Lost But Not Forgotten

by Roz Denny Fox

  “I know.” She slid out, clutching her small handbag. “Flo said the same thing. By the way, Bert helped me make dessert. Strawberry flan. It’s a work of art. Don’t ask me where he got fresh strawberries this late in the year. We ought to take it out of the trunk and put it into a refrigerator.”

  “Give me your keys. I’ll carry the container.”

  She extracted a single key from her jeans pocket and handed it over. That was when Mitch noticed how the soft blue denim of her jeans outlined her long legs. He’d never seen her in anything but one of Flo’s uniforms. Mitch had known she was slim, of course. He hadn’t known she was so much leg. Damn, he’d always been attracted to leggy women.

  “Do I have strawberry juice on my clothes?” Gillian tugged at the front of her bright-red T-shirt, trying to identify where she might have a spot.

  “You’re fine. Great, in fact. I’m glad you didn’t dress up. I meant to tell you gatherings in Desert City are generally casual.”

  “Good. Most of the clothing I have with me is knock-around stuff.”

  Mitch’s head was in the trunk, muffling his reply. “Wow. This is enough to feed half the neighborhood. I hope Regan has room in her fridge. Follow me,” he added, awkwardly closing the trunk with an elbow. “Regan’s waiting on the porch.”

  Gillian fell in behind him. She craned her neck to try to see something of the woman married to Mitch’s best buddy. Gillian had meant to ask Flo for more information, but the café was extra busy and she didn’t get a chance. All she knew was that Regan Knight had met and married Ethan in a whirlwind courtship. Oh, and her career was in social work.

  Around Mitch’s bobbing broad shoulders, Gillian glimpsed sleek blond hair, gold earrings and black linen slacks topped by a white silk blouse.

  Her steps slowed. Worrying about how her oldest jeans would stack up against linen and silk, Gillian ran right into Mitch, who she didn’t realize had stopped.

  Reaching behind him, he clasped her hand and tugged her against his side, where she could see and be seen by Regan Knight.

  Gillian opened her mouth to respond to her hostess’s greeting. The words stuck in her throat. She grabbed Mitch’s arm to keep from fainting. Her ears buzzed and stars danced before her eyes. Her attention froze on a child clasped in Regan Knight’s arms. A girl in ruffled pink rompers—very near the age her own baby would have been. Gillian had systematically avoided all children in the ten months since she’d lost her own. Why, oh why, hadn’t she asked if the Knights had a family?

  “Gilly! Gilly?” Mitch’s voice bombarded her from afar. Her name swam at her through waves of nausea.

  Regan descended the steps. “She looks ill. Mitch, take the dessert into the house before you drop it all over the sidewalk. Look after the kids, please.”

  As if he hadn’t heard, he plunked the flan container down on the steps and hooked a supporting arm around Gillian. “You worked two shifts again, didn’t you?”

  She nodded, endeavoring to quell the initial shock.

  “Skipped breakfast and lunch, too, I’ll bet.” Glancing up at the worried Regan, he continued in a proprietary manner. “Getting her to eat is like spinning your wheels. It’s like—”

  “You’ve known her how long?” Regan broke in, her left eyebrow disappearing into her bangs.

  Gillian let their argument swirl around her until the worst of the unexpected jolt had passed. Her dizziness had lessened and her churning stomach began to settle. She needed an extra minute to collect her scattered thoughts. Think! What could she tell them so Mitch’s friend wouldn’t consider her a complete screwball?

  “If you don’t believe me, Regan, ask Flo,” Mitch argued. “Gilly doesn’t eat enough to fill a peanut shell. You’ve got eyes. You’re skinny, but she’s thinner.”

  “Stop, Mitch. You’re embarrassing her,” Regan scolded. “Here, take Cara. Give us a minute alone. We’ll bring the dessert when we come in.”

  Mitch seemed reluctant to let go of Gillian. “Don’t badger her, Regan. I already asked, and she told me she doesn’t have one of those eating disorders.”

  This time both of Regan’s eyebrows shot up. She employed the look she’d perfected to get subordinates to do her bidding. Mitch took Cara from her, slanting Gillian a last troubled glance before he limped up the steps and into the house.

