by Susan Gable
Lexie spared a quick glance over her shoulder at the little girl in the faded pink windbreaker who rode in the wagon. "They were cute, weren't they? Sure, honey, you can have those for your birthday."
"When is it again?"
"A little over a month."
"Oh. Okay. Is that, like, next week?"
She chuckled. "No, it's a lot longer."
"Oh. Okay." They traveled the next block in silence. Then Sarah piped up again. "Fallyn can't come to my party. She's mean."
Lexie stopped the wagon and turned to face her daughter. "Why? Did she say something to you at the bake sale?" The kids had played in the church's nursery while the women of the Mill Creek Ladies Auxiliary ran the bake/rummage sale to benefit the town's new fire engine fund.
Sarah clutched her love-worn Raggedy Ann doll to her chest and shook her head.
"Are you sure? You can tell me if she did."
"No."
"All right." Lexie resumed her trek back toward the house at the far end of Main Street
that had been their home since just before Sarah's birth. Converting it into a bed-and-breakfast had given both her and Pappy a new lease on life—something to occupy their time and provide for them.
"Know what else I want for my birfday?"
"What's that, sweetie?"
"A daddy."
Lexie froze, then she coughed, choking on the saliva that suddenly didn't want to go down her throat. A shudder rippled over her despite the fact that the air had stilled. She turned once more to the child behind her. "Honey, it doesn't work like that. You can't just say you want a daddy for your birthday."
"Why not?" Sunlight glinted off the reddish-blond highlights in Sarah's brown curls. Her face tightened as she looked up at her mother.
"You just … can't."
"Do I not have a daddy 'cause of my mark?"
"What?" The metal handle clattered to the walkway as Lexie moved along the wagon's side and dropped to her knees, heedless of the tiny pebbles jabbing through the denim of her jeans. She wrapped her arms around the child who, as far as she was concerned, was the reason the sun rose every morning. "Absolutely not! Why would you even think such a thing?"
A soft sniffle emerged from the head crushed against Lexie's oversized University of Montana sweatshirt. "F-Fallyn said so."
Lexie sucked in a deep breath, then counted to ten before exhaling. Her nails dug into her palms, and she forced her hands open. Luckily, the monster … er … child in question wasn't within reach. She cuddled Sarah, rocking slightly, wishing she could draw the little one's pain into herself. "Fallyn doesn't know what she's talking about, baby."
"B-but—"
"No buts." She stroked the soft hair. The scent of generic baby shampoo rose with the breeze. Gently disengaging herself from the small arms wrapped around her neck, she put her finger beneath the sharply angled chin and lifted it until Sarah's eyes met hers. "You're beautiful, Sarah. Special."
"And—and, it's better, right?"
"With every treatment, baby, it's better." Lexie silently blessed the people at the Happy Face Foundation who made Sarah's laser treatments possible. It had been for exactly this reason that she'd wanted the port-wine stain lightened. Kids—and sometimes adults, too—could be cruel. But Lexie hadn't expected Sarah to be feeling the effects of it at not quite four. It didn't seem fair.
But then, little in life was.
"O-okay. But…"
"But what, baby?"
"If I can't get a daddy, can I have a pony?"
Lexie laughed, amazed at the resiliency of kids. Her kid in particular. "A pony? And just where would we keep a pony?"
"In Pappy's garage."
"And then where would Pappy keep his truck?"
Sarah shrugged.
"I don't think a pony is on the list of possible birthday gifts, either, sweetheart. Try to think smaller." A lot smaller. She sighed, hating to burst the little girl's fantasies, but determined that Sarah would be well grounded in reality. Hell, their reality—a patchwork family that barely made ends meet—determined that her daughter be well grounded. Practical. Pragmatic.
And that was for the best, Lexie told herself. She'd grown up with her head in the clouds—maybe head in a book was more accurate—a dreamer, living a comfy, cushy life, fed fairy tales and happily-ever-afters by her parents.
She'd been ill equipped when life had soured, and she'd been forced to flee with a baby in her belly, a baby she'd sworn to protect. Which was why she clung so fiercely and gratefully to Pappy and Mill Creek.
