by Megan Kelly
Her own parents hadn’t wanted her to have the baby. Tara had fled and, aside from monthly phone calls home to assure them she was fine, had stayed missing for the past four years. She’d left it to Jay to tell his family. Admittedly, she’d been a coward, not wanting to face their censure after her own parents’ rejection.
She didn’t know what motivated the Summerfields, but the obvious solution made her shudder. Visiting her parents to uncover what they knew about their friends’ plans was out of the question, not after the things they’d said to her. She’d had four years to remake herself, and she liked the person she’d become. Her stomach clenched. Could the courts take away Jimmy based on her past? How would she prove she’d changed? That she, an unwed day-care assistant who struggled to make ends meet, provided the best home for her son? Or would the judge look at Jay’s ultrawealthy parents, with their stable life in a two-adult household, and decide in their favor?
She didn’t know any lawyers and probably couldn’t afford a good one. She regretted not collecting her trust fund two years before on her twenty-first birthday. Her parents had probably closed access to it when she’d refused to have an abortion. She knew how their minds worked. On the off chance they hadn’t remembered, she’d call their bank and check.
Would they take her side now, or would they see this hearing as an unexpected gift—someone responsible to take over the care of Jimmy for her? To “free” her of her “mistake” and let her go back to her old lifestyle. As though she’d ever want that life again. She only wanted Jimmy.
For the rest of the day, she tried to stuff the worry to the back of her mind. She painted pictures, served snacks, and kept her monsters at bay by concentrating on the children. Too upset to eat, she spent her lunch break poring over lawyers’ information in the phone book and on the internet. They were all just names to her. She made notes of the families at the day care who’d endured custody battles, intending to call the people she knew for recommendations. And the people she didn’t personally know. And the people she’d only heard of through someone else. Embarrassing herself didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except keeping Jimmy.
Tara looked over at him at the snack table, talking to his classmates and wearing a purple grape juice mustache, his shirt covered with crumbs. Tonight she’d snuggle him and read his favorite books and watch his favorite movie.
She’d worry about getting a lawyer tomorrow. She smirked and raised her grape juice cup in a toast to her namesake. After all, tomorrow was another day.
DYLAN UNLOCKED THE DOOR to his condo, irritated and tired after the dinner with his mom that they’d put off from the night before. Their biweekly date was as much about spending time with her as it was about checking up on her health and well-being. Tonight, however, she’d done nothing but talk about what a “godsend” Tara Montgomery was. He didn’t know why his mom’s assistant had taken an instant dislike to him. He also didn’t know why it bothered him that she had.
Tara would take over while his mom spent three months in Europe. He didn’t like the idea of his mother being on her own that long. A sixty-seven-year-old woman needed to stay home and take care of her business, even if she was in decent health. What would Adam do without their mom to help with his kids?
What would Dylan do with her so far away? His attending university then working on the West Coast had been different. Somehow.
Every time he’d tried to change the subject at dinner, his mom steered the conversation back to Tara. He pictured her as he’d seen her, annoyed with him, not backing down to her employer’s son, not treating him with respect. And, okay, he’d admit it, not accepting his invitation to dinner.
His mom constantly bringing up her name meant he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her long black lashes set off blue eyes that enticed him like a deep lake. He’d like to dive in and see what mysteries they concealed. The white-gold of her shoulder-length hair tempted his fingers to test its silkiness. If she hadn’t turned into such a shrew, he might have made a more serious play for her.
Flipping through a mental file of available women, he considered who he’d call for a date the next night, not planning to spend another evening alone with his thoughts. Tara Montgomery flashed into his mind, making him scowl. She was so not what he needed. He wanted someone to flirt with, to laugh with, and by evening’s end, probably make love with. That last thought—and the images of Tara it produced—had him trying to clear his mind. She was entirely wrong for him. Too serious.
One date with her and she’d be hearing wedding bells. His brother would ride him about starting a family, and how Dylan should catch up to him in the baby-making department.
Eight kids. Dylan shook his head. He might love being an uncle, but he was in no way ready to start a family.
He searched for his cell phone, thinking of Marissa’s offer the night before, knowing he’d call her. She was fun, easy to be with and didn’t expect any promises from him. Her dark hair and brown eyes were as different from Tara’s as he could need.
Before he could pick up the phone, it rang. Anticipation had him smiling. Fate had made the decision for him—as long as the caller was a woman other than his mother, he’d found the next evening’s distraction.
“This is Violet Durant,” the voice on the phone informed Dylan after his eager hello. “Rosemary Durant’s mother.”
For a moment, his mind remained a blank, then he remembered Rose, a woman he’d dated for about eight months in California. A vivacious redhead, as he recalled, always in good spirits. He hadn’t heard from her in years. He wouldn’t mind seeing Rose again, but why would her mother call him? “What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to call so late, but I hadn’t heard from you about when you’re arriving, even though I’ve called several times. You are going to make it here in time for the funeral, aren’t you?”
The news hit him like a physical blow. Bubbly Rose Durant dead? “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she’d passed. I didn’t even know she was ill.” Idiot. Stop babbling. Rose could have been in a car wreck. “Or was it…?”
