Книга - The Promise of Christmas

The Promise of Christmas
Tara Taylor Quinn


Leslie Sanderson's brother, Cal, is dead–and he's left behind two children no one knew he had. She and Kip Webster, Cal's closest friend, "inherit" these secret kids.As they form their makeshift family, Leslie and Kip decide to share a house. And that leads to other kinds of sharing…. One night, just before Christmas, Leslie tells him about the devastating thing that happened when she was young–something she's kept secret all this time.Because in Kip, she finds the promise of safety, acceptance and love. The promise of what family should be. The promise of Christmas….









PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF TARA TAYLOR QUINN


“Quinn’s latest contemporary romance offers readers an irresistible combination of realistically complex characters and a nail-bitingly suspenseful plot. Powerful, passionate and poignant, Hidden is a deeply satisfying story.”

—Booklist

“Somebody’s Baby is an exceptional tale of real-life people, who are not perfect, feel heartache, make mistakes and have to find their inner strength…. Somebody’s Baby easily goes on my keeper shelf.”

—The Romance Reader Reviews

“Quinn explores relationships thoroughly, getting into the nooks and crannies, into the dark corners and secret cupboards. Her vividly drawn characters are sure to win readers’ hearts.”

—Romance Communications

“Quinn’s profound observations of human nature and her intimate understanding of values and prorities lend extraordinary psychological depth to all her work.”

—Wordweaving.com

“Quinn writes touching stories about real people that transcend plot type or genre.”

—All About Romance


Dear Reader,

Happy holidays! It’s been a while since I celebrated the season, my favorite time of year, with you all. I love the holiday season, the collective giving of thanks—a nation focused on being grateful, even if only for a moment. I love the season of giving, of receiving, of hope. We tend to be more openhearted this time of year, more open-minded as we look around us at the people who share our world, if not our lives. We tend to be more forgiving.

It is for this reason that I bring you this particular story now. Leslie Sanderson did not have a typical childhood. Oh, she lived on the right side of the tracks, did not want for anything materially. She had a family who loved her. She had opportunity and intelligence. She got good grades and stayed away from alcohol and drugs. And she suffered unspeakably in a way that many suffer, a way of which few speak. But this Christmas, at the age of thirty-one, Leslie chooses to speak. Trusting in the promise that the season has always represented to her, she makes the choice to live life fully, instead of allowing it to hold her hostage. I love Leslie. I love everything she stands for. I love her strength, her weakness, her willingness to get up each day and try again. And I love her jewelry! So much so that I own a number of identical pieces.

The Promise of Christmas is not a fable or a fairy tale. And yet, as I read it one final time, I felt as victorious as I ever did reading those stories of triumph. In this book, Leslie and Kip and their family find the promise that is real, not fantasy—the promise that love truly is strong enough to conquer all. Even the unseen demons that live inside.

From my heart to yours, Merry Christmas!

Tara Taylor Quinn

P.S. I love to hear from readers. You can reach me at P.O. Box 133584, Mesa, Arizona 85216, or through my Web site at www.tarataylorquinn.com.




The Promise of Christmas

Tara Taylor Quinn





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


For Pat Potter, who sat with me and talked about this very challenging book when she could have been at a Broadway play. I cherish your friendship. And for Paula Eykelhof, who didn’t even flinch when I pitched this special story to her over Chinese dinner after a day-long road trip. I cherish you, too.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


“LESLIE, THERE’S A Kip Webster here to see you.”

The Kip Webster? As in her older brother’s best friend Kip Webster?

“Did he say what he wants?”

Nancy Maple, Leslie’s secretary of five years, shook her head. “Just wanted me to tell you he’s here.” The older woman raised her brows, her way of asking the question that might seem too personal if she actually verbalized it.

“I knew him in high school,” Leslie said, keeping her explanation simple. “I haven’t seen or spoken to him since my college graduation, but I heard he’s a bigwig with Sporting International now.”

SI was the company that Leslie hoped would seal her partnership in one of the nation’s largest brokerage houses. As an investment counselor, she’d risen steadily up the ranks, due to her instincts as much as her analytical skills.

“You think he’s here about the rumor that SI’s going public?”

“What else could it be?” Leslie stood, resisting the urge to take a peek in the gilded antique mirror hanging beside her desk, to flatten the flyaway auburn curls. “I’ll see him,” she said, shoving papers back into their file. “Send him in.”

Nancy nodded. “By the way, great call on the South Seas deal. Congratulations!”

Leslie grinned, but said nothing. She’d gone against the firm’s senior partners on that one, and the payoff had been bigger than even she’d expected. Several of Tyler Investments’ clients were much richer today because of Leslie’s recommendation that they buy into a company that could’ve gone under but instead went public and skyrocketed overnight.

Damn, that felt good.

Her stomach didn’t feel so good right now, though. It couldn’t seem to decide whether to swarm with anxiety or give in to the weight of nausea.

With her secretary gone, she took a quick glance in the mirror, decided her curls were behaving themselves today, looking not bad against the shoulders of the navy suit she’d worn to work. And her lipstick was still on.

Kip Webster. Her one and only high school crush. She wasn’t ready. Juliet would disagree. Her therapist would say she could handle this. Without so much as a blip on her emotional monitor.

She reminded herself that Juliet was gifted, a miracle worker, really, as she waited for Kip’s knock. Juliet wouldn’t make a serious mistake like setting Leslie free if Leslie wasn’t ready.

So maybe she was having a relapse, if one had such things when it came to the afflictions of one’s past. Juliet had taught her how to shine a light on old shames and render them powerless, but right now she’d be happy if the ten years separating her and the darkness of her youth stretched into another fifty. Or eighty. That would put her at 110 and by then, surely, she’d be blessed with forgetfulness?

Her office door flew open and Kip was there, with the same dark hair that she’d always figured would be as curly as hers if he’d let it grow more than a quarter-inch. Same great shoulders in a tweed jacket she’d never seen before. Her overreaction to him was the same in Phoenix as it had always been in the Columbus, Ohio, suburb where they’d all grown up.

“God, Les, you look phenomenal.”

Same brown eyes that she’d always feared saw too much.

And just like that, ten years of sane and peaceful living disappeared as though they’d never been.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised by that,” she chuckled, trying desperately to find the quiet place inside herself that Juliet had helped her discover.

“I guess I am surprised. You…your…” His eyes scanned the short skirt of the tailored suit to her long legs. Those legs, not to mention the rest of her body, had brought her shame and embarrassment during her adolescence—feelings made worse by a promiscuous period in college. With a lot of help, mostly from books, she’d learned to feel pride in them—sometimes. Please, God, don’t let there be a run in my hose.

“Yes?” she asked, with a small grin that on another woman probably spoke of self-assurance and playfulness. On Leslie, it was a carefully learned response—all part of the game of “let’s pretend” that she’d devised when she’d reinvented herself.

“You grew up.”

“We all do, eventually.” She came around to the front of her desk. As she leaned against it, her jacket fell open to reveal just a bit of the snug red pullover she had on beneath it. She’d worn her blue-and-red Sorrelli jewelry today and the expensive Swarovski, Austrian crystal gave her confidence, reminded her that she was a woman who deserved to be happy and who wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted.

She’d hot-flashed for days after buying her first piece of the designer jewelry. She’d gone back twice to return the beautiful pair of earrings, and each time had heard Juliet’s voice in the back of her head, reminding her that she was worthy.

Today, tucked away in the jewelry armoire in a corner of her large master suite at home, was Sorrelli jewelry in every color and style she could find.

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” she asked. Kip had taken a step toward her, watching her, while she’d been busy searching for inner peace.

“I said you did it better than most.” He was coming closer.

She blinked and smiled wider to prevent herself from cracking into a million little pieces.

“Grew up, I mean.” He was right in front of her, his lips smiling. Close.

Aha. He was still making small talk. Meanwhile she’d started thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. How could she still be entertaining the thought, the fantasy, that had practically consumed her in high school?

“Yes, well…” She stood, slid away from him before he could touch her and practically jumped to a safe position behind her massive teak desk. “I’ve been known to get things right sometimes.”

All the time really, at least professionally. But then, professionally was the only way anyone knew her.

Except Juliet, of course—although, technically, even that relationship was professional.

Juliet, where are you when I need you?

“I know this is a surprise, my showing up like this,” Kip said, hands hanging down, crossed in front of him. “And I apologize for that—”

“No!” she said too quickly, eager to make up for the fact that she’d just turned away from him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m…glad to see you!” How she’d been able to speak in that tone, and to keep her smile, was beyond her.

“The thing is…I’m—” He stopped, his expression becoming almost morose as he glanced away, and Leslie’s smile faded.

“I’m assuming you’re here representing Sporting International.” Taking the offensive gave her strength. “And I want to assure you—and your owners—that…”

Leslie’s voice dried up in her throat as Kip turned back to her. “I’m not here on business, Les.” She didn’t recognize the low intensity in his voice. Kip had seldom been without a hint of teasing in his tone. With her, anyway.

