Fortune′s Secret Child
Fortune's Secret Child
Shawna Delacorte
On a sultry midnight eve, Dr. Shane Fortune came face-to-face with his past. For his "intruder" was the woman he'd once loved but foolishly let go. Now Cynthia McCree and her son were his reluctant houseguests. Her reasons for being under his roof were no secret. But Shane knew that Cynthia was harboring a secret. One that had to do with her son…who bore an uncanny resemblance to him!
Kate Fortune’s Journal Entry
Sterling and I came to Arizona to get away from the cold Minnesota winter, but my old bones are practically quivering from all the troubles that have befallen this branch of the Fortune family. Ever since the accident happened on the construction site for the children’s hospital, an investigator has been prying into the Fortune family’s business. It’s just ludicrous to think that any member of the Fortune clan could have been involved in this terrible tragedy.
There is one bright spot, though. Ever since I ran into Cynthia McCree and her adorable son, Bobby, I’ve known that Bobby isn’t a McCree—he’s a Fortune through and through. Of course, it’s taking Bobby’s parents a little time to put the past behind them…but, from what I’ve heard, the desert sun doesn’t feel nearly as warm as the heat sizzling between them!
Dear Reader,
Thanks to all who have shared, in letters and at our Web site, eHarlequin.com, how much you love Silhouette Desire! One Web visitor told us, “When I was nineteen, this man broke my heart. So I picked up a Silhouette Desire and…lost myself in other people’s happiness, sorrow, desire…. Guys came and went and the books kept entertaining me.” It is so gratifying to know how our books have touched and even changed your lives—especially with Silhouette celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000.
The incomparable Joan Hohl dreamed up October’s MAN OF THE MONTH. The Dakota Man is used to getting his way until he meets his match in a feisty jilted bride. And Anne Marie Winston offers you a Rancher’s Proposition, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL.
First Comes Love is another sexy love story by Elizabeth Bevarly. A virgin finds an unexpected champion when she is rumored to be pregnant. The latest installment of the sensational Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Fortune’s Secret Child by Shawna Delacorte. Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION continues with Marooned with a Marine. And Joan Elliott Pickart returns to Desire with Baby: MacAllister-Made, part of her wonderful miniseries THE BABY BET.
So take your own emotional journey through our six new powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire—and keep sending us those letters and e-mails, sharing your enthusiasm for our books!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Fortune’s Secret Child
Shawna Delacorte
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Judy Laivo, who has displayed such grace in the face of adversity.
SHAWNA DELACORTE
has delayed her move to Washington State, staying in the Midwest in order to spend some additional time with family. She still travels as often as time permits and is looking forward to visiting several new places during the upcoming year while continuing to devote herself to writing full-time. Shawna would appreciate hearing from her readers. She can be reached at 6505 E. Central, Box #300, Wichita, KS 67206-1924.
Meet the Arizona Fortunes—a family with a legacy of wealth, influence and power. As they gather for a host of weddings, a shocking plot against the family is revealed...and passionate new romances are ignited.
DR. SHANE FORTUNE: This proudly independent loner thinks he’s finally gotten his life together, until a weird twist of fate brings his former girlfriend to his house in the middle of the night—and back into his life.
CYNTHIA MCCREE: The single mom has put her past firmly behind her, and nothing—not even an undeniable passion—is going to bring her back to the man who’d once been the love of her life. Not when she has so much at stake…
BOBBY MCCREE: This five-year-old is the most important thing in Cynthia’s life—that is, until a midnight collision brings her smack into the arms of his Native American father!
FORTUNE FAMILY TREE: THE ARIZONA BRANCH
Contents
Chapter One (#u432246d0-770e-53c1-9d4c-1743a1f0fcbb)
Chapter Two (#u200baddc-a051-572d-bdf8-4d58038a0d11)
Chapter Three (#u4c535adb-a25d-5a9a-840f-d8b25e549893)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
One
Cynthia McCree awoke with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed, shaking the fogginess from her head as she collected her bearings in the unfamiliar surroundings. She furrowed her brow, straining to hear the noise that had woken her. There it was again, the same sound. Her muscles tensed and an uncomfortable dryness closed off her throat. She tried to swallow her apprehension, but it refused to go away.
She slid out of bed and pulled on her robe. Her heartbeat quickened. Her stomach jittered nervously. She quietly made her way down the darkened hallway to her son’s bedroom. She tried to calm her nerves by telling herself that the sound was just Bobby, having a restless night due to his new surroundings. She opened the door and stepped inside.
The night-light in the adjoining bathroom provided just enough illumination for her to see. She pulled up the sheet and tucked it around the shoulders of the sleeping five-year-old boy. She placed a tender kiss on his forehead. A soft warmth settled over her and wrapped around her senses as she watched him. He was the most important thing in her life. He’d been through so much upheaval during the past two weeks. She hoped things would settle down for him now. For both of them.
She was jerked out of her moment of reverie. There it was again. Her body stiffened, and the loving glow that had filtered through her consciousness just moments earlier was shoved aside. Her anxiety level shot up. Her heart lodged in her throat. The noise came from downstairs. Did she dare go to investigate? She glanced back at her sleeping son, then set her jaw in a hard line of determination. She drew a steadying breath, then stepped into the hallway.
Downstairs in the kitchen Shane Fortune had just popped a frozen dinner into the microwave. He leaned back against the counter and closed his eyes. The weariness from the long day had finally caught up with him. The three-day medical conference was exhausting enough without tackling the one-hundred-mile drive from Phoenix back to his home in Pueblo, Arizona.
A sound broke the quiet, yanking him out of his thoughts. An adrenaline surge put his senses on full alert. Someone had stepped on the squeaky stair between the foyer and the second floor. He made his way from the kitchen, through the utility room and down the back hall, arriving at the arched opening underneath the stairs. He paused for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dim illumination filtering in through the windows from the outside street light.
A shadowy figure crossed the foyer toward the front door. Shane moved silently through the darkness in much the same way as a cat stalks its prey, or as one of his Native American ancestors would have stealthily picked his way through a rocky canyon. He sprang from behind, knocking the intruder to the ground. He easily pinned the struggling body against the terra-cotta floor in the entry-way. Then his hand grazed a decidedly female breast and he heard a woman gasp.
Shane yanked his hand away. He focused on the face of the intruder. Her identity exploded in his consciousness, leaving him frozen in stunned silence. Waves of conflicting emotions swept through him. He had not seen her in six years, but there was no mistaking who she was even in the darkened surroundings. No one had eyes like hers, eyes that seemed to glow an iridescent blue. He couldn’t find enough breath even to speak. He finally forced out one word, managing only a hushed whisper. “Cynthia.”
He hovered directly above her, their mouths almost in contact. Sexual electricity leapt between them. It was the same sensual excitement that had once been part of their life together. It wrenched all the old emotions from the past—both good ones and bad—and deposited them in the here and now. What weird twist of fate had brought her to his house in the middle of the night?
She stopped struggling, but her muscles remained tensed. Every heated desire he had ever felt for Cynthia McCree came rushing back full force. Memories of long ago—the smell of her perfume, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her naked body pressed along the length of his, the many passion-filled nights of lovemaking—came from the same hidden place that also held old feelings of confusion and anger.
Cynthia wasn’t sure if any of this was real or only a cruel trick of her mind prompted by her return to Pueblo. Shane Fortune...was it possible that she was still in bed fast asleep and this was only a bad dream? She felt his heartbeat as his body pressed against hers—at least, she thought it was his heartbeat. It could just as easily have been her own. Their lips were so close she could almost feel the contact. All the old emotions flooded over her—times of unbridled passion and times of deep sorrow. He had been the love of her life. He was also the man who had broken her heart and hurt her more than she thought possible.
None of this made sense. She shook off the past and renewed her struggle as she tried to collect her wits. She shoved hard against his chest with both hands in an effort to push him away. She had to pull herself together and do it quickly. There was a lot more at stake here than being physically thrown together with the last man on earth she had expected to be with or even wanted to be with.
She noticed a moment of hesitation on his part when he resisted her efforts to dislodge him. It almost seemed as if he intended to close the few inches of space separating their mouths. A sharp jolt of fear surged through her body—not fear of what Shane might do, but rather fear that she would be a willing accomplice. Then as suddenly as it had all begun, he relinquished his hold on her and stood up. A very shaken Cynthia scrambled to her feet, then leaned against the staircase banister to steady her wobbly legs. She gasped for breath as anxiety ran rampant through her body. She kept a wary eye on him while he reached for a light switch.
Shane’s logical and analytical mind tried to dismiss the emotions and put things into some type of order. He couldn’t make any sense of what had happened. He had not been this confused since the day he’d told Cynthia they had no future together and their affair was over. Those years had been very intense for him, filled with inner turmoil and conflicts. He had cut her out of his life with surgical efficiency, and there had been no further contact between them—until now. He didn’t like the nervous uncertainty that jittered inside him. He clicked on a light, then took a calming breath before turning to face her.
He tried to speak, but his throat constricted, trapping his words inside. The disarray of her long blond hair exuded an earthy sexuality that caught him totally off guard. The barefoot woman in a knee-length robe standing in front of him was even more beautiful than the memory he’d been carrying around for six years. A wave of desire surged through his body, in direct contrast to his practiced outer show of calm and control.
He tried to beat down this unaccustomed lack of composure and take charge of the situation the same way he did with everything that came his way. It was a skill he’d perfected over a lifetime, making sure no one could read his thoughts or feelings. Before he could manage it, though, Cynthia usurped any thought he had of being in control of the circumstances.
She made no effort to curb the edge of displeasure surrounding her words. “Just what do you think you’re doing here?”
A sudden twinge of discomfort reinforced her awareness of the way she was dressed. Cynthia tightened the sash of her robe and pulled the collar close around her neck. She was vaguely aware of the scrape on her forearm, the result of contact with the rough tile floor. She put as much authority into her voice as she could dredge up from her rapidly dwindling reserve of confidence. “I made sure the doors were locked before going to bed. How did you get in here?”
As a corporate attorney, she had learned to read people. She immediately recognized his body language—leaning forward in an attempt to psychologically throw her off balance, the unsettling way his dark piercing eyes seemed to see inside her, his attempt to control the situation and control her. It had worked back when her worldly experience was limited to Pueblo, Arizona, but it wasn’t going to work anymore. She had long since become toughened by the realities of life. She pulled her determination together, held her ground and refused to back down before his aggressive manner.
“You’re asking how I got in?” Had he heard her correctly? Was she really challenging his right to be in his own house? None of this made any sense to him. He maintained his outer facade of total authority as he scrambled to put things into some kind of perspective. “I think a better question is, What are you doing in my house?”
Her eyes widened in shock. She stumbled backward a couple of steps. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to speak, giving her voice a husky sound. “Your house? This is your house?” The tightness in her jaw relaxed a little. Disbelief covered her features where determination had been just a moment earlier. “How can that possibly be?”
The sharpness in her words melted away as it turned into bewilderment. She seemed to be staring into space rather than focusing on anything. She sounded almost as if she was trying to work out a problem in her mind rather than talking to him. “Kate insisted that I stay here until I get everything settled and find a job. With my mother having died when I was a child, I’m the one responsible for handling my father’s estate. Kate led me to believe that she owned this house, that it was leased to someone who was going to be out of state for a while.”
She struggled to regain her determination, finally managing to exercise some authority over what was happening, even though the situation was far from clear. She stared at him, her manner no longer questioning or unsure. “She certainly didn’t tell me this house belonged to you.”
His brow knitted in a frown. He shook his head, hoping the puzzle pieces would settle into their proper places. “Kate Fortune said you could stay in my house? Your father’s estate? What’s going on here?” Shane took a calming breath. On more than one occasion over the past six years he had envisioned a reunion with Cynthia and pondered what might have been had he not cut her out of his life. The thoughts always wound up making him feel sad, so he had refused to dwell on them. Only now here she suddenly was, the flesh-and-blood woman, more beautiful than ever—not a figment of his imagination—and he didn’t know how to handle it.
He motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen. “I must be missing something. It’s been a couple of weeks since I talked to Kate. I told her I would be attending a medical conference up in Phoenix. I wasn’t scheduled to be home until tomorrow but decided to drive back tonight, instead.”
Cynthia glanced nervously toward the top of the stairs. She didn’t want their voices to wake Bobby. Things were awkward enough without her son making an unexpected appearance. She returned her attention to Shane, thankful they were moving away from the bottom of the stairs. Things were becoming more and more bizarre by the minute. Her initial trepidation had turned to confusion and now bordered on anger.
And then, as if to mock her attempt at control, her suppressed desire for Shane Fortune heated to an uncomfortable level. She tried to keep any and all emotion out of her voice. She was an intelligent adult who could certainly handle an awkward situation with a former lover in a mature manner. At least that was what she tried to convince herself of. “I don’t know how this apparent misunderstanding occurred, but there’s obviously a problem here, and it needs to be straightened out immediately.”
“I’ll have to agree with you on that.” Shane took his dinner from the microwave and set it on the counter, then turned his attention back to Cynthia. He felt a twinge of guilt when he noticed the scrape on her arm. It was not the first time he had battled feelings of guilt where Cynthia McCree was concerned.
He watched her for a moment as she nervously smoothed her hair back with her hands—the curve of her jaw, the tilt of her nose, the soft lips, the creamy skin. His breathing quickened and then his throat went dry, making it difficult for him to swallow. He finally looked away, hoping to break the bands of tension that tightened across his chest. He didn’t know what to think and wasn’t sure what he felt.
He glanced at the dinner he had removed from the microwave, then shoved it aside. Food was of no interest to him at that moment. He stared at her, drinking in her beauty as he tried to sort out what had happened.
