A Woman's Heart

by Gael Morrison

  A Woman's Heart

  by

  Gael Morrison

  A WOMAN'S HEART

  Reviews & Accolades

  "...a story of love and sacrifice, with a touch of tropical magic thrown in. I loved this heartwarming story."

  ~Vanessa Grant, bestselling author of Writing Romance

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-401-1

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Copyright © 2012, 2013 by Gael Morrison. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover and eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Thank You.

  Dedicated with love to

  My mother and father

  Ruby and John Friesen,

  sailors of the South Seas

  and to

  Jann Crowley

  whose heart is an inspiration

  Chapter 1

  "My lawyer, Mr. Moore," Peter Strickland murmured. He tore his gaze from Jann Fletcher's disconcertingly blue eyes and ushered her into Moore's office.

  The Fletcher woman nodded at Moore then turned back to Peter. Her long cotton skirt and wispy blouse seemed more suited to the beach than to an upscale Honolulu lawyer's office.

  "Have a seat," Peter said, directing her to one of Moore's black leather chairs. "I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice."

  Somehow he was able to stop himself searching the space beyond her, knowing already there was no baby carriage parked against the wall in the corridor outside. The need to see his sister's baby, to truly believe he existed had driven Peter mad in the week since Jann Fletcher's letter had arrived. Only seven days, but they'd been filled with paperwork, lawyers and travel arrangements.

  "I hoped you would bring Alexander with you," he said.

  "It's Alex's nap time," she replied, her voice warm and slow with the lilting drawl of an islander.

  It should have been sharper, Peter thought, and crisper, should have matched her red hair.

  "Besides..." She frowned. "I don't know why you asked me here."

  "I wanted to thank you." He didn't like it that he was obligated to this woman. "I wanted to tell you in person how grateful I am for all you've done for my nephew." He banished Claire from his mind, couldn't think of his sister now. He wanted only to concentrate on her baby.

  "It was my pleasure."

  "It must have been difficult."

  "No," she denied, the lie obvious in the pain angling through her eyes, smudging their blue with blackness.

  "A young woman like you... single." As his sister had been single. Peter cleared his throat. "The last six months can't have been easy." If he kept his mind focused on Jann Fletcher's hardships, he might stop thinking of Claire's, of how alone his sister must have felt, how frightened.

  "Alex has been no problem," the woman said.

  "Just the same, I'm grateful. Grateful, too, that you wrote."

  "It seemed the right thing to do." She smiled.

  Her smile lit the room, Peter thought, dazzled.

  "I knew the lawyers would inform you," she went on, her smile fading, "but that's a terrible way to find out."

  "Yes." His shoulders stiffened. He still prayed that he'd wake and find he had dreamed the whole thing; that it was a nightmare, not a reality.

  "You'll want to visit Alex now you're here." Jann Fletcher sat straighter in her chair.

  "I'm not here to visit. I've come to collect Alexander."

  "Collect him?"

  "I'm taking him back to Boston with me."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Alexander is my nephew. Naturally, he'll live with me."

  "No!" Her voice was low, but she gripped the arms of her chair.

  "I want to give Alexander a home." Like the one he and Claire had enjoyed as children, until their mother changed and abandoned Claire without a backward glance. "Alexander needs to be with me."

  Jann shook her head, but was unable to pull her gaze from Peter Strickland's eyes. Claire hadn't mentioned they were the color of emeralds, although she'd said plenty on the subject of her brother.

  "I won't be taking him today, of course."

  "You won't be taking him at all."

  "You'll need time to get his things packed, to say your good-byes."

  Jann fought back the panic rising in her chest. Surely this man couldn't mean what he was saying. Not staring at her from eyes just like Claire's.

  Like Alex's eyes, too.

  "I can understand you wanting to spend time with Alex—"

  "I do," Peter said. "I haven't even seen him yet."

  "He's already six months old." She could hear the criticism lacing her voice, the implication that if Peter Strickland had truly cared, he would have been there to help his sister when she needed it.

  "I realize that." His lips tightened. "But I didn't know Claire was dead. I didn't know where she had disappeared to until I got your letter."

  And he was furious about that, Jann suddenly realized. She should have listened to Claire, should never have contacted her friend's brother. But from all she had heard, she had never even thought he would want her baby.

  "I'm sure you've become attached to Alexander," Strickland continued in a gentler voice, "but I know you'll be happy to be free of the responsibility, relieved to get back to your own life."

  The air fled Jann's lungs. Claire's brother's lips still moved, but his voice had disappeared beneath the buzzing in her ears.

  "I hope you'll accept a token of my gratitude."

  His voice had suddenly become clear again, as all other sound died, leaving only his words and the horror they promised. He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and held it out towards her.