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“What then?” Leslie picked up a random file from the corner of her desk. She didn’t want to know. No matter what it was, she didn’t want to know.

“I— There’s no easy way to…”

The file said Berkeley on it. Typed in all black caps on a yellow label. Nancy color-coded everything. Yellow for potential clients, blue for—

“Cal’s dead, Les.” Kip took his hands from his pockets and reached out to her. His eyes, for the second she couldn’t keep herself from meeting them, were moist and warm. Pulling her in. “There was—”

“No,” she said with all the authority her success had earned her. “I just spoke with him two days ago. He’s rock-climbing in the Rockies. I know, because he wanted to fly out here first, but I have a couple of big meetings this week, a New York turnaround, so there was no way I could…”

She repeated the usual excuse of business commitments with the regret she’d mastered over the years.

“There was an accident,” Kip said, coming around her desk. She felt his fingers through the sleeves of her jacket. He couldn’t touch her. She couldn’t let him. Didn’t he understand that?

She stood motionless, wondering about color codes. And coping.

“His foot slipped. It was trapped between two boulders. When he yanked to free himself he flew backward, somehow got tangled in his line…”

Yes? And? You don’t die…of entanglement. Cal wasn’t dead. He owed her something. She wasn’t sure what. But he couldn’t die without somehow making it up to her…

“He was already gone by the time they got to him,” Kip said. “They said it was pretty much instant.”

“He strangled himself?” she asked. A strange twist of justice? No! Leslie recoiled from her own thoughts. Her brother was one of the most caring men she’d ever known. For years he’d been the one she looked to for security.

“He hit his head.”

Oh. That could be serious. But dead?

“Les?” Kip’s grip on her arms tightened. He drew her closer. She didn’t want him to hold her, but rested her head on his chest for just a second anyway. So she could think. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

He was sorry for her. She couldn’t have that. Leslie nodded, gripping the front of his shirt with both hands. “I’m sorry you had to do this.” She found a way to speak. “He was your best friend. I know you’ve got to be in shock….”

His only reply was a single movement of the chin that rested on top of her head. And the brief sob that shook the body so close to hers. Leslie tried to stand outside herself and watch. As she searched frantically for the still, calm place that brought her peace, she felt a sympathy sob coming on. Just one. For Kip.

After that, she didn’t remember much.



“DEARLY BELOVED, we are gathered here this Thanksgiving Day to mourn the passing, celebrate the life of, and be thankful for having known Calhoun Olmstead Sanderson, a young man who…”

Dressed all in black, suit, shirt, tie, shoes, Kip stood between the two Sanderson women in a small corner of the barren and brown cemetery in Westerville, Ohio, warding off the chill. That gray November day God had been considerate enough to postpone the cold spell that would consume the state of Ohio for most of the next several months. It was a balmy forty-eight degrees. It could have been below freezing for all Kip noticed.

“…At the age of twelve young Calhoun lost his lawyer father in a drive-by shooting and from that point on took up the reins of man of the house, often voluntarily forgoing his own teenaged pleasures to serve the needs of his small family—mostly, at that time, babysitting his nine-year-old sister, Leslie…”

The jolt next to him was his cue. Kip slid an arm around the slender body of his best friend’s little sister. She’d broken down the night before at the viewing, and at the funeral home a couple of days before that, and when she’d walked by the room in her mother’s house that had been her brother’s when they’d all lived there together.

Cal had practically raised Leslie. She’d idolized him. Kip had expected her to take his death hard…

“…A scholar, a gifted football quarterback who gave up his shot at the NFL to follow in his father’s footsteps in the legal profession so he could be close at hand in the event that either his mother or sister needed him…”

Leslie slumped and Kip held her against him. She was crying quietly again, not making a sound as the tears poured down her cheeks. He swallowed, his throat thick.

Kip Webster had felt a lot of things for a lot of different women in his thirty-three years. He loved everything about women—their emotions, the combination of intelligence and intuition, the softness. His idea of heaven was being the only man among a universe of happy women. Not many men could handle such a feat—keeping that many of them happy. He was pretty confident he could.

Or he had been. Until four days ago, when Calhoun Sanderson’s little sister fell apart in his arms behind the very impressive desk of her very impressive office in the swankiest building in downtown Phoenix. He would help her. Handle whatever needed to be handled. He’d take care of everything. His friend would have wanted that.

Clara Sanderson’s best friend, Mary something-or-other, stood to the right of the casket and started to sing. “Oh, Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder, consider all the worlds thy hands have made…”

Needing both arms to take Leslie’s full weight, Kip pulled her up against him. It would all be over soon and she could get out of there. He’d carry her if he had to.

“…I see the stars, I hear the roaring thunder…”

He licked lips so dry they hurt. He couldn’t believe Cal was really gone. A loyal friend, attentive son, adoring older brother, he was one of the few men Kip truly respected. He’d been the reason Kip had made it to college; he’d cajoled Kip to go with him to the University of Michigan, to get out of the Columbus life of hard living, drinking too much, doing expensive drugs, drag racing—all things his father’s money had provided and his father’s neglect had allowed.

Cal had moved home to Columbus after graduation. Kip had stayed in Ann Arbor, got on with SI, and the rest was history.

“…When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation to take me home…”

Leslie’s head fell gently against his shoulder. Her body felt so unbelievably good. Familiar—though, other than a teasing punch on the shoulder, he couldn’t remember ever touching her before.

She felt…genuine. A safe harbor.

That seemed crazy when she couldn’t even stand on her own.

The minister said a few final words, and then it was time for Leslie and her mother to take one last walk by the casket, to leave their roses on the grave.

“Les?” He pulled away, glanced down at the face streaked with makeup and tears. She stared vacantly back at him—reminding him for one scary second of someone in a state of shock.

“It’s time,” he said softly.

She nodded. Kip supported her as she said her final goodbyes to her only sibling and then stumbled back to the car. She didn’t even seem to notice the people watching her, those judging her ability to cope, those offering love and support. She was lost someplace. On her own.

With a last glance back at the only real friend he’d ever had, Kip sent up a silent promise. He’d watch out for Leslie and Clara.



“WHO’S THAT OLD LADY, Nana?”

Ada King tightened her grip on the bony little shoulders of the five-year-old boy beside her. They stood at the back of the small crowd gathered at the Lakeview cemetery.

“That’s your daddy’s mama.”

“She doesn’t look mean.” Jonathan’s childish voice belied the wisdom in his tear-drenched eyes.

“She’s not mean, child.” Ada adjusted the little girl draped over her right shoulder. Kayla had fallen asleep shortly after they’d arrived. Ordinarily that would’ve been just fine, but at sixty-two Ada’s bones weren’t as able to withstand the two-year-old’s weight as they might have twenty-five years ago, when she’d been raising the children’s mother.

“But she won’t let me be up there with Daddy.”

Ada’s arm dropped from Jonathan’s shoulder. “Come, child,” she said, turning toward the sedan Calhoun Sanderson had bought for Abby right after she’d had Jonathan. Jonathan was too smart to be just five. And Ada was tired.

Too tired. The children needed someone with a body that didn’t ache every minute of every day, someone whose legs could still run and whose eyes could still see all the little things that tiny fingers reached for.

“She’s white.”

“Yes, child.”

“Like Daddy.”

“Yes, child.”

“Is she mad ’cause me and Kayla ain’t?”

Ada unlocked the car, transferred the sleeping girl to her car seat in the middle of the back. Kayla’s frizzy little braids were glued to the side of her head with sweat.

“Aren’t, child. Not ain’t.” She double-checked the safety latch across Kayla’s chest.

Jonathan stared at her as he climbed in to the front passenger seat. “You say ain’t.”

“I’m old.”

The skinny little black boy buckled his seat belt around the church slacks she’d laid out for him that morning and stared out the side window at his father’s grave.

Ada ached for a good long cry.



“THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING,” Attorney Jim Brackerfield stood at the door of the conference room in the downtown Columbus office that housed his firm. It was Friday morning. Leslie barely gave her brother’s partner a glance; she was more concerned with her mother’s comfort, with breathing calmly through the next few minutes. She could hardly believe only four days had passed since she’d been standing in her own office congratulating herself on a South Seas deal that now seemed far more distant than mere miles away—despite her daily calls to Nancy.

Kip pulled out chairs at the conference table for her and her mother. Smiling her thanks, Leslie smoothed the gray wool skirt beneath her and sat facing the north wall, the window of which looked out toward Ohio State University. Her alma mater.

“I would’ve been happy to come to the house,” Jim was saying to Clara.

“I know, Jim, and that means a lot. Thanks,” Clara said, her lips trembling. “But I needed to come here, to see his…the office without him in it….”

Leslie nodded, rubbed the crystals in her necklace, shades of blue and gray and black. She’d agreed with her mother’s decision to meet the attorney at his office.

