by Jeanne Allan
Allie could guess the rest of it. “You loved your child but didn’t love her mother.” She empathized with Kim Taylor’s pain and despair. And bitterness. It must have eaten away at the woman watching Zane lavish love on Hannah when Kim desperately wanted that love for herself. For the first time Allie saw Kim as the imperfect woman she’d been instead of an evil monster. Pity was the last thing Allie expected to feel for Kim Taylor.
“She was affectionate to Hannah, in a careless sort of way. I told Kim, if she stayed home more, she’d be less of a stranger to Hannah.” He sighed heavily. “Kim thought Hannah preferred me and Ruth. Hell, Hannah knew who we were. I didn’t deliberately influence Hannah into preferring me.”
“That must be why Kim told you the baby wasn’t yours. She was hurt and wanted to hurt back.” Allie understood that part all too well. “When did she tell you?”
“About six months before she died. Said she’d been pregnant when she slept with me.”
“She lied. Hannah is your daughter.”
“Kim named Doyle as Hannah’s father,” Zane continued tonelessly. “I knew who he was, and I thought she’d made up the story to impress me with her actor lover, trying to make me jealous. I didn’t believe she’d slept with him.”
“Whether she did or didn’t, he’s not Hannah’s father.”
“It was like a game with Kim. She’d get mad at me and say Hannah wasn’t mine. Then she’d say Hannah was mine and claim she’d lied in the heat of one of our arguments.” Zane punched the railing with his fist. “I chose to believe the denials.”
Moonie had come back to the porch and lain down beside them. Now he lifted his head and whined softly. Allie leaned down and absently petted the dog. She told herself Zane didn’t deserve any sympathy. “Why didn’t you take a paternity test?”
“Because I don’t give a damn who impregnated Kim. Hannah is my daughter.”
“A paternity test would prove that.”
“You don’t get it, do you? One night after Kim died, I happened to see Doyle’s TV program, and I saw that damned red hair, so like Hannah’s. I knew then Kim hadn’t lied. Not that it changed anything. I’m not giving up Hannah. I was glad Doyle wasn’t interested in her.” Zane pounded on the railing. “Damn, damn, damn!”
Allie tried to take pleasure in the torment in Zane’s voice. Zane Peters was learning how it felt to lose control over his life. Learning how it felt to be kicked in the teeth. Learning the immense pain of losing someone you loved and the total helplessness when there wasn’t a thing you could do about it.
Allie had wanted revenge. Hungered, thirsted for revenge. Required revenge.
Not in her angriest, most vengeful moment could Allie have devised a better scenario than this. Allie leaving him would never hurt him as much as losing Hannah would.
The ultimate victory. Zane Peters was finally suffering as Allie had suffered. She ought to throw back her head and crow with glee.
She couldn’t. Only a monster rejoiced in this kind of pain.
Allie reached for Zane’s hand. “I don’t care what Kim said. Hannah is your daughter.” Hannah looked too much like Zane to be anyone else’s daughter. “No one is going to take her away. I don’t think you have a thing to worry about.”
Zane pushed away her hand. “What the hell does it matter what you think? Don’t you read the damned newspapers? Kids get ripped out of their parents’ arms all the time because some character claims he provided the sperm. As if being a father was nothing more than that.”
“You won’t lose her. Tomorrow you’ll see about taking a paternity test and that will settle it.”
Zane stiffened. “I’m not taking a paternity test. I’m not giving ammunition to the other side in a fight for my daughter.”
Now wasn’t the best time to point out he had no choice. “You can’t do anything tonight, so come to bed.”
“Forget it. I’m not in the mood.”
A whirlwind of emotions had stormed through Allie the past few days, leaving her battered and confused. Zane’s words lit on raw nerves. “As if I am! You’re facing what you believe is the biggest crisis in your life, and you think I’m so shallow, I don’t care about anything but having sex?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Explain to me exactly what you’re not in the mood for.”
“Never mind. I’m not thinking too clearly right now.” Zane reached out and pulled her to him. He rested his forehead on the top of her head for the merest fraction of a second before stepping back. “I’m sorry.”
