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Dream Baby
Ann Evans


By the Year 2000: BABY!What have you resolved to do by the year 2000?Millenium Baby!When a friend–pregnant and desperate–suggests that Nora Holloway adpot the baby, it looks as if Nora's dream of celebrating the millenium with a family of her own may come true.Then the baby's uncle shows up with a plan that doesn't include Nora. Jake Burdette's guilt over his brother's death won't allow him to break his promise to look after the child. He won't allow a stranger to adopt his nephew.But the more he learns about Nora, the less of a stranger she becomes….







“Your brother—the baby’s father—washed his hands of the entire problem.” (#ub43b6dae-dc39-5703-afca-fab92edcd5e9)Letter to Reader (#ub1b117c9-851a-5d25-828d-136a790f988c)Title Page (#uf6fe7aad-80bf-5a1a-b4fb-cccbbdcb2715)Dedication (#uac550485-c7fa-5693-b0f5-dc1b471fc365)CHAPTER ONE (#ub199c526-273f-5cab-ab23-4773fc84b531)CHAPTER TWO (#u90ebe5d8-0ddc-53a7-a170-52cb55124bc2)CHAPTER THREE (#u15b493e1-ee20-5d13-8af5-e392a6c086e1)CHAPTER FOUR (#uea80ef83-a881-55d8-a1c7-9317c21d57bd)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“Your brother—the baby’s father—washed his hands of the entire problem.”

Nora’s voice rose slightly. “Are you aware that he even suggested abortion?”

Jake nodded. “I am. Isabel’s phone call threw him for quite a loop. That doesn’t excuse him, but I know he came to regret that suggestion almost immediately after he made it.”

“And yet you’re the one who’s come to her, when it should be him—”

“My brother’s dead, Miss Holloway: He died a few days after he received the phone call.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I sat by my brother’s hospital bed for almost two days. He wanted to find Isabel and tell her he’d made a huge mistake, There’s no doubt in my mind he would have married her and given his son a name....” Jake expelled a long sigh. “Toward the end, when he knew... he asked me to make sure she and the baby were okay. Of course, everything’s changed now.”

Nora’s heart cramped suddenly. “What do you mean?”

Jake gave her a hard, level look. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t let you adopt my brother’s baby.”


Dear Reader,

It’s hard to believe that the millennium is nearly here.

When I was a kid, it seemed so far away. I was sure that by the year 2000 we’d be zipping around town in spaceships, our meals would be prepared by robots and we’d all be living in geodesic domes. As a fan of history rather than science, I thought it all sounded pretty scary and undesirable.

But here we are on the eve of a new century, and I’m delighted to see that one aspect of life hasn’t changed much over the years. Falling in love is still unpredictable.It can’t be bottled or scheduled or forced, and it can still sneak up on two unlikely people who think they know exactly what the millennium will bring them.

As I wrote this book, I liked the idea that I was creating two such characters in Nora and Jake—a heroine who sees only loneliness in her future, and a hero struggling to put the past behind him to make a new life. Their expectations don’t include a baby, but what better way for two deserving lovers to kick off a brand-new year!

I hope the millennium brings you happiness and lots of wonderful books that warm and touch your heart. Somehow, the future just looks a little less scary when it’s filled with love. Happy New Year!

Ann Evans




Dream Baby

Ann Evans







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Evan and Holly Marsh, who gave me the opportunity to

experience the love, excitement and delight of children

firsthand, and who continue to enrich my life today.


CHAPTER ONE

New Year’s Eve, 1998

NORA HOLLOWAY WENT to bed early.

Without waiting for the ball to drop in Times Square, without a thimbleful of alcohol in her system, without making a single resolution.

She went to bed before the first skyrocket had a chance to arc over Blue Devil Springs’s postage stamp of a town square. Praying for deep, dreamless sleep—and knowing that it was probably a futile wish.

An hour before 1998 escaped into the record books, she awoke sweaty and breathless in her bed, her head full of familiar images—long dark corridors, the sound of a baby crying, and herself, confused and frightened and unable to change any of it.

She sat upright, disoriented, but only for a moment or two. She knew why the baby dream had visited her tonight.

That afternoon she’d sorted through a box of junk she intended to donate to the Memorial Day garage sale. She had expected to find nothing of value, certainly nothing that would cause her heart to miss a beat. But instead it had yielded a treasure trove of mementos. The dried, crumpled remains of the orchid she’d worn to the prom. A clutch of blue ribbons her brother, Trip, had won in crew. Letters she had written to Mom and Dad from college.

Nothing startling. Nothing dramatic, although it was a little bit of a surprise to find pictures of Peter in the box as well. Peter, looking strong and handsome, with that absurdly charming smile that she’d fallen victim to right from the first. He seemed so achingly young in the photographs.

The sight of those objects brought no pain. Only regret for what might have been. She’d been smiling when she reached into the box to retrieve those faded images.

But as she picked them up, her fingers brushed something soft, and when she saw what it was, the smile froze on her lips.

How stupid to have forgotten what she’d done with the half-finished, cross-stitched birth announcement. The one she’d taken with her to the doctor’s office that rainy day five years ago—five years ago to the day. It was such a small thing—too small to be framed on the nursery wall, Peter had said. But Nora had kept stitching anyway, because the cheery colors and its pattern of childishly simple icons for a little boy made her feel good, made her feel like the mother she couldn’t wait to become in just four short months.

Seeing the announcement again this afternoon had brought it all back. Soiled, fading, the fabric sat in her lap as though it were a snake that might strike her. The name she and Peter had chosen for their son still stood out plainly. JEREMY WILLIAM. Jeremy for Peter’s father. William for hers.

Only the boy hadn’t lived to carry the weighty, paternal pride of such an important name. He’d died the day of the accident. Along with Peter. Along with so many half-formed dreams she’d had for the future.

Now in the darkness of her bedroom, Nora’s hand fumbled for the bedside lamp. She squinted against the bright glare, shoving handfuls of tangled dark hair out of her eyes so that she could read the clock radio: 10:58 p.m. Almost 1999.

A few homemade bottle rockets zinged in the distance. It was probably her neighbor down the road, Walt Clevenger, eager to start the celebration. She’d dated him two years ago and knew how impatient he could get. Rifle shots cracked from the direction of the national forest. The rangers would be on the revelers in the blink of an eye. Alan Harcourt, the first man she’d gone out with after Peter’s death, didn’t let campers get too rowdy.

Her heart was no longer pounding, but it would be impossible to get any sleep for a little while, not with all the noise.

She flipped on the television as she made her way into the kitchen. The sound woke Larry, snoring noisily at his favorite spot on the rug by the big stone fireplace. The mongrel, the last of three motheaten pups she and Trip had saved a few years ago, snuffled a complaint and then followed in her footsteps. Sensing his motive, Nora plucked a sliver of ham off the leftovers plate in the fridge and tossed it to him. Larry’s front paws barely left the floor as he caught the morsel in midair.

Hunched over the open refrigerator door, Nora was about to pull a soda off the shelf when her hand brushed against the small bottle of champagne she’d set out earlier in Cabin Five. The honeymooners she’d expected to check in today had called to cancel their weekend stay at Holloway’s Hideaway, the resort cabins Nora and her brother had inherited from their parents. The trip to Paris the lucky couple had received as a wedding gift from their families far outweighed anything the Hideaway and tiny Blue Devil Springs could offer.

“C’est la vie,” she said and snagged the champagne bottle. She kicked the door closed with one bare foot, pulled a clean glass off the kitchen counter and headed for the living room.

Her attention strayed to the television, where two giddy cohosts were superimposed over the crowd of revelers in New York’s Times Square.

“...and you can really feel the excitement in the crowd, even from up here; can’t you, Mary Beth?” the male announcer nearly shouted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a new year greeted this enthusiastically, and we’ve still got almost an hour to go before 1999 gets here.”

Mary Beth smiled her plastic talk-show host’s smile and nodded. “I think you’re right, Bill. Each year, as we’ve gotten closer to the start of the millennium, people seem more and more excited. I can’t wait to see what next year brings, when we actually hit 2000. Can you?”

“Yes,” Nora muttered as she twisted the wire champagne seal. “I can.”

Larry jumped when she popped the cork. Hunkering down into the huge, plush cushions on the couch, Nora poured herself a glass of champagne, then tweaked open the small card she’d attached to the bottle just yesterday. She frowned at the silly sentiment she’d painstakingly written inside:

Karen and David—Congratulations on the start of a wonderful new life together.

Nora and Trip Holloway, your friends at the Hideaway

With her glass full of champagne, Nora tipped an imaginary toast outward. “You missed your chance, Karen and Dave. All the best, anyway.”

It had been a long time since she’d had any reason to drink champagne. The liquid tickled her throat as it went down, but didn’t seem to have much flavor. She poured another glass, inspecting the label and wondering if she ought to offer wine to newlywed guests instead. She’d heard the new bed-and-breakfast on the other side of Blue Devil Springs greeted every arrival with fresh-baked cookies and a chilled bottle of Chablis. If Holloway’s Hideaway was going to make it into the millennium, they might want to shake things up a bit.

Curling her bare toes along the edge of the coffee table, Nora sank back with a sigh. The millennium. God, she was so tired of hearing that word. As though just because a year started with a two instead of a one it was more important, or. carried some kind of magic...

She had a headache by the time the festivities in Times Square peaked. Larry was curled against her hip, and Nora ran a hand through the dog’s soft fur. “You know what my New Year’s resolution is, Larry? To stop watching Bill and Mary Beth.”

