Although she had napped earlier in the afternoon, exhaustion sapped her strength. In the past forty-eight hours, she had not only learned she was adopted, but a half brother she had never met had almost succeeded in killing her. Now her birth parents, two brothers whom she also had yet to meet, and Rand and Jasmine mourned the loss of Blain Moore and the senseless manner in which he’d died.
Blain was dead, and with him, the danger to her and Chip. Aside from a raspiness in her throat, she had suffered no ill effects from the fire. The only casualty besides Blain was Dylan’s house, reduced to ashes.
She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. With Rand and Jasmine, she had been waiting for almost an hour for Dylan’s return from the police station, where he had gone to question Irene. Sipping the white wine Rand had served her, Heather tried to ignore the nervous anticipation of his return, which had her entire body tingling.
She’d had all day to replay memories of the previous twenty-four hours, from Dylan’s fierce and tender lovemaking to his daring rescue. When he’d agreed to explain later how she could show her thanks for his heroism, she had heard the promise in his voice, seen it shining in his eyes.
Since then, however, he had been tying up the loose ends of his investigation of the crimes against her, and they had shared only a few words in passing.
The solid thunk of a car door in the front drive announced his return and sent her already stimulated nerves into a flutter. From across the room, Jasmine shot her an understanding smile and Rand rose to pour Dylan a drink.
When he entered the living room, her breath lodged in her throat. Because the fire had destroyed his other clothes, he had changed into a uniform from his locker at the station. The dark fitted shirt with its gleaming brass insignia and his sharply creased slacks emphasized his lean handsomeness. Her heart swelled with pride, and she had to restrain herself from rushing across the room and flinging herself into his arms.
Time enough for that later, his eyes promised. For now, she and Rand and Jasmine wanted to hear the details he had learned.
He sank wearily into an armchair and accepted the filled glass from Rand with a nod of thanks.
“How’s Irene?” Jasmine asked.
“Sedated,” Dylan answered. “Talbot and Lily have taken her to Moore House to look after her.”
Jasmine nodded. “Blain was the youngest of the family. Dad’s taking his death hard.”
Rand’s face settled into grim lines. “I blame Charles Wilcox. Blain was his favorite nephew. Charles spoiled him and eventually drove a wedge between him and his father after Talbot and Irene divorced.”
Dylan drank a long swallow and set his glass aside. “According to Irene, Charles was behind this entire scheme. When Blain left France without explanation a couple of weeks ago, Irene found a letter from Charles in his room. The letter said Talbot was looking for his missing child and Charles needed Blain’s help to keep Talbot from finding her. He warned Blain that if Heather wasn’t killed and Talbot discovered that she was his daughter, she’d eventually have claim to a substantial chunk of Blain’s inheritance.”
“Last night’s fire,” Jasmine said, “was exactly like the one Charles set last year that destroyed my house and almost killed me.”
“Charles taught Blain well,” Dylan said. “The arson investigators found the propane tank that caused the explosion, and the gas can Blain used to soak the kitchen and hall. The quick spread of the blaze evidently took him by surprise. They found his body near the back door.”
Heather shuddered. “Why did Blain kidnap Chip? If he wanted to kill us both, why didn’t he just torch my house in the first place?”
“Irene explained,” Dylan said, “that, according to Charles’s letter, Blain planned to draw you and Chip into the grove and shoot you both, make it look like a random crime. The small ransom would have been an added bonus.”
“And the later shooting and the knife attack?”
“Backup plans that failed.”
Dylan’s voice was calm, but Heather noted the muscle ticking in his jaw, a sign of his repressed fury at the attempts on her life.
“The fire was to be a last resort,” he continued, “since that modus operandi would point straight to Charles and lead investigators back to Blain.”
Rand shook his head. “Knowing Charles, he’d planned to convince Blain to do the dirty work. Charles didn’t care about the consequences to Blain. His hatred of Talbot was so strong, he probably intended to implicate Blain all along. After all, what could be more painful for a man than his son’s murdering his daughter?”
