She made him feel big and clumsy. She made him feel like a king.
He had already left when she awoke the next morning. Stealing to the window, she looked out and saw him in the top paddock with four young horses, two chestnut, one roan and one black. He sat perched on the fence, watching them as they explored their new home.
When he let himself in the back door an hour later, she was at the kitchen stove making scrambled eggs and hardly knew how to look at him. Did he regret the night they’d shared? Had he meant the words he’d repeated so desperately in the throes of passion?
She did not wonder for long. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, then slid his palms up to cover her breasts. “Morning, Mrs. Donnelly,” he said against her neck, and turned her to find her mouth.
How was it possible that he could so deftly turn her molten with hunger with just a word, a touch? Her lips were tender from the night before, and she ached all over from his lovemaking, yet her body clamored for him again. As did his for her. The thrust of his hips left her in little doubt of that.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, struggling to contain herself.
“Starving,” he murmured, and reaching behind her, turned off the stove and steered her to where four high stools stood next to the breakfast bar.
Deliberately, he inched down her shorts and found the sleek, damp nub of flesh awaiting him. More hurriedly, he unzipped his jeans and cupped her bottom in his hands.
At the other end of the counter, the coffeemaker burbled and splashed hot liquid into its carafe. His breath rasped urgently against her mouth. She clung to him and wound her legs around his waist, dizzy with hunger.
The bread she’d put in the toaster popped up with a metallic ping. Simultaneously, he plunged into her. Again and again. Time after time, until she disintegrated and sank against him, limp and satiated.
And then the phone rang.
A laugh rolled through him, rumbling like an earthquake and shaking them both. He reached out one long arm, lifted the receiver and propped it in the angle of his shoulder. “Butternut Farm,” he said, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
A voice came faintly over the line, and another quiver of laughter shook him. “She’s right here, Mrs. Palmer,” he said. “Hold on.”
Oh, he was every bit as bad as rumor had always painted him! Worse, in fact! All the time she tried to hold an intelligent conversation with her mother, he nibbled at her neck, her ears, the corner of her mouth. When she tried to slide to the floor, he imprisoned himself more firmly inside her and rocked against her.
“Hurry up,” he murmured. “The eggs are growing cold.”
Overhearing, her mother inquired, “Am I keeping you from breakfast, dear?”
“Yes,” Imogen said breathlessly, feeling the treacherous tide rise up and begin to overtake her again. “We were just about to get started. May I call you back a little later?”
“So what,” he asked, as they sat with their coffee in the newly painted wicker chairs on the east porch, “did Mother want?”
“To drive down to see Cassie.” She shot him a look from beneath her lashes. “I suggested she meet her here. I hope you don’t mind.”
He stared across the gently rolling landscape and chewed his lip reflectively. After a while, he sighed and said, “I guess that brings us smack up against the one thing we haven’t yet resolved, princess.”
“Yes.” Suddenly afraid, she put her cup on the table and wiped damp hands on her napkin. “How we’re going to tell Cassie the truth.”
He saw her distress. Leaning forward, he took her hands and covered them with his. “We’ll find a way, sweetheart. And if, when she finds out who we are, she finds it too much to handle, we’ll keep trying until we make her understand. But regardless of the outcome, I won’t let it come between you and me.”
“But what if it does anyway, Joe? You never really wanted to get married and especially not to me. What if you find you did it all for nothing and she won’t accept you as her father?”
“Listen to me, Imogen,” he said firmly. “When I first learned there’d been a baby and I hadn’t known about it, I was angry and looking for someone to blame. And since you were standing right in the line of fire, I blamed you. But I was aiming at the wrong person. Yes, your mother was wrong to lie, to deprive you of your child, and maybe you shouldn’t have let her take charge like that But the real fault lies with me, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to admit it.”
“How is it your fault?” she asked, her throat thick with tears.
“If I’d stood by you, sweetheart, none of the rest would have happened. I should never have left you to face your mother alone, never allowed her to run me off the property when I came looking for you. It’s easy to make excuses, but the bottom line is, I let myself be dissuaded from keeping in touch with you because I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. At least, I thought I wasn’t. I had no way of knowing how often, in the years that followed, I’d think of you and wonder if I threw away a gem without realizing it. I know now that I did.”
“Don’t make my cry,” she said, laughing at the tears sliding down her face. “My mother will think you beat me if she gets here and my eyes are all red.”
