by Isla Bennet
“I practically gift-wrapped that damn surgical mentorship in New Zealand for you. Not to mention med school and that staff position in L.A.” Nathaniel shook his head, genuinely bewildered. “Where’d you end up?”
Peyton crossed his arms, sure that his grandfather had unearthed this information—and probably more—by now. “After I came back to the U.S. I went to UC Pritzker in Illinois for med, then enlisted in Doctors Without Borders and eventually was put on staff at Johns Hopkins.”
Nathaniel stepped away from the covered motorcycle and approached Peyton, studying him critically. “You got that badass look about you, like your daddy. He wasn’t much older than you are now when he—” The old man stopped himself, swerved away from that thought. “Where’d they stab you?”
Peyton gestured to the front of his thigh. “I told you on the phone that I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Nathaniel gave a chuckle that was void of humor. “But you will be. Where’s your luggage?”
“In the car. I’ll swing by the motel—”
“No. This is your home.”
Peyton paused, not in the mood for a power struggle, but also not willing to fall in line like a tin soldier.
“Grandpa, listen—”
“I want my grandson under this roof.” Left unspoken, hanging in the air, was a plea that Peyton couldn’t discount. At his short nod, Nathaniel went on. “Changes are coming to the company.”
“I’m not involved with the company.”
“But you are involved when it comes to my will.” Nathaniel shifted to his full height, and his cane wobbled with the effort. “I’m revising it. Lucy was given consideration when I made adjustments some years back. But I didn’t know then that she’d take to fashion. I want her to be provided for.”
“What makes you think Valerie and I can’t give her everything she needs?” It went without dispute that he’d financially support his child, and surely as a hospital board member Valerie now had some level of status and wealth.
Nathaniel grunted. “It’s about more than money. What it’ll be invested in is what’ll count. That little girl’s talent? It should be harvested. And it will be.”
Peyton felt himself on the fringes of déjà vu. “You’ve a plan for her, don’t you, Grandpa? How does Valerie feel about that?”
“Change, my boy,” he said proudly, eluding the questions. “It’s here. And you need to be here.” He eyed Peyton’s suit. “Bring enough clothes with you? All right if you didn’t, ’cause you came to the right place for menswear.”
A glimpse at his watch told him he should be heading to Valerie’s place soon. “Actually, all I need are a hot shower, jeans and a comfortable shirt for where I’m going.”
“Out to the ranch? Figured as much.” Nathaniel tapped him on the arm with his cane and left him standing alone in the garage.
By the time Peyton had carted his luggage to his old bedroom—he’d given Jasper an empty threat of a right hook to keep him from waiting on him—the shock had begun to ebb.
He roamed the mansion, not fully seeing anything until he stepped into the solarium with its flourishing foliage and garden view. Then all he saw were memories of whispers and laughter and remnants of a bond that went deeper than friendship but had never been defined.
As a thirteen-year-old freshman who’d skipped a grade and had a devil of a time fitting into high school, especially after having been discreetly “encouraged” to leave a private academy in Meridien, he’d eavesdropped on his grandparents’ conversation one afternoon and heard the words unfortunate, lonely and trouble. He’d thought they’d been discussing him and he’d felt bad about the black eyes, bloody lips, suspensions and whatever else he’d done to worry his grandmother. Then Estella had brought home a girl she’d met while volunteering at the library and the girl’s uncle who was a cowboy and refused to take off his ten-gallon hat in the house. Peyton had wanted to punch the cowboy even then, but he’d thought the kid was okay—even if she was a Steelers fan. She’d known how to swing a bat, and she was kind of funny with messy pigtails and a goofy smile that made him smile even when he hadn’t wanted to.
After that first day Estella had started bringing her over nearly every weekend, and when she and his grandmother weren’t jabbering about astronomy or books or girly stuff, Valerie Jordan was shadowing him like the annoying kid sister he’d never had.