Outside, celebratory gunshots went off again. From the direction of town there came the zing! of ascending fireworks. The one-minute countdown was on the television screen now. Bill and Mary Beth disappeared, giving way to wide views of the boisterous crowd, but their voices continued to offer nonsense and excitement. Thirty seconds. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven—1999 was only moments away.

. She supposed it was an overactive imagination that made her stomach feel queasy when the countdown was over, and the crowd in Times Square went wild. There were lots of shots of people kissing and yelling and waving frantically toward the television cameras. Bill and Mary Beth hugged each other as if they actually meant it. Nora closed her eyes against the sight of it all and laid her head back against the couch cushion.

She hated the fact that 1999 was here at last. Only twelve months until the year 2000.

She had thought she’d be enjoying motherhood by that time, caught up in Tupperware parties and PTA meetings. She and Peter and her brother, Trip, would have made Holloway’s Hideaway at Blue Devil Springs a premier resort destination, and she would have managed all that around Little League and school plays. It wasn’t a particularly grand or exciting life plan, but it had always seemed perfect to Nora. The most wonderful future any woman could imagine.

But that dream had shattered five years ago, and whatever internal deadline she’d planned for herself by the millennium was far out of reach.

Financially, the Hideaway was barely hanging on. Trip, frustrated by trying to make ends meet, had fought with her frequently over selling the place. Even the arrangement they’d come to, that she would buy out his share of the Hideaway over a period of years, had not satisfied him, and two months ago he had taken off to pursue his own dreams. Peter and little Jeremy William were lost to her. And given the limited male companionship she’d enjoyed in the last couple of years, not to mention that old, ticking biological clock...

In the middle of the night, when she was really honest with herself, that was the thing that hurt the most—the thought of never having a baby of her own to love. She had loved Peter, but theirs had been a whirlwind courtship, and the marriage vows had barely been spoken before the accident occurred. She had mourned him, but the truth was, she had hardly known him at all.

But the baby—Jeremy William would have been the most desired, most treasured child in the world, and the knowledge that Nora would never hold him in her arms, and perhaps no other as well...

How could she face the start of a new century without the hope of a baby in her life? The thought was unendurable.

Another bottle rocket went off in the distance, and Larry growled low in his throat. Nora drew a deep breath, refusing to dwell on such dour thoughts.

She glanced toward the television one last time, where the cohosts were laughing over the antics of people on the street. “Happy New Year, Bill and Mary Beth,” Nora whispered. A moment later she sent them to oblivion and tossed the remote on the huge cypress knee coffee table.

Larry growled again. On her way back to the kitchen, Nora stopped to listen. Although it was nearly too faint to hear over the crackling pop of distant fireworks, Nora was sure someone was knocking on the front door.

Because of the hour and her present state of mind, she was tempted to ignore the summons. It seemed unlikely that one of her neighbors had come by to wish her Happy New Year, and she wasn’t expecting any late arrivals. The newlyweds had been her last hope for the weekend. Still, she pulled her housecoat over the long T-shirt she used for a nightgown. If someone wanted a bed for the night—had taken a wrong turn or broken down on the road—she couldn’t afford to refuse them.

Larry led the way to the bolted double doors, his toenails clicking on the plank flooring as he woofed threateningly. Nora tightened the grip on the collar of her robe.

“Sorry. We’re not open,” she called out as she flipped on the outside lights.

“Not even for me?” a feminine voice full of tentative humor asked.

Surprised, Nora slipped back the bolts and pulled one of the doors wide. Isabel Petrivych had spent her college breaks for the past three years working at the Hideaway, and although she wasn’t expected back on the payroll until spring break, she would always be a welcome visitor.

“Happy New Year, Nora,” the girl greeted brightly.

“Happy New Year to you, too. What are you doing here?” Nora asked.

The girl’s long black hair was unbound, falling in an ebony waterfall over one shoulder. She tossed it back in a reckless gesture and grinned hopefully. “I guess I didn’t know where else to go.”

They both jumped as the sudden pop-pop-pop of fireworks exploded in the night sky.

“Why aren’t you out partying?” Nora asked as they watched the last streamers of red and blue twinkle out of existence over the pines.

Isabel turned back to face her, and suddenly Nora caught the glimmer of tears welling in the young woman’s eyes. “Partying is the last thing I should be doing right now. That’s what got me into this mess. I’ve been so stupid...”

Isabel’s voice broke with emotion as she swiped the tear away with the back of one hand. She laughed, but the sound was choked, desolate.

Nora’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach as she gazed at that sweet, troubled face, and when she spoke, she rushed into speech herself, “Izzie, what is it? What’s happened?”

The girl shook her head, more wildly this time. “Oh, Nora, you’re not going to believe this...” She grimaced shakily. “I’m pregnant.”


CHAPTER TWO

May 1999

THE KID HADN’T SAID a word in over two hundred miles.

Jake Burdette slid another glance away from the road, just to make certain his son hadn’t fallen asleep or turned to stone or gone into some sort of cosmic trance.

Nope, Charlie was still with him all right, still seated in the front seat of the car, still so uncommunicative Jake might as well have been keeping company with an upscale kids’-store mannequin. One twelve-year-old boy dressed in clothes that were too tailored, a haircut that was too precise, a suitcase that was too expensive and an adolescent chip on his shoulder as big as a house.

Since the moment Jake had picked him up at Thea’s in New York—his private school term barely over—then flown down to Norfolk, and on to Orlando, conversations between the two of them had been increasingly one-sided. Nothing more than shrugs and grunts and a few uh-huhs ever since they’d hit the interstate. Not even the eye-popping excess of billboards advertising Florida’s theme parks got a reaction, and Jake’s suggestion that someday they might return for a trip to Walt Disney World was met with a complete lack of interest.

Jake stifled a huge sigh and glanced out the window.

There was no doubt that this little side trip to Florida had come at an inconvenient time in Jake’s life, a time when he really needed to focus all his attention on Charlie.

But right now, he had to keep his promise to his brother.

And Florida wasn’t that bad. After inching through the traffic congestion of Orlando, they’d headed north, past Thoroughbred country in Ocala, through the long corridor of rolling land that made up Florida’s panhandle. The area made you realize not all of the state had given way to the big developers. It was woodsy and wild, and it reminded Jake of some of the wonderful places his grandfather had taken him and his brother, Bobby, camping in Virginia.

To a spoiled snob of a city boy like Charlie, it must look like the backside of the moon.

Maybe Jake should tell him about a few of those childhood trips. They needed to start someplace. He opened his mouth to speak, but in that moment there was the familiar sound of electronic music. Charlie had pulled the video game out of his backpack. The kid could go hours on that thing.

So much for a folksy tale to bond them together.

An hour later Jake pulled off the interstate to gas up. Charlie was still smashing invaders from some high-tech planet—evidently meeting with success, if all the beeps and metallic crashes emitting from the video game were any indication. Still not a word of conversation. The only change in the boy’s stony countenance was the occasional frown of displeasure he gave the game in his hands.

Jake watched him covertly as he ran gas into the sports car’s tank. His son had a sweet forehead, wide and unblemished and intelligent. Without trying very hard, Jake could remember when the boy was four and had suffered through chicken pox—chicken pops, he’d called them—and Jake had sat by the side of his bed and stroked and stroked Charlie’s forehead until the boy had dropped into a restless sleep. Where had all that trusting innocence gone?

He screwed the gas cap back into place and then leaned against the passenger door. “You want a soda from the machine?”

Still fighting his video war, Charlie shook his head. There was the descending sound of a sudden defeat, and with a sigh of complete disgust, Charlie switched off the game and tossed it into the back seat. He stared out the front windshield.

“Sorry,” Jake said, guessing that he’d broken the boy’s concentration, and therefore caused him to lose the war. Jake turned and headed toward the convenience store. He seemed destined to remain on his son’s enemy list.

But for how long? How long would it take to reestablish a relationship that had once been taken for granted? He couldn’t give up. Charlie was his now. Thankfully, Thea had seen the wisdom in avoiding an ugly court battle.

From the interstate they bumped onto the cracked, paved road that led to Blue Devil Springs. “Almost there,” Jake remarked, trying for a cheerful tone.

No response. No surprise there.

“Look, Charlie...Charles,” he corrected himself when the kid turned an annoyed glance his way. “I know you’d rather be back in New York with your mom. I know you’re angry because you’re with me now. I don’t expect you to understand all the reasons behind that decision, but someday when you’re old enough...”

He stopped. God, he sounded so much like his father. And the kid would resent a lecture. A different approach was definitely in order.

“You know, after I take care of business in Florida, and we get home to Norfolk, you might find you like it. It has beaches. And we can go to the mountains, up to Washington...”

Again he stopped. He sounded pathetic, trying to find favorable comparisons between the two places.

He searched his son’s profile, looking for some chink in Charlie’s armor and not finding any. The kid’s jaw was tight with tension, and his gaze out the front window seemed impenetrable. And then suddenly the boy’s mouth gaped open a little, and he muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

Jake discovered why when he jerked his glance back to the road.

They’d reached the town of Blue Devil Springs.

Town was probably too big a word for the place. It wasn’t much. A few cross streets made up all of the downtown area, a collection of businesses that bore simple, unvarnished pronouncements like Ed’s Hardware, Painted Lady Antiques, the Cut ’n Curl, and a small establishment called simply the Pork Store. If Andy and Barney and the whole Mayberry crowd had been looking for a place to retire, this could have been it.

He drove slowly past the main intersection. Looking closer, he saw that Blue Devil Springs wasn’t a complete loss. There was a certain charm and Southern grace about it. There were lots of big oak trees dripping moss and a pretty Victorian band shell in the center of a small park. The grass there was green and lush. It wasn’t a ghost town bypassed by progress. The people on the streets looked energetic and involved in life, and overall, the place had an open, friendly feel.