While her mother and Jim, who knew each other well, talked about mutual acquaintances who’d been at the funeral the day before, Kip took the seat next to her. She hadn’t been surprised to hear that Cal had left something in his will for his closest friend.

His sports equipment, she’d bet.

She smiled at him a second time, glad he was there. She was doing much better today, now that the whole process of saying goodbye to Cal was behind them. Still, Kip’s presence was…a blessing.

Jim sat on the other side of the long table. He was older than her brother by at least ten years, his hair thinning and gray, but judging by his athletic frame, he’d shared her brother’s passion for sports.

“I…” He coughed, looked down at the papers in his hands, put on a pair of reading glasses. Took them off.

“Oh, hell.” He pushed the papers away. “Cal’s will is here. We can read it together or apart, whatever you prefer. But I know what it says, and there’s just no easy way to tell you—”

“None of us needs my brother’s money, Jim,” Leslie said, relying on her years of professional experience to put the other man at ease. “Even if he’s left it to…to historic car research, we’ll all support his choice.”

Clara patted Leslie’s thigh under the table, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “She’s right,” Clara added.

Kip nodded.

“He didn’t leave his assets—and they were considerable, by the way—to historic car research.”

Leslie waited, honestly unconcerned with anything but enduring this for her mother’s sake and getting out of there, as soon as she could. She’d used an antique gold clip to pull her hair back, but wished she’d let it hang free to curtain her face.

“He didn’t leave them to any of you, either.”

“Calhoun felt the weight of responsibility for all he’d been given,” Clara said softly. “He knew that neither Leslie nor I needed his money. It truly is fine, Jim. I’d just like to know who he chose to help….”

Let it be meaningful, Leslie thought. Please let his last grand gesture be full of heart and compassion.

Jim tapped the tips of his fingers together, glancing down again. His gaze, when it met each of theirs in turn, was grave.

“He left it to his children….”

Leslie’s skin chilled. Her fingers, sliding from her mother’s, were clammy.

“His…” Clara’s face was white, pasty-looking beneath makeup that no longer enhanced her skin, her lips thin and pinched.

Calhoun had children. Leslie’s heart raced, filled with fear, and then settled into an uneasy pace. God, please let them be well-loved. Safe. Protected.

She’d been all of those things.

No! Let them be…oh, she didn’t know what. Please, God, let it be okay. If something happened to them, if I could’ve done something…

“I should’ve known,” she muttered, “should never have stayed away so long.”

“Your mother was right here in town and she didn’t know….” Jim’s voice seemed to come from far off.

“It can’t be true,” Clara interrupted, sounding lost. “He would’ve told me. Cal was a loving son. Attentive. He was over for dinner every Sunday, took me to the theater, visited during the week. He would never have kept my grandchildren from me.”

Jim cleared his throat. “He—”

“He wasn’t even married!” Clara blurted, rubbing one hand up and down the skirt of her violet suit and pulling at the lapel of her jacket with the other. At seventy, Clara Sanderson was retired, but in her day, she'd been every bit as formidable in the business world as her daughter was now. Where Leslie’s forte was finance, Clara’s had been real estate.

Leslie took her mother’s hand under the table, as much to still her own jitters as to calm her mother’s.

“Be that as it may, your son had two children, Mrs. Sanderson,” Jim said, leaning forward as he spoke.

“And he left them everything,” Kip said, as though trying to sum up what they’d been told and get them out of there. Or at least, that was what Leslie hoped he was doing.

“Not quite,” Jim said, looking from Kip to Leslie. “He left the two of you something quite valuable, too.”

Leslie didn’t want anything of Cal’s. She just wanted to get outside, breathe, figure out what to do next.

“I can’t imagine what that would be,” Kip said, frowning.

Cal had kids someplace and presumably Jim knew where. She had to find them. Hell, she didn’t even know how old they—

“He left you the kids,” the attorney’s voice was like a loud crack in the silence. “To you, Kip, he left guardianship of his five-year-old son, Jonathan. And Leslie, he asked that you take two-year-old Kayla.”




CHAPTER TWO


IT WAS ALL TOO incredible to believe. She was a mother. A mother! No, she wasn’t. She could be a guardian. If she chose to accept Calhoun’s final wishes.

Chose to accept. She couldn’t turn her back on a two-year-old child!

“I realize that you live in Phoenix, Ms. Sanderson, and expect you might need to get back soon. A temporary order can be issued immediately for you to take the child with you if that’s what you decide.”

“Hold on.” Kip stood, his slacks a lot more creased than they’d been when he sat down less than twenty minutes before. “Who are these children? Where are they? Where’s their mother? Why haven’t we heard about them until now? Who’s taking care of them? Where do they live?”

All questions she should have asked. Would have asked if she’d been able to think.

Jim nodded, glanced at Clara and then directed his answer to Kip, who was standing by the window, gazing back at him through narrowed eyes.

“A little over seven years ago, Cal met a woman while arguing a case in court. She was the bailiff. The way he explained it to me—just after Kayla was born and he set up a trust for the kids, and changed his will—he’d never met a woman like her. Her name was Abby and he said she made him feel complete in ways he’d never felt before. His actual words, if I remember them correctly—” he glanced at Clara and Leslie before returning his attention to Kip “—was that when he was with her, he felt accepted, forgiven for the parts of himself he wasn’t proud of. He didn’t tell me what he meant by that, what he’d done, or believed he’d done. But he said that with Abby, he felt worthy. Those were his exact words.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Clara said. “Cal was a wonderful human being, always giving, thinking of others. I told him all the time how much I appreciated him. I heard other people say similar things. He didn’t suffer from feelings of unworthiness….”

Her mother was breathing heavily, but otherwise she appeared to be taking the news a whole lot better than Leslie was.

Jim shrugged. “I’m only telling you what he told me.”

“So why wouldn’t he have told any of us about her?” Kip asked, coming back to his seat at the table.

“She was…different from him….”

None of this was making sense to Leslie. “Cal wasn’t a snob,” she said.

“And he knew we weren’t, either,” Clara added. “We’ve always been an accepting bunch.”

“Different, how?” Kip asked from over by the window.

“Abby was African-American.” The shock of Jim’s words shot through Leslie, not because she cared about Abby’s race, but because her brother had always been so careful to behave conventionally. “The kids are biracial.”

“So?” Clara didn’t even blink. “They’re my grandchildren.”

She turned to Leslie then, grinning, tears in her eyes, her face pale. “I’m a grandma,” she said.

“Yes, you are,” Leslie told her, finding a smile for the woman she adored. Clara might not have protected Leslie in all the ways Leslie would’ve liked, but she’d been the best mother she could be. Leslie had never doubted that she was loved. Cared for. Supported.



“YOU SAID WAS.” Kip hadn’t yet found anything to smile about in the news they’d just been given. He needed facts.

And a night with a good woman. He didn’t need a five-year-old child. Didn’t know the first thing about raising children. Could hardly remember having been one himself.

Jim’s raised brow was his only response.

“You said this Abby woman was African-American. I’m assuming she didn’t have a racial transplant.”

He could feel both Sanderson women looking at him, but couldn’t meet their eyes. He could take care of them. But he couldn’t raise a little boy.

“Abby died shortly after Kayla was born.” Jim’s expression softened, his words low. “A gravel truck ran a red light. She died instantly.”

“So who’s watching the children?” Clara seemed to be handling the situation far better than he was. Leslie was completely still.

“A woman named Ada King. She was a friend of Abby’s mother, took Abby in when the mother died of cancer. Abby was only three. She’d been living with Abby since just before Jonathan was born. They owned a condominium in Westerville.”

It was a nice suburb, north of Columbus. Upper middle class.

“Did Cal live there, too?” Leslie sounded as though she couldn’t imagine her brother deserting his own kids.

Kip agreed with her. Cal cared. Maybe too much.

Jim shook his head. “From the little he told me, Abby wouldn’t agree to marry him, and wouldn’t let him live there. She’d had a hard life, needed her independence—and wasn’t willing to face society’s reactions to their union. She also said she wasn’t going to make her children’s lives harder by exposing them to the curious glances inherent in having parents from two different races. But I gather Calhoun spent a lot of time with them anyway. She and the kids were frequent visitors to his home in Gahanna as well.”

The room was warm, comfortable. The light blues in the upholstery and picture frames an easy contrast with the off-white walls. It was a room designed to put people at ease. To Kip it felt like prison. He sat back down.

“How old is Ada King?”

“Sixty-two.”

Still young enough to care for children. Kip nodded.

Clara leaned forward, both arms on the table in front of her. “Have you met her?”

Jim nodded. “She was at the funeral yesterday.”

Kip hadn’t seen a black woman there. “And the children?” Clara asked.

“They were there, too. In the back. Jonathan cried some. Kayla was asleep.”

“Oh, my God.” Leslie jolted beside him, and Kip wished he knew what she was thinking. Wondered if she felt anywhere near as trapped and inadequate as he did by the unexpected “gift” they’d both received.

