by Joan Kilby
“All right, Max. You’d better tell me all about it.” Kelly drew back, eyes grave
Despite the warm sun, a chill raised bumps on Max’s forearms. How could she know? He’d stashed the letter deep in the bottom drawer of his office filing cabinet. “What do you mean?”
“You’re hiding something,” Kelly stated. “You’ve been acting weird all weekend, guilty and secretive—when you weren’t giving me a tumble, that is.” She crossed her arms. “Spill it.”
At first Kelly thought he would evade this demand for explanations, too. Then before her eyes, Max seemed to shrink from her and turn inward. Her heart sank. Whatever he was hiding must be really bad. He was having an affair. He wanted a divorce. He—
“I have a son.”
She stared. She’d heard him speak, but the words had no meaning. “What did you say?”
“I have a son,” he repeated.
“That’s impossible. Unless,” she added with a short, humorless laugh, “one of the twins had a sex change.”
“Kelly.”
“But it’s impossible, Max,” she repeated. “We were married right out of high school. How could you have a child I don’t know about….”
Dear Reader,
Most romance novels stop at the altar; I’ve often thought this is where the story of a couple really begins. Some couples, like Kelly and Max Walker, are meant to be together. But even the happiest of families may have secrets that rock the very foundation of a solid marriage.
On her thirteenth wedding anniversary Kelly learns that Max had a son by a liaison previously unknown to her, and their past becomes a lie. When Max, who longs for more children, discovers Kelly is pregnant and contemplating abortion, their future is in jeopardy.
Max wants a son. Kelly wants a life. For a marriage to survive it requires not just love but a willingness to accommodate the needs of a partner who may have different life goals. Is the love that brought Kelly and Max together as teenagers strong enough to transcend their problems and nurture them through their evolving relationship?
Child of Their Vows is my third book about the Hanson sisters of Hainesville, Washington. Child of His Heart featured Kelly’s elder sister, Erin, and Child of Her Dreams was about her younger sister, Geena. Finally it’s Kelly’s turn to have her story told. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about Kelly’s, Erin’s and Geena’s special relationship with one another, and the men they love, as much as I’ve enjoyed writing about them. I’m going to miss being part of their world!
I love to hear from readers. Please write me at P.O. Box 234, Point Roberts, Washington 98281-0234, or visit me at www.superauthors.com.
Joan Kilby
Child of Their Vows
Joan Kilby
Child of Their Vows
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU WON’T BE LATE TONIGHT, I hope.” Max followed Kelly to the front door as she prepared to leave for work.
That today was their thirteenth wedding anniversary seemed to have slipped his wife’s ever-practical mind. He, on the other hand, had made romantic plans—a weekend for two at the Salish Lodge, at Snoqualmie Falls, east of Seattle.
“No, I promise,” Kelly said absently, slipping her feet into pumps while consulting her “to do” list. “Let’s see…dry cleaning, water bill— Oh, this morning I’m showing someone around the Harper house,” she interrupted herself to inform Max. “If I make a sale I’ll pick up some champagne.” She took a pen from the side pocket of her purse and wrote that in with a question mark beside it.
Max leaned forward to breathe in the scent of lavender and vanilla emanating from Kelly’s glossy brown shoulder-length hair. He already had a bottle of bubbly chilling in the back of the fridge.
Her gaze still moving over her list, Kelly stood on tiptoes and angled her cheek for a peck from Max. He was aiming for her lips when she burst out, “Omigosh! The laundry,” and slipped out of his arms to reverse her steps down the hall.
“I’ll do that,” Max said, irritation puncturing his buoyant mood. He strode after her to stand in the doorway of the laundry room while she sorted whites from colors at whirlwind speed. “Or we could do something really radical and hire a cleaning lady.”
“And pay someone for work I can do perfectly well myself? I don’t think so.” Kelly stuffed the dirty clothes into the washing machine, added detergent and spun the dial. “I promised you when I started working that the housework wouldn’t suffer. Besides, I overheard you tell a client you’d have his house design ready this afternoon.”
“The girls are waiting in the car for you to take them to school,” he reminded her. Kelly’s morning route included dropping the twins, Tammy and Tina, at play school, before driving Robyn and Beth over to the elementary school.
“I’m on my way.” She edged around him in preparation for the dash to her station wagon.
“Before you enter warp speed…” Max grabbed hold of her shoulders and halted her long enough to plant a kiss on her mouth. “Happy anniversary, Mrs. Walker.”
“Anniversary!” Her fingers flew to a mouth rounded in astonishment. “Is it really May 8?”
Max nodded wryly. “All day.”
Her arms went around his neck for a quick hug. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart. Why don’t we order pizza for the kids tonight and you and I go out to a restaurant.”
“Sure you can spare the time?” Max said, pokerfaced. Little did Kelly know they would be eating their anniversary dinner in the hotel where they’d spent their honeymoon.
