Книга - Her Sister’s Secret Son

Her Sister's Secret Son
Lisette Belisle


AN ACCIDENTAL BRIDE?Though she'd spent a lifetime in her flamboyant twin's shadow, Rachel Hale adored selflessly, single-handedly raising her late sister's son. But with no time for dating, Rachel couldn't give her beloved nephew the daddy he deserved. Until a granite-eyed man from Maine discovered little Dylan was his….Strong, honorable and stubborn, Jared Carlisle would stop at nothing to claim his kin. Still, knowing how much a boy needed a mother, he proposed making Rachel his bride. In a twinkling, Rachel was sharing a home and a family with Jared. But would she–or only Dylan and her twin–ever share Jared's love?









He was a Carlisle. Blood ties were indestructible. And instinct told Jared that little Dylan Hale was his son.


There were simply too many clues to ignore. Still, he needed more than instinct and clues before he disrupted so many lives.

He had a son. A son.

The word whispered through him and stole into his heart. Then he remembered Rachel, Dylan’s aunt, the only mother the eight-year-old knew. He remembered Rachel’s innocent blue eyes, her soft pink mouth….

Jared’s lawyer shuffled some papers on his desk. “Rachel Hale, the aunt, has no legal right to the boy. If DNA tests come back positive and this goes to court, you’ll win hands down.”

Somehow the words didn’t reassure Jared. He would win.

Which meant Rachel would lose.


Dear Reader,

Many people read romance novels for the unforgettable heroes that capture our hearts and stay with us long after the last page is read. But to give all the credit for the success of this genre to these handsome hunks is to underestimate the value of the heart of a romance: the heroine.

“Heroes are fantasy material, but for me, the heroines are much more grounded in real life,” says Susan Mallery, bestselling author of this month’s Shelter in a Soldier’s Arms. “For me, the heroine is at the center of the story. I want to write and read about women who are intelligent, funny and determined.”

Gina Wilkins’s The Stranger in Room 205 features a beautiful newspaper proprietor who discovers an amnesiac in her backyard and finds herself in an adventure of a lifetime! And don’t miss The M.D. Meets His Match in Hades, Alaska, where Marie Ferrarella’s snowbound heroine unexpectedly finds romance that is sure to heat up the bitter cold….

Peggy Webb delivers an Invitation to a Wedding; when the heroine is rescued from marrying the wrong man, could a long-lost friend end up being Mr. Right? Sparks fly in Lisette Belisle’s novel when the heroine, raising Her Sister’s Secret Son, meets a mysterious man who claims to be the boy’s father! And in Patricia McLinn’s Almost a Bride, a rancher desperate to save her ranch enters into a marriage of convenience, but with temptation as her bed partner, life becomes a minefield of desire.

Special Edition is proud to publish novels featuring strong, admirable heroines struggling to balance life, love and family and making dreams come true. Enjoy! And look inside for details about our Silhouette Makes You a Star contest.

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman, Senior Editor




Her Sister’s Secret Son

Lisette Belisle







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


In loving memory of Leo and Simonne Thibodeau and Ellen Thibodeau Paradis




Special thanks to my husband, Frank, and my children, Christine, Denise and Marty for always being there through the laughter and the tears. I love you all.




LISETTE BELISLE


believes in putting everything into whatever she does, whether it’s a nursing career, motherhood or writing. While balancing a sense of practicality with a streak of adventure, she applies that dedication in creating stories of people overcoming the odds. Her message is clear—believe in yourself and believe in love. She is the founder and past president of the Saratoga chapter of Romance Writers of America. Canadian-born, she grew up in New Hampshire and currently lives in upstate New York with her engineer husband, Frank.

She’d love to hear from her readers. She can be reached at: P.O. Box 1166, Ballston Lake, NY 12019.




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 One


It was Maine, it was August and it was hot.

The sun blazed unmercifully through the tall windows of the Henderson Courthouse. Overhead, ceiling fans whirred—the only sound as the jury filed in and took their places.

The building was old and musty smelling. The fans kept the air moving, stirring up dust, cobwebs and old memories—memories Jared Carlisle preferred buried.

Seated among the spectators, he shifted uncomfortably. He should have felt satisfaction at seeing his old rival brought to justice. Instead, he felt pity—well, perhaps a hint of satisfaction….

As if drawn, his gaze strayed to the opposite side of the aisle where a woman’s glowing red hair drew him like a magnet. She sat with the Pierces, yet somehow apart. Only one person had hair that pale shade of copper—like the heart of a flame where it burns bright and true. Laurel Hale. She was still the most beautiful girl—woman—Jared had ever seen. And she was still with Drew Pierce.