Her anger dissipated. Zane could hardly be held accountable for anything he said in his present state. Allie considered her options. She could walk away from Zane. Refuse to help him. Rejoice in his suffering. Or she could forget about revenge until this issue about Hannah was settled. Memories of Zane putting Hannah to bed the night she’d broken her arm made the choice easy.
“I think you need to go upstairs to bed and get a good night’s sleep so tomorrow we can look at this mess with clear minds. We have to stop Sean Doyle before Hannah gets hurt.”
Eventually Zane said, “You’re right. I’ll call my lawyer in the morning. Let’s go in.”
Upstairs, Allie went into the bathroom to prepare for bed. When she came out, Zane stood in Hannah’s bedroom doorway. Allie moved to his side, the wooden floor cold beneath her bare feet.
Zane didn’t look at her. “She’s so young and innocent.”
“You’re doing a wonderful job raising her.”
“She makes it easy.”
He walked quietly away. Moonie had curled up in his dog bed at the foot of Hannah’s bed. Hannah had insisted the greyhound sleep in her room, and Moonie, who’d obviously appointed himself Hannah’s protector, had not objected. Allie wondered if Zane had noticed the shine of cat eyes from near Hannah’s feet. Amber stared unblinkingly at Allie. It appeared Hannah had two self-appointed guardian angels.
Thunder grumbled in the distance, and a vague uneasiness prickled Allie’s spine. A nebulous menace seemed to hover in the dark shadows of the hall. Allie hugged herself, rubbing her arms. She was imagining bogeymen where none existed. If she felt anything at all, it was the electricity in the air in advance of the approaching thunderstorm.
She’d let Zane’s fears get to her. Of course he was Hannah’s natural father. One had only to look at the two of them. Hannah’s eyes were a lighter blue than Zane’s, but she had her father’s dark eyebrows with their slight triangular peaks, and her lashes were every bit as long and dark and thick. Hannah’s smile was an exact copy of Zane’s. Zane was definitely Hannah’s father. Definitely.
The thunder clapped again, no closer. Maybe the storm would bypass them.
Zane was in bed when Allie went to his bedroom. Before he could say anything, she said, “I’m not sleeping on that water bed under those mirrors, and if you say one word to me about not wanting sex, I swear, Zane Peters, I’ll sic Moonie on you.” Allie snapped off the bedroom lights and pulled the cover over her. “So be quiet and go to sleep.”
For a long time the only sounds in the bedroom were the sounds of their breathing, the curtains rustling in the open window, and the distant thunder. Then Zane’s agonized voice came out of the darkness. “It would kill me if I lost Hannah.”
Allie couldn’t turn away from a person’s pain. Not even when that person was Zane Peters. Besides, wasn’t she supposed to be pretending to be the perfect wife? Sliding across the bed, she put her arms around him, pressing against his back. “You’re not going to lose her,” Allie said. His torment would bring tears to a granite rock. Feeling bad for Zane meant nothing. Nor did the huge lump in her throat. “Hannah is your daughter and she’ll always be your daughter. Kim lied,” Allie added fiercely, her arms squeezing him, as if she could force him to believe her. “Hannah looks exactly like a Peters.”
After a while, Zane said in a low voice, “Thank you.”
“You’d see it yourself if you looked in the mirror.”
> “No, I meant for not being furious with me. I should have told you what Kim said before I married you. I don’t deserve your support.” He must have heard the slight sound she made, because he quickly added, “I realize you’re supporting me for Hannah’s sake. I know how you feel about me, and well—” he took her hand and pressed a light kiss on the back “—thank you.”
Allie made no response. Resting her cheek against Zane’s warm back, she lay still, willing him to fall asleep. Awake long after the threatened storm changed direction and moved off, she charted the progress of the moon across the sky each time the breeze parted the curtains.
She’d been in love with Zane Peters for years. Five years ago, hate had driven out love. She’d fed on that hate, nurtured it, until hatred gave birth to revenge.