“I’d like to kiss you,” he said, “but knowing what a nymphomaniac I married, I’m afraid to. Bad enough your mother listened in to me making love to you without her taking pictures, as well.”
She dissolved into giggles. “Oh, Joe, I do love you,” she said.
He leaned over and kissed her anyway. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”
Quite a crowd showed up that afternoon. At Imogen’s suggestion, Joe phoned his parents and invited them, too. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “It’s time we introduced Cassie to her other grandparents. As it is, I don’t know how my mother’s contained herself this long.”
Mona and Cassie arrived first, with a box of homebaked cookies and a lemon chiffon cake. “And a few small items from the house,” Mona explained, opening the trunk of her car. “I thought we might as well start packing things up, since we’ll be moving out here for good in another week or two.”
Suzanne and the Donnellys showed up within five minutes of each other, about an hour later, and met on the south porch, where Imogen had grouped the wicker chairs around a table set with glasses and a pitcher of iced tea.
Suzanne offered a gloved hand to Mrs. Donnelly. “How do you do? I understand we’re more or less related.”
“Rather more than less, if you ask me,” Mrs. Donnelly said, her gaze fixing itself hungrily on Cassie, who was in her element playing maid and handing out plates and linen tea napkins.
Joe caught up with Imogen in the kitchen when she went inside to replenish the iced tea. “Talk about being able to cut the air with a knife,” he muttered. “The tension out there is enough to stop a moose in its tracks.”
“I thought everyone seemed to be getting along fine,” she said, putting cookies on a plate.
“Are you kidding?”
“Well, they’re not at each other’s throats.”
“Perhaps not, but your mother’s parked on her chair like the queen of Sheba on her throne, making small talk about the weather, and my dad’s practically having to sit on my mom to stop her from grabbing Cassie and smothering her in kisses. What if Cassie can’t cope with so much all at once, princess? What do we do then?”
“I don’t know,” Imogen said, her confidence waning in the face of his doubt.
But in the end, Suzanne saved the day, and in doing so redeemed herself a little for the terrible deception she’d practiced for so many years. “I think,” she announced regally, “that since we’re all aware of certain... undercurrents for which I am largely responsible, perhaps I should be the one to put an end to them. Cassandra, my dear, come and sit beside me and let me tell you a story you should have heard a long time ago. Once upon a time, there was a very pretty young girl.”
“Was she a
princess?” Cassie asked.
“Yes,” Joe said. “She was my princess.”
“Quite,” Suzanne said, slipping Cassie onto her lap and giving him a quelling look. “But her mother was rather a wicked queen, I’m afraid, and she decided that the young man who wanted to marry her daughter and take her away on his, er, black horse—”
“What was the horse’s name?” Cassie wanted to know.
“Harley,” Joe said irrepressibly, while Imogen sat with her fists clenched against her heart to keep it from leaping clean out of her chest. “Harley-Davidson.”
Suzanne cleared her throat imperiously. “As I was saying, the queen decided that the princess was much too young to look after the little girl she gave birth to one winter’s morning. So she took the baby and left her in the care of the princess’s old nanny, until such time as the princess grew up and could look after her herself.”
“The way I live with Nanny?” Cassie tipped her head and looked at Suzanne curiously.
“Exactly like that, Cassandra. Because, you see, you are that little girl. And Imogen is the princess.”
Imogen shrank before the serious look Cassie turned her way. “How do you know she is, Grandmother?”
“Because,” Suzanne said, her eyes suspiciously bright, “I am the wicked queen who took you away from her. It was a very wrong thing to do, and I am deeply sorry for what I did.” She lifted her head and met the gazes directed her way. At Mrs. Donnelly, openly weeping. At Mr. Donnelly, sitting as if he’d been turned to stone. At Mona, who watched Cassie like a mother hen. At Imogen, and lastly at Joe, who clasped Imogen’s hand in his and was hanging on to it as if it were a life raft. “I hope,” she said, “that you can forgive me. All of you.”
Into the silence that followed, Cassie said, “Who’s the prince?”
Suzanne swallowed. “Well,” she said, and swallowed again, “Joe is. Imogen is your mother, and Joe is your father.”
“Oh.” Cassie took that under consideration for a moment that, to Imogen, seemed to stretch halfway to eternity. “Are you going to take me away from them again? Is that why you came here, to tell me I can’t live with them, after all?”