Beside him, Charlie was still in a trance of stunned surprise.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jake said. “Don’t panic.” The boy rolled his eyes, but remained silent. “I’m getting hungry. Let’s see if we can find a place to get some food and information.”

They discovered some activity around what seemed to be the only red brick building in town—the Whispering River Café and Outfitter’s Post. Colorful rows of kayaks and canoes leaned against the building, and several huge tubs of dainty flowers led the way to the entrance.

The interior of the store wasn’t the dark, backwoods outpost Jack expected. It was bright, upscale, full of environmentally correct merchandise. As Jake led his son toward the back of the store where the café seemed to be, they wove past listening posts of New Age music, stacks of camping gear and a bulletin board fluttering with offers for guided float trips down the river.

The café was also a surprise. The room was small, but bathed prettily in mild sunlight coming through large arched windows. Unframed artwork decorated the walls. There were leafy alcoves for privacy. According to the menu posted at the entrance, vegetarian dishes seemed to be the heavy favorites.

They found a table for two against one wall. Almost before they sat down, a tall, good-looking fellow in jeans and a Save-The-Planet T-shirt placed menus in front of them and promised to return in moments.

For the first time, Charlie seemed to be interested in his surroundings, and Jake realized it was the artwork that drew the kid’s attention. Charlie’s gaze traveled over the numerous canvases that lined the walls, then settled on the one right beside their table. And suddenly Jake could see what had caught the boy’s interest.

Trendy as the Whispering River might be, whoever had decorated the place had made one huge mistake. The artwork was awful. Amateurish. They were all oils, the majority of them landscapes, but there wasn’t a stroke of talent in any of them that Jake could see.

Like Charlie, he peered closer at the one nearest them. It was a Florida beach at sunset—lifeless and boring, with wheeling seagulls in the sky that looked unpleasantly like flying worms. Jake’s eyes slid down to the artist’s signature. NLH, it said, and Jake noted that several of the surrounding works bore those small slashing marks in the right corner. He hoped to heaven that NLH hadn’t quit his day job.

He shook his head. “I guess now we know who actually buys all those Starving Artist paintings,” he muttered.

He hadn’t expected a reaction from Charlie, so it surprised him when the kid gave a little snort of amusement. Not an all-out laugh, really, but it was a more encouraging response than Jake had elicited from the boy so far.

He said softly, “You know, when you were five, you drew this great picture of a fish. Your mom put it on the refrigerator.” He motioned in the direction of NLH’s landscape. “In a head-to-head comparison, I think yours is better. At least I could tell it was a fish.”

Charlie turned his head to look at his father. “Mom still has that picture,” he said coldly. “It’s in a box with a bunch of my old stuff. Guess that’s all she’s gonna have of me now.”

Jake felt his heart rate slow to a crawl. So much for connecting. One step forward. One step back. “You’ll still be visiting your mother.”

Charlie’s gaze was openly dubious. “You won’t let that happen.”

“That’s not true. I want you to keep in contact. But there have to be some guidelines to your visits. She can’t just...there has to be someone looking after you.” Jake unfolded his napkin carefully and placed it across his lap. Criticizing Thea wouldn’t accomplish a thing except send Charlie further away. Quietly he added, “Right now your mother’s career is very important to her, and she doesn’t always think about her responsibilities.”

“Like you thought about yours five years ago?”

Jake lifted his head and met his son’s eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for apologies and justifications, but neither would he allow Charlie to believe everything Thea had probably told him about his father.

“When your mother and I broke up, I had a job that kept me out of the country for months on end,” he declared firmly. “Bridge construction often takes place in locations that barely have indoor plumbing. I couldn’t drag a little boy off to an environment like that. It seemed best to let your mother have full custody. She gave up modeling when she married me, and I had no idea she was so involved again. I thought—”

“She’s famous,” Charlie flared. “She doesn’t need you for anything. She’s a supermodel, and everyone loves her.” He turned his attention back to the painting on the wall, and Jake watched while muscles jumped and twitched along the tight ridge of Charlie’s jawline.

The boy was right. Everyone did love Thea. If you could believe half of what you read in the tabloids.

While heavily involved in rebuilding the family construction company, Jake had heard all about his ex-wife’s life. The New York parties that ran until all hours of the night. Rubbing elbows with the Hollywood elite. He was glad he wasn’t part of that lifestyle, but he’d never begrudged Thea any of it. She’d always been a good mother. There was never any mention of Charlie in those tabloid stories and Jake had been confident his son was safe. That Thea had never drawn him into her social life.

Until he walked away from a Nigerian newsstand six months ago with an American paper in his hands and saw the media coverage of Thea’s latest New York party. A glittering montage of celebrities and social arbiters all laughing, drinking, pressed close to one another. And in the middle of it all, his son Charlie. He knew in that moment that for four years he’d been fooling himself, and that as fathers went, he’d been pretty damn negligent.

It was an interesting bit of irony to discover that he’d failed miserably as a father on the same day that he was to make a catastrophic mistake with his own brother as well. That afternoon Jake had been furious with Thea, and three telephone calls to his lawyer in the States that wouldn’t go through hadn’t helped. The hill crew had yet to check in, and after the road foreman had asked a second time what they should do about it, Jake had snapped at Bobby to take care of it. Bobby, who’d never questioned a directive his older brother gave him. Bobby, who had always looked up to him and counted on Jake...

The waiter brought tall glasses of water to the table. He didn’t carry a pad to write down orders, and the small badge over his left breast said his name was Ben. Beneath it was a button that proclaimed, “Yes, I’ll remember what you want.”

“The special today is sliced turkey on mixed rye and pumpernickel,” he said with a genuinely friendly smile. “The soup is tomato bisque. Can I get you something to drink?”

Charlie swung his attention from the painting on the wall and scowled up at Ben. “A blind man could paint better pictures than these!”

“Charlie!” Jake snapped. “Apologize.”

He and Ben exchanged glances, and Jake had the oddest notion that the man knew the boy’s anger was not really directed at him. “No, that’s all right,” Ben countered. “Everyone’s an art critic. To tell you the truth, I’m not that crazy about them myself.” Then, with a wink, he added, “But you ought to see the artist.”

Charlie had subsided into sulky silence. Jake tried to fill the void. “Good-looking, huh?”

“Nora Holloway’s one of the prettiest girls the Springs ever produced. So what if she ought to be painting barns instead of beaches?”

“So the owner thinks he’ll win her over if he buys a few of her paintings?”

“I’m the owner,” the waiter said with a light laugh. “No, we tried a few years back, but it was plain as pudding we didn’t click. So what can I get you two?”

Jake ordered a rare burger, and Charlie asked for the special with instructions on just how much mayonnaise he wanted on his sandwich and a fussy inquiry as to the freshness of the lettuce. Was it possible to get alfalfa spouts instead?

Jake sat back in his chair and wondered when the little boy who had eaten mud pies in the dirt had become so picky.

Silence descended while they waited for their lunch. Charlie took out a pen and started doodling on the place mat—nesting circles with spikes along the edges. Jake hid his annoyance by studying NLH’s painting again. He hoped Ben was right about her looks, because she sure as hell had no gift with depth perception.

The meal came, and it looked delicious. Without a word, Ben went off to snag ketchup and mustard for Jake’s burger.

A layer of glistening hamburger juice covered the top of his bun, and Charlie’s lip curled in repulsion when his father made no attempt to pat it dry. “Gross.” Then he sighed heavily. “How long are we gonna stay in this place?”

“Just until we find the lady I told you about. I promised Uncle Bobby I’d find her, make sure she’s all right. I’m sorry the sitter fell through and I had to drag you down here with me, but as soon as I take care of this, we’ll be on the next plane out. Unless you’d like to have a little vacation. School’s over. We could kick back and do some fishing.”

Charlie looked horrified. “That’s your idea of a vacation? Fishing?”

“We’d do what you want to as well, of course. What did you do on your last vacation?”

“Mom took me skiing in Switzerland. We stayed with an Italian count.” Charlie’s mouth quirked. “In a castle.”

Jake didn’t care to admit that even though he could speak fluent Italian and had been around the world more times then he could remember, he’d never learned to ski.

Thankfully, Ben returned to the table, placed the condiments in front of Jake and then rocked back on his heels. “Everything look okay?”

Jake nodded around a mouthful of burger. With one hand, he motioned Ben to stay. Taking a swallow of iced tea, he asked, “I wonder if you’d know a woman in town named Isabel Petrivych? Not a full-time resident. Her friends at college say she comes up here quite a bit to work for some hotel during school breaks.”

“Hotel?” Ben echoed with a shake of his head. “There aren’t any once you get away from the interstate.”

“I only met her once, but she’s attractive—dark hair, dark eyes, a slight Slavic accent. By now she must be noticeably pregnant and—”

“You mean Izzie?” Ben interrupted with a sudden grin. “Yeah, I know her. And she’s more than ‘noticeably’ pregnant. She’s about six months gone.”

“Do you know where I can find her?”

“Anyone in Blue Devil Springs can tell you where to find her. She and Nora have got this town buzzing, what with their plans for the baby.”

“Nora?” Jake prompted. The inquiries he’d – made to find Isabel hadn’t mentioned the involvement of another woman.

Ben pointed toward the painting on the wall. “NLH. Nora Lyn Holloway. She and her brother own Holloway’s Hideaway about three miles down the road. Their cabins are built around the headwaters of Blue Devil Springs. Once it boils out of the ground, it feeds into three rivers. Cleanest in the state, and you’ve never seen prettier.”