In the wake of Zane’s revelations, faced with his suffering, Allie realized revenge was not for her. Zane could suffer all the tortures of the damned, and nothing about Allie’s life would change. Not the past. Not the present. Not the future.
A feeling of being rudderless took hold. It was as if, without love, without hate, without revenge, she no longer had a purpose. Zane was no longer the center of her life. No longer the focus of her emotions.
She wondered if she’d ever really loved him. She’d been young. He’d been handy, available, sexy and a good catch. Zane had easily swept her off her feet. She’d fallen in love with being in love. It wasn’t until they were engaged that she began testing Zane, searching for similarities between him and Beau.
After Zane married Kim, it had been easier to dwell on hating him than to open herself up to a new relationship. She’d decided Zane and her father had taught her all she needed to know about the pain of rejection. Not caring made life safer. Especially when hate and anger filled any voids.
Only now the hate and anger had gone, and Allie had nothing with which to replace them. What she had was an empty marriage for one month and a child who wasn’t hers.
The uneven sound of his breathing told her Zane found sleep as elusive as she did. His body heated her through her pajamas. He wore nothing but undershorts. She couldn’t deny she liked having her body cradle his. She liked the smell of him, the feel of his shoulder blade against her cheek.
Her reaction to him in bed last night had taken her completely by surprise. Allie had never thought of herself as a passionate woman. Once she would have called her reaction love. Older and wiser, Allie knew it for what it really was. Lust. Chemistry. Call it what one would. A lonely man. A lonely woman. Neither repulsive. Naturally there would be a certain physical attraction between them.
Not love.
Maybe love didn’t even exist.
Cheyenne and Thomas thought it did. Allie smiled wryly. They were so goony about each other, they didn’t count.
Her mother believed in love. Her mother probably still believed storks brought babies, too.
In the distance an owl hooted. A lonely sound. Allie’s eyesight blurred and she closed her eyes. Sleep didn’t come.
The filly’s ears whipped in the direction of a motor vehicle screeching to a halt in front of the ranch house. Losing her concentration, the paint spooked at the gunnysack in Allie’s hand and exploded in the middle of the round pen, humping her back, kicking her back legs and squealing. Allie mentally cursed the idiot who’d carelessly raced into the yard, and redoubled her efforts to desensitize the filly to such terrors as flapping blankets. The session over, Allie firmly rubbed the paint’s neck and shoulders before releasing the filly into the pasture.
Now she would deal with the visitor. The idiot should never have been issued a driver’s license. What if Hannah had been playing in the yard, or one of the animals dozing in the sun?
An expensive sports car with rental license plates stood in front of the house. A man ran down the porch steps and started in Allie’s direction, the low-riding sun highlighting his red hair. Hanging her coil of rope over a post, Allie wished she were anywhere but here.
“May I help you?” she called, walking toward the house.
“I’m looking for Peters. Or Hannah.” An appreciative gaze swept over Allie. “But you’ll do.”
“I’m Zane’s wife. We met briefly in the bar the other evening.” Allie saw no reason to explain Zane had taken Hannah with him while he ran errands.
The actor held out his hand. “Yes, I remember. I’m Sean Doyle.”
Allie looked at him.
Sean Doyle dropped his hand and gave her a boyishly charming smile. “I suppose Zane told you I’m Hannah’s father.”
Allie was not charmed. “He told me you said you were Hannah’s father. You’re not. Zane is Hannah’s father.”
The actor gave her a sideways glance from his baby blues and said with practiced diffidence, “Kimmie and I had this thing going, if you know what I mean. She told me I was the kid’s father. She slept with Peters to make me jealous and force me to marry her.” He followed Allie back onto the porch.
“Why didn’t you?” She sat in one of the porch chairs, having no intention of inviting him inside the house. Ruth had put dinner in the oven and gone home. No one else was around.
“I was already married, had two kids.”
Allie gazed coolly at him, unimpressed by his naughty little boy smile. “I see.”
