Snowfall on Haven Point

by RaeAnne Thayne

  “And then she found out she was pregnant.”

  “Right. Her fiancé apparently was thrilled because he and his first wife had infertility issues. He’d been told, uh, that he didn’t have very strong swimmers.”

  “And that’s why the woman felt she needed to have you sign away rights.”

  “Right. Just in case. It was a tough decision. Tougher than I might have expected.” The lines around his mouth seemed to deepen. “But what did I have to offer a kid right then? I still felt like a kid myself, in a lot of ways. I was twenty-one, single and halfway across the world. The guy she was marrying had money and lots of it. He was older and had already raised a couple of adopted kids. I figured my son—she knew it was a boy by then—needed parents who were married and stable, not some military police officer living paycheck to paycheck. He was probably much better at being a dad than I could be anyway.”

  She had to disagree on that point. She had seen his patience with her children and thought he had the potential to be an excellent father, given the chance.

  “I still refused the first few times. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. She kept after me and I finally decided I didn’t have much choice. The chance that the baby could be mine anyway didn’t seem very compelling, so I figured, why not.”

  He watched the Canada geese take flight in a rush, their wings brushing the water with their takeoff. “Worst decision of my life.”

  His voice was thick, raw, and the pain in it made her chest ache.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Three years later, the two of them were divorced. I didn’t know until recently that she spent the last decade hopping from guy to guy, neglecting the child I threw away, until she died earlier this year.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Right. Meanwhile, the man my son thinks was his father basically abandoned him after the divorce. I don’t know, maybe the guy suspected the kid wasn’t his, but as a result, my son is now left with no one.”

  She frowned as the story seemed to ring oddly familiar. Her mind tried to sort through the bits and pieces, but she couldn’t figure out quite why.

  “The poor boy. Can you step up now and be a father to him?”

  “How? I have no legal rights and the only proof I have that we were together is the document she had me sign. He has no idea I even exist and I can’t figure out how to approach his gra—guardians.”

  He stumbled over the last word and as she caught his slip and tried to make sense of it, all those stray pieces clicked into place. Of course! She leaned back in her seat, the rest of her lunch completely forgotten as she tried to absorb the stunning truth.

  So much of his behavior made sense now and she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before. She released a breath and spoke before she really thought through the implications.

  “Christopher Page is your son.”

  * * *

  HER WORDS SEEMED to echo through the SUV, bouncing off the roof, the windows, the floor mats.

  Christopher Page is your son.

  For so many years he had held the secret close, knowing he might have a son out there somewhere but trying not to think too often about it.

  It felt so strange to hear someone else say it aloud for the first time ever.

  Over those years, he had still hung on to the idea that the baby couldn’t have been his. He and Nikki Jacobs Page spent one wild weekend together and had used protection.

  A few years earlier, on a whim, he had tried to look her up on social media. It hadn’t been easy—which he found out later was probably because she married twice more and changed her name multiple times.

  Louise Jacobs had been his ticket in. When Louise finally joined social media and became friends with his mother, he had been able to slip through the back door to track Nikki from his mother’s page to her mother’s to her own social media profile.

  What he found had made him sick. More than a decade after that wild weekend they spent together, Nikki Jacobs Page Alexander Guyman had seemed as immature and self-absorbed as ever. She hadn’t posted a single picture of her son and rarely mentioned him.

  And then about a year ago, Louise had put up a picture of her grandson and his heart had stopped.

  Christopher Page is your son.

  He stared at Andrea now, not sure how to respond.

  “Who said anything about Christopher?” he finally said, stalling for time.

  Her sideways look told him plainly not to bother dissembling. “It wasn’t very tough to connect the dots. His grandmother is my good friend. I know his mother died this summer and he fits the age frame you’re talking about. His parents were divorced when he was young and Louise told me his father has nothing to do with him.”

  She paused, her gaze sharpening. “Christopher is the reason you moved to Haven Point from Shelter Springs after Wyn left for school, isn’t he?”

  There was no point in denying it when he had done everything but draw her a picture. He didn’t want the whole world to know—the boy in question didn’t even know—but he sensed he could count on Andrea to be discreet.

  In some little corner of his mind, he was actually relieved that someone else knew the truth. He didn’t have to carry this secret by himself any longer.

  She didn’t seem condemning or judgmental, only concerned. That was almost more of a relief.

  “When Wyn told me she was going to rent her house out while she was in Boise working on her master’s, I knew I couldn’t pass up the chance to move into the house next door to him. It seemed the perfect opportunity to make a connection.”

  “Have you?”

  “So far it hasn’t worked out the way I planned. I don’t quite know how to barge in and say, Hey, guess, what? I’m your father.”

  “You seem so sure of that. How can you be, without a DNA test?”