Jake put down his burger to give all his attention to Ben. “And this woman is helping Isabel with her pregnancy?”

“More than that, from what I hear. The two of them have met with Nora’s lawyer and are ironing out the final plans.”

“Final plans for what?”

“Adoption.” Ben tossed a look over his shoulder, conscious of other diners waiting. “Can I get you two anything else?”

Charlie shook his head. “No, thanks,” Jake replied absently. Uneasiness clogged his throat, and he suddenly felt his appetite vanish.

Absently he watched his iced-tea glass sweat a water ring on his place mat. Adoption for Bobby’s child? Jake had never considered that possibility. As little as he knew of Isabel, he’d assumed she planned to keep the baby. That meant the child could be told about his father. Adoption, on the other hand, would effectively sever the link to Bobby. Jake didn’t like the sound of it at all.

The remainder of the meal passed without incident and in silence. Jake left a generous tip on the table and took the bill up to the register, where Ben was doing double duty as the cashier.

Ben handed Jake his change. “Thanks for coming in.”

“There is one more thing I need, if you don’t mind,” Jake said. “Directions.”

“Sure. Where you want to go?”

Jake inclined his head toward one of the paintings directly behind the cashier station. “NLH. Where do I find her?”

HALFWAY TO a sitting position. Isabel groaned and shook her head. She fell back on her elbows.

Nora smiled encouragingly, though she had just finished a punishing series of sit-ups herself. This would never do. Isabel had managed only ten easy crunches today, and if they were going to keep to Dr. Brewster’s recommended regimen of exercise for expectant mothers, they had to do better than this.

Drawing her legs up so that she could rest her chin on her knees, Nora eyed the girl speculatively. Isabel was a brilliant medical student. Someday she’d make a wonderful doctor. But she was one stubborn pregnant woman.

“Come on, Iz,” Nora pressed. “You can do it. One more time.”

They were seated on the huge Indian rug that lay in front of the resort’s registration desk. Throwing Nora one last sullen look, Isabel maneuvered backward until her spine was against the wall of the desk. “I don’t want to,” she replied, crossing her arms across her breasts.

“Of course you don’t. But you need to. Remember what Dr. Brewster said? Strengthening your abdominal muscles will—”

“—make the delivery easier,” Isabel finished for her. “Yes, I know, and I don’t care. No more crunches today.”

“It’ll also make it easier to get your figure back after the baby’s born. You want that, don’t you?”

Isabel cast a disgusted glance downward. “Too late. It will never come back.”

“I’ll do them with you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better. You sit there looking like a model on a workout video, while I look like I’ve swallowed a basketball.”

“No, you don’t. You look beautiful,” Nora said and meant it. “Glowing.”

“It’s the sweat—” The girl’s face suddenly transformed to surprise, and her hands flew upward to clutch her stomach. “Oh!”

Nora moved to Isabel’s side quickly. “What’s the matter?”

“The baby kicked really hard.” She massaged the swell of her abdomen, grinned sheepishly after a long moment, then captured Nora’s fingers in hers. “Give me your hand.”

At first Nora felt nothing. Then suddenly, beneath the thin material of Isabel’s blouse, she felt the slight roll of the baby as it shifted in the womb. It was such a small thing, no more than a sliding pressure against her fingertips, but it stalled Nora’s breath in her throat.

She lifted her eyes to Isabel and smiled. “So strong,” she said. Her fingers tingled, eager to feel that movement yet again, but the baby had settled down, and the jump of life had disappeared. “Is it wonderful to feel him move inside you?”

“No. It’s unnerving. Scary. Like an alien creature is trying to take over my body.” Catching sight of Nora’s budding frown, she added, “Don’t look so upset. Not every woman instinctively longs to have a baby, you know.”

“You might learn to love him as you reach your due date.”

“I won’t,” Isabel said in such a precise, cool way that Nora’s frown deepened. The girl scooped a handful of dark hair away from her face and flung it back over one shoulder. “I don’t see motherhood the same way you do, Nora. I’ve never wanted children, and God knows, I had even less reason to want this child after I spoke to Bobby in December.”

Five months ago, when Nora had found Isabel at her front door, the girl had tearfully confessed that a two-day love affair with a young engineer on his way to a job overseas had produced a child. But when she’d called him in Nigeria to give him the news, the jerk had encouraged her to have an abortion, even volunteering to send the necessary funds by Western Union. Horrified by the suggestion, Isabel had told him just what she thought of that idea and then fled to the only person she knew she could turn to and trust with her secret—Nora.

“I made such a horrible mistake,” Isabel continued with a rueful shake of her head.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. My parents had such high hopes for me. I am the oldest child. They saved for years to give me a good education in America.” Isabel dropped her head, her gaze fastened on her swollen stomach. “If they knew—if I wrote and confessed how I have disappointed them...”

“You could never disappoint them,” Nora said. She reached for Isabel’s hand, drawing the girl’s eyes upward again. “They love you. Perhaps you should give them the chance to show you how much.”

“No,” Isabel replied firmly. “This is what’s best for everyone. Bobby and I got carried away by a night filled with too many stars and two many glasses of wine. I’ve seen what happens to children whose only mistake in life is to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can’t do that to a child.”

They had argued this point more than a few times. Isabel was determined to give the baby up for adoption. She had very clearly defined career goals to become a doctor and the tenacity to make them a reality. Her parents had sent her to the United States for an education in the hopes that she would return to her war-torn homeland to help rebuild it. It was a noble, lofty ambition, and it would not be an easy life. Especially for a young woman with a small child.

“It doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t have to go back to Bosnia.”

“Yes, I do. I owe it to my family. And my country.”

“Izzie, what if—”

“No,” Isabel cut in. “I’ve made up my mind, and I’m not going to change it. I deliver a healthy baby and begin my internship at Blakely-Forbes, and you become the wonderful mother you were always meant to be.”

The mother you were meant to be. The words settled around Nora’s heart, full of unbelievable good fortune and frightening possibilities. Could it really be so easy for her to become a mother at last?

Two months ago, after the prenatal visit that had confirmed the baby’s sex as a boy, Isabel had suddenly posed the idea, one she’d evidently been considering for some time. They had been having lunch at the Whispering River. Nora had just slipped a bite of chicken salad onto her fork, and Isabel’s words stilled her hand in midair.

“I would like you to adopt my baby.”

The café was noisy, full of diners, and Nora shook her head, not sure she’d heard correctly. “What?”

“I’d like you to adopt my baby.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“Don’t say no right away,” Isabel added quickly. “Just think about it.”

“There’s nothing to think about. It’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“It just is.”

“Why? Because you’re not married? Single women have been adopting children for some time now. Many come from my own country—out of orphanages where they would surely have died. At least in this case you’d know who the mother was, and I can promise you, in spite of the fact that Bobby doesn’t want the baby, he comes from a good family. Virginians. Aren’t those founding fathers or something?”

Nora shook her head, knowing that her gaze on Isabel must be incredulous. “Izzie, I can’t adopt your baby.”

Isabel set her water glass down and looked back at her with clear, determined eyes. “Nora, for as long as I have known you it has been your dream to have a child. Why not my baby? Give me reasons.”

It was crazy. Too fast. She couldn’t just adopt her friend’s child. Could she?

The answer was yes, according to Nora’s family attorney, John Forrester. Nora, who had greeted the new year certain that she was destined to remain childless for life, could be celebrating next Christmas as a mother. The idea—so frightening, so wonderful—had taken hold and now had such a tight grip on her senses that most nights Nora could hardly sleep for thinking of all the ways she would love this child.

Isabel drew her attention back to the present with a touch of her hand. “Nora,” she said softly. “Have you changed your mind? Do you not want this child?”

Nora’s stomach was full of sudden butterflies, but she responded in a low, unshakable voice. “I want this child with all my heart.”

Isabel smiled. “Then together we will make it happen.” With a toss of her head she climbed carefully back to her feet, dragging Nora with her. “Now, please, no more torture today. Ten crunches are enough.”

“All right,” Nora conceded as she slipped back into her sneakers. “But twice as many tomorrow.”

Brushing wisps of hair out of her eyes, Nora tightened the ponytail at the back of her neck. Isabel toed the rug back into order where it had bunched up, while Nora maneuvered two enormous leather chairs back into place. Placing them at just the right angle, she glanced out the wide front window, past the front driveway and the narrow grassy slope where railroad-tie steps led down to the spring pool. Through the trees, the water was no more than a cool, inviting glimpse of crystalline blue. It was still a little too chilly for swimming. Memorial Day really kicked off the beginning of summer, and right now there was no movement down there. Not even a canoe sliced through the water of the river.

Nora cut her eyes to the left, down the line of Cabins One through Three, where the Hideaway’s only guests, a couple from New Orleans, had checked into Cabin Two a couple of days ago. “The Pullmans’ car is gone. Wonder where they’re off to.”

“Oh,” Isabel said from behind the registration desk. “I knew I forgot to tell you something.” When Nora swung around, she grimaced and said, “They checked out.”

Nora frowned. “When?”

“While you were fixing the air conditioner in Cabin Six.”

“That’s a day early. Did they say why?”

“Mr. Pullman said his office called unexpectedly.” Isabel wrinkled her nose, clearly indicating she doubted that story. “Mrs. Pullman said the quiet made it impossible for them to sleep at night.”

“Damn,” Nora muttered. She walked to the front of the registration desk, leaned over the counter and pulled the reservation book in front of her. What she saw there didn’t make her feel any better. “We don’t have anyone else booked until Friday.”