He desperately wanted to reach out and touch her—to caress her cheek and to hold her in his arms—but he didn’t dare. It took all his willpower to fight the urge. He glanced away from the emotional pull of her presence. He wasn’t sure how to proceed but felt pressured to say something. “So...start at the beginning and tell me how you came to be in my house.”
She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her confidence faded with each passing second. She could not keep the uncertainty out of her voice. “You own this house? Is this also where you live...your permanent residence?”
“I live here three hundred and sixty-five days a year, three hundred and sixty-six in leap years.” He leveled a steady gaze at her. “And just how long have you been living here?”
She stared at the floor as she uttered a sheepish response. “I moved in late this afternoon.”
“Exactly what is this all about?”
His attitude was demanding, but in light of the circumstances, Cynthia had to admit his request was not unreasonable. She took a calming breath and attempted to put the facts into some sort of logical order, an easier task than tackling her need to set aside the very disconcerting effect Shane Fortune had on her—even after all these years. A tremor made its way through her body, telling her just how desirable she still found him.
“My father died three days ago,” she began.
“I’m sorry.” His surprise was genuine and his words sincere. “I didn’t know. Had he been ill?”
“Apparently so—” a sob caught in her throat “—but he hadn’t said anything about not feeling well...” Her voice trailed off, her despair over the loss of her father momentarily distracting her. “Anyway—” she returned her attention to Shane, determined to present a strong front “—late one night I received a phone call from his neighbor saying he had found my father unconscious in the hall and called an ambulance to take him to the hospital. I finally got hold of the doctor.”
She steeled herself. Her personal concerns and feelings about her father’s death were private and certainly not any of Shane’s business. She tried to tamp down her anxiety and steady her nerves before continuing.
“I was making some changes in my life’s direction and personal priorities and was already packed up to move,” she said, “so it was a simple matter to put my household goods in storage to be shipped later. I packed the bare essentials in my car and drove straight from Chicago to Pueblo.”
“Chicago... So that’s your car with the Illinois license plates parked on the street in front of the house?”
“Yes.” She snapped out the answer, annoyed at the way the conversation had strayed from the problem at hand. “Anyway, I had assumed I could stay at my father’s, but when I arrived, I found that his house was really a small studio apartment in a building that looked like it should have been condemned.” She still had difficulty accepting what had been going on with her father. She clenched her jaw and fought back her tears before they could escape.
She forced out her words, preferring to dictate the direction of the conversation rather than giving him the opportunity to ask questions. “I tried to get some information from his neighbor, but he didn’t say anything that explained what had happened.” She slowly shook her head, trying to put logic to something that refused to make sense. “There was no way I could stay there, so I rented a studio apartment on a weekly basis at a motel close to the hospital. My father died four days later without ever regaining consciousness.” A sob caught in her throat as the pain of her loss forced itself to the surface. “He didn’t even know I was there.” She paused, then tucked her private moment of sorrow safely away where no one could see it.
She looked up at Shane, squared her shoulders and gathered her composure again. “Then Kate offered me this house to stay in until I could get my father’s estate straightened out, find a place to live and get a job.”
“It’s amazing that we didn’t run into each other at the hospital. I’m on staff there.”
“Yes, I know.” Her voice dropped to a soft whisper. “I saw your name on the registry.”
An awkward silence filled the air before Shane finally broke it. “Well, that certainly explains what you’re doing in Pueblo, but it doesn’t explain how you and Kate got together. I can’t imagine her doing something like giving my house to someone.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had made a colossal blunder. They sounded way too harsh, especially in light of the circumstances of her father’s death. He saw her eyes narrow and her jaw tighten, but it was too late to take the words back.
She sharply clipped her words, unable to keep the anger out of her voice. “Kate didn’t give me a house. I can afford to pay my own way. I don’t require charity from anyone, least of all from the Fortune family. I told Kate I would pay rent while I was here.”
“No one said you were asking for charity.” The volume of his voice rose to match hers. “That still doesn’t tell me how and why you and Kate even got together.”
She spit out the words without making any attempt to hold back her anger. “I don’t need your permission before speaking with someone.” She glared at him. “But for your information she read the obituary notice in the newspaper. It mentioned the graveside service that took place this morning.” Her voice softened as thoughts and feelings from several years ago again invaded her consciousness. “I was surprised to see her there. I had only met her briefly on a couple of occasions back when you and I...”
The memory of their two-year intense love affair, which she’d thought would last a lifetime, brought her words to a halt. She swallowed her momentary lapse and continued, though a lot of the fire had gone out of her attitude. The captivating and tantalizing presence of the very tempting Shane Fortune was playing havoc with her reality. Her emotions had been on a roller-coaster ride from the moment she realized the identity of the man who had tackled her. She needed to bring the wild ride to a halt.
“Well, anyway, I was surprised to see her at the service. It never occurred to me that she would remember who I was or associate me with the newspaper obit for my father.”
He folded his arms across his chest and leveled a steady gaze at her. “I see.” His words may not have said it, but his attitude and tone of voice spelled out his skepticism.
She scowled fiercely. “Since you apparently choose not to believe me, I suggest you take the matter up with Kate rather than continuing to badger me. I certainly don’t have any other reason for being in your house.”
His voice grew louder still. “I did not say I didn’t believe you. Stop putting words in my mouth.” His voice dropped. “And I’m not badgering you.”
She put her hands on her hips, and her voice rose, her anger spilling out in each word. “I’m hardly putting words in your mouth.” She stole a quick glance out the kitchen door toward the staircase. She lowered her tone, but her ire had not been assuaged. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down so you don’t wake Bobby.” A sinking feeling settled inside her. The words had slipped out before she could censor them.
“Bobby? You mean there’s someone else in my house besides you?” Shane’s reaction was immediate—curiosity combined with a determination that said he was about to tackle a problem head on. “Just who is this Bobby? Your boyfriend?” He hesitated, his words more cautious than accusatory, as if he was uncertain about saying them. “Your husband?”
She tried to still her apprehension. She could not keep the quaver out of her voice, nor could she look Shane in the eye. She stared at the floor and uttered a barely audible response. “Bobby is my son.”
“Your...your son?” Shane staggered backward a couple of steps, stunned. He came to a halt when he bumped into the pantry door. “I didn’t realize you had married.”
“I’m not married.” She attempted to change the subject, making no effort to keep the irritation out of voice. The sick churning in the pit of her stomach confirmed that she was a long way from being in control of anything. “Now, if the inquisition is over...”
He regarded her for a second as he switched his attitude from personal to detached. “You’ve certainly changed.” He had to do something to get his rampaging emotions under control. He knew his anger was only one of them, a small one at that. The overriding element—the thing that bothered him the most and what he had to curb—was his all-consuming desire for Cynthia McCree. It was something he thought he would never come face-to-face with again, yet here it was. “We never used to argue about anything.”
“If you mean that I’m no longer that docile young woman you knew when we were pursuing the education for our careers, the one who hung on your every word, then you’re right—I’ve changed. I learned about the real world very quickly.” She shot him a pointed look. “Almost overnight.” She could tell she hit the mark with her reference to the abrupt way he had terminated their affair.
She straightened her stance and presented him with a businesslike facade that said she considered the conversation at an end. “You needn’t worry, my son and I will be out of your house first thing in the morning.” She whirled around and started toward the door, hoping she had turned away in time to prevent him from seeing the anguish that must surely have registered on her face. The last thing she wanted was to show any weakness or vulnerability to Shane Fortune.
“Wait a minute!” Shane reached out and grabbed her arm, bringing her to a halt. Her words and tone may have been angry, but he also heard what was underneath. He heard the hurt and knew he had been the cause of it. That knowledge weighed uncomfortably on his conscience. He was not proud of what he had done to her six years ago and, in particular, the way he had done it. He had never been able to forgive himself for hurting her the way he had. Was it too late to make things right? He didn’t know. He suppressed a sigh of despair. He didn’t know much of anything at the moment.
She jerked her arm free of his grasp and turned a defiant stare on him. She spit out her words, along with her hurt and anger. “What now? Isn’t first thing in the morning soon enough for you? Do you want us out of here tonight?”
“No. That’s not it.” He backed away from her anger and her surprisingly aggressive behavior. “It’s your arm...” His manner softened. “Let me take a look at that abrasion.”
Cynthia glanced at the scrape just below her elbow. What little composure she still possessed was slipping away faster than she could keep control of it. She had to get away from him. From his far-too-tempting presence. She snapped out her words. “It’s nothing.”
Shane grasped her arm again, this time gently, as he changed from the strong and determined Shane Fortune to the compassionate and caring Dr. Fortune. His soothing voice elicited the type of patient confidence that made him so successful and popular at the hospital. “At least let me put some antiseptic on it.”
He tugged until he felt her relent. He slid his fingers down her arm, took her hand in his, then led her across the kitchen. The warmth of her skin spread through his body, rousing a combination of emotions unlike any he’d ever experienced. It was all very confusing and unsettling. He tried to concentrate on the matter at hand.
He opened a cupboard and grabbed a package of cotton balls and a bottle of antiseptic. She flinched and her muscles tensed as he applied it. His soothing voice carried his concern. “Does this hurt?”
“No...it stings a little, that’s all.”
It was as if all the fight had suddenly gone out of her and a crisis had passed. He continued to cling to her hand. He had never forgotten the sensual feeling he got from touching her, yet the tingling sensation emanating from his fingertips and continuing up his arm carried all the excitement of something new and wonderful. The sensation both thrilled and disturbed him.
Cynthia worked her hand out of his grasp without actually jerking it away. His touch stirred up emotions and needs she thought she’d safely buried away. She tried to physically distance herself from his commanding presence and his tempting allure, which made her pulse jump and her blood race. She put as much confidence into her voice as she could muster. “As I said, my son and I will be out of your house first thing in the morning.” She turned and practically ran from him.
“Cynthia, wait.” He watched helplessly as she left the kitchen and started up the stairs, ignoring his words. He stood motionless, rooted to the spot, as the most exciting and tantalizing woman he had ever known walked away from him just as he had walked away from her six long years ago.
He didn’t have a clue what to do. Shane Fortune—the man whose life was totally under control, the man who knew exactly where he was going and what he was doing, the man whose commanding presence inspired confidence in everyone around him—was at a complete loss. He stared at the spot where she’d been standing just a moment earlier, an escalating sense of loss tugging at his consciousness, revealing the emptiness that lived inside him. He realized he had no one to blame but himself.
He and Cynthia had met in graduate school. He thought back. She had been part of his life at a time when he had been trying to deal with inner turmoil about his dual heritage and his place in the overall scheme of things. He had struggled to find his own identity in a life that straddled two worlds—the one on his grandfather’s side, with the wealth and prestige of the Fortune family, and on the other side the Native American culture of his Tohono O’odham grandmother. He’d been positive that Cynthia would never be able to fit into that divided world, especially when he didn’t know where or how he fit into it himself. It had been a time of pent-up anger and inner turmoil, which he had successfully kept hidden behind a facade of strength and control.
There had never been any confusion about his career. Unlike his brother and two cousins, he had made the decision not to work in the family-owned company, Fortune Construction. Being a doctor was what he had always wanted. His personal life, however, had been a mass of confusion and contradictions. No one really knew what he was going through back then. He had managed to keep his turmoil well hidden from everyone who knew him, including his family and Cynthia McCree.
A small spot of warmth, fueled by a long-suppressed emotional need, flickered to life. He did know one thing for certain—no matter how dark something had seemed to him, all his problems would disappear when he held Cynthia McCree in his arms. It had taken several months of stubborn denial and agonizing over what he had done before he finally admitted to himself that by leaving her he had made a colossal blunder, missed her very much and wanted her back in his life.
He had eventually swallowed his pride and asked her father where she had gone. He vividly recalled Robert McCree’s angry words. Don’t you think you’ve already hurt her enough? I told her no good would come of associating with you. If she wants to talk to you, she knows where to find you. Everyone knows where to find the illustrious Fortunes. The words had been cloaked in bitter sarcasm and they had hit their mark. They left him with a gaping hole in his life that had never been refilled.
He shoved aside the unpleasant memories and turned his attention to his now cold dinner. He stared at it, emitted a sigh of resignation, then put it in the refrigerator. What had been hunger pangs an hour ago had turned into uncertainty about what would happen in the morning. He busied himself with the physical activity of cleaning up the kitchen and restoring everything to its proper place. The memories continued to linger in his mind, mixing with thoughts of what the immediate future held.
He left the kitchen and started up the stairs toward his bedroom. He paused at the top of the staircase. The doors were closed at two of the four guest bedrooms. One of them was Cynthia’s and the other was her son. He stopped outside the closed doors and listened for a moment. A deep disappointment had jabbed at his consciousness when she said she had a son. He continued down the hallway to his bedroom suite. A strange sense of loss overcame him as the disappointment turned to sadness.
Cynthia heard the soft footsteps outside her bedroom. She held her breath and waited in the darkness. Tears welled up in her eyes and a terrible foreboding settled over her. Would he open the door? She finally heard him move away. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on getting some sleep, but to no avail. Her efforts only produced an image of Shane’s handsome features and the memory of many nights of heated passion. He’d been the man she thought she’d be with for the rest of her life, a love she thought would live forever. Then her entire life had come crashing down around her.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to drive the image from her mind. He had rejected her, and even after all these years the pain was still very real. But that was not the most compelling issue at hand. Seeing him again had done more than resurrect heated desires and inflamed emotions. It had shoved her greatest fear to the front of the line, an all-consuming dread that nearly paralyzed her with fright. A sick churning tried to work its way up her throat. Her most closely guarded secret must be protected at all costs.
She could never allow Shane Fortune to know that he was the father of her son. She had to do everything in her power to make sure Bobby was not subjected to the same emotional upheaval she had been through, followed by the inevitable painful rejection.
