01 - The Heartbreaker

by Carly Phillips

“See? Beneath that gruff exterior, he’s such a softy,” Raina chimed in.

  Sloane reached out and caressed his cheek. “He is, isn’t he?”

  Her gentle touch seeped through his skin, warming him. Instead of enjoying, it made him nervous. If he let her, this woman could destroy his dreams of finally having his life to himself, no one at home to answer to, only his career ahead of him. He wasn’t sure why the goal that had sustained him for years suddenly made him feel cold and empty, but he wasn’t about to worry about it now.

  Decision made, Chase stepped back, out of reach.

  Sloane sensed his withdrawal immediately. Combined with what she’d overheard between mother and son, she understood Chase’s actions were deliberate. Raina wanted him to settle down with Sloane and Chase wanted no part of her plan. He’d have no regrets. He’d never look back. He’d said so himself.

  She had no choice but to find Samson, fix the mess that her life had become, and move on. She turned to Chase, determined now to play things as cool as he was.

  “I can pay for Samson’s dog myself, but thank you for offering,” she said in a more formal, more distant voice than she’d used with him before. Was it her imagination or did he flinch at her icy tone?

  “Well, regardless of who pays, Chase can go with you. He’s finished here.” Raina waved her hand expansively around the room, ignoring the suddenly chilly undercurrents.

  “No, I’m not. Not until I hear from your doctors exactly what’s wrong and your prognosis.” He folded his arms tight and Sloane had a hunch he was shutting her out more than trying to make a point with his mother.

  “Ridiculous,” Raina said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is it really? You got the best of me once, Mom. I’m going to hear things from the doctor’s mouth this time.”

  She frowned, pursing her lips in blatant disapproval, then turned to Sloane. “Well, before you drive over to the vet, at least call Dr. Sterling and make sure he’s in the office. People in this town take advantage of his good nature and expect more house calls than an old-time doctor used to make.” Raina fiddled with the wires connected to the heart monitor. “I want out of here,” she muttered again.

  “Soon enough.” Chase nodded toward the phone. “Mom’s right. Call the vet first.”

  Sloane didn’t like Chase telling her what to do in that cold voice, but she knew good advice when she heard it and stepped over to the table and picked up the phone. Dialing the number Raina gave her, she listened and hung up, resigned. “You’re right. I got the answering machine.”

  “See?” Raina smiled, obviously happy to be correct. “Now you can stay here with us.” She patted the side of the bed with an unspoken request that Sloane join her.

  She smiled at the older woman. “Much as I’d like to, I have an errand I have to run.” Besides, Chase obviously didn’t need or want her here.

  “Where to?” Raina asked.

  “None of your business,” Chase said.

  Sloane covered a shocked gasp with a cough, walking over to his mother, edging between them and patting Raina’s hand. “I appreciate your asking. I’m going to visit my mother’s old house,” she informed Raina with a gracious smile. “I have the address you gave me.”

  “Oh dear. You really shouldn’t go alone.”

  “Why not?” both Chase and Sloane asked at the same time.

  Sloane only knew she wanted to get out of the hospital and away from her escalating feelings. Chase just obviously wanted her gone.

  She reminded him of his failings, and apparently, Chase Chandler held himself up to higher than human standards. He didn’t permit himself to have wants or desires that came before his family. She inhaled and squared her shoulders. Well, then, too bad for him. She wanted someone human in her life. Besides, she had her hands full finding her father. She didn’t need to add Chase’s hang-ups to her own. Much as she wanted to.

  Raina clucked her tongue, as if chastising them both. “Because it’s an emotional situation and Sloane shouldn’t face the past alone.”

  “It’s my mother’s past. Only indirectly mine.” Sloane shrugged, forcing herself to make light of the situation, at least until she left the room. “I’ll be fine.”

  Raina expelled an exasperated breath. “But I don’t need Chase here.”

  He shot her a glance, then leaned down on the portable tray that substituted as a nightstand and leaned closer. “All the more reason for me to stay.”