He leaned forward and said earnestly, “Listen, fans don’t care about a little extracurricular activity as long as a man meets his obligations. I can live with that. It’s not like I sleep with every bimbo who knocks on my hotel door, and believe me, I have plenty of opportunity to mess around. The thing is, I was fond of Kimmie. I would have given her money for support if she hadn’t married Peters.”
Allie almost felt sorry for him. One day his boyish good looks would fade and he’d have nothing inside to fall back on. “Mr. Doyle,” she said quietly, “Hannah’s not your child.”
“Call me Sean. Kimmie said she was.”
Allie swallowed the words that Kim Taylor had lied. “Hold your little fingers together. Like this.” Palms facing her, Allie lined up her two little fingers.
Giving her a bewildered look, the actor copied her action.
“Your fingers touch each other all the way to the tips.”
“So? Everyone’s does,” he said.
She shook her head. “Zane’s don’t. They drastically curve away from each other. So do his mother’s. She told me once her mother’s curved the same way, as did her grandfather’s. Zane’s sister’s fingers curve that way.” Allie paused for effect. “Hannah’s fingers curve exactly like her father’s.”
“Fingers don’t prove anything. Probably half the people in the world have curving fingers. I’m getting a lawyer, and going to court and getting my daughter.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Nobody’s going to call me a deadbeat father.”
He’d waited over four years to consider that. Allie wondered how much the Taylors had influenced him. “Go back to California and be a father to your own children.”
“My wife won’t let me. She and her fancy lawyer claimed I’m not a good father. I can only see them one weekend a month. When I take Kimmie’s kid back, Jessie—that’s my wife—she’ll see I can be a good father.”
“You’re not Hannah’s father,” Allie said, gentler than she intended. Zane drove through the gate and headed around to the back of the barn. He wouldn’t be happy about Sean Doyle coming here. Allie stood, eager to get rid of their unwanted visitor. “Pursuing this is a waste of time and money.”
“I don’t care what it costs,” he said stubbornly. “I have plenty of money.”
Allie sighed, impatient with bullheaded, stupid men. She’d wanted to tell Zane first, but this business had to be stopped before Hannah got hurt. “Mr. Doyle, Sean, I made some phone calls today. There’s a simple DNA test which will prove you absolutely cannot be Hannah’s father. It’s painless and discreet. Your fans won’t need to know anything about it.”
“You mean have them tak
e blood for a paternity test?”
“You don’t need blood for a DNA test. It would prove conclusively you are not Hannah’s father.” He wasn’t. She knew he wasn’t. The red hair was a coincidence. It had to be.
“Allie’s here.” Hannah shouted from the back seat of the pickup. Zane had already spotted Allie’s SUV parked near the house. His wife’s car. He liked thinking that. Liked knowing she was home. Liked having her in his bed. He wished he’d made love to her last night. The way she’d immediately rallied to support him gave him a hopeful feeling.
Parking behind the barn, Zane opened the truck door. Moonie bounded out, then waited for Hannah who extracted herself from her car seat and launched into Zane’s arms. He squeezed her briefly, then held her out in front of him, trying to see his sister or his mother in her. To him, Hannah looked like Hannah. He scrutinized her face. Blue eyes laughed at him. Were they his blue eyes?
He hadn’t been able to reach his lawyer this morning. The attorney had been scheduled for court all day. Zane would talk to him tomorrow. Lawyers earned their money for stuff like getting rid of Doyle. Zane would pay whatever it took, do whatever he had to do to convince Doyle to drop the matter. Doyle had known for over four years he’d supposedly fathered Kim’s child and had done nothing. Surely that negated his parental rights. Zane could adopt Hannah. He wouldn’t let her go.
Hannah swung her legs. “Put me down, Daddy. Moonie and I gotta go tell Honey we’re back.”
“Stay out of the pasture,” Zane warned. “No farther than the fence. You or Moonie.”
“Okay.” Hannah skipped through the open barn and across the yard, Moonie gamboling at her heels.
Zane watched the pair for a minute, then headed for the house. Hannah would follow orders. He wanted to see his wife. The minute he’d turned in the gate, he’d seen she wasn’t alone, but shadows had hidden her visitor’s identity from him.