Shane had terminated their relationship before she knew she was pregnant. He had rejected her, cut her out of his life with a finality that left no room for questions. It was an action that had slammed the door shut on any possibility of a discussion about what had gone wrong. For a long time she questioned herself about what she’d done that had driven him away. It wasn’t until after her son was born that she stopped blaming herself for a decision that was entirely Shane’s.
Cynthia knew she could not avoid running into Shane after she moved back to Pueblo, but she never dreamed it would be in such a dramatic and unsettling manner. She had only given superficial thought to what she would do when she did run into him, without speculating too much about the circumstances. The situation now dictated that she needed to make some hard decisions.
Did she owe Shane the opportunity to know his son? Was it possible to reveal the truth without Bobby being an innocent pawn caught in the middle? Could she prevent her son from being hurt the way she had been?
All she had were questions—and her fears. She had no answers.
Two
Shane paused at the top of the stairs. The house was quiet, just as it was every morning, only today was different. He was not alone in the house. Apparently Cynthia and her son were still asleep. He couldn’t suppress a little snort of resentment. A decent night’s sleep was more than he’d been able to accomplish. He had tossed and turned after going to bed, waking every thirty minutes or so. He didn’t know what the morning would bring and wasn’t at all sure he was prepared to face it.
Heading for the den, Shane intended to open the sliding doors and let in the fresh morning air. He hadn’t taken more than two steps across the room when he came to an abrupt halt. A little boy lay sprawled on his stomach in front of the bookcase. It was a sight that gave him quite a start, grabbing his senses as much as his attention. He’d assumed her son was two or maybe three years old. This boy appeared to be about five.
A hard jolt of an indecipherable something shot through his body, leaving an uncomfortable sensation in its wake, a possibility he refused to consider. She must have gotten pregnant immediately after their breakup. She had gone from him straight to another man’s bed. A spark of rancor ignited, but was quickly extinguished by an overriding reality. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had driven her into another man’s arms—someone who had gotten her pregnant, then deserted her. It was an unsettling thought, and he felt something between guilt and anger.
Shane studied the boy for a moment. He was dressed in pajamas, his light brown hair still sleep-tousled. He had surrounded himself with every one of Shane’s Native American artifacts that had been within reach on the shelves. He seemed to be absorbed in a book, carefully studying each picture before turning the page to the next.
A moment of sorrow swept over Shane. Cynthia’s son looked so much like her. He wondered how things might have turned out if he hadn’t— He clenched his jaw and bit off the rest of the errant thought. The past couldn’t be changed. It served no purpose to speculate.
The little boy looked up at him, as if suddenly aware of his presence. The sight pulled at Shane’s heart and left him momentarily speechless. The boy had his mother’s eyes, the same iridescent blue. Shane knew he should say something, but didn’t know what. Bobby solved the problem by speaking first.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Shane Fortune. This is my house. I live here.”
“My name’s Bobby McCree.” He showed an open curiosity, with no signs of apprehension about Shane’s presence.
Bobby McCree. Well, that took care of whether Cynthia had ever been married to the boy’s father. Realizing that left him every bit as unsettled as having her in his house and knowing she had a son.
The little boy continued to look up at him as if waiting for him to say something. Shane ran a hand across the back of his neck in an attempt to still the uncomfortable shiver, but it didn’t help. He had developed a real bond with children and had no problem relating to them. He had spearheaded an entire hospital construction project solely for the benefit of Native American children, but at that moment he felt at a total loss for words. Too many conflicting thoughts and feelings raced through him. There’d been too many surprises all at once.
“So...Bobby, what’s your book about?” He crossed the room as the boy rolled over, then scrambled to his feet. Bobby held up the book so Shane could see it. He was surprised to find that it didn’t belong to Bobby, but came from his bookshelf, a volume of photographs depicting reservation life. Some of the photographs were over a hundred years old and others were modern. It was not the type of book he thought would have grabbed the attention of someone Bobby’s age.
Shane took a closer look at the various items strewn around the den. In addition to drums, masks, baskets and other Native American artifacts, Bobby had scattered some of his toys on the couch and floor. There was a bright red fire truck, a police car, Old West action figures, building blocks and a couple of children’s books. He again thought it odd that Bobby would ignore his own books and toys in favor of Shane’s book of photographic studies.
“Do you like the pictures?”
“Yeah, they’re neat.” Bobby’s captivating grin showed a missing front tooth.
“Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?” As awkward as the situation was, Shane could not deny the affinity he felt toward Cynthia’s son. His curiosity about Bobby’s father was again piqued. What kind of man would desert his own child—if that’s what really happened.
A frown wrinkled Bobby’s forehead. “My mommy always makes me breakfast. Do you know how to make breakfast?”
“I think I can handle it.”
Bobby closed the book and carefully put it back in the bookcase in the same spot he had found it. He ran across the den and straight to the kitchen. Shane followed the boy, but stopped in his tracks at the kitchen door. What had been neat and tidy when he went to bed was now a disaster area.
Bobby had obviously been in the kitchen before Shane had come downstairs. He had pulled a chair next to the counter to climb up and open the cupboard. A carton sat on the table next to a dirty glass, and a puddle of spilled milk had dripped on the floor. He had also tried, it appeared, to take a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator, but had sloshed half of it on the floor between the refrigerator and the kitchen table. Apparently he’d ended up settling for a couple of cookies, as evidenced by the lid from the cookie jar shoved across the counter toward the sink and the trail of crumbs on the floor.
“It looks like you tried to make your own breakfast.” Shane gazed at the boy, not sure whether to be irritated or amused. “Don’t you think we should clean up this mess before we start something new?”
Bobby stared sheepishly at the floor before looking up at Shane. He answered in a quiet voice, “I guess so.”
Shane set about cleaning the kitchen with Bobby doing his best to help. As much as he tried to stay neutral in his thoughts, every time he looked at the boy he saw Cynthia. A soft warmth enveloped his heart and spread through his chest. He again wondered about Bobby’s father and what had happened between him and Cynthia. Those same thoughts tried to wander to what might have been, but he refused to play that game.
As soon as the kitchen was presentable, Shane set about fixing breakfast. He put the various items on a tray and carried it out to the patio, setting it on the table. Bobby followed him, pausing long enough to pick up the fire truck from the den floor. He set the truck on the table, then climbed onto the chair. Shane sipped his coffee and studied Bobby as the boy took a big drink from his glass of milk, then gulped his orange juice.
A scowl covered Bobby’s face as he stared at his bowl of cereal. He looked up at Shane. “My mommy buys different cereal. I’ve never had this kind before. I don’t like it.”
“Why don’t you taste it? You might be surprised. You might find a new kind of cereal you like.” Shane offered him an encouraging smile. “If you eat all your cereal, I think I can find a doughnut for you.”
“I don’t bribe him to eat his breakfast.”
Shane jerked around in his chair at the stern words. He had been so fixed on Bobby he had not heard Cynthia come up behind him.
She wore white tailored slacks and a short-sleeved top in a tangerine color. The silky-looking fabric caressed the same breast his hand had grazed last night. A tingling danced across his fingertips in response to the recollection. Her long blond hair was pulled back and fastened with a gold clasp at her nape. Last night she exuded the earthy sexuality he remembered so well. This morning she presented a pristine loveliness, which also lived in his memories. Either way, it caused his blood to rush a little hotter and his heart to beat faster.
He attempted to hide his thoughts and the very real emotional impact she had on him by adopting a more distant attitude. He may have been all cool control on the outside, but inside he fought off the clearly remembered sensations of the most intense love affair of his life. “I was beginning to wonder if you planned to sleep the morning away.”
Cynthia ignored his pointed comment, but found it a lot more difficult to ignore his handsome features, his broad shoulders and strong arms, barely contained in the lightweight T-shirt, and his long legs, encased in faded jeans. His hair was shorter than he used to wear it, but the thick raven locks still feathered softly over his ears and across the back of his neck at collar length.
She took a steadying breath, but it did nothing to calm the conflicting emotions that raced through her body—heated desires and a quick rush of excitement when she saw Shane, followed closely by a sharp stab of alarm when she spotted Bobby with him. She tried to force a casual sound to her words while fighting off the panic that threatened to rob her of her last shreds of composure. “I see the two of you have met.”
“Oh, yes. Bobby and I have met. We’ve already had a busy morning.” Shane winked at the boy. “We’ve been cleaning up the mess someone left in the kitchen.”
She nervously cleared her throat as she made her way to the other side of the table, where her son was seated. She placed her hands protectively on his shoulders. “I hope Bobby hasn’t been any trouble. He doesn’t usually wake up this early. It was probably the strange surroundings.”
“Me and Shane fixed breakfast.” Bobby stared down at his bowl. “But I don’t think I like this kind of cereal.”
She kissed her son on the forehead, then smoothed back his unruly hair. “I remember when you thought you didn’t like waffles, either, because you thought they looked yucky. Now they’re your favorite breakfast.” She offered him an encouraging smile. “Don’t you think you should taste the cereal before you make up your mind?”
Bobby looked up at his mother. He scrunched up his face. “I guess so.” He tentatively took a bite. He didn’t say anything, but continued to eat. She smiled when she saw a look on his face she knew well, the one that said he found something new that he liked.
She turned her attention to Shane, her manner businesslike. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get myself a cup of coffee while Bobby eats his breakfast. We’ll leave as soon as he’s finished.”
Shane rose from his chair. “I’ll get it for you.”
She maintained a standoffish attitude, as much for her own sake, in trying to keep her emotional equilibrium, as to send a message to him. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.” She stepped back into the den and started toward the kitchen, with Shane close behind her.
“Uh, about your leaving...”
His words cut through her outer show of control straight to her buried anxiety, triggering an angry reaction. She whirled to face him, speaking slowly as she carefully measured each word. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out of your house this morning just as I said we would. I’ve already packed our things.” She glanced at the floor. “Except for these toys. I hadn’t anticipated having breakfast here. I’d planned for us to be out of your house as soon as I got Bobby up.”
“I’ve, uh, been giving it some thought,” Shane said.
She busied herself collecting Bobby’s toys. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not interested.”
He ignored her comments. “I don’t know why Kate wanted you to stay here, but I’ve found that it’s far easier to go along with what she wants than to try to fight her on anything.”
Cynthia turned a cool gaze on Shane, one that belied the nervous churning in her stomach. “Well, you shouldn’t have a problem with this one. You can tell Kate that I chose to leave.”
He awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced at the floor. “I guess I’m not making myself very clear.”
His nervousness and uncertainty caught her by surprise. They seemed completely out of character for the analytical, dynamic and confident Shane Fortune she used to know. This strange turn of events left her slightly perplexed. She thought everything had been settled last night. She wanted to move out of his house before things became more awkward than they already were. But mostly she wanted to get Bobby away from Shane. Protecting her son and his true identity was her number-one priority.
Shane cleared his throat as he took the toy police car from her hand, set the toy on the coffee table and then captured her wary gaze with his own. He fought the desire to reach out and touch her. He forged ahead, uncertain about where he was going. “What I’m trying to say is that you can stay here—you and Bobby—until you settle your father’s estate and find a place of your own. This is a large house. There’s plenty of room for everyone. We don’t have to feel crowded.”
He wasn’t pleased with the expression on her face or her body language, which both said his logic hadn’t convinced her. He offered a smile as he gestured toward the patio. “And there’s the swimming pool and hot tub.”
He saw her objections forming, but he adopted his most compelling bedside manner and continued before she had an opportunity to speak. “I can imagine things have been very hectic for you the past couple of weeks. It’s difficult enough to handle a long-distance move, and even more difficult to do it with a child.”
He glanced out the door of the den and could see Bobby still eating his breakfast. “To add the emotional turmoil of your father’s death to the circumstances is asking too much. The least I can do is allow you a safe and quiet haven in the middle of the chaos for a couple of weeks or so. You certainly can’t take care of your business while living in a motel and trying to take care of your son, too. I’m at the hospital a good deal of the time, so you’d practically have the place to yourself.”
He held up his hand to prevent her from voicing her objections. “Don’t say anything now. Give it some thought while you have breakfast.” He extended an engaging smile that he hoped would mask the uncertainty weaving its way through the fabric of his confidence. “Okay?”
He saw her relent before the words came out of her mouth. “I’ll...I’ll think about it.” She turned her attention to picking up the rest of Bobby’s toys.
Cynthia set the toy box on the coffee table next to the police car, then gazed out the door at Bobby. The little boy had taken his fire truck and was playing with it on the patio. She knew she could not conduct her business with her father’s estate while keeping her son cooped up in a motel room all day. Even if she let him play outside, she certainly couldn’t allow him to play in a parking lot or at the motel swimming pool without constant supervision.
She slowly turned to face Shane. She had reluctantly come to an uneasy decision. She made a valiant attempt to ignore the apprehension layered on top of her anxiety, caused as much by her unwanted attraction to Shane as by her all-important need to protect her secret.
He eyed her curiously. “Well?”
“I...” She stole another quick look at Bobby. Did she dare to stay in Shane’s house and tempt fate? Trepidation shivered through her body. She shoved the words out quickly, before she could change her mind. “Yes. If it won’t be too much of an imposition, we’ll stay until I can get my father’s estate straightened out.”
“Well, that’s settled then.” An odd sensation washed over him. Whether or not he’d planned it, the fact remained that Cynthia McCree was back in his life. What he was not sure about was whether he had made the right decision and where that decision would lead. Intimate memories of their time together flooded through his mind, vividly bringing back desires and yearnings for what had once been.
“Yes, I guess it is. I suppose I should go upstairs and unpack our things.” She stepped to the patio door and called to her son. “Come on, Bobby. Let’s take your toys to your bedroom so they aren’t cluttering up Shane’s den, then you need to get dressed.”