  “Except for the dark hair, he’s the spitting image of Wynona’s twin, Wyatt, who died five years ago. To tell you the truth, I can’t believe no one else in my family has picked up on it yet, now that Christopher is living in Haven Point. I guess everyone has been too busy planning weddings to notice.”

  He couldn’t imagine what his mother would say when the truth came out. Would she be understanding of the choices he had made or would she be disappointed in him for not initially stepping up to take responsibility for his child?

  “You’ve been living beside them for months and you still haven’t told them?”

  “He’s so angry and hurting right now. At this point, I’m not sure how he will react when he finds out about one more person who walked away from him.”

  “You’re here now, though, unlike his mother and the man he thinks is his father. You moved to Haven Point to be closer to him. That ought to give you a few points.”

  “Or tip the scale toward creepy stalker.”

  She smiled a little and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Sunlight danced in and out of the tree branches. As he watched the random play of light on her features, he felt a little jolt in his chest.

  “I think you should tell Herm and Louise first and let them work with you to figure out how best to let Christopher know the truth.”

  He instinctively rejected that idea. “No. Not yet. They have enough to deal with right now without me throwing another complication at them.”

  “I can’t agree. You must know how they’re struggling to reach him. They would probably welcome all the help they can find.”

  Not his help. What would the boy gain from the unexpected appearance in his life of a father who showed up out of the blue, one who had never claimed to even like kids? “I doubt Christopher will be thrilled to find out the father who signed away all rights to him just happens to be the sheriff of Lake Haven County.”

  “You don’t know that,” she argued. �
��I really think you should tell Louise and Herm.”

  “I don’t want him to know yet. This is my decision. My problem. I’ll deal with it in my own way.”

  “When? Christopher moved here in August and you haven’t done anything yet.”

  The reminder of his own inaction gnawed at him. He could give a hundred excuses. The trouble in the ranks at work. His own guilt over signing away his rights, coupled with his natural caution. Christopher’s obvious unhappiness, living in Haven Point.

  “I do not want him to know yet. I have to ask you not to say anything.”

  She looked offended. “Of course I won’t.”

  Despite her words, he could picture her thinking, in some misguided way, that she was doing the right thing by telling Louise or Christopher. Ali’s delicious sandwich seemed to congeal in his gut.

  “I gave in and let you help me after the accident because I didn’t have a choice,” he said curtly. “I let you bring food and decorate my tree and fuss over me like I’m five years old.”

  “I have not,” she said, looking offended.

  “I never wanted you pushing your way into my life, but you did it anyway. I told you I would talk to his grandparents about shoveling and you went ahead and did that, too. Don’t get it into your head you can do the same thing where Christopher is concerned. I need you to stand down. This is my problem and I have to deal with it my own way.”

  She stiffened, hurt flaring in her eyes before she looked away from him.

  “Your call, Sheriff.” Her voice was stiff, cool, and he instantly wanted to apologize. “Are you finished?”

  What else did she want him to say? “For now.”

  “I meant with your lunch, so I can take you home.”

  Now he felt like an ass and stupid, too. “Yeah. I’m done.”

  She stuffed the remains of her sandwich—most of it uneaten—into one of the bags Ali had given them, then pulled back onto the road without another word.

  The rest of the way, she drove in silence, her features remote. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong, but perhaps he could have worded things a little more diplomatically.

  Why did she always bring out the worst in him? he wondered as she drove around the lake. He could pinpoint at least part of the reason—he was fiercely attracted to her and the futility of it left him sour and out of sorts.

  Most women liked him. He could even be charming when he set his mind to it.

  With Andie he had been cranky and sour, like a dyspeptic old man with gout.

  She hadn’t done anything to deserve it—rather, she had been nothing but kind to him, even though she had never wanted to help him in the first place. She had just spent two hours chauffeuring him to Shelter Springs and back, and instead of showing his appreciation, he repaid her by lashing out and basically accusing her of being a busybody.

  He could have tried to conceal the truth when she guessed correctly that Christopher was his son, yet he had made the choice to confide in her.

  It was completely unfair of him, then, to blast her in return.

  “Do you need to go anywhere else while you’re out?” she asked, her voice still cool, as they reached the town limits of Haven Point. “I can spare another hour before Chloe gets home from school when we need to drive up to Evergreen Springs to pick up Will.”

  Her determined politeness made him feel even worse. “I don’t think so. You’ve done enough.”

  The moment he said the words, he knew they sounded wrong, hostile. He sighed. “That didn’t come out the way I planned. Nothing I say does around you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She said the last word as a half question and he had to shake his head. “Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who’s sorry. I just spent the last ten minutes trying to figure out why I’m such an ass around you.”

  She didn’t argue with his assertion—but then, he hadn’t expected her to. She merely gave him a steady look. “What brilliant conclusion did you draw?”

  He couldn’t very well tell her his impossible attraction to her was clouding his normal courtesy.

  “No brilliance here. Just a man who’s forced to apologize once more for taking out his bad mood on you.”

