Dedication
For my dear daughter-in-love
Donna Coble
whose DNA interest propelled the idea for this novel.
Thanks so much, honey!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
A Note from the Author
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Acclaim for Colleen Coble
Also by Colleen Coble
Copyright
Prologue
January 1990
St. Petersburg, Florida
Lisa ran to her Datsun Bluebird and jerked open the yellow door. Her pulse strummed in her neck, and she glanced behind her to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She’d tried not to show fear during the confrontation, but it was all she could do not to cry. She couldn’t face life without him.
She’d been on edge ever since yesterday.
Twilight backlit the treetops and highlighted the hanging moss. Instead of finding it beautiful, she saw frightening shadows and shuddered. She slid under the wheel and started the engine, then pulled out of her driveway onto the road.
She turned toward the Gulf. The water always calmed her when she was upset—and she had crossed upset moments ago and swerved into the scared zone.
Her belly barely fit under the wheel, but this baby would be born soon, and then she’d have her figure back. She accelerated away from her home, a dilapidated one-story house with peeling white paint, and switched on her headlights.
The radio blared full of the news about the Berlin Wall coming down, but Lisa didn’t care about that, not now. She switched channels until she found Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” playing, but even her favorite tune failed to sooth her shattered nerves. Could she seriously be murdered over this? She’d glimpsed madness in those eyes.
She pressed the brakes as she came to a four-way stop, but the brake pedal went clear to the floor. She gasped and pumped the pedal again. No response. The car shot through the intersection, barely missing the tail end of another vehicle that had entered it before her.
Hands gripping the steering wheel, she struggled to keep the car on the road as she frantically thought of a way to bring it to a stop that didn’t involve hitting another car or a tree. The baby in her belly kicked as if he or she knew their lives hung suspended in time.
“We’re going to make it, little one. We have to. I can’t leave you alone.” No one would love her baby if she died. Her mother couldn’t care for her child. She cared more about her drugs than anything else.
Lisa tried to tamp down her rising emotions, but she’d never been so frightened. The car fishtailed on the sandy road as she forced it back from the shoulder. Huge trees lined the pavement in a dense formation. Where could she drive off into relative safety? A field sprawled over on the right, just past the four-way stop ahead. If she made it through, it seemed the only place where they might survive.
Had the brakes been cut? What else could it be? She’d just had the car serviced.
Lisa approached the stop sign much too fast. The slight downhill slope had only accelerated the speed that hovered at nearly seventy. Her mouth went bone dry.
Her future with her child and the love of her life depended on the next few moments.
She could do it—she had to.
The tires squealed as the car barely held on to the road through the slight turn at high speed. Before Lisa could breathe a sigh of relief, a lumbering truck approached from the right side, and she laid on her horn with all her strength. She unleashed a scream as the car hurtled toward the big dump truck.
The violent impact robbed her lungs of air, and she blacked out. When she came to, she was in an ambulance. She fought back the darkness long enough to tell the paramedic, “Save my baby. Please . . .”
She whispered a final prayer for God to take care of her child before a darker night claimed her.
1
Present Day
Clearwater, Florida
The examination table was cold and hard under her back as Harper Taylor looked around the room. She focused on the picture of a familiar Florida beach, which helped block out the doctor’s movements and the smell of antiseptic. She’d been on the beach at Honeymoon Island yesterday, and she could still smell the briny scent of the bay and hear the call of the gulls. The ocean always sang a siren song she found impossible to resist.
Calm. Peace. The smell of a newborn baby’s head.
“All done.” Dr. Cox’s face came to her side, and she was smiling. “Lie here for about fifteen minutes, and then you can get dressed and go home.” She tugged the paper sheet down over Harper’s legs.
“How soon will I know if the embryo transfer was successful?” Though she’d researched the process to death, she wanted some assurance.
“Two weeks. I know right now it seems like an eternity, but those days will pass before you know it. I’ve already submitted the lab requisition for a beta-HCG test. If we get a positive, we’ll track the counts every few days to make sure they are increasing properly.” Dr. Cox patted her hand. “Hang in there.” She exited the room, leaving Harper alone to stare at the ceiling.
Her longing for a child brought tears to her eyes. She’d felt empty for so long. Alone. And she’d be a good mom—she knew she would. All the kids in the church nursery loved her, and she babysat for friends every chance she got. She had a wealth of patience, and she’d do everything in her power to make sure her child knew she or he was wanted.
She slipped her hand to her stomach. The gender didn’t matter to her at all. She could love either a boy or a girl. It didn’t matter that this baby wasn’t her own blood. The little one would grow inside her, and the two of them would be inseparable.
Once the fifteen minutes were up, she was finally able to go to the bathroom and get dressed. She already felt different. Was that a good sign, or was it all in her head? She slipped her feet into flip-flops, then headed toward the reception area.