“In a minute, Mommy.” He pushed the fire truck while making engine noises. “My firemen aren’t done putting out the fire yet.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him if you want to go ahead and unpack.”
She paused for a moment, not sure how to respond to Shane’s offer. Even though she had started Bobby on swimming lessons at their neighborhood YMCA in Chicago, she didn’t feel comfortable about leaving him alone by the swimming pool. But of even greater concern was leaving him alone with Shane. The last thing she needed was for Shane to question Bobby about where his father was. An uncomfortable lump knotted in the pit of her stomach and refused to go away. This was more than she had bargained for when she’d made the decision to move back to Pueblo. She had never figured close contact with Shane Fortune into the equation.
She watched her son playing with his truck. Her love for him flowed through her body, sending warmth to every corner of her existence. His innocence was balanced in a precarious position between the business she had to handle and her fear that Shane would discover his true identity. It was up to her to make sure that nothing—or no one—robbed him of his right to a happy childhood. She closed her eyes for a second and tried to still her rattled nerves. She had to be strong. She could not allow this temporary association with Shane to distract her.
Nor could she allow Shane to work his way into her heart again—a task she feared would not be all that diffi-cult for him to achieve.
Cynthia stiffened her resolve. She had to make sure Shane didn’t suspect that anything was amiss. “I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. I’m sure Bobby won’t need any attention other than someone just being here to make sure he doesn’t try to go into the pool without supervision.” She gave one last tentative glance in Bobby’s direction and headed for the stairs.
Shane stood at the patio door watching Bobby play with his truck. Uncertainty welled up inside him—uncertainty about whether he had done the right thing, uncertainty about what the future held. An unidentified yet disturbing emotion pulled at his heartstrings. Bobby looked so much like Cynthia. Her son—a child who might have been theirs. His thoughts again wandered toward Bobby’s father and what had happened to him. He watched Bobby until the emotional tug-of-war taking place inside him became more than he could handle.
He turned his attention toward the Native American artifacts Bobby had scattered on the floor. He began gathering them together. A small hand thrust a mask in front of his face.
“Here. I can help.”
Bobby picked up a drum next and started to hand it to Shane, then paused. He looked at the drum, at Shane, then at the drum again. He hit it. A grin spread across his face and he hit it again. “I can be a Indian and you can be a cowboy.”
An involuntary laugh escaped Shane’s throat. “Maybe we should do that the other way around. Since I’m one-quarter Native American, I think you should be the cowboy, instead of me.”
Bobby put down the drum. His eyes grew wide in amazement as he stared at Shane. “You’re a real Indian?”
“I sure am. My grandmother’s name was Natasha Light-foot, and she was a full-blooded Papago. They’ve since changed the name to Tohono O’odham. There’s a plateau with a sacred cave next to the reservation. Her family used to own the plateau and it’s named for them.”
“Do you know how to ride a horse? And shoot a bow and arrow?” The little boy’s voice contained the same type of reverential awe often reserved for superheroes and sports stars.
“I sure do.” Shane took in the fascination that covered Bobby’s face. An odd sensation invaded his consciousness, a strange sort of tremor that started deep inside him and radiated throughout his body. He ventured a question, not sure exactly where he was going with it or even if he should ask it. “Would you like me to teach you how?” Another thought occurred to him, one that left him slightly unsettled. “If it’s okay with your mother, that is.” A surprising and unusual affinity with this little boy had been creeping up on him from the moment Bobby had turned around and asked him who he was early that morning. Was he starting something that couldn’t be finished?
Bobby exuded excitement. “Yeah, I’d like that!”
“First we have to make sure it’s okay with your mother,” Shane repeated. He turned his attention to the items still on the floor. “But for now, let’s finish putting these things back where they belong.”
Shane placed the various items on the shelves, all but two. Bobby had held on to the drum and one of the Kachina dolls. Both were very old and valuable.
Bobby put the Kachina doll on the floor and turned his attention to the drum. Shane picked up the doll and carefully placed it on the coffee table. It was one of the few items he owned that had at one time actually belonged to his grandmother, a woman he never knew. She had died when his father was only eighteen.
What few possessions his grandmother had owned had finally been distributed among her grandchildren—his cousins, Jason and Tyler Fortune, his brother, Riley, and his sister Isabelle. The one possession that should have been his grandmother’s was the one thing Shane wanted most—Lightfoot Plateau. The plateau and the cave were believed to have mystical powers. The Lightfoot family had been guardians of the plateau for centuries. One way or the other, he planned to have it back in the family.
Shane held up the Kachina doll. “Do you know what this is?”
Bobby took the doll from Shane’s hand. He studied it, then made his pronouncement with all the authority of an expert testifying in court. “It’s a Indian—a special one like the chief.”
Shane smiled at Bobby. “That’s very good, but he’s even more special than that. This is a Kachina doll—”
“A doll?” Bobby scrunched up his nose. “Like girls play with?”
Shane suppressed a laugh. “No, more like your cowboy action figures. They’re dolls.”
Bobby’s next words were almost a whisper, as if he didn’t want Shane to hear them. “They aren’t dolls. They’re cowboys!”
Shane took the Kachina from Bobby, handling it carefully. His manner turned serious. “This isn’t a play toy. A Kachina is a carved doll in a costume representing a spirit that has a special meaning for the tribe who believes in that spirit.”
“It’s not a toy? You can’t play with them? What do you do with them?” The enthusiasm in Bobby’s voice conveyed his fascination.
Shane tried to simplify the explanation so that Bobby would be able to understand. “The Native Americans who have the Kachinas believe that everything in the real world has a spirit that lives inside it. The Kachina dolls represent that spirit. The dolls depict men dressed in Kachina masks for special ceremonies where they call on the spirit of the Kachina.” He paused for a moment as he ran his fingertips gently across the costumed figurine.
“The Kachina doll has a very special meaning for a tribe. This one belonged to my grandmother. It’s usually given to a child as a gift. A friend of my grandmother was a Hopi. She gave the Hopi Kachina to my grandmother, who gave it to my father, and my father gave it to me.”
Bobby’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “Gosh.” He reached out and touched the Kachina, but did not try to take hold of it.
Cynthia stood at the door to the den taking in the scene and the conversation between Shane and Bobby. It was a scene that should have warmed her heart—her son and his father enjoying a special moment together. But it didn’t. Instead it sent a cold shiver through her body, followed by a surge of fear. She desperately wanted to put a stop to what she saw, but she couldn’t do it without creating an awkward situation. Shane was obviously taken with Bobby, a reality that threatened her to the very core of her existence. And equally disturbing was the fascination Bobby seemed to have for Shane.
She blinked back the tears, trying to bring some calm to her shaken nerves and emotional turmoil, and entered the room. “I had the news on upstairs while I was unpacking. They announced a story on the construction of Fortune Memorial Children’s Hospital in the next segment, right after the commercial.” She turned on the television set, hoping the distraction would stop what she could plainly see was the beginning of a bonding between Bobby and Shane.
Shane was Bobby’s father. Did she have the right to deny either of them that special father-and-son relationship? Or to deny her son that Native American part of his heritage that he seemed so fascinated with, something she’d noticed even before they’d left Chicago? She tried to shove the concerns aside, to tell herself there were far more important issues at stake. A twinge of guilt etched a path through her consciousness, taking up residence next to her anxiety. If only she had a clear-cut solution to her dilemma that would satisfy everyone’s needs—one that would be safe.
Shane moved closer to the television, drawing her attention to the newscast. The scene was the construction site of the hospital, but the story was about something else. It was a follow-up to a story about the construction fore-man’s accidental death being reclassified as murder.
The reporter went from that story to a segment about the Fortune Memorial Children’s Hospital, which was followed by a taped interview with Dr. Shane Fortune in which he talked about the hospital project and then presented his concerns for the future of Lightfoot Plateau. Cynthia listened intently, taking in every word Shane said about the family’s desire to give back to the community through the construction of the hospital.
When the segment concluded, Shane angrily snapped off the television. She could hear the disgust in his voice. “They certainly went out of their way to make sure the family name and the hospital project were thoroughly en-twined with Mike Dodd’s death. It was bad enough when his death in the elevator fall several months ago was thought to be an industrial accident at a Fortune Construction work site, but now that it’s a murder case, they seem to be reveling in it. It’s getting more and more difficult these days to find any difference between legitimate news and tabloid journalism.”
Cynthia’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand the public debate over Lightfoot Plateau. There seems to be a faction strongly in favor of preservation and another faction equally adamant in their desire to see the land developed.” She turned to face Shane. “Isn’t the land privately owned? Why would there be a public debate over it?”
“Yes, it’s privately owned.” His response carried the same note of displeasure she’d detected when he’d commented on the news story.
“I don’t think I ever told you the story of the land. When my grandmother became pregnant by Ben Fortune, her family practically disowned her. Not only was she not married to Ben, he was still married to Kate Fortune and had no intention of getting a divorce. Natasha’s family said she had disgraced them. They would not allow the land to stay in the Lightfoot family so that she would inherit it, especially when it meant that Ben Fortune might end up owning it.
“They sold Lightfoot Plateau to the Rowan family who still owns it. The land is adjacent to the hospital site and also borders the reservation. The Rowans have allowed the cave entrance to fall into disrepair, but their son, Brad, has agreed to return the plateau to the Fortunes when he marries my sister, Isabelle. Contrary to Brad’s plans, I want to restore it and preserve the area as a place of historical significance for the various Native American tribes in this area.”
She saw the determination in his features, the same type of dedication and all-out involvement in a cause she’d seen years ago. Once he made a commitment to something, nothing could deter him. A rush of sorrow caught her un-prepared, tipping her delicately balanced emotions off center again. The sadness pushed at her reality. He had obviously never been committed to their relationship or to a shared future—certainly not the way she had been. She forced the upsetting thoughts from her mind and tried to shake off the disturbing feelings.
Cynthia glanced at Bobby. He was studying the pictures in a book he had taken from the shelf. If Shane had not been committed to their relationship, he would not have been committed to their son, either. Was she grasping at straws? Desperately searching for something to justify her decision to hide Bobby’s true identity from him? She didn’t think so, but that little shred of uncertainty still lingered at the back of her mind.
“Well—” Shane’s voice broke into her thoughts “—I need to get going. I have a finance committee meeting for the Children’s Hospital, then I need to do rounds at Pueblo General. I, uh, well, I have plans for this evening, so I won’t be home for dinner.”
“That’s quite all right.” Had her words come out too quickly? She attempted to explain. “I mean, I don’t want our staying here to interfere with your usual routine.”
“I guess I’ll see you later tonight.” Shane hurried out of the den and up the stairs to his bedroom.
It had been an odd interlude and it left him unnerved, although he wasn’t sure exactly why. The conversation had turned to a topic that did not involve dredging up moments from their past union. Yet a tingling undercurrent of heated desire continued to race through his body. His breathing quickened and his pulse jumped.
He didn’t have any plans for that evening. He wasn’t even sure why he said he had. The only thing he was certain of was his need to get out of that room. The walls had started to close in around him. He needed to go someplace where he could think without the very real distraction presented by Cynthia McCree’s presence.
The undeniably disconcerting affect she had on his senses left him as much bewildered as it did longing to renew their affair. It was an idea that had often crossed his mind and inflamed his desires, but it had been safely tucked away as something that could never be. He had never gotten her out of his system, but he thought he had reconciled himself to the fact that she was no longer part of his life. Then when he’d found her in his house in the middle of the night, everything had come rushing back at him. She had changed a great deal over the past six years. She was every bit as desirable, but now it was combined with a new maturity and confidence.
There was also her son and the unanswered questions about the little boy’s father. And there was that empty feeling inside him that had never gone away.
He dressed quickly for work, then hurried downstairs. He paused at the bottom of the staircase and glanced at Cynthia in the den. His heartbeat picked up again. Everything meshed together in one baffling tableau of what had been, what was now and what could be. It left him utterly bewildered.
He turned away. There was no need to have any further conversation with Cynthia before he left for work. He went through the kitchen and into the garage, then tried to collect his thoughts as he drove to the hospital. He needed to talk to Kate. He could not imagine why she’d offered the use of his house to Cynthia.
He had even gone so far as to compound a tenuous situation by insisting that she stay until she could get her business matters settled. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to do that, and it had probably been a really bad idea. But was it one he would live to regret?
Three
“What’s the matter, Mommy?” Bobby asked worriedly as he placed his fire truck on the patio table in front of her.
Cynthia opened her eyes. “It’s nothing, honey.” Bad enough that her decision to keep Bobby’s identity from Shane had already laid a heavy dose of guilt on her. Now she’d compounded that guilt by allowing her son to see her weakness and despair. “Mommy just has a bit of a headache, that’s all.”
“Why does your head ache? Did you hurt it?”
She couldn’t resist grinning as she wrapped her arms around her son and gave him a loving squeeze. No matter how bleak things seemed or how distraught she felt, all she had to do was hug Bobby and the world suddenly became a brighter place. “I guess I did. I hurt it by thinking too much about your grandpa’s belongings. Taking care of his things is going to take more time than I thought.”
She had spent the day working on her father’s estate. She had gathered his papers and business effects from his apartment, along with items of sentimental value. There was nothing else there that warranted the effort or expense of putting it into storage. She made arrangements to have the apartment cleaned out and the remaining items disposed of.
That left only the task of sorting out the tangled mess of her father’s estate. She had been shocked by the poverty-stricken appearance of his living conditions, yet the paperwork told a different story. What she’d thought would be a straightforward situation had turned into a time-consuming nightmare.