  She turned onto Riverbend Road but didn’t speak until she pulled into Wyn’s driveway and turned off the engine.

  “When my babies were teething, I always found it sad and funny at the same time how they would always tug at their ears. The ears might have hurt, too, I don’t know, but maybe they couldn’t quite figure out exactly how to fix the pain they were in, so they reached out to the closest tangible object.”

  “You’re comparing me to a teething baby?”

  “I’m saying you’ve got a lot on your plate. Someone tried to kill you, possibly a person who works for you. Your injuries have forced you to be in a dependent position, which you hate. And you’re struggling to deal with the very real problem of how to reveal yourself to a son who doesn’t know you exist. It’s enough to make anyone cranky.”

  “Whatever the reason, it’s my behavior that matters and it’s been lousy, especially to you. I am grateful for all you’ve done, even if I’m not doing a very good job of communicating that. I’m very sorry.”

  The smile she gave him was much warmer. Somehow it left him feeling like he’d just been sucker punched.

  “Apology accepted,” she said.

  They gazed at each other for a moment. She was the first to look away and he didn’t think he imagined the little rosy flush on her cheeks.

  She couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, too. It would make no sense, considering how he had consistently acted toward her.

  “You’re too forgiving,” he said. “You shouldn’t tolerate anybody treating you poorly. You deserve better.”

  “Good advice. I’ll try to keep that in mind, the next time I’m blackmailed by a friend into watching over her injured brother.”

  Despite everything, he couldn’t help laughing at her tart tone, which earned him a surprised look.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

  “You should laugh more often.”

  “I laugh,” he protested. “I just haven’t found that many things funny lately—until you and your kids came along, anyway, and reminded me the world doesn’t have to be so serious all the time.”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed softly. “That is the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “See? I’m not always the biggest ass in town.”

  “Not always,” she murmured.

  The moment seemed to stretch between them, soft and sweet as a summer afternoon. She smelled like summer, too, of wildflowers and sunbeams and a gentle breeze blowing through meadow grass.

  In contrast to the winter landscape outside the vehicle windows, she was irresistible.

  He gazed at her for just a moment and then he couldn’t resist leaning forward and stealing a little taste. The instant just before their mouths met, he knew it was a colossal mistake, but he could no more have prevented himself from moving forward that last half inch than he could stop the ice floes on the Hell’s Fury.

  Her mouth was soft, sweet, delicious. She tasted of orange and cardamom from Ali’s cookies, a taste he had a feeling he would forever associate with her.

  For just an instant she froze, green eyes wide and startled, and then her lashes fluttered down and she gave herself up to the kiss.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FOR JUST AN instant when Marshall kissed her so unexpectedly, she panicked. Her last time in a man’s arms had not been by choice and the memory of it slithered in, dark and ugly.

  And then, suddenly, this man, this moment pushed it away.

  The scent of him—soap and laundry soap and a unique mix o
f cedar and sage and him—mingled with the leather from the vehicle upholstery and the cinnamon-and-clove air freshener she’d hung after Thanksgiving. Just like that, she was back in the present, being kissed by the very sexy, very intriguing Marshall Bailey, the tough, stubborn sheriff of Lake Haven County.

  She closed her eyes and let the sensations shiver through her, silvery and bright and wonderful. How could she possibly have forgotten the delicious magic of a slow, sensual kiss? The kick in her heart rate, the tingle in her fingertips, the delicious, sensuous churn of her blood.

  Oh. She could do this all day.

  Whoever would have guessed that the sometimes dour and taciturn sheriff could kiss so eloquently?

  He kissed with the same seriousness he brought to everything else, focused only on tasting her, exploring her mouth. Andie savored it as myriad sensations consumed her.

  She wanted to be closer to him and she instinctively moved to press her body to his but banged her hip into the console instead. A little startled gasp escaped her and he froze, his gaze catching hers. His eyes were beautiful, she thought idly, a vivid blue flecked with gold and rimmed by unfairly long eyelashes.

  She saw a dazed arousal there, heavy-lidded and sensual, that made her insides thrum with need as if he had pressed his mouth to the curve of her breast. She leaned forward for more of those delicious kisses, but just before her mouth could slide against his, he growled an expletive that seemed to shock both of them.

  “What?” she demanded.

  Yes, it had been a while for her, but surely she hadn’t completely forgotten how to kiss, had she?

  He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. She suddenly recognized the subtle shift in his expression, the brief instant of pity followed by self-disgust, and she knew.

  He suddenly remembered who she was, what had happened to her. It was as clear as a road sign on his features. This had nothing to do with the two of them. His reaction was based on what happened to her a year ago.

  He was seeing her not as an attractive woman with needs and desires, but as a victim. The poor, pathetic widow who had been unable to fight off her late husband’s partner and then had been too frightened and weak to report the attack.