“There is an a in ‘thing,’ Cord Stockwell. Just like there’s an r in ‘wash’—and is it, a twin thing?”
“I suppose so. Hell. I guess we’re not as spooky as some identicals. But we’re spooky enough. We’ve been known to finish each other’s sentences now and again. And you’re right. When I think of my childhood, it tends to be ‘Rafe and I.’ He was always there, and he was always the exact same age that I was.”
“Minus eight minutes.”
“That’s right. I’m the big brother. And I never let him forget it. So where did you go, after your mother died, after you said goodbye to Annie?”
She told him about the group home, where kids waited to be adopted—or more likely, to get assigned to foster care. And she described her first foster home. She’d shared a bedroom there with an older girl named CindaLou. “Poor CindaLou. She cried all the time. Looking back, it seems like she was crying every night, all night, for the entire eighteen months we stayed together in that house.”
“But you didn’t cry. Did you, Hannah?” There was a challenge in the words—and, she thought, a tenderness in his eyes.
She tried to ignore the tenderness and simply answer the challenge honestly. “No, not by then. Not if I could help it. If I’d let myself, I might have started and never stopped. I learned soon enough that it was better not to even get started.”
“What about boyfriends?”
She made a show of rolling her eyes. “Come on. I was only nine.”
“I mean later, when you were in your teens.”
For a flashing moment, in her mind’s eye, she saw a certain face—young, handsome, angular, with tender blue eyes. That face stared at her with frank longing.
It was the face of betrayal.
She blinked—to banish the image and bring herself back to the here and now.
Cord was watching—way too closely. “Sensitive subject?”
“What?”
“Boyfriends?”
“No,” she lied, keeping her voice offhand and her expression composed. “I didn’t go out much. Never have. For a lot of years, it took all my energy just to survive. And then I had to put my focus on getting through college. And now, well, I still don’t have a lot of time for…” She sought the right word.
He suggested, “Romance?”
That pleased her—that he hadn’t said “men,” or “relationships.” That he’d chosen a word with adventure in it.
And excitement. And danger.
Romance.
A beautiful word.
One she should absolutely not allow herself to dwell on.
She said, “The work I do is very demanding. Any night of the week, I might get a call, just out of the blue. I have to drop everything, if a child is in danger.”
“Is that what happened with Becky?”
She hastened to reassure him. “Becky wasn’t in any immediate danger. A neighbor of her mother’s was looking after her.”
“I wasn’t talking about Becky.”
She frowned. “But you said—”
“I was talking about you. You mentioned dropping everything. And you did, didn’t you—with Becky in particular?”
She didn’t know where he was leading her. Wherever it was, she didn’t think she wanted to go. She hedged, “Well, more or less. Yes.”
“Why?”
“I told you. It’s my job.”
“But you went farther with Becky. You decided to foster her. I’m asking why. What was it about her that made her different from all the other children?”
“She needed me.”
“Hannah.” His tone reproached her. “They all need you. But you don’t decide to foster every child assigned to you.”
“No, I don’t. But I—”
“You what? You rushed to her side, took one look at her and…fell in love?”
It was way too close to the truth.
And Cord knew it. “You did, didn’t you? I’ve been curious about that. What was there about Becky that got that kind of response out of you? What would make you put all those other needy children on hold, just to take care of one?”
“I didn’t put them on hold. There are other CPS workers in Grandview County, you know.”
“Hannah, you took a vacation, to be Becky’s foster mother.”
“What’s this? An accusation?”
“You’re defensive about this. Why?”
He was right. She was defensive. And she had no intention of ever telling him why.
She said in a tone flat with finality, “Becky’s a beautiful baby. I wanted to be able to make certain that everything worked out for her. I had some vacation time coming and I—”
He waved a hand. “You said that before. And I’m not buying. There’s more going on here, there’s something about my little girl that made her special to you. I just want to know what.”
“There’s nothing. She’s a beautiful child and I—”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Cord, I—”
“You’re evading. Why?” He looked so…earnest.
Cord Stockwell. Earnest. As if he really cared. As if it really did matter to him, her secret. Her loss…
For one terrifying and heady moment, she wanted to tell him. To blurt out her whole sad little story. Her heart was beating way too hard. She could feel it, pounding in her chest, throbbing in the pulse point at her throat.
She swallowed—and pulled herself back from the brink of a confession that would do neither of them the least bit of good. “Cord. Let it be. What does it matter why I felt drawn to Becky? The fact is, I did. And I took time off to care for her.”
There was silence again, but not a companionable one this time. This time, the silence had teeth.
And as if she could sense the tension in the air, the baby in the other room suddenly began to cry.
Cord left off leaning on the counter and moved toward the sound. Hannah stayed where she was for several minutes, staring down at the fluffy yellow rug as the cries from the other room progressed from little fussy whimpers to a full-blown wail. Finally, with a sigh, Hannah pushed herself upright and went to warm a bottle.
Chapter Nine
Cord was waiting in the doorway, Becky on his shoulder, looking aggravated, when Hannah finally got the bottle ready.