Over the years, the girl his grandmother had befriended out of charity had become less like a kid sister and more like a woman. Just like that, Peyton had wanted her beyond the boundaries of friendship.
But he’d never acted on it … not until that night his mother skipped out on him for the last time—taking with her a cool three grand in cash—and he’d found his way into Valerie’s car and into her arms, where he could forget everything but the thrill-ride passion she’d triggered inside him.
Peyton peered through the telescope’s lens, seeing nothing but murky darkness in the stormy sky. Somehow he, Valerie and their daughter would have to move forward, and that wasn’t likely to happen if Valerie kept Lucy out of his reach.
That’s why he had shown up at Battle Creek Ranch an hour earlier than she had suggested. He couldn’t make out much of the premises beyond the main house and miles of split rail fence, but if memory served him right there was a helluva lot of land, livestock and potential—but virtually no know-how or give-a-damn.
He recalled Valerie describing it as some sort of paradise as a kid, and when he’d visited for the first time and said the ranch looked like shit, she’d punched his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.
“You always did fight for this place, didn’t you, Val?” he muttered, pulling into the driveway.
Pagoda lights on either side of the driveway led to a brick-façade house on a landscaped slope. Even in the pitch of a rainy night, he could appreciate the nice design as he got out of the SUV. A two-story stone arch framed the walnut front door, and white pillars outlined the covered porch. The numerous multi-panel windows were framed by black shutters, and he could guess that Valerie wanted as much natural light—and access to the stars—as possible.
On the porch beneath an oiled bronze fan was a bench with a hardcover lying on it. A glance at the cover told him the book, about teen celebrities, belonged to Lucy.
He gave the doorbell two jabs and waited, almost smiling at the crookedly carved jack-o’-lanterns arranged in groups of three on either side of the door.
“You’re early,” Valerie said without preamble, tugging the door open. She turned and strode into the foyer in an invitation for him to either follow or leave.
“Didn’t want to risk not seeing Lucy tonight. No twelve-year-old goes to bed at seven-thirty.” The place was evidently newly built, but it had a lived-in aura to it. He took in the new-house smell of fresh hardwood and paint, and the crown moulding, noted the soaring foyer and curved staircase that straddled classic and contemporary. They passed a warm-toned formal living area and the kitchen before ending up in a two-storey family room with a coffered ceiling, tall stone fireplace and a wall of bookshelves.
Every shelf was crammed with books.
“Lucy and I like to read,” she said, and he realized he’d been staring a nanosecond too long. “Anna did, too, though she was just learning wh-when she died.”
It was a detail he’d remember forever about the girl he’d never meet. “Where’s Lucy?”
“We agreed you wouldn’t see her tonight, but here you are asking for her. Thought you might.” Valerie edged a step closer to him and he caught a faint whiff of coconuts. Coconuts in October. Intrigued, he found himself shuffling forward as she asked, “Is this how it’s going to be? You undermining me where my daughter is concerned?”
“Our daughter.”
Valerie crossed her arms. Instead of the black blouse he’d seen her in at the hospital, she wore a gray hooded V-neck sweater that fell past her jean-clad hips. The form-fitting clothes outlined the subtle lushness of her body. H
e’d missed out on years of watching her bony-limbed, girlish form soften into one that was all woman.
His attention drawn to the supple swells of flesh revealed by the V of her sweater, he recalled her scent and taste as if his mouth was on her all over again. He tugged his gaze up to her face … her eyes. She’d caught him.
But all she said was, “Why are you in Night Sky?”
“It was time to come home,” he answered frankly, carefully, fully aware of how she’d deflected the conversation. “Is Lucy in her room or …?”
“Not here, actually. She’s spending the night at a friend’s house.”
Peyton noted the subtle way she sank her front teeth into her plump bottom lip. Nervousness. “Well played, Valerie. But is this how it’s going to be? Game-playing? You plan to send her away every time I want to visit her?”
“Okay, being an ass won’t make this easier. I’m protecting Lucy. Seeing you at the hospital made her cry.”