Despite her desire that Sarah be well grounded in reality, Lexie had already passed on her love of books to the child, whose advanced vocabulary and blossoming reading skills bore testament to the fact that reading aloud to kids made a big difference. "Ready to go home?"
Sarah nodded, clutching her rag doll tighter to her chest.
"All right." Lexie kissed her, then continued the journey home. When they reached the white picket fence running the front of the property, she lifted her hand to shade her eyes. On the opposite side of Main Street
, in front of the medical clinic, Dr. Kegan Riley had one foot propped on the running board of a black pickup truck as he carried on a conversation with the driver, Bernie Kellerman.
"Morning, Kegan!" Lexie called.
He turned and waved. "Morning, Lexie! Sarah!"
Besides Pappy, Kegan had become one of her first friends in town. He'd delivered Sarah, and hadn't batted an eyelash in judgment when she'd shrugged in response to his question about what to fill out on the birth certificate under Father's Name.
"Don't know or aren't telling?" he'd asked, pen poised. She'd shrugged again, so he'd written Unknown in the space on the paper.
Unknown.
The guilt of that one word weighed heavily on Lexie's heart, knowing how it would break David's. But then she'd watch Sarah playing, or sleeping, and know without a doubt she'd done the right thing to protect her.
The tinted window of the truck Kegan leaned against slid lower. He turned toward the driver for a moment, then looked back at them. "Any of your cinnamon bread left at the bake sale?" he asked.
"No, sorry. It sold out in the first twenty minutes."
"Dang," said Bernie, the town pharmacist, who was probably hassling Kegan over his handwriting again. "I was hoping to get some," she called across the street.
"Sorry, Bernie!"
Lexie waved to both as she turned onto the dirt driveway. A dark blue Ford Explorer with Montana plates was parked in the guest area.
She picked up her pace. Maybe it was the mystery guest Western Bed-and-Breakfast magazine had been promising to send out. If she scored well, they'd do a four-page spread complete with color pictures of Mill Creek B&B, and that could mean a big jump in their bookings.
"Momma!" Sarah giggled and clutched the sides of the wagon. "Yeah, go faster!"
Lexie drew the wagon into the detached two-car garage, stowing it on the side littered with wooden sawhorses, old screens and other assorted junk. Sarah scrambled out as Lexie retrieved the cookie trays.
The little girl darted ahead of her, running to the back door on the enclosed porch. Lexie caught up with her as they entered the airy country kitchen. Sarah struggled with the zipper on her windbreaker, then sighed deeply. "Momma, it's stuck again."
Setting the trays on the floor, Lexie knelt down and worked the thrift-store-purchased windbreaker's flannel lining free of the zipper. "There you go. Sorry about that." She hung the jacket on one of the pegs by the back door.
"Annie needs a nap, Momma. I'm taking her upstairs."
"Okay, baby." Lexie picked up the cookie trays and crossed the enormous kitchen, dropping them into the sink. Sarah opened the door that concealed the back staircase and trotted upstairs.
Washing the dishes from the morning's hurried baking projects would have to wait. She wanted to be sure their new guest had settled in and was comfortable. Especially if it was the mystery guest.
&
nbsp; Leaving the kitchen, she strolled down the center hallway, passing the dining room and first-floor bathroom, then Pappy's room. His knees demanded a bedroom on the first floor, so they'd converted the old parlor. Finally she emerged in the foyer, where the front stairs boasted a massive banister, and there were entrances to the library on one side of the house and the living room on the other. A small mahogany table near the front door held their guest book. She peered down at it, but there was no new entry. The loud roar of a televised football game came from the living room.
"Pappy?" she called.
"In here," he answered. "Flag on the play! What in tarnation was that?"
Inside the spacious living room, Pappy lounged in his faux-leather recliner, his sock-clad feet propped up, the tip of his big toe visible through a tiny hole. "Whose car is that outside?" she asked him. "Do we have an unexpected new guest?"