  “Chase has a point,” Sloane said, through clenched teeth. She didn’t want anything he wasn’t willing to give. “He won’t be satisfied until he hears you’re going to be okay, and I don’t blame him. I’m just going to deal with some family skeletons, try to get the dog, and then go back to Chase’s. I’m hoping maybe we’ll get a call from Earl or get a lead on Samson so I can settle things here and head back to D.C.” She shifted her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “I want to get out of everyone’s hair.”

  “Nonsense.” Raina waved a hand dismissively. “You’re not in anyone’s way. But if you do get any leads, make sure you call Chase here or at my place,” she said in her best dictatorial voice.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with my mother. If something comes up, you call. Whoever’s after Samson is dangerous.” Concern flickered in Chase’s darkened gaze, a hint of longing he couldn’t hide.

  But longing wasn’t enough, not without his willingness to act. “Don’t worry,” Sloane said with a flippant shake of her head. “I can handle my life. I appreciate all your family has done for me so far, but you have more important concerns now.”

  Gathering her reserve strength, she walked away as if the man in the room meant nothing to her. She had no choice but to accept that unless he came to terms with his conflict, she was on her own. A place she’d been for a while now. But it was a place that was so much more lonely now that she’d known Chase.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sloane was feeling brave until the moment she pulled up to her mother’s old house. As she stepped out of the car, her knees went weak and she began to tremble. She’d have given anything to have Chase by her side, but he was needed elsewhere and she didn’t begrudge him time with his family. Wasn’t she here to learn more about hers? Though what she thought she’d find, she wasn’t certain.

  A cold fall breeze circulated in the air, keeping her blood pumping and her adrenaline flowing. She pulled her denim jacket close around her and focused on the house as she approached. The old Colonial looked well maintained. With the kids playing out back and the American flag hanging on the porch, Sloane figured the house was also well loved.

  Not wanting to scare the kids by showing up in the backyard, she knocked on the door, intending to ask permission.

  A woman opened the door. “Can I help you?” She wiped her hands on her jeans and leaned against the door frame.

  Faced with the owner, a woman with bobbed hair, manicured nails, and a friendly smile, Sloane wasn’t sure where to begin. “This may sound silly, but my mother grew up here and . . . Well, I was wondering if I could look around?”

  The woman smiled. “I don’t see why not.” She opened the door wider. “Come on in.” Stepping back, she let Sloane inside. “I’m Grace McKeever.”

  “Sloane Carlisle,” she said, opting for honesty. She looked around at the floral wallpaper and dark wood floors and furniture. She had a hunch the house had been redecorated recently and had changed much since her mother resided there. “How long have you lived here?” she asked the woman.

  “About eight years. From what I understand, this house has changed hands many times.” She gestured around the large entryway and toward the circular staircase in front of them. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but feel free to wander.”

  Small-town hospitality, Sloane thought, warmth filling her. But she shook her head. “Thanks anyway.” Sloane wouldn’t know which room belonged to her mother. “I really just want to see the tree house out back. I’d love to see
that, if you don’t mind.”

  Grace laughed and tucked her hair behind one ear. “Of course not. My kids spend a lot of time there. Come, I’ll show you.” She led Sloane through the house, to the kitchen, and out a sliding-glass door leading to a patio area in the back.

  The yard spread expansively before her and she could imagine her mother playing as a child. Or maybe not, considering the repressed upbringing and strict rules employed by her grandfather. But there was no denying the fact that there were two teenage girls now—giggling, laughing, and probably talking about boys.

  Just as Jacqueline and Raina had discussed the man Jacqueline loved. The man named Samson. Her father.

  “Girls, it’s time for Hannah to go home,” Grace called.

  “Can’t I stay, Grace, please? I’ll call Kendall and she’ll say it’s okay. She can’t cook for beans anyway and I’d much rather eat here.” A pretty blond-haired girl with a face full of makeup came skidding to a halt.