Determinedly optimistic, Isabel rushed into speech. “Unless we get a walk-in, that gives us three days to relax. You can paint, and I can soak in the tub. Try to get my belly to stop itching.” She must have seen something in Nora’s face, because her tone became anxious. “What’s the matter?”

Nora’s breath escaped in one long sigh. “Izzie, I can’t provide a good home for the baby if the Hideaway continues to lose money this way. Cabin Six is going to need a new compressor. Four has a water leak in the bathroom, and I’ll be darned if I can find it.” With a flick of her wrist, Nora turned the reservation book around so that Isabel could see as she flipped through the pages, stopping on the weeks of June, July and August. Too many blank spaces where names ought to be. “The summer should be completely booked by now.”

She shut the book with a snap, leaning dejectedly against the counter. “Maybe Trip is right,” she said almost to herself, remembering the last argument she’d had with her brother. “Maybe it’s time to sell the place.”

Isabel gasped. “You don’t want to do that. You love the Hideaway.”

“I do. And I’d eat bread and water before I’d let it’go. But a baby needs things, expensive things...”

“The baby needs someone to love him. And that he will have. You mustn’t give in to Trip’s demands. He has his own selfish reasons for wanting you to sell.”

Nora smiled at her. Isabel made no secret of her opinion of Trip. “I know he’s not without his faults, but he’s still my brother and the only family I have left.”

“Better to be completely on your own, perhaps,” Isabel grumbled.

Nora decided to ignore that remark. How could Isabel hope to understand the relationship Nora shared with her brother? The girl had grown up in a large family, with so many siblings jockeying for position, vying for their parents’ attention.

But childhood had been completely different for Nora and Trip. The Hideaway had gone through years of financial difficulties, and although loving, Nora’s parents had been too busy trying to keep the family business afloat to spend much time catering to the whims of their children. Trip had been a demanding baby, and Nora, a lonely little girl of eight had gladly taken on the task of looking after him. Through sickness and poor grades and driving lessons, he had relied on her, and though Trip was spoiled and self-centered at times, Nora still thought of him as the scared little boy who needed her.

It was probably too late to change the way Trip was, but was it too late to change her life? Was she only hanging on to the Hideaway out of stubbornness? Since her father had died, six years ago, and her mother shortly after that the profits had grown smaller and smaller each year. Bracing her head on her arms, she grimaced. “I don’t know, Iz. Maybe it’s just time to—”

“Oh, no!”

Nora straightened. Isabel’s face had gone white. “What’s the matter? Is it the baby again?”

“Oh, it can’t be. What is he doing here?”

“Who?”

The girl gripped Nora’s forearms tightly. “I can’t see him. I won’t.” Her frightened eyes flew to the window. “Don’t let him see me. Don’t even tell him I’m here.”

“Who?” Nora asked, a bud of panic beginning to bubble to the surface of her own senses. While she stood in stunned silence, Isabel practically leaped from behind the registration desk and disappeared through the doorway that led to the private quarters of the lodge. “Where are you going?” Nora called after her. “Izzie, for Pete’s sake, don’t tell who—”

A car door slammed, and Nora whirled to look out the front window. A car had pulled into the semicircular driveway, and a man was just coming around the front of the vehicle. In the passenger seat, Nora caught a glimpse of a young boy, but her gaze quickly swung back to the man.

She lost him for a moment when he reached the front doors. That damned beveled glass! It turned his body into nothing but cuts and angles. Then he was inside, walking toward her in a purposeful stride.

He didn’t look dangerous. Determined, maybe. Nora could see the hard set of his chin, the way his eyes scanned one side of the room and then the other before fixing steadily on her. For no reason she could name, Nora suddenly wished that she was dressed in her three-piece suit, the one she’d worn to the IRS audit last year.

Only this guy didn’t look like an auditor, or any kind of government employee for that matter. His clothes were too casual, his tan was too dark and his golden-brown hair a little too long to meet any policy manual’s expectations. He had strong features—the kind of genetic marvel that great ancestry could bestow upon a person. Any woman would want to know more about this man. So why was Isabel so—

Realization dawned about the same time that the man came to a halt directly in front of Nora.

Even in her advanced stage of pregnancy Isabel was gregarious, outgoing. She’d never have run away from a great-looking guy like this. Unless...

This man had to be the father of her child. The irresponsible, insensitive Bobby. He was older than Nora expected, but it had to be him.

Nora’s heart bumped a little—the man was wonderful to look at—but she ignored it. Whatever reason Bobby had decided to show up on their doorstep now, Nora’s allegiance lay with Isabel. And the baby.

Her baby.


CHAPTER THREE

JAKE COULD TELL right away that the woman was going to be difficult.

He didn’t know what he had done to put her off him so fast, but he didn’t much care. He gave her a once-over look meant for intimidation.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Her words were pieces of crystal. He kept his own tone firm, but pleasant. “I hope so. I’m looking for a young woman named Isabel Petrivych.”

“Isabel Petrivych,” the woman repeated slowly, as though trying the name on for size. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry—”

“Ben at the Whispering River Café told me I could find her here.”

That threw her, he could tell. She wasn’t a very good liar. The base of her neck went pink, and she swallowed, trying to regroup like an actress who realized she’d just muffed a line. “Oh. Well, Isabel was here. But she’s not now.”

“That’s odd. I thought I saw her as I was coming up the walkway.” Jake jerked his head toward the wide picture window. “It’s a pretty good view from the front driveway.”

“You must have been mistaken. It’s just me here today.”

The cool flatness of her tone irritated him. His eyes narrowed, taking in her sleek, toned length. The electric-blue leotard did marvelous things for her body—and a few unexpectedly pleasant things to his. He looked away, annoyed that he was noticing how attractive she was when he was trying so hard to be imposing. “So you’re working out alone.”

“Yes.”

“But Isabel will be back.” He made it a statement, not a question.

“Who knows?”

“I’m betting she will be,” Jake replied with a tight smile. He bent to retrieve a pair of sneakers that lay on the floor nearby. They were small, and even though he’d met Isabel only once, he distinctly remembered her as petite. “She might need these,” he said, taking a chance. When the woman looked momentarily stunned, and then opened her mouth to speak, he shook his head and tossed the sneakers on the desk. “Don’t bother. You’re at least a size eight.”

“Seven, actually.”

He started to smile at the response, then caught himself. “Look, I don’t know you, or why you and Isabel have decided to play this little game—” “I’m Nora Holloway. I own this place.”

“Ah, yes. NLH. The artist.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I saw your paintings at the café. Ben was right.”

“About what?”

“You are pretty.”

It was her turn to look annoyed, which was a shame because the compliment had been a sincere one. The generous mouth, large, brown eyes—the bones in her face were the kind you wanted to linger on. He liked the thick auburn ponytail that swayed back and forth over her shoulder, and that cute little trio of freckles across her collarbone. Too bad she was turning out to be such a royal pain in the butt.

“Mr....”

“Burdette.”

“Mr. Burdette,” Nora Holloway said succinctly. “I’ve told you that Isabel isn’t here. I don’t know when she’ll be back, so there’s really no point in waiting.”

“All right Then I’ll need to rent a cabin for the night.”

“There isn’t one available.”

Jake turned to gaze out the front window again. “Looks pretty quiet out there,” he observed. He pointed toward the wooden Vacancy sign that sat only a few feet away from his rental car, then smiled back at Nora. “And that’s not what your sign says.”

“We don’t rent by the night There’s a three-night minimum.”

“Three nights will be fine, then.”

The pinkening at her throat had gone to red, but she managed to harpoon him with an arctic glare. “Actually, we’re closed. The season hasn’t officially started yet.”

He fished out his wallet and placed two one-hundred-dollar bills on the desk. “Then maybe I can give you a reason to open up early. Unofficially.”

Those dark eyes were smoldering now, and he knew that the offer of money had insulted her. The thin sheet of glass that had sprung up between them when they’d met had turned into solid steel.

“You’re wasting your time,” she said coldly. “And mine.”

He was raw and improvising and suddenly out of patience. “We’re in agreement there, lady, so listen up. I’ve come a long way to see Isabel, and I’m not going home until I do.”

“Well, you can’t stay here.”

“Well, I think I’ll wait, all the same.”

He turned away from her, feigning interest in a wall covered with scattered pictures. The photographs looked as if they dated from the Eisenhower administration. Grainy, black-and-white, but all of them obviously taken nearby.

“How’s the fishing around these parts?” he asked as he peered at a young boy holding up a good-size catfish for the camera.

“It’s good. If you know what you’re doing.”

“Who’s this?” He tapped the picture glass.

“My grandfather.” She gave him a put-upon look. “As an innkeeper, I have the right to refuse anyone—”

He swung back to face her. “Look, I’m tired. I’ve just spent five hours cramming my six-foot, two-inch body in a roller skate of a sports car because my son liked the looks of it better than a roomy sedan. He’s out in the car, by the way, and if you think I’m unbearable, you ought to take him on. The point is, I’m not getting in that toy and heading back to the interstate. Not when there are perfectly good accommodations right here.”

“I don’t want to call the sheriff, but—”

The door beside the registration desk, previously half-closed, suddenly flew back, and Isabel Petrivych appeared in the doorway. “Oh, stop... Enough!” she gasped out.

There was a long moment of silence, then Nora Holloway took a step in her direction. “Izzie...”

The girl’s eyes were fixed on Jake. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth for a moment, then she said softly, “You wanted to see me. Here I am.”

She hadn’t changed much since he’d met her last year. Except for the pregnancy, of course. She still had deep blue eyes and long, dark hair that curled attractively down her back. Bobby had always been a sucker for women with hair like that, and Jake had guessed the moment his brother had introduced them that there might be more between them than just two people who’d met at the same political rally.