“The poor little guy,” Leslie said. “First losing his mother, then his father…”

Kip’s entire body stiffened as unexpected, intense emotion grabbed hold of him. He’d just had a flashback, knew something about being a young boy, after all. He knew exactly how it felt, how utterly terrified he’d been when, a few days after his sixth birthday, they’d buried his mother.

“When can we see them?” Leslie and Clara asked almost simultaneously.

“Anytime you’d like, but there’s more that you should know first,” Jim said, his glasses back on his nose as he picked up some papers. “Calhoun left a generous sum of money for Ada, and with the rest he set up a trust for the kids.” He peered at Kip over the top of the wire frames. “Kip, you and Leslie are both named as trustees.”

The rope around Kip’s neck tightened, as he became responsible for more duties he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.

Leslie glanced at him, her lips turned up in a tentative smile that failed to hide the panic in her eyes. Seeing her discomfort had an odd effect on him; it quieted his own sense of impending doom. He wasn’t alone here. Together he and Leslie would figure a way out.

“You said a temporary order could be issued immediately,” she said, her gaze back on the attorney. “Does that mean we could have immediate access to the kids?”

“It does.”

“What about Ada King?” The returning strength in Clara’s voice was a relief. “Does she know about us? About the will? Will she be resistant to our visit?”

Jim’s face broke into a grin for the first time since they’d entered the room. “Ada’s known about you all since the first time Abby brought Calhoun home. She knows about the will. Cal discussed it with her before he ever came to see me. After Abby died, Ada was willing to continue caring for the children as long as Calhoun was around to help. But I think that though she’s going to miss those children terribly, she’s relieved to know she won’t be raising them all by herself. I spoke with her the day after Cal’s accident. Kayla’s an active little thing and Ada’s getting old, can’t keep up. And she has a sister in Florida who’s invited Ada to share her retirement condo….”

Kip loosened the top button on the shirt that was sticking to his perspiring skin. Life just didn’t damn well work this way. A man didn’t get up in the morning, and find himself a parent three hours later. Raising children required knowledge he didn’t have. A man didn’t just take an orphan boy home with him and suddenly become equipped to father him.

“Can we have some time to think about this?” Leslie’s question brought a surge of cool relief. “Until tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Jim stood. “I have copies of the will for each of you. For obvious reasons Cal wanted its contents to remain undisclosed until now. Read it over and give me a call when you’re ready.”

Kip accepted his packet and escorted the women out into the cold Ohio day, Jim’s parting words ringing in his mind. Call when he was ready? He’d never be ready.



JONATHAN STOOD in the doorway of the upstairs bathroom, watching as Nana braided Kayla’s hair. Her fingers moved real fast over and under and on top and around, and the hair just went into place. He wasn’t ever going to be able to do that. ’Specially not with his little sister squirming the whole time.

“What’s gonna happen to us?” He kinda felt like throwing up as he waited for Nana’s answer. But he had to find out, didn’t he? If he was the only man now…

“I don’t know, child.”

He could see himself in the mirror. His face, which was just a boy face, was there. And his hair was boy hair, too, and Nana cut it a lot, so the red color that was like Daddy’s didn’t really show. His skin was always the same though he prayed till he fell asleep that he’d wake up with light skin like Kayla’s, instead of dark like Nana’s and Mama’s. The older kids at school weren’t going to call her zebra and skunk and white chocolate and swiss roll and salt and pepper and a bunch of other things he didn’t know what they meant.

“It’s because I’m black, isn’t it?”

“What’s that, boy?”

“Why they don’t wanna know me and Kayla? Because I’m black and they don’t want no half ’n half.”

Jonathan jumped back from the door when Nana dropped her comb and whirled at him. “Don’t you never say nothin’ like that again, boy, you hear me? Not ever.”

Jonathan nodded. And stayed real quiet. He knew better than to talk back to Nana when her face got all pointy like that.

But just ’cause he didn’t say nothin’ didn’t mean he wasn’t thinkin’ it. So…he’d wait some, but if he got too scared about his baby sister and stuff, he’d just shove as much as he could carry in his special backpack that Daddy and him went to get for school, and go far away, so they wouldn’t be thinkin’ bad thoughts about Kayla ’cause of him. Kayla’s skin looked almost the same as Daddy’s. They’d like her fine.

He’d bet that old crying lady that Nana said was Daddy’s mama could make her fingers do Kayla’s braids. ’Course she was old, but pro’bly she had a sister like Nana’s who wanted to take care of her and would take care of Kayla, too.



“CAN I GET YOU SOMETHING to drink?” Leslie stood behind the wet bar in her mother’s family room Friday evening. Clara was at a friend’s house for an impromptu gathering of the six or seven women who’d raised their children together and supported each other through all the following phases of their lives. Which left her and Kip alone—both guests in her mother’s house.

“Bourbon would be great.” Kip flipped on the switch for the gas fire, leaning an arm on the hand-carved mahogany mantel as he stared toward the flames. He’d said very little since leaving the attorney’s office that morning.

Not that she’d been all that communicative, either. She’d spent most of the afternoon listening to Clara. Helped deal with the myriad details of closing down a life. And spent a couple of hours on the phone with Nancy, checking on details at work.

“Rocks or no?”

He didn’t glance up from the fire.

“Rocks, please.”

After getting his drink, she poured herself a glass of Riesling. Her mother had redecorated this room since Leslie had lived at home. It didn’t look anything like Leslie remembered. And still, she was uncomfortable here.

Shrugging off things that had no rightful place in her life, or mind, she handed Kip his drink, losing herself for the briefest of seconds in his compassionate brown gaze.

Until she had to look away. She curled up on the end of the plush rose-colored sofa closest to the fire, instead. She hadn’t been warm since she’d arrived in Ohio.

“I keep thinking about those kids in foster care….” Kip’s voice trailed off as he once again stared into the gas flames that bounced almost rhythmically, creating the same splashes of amber and gold color over and over again.

“Foster care?” She hadn’t meant to come across so defensively, but his comment took her completely off guard.

He turned holding the bourbon he’d asked for but not yet touched. “Isn’t that where orphan children go these days? Into foster care?”

The chill that had been surrounding her for days intensified, leaving her adrift, alone in an Alaska-like wilderness.

“You don’t intend to honor Cal’s wishes.” All day long, in the confusing array of possibilities that had tortured her mind, she’d never once considered that they wouldn’t somehow provide for Cal’s children.

He sat on the edge of a maroon-flowered armchair, his feet on the intricately designed wool rug that covered most of the beige-carpeted floor, his bourbon glass held with both hands between his knees. “Do you?” He sounded as surprised as she felt.

Leslie took a sip of wine. Set the glass on the table. Clasped her hands together, shoulders hunched, and shivered. “I honestly don’t know what I think,” she told him, meeting his eyes. “The problems are so vast I can hardly even begin to make a list of them. I live in Phoenix. You live here. The kids would be separated. If I took Kayla, my mother would only get to see her once or twice a year. Aside from the fact that I’d lose a job I love and my means of support as well, I absolutely cannot move back to Ohio. My home—hell, my life—is not equipped to handle a toddler. The smell of vomit makes me vomit. I know plenty about the world of finance and nothing at all about potty-training. I work long hours, travel. I’ve been known to swear on occasion….”

Hearing herself, Leslie flushed.

Kip was grinning at her. “I don’t think that last one disqualifies you from much of anything—including sainthood.”

In spite of herself, her state of mind and inner turmoil, she smiled back. She’d always loved the times Kip was in their home.

“My brother knew me well,” she said. “He knew there’d be no way in hell I could turn my back on a two-year-old orphaned child, let alone one of my own flesh and blood. Add to that my only brother’s dying wish that I care for his beloved daughter.” She took another sip of wine. “If I desert that child, I’ll lie in bed every night hearing her cry and feeling Calhoun turning over in his grave.”

“You’re one intense woman, you know that?” Kip asked, taking a sip of bourbon. “And you have a way with words, too.”

“So, am I wrong?”

He shrugged. “How would I know how you react to vomit?”

Leslie swirled the wine left in her glass. She had a one-glass-a-night rule, but tonight she’d already given herself permission to break it.

“The thing is, I’m also fully aware that any decisions I make affect you, too.”

“How so?”

She watched him for a moment, trying to remain impartial to the way his short dark hair tried to curl around his head, to the broad shoulders and the muscled thighs in the tight jeans he’d changed into when they got back here that morning.

Leslie was still wearing the gray wool suit she’d had on. She was comfortable in the persona her work clothes gave her.

“You going to tell me it wouldn’t give you a few bad nights if I decide to take Kayla and you turn Jonathan over to the state?” she asked. “I know you, Kip Webster. There’s no way you wouldn’t be thinking of that little boy, not only orphaned and abandoned, but separated from his little sister, too.”

His reply was to finish the rest of his bourbon in one long swallow. Before she could offer him another, he was walking over to the bar.