The tension she’d held inside melted when she saw her business partner, Oliver Jackson, in the waiting room, engrossed in conversation with an attractive woman in her fifties. She hadn’t been sure he’d be here. He’d dropped her off, then gone to practice his bagpipes with the band for the Scottish Highland Games in April. He said he’d be back, but he often got caught up in what he was doing and lost track of time. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d stood her up.
Oliver was a big man, well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a firm stomach from the hours spent in his elaborate home gym. She’d always wondered if he colored his still-dark hair or if he was one of those lucky people who didn’t gray early.
Even here in a fertility clinic, this man in his sixties turned women’s heads. She’d watched them fawn over him for years, and he’d had his share of relationships over the fiftee
n years since his divorce. But Oliver never stuck with one woman for long. Was there even such a thing as a forever love? She hadn’t seen any evidence of it, and it felt much safer to build her life without expecting that kind of faithfulness from any man. Having a child could fill that hole in her heart without the need to be on her guard around a man.
He saw her and ended his conversation, then joined her at the door. His dark-brown eyes held concern. “You changed your mind?”
She shook her head. “Not a chance.”
“It seems an extreme way to go about having a family. You’re only thirty. There’s plenty of time to have children in the traditional way.”
“Only thirty? There’s not even a boyfriend in the wings. Besides, you don’t know what it’s like to long for a family all your life and never even have so much as a cousin to turn to.” She knew better than to try to explain her reasons. No one could understand the guard she’d placed around her heart unless they’d lived her life.
His brow creased in a frown. “I tried to find your family.”
“I know you did.”
All he’d discovered was her mother, Lisa Taylor, had died moments after Harper’s birth. Oliver had never been able to discover her father’s name. Harper still had unpleasant memories of her grandmother, who had cared for Harper until she was eight before dying of a drug overdose at fifty. Hard as those years were, her grandmother’s neglect had been better than the foster homes where Harper had landed.
This embryo adoption was going to change her life.
“I’ll get the car.”
She nodded and stepped outside into a beautiful February day that lacked the usual Florida humidity. Oliver drove under the porte cochere, and she climbed into his white Mercedes convertible. He’d put the top down, and the sound of the wind deterred further conversation as he drove her home.
He parked along the road by the inlet where she’d anchored her houseboat. “Want me to stay awhile?”
She shook her head. “I’m going to lie on the top deck in the sunshine and read a book. I’ll think happy thoughts and try not to worry.”
His white teeth flashed in an approving smile. “Sounds like a great idea.”
She held his gaze. “You’ve always been there for me, Oliver. From the first moment Ridge dragged me out of the garage with his new sleeping bag in my hands. How did you see past the angry kid I was at fifteen?”
He shrugged and stared at the ground. “I’d just given my kids everything they could possibly want for Christmas, and they’d looked at the gifts with a cursory thank-you that didn’t feel genuine. Willow was pouting about not getting a car. Then there you were. I looked in your eyes and saw the determination I’d felt myself when I was growing up poor in Alabama. I knew in that moment I had to help you or regret it for the rest of my life.”
Tears burned her eyes. “You’ve done so much—making sure I had counseling, tutoring, a job, college. All of it would have been out of reach if not for you.”
He touched her cheek. “You did me proud, Harper. Now go rest. Call me if you need me.”
She blinked back the tears and waggled her fingers at him in a cheery good-bye, then got out and walked down the pier to where the Sea Silk bobbed in the waves. A pelican tipped its head to gawk at her, then flapped off on big wings. When she got closer to her houseboat, she slowed to a stop. The door to the cabin had been wrenched off. Someone had broken in.
She opened her purse to grab her phone to call the police, and then her gut clenched. She’d left her phone in the boat cabin. She’d have to go aboard to report the break-in. Could the intruder still be there?
She looked around and listened to the wind through the mangroves. There was no other sound, but she felt an ominous presence, and fear rippled down her back. She reversed course and went to her SUV parked in a small pull-off nearby. She’d drive into Dunedin and report it.
* * *
Ridge Jackson drove through downtown Dunedin at twilight to meet his father. His dad was usually straightforward and direct, but when Dad had called for a meeting, he’d been vague and distracted. Ridge couldn’t still a niggle of uneasiness—it was as if Dad knew Ridge would be a hard sell on whatever new idea he’d come up with.
He had no doubt it was a new business scheme. Oliver Jackson had his finger in more pies of business enterprises than Ridge could count, but his dad’s main company was Jackson Pharmaceuticals. The juggernaut business had grown immensely in the last ten years. He had the Midas touch. Everyone expected Ridge to be like his dad—charismatic and business oriented—but what Ridge wanted to do was pursue his work of studying mollusks in peace.