“It’s about time,” he muttered, laying Becky into the cradle of his left arm and grabbing the bottle out of Hannah’s hand. Becky latched on to the nipple and the crying stopped.
Hannah was looking at the baby, smiling a little at the lusty way she went at her meal. Then she made the mistake of glancing up.
Cord’s eyes were waiting.
She probably should have known that they would be.
He said, “Whatever you tell me, it won’t go beyond these rooms.”
“I know.” And she did know. Over the past few days, she’d come to believe that he was a man who would keep a confidence. But what she believed and what she would act on—those had to remain two separate things.
“You’re still not going to tell me,” he said. “Are you?”
She shook her head.
He didn’t say anything more for a number of long, way-too-enjoyable seconds. He just looked at her. And she looked back at him—the two of them, standing there in the doorway to the baby’s room, staring at each other like a couple of moonstruck fools. Which was the way that they stared at each other altogether too often recently.
Disaster, Hannah thought. I think I’m headed for disaster here. Cord had it right. I fell in love with Becky at first sight. And now…oh sweet Lord, I think I’m falling in love with Becky’s daddy.
The love for Becky, Hannah could forgive herself. But to fall for a man like Cord Stockwell…
What was that old saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Yes. The shame would be all hers if she let herself get fooled again.
And even if her own past experience had failed to teach her anything, what abo
ut the words Cord himself had said to her, just four days ago?
I like them tall and I like them gorgeous—but I never like them for long.
Hannah knew she didn’t fit the profile. She wasn’t all that tall. And she certainly wasn’t especially gorgeous. However, she had no doubt at all that whatever happened between her and Cord Stockwell wouldn’t last very long.
Not that anything would happen between them.
“I’ll get it out of you yet,” he whispered. And then he smiled.
Lord. That smile could melt a girl down to a puddle of heat and longing at twenty yards. And Hannah was standing much closer than that.
“What’s going on in here?” It was Kate’s voice.
Hannah jumped as if she’d been caught with her hand in the candy jar—which, in a way, she supposed she had.
Cord laughed, the sound easy, self-assured. But then, his sister had probably caught him sharing moonstruck glances with any number of women before this. He’d probably reached the point where getting caught didn’t bother him at all.
Hannah turned. Kate was standing just inside the playroom, in front of the open door to the hall. Her smile gave nothing away. But the gleam in her eyes said she’d just witnessed clear signs of a budding romance.
Romance.
There was that word again. It was a word, Hannah promised herself, that she was not going to use anymore, not even in her mind.
“We’re feeding Becky,” Cord said. “Better get over here if you want a chance to hold her while she eats.”
Kate’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I do.”
Once she had the baby in her arms, Kate spent a moment or two staring fondly down at her niece. Then she glanced up and caught her brother’s eye. “Jack’s home.”
Cord’s dark brows drew together. “Since when?”
“Since now. He just got in. He said he finally got my letter about Dad and he came as soon as he could.” Becky had finished. She pulled off the nipple. Hannah held out her hand. Kate passed her the bottle. “I ran into him down in the kitchen a few minutes ago—along with Rafe, who’d just got in himself.”
Hannah found herself thinking how strange it was to live in a house so big, people came and went and half the time, you didn’t even know when someone arrived, let alone when they left.
Cord asked. “How does Jack look?”
“Tired,” Kate said. “And tanned. He’s staying in for dinner. And so is Rafe. How about you?”
“I’ll be here.” Cord gave Kate the diaper that he’d taken from his shoulder.
Kate smoothed the diaper in place and raised Becky to burping position. “I thought I’d tell Emma we want to eat about seven.” Becky burped. “Good girl.” Kate kissed her soft temple and spoke to Cord again. “In the sunroom?” She turned her glance Hannah’s way. “We avoid the dining room whenever possible. The table there seats thirty. It’s like sharing a meal in a football field.”
“Seven’s good,” Cord said. “In the sunroom.”
Kate was still looking at Hannah. “Eating in your room must be getting a little old by now. Why don’t you join us?”
“Oh, no.” Hannah was shaking her head before Kate even finished talking. “That’s all right. I—”
“Yes,” Cord insisted. “Eat with us.”
“No, really. Your brother just came home. I don’t want to interrupt your family meal.”
Kate rubbed Becky’s back. “Honestly. You won’t be interrupting.”
“But I—”
“Stop making excuses,” Cord commanded. “It’s not a big deal, it’s just us.”
Just us. Now, why did she like the sound of that so much?
“Say yes, Hannah,” Kate coaxed. “I’m catching on to Becky’s schedule. She’s usually napping around seven. She shouldn’t be needing you then and you know it.”
“I—”
“One word,” said Cord. “The word is yes.”
What could it hurt? It was only a meal. “All right. Yes.”
“Great,” said Kate. “Now take this little darling and I’ll see you at dinner.”
Kate passed the baby back to her brother and went out the way she had come.
Once they were alone, Cord cleared his throat. “This isn’t formal, but…” He glanced, way too significantly, down at Hannah’s bare feet.
“Don’t you worry, Cord Stockwell,” she told him pertly. “For dinner with your brothers and sister, I’m fixing to wear shoes.”