“One of the things teenage girls do best is cry,” he countered, not in the least swayed.
“Not Lucy. Trust me on that.” Valerie plopped onto the oversized sofa and left him with a dainty wicker chair stacked high with unshelved books that he had to set aside in order to sit. Her brows inched up at the distressed moan the chair gave under his weight. “She has a test at school tomorrow and doesn’t need a distraction.”
“I’m her father, Valerie, not a ‘distraction.’” The words rang out louder and more forceful than he’d intended. His voice seemed to echo throughout the quiet house.
Valerie abandoned the sofa and sat on the square ottoman in front of him. “Answer this truthfully, okay?” Those sexy whiskey-colored eyes found his, riveted him in the uncomfortable wicker chair. “Do you care about her this much, or do you feel deprived of a possession?”
They were back to that again, her believing that everything boiled down to dollars and cents—possessions—to him.
“Sounds like you think you already know the answer to that question. Why ask it?”
Something unreadable passed over her face. “I thought I could count on you for anything and you changed.”
“Changed?”
“Yes! Right after your mother hit the road, right after you and I were together, you snapped. A bet was made at the tavern about how long it’d be before you turned into the lowlife thug you were destined to be. If Chief Hyatt hadn’t saved your ass …”
He’d been fresh out of second chances with the law even then, but he’d been crazy with single-minded determination to destroy himself. Only a miracle, in the form of a retiring police chief who’d said he wouldn’t let Peyton become a through-and-through thug, had protected him from himself.
“The Bishops are the law around here now, and Chief would’ve loved to make an example of you,” Valerie continued. “Peyton, you turned cruel, shut everyone out. For the first time you frightened me, damn it. Then you disappeared.”
“Weren’t you relieved to have me gone, then? Aren’t you glad I didn’t drag you down with me?”
“Not knowing where you were or what had happened to you wasn’t anything to be relieved about.” She looked downward and he could see the shadows of her dark lashes against her smooth skin. The crescent moon scar had that faded, softened look to it, like it’d been there for years and probably always would be. “The point is, trusting someone like you can be a one-way ticket to hurt. If I can save Lucy from that, then I will.”
“Do you think you know what I’m all about, Valerie?”
He could’ve told her about his work, from his first mission to the last. But helping people who’d lost their entire worlds wasn’t something he’d done to earn Good Samaritan points with anyone.
He noticed her breath had quickened by the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She replied, “No, I really don’t know what you’re all about. And I don’t think I want to know.”
“This doesn’t have to be about you and me.” But somehow it was.
“You were asking about the children’s foundation earlier,” Valerie said brusquely.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Anna Christine Jordan.”
She nodded, smiling genuinely for Anna, not him. “Two of my favorite books around the time the twins were born were Anna Karenina and Dracula.” She shrugged, then frowned and said, “The girls contracted meningitis when they were six. In fact, Lucy has permanent hearing loss in one ear, but the aid helps with that. A-Anna’s …”
Instinctively Peyton leaned toward her, offering a comforting hand. But Valerie flinched and shook her head. She didn’t want his touch.
“Anna’s kidneys failed. Some years later your grandfather got Memorial to okay the children’s foundation. It’s helped so many families.” There was a slow sigh. “And that was it.”
But it wasn’t anywhere near the end of the story for Peyton. He wanted to know things he never would know about Anna: how her laugh sounded, how it felt to hug her, what she wished for when blowing out the tiny flames on her birthday candles.
Dragging himself out of his thoughts, he found Valerie watching him.
“This might help … maybe …” she said uncertainly, leading him to the kitchen. She picked up a double picture frame and handed it to him.
He stared at the images of two grinning little girls—one with wheat-blond hair and brown eyes, the other with darker hair and grayish-blue eyes.
“These are their kindergarten pictures. I have copies so you can hold on to these—and the frame, of course,” she added helpfully. “They were supposed to have first grade pictures the next year, but I couldn’t afford them. I’d gone back to school and …”
Peyton glanced around the chef-style kitchen. “School paid off, I take it?”