He smiled at the thought of telling his dad the great news about his new job. The offer had come through yesterday, and he still couldn’t take it all in. Dad’s distraction couldn’t have come at a worse time. Ridge had to sell his place in Gainesville and find somewhere to live on Sanibel Island.
He parked and exited, ready to be out of the vehicle after the long drive from Gainesville. He went into The Dunedin Smokehouse, his favorite restaurant. The tangy aroma of beef brisket teased his nose and made his mouth water. They had the best brisket and pecan pie in the state.
He wound his way around the wooden tables until he found Dad chatting up a server in the back corner. He had never figured out how his dad could uncover someone’s life story in thirty seconds flat. Ridge liked people, but he felt intrusive when he asked someone how their day was going.
Dad’s grin split his genial face. “There you are, Ridge. I’ve already ordered our usual brisket nachos to share. How was your trip?”
“Good. Ran into some traffic in Tampa, but it wasn’t too bad.”
“Uh-huh.” His dad stared off into the distance. “I’ve got a new project for you, son.”
Ridge squared his shoulders and steeled himself for the coming battle. “Before you even get started, Dad, I’ve got a new job. I’m leaving the Florida Museum, and I’ll be working at Bailey-Matthews Shell Museum on Sanibel Island. I’ll get to work with one of the best malacologists in the country. I’m pretty stoked about it.”
Most people heard the term malacologist and their eyes glazed over. He’d been fascinated with mollusks ever since he found his first shell at age two. It was a dream come true to work for the shell museum. He’d be in charge of shell exhibits from around the world.
His dad’s mouth grew pinched. “I, ah, I’m sure it’s a good job, son, but I’ve got something bigger in mind for you. It’s a chance to use your knowledge of mollusks for something to benefit mankind. This isn’t just growing collections, but something really valuable.”
Dad always managed to get in his jabs. Preserving mollusks had its own kind of nobility. Ridge narrowed his eyes at his dad and shut up for a moment as the server brought their drinks. When she left, he leaned forward. “Okay, what is it?”
“I’ve bought a lab for you. You’ll be able to study mollusks and snails to see if they hold any promise for medicinal uses. I’d like you to concentrate on curing dementia first. I don’t want you or Willow to end up like my dad.”
Ridge’s grandfather had died of Alzheimer’s last year, and it hit Dad hard.
Ridge held back his flicker of interest. His dad knew exactly which buttons to push, and Ridge didn’t want to encourage him. Ridge had long believed the sea held treasures that would help mankind. Researchers thought mollusks might contain major neurological and antibiotic uses. “That sounds—interesting.”
“I’ve already put out the call for lab assistants and researchers. You’ll just oversee it and direct the research. I’ve even created a collection room for you to fully explore the different mollusks.” His dad took a sip of his tea. “It will be a few weeks before we’re up and running, but in the meantime, you can comb through research and see where you want to start.”
“You’re just now telling me about it?”
His dad shrugged. “I wanted you to see the lab in all its glory first. We can go take a l
ook when we leave here. There’s only one caveat.”
Ah, finally the truth. Story of his life. Dad always held back the full truth about anything. He should be called the master manipulator.
Ridge took a swig of his drink. “What is it?”
“I want you to start with pen shells. They’re already so versatile, and I believe there’s more of their magic yet to be discovered.”
White-hot anger shot up Ridge’s spine. “This is about Harper instead of me, isn’t it? It’s been that way since you first saw her camping out in our backyard as a teenager. You’re such a sucker for a sob story. I overheard you on the phone the other day, you know. You were telling her you’d be there for her and the baby. She used to get into trouble wherever she went, and I doubt that’s changed. And you’re still the same patsy.” He spat out the last words with a sneer.
Dad’s brows drew together in a dark frown. “I’ve never understood your hostility toward her. And she’s long outgrown any kind of reckless behavior.”
They’d had this discussion on many occasions, and he wasn’t going to change his dad’s mind about her. From the moment she’d shown up in Dad’s life, Ridge had resented her and the way his father catered to her. Ridge had gone off to his freshman year of college when Dad took Harper under his wing. She’d been a runaway from the foster care system, and he’d done more for her than for his own kids. He’d gotten his secretary to agree to foster the girl. She hadn’t had to work during her high school years like he and Willow had. Dad had hired tutors to help her catch up while they’d been expected to figure out their studies by themselves.
The woman had been a thorn in his side for fifteen years. No part of him wanted to have anything to do with her. “What’s Harper have to say about it?”
“I haven’t told her yet.”
Ridge stared at his dad. Typical. Only reveal half of what you know and keep the other half for negotiation. He was sick of his father’s half-truths.
But what if in working with Harper, he was able to find definitive proof that she was only hanging around Dad because of his money? Ridge knew it was true. His dad hated being used, and it wasn’t often someone managed to get the best of him. Harper was that one exception.
Strands of Truth Page 1