The sunroom was at the front of the house. It had double-paned floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the mellow light of the fading day, but kept out the heat. Plants grew everywhere—ferns and orchids and passion flower vines, several different kinds of palms, bamboo plants—really, there were so many varieties, Hannah couldn’t have named them all if she’d tried. They hung from hooks in the ceiling and stood in huge pots before the wall of windows. In the corners, she saw shy mimosas and umbrella-shaped Norfolk Island pines. The furniture was old and comfortable, with lots of big, soft pillows and tables stacked with books. Hannah found it no surprise at all that the Stockwells liked to gather here.
Dinner was served at a round table not far from the windows.
Kate introduced Hannah to Jack. He was a big man, like his brothers, with the same blue eyes and deep brown hair—and a certain world-weariness the other two didn’t share. Jack was vague about where he’d been recently, but he told them he was home to stay for a while.
“You’ve been in to see Daddy?” Kate asked, just carefully enough that Hannah would have known there was something wrong between Jack and his father even if Cord hadn’t already told her as much.
“I’ve seen him,” Jack replied. The words were flat as the back of a hard hand. “He was thrilled at the sight of me. As usual.” His tone said it all; Caine Stockwell had been anything but thrilled to see his oldest son. “He looks bad. Is he still getting chemo?”
Cord shook his head. “They decided it was time to stop it. It’s not going to save him at this point, anyway. And he’s sick enough as it is, with the cancer itself—not to mention the combination of meds he’s on.”
“How long do they give him?”
“Depends on which of them you ask. Not more than a few months, at the outside.”
Kate put her hand on her oldest brother’s arm. “It’s so good to have you home.”
Jack smiled at her, his natural reserve falling away for a moment, so Hannah could see the frank affection he felt for his only sister. “Good to be home—” he chuckled, the sound lacking in real humor “—at least, it’s mostly good to be home.” He looked at Cord. “Maybe we should think about moving him to the hospital.”
“Good luck getting him out of that room of his. He’s sworn to die in this house.”
“But if he’d be better off in the hospital, then he ought to be there, whether he likes it or not.”
Cord shook his head. “He’s got the best care money can buy. And he’s got it round-the-clock. His doctors actually approve of his staying here. There’s not much more they could do for him in a hospital than what can be done for him here. And at least he’s where he wants to be.”
Kate said, “Cord, you’d better bring Jack up to speed on the things Dad’s been telling you lately.” She sent an apologetic glance in Hannah’s direction. “And then we can move on to more pleasant subjects.”
Cord’s hand brushed Hannah’s knee under the table. It was a very light, very brief touch. And the terrifying thing about it was that it felt absolutely natural for him to touch her like that.
“Don’t worry about Hannah,” he said. “She’s heard it all already. And she has a theory or two of her own.”
Oh, what was the matter with that man? A moment ago, she’d felt comfortably invisible, just sitting there listening to the others, enjoying her prime rib. But then Cord had to go and brush her knee like it was something he did all the time. And now, after what he’d just said, the others had decided she deserved their undivided attention. Three
sets of blue eyes stared at her expectantly.
“What theories?” Jack asked coolly.
Hannah forced down the bite of tender beef she had just made the mistake of sticking into her mouth. It felt like a lump of sawdust as it worked its way down her throat. She knew her silly cheeks were flaming. “Uh…Cord is exaggerating. I don’t have any theories. I just…expressed some doubts and made a couple of suggestions, that’s all.”
“Then what are your doubts?” Rafe wanted to know.
“Wait a minute,” Cord said. “Before we get to Hannah’s theories—”
Hannah set down her heavy silver fork with the fancy S engraved on the handle. “I told you, Cord Stockwell. I don’t have any—”
“All right, all right. Before we get to your doubts. Is that right? Doubts? And suggestions?” He laid his hand over hers.
She froze. And she wanted to feel angry. But somehow, she wasn’t mad at all. Because, like his brushing touch a moment before, his hand on hers felt absolutely right.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Yes,” she said reluctantly. “Doubts and suggestions. That’s right.”
He gave her hand a quick, warm squeeze—and released it. Hannah made herself pick up her fork again and eat more of the delicious meal as Cord brought Jack up to speed on the strange things Caine Stockwell had been raving about in recent weeks.
“I don’t know,” Jack said, once Cord was done. “It could all be nothing more than a sick old man’s drug-induced delusions.”
Cord sipped red wine from a crystal wineglass. “That’s what I kept telling myself. But then Hannah started asking me questions. And now, I realize that all we ever had, when it came to the boating accident, was what the old man told us. I don’t remember it, myself.” He looked from Jack to Kate and then to Rafe. “How about you?”
All three shook their heads.
Cord said, “I never saw any newspaper clippings about the drownings. You’d think something like that would have been in both the Morning News and the Grandview Gazette, at least. And nobody ever talked about it, you know? None of dad’s old cronies, none of the servants. No one. Maybe I’m getting as paranoid as the old man, but lately, it’s started to seem to me as if he might have ordered them all to keep their mouths shut.”
The Tycoon's Instant Daughter Page 10