  From the names tossed around in conversation, Sloane knew she was seeing Kendall’s sister, Hannah. Her nonstop motion reminded Sloane of her twin sisters’ actions and she held back a laugh.

  An equally pretty brunette came up by Hannah’s side. “Come on, Mom. There’s enough food for one more.”

  Grace raised an eyebrow. “And you know this because . . . ? You helped cook?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Because you always make a lot, and besides, Hannah doesn’t eat much, do you, Hannah?”

  “Nope. Honest.” Kendall’s sister held one hand in the air.

  “It just so happens we’re meeting your father at Norman’s for dinner and Hannah’s welcome to join us. Kendall can pick you up from there or I can drop you off on the way home. Just call and make sure it’s okay with her.”

  “Cool, Mom, thanks!”

  “Thanks, Grace.”

  The girls took off before Sloane could introduce herself.

  “Sorry. I wish I could say they’re usually better mannered, but they’re teenagers and completely self-absorbed.” A blush on her cheeks, Grace let out a self-conscious laugh.

  “Not a problem. I have twin sisters so I really do understand.”

  Grace nodded. “Thank you for that. Anyway, there’s the tree house.” She pointed to the end of the property and the large tree in the corner. “Take your time, okay? It was nice meeting you.”

  Sloane smiled, liking the woman a lot. “Same here.”

  “I didn’t think to ask where you’re living, but I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Grace turned and headed back for the house, leaving Sloane to question why she hadn’t bothered to correct the other woman’s misconception that Sloane resided in Yorkshire Falls.

  Delving too deeply into that question could only cause Sloane pain, and with an unknown father in her future, she had a hunch she was already in store for enough. She approached the tree house and was about to attempt the rickety ladder leading up the trunk when she heard a rustling sound from the bushes. Someone appeared to have been lurking. She glanced back toward the house, but Grace had gone inside.

  Alone, Sloane’s heart pounded hard in her chest. Feeling silly for being afraid in this typically friendly town, she called out in a forced but friendly voice. “Hello?”

  She heard the rustling again and caught sight of a man who rose and obviously planned to run away. “No, wait.” Something compelled her to stop the stranger before he could retreat.

  The figure paused, then turned back to Sloane. Eerily familiar golden eyes stared back at her from an unshaven, weathered masculine face. “Samson?” she guessed.

  “You look like your mother,” he said—no preamble, formality, or warmth.

  “Can I take that as a compliment?” She swallowed hard, shock rippling through her. After all her searching, her real father stood in front of her. That easily.

  “Take it any way you please.” His gaze held hers for an awkward moment; then he abruptly turned to leave.

  Panicked, she called him back. “Don’t go. Please.”

  He paused but didn’t look over his shoulder.

  “Why did you come here?” she asked, wondering if the same feeling that had brought her in search of the old tree house had also brought him. Wondering if fate did work in such mystifyingly simple ways.

  He shrugged. “It’s not like I have anyplace else to go.”

  “Your house. I’m sorry about the fire.”

  “Unless you lit the match, you got nothing to be sorry about.”

  She clenched and unclenched her fists. Obviously, somebody who worried or cared was a foreign emotion, one she chose not to delve into just yet. She hoped they’d have more time. “But why come here? Why now?”

  “I got tired of ducking the cops.”

  “Excuse me?” She tamped down on the urge to step closer, afraid he’d run away.

  “I couldn’t go anyplace public and so I came here. I do that sometimes. When those kids are in school.”

  “Because the tree house holds memories?” she asked.

  He merely grunted.

  She took the reply as a yes. It wasn’t enough that he was alone, he also retreated into the past. His story got sadder and sadder, Sloane thought, and though she was grateful to meet him now, she gained a new understanding and perspective on her own life. The chances Michael Carlisle had given her were chances Samson hadn’t had.

  “I have to go.”

  “But I want to know you.” She grasped for anything to keep him standing in front of her. “And I heard you want to know me.”