“Poor Daddy,” Jasmine murmured. “But at least this cloud has a silver lining.” She raised her glass to Heather. “Dad and Mother have found their missing daughter and have a grandson, too. When will I meet my nephew?”
Heather’s upcoming reunion with Chip brought a smile to her face. “Dylan’s folks are bringing him back from the river tonight.”
Rand, his expression thoughtful, stood and propped an elbow on the mantel. “What part did Irene play?”
“Besides confusing us?” Dylan said. “When she kept popping up, we didn’t know whether we were searching for a man or a woman. After she found the letter and instructions from Charles, she followed Blain to persuade him to give up his vendetta against his father and return to France. She had the address of the house near here where Blain was staying and found him there.”
“That explains the switch in cars,” Heather said.
“Right,” Dylan said. “When Irene took the Mercedes, Blain rented a Blazer. But she couldn’t change his mind. In desperation, she visited Charles in prison to beg him to have Blain abandon his plans.”
“Charles refused, of course,” Rand said.
Dylan nodded. “Irene called Heather’s house to warn her, but couldn’t reach her. She went to Heather’s school and called her parents, trying to locate her. When Irene couldn’t find Heather, she turned her attention to Blain, still hoping to convince him to leave Heather alone and return to France.”
“Poor Blain.” Jasmine shook her head sadly. “He hated Daddy for divorcing Irene. Charles always spoiled Blain, loaning him money, undermining Dad’s attempts to make Blain give up his irresponsible life-style and find a steady job.”
“According to Irene,” Dylan said, “Blain resented having to work so hard at the winery. He hoped, by eliminating Heather, to insure a greater share of Talbot’s estate for himself.”
“But Talbot’s in good health,” Rand said. “Blain couldn’t expect to cash in on his inheritance for decades.”
Dylan’s expression turned somber. “That’s the part of Charles’s plan for Blain we won’t tell Talbot. The man’s had enough grief already.”
Jasmine glanced from Dylan to Rand with a puzzled look. “I don’t understand.”
Dylan pushed to his feet. “After Blain had disposed of Heather and Chip, he intended to murder Talbot, too.”
“My God, I can’t believe it.” Jasmine slumped in her chair. Her stunned gaze swept from face to face. “Daddy must never know. It would kill him.”
“I agree,” Dylan said. “Irene has sworn never to divulge Blain’s intentions. And I’m sure no one in this room will, either.”
The emotions and revelations in the room battered Heather. She hadn’t yet assimilated the drastic changes the past week had brought to her life. Before the kidnapping, she had been lonely but secure. Then she had endured days of terror, only to find them suddenly and violently ended, with herself in the midst of an extended family she hadn’t known existed.
As if Jasmine had read her thoughts, she asked, “When will you meet Mom and Dad?”
Heather set her wineglass aside and stood by Dylan. “They need time to grieve for Blain. After the funeral, I’ll contact them. Right now, I want to see my son.”
Dylan draped his arm across her shoulders. “Sid’s waiting out front. He’ll drive us to my parents’ house.”
Rand and Jasmine’s goodbyes we
re subdued. They would leave for Moore House to console Talbot and Lily as soon as Heather and Dylan departed.
On the short drive across town, Sid and Dylan discussed the case against Charles Wilcox.
“I spoke with the district attorney,” Sid said. “She has high hopes of a guilty verdict under a conspiracy charge.”
“What more can they do to him?” Heather asked. “He’s already in prison for life.”
“I doubt he’ll get a death sentence for conspiracy,” Dylan explained, “but the judge can arrange that he never gets paroled, even if he lives to be a hundred.”
Sid pulled up in front of the Wades’ house. The driveway was empty and no light shone from the windows.
“Looks like you beat Frank and Margaret home,” Sid said.