Time hadn’t changed his gut reaction—a primal urge to challenge Drew’s possession. Whether animal attraction or conditioned reflex, it was insane. Laurel had once taught Jared a valuable lesson about love—what it was and what it wasn’t. Now, a bright flash of her eyes and the angry tilt of her delicate chin brought him back to the present. Jared smiled ruefully when he realized she was glaring at him—her exquisite face flushed with visible resentment. Her mouth tightened; she looked away and stared straight at the judge.

Casting a jaundiced eye on the proceedings, the judge ordered, “Let’s get on with it.” During the trial, he’d lost patience with the spectators, the reporters, the defendant and his fancy lawyers who were up from Boston. That didn’t cut much ice up here. If anything, their slick delivery probably cost Drew several points with the jury.

At a curt nod from the judge, the clerk cleared his throat. “Will the defendant stand?”

Drew Pierce stood, his dark head unbent. A ripple of disapproval spread through the court. Too rich, too handsome, too spoiled…this time Drew had gone too far.

Jared searched the jurors’ faces for signs of leniency and found none. He wasn’t surprised. Although the crime was a year old, passion still burned bright—as bright as the flames that destroyed the Pierce-operated migrant camp and spread to the neighboring Stones End. The farm had been in Jared’s family for generations. They’d suffered the loss of a produce barn and most of last year’s crop. Ironically, the crisis had brought Jared and his father closer and signalled a new beginning for Stones End.

The Pierces hadn’t fared as well.

Between hefty federal fines, civil action and legal fees, they faced financial ruin in the community. Drew might be guilty of nothing more than following his father’s orders to cut corners; but ultimately, he was in charge of the migrant camp and responsible for any mismanagement. As such, he’d made some bad decisions, risked many innocent lives and rightfully bore the brunt of the charges.

At some point, Jared stopped listening. He ran his hand over his face, recalling that dark night—the lick of the flames and blinding smoke. He’d helped in the rescue effort. Although there were several injuries, none were critical.

Finally, the list of charges came to an end. The judge leaned back in his seat and growled in a gravelly voice, “All right, let’s have the verdict.”

The jury foreman mopped his face with a bright white handkerchief. “Guilty.”

Guilty!

Drew visibly staggered from the blow.

Like a house of cards, the Pierce family collapsed. Drew’s mother fainted. Family members rushed to her side. Only one person reached out to Drew. A woman. Strangely moved when Laurel placed a comforting hand on Drew’s arm, Jared admired her loyalty—even if it was misplaced.

The judge pronounced the punishment. “Five years.”

At the harsh sentence, Drew’s knuckles turned white.

During the trial, he’d pleaded innocent but admitted to repairing a faulty valve on a propane gas tank instead of replacing it. That one grave error in judgment had caused the explosion and sealed Drew’s fate.

A few moments later, a deputy sheriff led him away. The air seemed to go out of the courtroom. Jared simply wanted out. His father was seated on his right.

“Well, that’s that,” Ira said. Despite a weak heart, he’d insisted on coming to hear the final verdict, which meant Jared had taken the day off from work to come with him.

“Are you feeling all right?” Jared eyed him with some concern. “Maybe you should have stayed home.”

Ira drew himself up to his full height, a half inch shorter than his son. “And miss all the action!”

Jared chuckled. Despite their differences, he had to admit his old man had grit. And an eagle eye. Even at the age of seventy-one, Ira didn’t miss much.

“Saw you looking at that Hale woman,” Ira said. “Best cast your eyes elsewhere. She’s new in town, turned up about a month ago, keeps pretty much to herself, but there’s been talk.”

She’d been in town a month.

Jared had been out of town most of July. Since his return, work had kept him close to Stones End, which explained why he hadn’t seen her around. He would have noticed if he had. Laurel wasn’t the type of woman men overlooked, unless they were blind…or dead from the waist down.

Jared knew he should drop the subject, but he didn’t want any more surprises where Laurel was concerned. All right, so he was curious. “What kind of talk?”

“Seems like she’s got a child with her. Folks say the boy belongs to Drew. He fixed her up with a job and a place to stay.” Ira grimaced with disapproval. “Never heard of Drew doing anything unless there was something in it for him. Have you?”

“No,” Jared replied grimly as he absorbed the news.