“And if you do take him and I take Kayla to Phoenix, we’d eventually feel compelled to provide opportunities for them to see each other. We’d have to decide how to handle communication and visits and maybe even have to spend some time together at Christmas. Or at least arrange to let the kids do so.”

She had no idea where any of this was coming from—she supposed from that subconscious part of her mind Juliet was always telling her about. It was leading her to other difficult conclusions, too.

Like the possibility of taking Jonathan as well as Kayla if Kip really didn’t want him. Realistically, how could she even consider that?

When Kip came back with a full glass, he settled on the other end of the couch.

“And there’s another whole issue we haven’t even touched on,” she said slowly, frowning. “It affects our decision, either way.”

“What’s that?”

“These kids are of mixed race. That can create psychological problems if they’re not given the right kind of emotional support.”

“I guess so, but how do you know that?”

Leslie smiled fleetingly. “I spend a lot of time on planes. Reading magazines because I can’t concentrate on business when half my energy’s consumed with keeping the plane in the air.”

“You didn’t read on the way here.”

She could hardly remember the trip. She owed him for her ticket, she was sure, as she didn’t remember buying it, either.

“I took a sleeping pill.”

He sat forward, elbows on his knees as he stared into the fire again. “So tell me what you think about this whole mixed-race thing.”

Leslie leaned an arm against the side of the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. “I haven’t thought about it all that much,” she told him honestly. “Except that I know there’ll be issues. I realize you’re seeing more mixed-race marriages these days, but there are still a lot of small-minded people and raised eyebrows.

“The little I know about black culture is fairly stereotypical and probably not very accurate. African-Americans have their own concerns that we can understand intellectually but not emotionally. These kids face the risk of not being accepted by either group—whites or blacks.”

Kip glanced sideways at her, nodded. “And if we take Kayla and Jonathan, we’ll be facing that risk with them.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to comb Kayla’s hair!”

“I wonder if Abby celebrated Kwanza with them.”

“People might stare. The bigoted ones might show disapproval.” She couldn’t even begin to contemplate the struggles Jonathan and Kayla could encounter in their lives. “And I wonder if being of mixed race could lessen their chances of being adopted. Especially Jonathan, since he’s older. At the very least, it could reduce the available choices, since they’d only be able to pass as the biological children of a mixed-race couple. A lot of people don’t want it automatically known that their kids are adopted. They want it to look as though the kids could be theirs biologically.”

Kip sat back, taking a smaller sip from his glass. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “And to take it a step further, they could be more at risk for abuse in a foster home, if that was where they ended up. You hear about the abuse that goes on in some of them, and I’d guess that a kid who didn’t look like the rest of the kids would be more of a target. As much as we like to think differently, even in the twenty-first century there’s still far too much prejudice among us.”

Leslie was moved by his clearsightedness and his compassion. Moved by it and persuaded. Her decision was made. Saturday or not, she was calling Jim in the morning. She wanted those temporary orders issued—for both kids—and permanent ones started, as well.

Whatever it took, she was going to find a way to make this work.




CHAPTER THREE


“YOU’VE BEEN UP ALL NIGHT?”

Shirt unbuttoned, shoes on the floor, Kip lay back on the couch in Clara’s family room and watched as Leslie, dressed in a black running suit and tennis shoes, came in. He’d heard her on the stairs.

“I dozed off,” he told her, stretching the truth a bit. He’d been in a kind of trance, but wasn’t sure he’d ever really slept as the dark hours dragged by. “Being here in this house, trying to make sense of the present, to figure out the future, I found myself wandering back to the past. Did you know that Cal once told me he was never going to have kids?”

Leslie perched on the arm of the chair across from him. “Don’t most guys think that way in high school?”

“I sure did.” Lethargic, Kip didn’t move, just lay there with his arms at his sides, head propped up on the arm of the couch. If he didn’t get up, he wouldn’t have to face the first decision in his life that just might be too big for him. “I didn’t change my mind about it, either.”

“You don’t have to take him, Kip,” Leslie said, her blue eyes soft. She’d pulled her mass of auburn curls into a ponytail on top of her head. Even without makeup she was beautiful.

God, how she’d grown up. He’d thought about that during the long night, too. Vacillated between great interest in the new Leslie, and anger at her for changing from the kid sister she’d always been. Angry at her for tempting him.

“I was thinking about the time Cal and I came out of the locker room after a particularly great Friday-night game to find the Saylor twins waiting. They’d set aside the whole night just for us. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”

Kip grinned at Leslie as he relived, just for a second, those easier days of youth when things had seemed black and white rather than the confusing shades of gray he now knew them to be.

“From what I remember, that was all in a day’s work for the two of you,” Leslie said, smiling back. “Or a night’s…”

“Yeah, well, the Saylor twins were…special.”

“Loose you mean.”

“Generous is how I’d describe them.”

Shaking her head, Leslie grinned even more. “You’re an embarrassment to faithful men everywhere, Kip Webster.”

He should probably sit up. But it felt so damn good lying there, talking to her. Natural.

“Hey, now,” he said, “I’m not unfaithful. Being unfaithful means there had to be faith to begin with. Promises and vows—which I haven’t made. I’ve never once pretended to be anything other than what I am.”

“And that is?”

He opened his mouth with a ready quip, met her eyes, and closed it again, smile fading.

“I’m honest, Les. I never allow a woman to think she’s the only one in my life.”

Her grin was gone, too. “Has there ever been a time there’s been only one?” The question was almost a whisper.

“There’ve been more times when there’ve been none.”

“No!” She reached across and yanked at his toe before dropping into the chair. “The great Kip Webster without a woman?”

“I didn’t say it happened—just that there’ve been more times when I didn’t have a woman than when I had only one.” He didn’t join her attempt to return them to the lighthearted conversation of moments ago. “You know something?” he said, completely serious. “That night when the Saylor twins were waiting for us, Cal and I had already agreed to go right home and get a good night's rest. We’d told your mother that first thing Saturday morning we'd move an elderly client of hers out of the house she’d just closed on….”

Kip could remember that night like it had been the week before.

“I was halfway to the car with the twins, fully prepared to pull an all-nighter and then help your mom, but Cal would have none of it. He said we could see the twins the next night. I thought he’d lost his mind.” Kip couldn’t find the smile that should have accompanied the boyhood memory. All he could find was the panic that had set in when Jim Brackerfield pronounced him guardian of a five-year-old boy.

“So you went out with the twins and Cal came home?” Leslie asked.

“No, I was spending the night at your house. And Cal was right. They agreed to see us the next night.”

Swinging his legs to the floor, Kip sat up. “But that’s the thing, Les. I would’ve gone. It never even occurred to me not to go. I’m just not the responsible type.”

When she leaned forward, Kip could see a hint of the cleavage he’d first noticed when she was about fifteen and he’d been leaving for college. He’d only ever seen her twice since then, until now. At her high school and college graduations.

“You were seventeen, Kip!”

“I like women, Les. I can imagine meeting someone at a business lunch, stretching lunch to dinner and completely forgetting to pick up the kid from daycare or wherever he might be.”

“Have you ever had a cat?” Leslie asked.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“That time mine was hit by a car and almost died and you drove me to the vet. While we were waiting, you told me your dad wouldn’t allow you to have a pet but when you were on your own you were going to get a cat. Couldn’t be a dog because they had to be taken for walks and you weren’t planning to be home every night.”

Since her words only added weight to the dread already consuming him, Kip didn’t share her humor. “See what I mean? Even then I knew I couldn’t be relied on.”

“Did you ever forget to feed your cat?”

“Of course not.” He wasn’t a complete imbecile. “He always had a clean litter box, too. He was almost ten when he got leukemia. I can’t tell you the nights I sat up with him before he finally had to be put down.”

“There you go,” Leslie said, standing up. “You like to play, Kip, but you’ve never been one to shirk your responsibilities. Take that night with the Saylor twins,” she said, her mischievous grin affecting him in mysterious ways, “you’d have gone, but you also would’ve shown up to help my mother, worked your ass off, then gone home and crashed as soon as you were done.”

Maybe. But…

“And that would’ve been a horrible example to set,” he told her. “You know me, Les. I was born wild. If it hadn’t been for your family taking pity on me, I wouldn’t have any idea at all of what family life’s supposed to be like. And I didn’t totally get it even when I was here. How many times did I worry your mother sick because I forgot to call when I was coming here and I was late? Or forgot to come over, period? I was arrested at sixteen for possession of an illegal substance…”

“It was a first offense, the only offense, the record was sealed when you turned eighteen and no one will ever know about it.”

“I’m not prepared to be a father, Les.”

“I know.”

“I haven’t got a clue about raising a kid.”

“I know. Me, neither.”

“But you’re going to take her, aren’t you?”

His breathing stopped during the second she nodded her head.