However, he’d never expected it to amount to anything. Bobby was leaving with Jake for Africa in a matter of days. They were going to build a bridge between two warring townships in the hill country, in a place so hot that the wind smelled like fire. The government had promised protection; the bridge was seen as a symbol of progress in the peace talks, and Jake had kidded Bobby unmercifully about being eager to see how his brother fared living in a place where the nearest comforts of home were miles and miles away.

The bridge was up and in use now. Shining hotly in the naked sun, forged together with a fair amount of tears and sweat...and blood. He’d brought Bobby’s body home, and now he needed to do this one thing for his brother.

“You have seen me,” Isabel said. “Now you can leave.”

“No,” Jake replied. “I can’t.”

“Why have you come here? I want nothing from you.”

“I want to make sure that you’re all right. That you aren’t alone and—”

“I’m not alone. I have Nora to help me.”

He was aware of the Holloway woman moving forward, as though responding to some unspoken cue. He resented it, that little movement to protect Isabel. As though he could ever be a danger to the girl who carried in her womb-all that was left of his brother. He ignored her, keeping his attention focused on Isabel.

“We need to talk,” he said firmly. “Just the two of us.”

“There is nothing left to say.”

“The hell there isn’t.” He crossed the room in long, easy strides, but before he reached Isabel, Nora Holloway moved between them. “There are decisions that need to be made.”

“And I have made them,” Isabel snapped. “Go away!”

Nora’s hand was suddenly on his chest. It was such a small, graceful hand, but it felt like a barrier of steel against his shirt. He frowned down at her, and something crossed her face that Jake hadn’t seen in her eyes before. Genuine anger, iron determination... something.

“Don’t get in the middle of this,” he said finally.

It was clear she intended to ignore that advice. “Isabel’s past the stage where the baby can be aborted, if that’s what you had in mind.”

That statement surprised him a little. So she knew about Bobby’s foolish response to Isabel’s news. What else did she know? “That was a mistake—”

“It certainly was. And you’re not going to come into my home and upset Isabel with any other solutions you think might ease your conscience.” She shook her head, and her eyes were filled with disgust. “You ought to be ashamed—coming here now. Where were you when she needed you the most?”

Jake jerked back. “Wait a minute. You think—”

“No, you wait a minute,” she said, advancing on him a little. “Isabel doesn’t deserve this. Only the worst kind of bastard would turn his back on a woman carrying his child—”

“Nora—” Isabel began.

“Miss Holloway—”

“—and if you think you can make things right now, you’re in for a big surprise.”

Jake took a step back. “So are you. Miss Holloway, I’m not the father of Isabel’s child.”

The woman’s mouth tightened. “So now you want to deny that you’re the father? I suppose we should have expected that.”

He looked over at Isabel again, searching for help. The girl moved forward to touch Nora’s elbow. “Nora,” she said softly. “This isn’t Bobby. This is his older brother. Jake.”

The Holloway woman’s fierce expression melted a little; her eyes lost their fervor. Her hand came off Jake’s chest as though it had been singed.

“Oh.” A tenuous smile tried to form, but it failed miserably and then disappeared. “I’m sorry. I thought—”

“Yes, I know what you thought. That’s part of the reason I’m here. To clear up a few things.” To Isabel he said, “I’d just like to talk to you. That’s all.”

Isabel’s mouth was still a slash of displeasure, but after a long silence she nodded. Nora picked up on this small signal and moved away from Jake. “I think I should leave you two alone,” she said, then added quickly, “Isabel, I’ll be in the rehab shed if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Jake began.

But Nora Holloway was already out the front door, a bright blue blur.

WITH THE LAST LEVEL of Space Scow conquered, Charlie sat in the car and stared down at the video game in his hands. “I hate him.” he muttered to himself.

Well, maybe hate was too strong a word. He really didn’t know the guy well enough to hate him. Dislike, maybe. Yeah, that was it. Intense dislike. You couldn’t burn in hell if you only disliked your father, could you?

He’d have to ask Marisela, his mother’s housekeeper. The old woman was Catholic and knew everything there was to know about God and what he’d let you get away with. She’d know whether Charlie was in big trouble or not.

If he ever saw her again. Which might be never, now that his father had taken him away from his mother.

No. Stolen! That was the word. What was that phrase he’d heard somewhere...? Like a thief in the night. Yeah, that was the way it had been.

Only his father had come to his mother’s Manhattan apartment in broad daylight, and his mother hadn’t been weeping and wailing and carrying on about the loss of her son. Thea was much too dignified for that, and crying only made you look foolish, she’d once told him, so he really hadn’t expected her to try to stop his father. She had other ways to deal with him. Charlie was sure she had an armload of lawyers looking over their new custody agreement right now, finding a way to get him back to New York and...and civilization.

Away from here. This place was creepy. Too quiet. Lots of dark wood and hanging moss. All the little cabins made it look like a ranch, but there wasn’t a single horse or cowboy in sight.

Maybe he’d get out of the car and poke around. Or maybe not. Who knew what was out there? He was comfortable in the city, where the doorman always looked out for him, and security cameras were in every corridor of the apartment building. Here, there could be grizzly bears in the woods that surrounded the main house.

The idea made him shiver, so he forced himself to think about his mother. He pictured her missing him in New York—with no one but her personal assistant, Anthony, and Marisela to talk to in the apartment. No one to ask her how the latest photo shoot went and actually care about her answer.

He looked out the car window, growing more impatient by the minute. He sure hoped they weren’t going to stay in this dump for the night.

NORA SLOWED her pace as she went down the front steps of the lodge, giving herself time to regather her composure. Her breath was captured inside her like a square, solid box pressing against her rib cage. Her cheeks felt fiery, and she turned her face into the exquisite relief of a passing breeze.

She’d never been much of a fighter. Never confrontational. Even as a child she’d been the peacemaker in the family.

So what had she been doing just now? Lying through her teeth to a total stranger. Hearing her voice get higher and higher as she became more and more defensive. Ready to lay a flying tackle on this interloper if he so much as lifted a threatening finger in Isabel’s direction. Even now, the adrenaline was still pumping, pumping in her veins, until she felt almost light-headed with the force of it. And why—for God’s sake?

She felt silly, embarrassed by the assumptions she’d made about Jake Burdette in there. Not the father, but the baby’s uncle. He must think she was an idiot. Oh, it was comical, really...

Only she didn’t feel like laughing. Not at all.

Beneath all the feelings of humiliation and stupidity lay a tiny trickle of fear, slipping through her insides, leaving her cold and frightened.

Why was he here? What did he want? Why now, when she’d just begun to really believe that her life could be different, that her life could be made up of all the wonderful things she’d ever dared to dream about. John Forrester was drawing up the necessary paperwork. A safe delivery. A petition to the court. A few signatures. Then the dream of motherhood would become a reality.

Deliberately she settled on the bottom step and drew in a deep lungful of air. Okay, she told herself, okay. Burdette’s coming here today didn’t have to be a bad sign. It didn’t mean he was here to effect some sort of reconciliation between Isabel and his brother. He was probably just trying to do the right thing by her even if his younger brother wouldn’t. Maybe he planned to give her some money. Pay her doctor bills. Offer her a place to stay until the baby came.

Yes, that was why he was here. He looked like a man who took his responsibilities serioùsly. And in spite of that aggressive attitude, he had kind eyes—the soft hazel of autumn leaves. A man with eyes like that wouldn’t hurt you, not deliberately. She had to remain positive, upbeat.

Closing her eyes, she willed herself to focus on the images nearest her heart—the baby. What he would feel like in her arms. His sweet smell, the softness of his hair, the whisper of his breath as she held him against her neck. Was there anything more heavenly than that—?

“Is my father ever coming out?”

Nora opened her eyes. A boy squinted down at her, his hands fisted on his hips, a look of pure annoyance etched across his childish features. He wasn’t a bad-looking kid, but he was clearly in the pit-bull jaws of adolescence—no patience with adults and little desire to develop any.

Nora stood, brushing off the seat of her leotard. In spite of his preppy, clean-cut appearance, the boy looked tired, and Jake Burdette lost a point in her parenting manual. “Your dad might be a little while. Would you like to come for a walk with me?”

“Why should I? I don’t even know you.”

She stuck out a hand. “Nora Holloway. I own this place.”

He took her fingers in a reluctant handshake. “Why?” he asked in a voice richly steeped in sarcasm.

It looked as though the kid had inherited some of his father’s manner. Nora didn’t rise to the bait. She’d spent too many years winning over unenthusiastic boys and girls who had been dragged to the Hideaway by parents who were determined that they experience “the Great Outdoors.” She smiled at him. “Not your kind of place, huh?”

“Not in a million years.”

“Oh, well. Do you like animals?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

“I have a shed behind the main lodge where I take care of wild animals that have been injured. Want to see it?”

“Not really.” With overt disinterest, he plucked a handheld video game out of his back pocket and began a slow march back to the car.

She wondered if Jake Burdette knew what a poor job he’d done in raising his son. “Well, you’re on your own, then,” she called after him. “So long.”

She didn’t look back as she walked behind the main lodge, but she could feel the boy surreptitiously watching her. He might not want to acknowledge it, but she suspected he had a kid’s natural curiosity about where she was headed and what she was doing.

Her spirits lifted a little as she trooped down the short, grassy pathway that led to the building at the edge of the woods. The rehabilitation work she did with the animals in the shed usually took all her concentration. Maybe it would help keep her mind off Jake Burdette and what he might be saying to Isabel right this moment.