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Shawna Delacorte
On a sultry midnight eve, Dr. Shane Fortune came face-to-face with his past. For his "intruder" was the woman he'd once loved but foolishly let go. Now Cynthia McCree and her son were his reluctant houseguests. Her reasons for being under his roof were no secret. But Shane knew that Cynthia was harboring a secret. One that had to do with her son…who bore an uncanny resemblance to him!
Kate Fortune’s Journal Entry
Sterling and I came to Arizona to get away from the cold Minnesota winter, but my old bones are practically quivering from all the troubles that have befallen this branch of the Fortune family. Ever since the accident happened on the construction site for the children’s hospital, an investigator has been prying into the Fortune family’s business. It’s just ludicrous to think that any member of the Fortune clan could have been involved in this terrible tragedy.
There is one bright spot, though. Ever since I ran into Cynthia McCree and her adorable son, Bobby, I’ve known that Bobby isn’t a McCree—he’s a Fortune through and through. Of course, it’s taking Bobby’s parents a little time to put the past behind them…but, from what I’ve heard, the desert sun doesn’t feel nearly as warm as the heat sizzling between them!
Dear Reader,
Thanks to all who have shared, in letters and at our Web site, eHarlequin.com, how much you love Silhouette Desire! One Web visitor told us, “When I was nineteen, this man broke my heart. So I picked up a Silhouette Desire and…lost myself in other people’s happiness, sorrow, desire…. Guys came and went and the books kept entertaining me.” It is so gratifying to know how our books have touched and even changed your lives—especially with Silhouette celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000.
The incomparable Joan Hohl dreamed up October’s MAN OF THE MONTH. The Dakota Man is used to getting his way until he meets his match in a feisty jilted bride. And Anne Marie Winston offers you a Rancher’s Proposition, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL.
First Comes Love is another sexy love story by Elizabeth Bevarly. A virgin finds an unexpected champion when she is rumored to be pregnant. The latest installment of the sensational Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Fortune’s Secret Child by Shawna Delacorte. Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION continues with Marooned with a Marine. And Joan Elliott Pickart returns to Desire with Baby: MacAllister-Made, part of her wonderful miniseries THE BABY BET.
So take your own emotional journey through our six new powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire—and keep sending us those letters and e-mails, sharing your enthusiasm for our books!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Fortune’s Secret Child
Shawna Delacorte
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Judy Laivo, who has displayed such grace in the face of adversity.
SHAWNA DELACORTE
has delayed her move to Washington State, staying in the Midwest in order to spend some additional time with family. She still travels as often as time permits and is looking forward to visiting several new places during the upcoming year while continuing to devote herself to writing full-time. Shawna would appreciate hearing from her readers. She can be reached at 6505 E. Central, Box #300, Wichita, KS 67206-1924.
Meet the Arizona Fortunes—a family with a legacy of wealth, influence and power. As they gather for a host of weddings, a shocking plot against the family is revealed...and passionate new romances are ignited.
DR. SHANE FORTUNE: This proudly independent loner thinks he’s finally gotten his life together, until a weird twist of fate brings his former girlfriend to his house in the middle of the night—and back into his life.
CYNTHIA MCCREE: The single mom has put her past firmly behind her, and nothing—not even an undeniable passion—is going to bring her back to the man who’d once been the love of her life. Not when she has so much at stake…
BOBBY MCCREE: This five-year-old is the most important thing in Cynthia’s life—that is, until a midnight collision brings her smack into the arms of his Native American father!
FORTUNE FAMILY TREE: THE ARIZONA BRANCH
Contents
Chapter One (#u432246d0-770e-53c1-9d4c-1743a1f0fcbb)
Chapter Two (#u200baddc-a051-572d-bdf8-4d58038a0d11)
Chapter Three (#u4c535adb-a25d-5a9a-840f-d8b25e549893)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
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)
One
Cynthia McCree awoke with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed, shaking the fogginess from her head as she collected her bearings in the unfamiliar surroundings. She furrowed her brow, straining to hear the noise that had woken her. There it was again, the same sound. Her muscles tensed and an uncomfortable dryness closed off her throat. She tried to swallow her apprehension, but it refused to go away.
She slid out of bed and pulled on her robe. Her heartbeat quickened. Her stomach jittered nervously. She quietly made her way down the darkened hallway to her son’s bedroom. She tried to calm her nerves by telling herself that the sound was just Bobby, having a restless night due to his new surroundings. She opened the door and stepped inside.
The night-light in the adjoining bathroom provided just enough illumination for her to see. She pulled up the sheet and tucked it around the shoulders of the sleeping five-year-old boy. She placed a tender kiss on his forehead. A soft warmth settled over her and wrapped around her senses as she watched him. He was the most important thing in her life. He’d been through so much upheaval during the past two weeks. She hoped things would settle down for him now. For both of them.
She was jerked out of her moment of reverie. There it was again. Her body stiffened, and the loving glow that had filtered through her consciousness just moments earlier was shoved aside. Her anxiety level shot up. Her heart lodged in her throat. The noise came from downstairs. Did she dare go to investigate? She glanced back at her sleeping son, then set her jaw in a hard line of determination. She drew a steadying breath, then stepped into the hallway.
Downstairs in the kitchen Shane Fortune had just popped a frozen dinner into the microwave. He leaned back against the counter and closed his eyes. The weariness from the long day had finally caught up with him. The three-day medical conference was exhausting enough without tackling the one-hundred-mile drive from Phoenix back to his home in Pueblo, Arizona.
A sound broke the quiet, yanking him out of his thoughts. An adrenaline surge put his senses on full alert. Someone had stepped on the squeaky stair between the foyer and the second floor. He made his way from the kitchen, through the utility room and down the back hall, arriving at the arched opening underneath the stairs. He paused for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dim illumination filtering in through the windows from the outside street light.
A shadowy figure crossed the foyer toward the front door. Shane moved silently through the darkness in much the same way as a cat stalks its prey, or as one of his Native American ancestors would have stealthily picked his way through a rocky canyon. He sprang from behind, knocking the intruder to the ground. He easily pinned the struggling body against the terra-cotta floor in the entry-way. Then his hand grazed a decidedly female breast and he heard a woman gasp.
Shane yanked his hand away. He focused on the face of the intruder. Her identity exploded in his consciousness, leaving him frozen in stunned silence. Waves of conflicting emotions swept through him. He had not seen her in six years, but there was no mistaking who she was even in the darkened surroundings. No one had eyes like hers, eyes that seemed to glow an iridescent blue. He couldn’t find enough breath even to speak. He finally forced out one word, managing only a hushed whisper. “Cynthia.”
He hovered directly above her, their mouths almost in contact. Sexual electricity leapt between them. It was the same sensual excitement that had once been part of their life together. It wrenched all the old emotions from the past—both good ones and bad—and deposited them in the here and now. What weird twist of fate had brought her to his house in the middle of the night?
She stopped struggling, but her muscles remained tensed. Every heated desire he had ever felt for Cynthia McCree came rushing back full force. Memories of long ago—the smell of her perfume, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her naked body pressed along the length of his, the many passion-filled nights of lovemaking—came from the same hidden place that also held old feelings of confusion and anger.
Cynthia wasn’t sure if any of this was real or only a cruel trick of her mind prompted by her return to Pueblo. Shane Fortune...was it possible that she was still in bed fast asleep and this was only a bad dream? She felt his heartbeat as his body pressed against hers—at least, she thought it was his heartbeat. It could just as easily have been her own. Their lips were so close she could almost feel the contact. All the old emotions flooded over her—times of unbridled passion and times of deep sorrow. He had been the love of her life. He was also the man who had broken her heart and hurt her more than she thought possible.
None of this made sense. She shook off the past and renewed her struggle as she tried to collect her wits. She shoved hard against his chest with both hands in an effort to push him away. She had to pull herself together and do it quickly. There was a lot more at stake here than being physically thrown together with the last man on earth she had expected to be with or even wanted to be with.
She noticed a moment of hesitation on his part when he resisted her efforts to dislodge him. It almost seemed as if he intended to close the few inches of space separating their mouths. A sharp jolt of fear surged through her body—not fear of what Shane might do, but rather fear that she would be a willing accomplice. Then as suddenly as it had all begun, he relinquished his hold on her and stood up. A very shaken Cynthia scrambled to her feet, then leaned against the staircase banister to steady her wobbly legs. She gasped for breath as anxiety ran rampant through her body. She kept a wary eye on him while he reached for a light switch.
Shane’s logical and analytical mind tried to dismiss the emotions and put things into some type of order. He couldn’t make any sense of what had happened. He had not been this confused since the day he’d told Cynthia they had no future together and their affair was over. Those years had been very intense for him, filled with inner turmoil and conflicts. He had cut her out of his life with surgical efficiency, and there had been no further contact between them—until now. He didn’t like the nervous uncertainty that jittered inside him. He clicked on a light, then took a calming breath before turning to face her.
He tried to speak, but his throat constricted, trapping his words inside. The disarray of her long blond hair exuded an earthy sexuality that caught him totally off guard. The barefoot woman in a knee-length robe standing in front of him was even more beautiful than the memory he’d been carrying around for six years. A wave of desire surged through his body, in direct contrast to his practiced outer show of calm and control.
He tried to beat down this unaccustomed lack of composure and take charge of the situation the same way he did with everything that came his way. It was a skill he’d perfected over a lifetime, making sure no one could read his thoughts or feelings. Before he could manage it, though, Cynthia usurped any thought he had of being in control of the circumstances.
She made no effort to curb the edge of displeasure surrounding her words. “Just what do you think you’re doing here?”
A sudden twinge of discomfort reinforced her awareness of the way she was dressed. Cynthia tightened the sash of her robe and pulled the collar close around her neck. She was vaguely aware of the scrape on her forearm, the result of contact with the rough tile floor. She put as much authority into her voice as she could dredge up from her rapidly dwindling reserve of confidence. “I made sure the doors were locked before going to bed. How did you get in here?”
As a corporate attorney, she had learned to read people. She immediately recognized his body language—leaning forward in an attempt to psychologically throw her off balance, the unsettling way his dark piercing eyes seemed to see inside her, his attempt to control the situation and control her. It had worked back when her worldly experience was limited to Pueblo, Arizona, but it wasn’t going to work anymore. She had long since become toughened by the realities of life. She pulled her determination together, held her ground and refused to back down before his aggressive manner.
“You’re asking how I got in?” Had he heard her correctly? Was she really challenging his right to be in his own house? None of this made any sense to him. He maintained his outer facade of total authority as he scrambled to put things into some kind of perspective. “I think a better question is, What are you doing in my house?”
Her eyes widened in shock. She stumbled backward a couple of steps. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to speak, giving her voice a husky sound. “Your house? This is your house?” The tightness in her jaw relaxed a little. Disbelief covered her features where determination had been just a moment earlier. “How can that possibly be?”
The sharpness in her words melted away as it turned into bewilderment. She seemed to be staring into space rather than focusing on anything. She sounded almost as if she was trying to work out a problem in her mind rather than talking to him. “Kate insisted that I stay here until I get everything settled and find a job. With my mother having died when I was a child, I’m the one responsible for handling my father’s estate. Kate led me to believe that she owned this house, that it was leased to someone who was going to be out of state for a while.”
She struggled to regain her determination, finally managing to exercise some authority over what was happening, even though the situation was far from clear. She stared at him, her manner no longer questioning or unsure. “She certainly didn’t tell me this house belonged to you.”
His brow knitted in a frown. He shook his head, hoping the puzzle pieces would settle into their proper places. “Kate Fortune said you could stay in my house? Your father’s estate? What’s going on here?” Shane took a calming breath. On more than one occasion over the past six years he had envisioned a reunion with Cynthia and pondered what might have been had he not cut her out of his life. The thoughts always wound up making him feel sad, so he had refused to dwell on them. Only now here she suddenly was, the flesh-and-blood woman, more beautiful than ever—not a figment of his imagination—and he didn’t know how to handle it.
He motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen. “I must be missing something. It’s been a couple of weeks since I talked to Kate. I told her I would be attending a medical conference up in Phoenix. I wasn’t scheduled to be home until tomorrow but decided to drive back tonight, instead.”
Cynthia glanced nervously toward the top of the stairs. She didn’t want their voices to wake Bobby. Things were awkward enough without her son making an unexpected appearance. She returned her attention to Shane, thankful they were moving away from the bottom of the stairs. Things were becoming more and more bizarre by the minute. Her initial trepidation had turned to confusion and now bordered on anger.
And then, as if to mock her attempt at control, her suppressed desire for Shane Fortune heated to an uncomfortable level. She tried to keep any and all emotion out of her voice. She was an intelligent adult who could certainly handle an awkward situation with a former lover in a mature manner. At least that was what she tried to convince herself of. “I don’t know how this apparent misunderstanding occurred, but there’s obviously a problem here, and it needs to be straightened out immediately.”
“I’ll have to agree with you on that.” Shane took his dinner from the microwave and set it on the counter, then turned his attention back to Cynthia. He felt a twinge of guilt when he noticed the scrape on her arm. It was not the first time he had battled feelings of guilt where Cynthia McCree was concerned.
He watched her for a moment as she nervously smoothed her hair back with her hands—the curve of her jaw, the tilt of her nose, the soft lips, the creamy skin. His breathing quickened and then his throat went dry, making it difficult for him to swallow. He finally looked away, hoping to break the bands of tension that tightened across his chest. He didn’t know what to think and wasn’t sure what he felt.
He glanced at the dinner he had removed from the microwave, then shoved it aside. Food was of no interest to him at that moment. He stared at her, drinking in her beauty as he tried to sort out what had happened.
He desperately wanted to reach out and touch her—to caress her cheek and to hold her in his arms—but he didn’t dare. It took all his willpower to fight the urge. He glanced away from the emotional pull of her presence. He wasn’t sure how to proceed but felt pressured to say something. “So...start at the beginning and tell me how you came to be in my house.”