  "No," Jann said again, in a lower voice than before, but the word reverberated like a scream in her head.

  "You've been very kind, Miss Fletcher, but I insist."

  "I mean 'no' you may not have custody of Alex."

  "I'm his uncle," he said. "If not me, then who?"

  "Claire gave Alex to me."

  He frowned. "She had no business asking such a thing of you. She was too young herself to know what a responsibility he would be."

  "She knew," Jann said, tears pricking her eyes.

  "Mr. Moore has started the paperwork." Strickland gestured toward his lawyer sitting dwarfed behind his desk, his papers spread before him like soldiers on parade. "When you've thought this through, you'll see it's for the best."

  "There's nothing to think through."

  "You can't seriously want the responsibility of caring for a child?"

  "That's exactly what I want." The disbelief in his ey
es unnerved her. Jann rose from her chair, wishing she were taller, wishing she could stand eyeball to eyeball with this man.

  "It doesn't have to be the end of your relationship with Alexander." Strickland's expression grew gentler, his eyes sympathetic. "Honolulu's a long way from Boston, but we can work something out. Fly you over once a year—"

  "I don't want to fly to Boston once a year, or even twice a year. I want Alex with me all the time. You can fly here if you want to visit him."

  "I'm afraid that's not possible."

  Strickland's gravelly voice skittered shivers across Jann's shoulders, and he moved as he spoke, as though unable to keep still. He turned back to his lawyer, his black hair lifting.

  "I want you to file that custody application today, Mr. Moore. I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary." Strickland's gaze flickered out the office window toward the downtown Honolulu street below.

  Jann swept her strawberry curls away from her face and jerked back her shoulders, wishing she had tied her hair in a bun, had tried to look older, more responsible.

  She had dressed inappropriately, too. Her loose-fitting Indian blouse and gauzy skirt were comfortable, but—she glanced at the tie knotted impeccably around Strickland's neck—she should have worn a tailored suit.

  If she had owned one, she would have. If she had known beforehand what this meeting was about.

  "You can file all the legal suits you want," she declared, "but no one—" Her throat rasped raw as she attempted to clear it. "—no one is going to take my baby away from me."

  "Your baby?" Strickland's Boston accent suddenly seemed more British than American.

  "Yes, mine." Little Alex was hers. Claire had said so.

  No. Claire had insisted.

  Strickland's gaze swept over Jann, seemed to linger at her waist before flashing past her breasts to meet her eyes. "You didn't give birth to Alexander. I fail to see how you feel you can claim him."

  Claire had given her that claim. Claire, sitting on their special bench in the park, calmly asking Jann to be her delivery coach.

  Jann had argued with Claire, reasoned with her, tried everything rather than become involved. But in the end she had agreed. There had been no one else.

  "I was there when Alex was born," she explained in a low voice. Such a simple word for a miracle.

  "As were the doctors and nurses, but they aren't here laying claim to my sister's child."

  "Claire didn't give them custody." Jann's hand stole upward to the heart-shaped crystal hanging from her neck. Her mother had given it to her, the last thing she'd given her. Its smooth surface usually soothed Jann, but not today.

  "Claire was obviously not in her right mind—"

  Heat swept Jann's cheeks. "You don't know anything about the state of your sister's mind."

  Peter Strickland's eyes darkened. "It wouldn't be the first time she made a poor decision."

  "How would you know? You were off in Asia or Africa somewhere."

  "She left home—"

  "You could hardly call it a home."

  "—and moved into a slummy apartment in New York." A muscle rippled along his jaw line.

  "Which you never saw."

  "She ran around with people who'd have been better off in jail."

  "She had no one else."

  "She drank, did drugs—"

  It sounded ugly. Jann shuddered. It was ugly. But didn't he care why Claire had done it?

  "—and got pregnant with a man not fit to breathe her air."

  Jann took a step closer, her skirt swirling around her legs. Her arms hung at her sides and her fingernails bit her palms. She felt a thin wisp of nothing standing next to Peter Strickland's bulk and muscle.

  "It doesn't matter what sort of man Alex's father was," Jann began, moving forward another step. "What matters is who his mother was."

  Peter Strickland flinched.

  "And that's Claire—your sister—in case you've forgotten." Tears filled Jann's eyes, reducing Strickland's image to a series of squiggly lines. "My friend," she added softly. Then she swept away the tears. She would not cry in front of this man. He would think she was afraid. He wouldn't know her tears were for Claire.

  She was very close to him now. He reached out his hand as though intending to grasp her shoulder, but at the last instant he touched her arm instead.

  "I've not forgotten Claire is Alexander's mother." His eyes burned with a pain Jann understood too well. "There's no likelihood of my ever forgetting that."

  "Or forgiving it either," Jann accused.