“A brain tumor.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Durant.”
“But you are going to come to the funeral, aren’t you?”
“Of course.” What else could he say? He hadn’t seen Rose in—what, five years?—and God help him, he hadn’t thought about her in nearly that long either. But he’d hardly admit that to her grieving mother.
“Good. I figured you would, although it would have been nice to hear it confirmed before this. I need to know what your plans are for Lily.”
Dylan frowned at her tone and her assumption that he’d known about Rosemary. Then her last statement diverted him. What plans? What Lily? He groaned. It would have appealed to Rose’s sense of humor to leave him one of her mange-infected dogs.
Mrs. Durant inhaled deeply. “I can’t take her home to Boston with me, due to my health. As much as it pains me to say it, I’m just not capable of caring for her.”
He could hardly believe his bad luck. Rosemary had been crazy about animals. She’d taken in five stray, worm-infested dogs and one bedraggled, pregnant alley cat in the eight months he’d known her. He shuddered. At least he hadn’t lived with her. If her mother wanted him to adopt some stray, he couldn’t turn her down, not while she grieved the loss of her daughter. She must be unable to exercise the dog or perhaps she had cat allergies.
“I’ll make sure Lily has a good home.” He reviewed the women he knew again. Surely one was a sucker for stray animals? Or, he thought with a grin, maybe it was time for Adam’s kids to get a pet. “It’s the least I can do.”
Silence hung in the airwaves until Dylan had to double-check the connection. The woman couldn’t read his mind, could she? Guilt had him second-guessing himself. He could care for a pet. He could put food and water in bowls and take it out twice a day to do its business. It would be even better if Lily turned out to be a cat, as they were more independent.
Maybe it
wouldn’t hurt to have someone to come home to. Surely when he had to travel, someone would take care of the thing.
“Do you have anyone to watch the poor darling when you’re gone?” Violet asked.
He stared at the phone. Maybe she could read his mind. That scary voodoo mothers had. But he wasn’t about to get gooey over an animal and treat it like a human. Violet would naturally be emotional, this being her last tie with Rosemary. Would she expect Christmas cards signed with little paw prints?
“Leaving home and living with you will be a traumatic change,” Violet continued, “especially after enduring Rosemary’s death. Maybe you have someplace in mind she could go during the day when you’re at work?”
Dylan snorted. Like he could afford that. Still, he used a reasonable tone when he countered, “I’m sorry. We’ll have to talk more about this when I get there, but I just can’t see providing day care for an animal.”
Violet gasped. “Lily’s not an animal. She’s your daughter.”
Chapter Two
“I’m going to have to take some time off,” Dylan told his business partner, Joe Riley, on the phone fifteen minutes later. He jammed some socks into his overnight bag, then turned to reach for underwear. He didn’t have time for this call. Should have made it from the car. Still, he’d found himself reaching for his cell phone. Of anyone Dylan could have talked to, Joe would understand. He’d married a woman with two kids, becoming an instant father, and he’d also known Rosemary when Dylan and Joe had worked together in California, so explanations wouldn’t take as long. Dylan dreaded the calls he’d have to make to his mother and brother.
“What’s going on?” Concern layered Joe’s words. “You never take unscheduled time off. Is it your mom?”
“No, it’s my daughter.”
“Your what?”
“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction, too.” He reached for his black suit, then realized he’d need his garment bag, not his duffel. Formal occasions, funerals. “I’m trying to pack now. Got to get going soon. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”
“The hell you are. I’ll be right over.”
“I don’t have time—” Dylan realized Joe had hung up. He set down his phone and retrieved his garment bag from the back of the closet.
Twelve minutes later, he opened the door of his condo to Joe. Dylan had finished packing—or in this case, throwing clothes into luggage—with little thought and less care. He needed to get on the road.
He needed to get to his daughter.
“I ran every red light to get here,” Joe said. “Now, say that again.”
Dylan smirked and turned toward his bedroom to get his bag. “I have a daughter. Lily. She’s four years old.”
“Who’s the mother?”
Dylan detoured to the kitchen. He’d called Joe for a reason, and it wasn’t just to report about work. Reaching into the fridge, he grabbed two Cokes and handed one to his friend. The occasion called for beer, both to mourn Rose and to celebrate his “new” daughter—hell, he should pass around cigars—but he was about to drive three hours into the middle of nowhere and needed a clear head. “Rosemary Durant. Do you remember her?”
“No.”
“Redhead, curvaceous, big laugh.”
“No.”
“Really fun—or so I thought at the time. Kind of wild and irreverent.”
Joe’s eyes widened. “The one from San Francisco?”
“You’re slow tonight. If I fathered a kid who’s four now, it would have been when you and I worked for Amerfacton in California.”
“If you fathered a kid?”
Dylan shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure. Rose wouldn’t have told her mom it was me unless I’m Lily’s father.”
“Why did Rose contact you now, after all this time? Does she want child support?”