As kids, Nora and Trip had cobbled together a playhouse from scrap lumber, setting it far enough away from the main lodge to escape their parents’ watchful eyes. Five years ago, enlisting almost no outside help, Nora had expanded the playhouse, turning the modest structure into a rehab station that could house a small number of wounded animals. As a wildlife rehabilitator licensed by the state of Florida, she usually had half a dozen patients, but right now there were only four, with an eagle scheduled to come in from a nearby vet’s office sometime soon.

The door to the shed creaked a little as she opened it, announcing her arrival to her charges. There were screeches and the flutter of wings from the cages holding an orphaned crow named Jeckle and a mockingbird named Begger, a chattering trill from Bandit, a raccoon who’d suffered numerous cuts when he’d been mauled by a dog, and a sniff of interest from the direction of Marjorie’s pen.

“Hello, you guys,” Nora said softly as she moved down the line of cages. “How are you doing today?”

The windows in the shed were small, but the sunlight sifting through them was strong enough for Nora to see that each of the animals was faring well. Within the next two weeks, they would all be able to be returned to the nearby national forest. Even Marjorie.

It was with some reluctance that Nora moved closer to the pen where the deer was penned. She knew she’d made a mistake with the fawn, an unforgivable error for a rehabber to make.

Marjorie’s mother had been killed on the road, and the animal had been brought to her when she’d been hardly old enough to stand, malnourished and soaking wet. Nora had bottle-fed her, had wrapped her in blankets and stroked her for hours until the poor thing had stopped shivering. The fawn’s sweet brown eyes had looked up at her defenselessly, trustingly, as though she knew Nora was trying to save her life but didn’t know what to do to help.

And in that moment, Nora had done something every rehabber was supposed to avoid at all costs—she had fallen in love with one of her charges.

The fawn needed her as no other animal had. Nora brought the creature back from the brink of death at least half a dozen times during those first few days. In the first critical week, she had spent more time out here on a cot in the shed than in her own bed. But gradually the fawn had begun to rally and thrive.

Now, after six months, she was ready to be reintroduced to the wild. Nora knew in her heart it was past time, really. If she kept Marjorie much longer, the deer would lose all her instincts for survival.

Nora moved to the pen’s entrance, but went no farther. Too often the deer had lifted her head over the edge of the door for a scratch, or had taken food from Nora’s hand. Exhibiting such tame and. trusting behavior was sweet and desirable in a deer park, but unacceptable for a wild animal. Knowing she was responsible for this kind of human imprinting, Nora was doing her best to reestablish some boundaries between the two of them.

The deer ran her body against the wire pen, obviously hoping for a friendly rub. Nora backed away. “I’m sorry, little girl,” she said. “No more human contact. You’ve got to stay wild.”

As though disappointed, the fawn snorted noisily, then wandered to the back of the pen to paw through the hay. She looked so healthy now, muscled, sleek, with none of the nicks and scars so many deer in the woods suffered. Nora watched the animal for a long time, wondering where she’d find the strength to send her off to join others of his kind.

While Nora stood there silently asking how she could have allowed herself to make such a mistake with Marjorie, she became aware of another presence. Actually, she heard the boy long before he appeared in the open doorway of the shed. He walked like a city kid—noisily, with total disregard for the beauty of the silence and his surroundings. From the corner of her eye she saw him move tentatively forward, inspecting the place.

Without glancing his way, Nora pulled a bale of hay off the small stack the feed store had delivered last week.

The boy moved into her line of vision, observing her silently for a long time. Then he asked, “Are you...like...one of those weird old ladies that keep eighty-two cats in their house?”

Nora straightened. “Gosh, I hope not. Come back in fifty years, and we’ll see.” She motioned behind him where a rusty box of tools sat on a wooden feed bin. “Hand me those wire cutters, will you?”

It took him longer than it should have to figure out which tool she meant. Finally, he lifted the wire cutters cautiously and held them out to her with a questioning look.

“Those are the ones,” she told him. She slid the cutters under the wire binding the hay together. One snip, and the bale began to fall apart into flakes. “Feel like helping out?”

“I don’t want to get dirty.”

“I can see why,” Nora replied, eyeing the expensive cut of his slacks and shirt. Who dressed a kid—especially a boy—like that? “Maybe you’d better not. I need someone who can really dig in and help me out.”

The boy seemed to consider this statement for a moment or two, then he shrugged. “I’ll be careful, and I guess there’s nothing better to do.”

“Can you tear this hay into pieces?” With one hand she indicated a second small pen she’d recently finished constructing. “Then spread it around the floor there?”

He nodded and began pulling apart the hay, methodically placing it in layers across the dirt floor of the pen while she retrieved medicines from the small refrigerator under one of the counters. She noticed that he was very careful not to allow the straw to touch his clothes.

“Don’t you have anyone to do this for you?” he asked.

“I do now. What’s your name?”

“Charles.”

He said his name precisely, as though he thought it held special meaning. She inclined her head toward him. “Welcome to the rehab shed, Charles. Don’t talk too loud and don’t move too suddenly. It frightens the animals. And if you want to hang on to all your fingers, don’t put them in the cages. All right?”

He nodded again. “So what’s a rehab shed?” he asked when he was about halfway through the chore.

“A place where sick wild animals get better. Every year a few run into trouble—cars, hunters with no sense, predators that beat them up pretty badly. If the problem is fixable, they’re brought here so I can nurse them back to health.”

“So they’re your pets.”

She thought of Marjorie and shook her head firmly. “No. A rehabber isn’t allowed to turn them into pets. They have to remain wild. Otherwise they won’t know how to survive once you’ve released them.” From the sink in one corner, she added a few drops of water to the medicinal base she planned to use on Bandit’s cuts. “Want to meet them?”

He nodded, and she led him to the cages while she gently stirred the yellow concoction into a paste. “This is Jeckle,” she said, inclining her head toward the crow, then the mockingbird. “And that’s Begger. They were both brought to me as orphans.”

Charles wrinkled his nose as he peered into Jeckle’s cage. “Why are you bothering to save him? He’s just a crow. They’re everywhere.”

“You see little boys everywhere, but wouldn’t you want someone to save you if you were in trouble?”

“I’m not a little boy,” Charles said in an aggrieved tone. “I’m nearly a teenager.”

“Well, Jeckle is important to me. All creatures ate.”

The kid looked up at her with sudden speculation. “Do they pay you lots of money to do this?”

“They don’t pay me at all. I do it because I want to.” She moved on to the raccoon’s cage. The animal looked at them with sharp, beady eyes. “This is Bandit.”

“Are you gonna cut his head off!”

“Good grief, no!” Nora stared at the boy, wondering what kind of horrid imagination this kid liked to indulge. “Why would you ask that?”

“You know,” Charles said in a seemingly earnest tone. “Rabies. Isn’t that how they find out if they have them?”

Nora frowned. “Bandit doesn’t have rabies. He had a run-in with a dog. I’m mixing up this paste right now so that I can put it on those cuts you see.”

“Oh. What if he bites you? Is there a chance you’ll get rabies?”

“Are all kids your age so gruesome?”

The boy opened his mouth to reply, then seemed to change his mind. After a few seconds he spoke. “I’ve just never seen many wild animals up close before. I live in the city. At least, I used to.”

“That explains a few things,” Nora muttered.

Charles asked a few more questions about the raccoon and its chances for survival. Unexpectedly, they were thoughtful, intelligent inquiries, and he listened closely to her answers. Nora began to suspect that he was enjoying himself.

“This is Marjorie,” Nora said as they moved on to the deer’s pen. “Her mother was killed on the road.”

“She doesn’t look like a Marjorie.”

“Well, you don’t look like a Charles.”

He jerked his head up to glare at her. “That’s what my mother always calls me.”

“You look like a Charlie to me. Do you mind if I call you that?”

“I guess not,” he said in a soft, sullen voice. He stared at the deer as though memorizing every detail. “Marjorie’s still a dumb name.”

“I named her after Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings.”

“Who?”

“The woman who wrote The Yearling.”

He shook his head. “Never read it.”

“Too bad. It’s wonderful.”

The boy looked up at her again, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. “Any monsters in it?”

“Afraid not. No car chases or killer tornadoes, either. But there’s a young boy in the story. He lives deep in the Florida woods with his family, and he finds a fawn, just like Marjorie here.”

“Sounds exciting,” Charlie commented with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “When are you going to let her go?”

Nora frowned and looked down at the yellow paste in her hands. “Perhaps in a few days.”

“You don’t want to?”

“She has to be released,” she replied, more for her own benefit than his. “She’s probably stayed too long as it is.”

Charlie straightened, and Nora was aware that he was suddenly watching her closely. For a kid, he seemed very intuitive. She had the strangest feeling that he knew exactly how much the mistake she’d made with Marjorie was costing her.

“You could lie,” he said quietly and gave her a sly look, as though they were suddenly coconspirators. “Tell them you let her go, but keep her instead.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” he asked. He seemed genuinely surprised by her answer. “’Cause you’d get caught?”

“No. Because then she’d be miserable instead of me. She’s a wild animal who wouldn’t be happy living in a pen.”

He seemed to give this thought serious consideration for a long moment. Then his shoulders rose in an elaborate shrug. “You should just do what you want, and the heck with what anybody else thinks, including Marjorie.”

“Surely your parents taught you that’s not a very good way to live your life?” Nora said.

The boy actually stiffened. With a quaint and somehow heartrending dignity he said, “My mom taught me everything I need to know, and she did everything right”

His eyes had taken on a militant sparkle, and Nora realized that he was waiting for her to dispute that statement. She didn’t. Instead, she said lightly, “Wow. A mom who doesn’t make mistakes. I hope she’s going to write a book on motherhood.”