  Ever direct, as she had to be in her job as a social worker, Regan struck while Gillian’s defenses were lowest. “Are you pregnant?”

  “Wh-a-at?” That was the last question Gillian expected.

  Regan ticked the symptoms off on her fingers. “Dizzy. Nauseated. Off your food. My husband said Bert told him you decided to dig in here in Desert City because you ran out of money. Mitch mentioned you’re divorced. I’m in private social work now, Gillian, but I still have connections if you need help.”

  Floored by the amount of information Regan Knight had at her fingertips, and by the sincerity of her offer, Gillian crossed her arms and rubbed away a chill. What had made her think she’d be safe hiding in a nest of cops? Clearly they’d already begun to add up various details they’d learned about her. Every instinct went on red alert. She ought to…wanted to give Flo her notice and take off again. But a very cold place inside reminded Gillian why she couldn’t. She wasn’t going anywhere without doing every single thing in her power to locate Katie’s urn. Her terrible loss was tied to the men in the blue car, whom she’d last seen leaving Mitch Valetti’s lane. If that meant she had to perfect covering her tracks and lying—that was what she’d do.

  “I’m…not pregnant,” she told the woman drilling her with all-seeing blue eyes. “I was ill for a while before and after my divorce. Not an eating disorder,” she hastened to add. “Emotions did affect my physical state,” she said, reverting to honesty. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not get into it. I’m trying hard to put the past behind me.” She mustered a smile, however feeble.

  “Boy, do I understand where you’re coming from on that score. I’ve recently overcome a long-standing phobia toward dogs.” Regan curved a bracing hand around Gillian’s upper arm. “I won’t lecture, Gilly. I will say I thought I could handle my fears alone, but after meeting Ethan I learned how much easier it is to share the burden with someone who loves you.”

  Gillian laughed nervously. “I’m happy to hear what worked for you. My case is different, though. No one can solve my problems but me.”

  She sounded so adamant, Regan let her hand fall away. “No man is an island,” she reminded. “That also applies to women. Mitch wants to be leaned on, you know.”

  “I, ah, you have our relationship all wrong. He’s not interested in me romantically. Even if he were, I can’t—no, it’s impossible.” Gillian tightened her arms around her middle as though folding herself into a cocoon.

  “Then it’s your loss. Don’t hurt him, though, he’s—” Regan almost added that Mitch had recently been hurt. But he opened the screen door. In his arms, he held Cara and one of her brothers.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked anxiously. “Ethan phoned. He’ll be home in fifteen minutes. He asked if I’d help feed the kids and get them to bed in order to keep the evening on schedule. I volunteered Gilly’s services, too.”

  “You have twins?” Gillian murmured, her gaze zeroing in on the children in Mitch’s arms. The shock wasn’t as great this time, even though one of the babies wore some type of brace. Anyway, how could a person not respond to such precious little beings?

  Regan wriggled four fingers in front of Gillian’s face. “Quadruplets. I’m surprised Flo and Bert didn’t tell you. Or Mitch. He was shot in an attempt to help Ethan protect the babies from their abuser. We could have all been killed by that maniac. He wasn’t the father—they were his girlfriend’s children. Anyway, DeSalvo killed a cop, so he’ll never get out of prison. Their birth mom’s been institutionalized for a mental disorder. Ethan and I are fostering the kids. We’ve petitioned to adopt. It’s looking more promising, considering everyone knows
they were neglected.”

  Gillian mounted the steps. “It’s beyond me how any woman who carries a child for nine months could—could—”

  “Mistreat them?” Regan bluntly finished Gillian’s sentence. “I have stories that would curl your hair. As do Mitch and Ethan. That’s how Ethan and I met. He established an underground safety net for abused kids in the city,” she said with unmistakable pride. As she spoke, she bent to pick up the flan.

  “Regan’s former boss tried to force her to stop Ethan’s unofficial foster placement program,” Mitch said, abruptly transferring the baby boy into Gillian’s arms.

  She could do little but gather in the soft, sweet-smelling bundle. This is what it would’ve been like to hold Katie. Tears formed and demanded release.

  “Oops. Have you got him?” Mitch, seeing the baby had slipped a little in Gillian’s grasp, cupped a large, warm palm over her hand to secure her grip on Rick’s heavily diapered bottom.