"Yup. I think he's in the library. Wanted to locate how to hook up his computer or something. I told him about the phone-jack thingamabob in there." He leaned forward to yell at the TV. "Damn it, boy, catch the ball!"
Lexie chuckled. "Pap, how many times have you watched the video of this Grizzlies game? It doesn't change, no matter how many times you yell at them."
He offered her a sheepish grin. "I know. Hey, they won, and I'll watch it till I get to see the next game."
She just shook her head at him. "I'll go and welcome our new guest. What's his name?"
"David something-or-other. Didn't catch the last name."
"And did you catch how he was paying?"
"Nope. Not my job. I just own the place, Missy. You run it." He reached into the bowl of red pistachios on the end table and grabbed a handful.
With a soft sigh, she turned and crossed the foyer to the library, lingering in the archway. Several large woven rugs covered the varnished floor. Dark leather sofas and chairs, old books, rich wooden surfaces. Bright sunshine streamed through the picture windows that looked out onto the wide wraparound porch.
On the far side of the room, a set of sturdy shoulders and a head of wavy brown hair showed over the back of the wooden chair in front of the huge antique rolltop desk. Lexie pasted a welcoming smile on her face as she crossed the room. "Hi, I'm Lexie, I'm the manager. And you are…?"
The wheels on the chair squeaked as he pushed away from the notebook computer on the desk. He rose somewhat stiffly and turned to face her. "Has it been that long, Lexie?"
Her smile faltered. Recognition seared every circuit in her brain, like a glass of water poured over his laptop. The muscles in her legs tightened, as did the ones along the back of her neck and shoulders. Moving—shoot, even breathing seemed to be an optional activity. And Sarah's innocent birthday wish came back to her.
Be careful what you wish for…
"Nothing to say to me after all these years?" David asked.
Numerous possibilities occurred to her, like how had he found them and what did he want and go to hell … yeah, that was a good one.
But then something more solid, more horrifying, occurred to her.
He was here.
Sarah was upstairs.
And Angela…
"Ohmigod! Sarah!" Her knees started to shake and every muscle in her body screamed awake. "Where's your wife?"
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
He'd forgotten how sensitive she was. Her dark hair was now shoulder length instead of the short pixie cut she'd always sported. The small bit of color on her face drained from her porcelain complexion, making her look terrified and almost … fragile.
He was not, repeat, not going to feel sorry for her.
She was a kidnapper, for God's sake.
Not his best friend's little sister. Not the tagalong who'd followed them everywhere until she'd learned how to read and chosen adventure through books.
Not the woman who'd tried to give him his dream of a child. The woman who'd stolen that child.
"Where is she?" Lexie asked again, her voice rising, a note of panic lacing the quivering words. "Sarah!" She whirled toward the library's doorway.
David grabbed her by the forearm. "Angela isn't here." He wasn't going to get into the details of his divorce and the rest of his ex-wife's sudden psychotic behavior, not now. "Sarah is safe, calm down."
She turned back to face him, yanking on her wrist. He tightened his grip. "Calm down?" she shrieked. "Calm down? I'll give you calm down!" They fought a minor tug-of-war with her arm, then she kicked him in the shin.
He released her, bending over to rub the throbbing spot. "Ow, damn it, Lexie, that hurt."
"Really? Imagine that. Too bad I'm not wearing something with a pointed toe. Now get out of my house!"
"Or?" He straightened to his full height, which at six feet gave him at least a five-inch advantage over her. He squared his shoulders, setting his jaw. If she thought he was going to march out of his daughter's life just because she said so, she was in for a rude awakening that would stand Miss Manners's hair on end.
"Or, or … I'll call the sheriff."
David crossed his arms and nodded. "Good. You do that. Saves me from having to. I had hoped we could do this in a civilized manner for my daughter's sake, but, hey, if you want to go to jail for kidnapping, dial away. And maybe we can end up in the middle of a media circus, too. Won't that be fun? Can't you just see the headlines?"