“No,” Joe said, going over and squatting in front of her. “No one will ever keep you away from us again, Cassie. When you come to live here next week, you’ll be coming home for good. And every Christmas and Thanksgiving and birthday, all the people who love you will be here, too, to help you celebrate.”
“There’s only Nanny to do that,” she said bluntly, “although Grandmother is always very nice to me. But she doesn’t really like me to mess up her clothes, you know, or get dirt on her.”
“Well, from now on, all that’s going to change.” He lifted her from Suzanne’s lap and set her on her feet. “There are a lot of people who love you, honey, starting with your mommy and me.”
“There’s me,” Mrs. Donnelly said, holding out her arms. “I’m your other grandma, darling, and this is your grandpa.”
Imogen held her breath. Joe stood as if he teetered on the edge of a steep cliff. Suzanne allowed a tear to trickle down her cheek and made no attempt to wipe it away. Cassie looked at the faces surrounding her. “Is that all?” she asked. “I think I’d like a sister, as well.”
The laughter was probably out of proportion, but it worked a miracle. The tension evaporated, swept away in a huge wave of relief as Cassie allowed herself to be hugged and kissed.
“Some day soon you’ll meet your aunt and uncle and cousins,” Mrs. Donnelly promised.
“And we’ll do our best to give you a sister,” Joe said, putting his arm around Imogen and holding her close.
“I think,” Suzanne said, her emotions firmly under control again, “that I would like to take us all out to celebrate with dinner at the Norbury. I hear they have a very fine dining room.”
Cassie looked at her suspiciously. “Are you still a wicked queen?”
“No, dear. From now on, I’ll just be your grandmother.”
“That’s good,” Cassie said. “Because in my storybook, the wicked queen gave Snow White a poisoned apple, you know.”
“There’ll be no poisoned apples on the table tonight, dear, nor any other night, either. Your father’s right, Cassandra. You’ve come home to your family, and we’ll never again do anything to hurt you.”
It was after eight when they got back to the farm. “Well, I don’t fool myself that it’s all going to be plain sailing from here on,” Joe said, linking his fingers with Imogen’s as they walked from the car to the house, “but I think the worst is over, princess.”
“Yes.” Imogen sighed and looked at the moon riding just above the butternut trees. “Your mother was so sweet to me, Joe. And your father, too. I wish my mother could be as affectionate with you.”
“Hey, miracles happen,” he said. “I came back to Rosemont and found the love of my life and a daughter I didn’t know I had. Given that, anything’s possible.”
It was that time of day that only comes in late summer, when the air is tinted violet and the leaves hang on the trees like painted shadows. A hushed and peaceful time, made for lovers.
Next week at the same time, Cassie would be sleeping upstairs, with Mona just down the hall. In another two months it would be Thanksgiving, with two families gathered around the long dining room table. But the blessings had come early that year.
“We have so much to be grateful for,” Imogen said, looking over the sleeping land.
Joe took her in his arms and bent his mouth to hers. “And so much still to do, princess. As I understand it, a baby has to cook for nine months before it’s ready to come out of the oven. What say we get started?”
EPILOGUE
NOTED in the Rosemont-on-the-Lake Daily Herald on Tuesday, June 2:
Couple Renew Wedding Vows
Last Saturday, Mrs. Geoffrey Palmer of Deepdene Grange hosted a garden reception following a ceremony in which her daughter, Imogen, and son-in-law, Joseph Donnelly, both formerly of Rosemont, renewed their wedding vows with their nine-year-old daughter, Cassandra, acting as maid of honor. The bride wore an ankle-length gown of lavender poie de soie accented with French lace and carried a bouquet of stephanotis. Her attendant was dressed in white silk and carried a basket of daisies. Among the guests were the groom’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Donnelly, his sister, Patricia, brother, Sean, sister-in-law, Elizabeth, and nephews Dennis and Jack. Tanya Rydahl of Vancouver, B.C., a close friend of the bride, was also present.
And one month later, in the birth announcements in The Norbury Times on Monday, July 1:
Donnelly: Joe and Imogen, née Palmer, are pleased to announce the birth of their son, Patrick, 8 lbs. 6 ozs., born Friday, June 28, at Norbury Cottage Hospital. A brother for Cassie.
ISBN : 978-1-4592-5217-2
THE SECRET DAUGHTER
First North American Publication 1999.
Copyright © 1999 by Kathy Garner.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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