“Here and there I made the right choices,” she said. “The ranch was almost in foreclosure when I inherited it.”
“Your uncle …?”
“Uncle Rhys passed away ten years ago. But I wasn’t living here at the time.”
That surprised him. Before he’d decided to scrap the New Zealand internship altogether and take off on his own, he’d on impulse invited—no, begged—Valerie to travel with him. When she’d flat-out rejected him, choosing life on this land over life with him, he’d cut his losses. Keeping his expression neutral, he said, “Can’t imagine what would’ve kept you away from this place.”
“My uncle did. When he found out I was pregnant he sent me packing.”
“What else did he do?” Peyton asked, touching her scar with his gaze. That silvery slash hadn’t been there before he’d left Night Sky.
“Whipped me with a belt. He said he didn’t mean to strike me on the face with the buckle, but he still wanted me out.” She sighed. “Uncle Rhys thought Samuel Burgess—how’d he put it?—knocked me up. Logical, I guess, since Sam was my boyfriend and you … you weren’t.”
Coldness seeped into Peyton. He’d left town with the certainty that Burgess, an artsy kid in Valerie’s class who’d come from a two-parent Protestant home, would give her the life she wanted. “What’d Rhys do to Burgess?”
“He didn’t go after him, thank God. I made it clear Sam wasn’t the father and it took, oh, all of two seconds for him to realize that I’d had sex with a man who’d never even asked me on a date.”
Peyton’s eyes slid closed for a moment, but regret still sank into him. “Valerie.”
“So Uncle Rhys declared me a slut and threw me out. And when Sam found out I was pregnant, common sense told him he was off the hook since we’d only kissed, and he dumped me.” She let her head loll to the side. “My uncle wasn’t angry enough to write me out of his will, though. And he didn’t tell anyone you were the father. The girls’ paternity was my best-kept secret until they became sick. By then Lucy was really starting to look like you, anyway, so …”
Peyton’s grip tightened on the picture frame. He must’ve just left Night Sky when the fallout with her uncle had happened. “Why didn’t you—”
“Try to
find you? Seriously, Peyton?” Valerie pounded her fist on the countertop. “I did try. But your grandfather said you made sure you couldn’t be found. I quit looking after Anna died. Not sure if your grandfather kept at it, but I … I was done with you.”
The truth was her weapon, and she wielded it masterfully. He’d left her behind with everything else that had belonged in his past. And he had walked away from more than their friendship.
Only, he hadn’t made sure he couldn’t be found. Not in the beginning. It was apparent that his grandfather hadn’t shared with Valerie the letters he’d written home, or the details of the phone conversation that had ended with Nathaniel growling that he was the only one left in Night Sky who gave two shits about Peyton, and if he wasn’t calling to say he was on the next plane home, then he wasn’t welcome to call at all.
“Valerie, I’m so—”
“Please don’t say you’re sorry. I won’t believe you.”
But he was sorry. She’d been barely eighteen and pregnant and alone … and he hadn’t protected her.
“Believe this. I should have the chance to be in Lucy’s life.”
“So in a matter of hours you’re suddenly ready to be a father? You don’t want the baggage, Peyton. I know in my gut you don’t.”
God, she was right. He wasn’t ready. How the hell could he be? If he’d had a choice he would never be anyone’s father. The thing of it was, he and Valerie had thrown their choices to the wind when they came together without a plan, without protection, and with nothing but uncorked lust.
“I’ve had too much taken away from me already, Valerie. I can’t let you take what’s mine.”
“She’s mine, too.”
“Then we need to come to terms. No more hiding her, no more lies.”
Something that resembled fear briefly flashed in her eyes. After a moment she said, “She loves Nathaniel. Jasper, too. I don’t want her to lose the family she knows. Don’t make this into a war, okay? Don’t fight me. And please, Peyton, don’t force your way into her life if you’re just passing through.”