IN A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR, she was going to meet Cal’s children. Leslie didn’t have any idea how one prepared for such a thing. Should she just be herself? Wear a pantsuit and fancy jewelry and pretend she wasn’t afraid, at least in some measure, almost every minute of every day?

Or should she put on the one pair of jeans she still owned—left behind from a visit to her mother six or seven years ago, when Cal had been white-water rafting—and top it with the pink sweater she’d brought to wear under her black suit? Her black boots would be fine with jeans. And she could wear the butterfly necklace from her Purple Rain collection—it had blues and pinks and violets. Little girls liked butterflies.

Oh, God, how do you expect me to do this? In bra and panties, Leslie sank onto the white eyelet coverlet on the double bed she’d slept in as a child growing up in her mother’s house. She’d handled incredible pressures during her thirty years on earth, but somehow none of them seemed as insurmountable as the decision before her now. Her eye caught the rose-colored angel night-light she’d had since she was a child.

It had burned the night before. Just as a similar one burned in her own home every night. Angel, where’s your calm?

A call to Jim Brackerfield just after breakfast that morning had resulted in this Saturday-afternoon visit with the children. Her mother was coming, too. If all went well, Leslie could take Kayla home with her to Phoenix the next day.

Staring at the white eyelet curtains, the yellow walls with their pictures of butterflies and tacked-up posters of “feel-good” quotes from her teen years, she wondered who’d be supplying the definition of “well.” If it was her, there wouldn’t be one.



KIP, FRESHLY SHOWERED, shaved and dressed in jeans, a beige sweater and an open brown leather jacket, was standing outside by the rental car when Leslie and her mother left the house.

“You’re coming?” she asked, afraid to hope. She was determined not to sway Kip, make him feel guilty or give any indication of how much she wished he’d take her nephew—to love him. Even more than that, she wanted him to do whatever he needed to do.

“I didn’t put you down as a driver on the car,” he said, referring to the rental they’d brought from the airport.”

“We can take mine,” Clara said.

Kip opened the front passenger door for the older woman, who slid in without another word.

Leslie climbed in back, thanking God for giving her the strength Kip’s presence offered—even it was only for the afternoon.



ADA KING’S WRINKLED FACE and arthritic fingers looked more like those of an eighty-year-old woman than the sixty-two they’d been told she was. Her smile was gracious and genuine when she opened the door of the three-story condominium.

“The children are downstairs in the playroom,” she said. “I thought it best for you to meet them down there….” She stepped aside as they entered. “Then, if you all have any questions…”

She had a million of them. And couldn’t think of one. “I’m Leslie,” she said, holding out her hand.

“The picture your brother had was old, but I recognize you,” Ada said, gripping her hand. “Your brother thought the sun rose and set on them curls of yours.”

Leslie blinked back the tears she’d been fighting all the way across town. Oh, Cal. How can I possibly miss you so much? How can you still matter to me? How am I ever going to love your children and not lose myself?

After shaking hands with Clara and Kip, Ada led them toward a staircase at the back of the living room they’d entered.

“Kayla’s toys are all down here,” she said. “It’s best to keep plenty of things handy for that one to do.”

Leslie’s heart started to pound. “She’s active?”

“She’s two,” Ada said as if that explained everything, glancing over her shoulder at Leslie as they slowly descended the stairs. Kip and Clara were right behind her.

Breathe. Leslie took a step. And then another. Real breaths, not those shallow gasps that barely keep you alive. She heard Juliet’s voice in her head.

The carpet was short, variegated browns and beiges, and thickly padded. Expensive. But easy to clean and it hid stains. There wasn’t a single fingerprint on the light beige walls. She could hear a childish lisp in a high little voice, couldn’t understand the words. If there’d been a reply, it had been uttered too softly to hear.

Leslie turned, met her mother’s tremulous gaze, and then her eyes locked with Kip’s. For a second she saw naked fear—an emotion that echoed all the way through her.

She hadn’t even known these children existed until the day before. And now one of them was supposed to be hers?

And Cal’s. Always Cal’s. Could she raise her brother’s daughter?

Could she not?

“Jonathan, Kayla, they’re here to meet you,” Ada said, rounding the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

Light-headed with tension—and probably lack of oxygen—Leslie turned the corner, vaguely aware of her mother and Kip coming up beside her. All she really noticed were the eyes staring at her from a mahogany-brown face topped with straight red hair, exactly the same as her brother’s. Jonathan Sanderson was the most striking little boy she’d ever seen.

And then the slightest movement drew her eyes downward to the chubby little girl hugging her brother’s leg. Kayla’s head was covered in frizzy braids. Her overalls were pink, swarming with butterflies, as was the long-sleeved shirt she had on underneath them. And her skin was creamy beige, beautiful. Kayla was beautiful.

“Da da da?” Tears flooded Leslie’s eyes the second she heard the voice. And just like that, she fell in love.

Jonathan pulled the child even closer, wrapping an arm protectively around her shoulders.

“He’s not comin’ back, Kayla,” the little boy whispered, leaning down to his sister, but still watching the three outsiders who’d just invaded his territory. “’Member? We talked all ’bout it.”

“Da da da,” Kayla said again, her voice softer as she, too, stared at the strangers.

“Come forward, boy,” Ada said, her hand beckoning.

So slowly he was hardly moving, Jonathan came forward, bringing his sister with him. Ada waited patiently. And when he arrived, put an arm around his skinny little shoulders.

“Jonathan Sanderson, this is your grandma.” She stopped him in front of Clara, who knelt, tears streaming down her face.

“Hello, Jonathan, I’m so happy to meet you,” she said quietly.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Jonathan peered at Clara for a moment and then back at Ada, who moved him along.

“And this is your aunt Leslie.”

Leslie didn’t know where the ear-to-ear grin came from, but when that little body stopped in front of her, gazing up at her with distrusting eyes, she saw a world of happy times ahead of them.

“Hi, Jonathan. I didn’t even know about you until yesterday, but I’m so glad to meet you,” she said, reaching out to touch his hair. “It’s like mine.”

“It’s like my daddy’s.” The boy’s chin trembled, but otherwise he was completely composed. Although Leslie had only limited familiarity with kids, that seemed unusual to her.

She knelt down beside her mother, who was still on her knees watching the children she obviously longed to pull into her arms. “You must be Kayla,” she said to the little girl peering out from behind her brother.

Kayla stepped out then. Nodded. Poked her finger at Leslie’s hair. “Da da da.”

“She don’t know what she’s sayin’,” Jonathan quickly inserted. He looked up at Kip, eyes narrowed. “Who’s he?”

“This is Kip Webster, child,” Ada said, and Leslie thought of the most important question she should’ve asked Ada King before they’d come downstairs. Did Jonathan know the terms of his father’s will?

“Who’s he?” Jonathan asked again, pretty much confirming what Leslie had feared. The little boy hadn’t been told that he was about to be taken from the only home he’d ever known.

But at least if Kip decided not to take him, Jonathan wouldn’t realize that Kip hadn’t wanted him.

“He was your daddy’s best friend from the time they were wee like you,” Ada said. She dropped her arm from around the boy and stepped back.

But not too far back, Leslie noted.

The boy studied Kip for a long moment. “You want to see my radio control helicopter that really flies?” Jonathan finally asked Kip. “It’s pretty cool.”

Leslie watched, holding her breath.

“Sure,” Kip said, smiling at the little boy with a natural ease that confirmed something Leslie had always assumed but that Kip Webster hadn’t yet figured out. Someday he was going to make a wonderful father. “You got one control or two?”



THREE HOURS LATER Ada walked them to the door, but Kip wasn’t ready to leave. He wasn’t ready to end this segment of his life—to move on to whatever was coming next.

“We’ll call you in the morning,” he told the older woman in a low voice. Jonathan and Kayla were downstairs, glued to a Disney video on the large-screen TV that took up one end of the huge sitting room. Still he wouldn’t put it past the precocious little guy he’d spent the past couple of hours playing with to have crept up the stairs far enough to listen in.

“Mr. Brackerfield says you might be takin’ Kayla tomorrow.” Ada looked at Leslie.

“I—”

“This all happened so fast,” Kip interrupted and he wasn’t even sure why. Driven by some unidentifiable tension inside him, he continued anyway. “You’ve known about these kids all their lives,” he said. “We’re not only grieving Cal’s unexpected death, but dealing with the shock of finding out that he kept something like this from his entire family.”

That wasn’t it at all. But Ada was nodding so maybe she’d accept his rambling explanation as a reason for delaying any final decision.

“Just give us the evening to talk, and then we’ll call you with some solid plans.”

“Take all the time you need,” Ada said, her expression gentle. “I ain’t in no hurry. Just want to have the little one’s things packed if she’s got to go.”

“We’ll let you know,” Kip said again, before Leslie could make some definite commitment.

“What was that about?” she asked him as soon as the front door of the condo closed behind them.

“I just—”

“I’m taking her, Kip.” She walked to the parking lot, holding the edges of her black suede coat together as she shivered in the cold. “You aren’t going to change my mind about that.”