  Determined to master her panic, Gillian fought against letting any tears escape. “I wasn’t prepared,” she said. “You didn’t warn me. I…haven’t got any experience with kids. Oh,” she said, consciously changing that subject. “I hope we didn’t let the flan sit out here too long. It needs to go in the fridge.”

  “I’ll do that now and check my tamales. Odella—she’s my partner, Gilly—helped me before she left our office. We work from this house. Now, Gilly, if you and Mitch would please put the babies in night diapers and pajamas, I’ll fix their bottles. With luck, we’ll have them ready for bed around the time Ethan gets home.”

  Gillian nodded.

  “Will do.” Mitch hefted a third baby who sat in the middle of the hallway banging a large spoon against a metal lid. He growled against the little boy’s neck, making the boy shriek wildly.

  Overwhelmed by the presence of so many children, Gillian wasn’t sure she’d be able to deal with even routine diapering.

  Because neither Mitch nor Regan had a clue as to the very real anxiety assailing Gillian, no one paid attention to her fumbling efforts to follow Mitch’s lead. Therefore, she was able to watch what he did and quickly learned to secure the diaper tabs.

  Ethan and Taz showed up as Regan sat in the rocker, prepared to feed both boys. Mitch and Gillian each held a girl apiece. Gillian had conquered the worst of her jitters. She loved the feel of the warm little body snuggled close to her heart, and smiled at Angela’s efforts to keep her eyes open. Could anything in the world be sweeter than having these tiny dimpled fingers clinging to her own?

  Ethan tiptoed in and then out of the room, after stooping to hug each baby and exchange murmurs and a quick kiss with his wife.

  Gillian happened to glance away from the Knights, and discovered Mitch observing her just as intently. The look he wore sent an undisguised shiver of need straight to her heart. He sparked a longing she’d really thought she’d never feel again. Not just a desire for sex. Gillian knew Mitch Valetti had triggered that hunger in her already. This feeling was different. A deeper yearning. An ache to make a baby with someone who loved kids as much as she did.

  Dumb! The word rattled around inside Gillian’s head. So what if Mitch was staring at her with a soft, sensual look in his eyes? Looking at her the way she’d hoped Daryl would when she’d excitedly informed him they were pregnant.

  Regan Knight rose gracefully, interrupting Gillian’s trip down memory lane. “We did it, guys,” Regan whispered. “All four are fast asleep. I’ll put Mark and Rick in their room and come back for the girls. Unless you two want to do the honors,” she added as if noticing that Gillian had curled Angela more tightly to her breast.

  Stirring, Mitch wiped a sappy expression off his face. “I’ll show Gilly which crib. Can you believe she’s the same woman who claimed not to have any baby experience? Gilly’s a natural when it comes to handling kids, isn’t she, Regan? Somehow I don’t think Flo needs to worry about how Gilly spends her free time from now on. It’s plain you’ll be seeing more of her. At this rate, I’ll probably never convince her to come out to the ranch to go riding. Horses can’t compare to babies.”

  Gillian went still. “When did you invite me to your ranch?”

  Mitch grinned. “I’d planned to wait until you were totally relaxed—after Regan’s delicious meal and several glasses of wine. Actually, I was hoping to lure you out of the city tomorrow. Bert said you have Sundays off.”

  Gillian didn’t know what to say, how to react.

  “Do you ride?” Regan asked her, motioning them down the hall toward the babies’ rooms.

  “It’s been years. I rode every summer as a girl. My mother’s parents owned a farm. They kept a really gentle mare for me.”

  “A farm as opposed to a ranch? So you didn’t grow up in the Southwest? Where did you live, Gilly?”

  “In the Midwest. My grandparents lived in Ohio.” She cleared her throat, realizing she’d revealed more than she’d intended. Was Ethan Knight’s wife pumping her for information, or had she asked a simple, natural question?

  “Years ago I had a boarding-school roommate from Chicago. Your accent is nothing like hers. You have a bit of a drawl,” Regan said, pausing outside the door to the boys’ room. “I’d guess you spent some time in the Deep South. Is that where you lived before you came here?”