“They’ll be here soon.” Dylan climbed from the front seat and opened the back door for Heather. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Give my regards to your father,” Sid called before driving away.
As his taillights disappeared down the street, Heather realized she was alone with Dylan for the first time since before the fire. The beauty of the night pierced her with its sweetness. Crickets chirped in the velvet darkness, and jasmine and frangipani from Margaret’s garden scented the air. Overhead, palm fronds rustled like stiff paper in the cool gulf breeze.
The perfection of the evening amplified the sadness in her heart Soon Chip would return, and when he did, the two of them would go home to St. Petersburg. They were safe once more, but with that safety came separation from Dylan. He had said he loved her, and she’d always known he did. What hadn’t changed was his aversion to marriage and commitment.
He took her hand, tugged her up the front walk and onto the front porch. Like a sleepwalker, immersed in the sorrow of their approaching farewell, she sank onto the porch swing beside him.
He encircled her shoulders with his arm and set the swing in motion with his foot. “There’s still one mystery I don’t have an answer for.”
The beloved heat of him warmed her for the last time. “I thought Irene answered all your questions.”
“She couldn’t help me with this puzzle.”
At the gravity in his voice, she turned to him. His brown eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the set of his jaw signaled the importance of his statement.
“What puzzle?” she asked breathlessly.
He stopped the swing. “Why you stopped loving me two years ago.”
“But I didn’t!” The denial escaped before she could stop it.
He grasped her shoulders gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “If you loved me, then why did you refuse to see me or answer my calls?”
“If you had known I was pregnant, what would you have done?”
“I would have asked you to marry me.”
“Exactly.”
“You left because you didn’t want to marry me,” he stated in a cold, bleak voice. He dropped his hands and pulled away, leaving her aching for his touch.
“I left because I wanted to marry you too much.”
“That’s crazy.” Anger filled his voice and stiffened his muscles. He jumped from the swing and strode across the porch.
“Is it?” she asked sadly. “You’ve never made a secret of your reluctance to marry. I’ve always known your feelings on the subject, just as well as I’ve known how honorable you are.”
“Then why did you leave me?”
The anguish in his cry grieved her. “If you had discovered I was pregnant, you would have insisted on marrying me, despite your feelings on the subject.”
“Would that have been so terrible?”
She tilted her head to look at him. “It would have been glorious. But it wouldn’t have lasted. Eventually you would have grown angry and bitter because you’d been forced into marriage. I didn’t want to witness the love dying in your eyes and resentment taking its place.”
“I was a fool. I believed that by not marrying I could spare myself the pain I’d seen my friends go through when the ones they loved left them by death or divorce.”
“And now?”
“You’ve opened my eyes the past few days. When you came so close to dying after Blain knifed you, I realized I’d be a fool not to spend every moment I can with you.”
Elation battled with despair within her. “That’s why I have to go back to St. Petersburg with Chip and never see you again.”
He jerked his head up in surprise. “What?”
“I want more than just spending time with you.”
He returned to the swing and gathered her in his arms. “I’m offering more. I want you to marry me. Even if Chip had never been born, I’d be asking you. I want to marry you, Heather. And, God willing, we’ll grow old together.” He crooked his finger beneath her chin and riveted her with a solemn look. His expression and the seriousness of his tone told her he’d meant what he’d said. “Will you marry me?”
She placed her cheek against his heart while her own swelled with happiness. Not only would he make a wonderful husband, his love and protection of Chip had already proved him a first-class father.
“Yes,” she murmured.
He grew suddenly still. “What did you say?”
She threw her head back and laughed with joy. “Absolutely, positively, most definitely yes.”
His shout of exhilaration echoed in the night. Lifting her off her feet, he covered her lips with his.
Moments later, they broke apart as headlights swept the porch and the Wades’ station wagon pulled into the drive. The rear door opened and Chip hopped out.
“Mommy!” He raced across the lawn.
