rising to her face once again. “You’re looking good for a woman who’s just had a baby.”
She gave a jerky nod. “Thank you.”
“How old is he?”
“Three weeks.”
“And who is the father?”
“Is that really any of your business?”
“I happen to think so, yes.”
“Well, the truth is…I don’t know.” And that, she thought, was absolutely true. Though she was now being threatened by Boyd’s bio-dad, she didn’t know him. A muscle twitched in her cheek.
She saw his eyebrows arch in skepticism. “What – you were getting around a bit after that fight we had nine months ago?”
“Galen, stop it. None of this is any of your business.”
“You’re pushing my son around in a carriage and you have the gall to stand there and tell me it’s none of my business?”
“He’s not your son!”
“Then whose son is he?”
“He’s Freda’s.”
Galen’s lips tightened. “Your foster sister? Are you baby-sitting?”
“No.” Elizabeth felt a sharp pang of grief go through her midsection, and she raised her chin. “Freda’s dead. I’ve adopted her son.”
“Are you going to stand there and tell me…” Galen’s eyes narrowed. “…that this baby, who looks exactly like me, isn’t mine?”
“Yes.”
“And what if I don’t believe you?”
Elizabeth shook her head, exhausted. “Then you’re a fool.”
“Why? The baby looks like me. And you were angry enough after our fight to do something stubborn like go off and have my baby on your own. And you told me you didn’t want to get married, and you’re still trying to get out of that. And he’s just the right age.” Galen crossed his arms and nodded as if he’d scored a point.
“Galen, you’re completely wrong. I’ve adopted Freda’s son. She got pregnant, and during her pregnancy she got cancer. She wanted me to keep her baby after she died.”
“Bull.”
Elizabeth was floored, and her face contorted with anguish. “You can’t stand there and deny the tragedy I’ve lived through this past year, losing her!”
“Look, I’m sorry that Freda is dead. She was always there for you, just like I wanted to be. But this cockamamie story about cancer during pregnancy…I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but you’re lying. That child is mine, I can tell, and you’re just trying to get out of admitting it.”
“Who’s the stubborn one here?” she muttered in frustration. And, unwittingly, a thought came rocketing through her mind, one that hit so strongly that it was all she could do to not reel back in reaction.
Boyd’s bio-dad was threatening to remove this baby from her care. Her attorney said that he wished she were married, in order to strengthen her case. She had been desperately wondering how she could prevent Boyd from leaving her. And here was Galen…
Here was Galen, apparently ready, willing, and able to believe that Boyd was his.
Her shoulders slumped at the thought of deliberately misleading him. Yet, there was no doubt that his participation would solve one very big headache for her now.
“Hey,” said Galen. She looked up and saw that his face had softened. “You conceived a child, endured a pregnancy, experienced a birth, and you’re caring for a newborn, alone. Entirely alone.” His voice was gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know I’ve always wanted children. Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”
Elizabeth was devastated at his change in tone. Guilt, anger, fear, desperation…all these emotions buffeted through her brain as she looked at the man she once loved. She knew she was playing with fire by lying to him. Yet, the thought of losing Boyd, to either a foster family or to his bio-dad, made her bite her lip and plunge ahead. “I – I – well, after that fight…I mean, you were so angry, and so was I, that I thought you’d never want to see me again…”
He reached out and touched the bottom of her chin, lifting her eyes to his. They were swimming in tears she couldn’t control. “We both hurt each other,” he said. “But in light of this--” and he nodded toward the carriage, “maybe we’d better rethink our priorities.”
She sniffed and yanked her chin away. “Right now I have only one priority,” she said, and dashed the tears away.
“And it looks like I have one, too. Can I hold him?”
She paused, and then murmured, “Yes.”
He bent over the carriage. With surprising skill he lifted the sleeping infant and cradled him in the crook of his arm. He pushed the blanket away to see Boyd’s face. The baby gave a small sigh, his tiny lips pursed and then relaxed, and he continued to sleep.
She could see the melting look on Galen’s face. His son. He thought he was looking upon the face of his very own son…
This would all backfire someday, she knew. Someday Galen would hate her for the lie she had just implied…but right now, the threat of losing Boyd was too real, too close.
Elizabeth saw the expression of longing and the beginnings of paternal affection and knew that, however unscrupulous her deception, Galen would do just fine as a father. |