“She’s a famous model.” Charlie’s expression turned to one of pride. “So famous that she doesn’t even need her last name anymore. Her name’s Thea. You’ve probably seen her. She was on two magazine covers last month.”

Nora never bothered to follow the news about the “beautiful people,” but even she’d heard of Thea. The woman—in her early thirties—was the latest darling of the photographers. Some perfume company—trying to woo the aging baby boomers—had just given her an ungodly amount of money to be the star of their multimedia ad campaign. There was some other reason Nora was familiar with the woman’s name, but for the life of her, she couldn’t put her finger on it.

She went to the sink and washed the spatula she’d used to stir Bandit’s medicine. With her back to Charlie, she said, “A mother who doesn’t make mistakes and is a supermodel. Your dad must feel pretty lucky.”

“They’re divorced. He hates her.”

She cocked her head in the boy’s direction, not certain she’d heard correctly over the sound of running water from the tap. “How do you know that?”

“He took me away from her. Just to make her mad.”

That statement carried such fury that Nora turned and looked sharply at the boy. She was about to engage Charlie in further discussion, but she became aware of Jake Burdette standing in the open doorway.

Hot blood surged into her cheeks, and she was glad for the late-afternoon light that gave everything in the rehab shed a mellow glow. She wondered if he had heard the last of his son’s remarks. His face gave nothing away.

Charlie—obviously expecting her to react to his words—turned his head and caught sight of his father. His posture went from stiff to ramrod straight.

“Charles,” Jake Burdette said mildly as he ducked his head under the low doorway and moved farther into the shed. “You shouldn’t have run off without telling me where you were going.”

An argument looked ready to drop from Charlie’s lips, and Nora plunged in quickly. “My fault,” she offered in an effort to lighten the sudden tension between father and son. “I’m always looking for someone to fetch and carry, and he was too nice to refuse.”

Jake gave her a vague smile, his attention still focused on Charlie. “Get your things together from the car. We’re checking in.” He held up one of the Hideaway’s large key rings. “Cabin Two.”

“You’re kidding.” There was no mistaking Charlie’s feelings about staying a night in one of the cabins.

When Jake ignored the comment, Charlie sighed heavily, snatched the key from his father’s hand and stomped out of the shed without a look or word in her direction. Silently, the two adults watched him go.

“Thank you for keeping him occupied,” Jake said eventually. “He didn’t want to come on this trip, and he’s been reminding me of that fact ever since we left Norfolk.”

“No problem. He seems like a nice enough kid.”

“Does he?” Jake replied with a surprised look and a light laugh. “I’ve yet to see much of that side of him. I’ve just recently gained custody, and our relationship is a little thorny.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around.”

It was the kind of hope-filled comment all parents like to hear, and he gave her a small smile to indicate he knew that. Then he looked at her in such a calm, deliberate way that her pulse jumped. Before she knew it, he was taking her hand, as though meeting her for the first time. “I’m afraid we got off on the wrong foot. Isabel speaks very highly of you, and I know firsthand that you’re very protective of her.”

She dipped her head. “I’m rather embarrassed...”

“Don’t be. Everyone should have a friend like you.”

The words were low, but sounded so sincere that her pulse jumped again, even danced a little. Silly, she thought, and unexpected. Had it really been so long since a good-looking man had said nice things to her that she should react like a teenager on her first date? Jeckle began to screech unpleasantly, and Nora used the crow as an. excuse to move away from Jake Burdette.

She removed the water bottle from Jeckle’s cage. “So,” she remarked in what she hoped was an offhanded way. “Isabel checked you in.”

“We both felt we needed more time to talk. Do you object?”

She shrugged. “If Isabel doesn’t mind, there’s no reason for me to.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Isabel answered an ad I’d placed for seasonal help three years ago. She’s been coming every break from college since then.” She looked up at him over the edge of Jeckle’s cage. “Well, all except the holidays last year when she met your brother. Over the years we’ve developed quite a friendship. We’re more like sisters now.”

“I’m glad she had a good friend to turn to when she needed one.”

“I’ll do anything I can to help her.”

He was quiet for a long moment, watching her replace the refilled water bottle into the crow’s cage. Then he said in a tone that sounded almost sympathetic, “Does that include adopting her baby?”

She leveled a look at him. “You make it sound like I’m only doing it to help her out of a jam. I assure you it wasn’t a quick decision.”

“Isabel’s very young. Probably confused about what she really wants—”

“She’s not confused at all,” Nora countered. “Perhaps she was at first, and certainly she was frightened, but she’s very clear on what she wants now.”

“So you had nothing to do with her plan to give you her baby?”

The conversation was deteriorating rapidly. “What are you suggesting?” she asked in what she meant to be a chilling voice.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” he said. “I’m pretty much stating it up front. I think this decision to give her baby away is too hasty. Perhaps she saw it as the only way out of a difficult predicament.”

“If she found herself in a difficult predicament, your brother was the one who helped put her there. He washed his hands of the problem and even suggested an abortion. Are you aware of that?”

He nodded. “I am. Isabel’s telephone call threw him for quite a loop. That doesn’t excuse him, but I do know that he came to regret that suggestion almost immediately after he made it.”

“And yet you’re the one who’s come here, when it should be him—”

“My brother is dead, Miss Holloway. He died a few days after he received Isabel’s phone call.”

He said the words in such a matter-of-fact way that at first Nora thought she’d heard incorrectly. She looked at him, trying to gauge his feelings, but his features were expressionless. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

His broad shoulders moved uneasily, and she suspected he wasn’t comfortable with her sympathy. His hands roamed over a line of bottles and cans that sat upon the counter, as though he had real interest in containers of peroxide and liniment.

“He was working with me in Nigeria, building a bridge. A group of bandits attacked one of my field crews. Bobby hung on for a while, but...” He broke off, turning away from the counter suddenly. There was an odd twist to his mouth, as though he’d said too much and wished he could call back the words.

“Have you told Isabel?” Nora asked softly.

“Yes. She took it well, I think.” He grimaced. “I know Bobby’s initial reaction to her telephone call hurt her pretty badly. I don’t believe she’s been entertaining pleasant thoughts about him all these months.”

“Still, I should go to her.” Placing the last of the medicine in the refrigerator, Nora washed and dried her hands. She turned to face him suddenly. “You said Bobby came to regret his decision?”

“I sat by my brother’s hospital bed for almost two days before he died. He wanted to come home, find Isabel and tell her he’d made a huge mistake. There’s no doubt in my mind he would have married her and given his child a name.” Jake expelled a long sigh. “Toward the end he knew he wasn’t going to... He asked me to make sure she was all right. That she’d have enough money to support herself and the baby. That’s why I’m here. Of course, everything’s changed now.”

Nora’s heart cramped suddenly. “What do you mean?”

Jake gave her a hard, level look that didn’t reassure her any. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go along with what Isabel wants. I can’t let you adopt my brother’s child.”


CHAPTER FOUR

IT WAS ABSOLUTELY as bad as she had feared. Her dream was disintegrating. A sudden weariness dropped over Nora like a second skin.

Please don’t do this to me, she wanted to beg. Not again.

It was an effort to keep her lips from trembling, but somewhere in the past she’d learned the trick of shielding herself. Somehow she managed to find enough voice to say firmly, “The decision has been made.”

Jake shrugged. “It can be unmade. I understand no adoption papers have been signed yet.”

“They will be. Isabel is not going to change her mind.”

“We’ll see. I’ve asked her to give me a week to convince her otherwise.”

“Mr. Burdette, did Isabel tell you about her plans for the future?”

“No. I suppose that’s one of the things we’ll need to discuss. We barely covered the basics. She told me the child was a boy, but little more than that.”

Nora snorted in derision. “I’m afraid you’re in for quite a disappointment. Isabel may seem rather... scattered right now, but she has very specific goals for herself, and they don’t include raising a child.”

Her hands were shaking, and to find something for them to do she began reorganizing the items on the counter, tilting bottles this way and that as though they were intended for some sort of display.

Jake observed her silently for several long moments, then he reached over to place one hand on top of hers.

“Miss Holloway,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Nora. I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re a very nice person—”

She snatched her hands out from under his and jerked her head up to glare at him. “You don’t even know me.”

“By the end of the week I intend to know everything I need to know about you.”

The sudden steely tone in his voice made her heart buck in rebellion. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

“There’s no need to be defensive.”

She clamped her jaw around a few harsh words that came to mind. Giving him the same hard, level look he had given her only minutes ago, she said with biting courtesy, “Mr. Burdette, I’ve waited a long time to have a child. Now that it’s about to become a reality, I’m not willing to just politely step aside. I want this baby. It’s Isabel’s intention that I have this baby. The wishes of the mother hold a considerable amount of sway in the eyes of the law.”

He appeared completely unperturbed. If anything, something in his stillness became more ominous. “Yes, they do,” he agreed in a quiet tone. He pushed away from the counter and headed toward the door. Before he left the room, he turned to look at her one last time. “But I doubt very much that the courts would completely ignore the concerns of a blood relative.”

ISABEL PLEADED a headache when Nora returned to the lodge, and she allowed the girl to escape into her bedroom for the evening. Tomorrow was soon enough to find out if all her hopes and dreams for this baby had been for nothing.

But in the morning, Isabel was already gone when Nora woke. A note on the kitchen counter indicated she’d gone into town with Jake Burdette and would return by mid-morning. Instead of trying to drum up an appetite for breakfast, Nora began working on the baby’s quilt the two of them had been piecing together. She wanted desperately to believe that one day her child would lie under it.

By ten o’clock, when she head the front lobby door of the lodge open and shut, her nerves were as tight as each stitch she had pulled through the pastel material.




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