That Drew and Laurel were still involved came as no surprise; however, the fact that they had a child together came as a shock. Laurel might be a lot of things, but she’d never struck Jared as the maternal type.

Ira continued. “You might want to keep your distance. There’s enough bad blood between you and Drew as it is.”

Once, Jared would have taken that as a challenge; but with his father’s uncertain health, winning every argument didn’t seem as important as it used to be.

Jared turned toward the exit. The courtroom was full. Both sides of the aisle merged into one. As luck would have it, he became separated from Ira and found himself directly behind Laurel. The fresh, sweet scent of her perfume almost crushed his determination to ignore her. He swore under his breath, and watched her stiffen in moral outrage, which was a laugh—as if Laurel had an excess of morals, or virtue.

He recalled a sexy little tease with jade eyes—a green-eyed witch. Now, she looked almost prim in a slim navy blue dress. But if anything, her figure had grown more lush. Her thick, silky-fine hair curled naturally. It was almost restrained, held off her neck with a gold metal clasp. Tiny red-gold tendrils curled at the nape of her neck.

As they neared the door, someone pushed from behind. Jared placed a protective hand at her waist. At his touch, she released a shaky breath, and he felt his heart jolt in direct response. Damn! As if scorched, he dropped his hand from her waist, then heard her soft sigh of relief—as if she couldn’t bear his hands on her.

When she reached for the door the same moment he did, he glanced at her long graceful hand pressed against the dark mahogany wood. Next to his deeply tanned hand, her skin looked soft and pale, almost translucent.

Jared pushed the door and murmured, “After you,” his voice a thin mockery of politeness. She didn’t have to know it was self-mockery.

He stepped outside into the unforgiving bright light of midday. The heat hit him like a brick wall.

In contrast, the coolness of her eyes met his as she turned to face him. He wasn’t prepared for the up-close shock of her vivid coloring. He felt like an eighteen-year-old kid again—all hormones. Every time he saw her, it felt like the first time. Jared found himself gazing into her eyes framed in ridiculously long, luxurious gold-tipped lashes. The years had been kind to her. Nine years ago, Laurel had set his heart on fire. A spark remained.

“Hello, Laurel.” He deliberately removed the slightest hint of warmth from his voice. “It’s been a long time.”

At his tone, she drew in an audible breath. “I’m afraid you’ve confused me with someone else.” Her face was fine-drawn—the bones rigid with self-discipline. She was taller, more rounded, softer somehow. She had freckles. Funny, he’d never noticed that small imperfection.

He frowned at that.

The sun glinted in her hair, and Jared was struck by the memory of glorious red hair tumbling across a white pillow. He was eighteen again, waking in a strange bed with a girl he scarcely knew, and feeling obliged to ask to see her again. She’d refused, laughing as she confessed that she’d only gone out with him to make Drew jealous—why should she want a poor farmer when she intended to win Drew? In addition to the blow to his ego, her connection to Drew had come as a shock.

Now, Jared smiled at her brazen attempt at innocence. “I’m not wrong about you, Laurel.” How could he be wrong? He’d spent years trying to forget her, and apparently failing from his current reaction.

“You are mistaken.” She visibly recovered some poise, but almost tripped in her haste to escape him. Escape?

That seemed an odd choice of words, but the thought lingered. Jared caught her arm before she fell down the steep flight of concrete steps. He didn’t want her damaged, just a little shaken up. “I’m not mistaken about you.” He smiled cynically. “How could I possibly forget? But don’t flatter yourself. The memories aren’t that great.”

With a gasp at his deliberate rudeness, she drew back, at least as far as his hold would allow.

“You’re wrong.” Her gaze remained steady, almost level with his. He could see the effort it took for her to remain calm. “Laurel was my twin sister.”

Was.

That one word shocked Jared.

“Perhaps you didn’t know. It’s been some time since it happened….” She added a few details, allowing him more grace and kindness than he’d shown her. The dark blue of her dress contrasted starkly with her pale skin. With each word, her freckles grew more prominent, ending with, “…an unfortunate boating accident four years ago.”

While Jared struggled for words, something else registered. Her eyes weren’t green; they were blue—soft and muted with violet shadows. Laurel’s eyes were green. How could he have made such a mistake?

“I didn’t know,” he murmured, wishing he could retract his earlier harsh accusation, but it was too late. Hell, he was sorry—sorry he’d ever laid eyes on either of the Hale sisters. He’d never known Laurel had a twin.

She looked hurt.