She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her confidence faded with each passing second. She could not keep the uncertainty out of her voice. “You own this house? Is this also where you live...your permanent residence?”
“I live here three hundred and sixty-five days a year, three hundred and sixty-six in leap years.” He leveled a steady gaze at her. “And just how long have you been living here?”
She stared at the floor as she uttered a sheepish response. “I moved in late this afternoon.”
“Exactly what is this all about?”
His attitude was demanding, but in light of the circumstances, Cynthia had to admit his request was not unreasonable. She took a calming breath and attempted to put the facts into some sort of logical order, an easier task than tackling her need to set aside the very disconcerting effect Shane Fortune had on her—even after all these years. A tremor made its way through her body, telling her just how desirable she still found him.
“My father died three days ago,” she began.
“I’m sorry.” His surprise was genuine and his words sincere. “I didn’t know. Had he been ill?”
“Apparently so—” a sob caught in her throat “—but he hadn’t said anything about not feeling well...” Her voice trailed off, her despair over the loss of her father momentarily distracting her. “Anyway—” she returned her attention to Shane, determined to present a strong front “—late one night I received a phone call from his neighbor saying he had found my father unconscious in the hall and called an ambulance to take him to the hospital. I finally got hold of the doctor.”
She steeled herself. Her personal concerns and feelings about her father’s death were private and certainly not any of Shane’s business. She tried to tamp down her anxiety and steady her nerves before continuing.
“I was making some changes in my life’s direction and personal priorities and was already packed up to move,” she said, “so it was a simple matter to put my household goods in storage to be shipped later. I packed the bare essentials in my car and drove straight from Chicago to Pueblo.”
“Chicago... So that’s your car with the Illinois license plates parked on the street in front of the house?”
“Yes.” She snapped out the answer, annoyed at the way the conversation had strayed from the problem at hand. “Anyway, I had assumed I could stay at my father’s, but when I arrived, I found that his house was really a small studio apartment in a building that looked like it should have been condemned.” She still had difficulty accepting what had been going on with her father. She clenched her jaw and fought back her tears before they could escape.
She forced out her words, preferring to dictate the direction of the conversation rather than giving him the opportunity to ask questions. “I tried to get some information from his neighbor, but he didn’t say anything that explained what had happened.” She slowly shook her head, trying to put logic to something that refused to make sense. “There was no way I could stay there, so I rented a studio apartment on a weekly basis at a motel close to the hospital. My father died four days later without ever regaining consciousness.” A sob caught in her throat as the pain of her loss forced itself to the surface. “He didn’t even know I was there.” She paused, then tucked her private moment of sorrow safely away where no one could see it.
She looked up at Shane, squared her shoulders and gathered her composure again. “Then Kate offered me this house to stay in until I could get my father’s estate straightened out, find a place to live and get a job.”
“It’s amazing that we didn’t run into each other at the hospital. I’m on staff there.”
“Yes, I know.” Her voice dropped to a soft whisper. “I saw your name on the registry.”
An awkward silence filled the air before Shane finally broke it. “Well, that certainly explains what you’re doing in Pueblo, but it doesn’t explain how you and Kate got together. I can’t imagine her doing something like giving my house to someone.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had made a colossal blunder. They sounded way too harsh, especially in light of the circumstances of her father’s death. He saw her eyes narrow and her jaw tighten, but it was too late to take the words back.
She sharply clipped her words, unable to keep the anger out of her voice. “Kate didn’t give me a house. I can afford to pay my own way. I don’t require charity from anyone, least of all from the Fortune family. I told Kate I would pay rent while I was here.”
“No one said you were asking for charity.” The volume of his voice rose to match hers. “That still doesn’t tell me how and why you and Kate even got together.”
She spit out the words without making any attempt to hold back her anger. “I don’t need your permission before speaking with someone.” She glared at him. “But for your information she read the obituary notice in the newspaper. It mentioned the graveside service that took place this morning.” Her voice softened as thoughts and feelings from several years ago again invaded her consciousness. “I was surprised to see her there. I had only met her briefly on a couple of occasions back when you and I...”
The memory of their two-year intense love affair, which she’d thought would last a lifetime, brought her words to a halt. She swallowed her momentary lapse and continued, though a lot of the fire had gone out of her attitude. The captivating and tantalizing presence of the very tempting Shane Fortune was playing havoc with her reality. Her emotions had been on a roller-coaster ride from the moment she realized the identity of the man who had tackled her. She needed to bring the wild ride to a halt.
“Well, anyway, I was surprised to see her at the service. It never occurred to me that she would remember who I was or associate me with the newspaper obit for my father.”
He folded his arms across his chest and leveled a steady gaze at her. “I see.” His words may not have said it, but his attitude and tone of voice spelled out his skepticism.
She scowled fiercely. “Since you apparently choose not to believe me, I suggest you take the matter up with Kate rather than continuing to badger me. I certainly don’t have any other reason for being in your house.”
His voice grew louder still. “I did not say I didn’t believe you. Stop putting words in my mouth.” His voice dropped. “And I’m not badgering you.”
She put her hands on her hips, and her voice rose, her anger spilling out in each word. “I’m hardly putting words in your mouth.” She stole a quick glance out the kitchen door toward the staircase. She lowered her tone, but her ire had not been assuaged. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down so you don’t wake Bobby.” A sinking feeling settled inside her. The words had slipped out before she could censor them.
“Bobby? You mean there’s someone else in my house besides you?” Shane’s reaction was immediate—curiosity combined with a determination that said he was about to tackle a problem head on. “Just who is this Bobby? Your boyfriend?” He hesitated, his words more cautious than accusatory, as if he was uncertain about saying them. “Your husband?”
She tried to still her apprehension. She could not keep the quaver out of her voice, nor could she look Shane in the eye. She stared at the floor and uttered a barely audible response. “Bobby is my son.”
“Your...your son?” Shane staggered backward a couple of steps, stunned. He came to a halt when he bumped into the pantry door. “I didn’t realize you had married.”
“I’m not married.” She attempted to change the subject, making no effort to keep the irritation out of voice. The sick churning in the pit of her stomach confirmed that she was a long way from being in control of anything. “Now, if the inquisition is over...”
He regarded her for a second as he switched his attitude from personal to detached. “You’ve certainly changed.” He had to do something to get his rampaging emotions under control. He knew his anger was only one of them, a small one at that. The overriding element—the thing that bothered him the most and what he had to curb—was his all-consuming desire for Cynthia McCree. It was something he thought he would never come face-to-face with again, yet here it was. “We never used to argue about anything.”
“If you mean that I’m no longer that docile young woman you knew when we were pursuing the education for our careers, the one who hung on your every word, then you’re right—I’ve changed. I learned about the real world very quickly.” She shot him a pointed look. “Almost overnight.” She could tell she hit the mark with her reference to the abrupt way he had terminated their affair.
She straightened her stance and presented him with a businesslike facade that said she considered the conversation at an end. “You needn’t worry, my son and I will be out of your house first thing in the morning.” She whirled around and started toward the door, hoping she had turned away in time to prevent him from seeing the anguish that must surely have registered on her face. The last thing she wanted was to show any weakness or vulnerability to Shane Fortune.
“Wait a minute!” Shane reached out and grabbed her arm, bringing her to a halt. Her words and tone may have been angry, but he also heard what was underneath. He heard the hurt and knew he had been the cause of it. That knowledge weighed uncomfortably on his conscience. He was not proud of what he had done to her six years ago and, in particular, the way he had done it. He had never been able to forgive himself for hurting her the way he had. Was it too late to make things right? He didn’t know. He suppressed a sigh of despair. He didn’t know much of anything at the moment.
She jerked her arm free of his grasp and turned a defiant stare on him. She spit out her words, along with her hurt and anger. “What now? Isn’t first thing in the morning soon enough for you? Do you want us out of here tonight?”
“No. That’s not it.” He backed away from her anger and her surprisingly aggressive behavior. “It’s your arm...” His manner softened. “Let me take a look at that abrasion.”
Cynthia glanced at the scrape just below her elbow. What little composure she still possessed was slipping away faster than she could keep control of it. She had to get away from him. From his far-too-tempting presence. She snapped out her words. “It’s nothing.”
Shane grasped her arm again, this time gently, as he changed from the strong and determined Shane Fortune to the compassionate and caring Dr. Fortune. His soothing voice elicited the type of patient confidence that made him so successful and popular at the hospital. “At least let me put some antiseptic on it.”
He tugged until he felt her relent. He slid his fingers down her arm, took her hand in his, then led her across the kitchen. The warmth of her skin spread through his body, rousing a combination of emotions unlike any he’d ever experienced. It was all very confusing and unsettling. He tried to concentrate on the matter at hand.
He opened a cupboard and grabbed a package of cotton balls and a bottle of antiseptic. She flinched and her muscles tensed as he applied it. His soothing voice carried his concern. “Does this hurt?”
“No...it stings a little, that’s all.”
It was as if all the fight had suddenly gone out of her and a crisis had passed. He continued to cling to her hand. He had never forgotten the sensual feeling he got from touching her, yet the tingling sensation emanating from his fingertips and continuing up his arm carried all the excitement of something new and wonderful. The sensation both thrilled and disturbed him.
Cynthia worked her hand out of his grasp without actually jerking it away. His touch stirred up emotions and needs she thought she’d safely buried away. She tried to physically distance herself from his commanding presence and his tempting allure, which made her pulse jump and her blood race. She put as much confidence into her voice as she could muster. “As I said, my son and I will be out of your house first thing in the morning.” She turned and practically ran from him.
“Cynthia, wait.” He watched helplessly as she left the kitchen and started up the stairs, ignoring his words. He stood motionless, rooted to the spot, as the most exciting and tantalizing woman he had ever known walked away from him just as he had walked away from her six long years ago.
He didn’t have a clue what to do. Shane Fortune—the man whose life was totally under control, the man who knew exactly where he was going and what he was doing, the man whose commanding presence inspired confidence in everyone around him—was at a complete loss. He stared at the spot where she’d been standing just a moment earlier, an escalating sense of loss tugging at his consciousness, revealing the emptiness that lived inside him. He realized he had no one to blame but himself.
He and Cynthia had met in graduate school. He thought back. She had been part of his life at a time when he had been trying to deal with inner turmoil about his dual heritage and his place in the overall scheme of things. He had struggled to find his own identity in a life that straddled two worlds—the one on his grandfather’s side, with the wealth and prestige of the Fortune family, and on the other side the Native American culture of his Tohono O’odham grandmother. He’d been positive that Cynthia would never be able to fit into that divided world, especially when he didn’t know where or how he fit into it himself. It had been a time of pent-up anger and inner turmoil, which he had successfully kept hidden behind a facade of strength and control.
There had never been any confusion about his career. Unlike his brother and two cousins, he had made the decision not to work in the family-owned company, Fortune Construction. Being a doctor was what he had always wanted. His personal life, however, had been a mass of confusion and contradictions. No one really knew what he was going through back then. He had managed to keep his turmoil well hidden from everyone who knew him, including his family and Cynthia McCree.
A small spot of warmth, fueled by a long-suppressed emotional need, flickered to life. He did know one thing for certain—no matter how dark something had seemed to him, all his problems would disappear when he held Cynthia McCree in his arms. It had taken several months of stubborn denial and agonizing over what he had done before he finally admitted to himself that by leaving her he had made a colossal blunder, missed her very much and wanted her back in his life.
He had eventually swallowed his pride and asked her father where she had gone. He vividly recalled Robert McCree’s angry words. Don’t you think you’ve already hurt her enough? I told her no good would come of associating with you. If she wants to talk to you, she knows where to find you. Everyone knows where to find the illustrious Fortunes. The words had been cloaked in bitter sarcasm and they had hit their mark. They left him with a gaping hole in his life that had never been refilled.
He shoved aside the unpleasant memories and turned his attention to his now cold dinner. He stared at it, emitted a sigh of resignation, then put it in the refrigerator. What had been hunger pangs an hour ago had turned into uncertainty about what would happen in the morning. He busied himself with the physical activity of cleaning up the kitchen and restoring everything to its proper place. The memories continued to linger in his mind, mixing with thoughts of what the immediate future held.
He left the kitchen and started up the stairs toward his bedroom. He paused at the top of the staircase. The doors were closed at two of the four guest bedrooms. One of them was Cynthia’s and the other was her son. He stopped outside the closed doors and listened for a moment. A deep disappointment had jabbed at his consciousness when she said she had a son. He continued down the hallway to his bedroom suite. A strange sense of loss overcame him as the disappointment turned to sadness.
Cynthia heard the soft footsteps outside her bedroom. She held her breath and waited in the darkness. Tears welled up in her eyes and a terrible foreboding settled over her. Would he open the door? She finally heard him move away. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on getting some sleep, but to no avail. Her efforts only produced an image of Shane’s handsome features and the memory of many nights of heated passion. He’d been the man she thought she’d be with for the rest of her life, a love she thought would live forever. Then her entire life had come crashing down around her.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to drive the image from her mind. He had rejected her, and even after all these years the pain was still very real. But that was not the most compelling issue at hand. Seeing him again had done more than resurrect heated desires and inflamed emotions. It had shoved her greatest fear to the front of the line, an all-consuming dread that nearly paralyzed her with fright. A sick churning tried to work its way up her throat. Her most closely guarded secret must be protected at all costs.
She could never allow Shane Fortune to know that he was the father of her son. She had to do everything in her power to make sure Bobby was not subjected to the same emotional upheaval she had been through, followed by the inevitable painful rejection.
Shane had terminated their relationship before she knew she was pregnant. He had rejected her, cut her out of his life with a finality that left no room for questions. It was an action that had slammed the door shut on any possibility of a discussion about what had gone wrong. For a long time she questioned herself about what she’d done that had driven him away. It wasn’t until after her son was born that she stopped blaming herself for a decision that was entirely Shane’s.