“I have no intention of trying,” he admitted honestly. But that was all he could tell her. It was all he knew.




CHAPTER FOUR


CLARA SUGGESTED that Leslie and Kip go out alone for the evening, someplace neutral, and have their talk. Which was why, just after seven, Leslie found herself walking along High Street, the main drag, which ran through Ohio State University in downtown Columbus, with her high school crush beside her. Dressed in her lone pair of jeans and the pink sweater beneath her mother’s borrowed winter parka, Leslie was at least glad to be out of the house.

“It’s just like your mom to insist that we get away from her and all the memories of Cal at the house as we try to figure out what to do,” Kip said, his breath visible in the cold night air as they walked past noisy bars interspersed with tattoo shops, fast food restaurants and closed bookstores. “She was always one to respect personal space, always trying not to pressure you unduly to her way of thinking.”

“Yeah,” was the only response Leslie could manage. If her mother hadn’t been so determined to give her and Cal their “space,” would things have turned out differently?

A group of college-age girls passed, parkas open to reveal the belly rings and bare skin that showed between the button on their jeans and the hem of their shirts. One of them knocked the shoulder strap of Leslie’s black Brighton bag off her shoulder. At least three of them had been talking at once, and she wondered how any of them ever got heard.

“You hungry?” Kip asked.

“A little.” They hadn’t eaten since a quick sandwich before going to meet the kids. Leslie hadn’t finished hers. “Not really.”

Too much on her mind. “That place looks exactly like it did when I worked there.” They were passing the popular hamburger joint that had provided her spending money during her undergraduate years.

“You had money from your father,” Kip said, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I never could understand why you’d choose to work in a fast food place.”

Leslie shrugged, not expecting him to understand. “I wanted to be like everyone else.” And to have long hours with lots of lights and activity and noise—to keep her from panicking her way right out of college.

Secrets isolated people, casting them into an internal darkness, a loneliness that often resulted in bouts of anxiety.

A convertible drove by with the top down and a group of husky young men wearing blue and gold University of Michigan letterman jackets sitting up on the back seat. They were whooping and hollering loudly enough to be heard at Ada King’s home in Westerville fifteen miles away.

“I forgot, today was the Michigan game,” Kip said. “They must’ve won!”

Michigan versus Ohio State was the big football rivalry, often determining which of the two teams would be playing in the biggest college bowl game at the end of the year.

“Good for them!” she said, smiling. “They won only once when I was a student here, but I wore my Michigan jersey up and down High Street that night, doing my father proud.” She hadn’t had many typical college weekend nights during her time at the university; that November Saturday of her junior year had been one of the few.

“I never understood why, considering the fact that both your father and grandfather graduated from U of M—and you were so obviously a fan, even when you were a kid—you chose to go to OSU.”

Because Cal had been at U of M doing graduate work. “I got a full scholarship to Ohio State.”

Her mom had accepted the explanation, and there was no reason to expect that Kip wouldn’t.

The street was so brightly lit it could almost have been daytime, and teeming with young people intent on a night of living it up. Leslie wondered how many of them would be living it down the next morning. She’d occasionally done that, too. Never again.

“You want a drink?” Kip asked.

They needed to talk. A noisy High Street bar wasn’t conducive to serious conversation. Or any conversation that could actually be heard. “Sure.”

She could use a glass of wine. Take the edge off, at least a little. She was going to take Kayla. Telling Kip wouldn’t be easy.

Neither was making the request she had to make—if he wasn’t taking Jonathan, she wanted Kip to sign him over to her.

But then, she’d never found life particularly easy. And that hadn’t stopped her yet.



LEAVE IT TO KIP to find a quiet corner in a quiet bar—one that actually served food as well as drinks—a couple of blocks down from Ohio State. There was only one other patron in the room and the hostess sat them in a scarred wooden booth all the way at the back, far from the door.

“How’d you know about this place?” she asked, the menu open in front of her.

“I didn’t,” he said, laying his menu down. “I’ll have the steak sandwich,” he told the young man who approached the table, pad in hand. “And a beer. Tall.”

He’d lucked into a quiet bar on High Street. Was there nothing in Kip Webster’s life that wasn’t charmed? Other than his childhood, she reminded herself. From all accounts, that had been sheer hell.

Which could explain why the man felt compelled to turn his back on fatherhood.

She ordered the turkey wrap and a glass of wine. She wasn’t like Kip. She couldn’t be like him, couldn’t let herself think about not doing as Cal wished. The irony of that wasn’t lost on her, either.



“SO WHAT DID YOU THINK?”

“About the sandwich? Quite good, thank you.” She smiled across at her dinner companion, finding a curious humor in the fact that her dreams had finally come true—she was out on High Street, alone with Kip, on a Saturday night—albeit ten years too late and not quite for the reason she’d hoped. But then fate had a way of doing that to her.

“I wasn’t talking about the sandwich,” Kip said with a small grin. The flip-flop in her stomach had nothing to do with the food, either. And everything to do with the man.

“I’d like another glass of wine first.”



“I THOUGHT THEY WERE ADORABLE,” Leslie said before her second glass of wine arrived. “I’m guessing they were on their best behavior, but they seem like really good kids.”

“Jonathan’s a brainiac.”

“A what?”

“Brainiac,” Kip said, worrying the edge of his drink napkin between his thumb and index finger. He’d removed his jacket, and the green sweater he was wearing brought out glints of gold in his eyes. “His word, not mine. He said the kids at school call him that. Means he’s smart.”

Her wine was served. Leslie took a gulp, hoping she’d camouflaged the gesture as a ladylike sip. “For a five-year-old, he’s far too aware of others,” she said.

“You’ve known many five-year-olds?”

Leslie watched him for a long minute, a silent debate playing itself out as she decided how much of herself to let him know.

“I want children,” Leslie said. “Not like this, not now, but I’ve known for quite a while that my career isn’t enough to fill my life forever. I want to be a mother, to be pregnant and nurse and potty-train and…and protect.”

The last word resonated through her system. Or maybe it was just the wine.

“Is there a man who’s part of all this?” It was the first he’d asked about her love life, but she supposed it wasn’t surprising that the topic would come up, considering they were there to discuss becoming parents—or not.

“Well.” She cocked her head, hoping she could pull off the sassy smile she’d conjured up inside. “That would be why it’s still just in the planning stages,” she told him. “But…” She held up a hand, glad it wasn’t shaking. “I am a huge believer in stating your intent and focusing on what you desire, so I visit the day care in my office building as often as I can. There are some five-year-olds there during the after-school hours.”

“So you do have some experience.”

She couldn’t tell if his tone was accusatory, relieved or neutral. “I haven’t actually talked to them,” she said. “I just stop in, look around, make sure there aren’t any kids being neglected….”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re making sure that your employees’ benefits are everything they should be.”

He gave her that look. She’d actually forgotten it—that way he had of looking at her with his eyes warm and hinting at a deeper knowledge, as though he could see right inside her. She’d hated it at thirteen, afraid of what he might see. “Okay,” she said, before he looked any deeper. “Yes, I do regular checks—informal checks—on the quality of our day care because I care about our employees. And their children.”

His head tilted just a bit as he peered at her. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed about that, Les,” he said, no hint of laughter in his eyes, or his voice. “In fact, I respect the hell out of you for it.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that. So she took another sip of wine. This might end up being a three-glass night.

“You’re still planning to accept guardianship of Kayla.”

“Yes.”

“How can you do that?” In that moment, he reminded her of himself as a twelve-year-old boy watching her mother make pancakes. He’d insisted on trying for himself and sent batter flying across the stove when he attempted to flip one.

She frowned. Whether it was due to exhaustion, wine, or just because she was with Kip Webster, Leslie felt unable to keep up the running game of let’s pretend with which she faced her days. “You want the completely honest version?”

“Aren’t you always honest?”

“To a point.”

“Then yes,” he said, leaning forward, arms on the table, as he held her gaze. “I want the completely honest version.”

“I have no idea.”

He sat back, still watching her. She suspected it hadn’t been the answer he’d been hoping for.

“I really don’t know, Kip.” She glanced over as two older couples came through the door, wearing Michigan colors. Their alma mater? Were they local or had they driven in?

Had Cal taught Jonathan the “Go Blue” theme song, as their father had taught them? Would she teach Kayla?

“I just know I have to do this.”

He nodded, dropped his eyes, tore slowly at his napkin. “You’re really going to take her tomorrow?”

“I’d love to find a reason to delay, but I can’t. I have to get back to Phoenix. I’ve already been away too long. And…” She waited for him to look up at her. “It might seem strange, but now that I know I’m going to be her mother, I don’t want to leave without her.”

“What about Jonathan?”

Here came the really tough part. She took a sip from her nearly empty goblet, wishing the table hadn’t been cleared. She could use a few French fries to play with. Some ketchup to dip them in.

“What about him?” she asked, needing to hear his concerns before she attempted to tell him what she’d been thinking.