Taking no notice of his sarcasm, she whipped out her list and busily wrote another memo to herself. “Call Nancy to baby-sit.”
“I’ve already talked to Nancy. Now, go, before you make the kids late again.”
Once she’d left, Max headed for the kitchen and another cup of coffee. He tried to keep a sense of humor about Kelly’s attempts to be supermom, and career woman, but the long hours she spent at the real estate office took a toll on their family life and had become a constant source of conflict. His patience regarding her promises to slow down were fast running out.
“This weekend better work a little magic on our marriage,” he told Billy, a golden retriever, and Flora, a young black Labrador, who dogged his footsteps ever hopeful of treats. “Because if Kelly and I don’t get some loving back in our relationship, we could end up in divorce court instead of having another baby.”
Billy thumped his feathery tail in sympathy, while Flora did her best to make Max feel better by licking his bare toes. Then they scoured the terra-cotta tiles for fallen crumbs missed on earlier forays.
Coffee in hand, Max repaired to his home office. Billy and Flora flopped at his feet beneath the computer and promptly fell asleep as Max went to work on his latest architectural commission; a luxury home on Whidbey Island, near Seattle. Early in his career, Max had drafted plans for everything from garden sheds to business offices, but his real love was innovative home design. He had a small but growing clientele, and if his entry in the prestigious Stonington Award was to win, his career could take a sharp upward turn.
Max didn’t glance up from his computer until he heard the familiar rumble of the mailman’s truck. Then he rose, stretched a
nd walked down the long gravel driveway to the mailbox, its upright red flag visible between the two big cedar trees that guarded the front of the one-acre property.
As he strolled back to the house, sorting through the bills and flyers, he came upon a letter addressed to him in unfamiliar handwriting. Slowing his pace, he turned over the envelope and saw that the return address was Jackson, Wyoming.
Fourteen years ago he’d spent the summer after high school working on a dude ranch near Jackson. He hadn’t thought of the ranch in years, or of Lanni, the vivacious redhead who, with him, had had a job leading trail rides. They’d had a hot fling. The summer had ended. He and Lanni had parted, and he’d returned to Hainesville to marry Kelly, the only woman he’d ever loved.
His hands trembling slightly, Max inserted a finger beneath the flap and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a wallet-size photograph of a young teenage boy and a single page written in a small, very neat hand.
Dear Mr. Walker, My name is Randall and I’m your son.
Cold shock stopped Max in his tracks. Surely this couldn’t be happening…. And yet, at some deep level, he’d been waiting thirteen years for this letter.
Maybe you won’t want to hear from me, but I had to write. My adoptive parents know I’m contacting you. I have a good home with them and I don’t want to intrude on your life—I’d just like to know my biological father. I hope you understand. And I hope you’ll want to meet me, too….
Max lifted his face and gazed blindly into the bright blue sky. He had a son.
Like Max, Lanni had only been eighteen. When she’d gotten pregnant her parents had been adamant there would be no marriage or keeping the baby. Nor had he wanted to marry her. He’d wanted Kelly.
His and Lanni’s baby had been given away at birth; no one had ever told him the baby’s gender. Afterward they’d agreed there was no point in keeping in touch. All these years, he’d put the child’s existence out of his mind because it hurt too much to think of a son or daughter of his growing up somewhere, without him.
Kelly. He’d never told her about Lanni or the baby he’d fathered. To his shame, he’d always considered it a stroke of undeserved good fortune that she’d never found out.
Despite a breeze, perspiration dampened his hairline. If he wanted to meet Randall he would have to tell her now. But how? And how would she react? With their ongoing marital problems, could they survive the sudden appearance of his child by another woman? He and Kelly had been going together for two years before that summer. He’d already asked her to marry him.
Maybe he shouldn’t say anything to her about the boy. Maybe he should throw away the letter without replying, hang on to what he had….
Max turned to the photograph. Randall had straight red hair, severely cut and neatly combed, a smattering of freckles and a solemn smile. Gazing out from behind the chunky frames of his glasses were Max’s sky-blue eyes.
So this was his son.
Max loved his daughters with a ferocity and depth that constantly surprised him, and he would cut off both arms rather than hurt them, but…
In the deepest corner of his heart, in a place not even Kelly knew about, he’d always wanted a son. A boy to take fishing and shoot hoops with. A male compadre in a house full of females. A son who would carry on the Walker family name. Was he wrong to want all that? Max didn’t think so.
“I’M HOME!” KELLY KICKED OFF her shoes and dumped her purse on the hall table. From the family room at the back of the house she could hear the muffled sound of canned laughter on TV.
She poked her head into Max’s office; he wasn’t there. Architectural drawings were spread across his drafting table, the goosenecked lamp had been left on and his chair pushed back, as though he’d just stepped out for a moment.