Heather met him at the foot of the porch steps and swung him into her embrace. He clasped his pudgy arms fiercely around her neck.
“Hi, fella,” Dylan said, standing beside her.
Chip looked at him, grinned and held out his arms. “Hi, Dyl.”
Dylan swung Chip onto his shoulders. Watching her son with his father brought tears of happiness to her eyes.
“Chip, it’s time you started calling Dylan Daddy.”
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hello, son.” Dylan’s voice was hoarse and his eyes moist. One arm held Chip securely on his shoulder. The other tugged her close to his side. “Welcome home.”
Epilogue
One year later
Heather leaned back in the Adirondack chair with a contented smile. It had been a wonderful six-month wedding anniversary party for her and Dylan.
Talbot and her father sat on the love seat across from her, holding a sleeping Chip between them and watching Lily, Jasmine and her mother chase a giggling year-old Jennifer across the lawn.
Learning that Heather was their daughter and Chip their grandson, along with the excitement of the birth of Jennifer, Jasmine and Rand’s daughter, had helped ease the pain of Blain’s death for Talbot and Lily. Charles Wilcox’s death from a stroke a few months ago had closed a sordid chapter in all their lives.
When Talbot and Lily had made a special trip to Fort Lauderdale to thank the Taylors for their fine job of raising Heather, the two couples had become fast friends, eliminating any sense of rivalry or tension that might have developed.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Talbot said quietly.
Heather gazed out over the waters of Dolphin Bay, sparkling in the June sunlight. “I wish I could somehow save today to keep forever. My life’s been full of peaks and valleys, but today I’ve reached the summit of happiness.”
“Married to a good man like Dylan,” her father said, “you can count on lots of happy days ahead.”
She sought out Dylan among the group gathered behind the house beneath the wind-gnarled oaks. He and Rand, with good-natured, if not very helpful, supervision by Sid Bullock and her brothers Art and T.J., were marking off an area for a deck across the back of the house.
With money from the insurance settlement on Dylan’s house and the sale of her own, she and Dylan had purchased the vintage Dutch Colonial home on the ba
y and spent the past year restoring it. Several projects awaited completion, but Chip’s room was finished, as well as the nursery. She glided her hand across her still-flat stomach. Good things always came to her in December. Chip’s birth. Her marriage to Dylan. And next December, the arrival of another baby.
As if sensing her thoughts, Dylan raised his head and gazed at her across the shaded yard. The love shining in his eyes bolstered her contentment. In spite of his earlier resistance to marriage, he had settled happily and comfortably into his role of husband and father. More than that, he delighted in it.
Shortly after returning to work after the frightening incidents of a year ago, he had received a promotion to detective-sergeant and now worked as Sid Bullock’s partner. With only a few exceptions, his new position meant regular hours and more time to spend with his family.
He left the group discussing the merits of the deck’s location, ambled across the lawn and held out his hand to her.
“Mind if I borrow my wife for a few minutes?” he asked Talbot and her father.
“Go ahead,” her father said. “We’ll watch Chip.”
With curiosity quickening, Heather accompanied Dylan to the house, through the big, sunny kitchen and into the living room with its spacious bay windows and gleaming heart-pine floors.
She challenged him with raised eyebrows. “What’s this all abou—”
His lips muffled her question, and she yielded to his embrace. When he released her minutes later, she straightened her clothes and smoothed her hair.
“If I go back outside looking like this, they’ll know what we’ve been up to.”
He broke into the grin that would always make her legs weak and patted her stomach. “If they don’t know already, they will in a few months.”
She returned his smile. “You’re impossible.”
His expression sobered. “I know. And you’re an angel and a saint to love me.”
She caressed the strong line of his jaw. “Loving you is the easiest and smartest thing I ever did.”
He kissed the palm of her hand, then crossed to the desk beside the fireplace, opened a drawer and withdrew a small gift-wrapped package. “This is for you.”
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