Cynthia knew she could not avoid running into Shane after she moved back to Pueblo, but she never dreamed it would be in such a dramatic and unsettling manner. She had only given superficial thought to what she would do when she did run into him, without speculating too much about the circumstances. The situation now dictated that she needed to make some hard decisions.
Did she owe Shane the opportunity to know his son? Was it possible to reveal the truth without Bobby being an innocent pawn caught in the middle? Could she prevent her son from being hurt the way she had been?
All she had were questions—and her fears. She had no answers.
Two
Shane paused at the top of the stairs. The house was quiet, just as it was every morning, only today was different. He was not alone in the house. Apparently Cynthia and her son were still asleep. He couldn’t suppress a little snort of resentment. A decent night’s sleep was more than he’d been able to accomplish. He had tossed and turned after going to bed, waking every thirty minutes or so. He didn’t know what the morning would bring and wasn’t at all sure he was prepared to face it.
Heading for the den, Shane intended to open the sliding doors and let in the fresh morning air. He hadn’t taken more than two steps across the room when he came to an abrupt halt. A little boy lay sprawled on his stomach in front of the bookcase. It was a sight that gave him quite a start, grabbing his senses as much as his attention. He’d assumed her son was two or maybe three years old. This boy appeared to be about five.
A hard jolt of an indecipherable something shot through his body, leaving an uncomfortable sensation in its wake, a possibility he refused to consider. She must have gotten pregnant immediately after their breakup. She had gone from him straight to another man’s bed. A spark of rancor ignited, but was quickly extinguished by an overriding reality. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had driven her into another man’s arms—someone who had gotten her pregnant, then deserted her. It was an unsettling thought, and he felt something between guilt and anger.
Shane studied the boy for a moment. He was dressed in pajamas, his light brown hair still sleep-tousled. He had surrounded himself with every one of Shane’s Native American artifacts that had been within reach on the shelves. He seemed to be absorbed in a book, carefully studying each picture before turning the page to the next.
A moment of sorrow swept over Shane. Cynthia’s son looked so much like her. He wondered how things might have turned out if he hadn’t— He clenched his jaw and bit off the rest of the errant thought. The past couldn’t be changed. It served no purpose to speculate.
The little boy looked up at him, as if suddenly aware of his presence. The sight pulled at Shane’s heart and left him momentarily speechless. The boy had his mother’s eyes, the same iridescent blue. Shane knew he should say something, but didn’t know what. Bobby solved the problem by speaking first.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Shane Fortune. This is my house. I live here.”
“My name’s Bobby McCree.” He showed an open curiosity, with no signs of apprehension about Shane’s presence.
Bobby McCree. Well, that took care of whether Cynthia had ever been married to the boy’s father. Realizing that left him every bit as unsettled as having her in his house and knowing she had a son.
The little boy continued to look up at him as if waiting for him to say something. Shane ran a hand across the back of his neck in an attempt to still the uncomfortable shiver, but it didn’t help. He had developed a real bond with children and had no problem relating to them. He had spearheaded an entire hospital construction project solely for the benefit of Native American children, but at that moment he felt at a total loss for words. Too many conflicting thoughts and feelings raced through him. There’d been too many surprises all at once.
“So...Bobby, what’s your book about?” He crossed the room as the boy rolled over, then scrambled to his feet. Bobby held up the book so Shane could see it. He was surprised to find that it didn’t belong to Bobby, but came from his bookshelf, a volume of photographs depicting reservation life. Some of the photographs were over a hundred years old and others were modern. It was not the type of book he thought would have grabbed the attention of someone Bobby’s age.
Shane took a closer look at the various items strewn around the den. In addition to drums, masks, baskets and other Native American artifacts, Bobby had scattered some of his toys on the couch and floor. There was a bright red fire truck, a police car, Old West action figures, building blocks and a couple of children’s books. He again thought it odd that Bobby would ignore his own books and toys in favor of Shane’s book of photographic studies.
“Do you like the pictures?”
“Yeah, they’re neat.” Bobby’s captivating grin showed a missing front tooth.
“Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?” As awkward as the situation was, Shane could not deny the affinity he felt toward Cynthia’s son. His curiosity about Bobby’s father was again piqued. What kind of man would desert his own child—if that’s what really happened.
A frown wrinkled Bobby’s forehead. “My mommy always makes me breakfast. Do you know how to make breakfast?”
“I think I can handle it.”
Bobby closed the book and carefully put it back in the bookcase in the same spot he had found it. He ran across the den and straight to the kitchen. Shane followed the boy, but stopped in his tracks at the kitchen door. What had been neat and tidy when he went to bed was now a disaster area.
Bobby had obviously been in the kitchen before Shane had come downstairs. He had pulled a chair next to the counter to climb up and open the cupboard. A carton sat on the table next to a dirty glass, and a puddle of spilled milk had dripped on the floor. He had also tried, it appeared, to take a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator, but had sloshed half of it on the floor between the refrigerator and the kitchen table. Apparently he’d ended up settling for a couple of cookies, as evidenced by the lid from the cookie jar shoved across the counter toward the sink and the trail of crumbs on the floor.
“It looks like you tried to make your own breakfast.” Shane gazed at the boy, not sure whether to be irritated or amused. “Don’t you think we should clean up this mess before we start something new?”
Bobby stared sheepishly at the floor before looking up at Shane. He answered in a quiet voice, “I guess so.”
Shane set about cleaning the kitchen with Bobby doing his best to help. As much as he tried to stay neutral in his thoughts, every time he looked at the boy he saw Cynthia. A soft warmth enveloped his heart and spread through his chest. He again wondered about Bobby’s father and what had happened between him and Cynthia. Those same thoughts tried to wander to what might have been, but he refused to play that game.
As soon as the kitchen was presentable, Shane set about fixing breakfast. He put the various items on a tray and carried it out to the patio, setting it on the table. Bobby followed him, pausing long enough to pick up the fire truck from the den floor. He set the truck on the table, then climbed onto the chair. Shane sipped his coffee and studied Bobby as the boy took a big drink from his glass of milk, then gulped his orange juice.
A scowl covered Bobby’s face as he stared at his bowl of cereal. He looked up at Shane. “My mommy buys different cereal. I’ve never had this kind before. I don’t like it.”
“Why don’t you taste it? You might be surprised. You might find a new kind of cereal you like.” Shane offered him an encouraging smile. “If you eat all your cereal, I think I can find a doughnut for you.”
“I don’t bribe him to eat his breakfast.”
Shane jerked around in his chair at the stern words. He had been so fixed on Bobby he had not heard Cynthia come up behind him.
She wore white tailored slacks and a short-sleeved top in a tangerine color. The silky-looking fabric caressed the same breast his hand had grazed last night. A tingling danced across his fingertips in response to the recollection. Her long blond hair was pulled back and fastened with a gold clasp at her nape. Last night she exuded the earthy sexuality he remembered so well. This morning she presented a pristine loveliness, which also lived in his memories. Either way, it caused his blood to rush a little hotter and his heart to beat faster.
He attempted to hide his thoughts and the very real emotional impact she had on him by adopting a more distant attitude. He may have been all cool control on the outside, but inside he fought off the clearly remembered sensations of the most intense love affair of his life. “I was beginning to wonder if you planned to sleep the morning away.”
Cynthia ignored his pointed comment, but found it a lot more difficult to ignore his handsome features, his broad shoulders and strong arms, barely contained in the lightweight T-shirt, and his long legs, encased in faded jeans. His hair was shorter than he used to wear it, but the thick raven locks still feathered softly over his ears and across the back of his neck at collar length.
She took a steadying breath, but it did nothing to calm the conflicting emotions that raced through her body—heated desires and a quick rush of excitement when she saw Shane, followed closely by a sharp stab of alarm when she spotted Bobby with him. She tried to force a casual sound to her words while fighting off the panic that threatened to rob her of her last shreds of composure. “I see the two of you have met.”
“Oh, yes. Bobby and I have met. We’ve already had a busy morning.” Shane winked at the boy. “We’ve been cleaning up the mess someone left in the kitchen.”
She nervously cleared her throat as she made her way to the other side of the table, where her son was seated. She placed her hands protectively on his shoulders. “I hope Bobby hasn’t been any trouble. He doesn’t usually wake up this early. It was probably the strange surroundings.”
“Me and Shane fixed breakfast.” Bobby stared down at his bowl. “But I don’t think I like this kind of cereal.”
She kissed her son on the forehead, then smoothed back his unruly hair. “I remember when you thought you didn’t like waffles, either, because you thought they looked yucky. Now they’re your favorite breakfast.” She offered him an encouraging smile. “Don’t you think you should taste the cereal before you make up your mind?”
Bobby looked up at his mother. He scrunched up his face. “I guess so.” He tentatively took a bite. He didn’t say anything, but continued to eat. She smiled when she saw a look on his face she knew well, the one that said he found something new that he liked.
She turned her attention to Shane, her manner businesslike. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get myself a cup of coffee while Bobby eats his breakfast. We’ll leave as soon as he’s finished.”
Shane rose from his chair. “I’ll get it for you.”
She maintained a standoffish attitude, as much for her own sake, in trying to keep her emotional equilibrium, as to send a message to him. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.” She stepped back into the den and started toward the kitchen, with Shane close behind her.
“Uh, about your leaving...”
His words cut through her outer show of control straight to her buried anxiety, triggering an angry reaction. She whirled to face him, speaking slowly as she carefully measured each word. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out of your house this morning just as I said we would. I’ve already packed our things.” She glanced at the floor. “Except for these toys. I hadn’t anticipated having breakfast here. I’d planned for us to be out of your house as soon as I got Bobby up.”
“I’ve, uh, been giving it some thought,” Shane said.
She busied herself collecting Bobby’s toys. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not interested.”
He ignored her comments. “I don’t know why Kate wanted you to stay here, but I’ve found that it’s far easier to go along with what she wants than to try to fight her on anything.”
Cynthia turned a cool gaze on Shane, one that belied the nervous churning in her stomach. “Well, you shouldn’t have a problem with this one. You can tell Kate that I chose to leave.”
He awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced at the floor. “I guess I’m not making myself very clear.”
His nervousness and uncertainty caught her by surprise. They seemed completely out of character for the analytical, dynamic and confident Shane Fortune she used to know. This strange turn of events left her slightly perplexed. She thought everything had been settled last night. She wanted to move out of his house before things became more awkward than they already were. But mostly she wanted to get Bobby away from Shane. Protecting her son and his true identity was her number-one priority.
Shane cleared his throat as he took the toy police car from her hand, set the toy on the coffee table and then captured her wary gaze with his own. He fought the desire to reach out and touch her. He forged ahead, uncertain about where he was going. “What I’m trying to say is that you can stay here—you and Bobby—until you settle your father’s estate and find a place of your own. This is a large house. There’s plenty of room for everyone. We don’t have to feel crowded.”
He wasn’t pleased with the expression on her face or her body language, which both said his logic hadn’t convinced her. He offered a smile as he gestured toward the patio. “And there’s the swimming pool and hot tub.”
He saw her objections forming, but he adopted his most compelling bedside manner and continued before she had an opportunity to speak. “I can imagine things have been very hectic for you the past couple of weeks. It’s difficult enough to handle a long-distance move, and even more difficult to do it with a child.”
He glanced out the door of the den and could see Bobby still eating his breakfast. “To add the emotional turmoil of your father’s death to the circumstances is asking too much. The least I can do is allow you a safe and quiet haven in the middle of the chaos for a couple of weeks or so. You certainly can’t take care of your business while living in a motel and trying to take care of your son, too. I’m at the hospital a good deal of the time, so you’d practically have the place to yourself.”
He held up his hand to prevent her from voicing her objections. “Don’t say anything now. Give it some thought while you have breakfast.” He extended an engaging smile that he hoped would mask the uncertainty weaving its way through the fabric of his confidence. “Okay?”
He saw her relent before the words came out of her mouth. “I’ll...I’ll think about it.” She turned her attention to picking up the rest of Bobby’s toys.
Cynthia set the toy box on the coffee table next to the police car, then gazed out the door at Bobby. The little boy had taken his fire truck and was playing with it on the patio. She knew she could not conduct her business with her father’s estate while keeping her son cooped up in a motel room all day. Even if she let him play outside, she certainly couldn’t allow him to play in a parking lot or at the motel swimming pool without constant supervision.
She slowly turned to face Shane. She had reluctantly come to an uneasy decision. She made a valiant attempt to ignore the apprehension layered on top of her anxiety, caused as much by her unwanted attraction to Shane as by her all-important need to protect her secret.
He eyed her curiously. “Well?”
“I...” She stole another quick look at Bobby. Did she dare to stay in Shane’s house and tempt fate? Trepidation shivered through her body. She shoved the words out quickly, before she could change her mind. “Yes. If it won’t be too much of an imposition, we’ll stay until I can get my father’s estate straightened out.”
“Well, that’s settled then.” An odd sensation washed over him. Whether or not he’d planned it, the fact remained that Cynthia McCree was back in his life. What he was not sure about was whether he had made the right decision and where that decision would lead. Intimate memories of their time together flooded through his mind, vividly bringing back desires and yearnings for what had once been.
“Yes, I guess it is. I suppose I should go upstairs and unpack our things.” She stepped to the patio door and called to her son. “Come on, Bobby. Let’s take your toys to your bedroom so they aren’t cluttering up Shane’s den, then you need to get dressed.”
“In a minute, Mommy.” He pushed the fire truck while making engine noises. “My firemen aren’t done putting out the fire yet.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him if you want to go ahead and unpack.”