  “I have one of those eclectic accents. I only have to be around a person a little while to begin talking like them. And I never totally lost my childhood accent.” Gillian tried for a casual shrug. She was determined not to give them any information they might use to trace her and find out she was a fraud.

  “Hmm. I’m pretty good at picking out where a person’s from. Now you’ve gone and spoiled my record.”

  “Why are you three standing in a dark hallway?” Ethan Knight stuck his head around the kitchen archway. He hadn’t yet put on his shoes, and his hair was damp and tousled from his shower.

  His wife smiled. “We’re just chatting. Gilly spent her summers on a farm in the Midwest. I was saying that her accent doesn’t sound to me as if she’s lived there recently.”

  “We could probably discuss stuff like that while we eat. I hate to rush anyone, but I missed lunch. My stomach’s caved in to my backbone. Hey, Mitch, I noticed Trooper in the yard. Did you bring puppy food, or shall I put out some of the kibble I feed Taz?”

  “His food and bowls are in the bed of my pickup. Will you grab them?”

  Ethan glanced in the opposite direction. “Oops—you spoke too late. I’m afraid Trooper’s at the back door licking his chops. Looks like he already scarfed up Taz’s food.”

  “At least Taz didn’t gobble him up. Give me a minute to get Cara down and I’ll give both dogs a little more.”

  “Never a dull moment if you raise kids and dogs,” Regan put in. “When you moved home, Mitch, I distinctly recollect someone making noises about missing all the action we have around here. I even told Ethan I thought you sounded serious about settling down, maybe getting married. Was I wrong?”

  “Now, how should I answer that?” Mitch glared at Regan as he shoved open the door to the girls’ nursery. “I bring a new lady to meet you, having already admitted I want to coax her out to my ranch. If I let her think I have marriage in mind, it’ll scare her off for sure. Be good, Regan. Your smile may be angelic, but you have a devilish streak a mile wide. And Gilly doesn’t know you like I do.”

  “Since I took Ethan off the dating market, you’re the most eligible bachelor in town. You delude yourself if you think any woman would try and escape from you. Isn’t that right, Gilly?”

  Mitch turned red. He didn’t bother answering Regan. Executing an abrupt about-face, he grabbed Gillian’s elbow and whisked her into the girls’ bedroom.

  She knew Regan had been teasing him, but she felt bad for Mitch all the same. Goodness, she hoped he didn’t have marriage in mind. Once had been enough for her. And yet she was glad he’d offered her a good excuse to return to his ranch—a chance to examine the lane in daylight. She�
�d hate to go on false pretenses. Before tonight ended, she’d definitely accept his offer; tomorrow she’d make clear that she had no interest in a relationship.

  Gillian’s arms felt empty after she’d placed Angela in her crib. She hadn’t expected it to be such a wrench and bent to place a kiss on the downy head. As she pulled back, it occurred to her that she ought to feel guilty for bestowing kisses on another child—kisses that belonged to Katie.

  Daryl had insisted she’d kissed her baby goodbye. He said she’d been too ill to remember. Gillian had simply never believed it was true because she couldn’t recall the act. But just now, as her lips brushed Angela’s soft hair, it stirred a memory. Daryl hadn’t lied. She’d held her baby briefly. Katie had been so cold and still, but so very beautiful.

  Gillian tried desperately to hang on to that fleeting glimmer from the past. It proved impossible, especially after the two couples sat down at the table and mundane talk rose around her.

  “Are you feeling unwell again?” Mitch asked during a lull in the conversation he, Regan and Ethan had been carrying on without her.

  “What? Oh, no.” Gillian realized the others had almost finished their tamales, while she’d done little more than poke at hers.

  “Maybe she doesn’t like tamales.” Regan looked truly sorry.

  Ethan stopped with his fork poised over his second helping of steaming corn husks. “I guess we should’ve asked if you liked Mexican food.”

  “I do,” Gillian assured. She piled some of the corn mixture on her fork and popped it into her mouth, hoping to divert attention from herself.

  “Something’s wrong,” Mitch insisted, not to be deterred. “You haven’t said one word since we sat down.”

  It was true. Gillian had her reasons, but she didn’t plan to share them.

  Regan must have read her distress. “The three of us know each other so well. I suspect we can be mind-boggling to a newcomer.”