“He just lost his father!” Kip said. “Wouldn’t it be cruel to snatch his sister away from him so soon? Without warning? Forever?”

“You think it’d be easier for him to lose her six months from now? Will he love her any less then? Need her any less?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I know it’s sudden, but there doesn’t seem to be a good time to break up the only home they’ve ever had. And yet, it’s going to happen. One way or another. Ada is not their mother and as much as she loves the kids, she’s no longer able to raise them. In one sense it seems cruel to prolong this for any of them. Including Ada.”

“Jonathan knows something’s going on.” Kip’s words were so soft she barely heard them.

“He said that to you?” She stared at him, finding it difficult to breathe.

Kip nodded. “He’s sure I noticed that his skin is a lot darker than his sister’s.”

“Oh.”

“At the same time, he was quick to point out that other than her hair, Kayla looks pretty much like us and he asked me if I thought there was any chance you or your mother would take her. He wanted me to know that he didn’t have to come along if that would hurt her chances any.”

Tears sprang to Leslie’s eyes and she didn’t even try to hide them. “What did you say?” she whispered.

“I told him you and your mother are good people and that the color of his or Kayla’s skin would not make any difference to you at all. And I told him I liked his hair because it reminded me of his dad, whom I miss very much.”

She wiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “And you think you aren’t father material?” she asked him before she remembered she wasn’t going to say anything he might construe as pressure to take custody of her nephew. An unwanted guardianship wouldn’t be fair to him, or to Jonathan.

“I have no idea where the words came from,” Kip said.

Silence fell for a moment. The bell over the door tinkled again and a man in his early twenties, wearing jeans and a black parka, took a seat at the bar. If he was looking for some action, he’d come to the wrong place.

“My home is…impersonal,” Kip said next. “Decorated by a professional, cleaned once a week by a professional.”

Was he considering this, then? Her heart pounded heavily.

“I hardly think a child’s happiness would be irreparably damaged by either of those factors.”

“It’s in a gated community that doesn’t allow children.”

Well, that could present a problem.

“Kip?” She wasn’t ready for this. But then, she’d hardly been ready for most of the big events in her life. Starting with her father’s death.

He glanced up at her, his brows raised. He wasn’t classically handsome, but there was something about Kip that had captured her heart at twelve or thirteen and pretty much never let go.

Not that she was the only girl whose heart had been affected by him. Kip’s list of women could rival that of Hawkeye Pierce from all the MASH reruns she used to watch when her roommates were out partying. An especially exciting weekend for her was those thirty-six-hour MASH marathons a local cable station used to run.

“I’ve been thinking….”

He took a sip of what had to be warm beer. “What?”

“I’d like us to talk to Jim Brackerfield. Find out if I can take both kids. I mean surely…” When it looked like he might interrupt, she rushed on. “If Cal gave me Kayla, the court would acknowledge that he found me a suitable parent.”

“He gave you a little girl.”

“I hadn’t pegged you for a sexist, Kip Webster.”

“I’m not,” he said, scaring her with his seriousness. Things would go much easier for her if she had his cooperation on this.

“Mothers raise boys all the time,” she reminded him.

“Cal grew up without a father.” Kip’s voice had lost all compromise. She didn’t recognize this adamant, straight-faced man. “It was hard on him. A lot harder than you probably know,” he continued.

She’d bet her life he was wrong on that one.

“He doesn’t want that for his son.”

“Surely he’d prefer it to foster care.”

He motioned for another round of drinks, waiting while their glasses were removed and replaced. Then, after a long swallow, he continued.

“I did some reading on the Internet this afternoon.”

He’d been in her mother’s home office when she’d come down from speaking with Nancy.

“Like you said before, one of the most dangerous, life-damaging challenges biracial children face is a sense of not belonging anywhere. They’re often unable to feel completely part of one culture or the other. They can suffer terrible insecurities and even self-loathing that sometimes leads to a life of bitterness. Their belief systems can be shakier. I mean, think of it…” He paused for a second and Leslie stared at him. She’d thought about all of this in the past twenty-four hours, of course, but hadn’t worked out how to handle these challenges.

Cal’s children were just that. Children. Her dead brother’s children. Her niece and nephew who needed love. Not black. Not white. Not mixed race. Just children.

“…who are they on Martin Luther King day?” he continued after another sip of beer. “One of the people still fighting for equal rights, avenging their forefathers? Or one of those—like you and me—white race who feel guilt for the actions of people who lived before us, people whose actions were completely separate from us and over which we had no control?”

“I don’t know.” They were children. First and foremost. They needed a home. Security. Love. It was all she could take on at the moment. “You make it sound so hopeless.”

“It’s not hopeless.” He reached across the table, took her hand. “In all the accounts that I read today—and I read about a hundred firsthand accounts on some blogs I found—the insecurities commonly felt by children of mixed heritage can be effectively counteracted within a strong family unit.”

Did that mean he wouldn’t fight her if she tried to keep Jonathan out of foster care? Reading him as though he were an important investor, Leslie remained quiet. Waiting.

Or maybe she was just too scared to speak.

“I…” He stopped, glanced at her, and she almost started to cry again when she saw his obvious emotional struggle. “I find that I can’t turn my back on them, either.”




CHAPTER FIVE


THE WORDS WERE the last thing Leslie had expected—at least once she’d prepared herself to take this on all by herself, even though she had no idea how she’d pull it off. She’d been afraid to hope for anything different, had had to convince herself that going it alone was best….

“You aren’t saying anything.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t want me to take Jonathan?” he asked.

The honest doubt in his eyes tore at her. “Of course I do!” she said, only then realizing he was still holding her hand. She gave his fingers a squeeze. “I’m just speechless. Relieved. Thrilled. I’ve spent the past eight hours trying to figure out how I was going to handle all of this alone….”

Kip sat back. Withdrew his hand to pick up his beer mug. “I’m not so sure I’ll be much help.”

“Just knowing that Jonathan’s being cared for, loved—”

She broke off when he shook his head.

“Didn’t you hear anything I said?” he demanded.

“Of course I did.”

“Jonathan needs more than my love, Les, he needs a family unit. A strong family unit. And I don’t think anyone would call separating him from his only sibling a way to go about creating a ‘strong family unit.’”

She wished she hadn’t had any wine. She was struggling to keep up with him. That wasn’t typical for her.

“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting. You live in Ohio. Your job is here. Mine is in Phoenix.”

“Actually…” He sat forward again, both hands around the half-full mug of beer as he gazed at her from lowered lids. “The home office for my business is in Phoenix. I’d already been contemplating a move….”

Her heart began to race. Sporting International. How could she have forgotten, even for a minute? She’d instructed Nancy just that afternoon on the necessary actions to ready themselves for the probable takeover. Would Kip lose his job if that happened?

It wasn’t a question she could ask him—the takeover wasn’t something she could mention—not to an employee in a management position. Being charged with insider trading was a serious risk, even with a personal conversation if it could be construed as somehow sharing privileged information. She’d spent ten years of her life building a reputation that she wasn’t going to damage with a few poorly chosen words.

And really, would it affect their decision tonight if he did lose his job? She couldn’t see how. And if he was in Phoenix, she could help him out if he needed her to, help with Jonathan, until he got back on his feet.

“Do you have any idea where in Phoenix you’d live?” she asked him. How long had he been thinking about this? If Cal hadn’t died, would he have looked her up when he got to town?

She hated that it mattered.

“That’s just it,” Kip said, drumming the table with his fingertips, his eyes darting away before coming back to rest on her. He wore that predatory expression she’d seen him bestow on any number of cheerleader types during her growing-up years of unrequited love. “I haven’t had any time to think through the details yet,” he was saying, “but I believe it would be best if we all lived together….”

Leslie stared at him, horrified, immobile. She finally understood the old cliché about jumping from the frying pan into the fire. She would’ve preferred to remain ignorant of that particular insight.



“LET’S GET OUT OF HERE,” Kip said when his living arrangement suggestion was met with a solid minute of openmouthed silence from his lovely companion. He’d just, for the first time in his life, asked a woman to live with him.

Somehow, whenever he’d pictured this moment, with anticipation or aversion, it hadn’t gone anything like this. In all his scripts, the woman had been beside herself with joy. Sometimes she’d cried. Sometimes she’d shrieked and laughed and shouted her acceptance from the nearest rooftop. Sometimes she’d wildly torn off her clothes and launched herself at him with thirsty kisses. Of course, those last scenes had been set in private places.

Kip welcomed the blast of cold air that hit him square in the face as he pushed through the heavy wooden door at the front of the bar, and then stood holding it for Leslie, who was still zipping up the parka she’d borrowed from her mother.

She was a beautiful woman—Leslie, not her mother, although Clara was attractive, too, for a woman of her age. But Leslie… Even after four days in her company, he still wasn’t used to looking at his best friend’s little sister and seeing this gorgeous and completely grown-up woman.





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