She paused for a moment, not sure how to respond to Shane’s offer. Even though she had started Bobby on swimming lessons at their neighborhood YMCA in Chicago, she didn’t feel comfortable about leaving him alone by the swimming pool. But of even greater concern was leaving him alone with Shane. The last thing she needed was for Shane to question Bobby about where his father was. An uncomfortable lump knotted in the pit of her stomach and refused to go away. This was more than she had bargained for when she’d made the decision to move back to Pueblo. She had never figured close contact with Shane Fortune into the equation.
She watched her son playing with his truck. Her love for him flowed through her body, sending warmth to every corner of her existence. His innocence was balanced in a precarious position between the business she had to handle and her fear that Shane would discover his true identity. It was up to her to make sure that nothing—or no one—robbed him of his right to a happy childhood. She closed her eyes for a second and tried to still her rattled nerves. She had to be strong. She could not allow this temporary association with Shane to distract her.
Nor could she allow Shane to work his way into her heart again—a task she feared would not be all that diffi-cult for him to achieve.
Cynthia stiffened her resolve. She had to make sure Shane didn’t suspect that anything was amiss. “I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. I’m sure Bobby won’t need any attention other than someone just being here to make sure he doesn’t try to go into the pool without supervision.” She gave one last tentative glance in Bobby’s direction and headed for the stairs.
Shane stood at the patio door watching Bobby play with his truck. Uncertainty welled up inside him—uncertainty about whether he had done the right thing, uncertainty about what the future held. An unidentified yet disturbing emotion pulled at his heartstrings. Bobby looked so much like Cynthia. Her son—a child who might have been theirs. His thoughts again wandered toward Bobby’s father and what had happened to him. He watched Bobby until the emotional tug-of-war taking place inside him became more than he could handle.
He turned his attention toward the Native American artifacts Bobby had scattered on the floor. He began gathering them together. A small hand thrust a mask in front of his face.
“Here. I can help.”
Bobby picked up a drum next and started to hand it to Shane, then paused. He looked at the drum, at Shane, then at the drum again. He hit it. A grin spread across his face and he hit it again. “I can be a Indian and you can be a cowboy.”
An involuntary laugh escaped Shane’s throat. “Maybe we should do that the other way around. Since I’m one-quarter Native American, I think you should be the cowboy, instead of me.”
Bobby put down the drum. His eyes grew wide in amazement as he stared at Shane. “You’re a real Indian?”
“I sure am. My grandmother’s name was Natasha Light-foot, and she was a full-blooded Papago. They’ve since changed the name to Tohono O’odham. There’s a plateau with a sacred cave next to the reservation. Her family used to own the plateau and it’s named for them.”
“Do you know how to ride a horse? And shoot a bow and arrow?” The little boy’s voice contained the same type of reverential awe often reserved for superheroes and sports stars.
“I sure do.” Shane took in the fascination that covered Bobby’s face. An odd sensation invaded his consciousness, a strange sort of tremor that started deep inside him and radiated throughout his body. He ventured a question, not sure exactly where he was going with it or even if he should ask it. “Would you like me to teach you how?” Another thought occurred to him, one that left him slightly unsettled. “If it’s okay with your mother, that is.” A surprising and unusual affinity with this little boy had been creeping up on him from the moment Bobby had turned around and asked him who he was early that morning. Was he starting something that couldn’t be finished?
Bobby exuded excitement. “Yeah, I’d like that!”
“First we have to make sure it’s okay with your mother,” Shane repeated. He turned his attention to the items still on the floor. “But for now, let’s finish putting these things back where they belong.”
Shane placed the various items on the shelves, all but two. Bobby had held on to the drum and one of the Kachina dolls. Both were very old and valuable.
Bobby put the Kachina doll on the floor and turned his attention to the drum. Shane picked up the doll and carefully placed it on the coffee table. It was one of the few items he owned that had at one time actually belonged to his grandmother, a woman he never knew. She had died when his father was only eighteen.
What few possessions his grandmother had owned had finally been distributed among her grandchildren—his cousins, Jason and Tyler Fortune, his brother, Riley, and his sister Isabelle. The one possession that should have been his grandmother’s was the one thing Shane wanted most—Lightfoot Plateau. The plateau and the cave were believed to have mystical powers. The Lightfoot family had been guardians of the plateau for centuries. One way or the other, he planned to have it back in the family.
Shane held up the Kachina doll. “Do you know what this is?”
Bobby took the doll from Shane’s hand. He studied it, then made his pronouncement with all the authority of an expert testifying in court. “It’s a Indian—a special one like the chief.”
Shane smiled at Bobby. “That’s very good, but he’s even more special than that. This is a Kachina doll—”
“A doll?” Bobby scrunched up his nose. “Like girls play with?”
Shane suppressed a laugh. “No, more like your cowboy action figures. They’re dolls.”
Bobby’s next words were almost a whisper, as if he didn’t want Shane to hear them. “They aren’t dolls. They’re cowboys!”
Shane took the Kachina from Bobby, handling it carefully. His manner turned serious. “This isn’t a play toy. A Kachina is a carved doll in a costume representing a spirit that has a special meaning for the tribe who believes in that spirit.”
“It’s not a toy? You can’t play with them? What do you do with them?” The enthusiasm in Bobby’s voice conveyed his fascination.
Shane tried to simplify the explanation so that Bobby would be able to understand. “The Native Americans who have the Kachinas believe that everything in the real world has a spirit that lives inside it. The Kachina dolls represent that spirit. The dolls depict men dressed in Kachina masks for special ceremonies where they call on the spirit of the Kachina.” He paused for a moment as he ran his fingertips gently across the costumed figurine.
“The Kachina doll has a very special meaning for a tribe. This one belonged to my grandmother. It’s usually given to a child as a gift. A friend of my grandmother was a Hopi. She gave the Hopi Kachina to my grandmother, who gave it to my father, and my father gave it to me.”
Bobby’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “Gosh.” He reached out and touched the Kachina, but did not try to take hold of it.
Cynthia stood at the door to the den taking in the scene and the conversation between Shane and Bobby. It was a scene that should have warmed her heart—her son and his father enjoying a special moment together. But it didn’t. Instead it sent a cold shiver through her body, followed by a surge of fear. She desperately wanted to put a stop to what she saw, but she couldn’t do it without creating an awkward situation. Shane was obviously taken with Bobby, a reality that threatened her to the very core of her existence. And equally disturbing was the fascination Bobby seemed to have for Shane.
She blinked back the tears, trying to bring some calm to her shaken nerves and emotional turmoil, and entered the room. “I had the news on upstairs while I was unpacking. They announced a story on the construction of Fortune Memorial Children’s Hospital in the next segment, right after the commercial.” She turned on the television set, hoping the distraction would stop what she could plainly see was the beginning of a bonding between Bobby and Shane.
Shane was Bobby’s father. Did she have the right to deny either of them that special father-and-son relationship? Or to deny her son that Native American part of his heritage that he seemed so fascinated with, something she’d noticed even before they’d left Chicago? She tried to shove the concerns aside, to tell herself there were far more important issues at stake. A twinge of guilt etched a path through her consciousness, taking up residence next to her anxiety. If only she had a clear-cut solution to her dilemma that would satisfy everyone’s needs—one that would be safe.
Shane moved closer to the television, drawing her attention to the newscast. The scene was the construction site of the hospital, but the story was about something else. It was a follow-up to a story about the construction fore-man’s accidental death being reclassified as murder.
The reporter went from that story to a segment about the Fortune Memorial Children’s Hospital, which was followed by a taped interview with Dr. Shane Fortune in which he talked about the hospital project and then presented his concerns for the future of Lightfoot Plateau. Cynthia listened intently, taking in every word Shane said about the family’s desire to give back to the community through the construction of the hospital.
When the segment concluded, Shane angrily snapped off the television. She could hear the disgust in his voice. “They certainly went out of their way to make sure the family name and the hospital project were thoroughly en-twined with Mike Dodd’s death. It was bad enough when his death in the elevator fall several months ago was thought to be an industrial accident at a Fortune Construction work site, but now that it’s a murder case, they seem to be reveling in it. It’s getting more and more difficult these days to find any difference between legitimate news and tabloid journalism.”
Cynthia’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand the public debate over Lightfoot Plateau. There seems to be a faction strongly in favor of preservation and another faction equally adamant in their desire to see the land developed.” She turned to face Shane. “Isn’t the land privately owned? Why would there be a public debate over it?”
“Yes, it’s privately owned.” His response carried the same note of displeasure she’d detected when he’d commented on the news story.
“I don’t think I ever told you the story of the land. When my grandmother became pregnant by Ben Fortune, her family practically disowned her. Not only was she not married to Ben, he was still married to Kate Fortune and had no intention of getting a divorce. Natasha’s family said she had disgraced them. They would not allow the land to stay in the Lightfoot family so that she would inherit it, especially when it meant that Ben Fortune might end up owning it.
“They sold Lightfoot Plateau to the Rowan family who still owns it. The land is adjacent to the hospital site and also borders the reservation. The Rowans have allowed the cave entrance to fall into disrepair, but their son, Brad, has agreed to return the plateau to the Fortunes when he marries my sister, Isabelle. Contrary to Brad’s plans, I want to restore it and preserve the area as a place of historical significance for the various Native American tribes in this area.”
She saw the determination in his features, the same type of dedication and all-out involvement in a cause she’d seen years ago. Once he made a commitment to something, nothing could deter him. A rush of sorrow caught her un-prepared, tipping her delicately balanced emotions off center again. The sadness pushed at her reality. He had obviously never been committed to their relationship or to a shared future—certainly not the way she had been. She forced the upsetting thoughts from her mind and tried to shake off the disturbing feelings.
Cynthia glanced at Bobby. He was studying the pictures in a book he had taken from the shelf. If Shane had not been committed to their relationship, he would not have been committed to their son, either. Was she grasping at straws? Desperately searching for something to justify her decision to hide Bobby’s true identity from him? She didn’t think so, but that little shred of uncertainty still lingered at the back of her mind.
“Well—” Shane’s voice broke into her thoughts “—I need to get going. I have a finance committee meeting for the Children’s Hospital, then I need to do rounds at Pueblo General. I, uh, well, I have plans for this evening, so I won’t be home for dinner.”
“That’s quite all right.” Had her words come out too quickly? She attempted to explain. “I mean, I don’t want our staying here to interfere with your usual routine.”
“I guess I’ll see you later tonight.” Shane hurried out of the den and up the stairs to his bedroom.
It had been an odd interlude and it left him unnerved, although he wasn’t sure exactly why. The conversation had turned to a topic that did not involve dredging up moments from their past union. Yet a tingling undercurrent of heated desire continued to race through his body. His breathing quickened and his pulse jumped.
He didn’t have any plans for that evening. He wasn’t even sure why he said he had. The only thing he was certain of was his need to get out of that room. The walls had started to close in around him. He needed to go someplace where he could think without the very real distraction presented by Cynthia McCree’s presence.
The undeniably disconcerting affect she had on his senses left him as much bewildered as it did longing to renew their affair. It was an idea that had often crossed his mind and inflamed his desires, but it had been safely tucked away as something that could never be. He had never gotten her out of his system, but he thought he had reconciled himself to the fact that she was no longer part of his life. Then when he’d found her in his house in the middle of the night, everything had come rushing back at him. She had changed a great deal over the past six years. She was every bit as desirable, but now it was combined with a new maturity and confidence.
There was also her son and the unanswered questions about the little boy’s father. And there was that empty feeling inside him that had never gone away.
He dressed quickly for work, then hurried downstairs. He paused at the bottom of the staircase and glanced at Cynthia in the den. His heartbeat picked up again. Everything meshed together in one baffling tableau of what had been, what was now and what could be. It left him utterly bewildered.
He turned away. There was no need to have any further conversation with Cynthia before he left for work. He went through the kitchen and into the garage, then tried to collect his thoughts as he drove to the hospital. He needed to talk to Kate. He could not imagine why she’d offered the use of his house to Cynthia.
He had even gone so far as to compound a tenuous situation by insisting that she stay until she could get her business matters settled. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to do that, and it had probably been a really bad idea. But was it one he would live to regret?
Three
“What’s the matter, Mommy?” Bobby asked worriedly as he placed his fire truck on the patio table in front of her.
Cynthia opened her eyes. “It’s nothing, honey.” Bad enough that her decision to keep Bobby’s identity from Shane had already laid a heavy dose of guilt on her. Now she’d compounded that guilt by allowing her son to see her weakness and despair. “Mommy just has a bit of a headache, that’s all.”
“Why does your head ache? Did you hurt it?”
She couldn’t resist grinning as she wrapped her arms around her son and gave him a loving squeeze. No matter how bleak things seemed or how distraught she felt, all she had to do was hug Bobby and the world suddenly became a brighter place. “I guess I did. I hurt it by thinking too much about your grandpa’s belongings. Taking care of his things is going to take more time than I thought.”
She had spent the day working on her father’s estate. She had gathered his papers and business effects from his apartment, along with items of sentimental value. There was nothing else there that warranted the effort or expense of putting it into storage. She made arrangements to have the apartment cleaned out and the remaining items disposed of.
That left only the task of sorting out the tangled mess of her father’s estate. She had been shocked by the poverty-stricken appearance of his living conditions, yet the paperwork told a different story. What she’d thought would be a straightforward situation had turned into a time-consuming nightmare.
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Shawna Delacorte
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: On a sultry midnight eve, Dr. Shane Fortune came face-to-face with his past. For his «intruder» was the woman he′d once loved but foolishly let go. Now Cynthia McCree and her son were his reluctant houseguests. Her reasons for being under his roof were no secret. But Shane knew that Cynthia was harboring a secret. One that had to do with her son…who bore an uncanny resemblance to him!