He swept his hand across the air as though spreading out a paper. Surrogate Mother Kidnaps Child In Utero, Father Regains Custody Four Years Later with Help of Small-town Sheriff. He'd avoided the media during his search for Lexie with the passion he usually reserved for a particularly nasty software virus. He'd had enough headlines when Angela had been arrested the year after their divorce. He knew how the vultures could be. It wasn't something he wanted for his daughter. Or himself.
"Kid—kidnapper?" The spark of outrage faded from her green eyes, and they widened. "Jail?" Her mouth formed a little O but not a sound came out for several seconds. Then she said, "I—I need to sit down."
And she did. Right in the middle of the library floor.
She crossed her legs, and her fingers picked at the seam of her faded jeans. She hung her head.
David exhaled loudly, ignoring the softening in his gut, the urge to tell her he wasn't going to send her to jail. Let her worry for a change. He'd done enough of it. He recrossed his arms and waited for her to pull herself together.
The sounds of a ball game drifted in from the other side of the house, the old man cheering on his team. At least his attention had stayed focused on that. The last thing David needed was an overprotective friend of Lexie's butting into the middle of this mess.
A soft sniffle made him look back down at the woman on the floor. She lifted her head. Tears shimmered, as yet unshed, in her eyes.
"Oh, no," he said. "No." He pointed at her. "Don't you dare cry. Don't do it."
Her bottom lip trembled and the floodgates opened, sending the tears cascading down her cheeks. "S-sorry," she choked out.
"Aw, shit!" If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was the sight of a woman in tears. Genuine tears. The fake, manipulating ones he could resist, but real ones … hell. They made him feel like a helpless little boy again, watching his mother cry over a man not worth the salt she shed for him. "I'm not going to send you to jail."
"That's not why I'm crying." She ran the back of her hand across her face.
"Then what, for pity's sake?"
"You're going to take her away from me," she whispered. "Aren't you?"
"She's not yours. She never was yours."
"She's been mine in every way that counts for more than four years. You gave up your rights to her when you refused to listen to me. And stop talking about her like that. She's a little girl, not a piece of personal property." Lexie rose to her feet, hands balled on her hips. "And her name is Sarah!"
"I did not give up my rights to her, and I know damn well what her name is—the name you gave her. Yo
u stole from me, you stole from her. Four years she could have had a father in her life, but you thought you knew better." A niggle of guilt twisted inside him, guilt because she had known better than him.
Lexie shook her head, only partially amazed at his audacity in telling her off. After all, this was David, a man she'd known all her life. A man who'd wanted a family so badly that when she'd found out his wife couldn't carry a child, she'd impulsively volunteered to act as their surrogate. Still, who did he think he was? "I was worried about her life, something you seemed perfectly willing to risk at the time."
A small scuffling sound came from the doorway. David's glance darted over her shoulder, and his face shifted. The lines of anger and hurt melted away, changing into an expression of wonder she'd never forget.
Darn, if it wasn't just like a man to go and wreck a woman's perfectly good mad. She knew without turning that David Mitchell had just gotten his first glimpse of his daughter.
Her hand curled into a fist. If that expression turned to revulsion when he got a good look at the birthmark, she was going to coldcock him.
"Momma?"
Lexie forced her fingers open, smoothing them along the leg of her jeans. She turned and held her hand out. "Come here, baby. There's someone I want you to meet."
Sarah ran over, wrapping her arms around Lexie's legs, pressing her face against the faded blue denim.
Lexie stroked the soft curls on her daughter's small head, then looked over at the man who'd come to claim the child who meant the world to her. Though she felt hollow inside, she met his questioning gaze straight on. "She's a little shy."
He nodded, then got down on one knee. "Hi, Sarah. My name's David."
Sarah tightened her hold on Lexie's legs. She pried her loose and squatted, nearly falling over when the little girl threw her arms around her neck. "Sarah," she said, regaining her balance, "David is… He's…"
"I'm your father, honey."
The child stopped shifting in her arms. Lexie glared at him. So much for tact or giving us time to adjust. Sarah risked a peek at him. Then she shook her head, sending her curls into a bounce. "No. My daddy has black hair and a crown. He's a king."