Jared had a weakness for wounded creatures. As a boy, he’d found injured birds, and brought them home to heal. To his discomfort, this woman aroused the same feeling, and something more—something he couldn’t quite define. He wanted to soothe her pain, remove the weight from her eyes.

But she was Laurel’s twin, which meant she wasn’t for him. He couldn’t let some fleeting physical attraction blind him, or get in the way of common sense. He resisted the urge to apologize again. At this stage, expressing condolences would sound hypocritical.

“If you’ll excuse me.” She looked pointedly at his fingers that were still wrapped around her slender wrist—as if he was loath to let go.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

“My apologies.” There, he’d said it. It was all very stiff and polite, very civil, he supposed. Very correct.

And yet, it felt all wrong.

With a rueful smile, Jared released her, unable to deny a small pang of regret. This woman probably needed his protection like he needed to collect one more wounded bird.

She was physically perfect, capable of holding a man captive, with fire in her hair…and ice in her veins, if she was anything like Laurel.

Jared winced, realizing how little he actually knew about the pretty young waitress from the Stillwater Inn. They’d shared a bed, but little else. Laurel never mentioned a twin—or much about herself for that matter—except that she’d moved to Stillwater to live with distant relatives. That would have made her an orphan, he supposed. Odd, she’d never invited pity. She was far too busy rebelling against her uncle’s strict rules and her aunt’s efforts to turn her into a lady. At the memory, Jared smiled ruefully.

There had been nothing remotely refined or ladylike about Laurel Hale.

Nevertheless, she’d taught Jared a valuable lesson—stay away from women who look as if they promise heaven, but deliver a little taste of hell.



Once released, Rachel couldn’t walk away. She rubbed the spot on her wrist where he’d held her in a strong unbreakable grip. At a glance, she saw he hadn’t left a mark, but it felt as if he had.

He was a total stranger, yet this man’s connection to Laurel had opened a door Rachel had thought closed.

“I’m sorry, I’m not Laurel.” She bit her lip, realizing how that sounded. But at that moment, she wished she shared more than a superficial resemblance to her twin sister.

She wished some man would look at her the way this one had—before he discovered his mistake. The way men had looked at Laurel. Inwardly, Rachel shuddered.

No, she didn’t want that.

Of course, she’d noticed him earlier in the courtroom. His eyes had been sending her X-rated messages all day. At first, she’d found it irritating, now she felt perversely sorry because the hot glances clearly weren’t intended for her. Now, when his frowning gaze swept over her, she felt wholly inadequate, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Perhaps the trial had taken more of an emotional toll than she cared to admit. Or perhaps, it was just this man; perhaps she wanted to see his eyes light up for her.

“I didn’t know Laurel had a twin sister,” he apologized again, stating the obvious. He was shockingly handsome—tall and lean, his skin deeply tanned, his hair longish and streaky blond. But despite the smooth features, his expression was grim, his eyes gray—not a transient storm-cloud gray, but hard, like granite. There was cynicism, knowledge—as if he knew her. Or thought he did. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” he said, his voice crisp, like dry leaves.

She drew herself up. “I’m Rachel Hale.” Though not identical, her resemblance to Laurel was striking—an inherited alignment of features that somehow was never as attractive or vivacious as her twin. At one time, Rachel had found that shadow likeness a burden. Men had expected something from her, something she wouldn’t or couldn’t give.

At the reminder, her words tumbled over each other in a rush to escape. “If you’ll excuse me, I really have to go.”

Without waiting for his response, Rachel turned and hurried down the stone steps. At the bottom, she pressed her way through the gathering crowd just as Drew emerged from a side door, escorted by the sheriff. A police car waited.

The motor was running.

To her surprise, the Pierces weren’t there. Apparently, they hadn’t stayed around to say goodbye to their son. Drew spotted Rachel and reached into his pocket. He tossed her a set of car keys.

She automatically caught them one-handed. Aware of the attention they were getting—particularly from a cold-eyed stranger leaning against a pillar on the courthouse steps—she stared at Drew in dismay. “I can’t take your car.”

Drew threw her a mocking look. “You need a new car. I don’t, not where I’m going. Take it—there’s nothing else I can do for you and Dylan.” Nothing.

Rachel stepped out of the way when the sheriff tugged at Drew’s arm. For a brief moment, the old Drew surfaced. He looked ready to challenge Seth Powers, who simply stared back. The two had once been friends—going way back to their teens—when Drew dated Laurel. Seth was part of the crowd that hung around the Stillwater Inn. Rachel knew him well enough to know this had to be hurting Seth. Drew once mentioned that the sheriff was dating his sister. But all that had ended a year ago when Seth arrested Drew. The explosion had severed so many links.