“I wish.” He took a drink of his pop to still the churning in his gut. “Rosemary passed away from a brain tumor. Her mother called to see what I planned to do about Lily.”
Joe’s face expressed his sorrow. “Oh, man, Dyl. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Dylan paused. “I think Mrs. Durant wants to find out if she can trust me with Lily before she goes back to Boston. She doesn’t think much of me, neglecting my daughter all this time.”
“But it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”
Dylan clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder, touched that Joe hadn’t had to ask. He knew Dylan would have done the right thing if Rose had told him. “That surprised her. She thought I’d abandoned them both.”
Joe studied him over the top of the can while Dylan drank. “What are you going to do, bring her back here? Or does Rose’s mom want her?”
“She says she can’t care for her, but I’ll check that out. I mean, I would send money for her care. Isn’t that the best thing, for her to be raised by a woman?”
“Have you thought about this at all? What you’re giving up?”
“Look, I know you just became Father of the Year, but it’s not for everyone. What do I know about kids?”
Joe’s laugh held little humor. “I’m sure in the past ten years, you’ve picked up a thing or two from Adam’s kids.”
“I’m their uncle. I come in, we play, I leave. A dad is full-time.”
“It sure is. Having Abby and Bobby in my life has enriched it more than I could imagine. I hope Lisa and I have a couple more.”
Dylan shook his head. “Not the same thing, Joe. I don’t have a wife to help with Lily. My spare bedroom is full of junk; the other bedroom is an office. I don’t even have a bed for Lily. What about her things? Where would I put them?”
Joe shook his head. “Details. But just you thinking about all this proves you know what you’re doing. More than I did when I started seeing Lisa. I screwed up with her kids plenty before getting the hang of it.”
“I don’t know anything about raising a child, especially a girl.”
“She’s your daughter. And nobody really knows what they’re doing at the beginning. You have your family. They’ll be a great support, after the shock wears off.”
Dylan set his pop on the counter with deliberate care. He shifted, bracing his feet apart. “The kid doesn’t know me. It’s not like starting out with a baby. Maybe she’d be better off with her grandma. With a woman.”
“Weren’t you planning to have kids someday?”
“My plans obviously don’t count for crap. Rose raised Lily without telling me. Now, after the other choices don’t work out, I get a call out of the blue. ‘Come get your daughter.’”
“Dyl, don’t go to the funeral pissed off.”
“I don’t have much choice.” He blew out a breath. “But I hear you. I’ll keep it under control.”
Joe shook his head, as though realizing Dylan’s mind wouldn’t be changed. “When’s your flight? I’ll drive you to the airport.”
“I’m not flying. She and Lily have been living in Salina.”
“Kansas?” When Dylan nodded, he continued, “What was she doing in Kansas?”
Dylan eyed him, feeling grim. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”
TARA PACED around the coffee table in her living room the next night, watching her cell phone as though it were an anaconda about to swallow her whole. The bank had confirmed her fears—her parents had blocked access to her trust through some legal maneuver. A good attorney could probably circumvent whatever they’d done since she was now of legal age, but she had neither the time nor the money to go that route.
When she’d jokingly wailed, “Where’s all my money?” the clerk asked her to hold. Before she could explain her lame sense of humor, he informed her the Certificate of Deposit from Virginia Harris had come to term if she wished to cash it in.
Oh, brother, did she!
Bless Grandmother Harris. She’d spread her considerable fortune among her five grandchildren. Trusts, Certificates of Deposit, stocks—the crafty old magpie had safeguarded the fu
nds from Tara’s dad and uncles. On her nineteenth birthday, Tara had withdrawn every dollar she could liquidate to prepay her doctor and hospital bills and buy the duplex she still lived in. She thought she’d used everything her grandmother had left her, but it seemed Granny had undisclosed secrets.
The sum wouldn’t secure an attorney of the same caliber as the firm Jay’s parents retained, but Tara could at least approach a reputable lawyer now.
Still, the phone lay in view, taunting her. Would a telephone call fix anything? Perhaps her parents would know what had motivated Jay’s parents to act now. Could she resolve her problems by talking to her parents and having them contact the Summerfields? Or would dealing with them now make matters worse?
But what would be worse than losing Jimmy? They couldn’t possibly threaten her with anything more frightening.
She took a deep breath, picked up the phone and punched in her parents’ phone number. With any luck, they’d be out golfing in the moonlight and she could leave a message with a maid. At least she could tell herself she’d tried.
Coward. She swallowed the moisture pooling in her mouth as the phone on the other end rang. Then she heard her mother’s greeting. Closing her eyes, Tara suppressed her longing for home. She wasn’t six anymore. She no longer believed in the Easter Bunny or the tooth fairy or the fantasy of parents more concerned with their daughter than themselves.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Tara?” Her mother’s strident voice came sharply through the earpiece.
“Yeah. I mean, yes,” she corrected, remembering her mother’s preference for the proper use of the English language. “How are you?”
The derision in her mother’s chuckle chafed Tara’s ear.
“You don’t care how we are,” Janine Montgomery said. “You wouldn’t have called at all if you hadn’t received notice of the hearing.”