  He scowled at her. “What I wanted was to see you up close. To be sure. Now I can go.”

  Sloane had heard about his gruff exterior. She’d heard he was antisocial, but she never imagined he’d turn that harshness her way. What were you expecting, Sloane, a warm, fuzzy family reunion? she asked herself. She wouldn’t be getting one. Samson wasn’t a Chandler nor was he a Carlisle, and she had no right to put those expectations onto him. After all, she’d been warned going in.

  But he was part of the blood that ran in her veins and she wouldn’t go quietly out of his life. Her disappointment was hers to deal with later, but she wasn’t ready to give up now.

  “You wanted to be sure of what? That I was your daughter?” she asked, pushing her limits.

  “Yeah.” He started to reach out, as if to touch her, then dropped his hand. “You’ve got your mother’s hair and my mother’s eyes. I’m sure you’re mine. Who told you the almighty senator wasn’t your father?” he asked with no tact.

  Samson’s tone told her he was angry with the senator and didn’t trust him. He was wary and she understood that. But Michael wasn’t to blame and she needed Samson to understand that.

  Especially if they wanted to call off Michael’s men. “My father . . . I mean Senator Michael Carlisle admitted I wasn’t his,” she said, attempting to put a realistic spin on the truth.

  Samson’s head jerked up and he met her gaze. “A few weeks ago, I went to D.C. Talked to the senator. He told me the same thing.”

  That news shocked Sloane. “He told you what exactly?”

  “He said he’d tell you the truth ’bout me. That you were old enough to handle it. I believed him, damn fool that I am.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Michael doesn’t lie,” she assured Samson. And she believed the senator would have enlightened her. Madeline had told her the same thing.

  “Then why did his goons threaten me if I didn’t disappear? And why’d my house blow up right after?”

  Sloane blinked as more facets of the situation became clear. “Those things happened without Michael’s knowledge.”

  “Speak English, girlie. Who didn’t know what?” Samson kicked a worn sneaker into the dirt on the ground.

  He’d dropped his gaze again, though remained facing her, something she considered progress. “Michael’s men acted alone, without consulting him. He had no idea you’d been turned away or threatened. I’m sure of it.”

  “Why are you
so certain? ’Cuz he’s been such a paragon of virtue telling you the truth all along?”

  Sloane flinched, accepting the verbal slap. He had a point, but she still felt compelled to defend the man who’d raised her. “Michael has always acted in my best interest. Or what he thought was my best interest,” she explained. “He may have kept the truth from me but he’s a man of his word. If he said he was going to tell me, he was. It’s his men who took things into their own hands. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “And was it a good one?” Samson asked, his tone shocking Sloane, and she sucked in a startled breath. For a moment, the surly old man was gone, replaced by a concerned, caring one. “Was your life a good one?”

  Unexpected tears formed in her eyes. “Yes, it was a very good life.”

  The wrinkles around his eyes eased. “I figured that. Saw it for myself when I went back to check on your mother. She’d married someone else.” Without warning, he sat down in the grass, as if the weight of telling the story was too much for him to bear.

  Sloane knelt, then settled herself Indian-style beside him. “You went back for Jacqueline?” Sloane plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers, finding it easier to concentrate on the mundane than the painful history between her parents.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Samson squinted and looked into the sun. “I made sure she was living good. But her father said unless I stayed away from his daughter, he’d make sure the loan sharks my old man borrowed from came after him, among other threats. Your grandfather said Jacqueline was only eighteen and I couldn’t support us and my family. If I agreed to his terms, he said he’d make the debts go away.”

  “So you took him up on it.”

  He nodded. “I put my family first. Before what I wanted. I had no choice.”

  Just like Chase, Sloane thought, drawing the unexpected parallel. Two men willing to give her up for the good of family. She realized she was being irrational—Samson hadn’t known Jacqueline was carrying his child any more than Chase had turned away from her. Yet.

  “You didn’t know Jacqueline was pregnant, did you?” Sloane asked to make sure.