Walking around Tammy’s—or was it Tina’s?— Barbie dollhouse, Kelly continued on to the family room, drawn by the smell of chili con carne—Max’s specialty. She hoped this didn’t mean they weren’t going out. Max was probably angry, because in spite of her promise, she was late. She swore that this weekend she would make it up to him.
The family room curtains were open, and visible through floor-to-ceiling windows were the twilit river and the forest beyond, and, of course, the extensive flower beds that ringed the lawn. Two pink-sock-clad feet dangled over the side arm of the couch—Beth, glued to her favorite TV show.
Max, his wheat-blond hair gleaming beneath halogen down lights, stood in the kitchen, dicing green peppers on a chopping board. An enormous bouquet of red roses arranged in a vase on the black granite benchtop sent out a faint sweet fragrance.
Max’s shoulders had that tight look they got when he was wrestling with a difficult design problem. She hoped he’d been able to finish the drawings for his client’s house so he could celebrate their anniversary. God knows, they both needed to set work and responsibilities aside and pay attention to each other for a change.
She dropped her keys on the sideboard and crossed the room to him. “Hi, Max. How was your day?”
“Kelly! I didn’t hear you come in.”
His upward glance of swiftly concealed guilt startled her. She was the one who ought to feel badly. She’d promised she wouldn’t be late tonight, and here he was making dinner—that was her job—instead of working on whatever problem he’d left on his drafting table.
“Sorry I’m late.” She circled one arm around his waist and reached up to remove the forgotten pencil tucked behind his ear. “Did you get your design finished?”
He shook his head and moved away to scrape the green pepper into the pot of chili simmering on the stove. “I called the client and told him it won’t be ready until next week.”
“I’m really sorry. Thanks for picking up the kids.” Damn. She always seemed to be apologizing on account of her job. With a sigh, she buried her nose in the roses. “These are gorgeous. Dare I hope they’re for me?”
“Of course they’re for you.”
“You sweetheart. You know what I like.”
“I know you’re crazy about flowers.” He put down the chopping board and pulled her into his arms. Kissed her mouth, then kissed her all over her face. “I love you, Kelly.”
“Max! Your hands are wet,” she protested, laughing, and slipped out of his embrace. He wasn’t usually so passionate at this time of day. And his not being annoyed with her was strange. She gestured to the chili pot. “We were going to order pizza for the kids.”
“I thought cooking might clear my head.”
“The house design giving you trouble?” She felt both sympathetic and guilty. In the old days, she would have been available for him to bounce ideas off of. Since she’d started working, she had become a source of problems for him instead of solutions.
Max turned away to stir the simmering pot with the wooden spoon he was holding. A tumbler of cola and ice sat on the benchtop beside the stove. “I haven’t been able to concentrate on it this afternoon. How did you do with the Harper house?”
Kelly scowled at the surge of frustration his question brought on. “Ray gave me such a hard time afterward. You’d think I was trying to ruin his business.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged. “Nothing so terrible. I simply pointed out to prospective buyers what you’ve shown me—evidence of a leaky roof and signs of termites. They decided to pass. And frankly, I’m glad. They’re a sweet old couple and they don’t want problems like that at their age. That house would suit younger folk who appreciate a bargain and are prepared to do a little work.”
Max shook his head. “No wonder Ray was pissed at you. Isn’t he aware of the Realtors’ Code of Ethics?”
“He can cite chapter and verse. He’s not a pest control expert, so how would he know there are termites? Nor is he a builder. Therefore he can’t advise anyone about the roof, as it’s out of his area of expertise. I told him, ‘How can I sell houses I know have problems and not say anything? If those people moved in they would practically be my neighbors.
’”
“Did you ever stop to think maybe you’re in the wrong business?” Max asked mildly.
Kelly heard an old rebuke. “Don’t say it.”
“What?”
“What you’re thinking—that I should quit my job.” She picked up his glass to take a sip and discovered bourbon mixed with the Coke. Strange. Max wasn’t a drinker; the bourbon usually only came out when they had company. “Is something wrong, Max?”
An odd flicker of alarm crossed his face as he took the glass from her hand and drained it. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Kelly felt his forehead with the back of her hand. “Are you sure? You don’t seem yourself tonight.”
“Yeah, sure,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”
Kelly searched his averted profile a moment more, then shrugged, took up a spoon and tasted the chili. “Needs salt.”
Max batted her hand away. “I’m doing the cooking.”
Robyn, their eldest daughter at twelve years of age, hurried into the room. She was dressed in her leotard, toe shoes dangling from her hand and her dark hair tied back in a knot. “Da-a-ad, I’m going to be late for ballet,” she wailed, then stopped when she saw Kelly. “Where’ve you been?”
“Working. And don’t use that tone with me. If you’re ready to go, I’ll take you. Have you had dinner?”
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