Without a backward glance, Drew climbed into the back of the police car—a danger to no one. Except himself. He would always be his own worst enemy, Rachel thought. In addition to hiding his good deeds behind a careless smile, he was impulsive, hotheaded and arrogant. The explosion was an accident, but why hadn’t he acted responsibly? Because he was Drew—always looking for a short cut, a quick fix.

Watching the police car drive away, Rachel wondered how he would survive in prison. Somehow, she couldn’t see him getting out early on good behavior. She pitied Drew. For the first time since he abandoned Laurel when she was pregnant, the anger was gone. The emptiness felt worse.

The crowd slowly dispersed. Suddenly aware that she was standing alone, Rachel squared her shoulders. Somehow, she had to get through the rest of this day.

Earlier, she’d left her nephew, Laurel’s son, at the summer school program. At her approach, Dylan looked up from his artwork and smiled. He was sitting alone at an outdoor picnic table while the other children played water-tag. He was the new kid in town, and Rachel worried about him making new friends. He was eight years old, no longer a baby. She couldn’t shield him from life.

“Hi.” Rachel smiled. However, her disappointment in the trial verdict must have shown on her face.

Dylan frowned. “Is Drew going to jail?”

She sat down beside him. “Yes, honey. He did something very wrong. And the court decided he has to be punished.”

“But he said he was sorry!”

“Sometimes that isn’t enough.” She met his troubled eyes with what she hoped was reassurance. “Things will work out, you’ll see. Let’s go home.”

Rachel stood and helped him gather his paperwork.

She took his hand, and they walked home—which wasn’t far. They lived in a rented cottage on the edge of town. A line of thick trees started a few feet from the back of the house. The Pierces owned the house, and the woods. In fact, they owned half the town.

When she opened the front door, the dog greeted them with an excited glad bark. Dylan grinned. Like his dog, he was sunny-natured and eager to please. At times, Rachel worried that he craved acceptance too much. He craved a father even more. She wanted love and security for Dylan—more than she wanted it for herself.

Dylan ducked his head as the dog licked his face, his ears, anyplace she could reach. “Down, Sunny.”

Rachel smiled at their antics. Her smile fled when she noticed Drew’s flashy red sports car conspicuously parked in the driveway. Apparently, he’d ordered his car delivered to her doorstep. She found the spare set of keys in the ignition. She could send the car back, but she knew it would only return—just as the new refrigerator, stove and washer had appeared and reappeared. Great! Her reputation was already in tatters, and this would only confirm the gossip.

When she first started work at the sawmill, she’d refused several offers of dates. Since Drew arranged her job, people assumed she belonged to him.

They couldn’t be more wrong.

The only connection was through Dylan. For years, he’d paid child support but never taken a personal interest in Dylan. Hoping to change that, Rachel had accepted his recent job offer and moved to Henderson, when the closing of the Stillwater Inn and the loss of her job forced her to make the difficult decision. Since the explosion was an accident, she’d felt sure that Drew would be found innocent. But nothing had worked out. While deeply immersed in the trial, Drew and his family had been kind, but understandably preoccupied, which left Rachel frustrated. Now, here she was in a strange town, and Drew was gone. The entire situation was on hold until he came home in five years—assuming he did.

Earlier that day, Rachel had felt the animosity in the courtroom. To add to her discomfort, there had been that awful man who kept staring at her. Well, maybe not so awful, she thought with a whimsical smile. He was tall, fair-haired with tanned even features. When he smiled, his gray eyes twinkled. From the fan lines around his eyes, she suspected he smiled a lot. She shook off the tantalizing memory.

In any case, his confusing her for Laurel explained his preoccupation. Laurel had had that effect on men—not Rachel, which was fine with her. She didn’t need complications in her life. She had Dylan. As sole guardian, she’d quickly learned that men weren’t interested in instant families.




Chapter Two


The trial of the century—Henderson style—was over. Life settled down to normal—whatever that was, Rachel thought a few days later. A morning breeze ruffled her hair, loosening a strand. She brushed it back from her face, glad that she’d gotten to work in her garden early in the morning before the day’s heat intensified.

She heard a dog’s frantic bark, then, “Mom, Mom!”