  He sucked in a breath, seemed to be collecting his thoughts as to how to deal best with an emotional female. "Don't worry about Alexander," he finally said. "I'll take good care of him. I promise."

  "I promised Claire I would never give him up." She stood as tall as she was able. "I never break my promises."

  "You're going to have to break this one." Again he waved his hand in the direction of Mr. Moore. "You won't want to fight this out in court."

  Jann glanced at the lawyer sitting behind the oak desk. His face was expressionless. He looked as dry and unfeeling as the laws he upheld.

  She didn't want to go to court. She couldn't face such an ordeal again. Courts made decisions, and they weren't always the right ones. In the past, they had never been the right ones for her.

  "You don't want to throw away your money," Strickland went on, dragging Jann's attention back to what he was saying.

  "Money?"

  "If you intend to fight, Ms Fletcher, it's going to cost you in legal fees. Are you prepared for that?" He looked at her as though he knew to a penny all she had or ever would have.

  Her spirits sank. He was right in his knowledge that she had no money, but the thought of Alex, with his soft skin and laughing eyes, strengthened her resolve.

  "If it's a fight you want," she said, "then it's a fight you'll get." She'd pay for it somehow. Take that assignment on Molokai if she had to.

  Strickland's eyes narrowed. "Why do you care so much?" His question seemed sincere, but his eyes were wary, as though already distrusting whatever answer she would give.

  "I promised his mother," she repeated, pushing away the image of Claire on her deathbed, not wanting ever again to think of her friend like that.

  "I'm sure you've done your best," he said, brushing away her promise as though it meant nothing, "but Alexander is my nephew, my blood. He belongs with me."

  "He belongs with someone who loves him. And that's me," she said firmly.

  "Perhaps it's time we concluded this meeting," Mr. Moore broke in saying.

  Jann was unable to move, unable to breathe, unable even to wrench her gaze away.

  "Alexander is mine," Claire's brother insisted.

  "He's not a possession." Rage erupted as suddenly as an island volcano, blowing the lid off emotions she'd suppressed for years.

  Until Claire died.

  Until now.

  "He's a little baby," she said. "He needs love. My love." Even if loving Alex went against everything she had learned in the twelve years since her parents had died, that she could only be safe if she kept herself to herself.

  Mr. Moore noisily shifted some papers on his desk, but Peter Strickland's gaze didn't stray from hers. It didn't seem possible his eyes could become darker, but they did, the soft fullness of his lashes incongruous frames for their sharpness. Like feathers around steel.

  Jann struggled to get a sense of his aura, of what he was feeling and what he would say. But her own senses seemed to have shut down, for around Peter Strickland all she could discern was a black mist.

  "Love isn't the issue." Strickland leaned closer, drawing so near his breath warmed her cheek. "Not with you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "How much do you want?" His voice had hardened, had become businesslike.

  But he smelled like the earth after a rain, Jann thought dazedly; crisp, clean, and good.

  "Well?"

  She couldn't con
centrate on what he was saying. Not when he was this close. She took a step back.

  "How much would it take for you to disappear?"

  "Money?" she asked, suddenly understanding.

  "Of course, money. Five thousand? Ten thousand?"

  "Dollars?"

  "You drive a hard bargain, but fifteen thousand is as high as I go."

  "You think I would sell Alex?" She couldn't believe his suggestion, was sure her ears deceived her.

  "I'm sure you have your price." His expression held no surprise, but rather disappointment, as though he was sure what her answer would be. "It's what you've been waiting for, isn't it?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why else would you be so interested in raising my sister's son?" His jaw hardened. "You knew what she was worth. Now she's dead her baby inherits the lot."

  Jann opened her mouth but no words emerged. It was as if he had wrapped a steel band around her chest and was tightening its pressure until it squeezed her in two.

  "Well?" he prodded.

  She tried again. "I can't believe you think I'm doing this for money."

  "I didn't at first, but now I do."

  "If you believe that—" She lifted her chin. "—then you know nothing about me or your sister."

  "I know your type."

  "What do you mean type?"

  "My sister surrounded herself with people like you, people who used her to get what they wanted. You had me fooled, too."

  His words were like bullets hitting her square through the heart.

  "My sister didn't know any better, had never been taught." He stopped suddenly and caught his breath, as though he had more to say, but couldn't bear to utter the words.

  "You're attractive," he finally went on. "I'm surprised you haven't linked up with some rich old man. That would be easier money, surely, than caring for a baby."

  "You can think what you like."

  "Your hair's an unusual color. If you need money, I understand beauty salons pay well to turn hair like yours into wigs."

  "If you've completely finished." Jann's fingers formed fists. Claire's brother might dress like a gentleman and have the eyes of an angel, but he didn't play by the rules.