Hearing the note of panic in Dylan’s voice, Rachel dropped the tray of tulip bulbs, and ran. She didn’t stop to question her response. At first, she’d been Auntie, then Auntie Mom, and finally just plain Mom, which suited both her and Dylan. Although she tried to keep Laurel’s memory alive, Dylan’s childish memories of his mother were vague, colored by her long, frequent absences.

Sometimes, it seemed as if Laurel had never existed—except in Rachel’s memory. Sadly, Laurel had never been able to love her son, or at least she’d rarely shown it. A little boy needed a mom, and Rachel was it in every way that counted—short of giving birth to him. From the moment she set eyes on the squalling red-faced infant, Rachel adored him. A nurse had placed him in her arms. He was hers to love.

“Mom, Mom, come quick.” Dylan’s voice sounded confident that she would come because—well, because she always did.

Rachel arrived breathless. “What’s up?”

“It’s Sunny!” Dylan pulled on the dog’s collar but the yellow Labrador dragged him across the treed yard into the blackberry bushes.

Rachel caught Sunny’s collar. “Stay!”

At the sharp command, the dog stopped abruptly. Tail wagging, Sunny rested back on her heels. She inched forward.

Then, a rustling sound came from the bushes.

“Uh-oh!” Dylan groaned.

With one ferocious bark, Sunny tore loose, landing Dylan and Rachel in the dirt. They looked at each other and laughed as the dog disappeared into the thick bushes.

Dylan’s laughter warmed Rachel’s heart. Forgetting the dog for a moment, she leaned back on her hands. A faint breeze caught in the pine trees and whispered softly. Today was Saturday, the sawmill at this end of town was closed, and blessedly silent.

The dog let out a long series of high-pitched yelps. Rachel could hear her crashing around, but couldn’t see much.

Apparently Dylan could. “Sunny’s got something big!” He clearly hoped it was something huge. He’d been moping around for days—ever since the end of the trial.

Rachel felt the same. A restlessness still gripped her. She felt unsettled and wondered why the memory of a handsome face and a crooked smile should linger more than all the other images. She sighed. They could use a distraction—something pleasant for a change.

She whistled for the dog. “Here, Sunny.”

Dylan tried to whistle, then said, “I think it’s an alligator!” He sounded thrilled at the idea.

“Dylan, this is Maine. Alligators don’t live here.”

“But they could. I heard about people buying them at pet stores, and letting them loose, or flushing them down the toilet. It could be an alligator. Or a crocodile.”

“Mmm,” Rachel murmured with a straight face. She never laughed at his stories—his dreams—no matter how wild. She knew how important dreams were. Hers were so simple, but elusive. She wanted a place where she and Dylan could stay and put down roots—probably a first for a Hale, she thought with a smile as she recalled her parents’ wanderlust.

Tail wagging, Sunny came crashing out of the shrubs with a black plastic trash bag clamped in her mouth. She dragged it across the yard and dumped it at Rachel’s feet.

Obviously expecting praise, the dog sat back on her haunches and grinned. Oh well, at least it wasn’t a dead skunk this time. “All right, girl.”

The plastic bag moved.

Dylan stared at it. “That looks too small for an alligator.” He grinned at Rachel. “Maybe it’s a snake.”

Rachel hated snakes. With a shudder, she gingerly reached for the bag, then opened it. The inside was black, except for a couple of spots of white. Opening the bag wider, she exposed the contents.

Dylan looked over her shoulder.

“Puppies!” he breathed in shocked delight.

Rachel shared his shock. Someone had discarded an unwanted litter. She resisted the urge to cry at the careless cruelty. Weak and half-starved, the puppies were tiny, about the size of tennis balls, matted into smooth balls of fur. Their tiny claws had poked holes in the plastic bag to breathe.

When one shivered, she said, “Let’s get them inside.”

Dylan followed her into the house and watched as she fetched a wicker basket. “Are they going to be okay?”

Rachel lined the basket with a towel. “I hope so.” She hoped this wouldn’t lead to another disappointment for him. When she transferred the puppies to the basket, she noted how frail they were. One just lay there, its breathing shallow. If it didn’t survive, Dylan would be heartbroken.

Dylan still looked expectant. “Can we keep them?”

“Honey, they’re very young. We need to take them to the animal shelter. They’re going to need special care.”

The telephone book failed to yield an animal shelter, but there was an animal clinic. Rachel needed directions.

“We’re located about five miles out of town,” she was told by the woman who answered the phone. “Take a left at the end of Main Street, then a right, another left.” This was getting more complicated by the minute.

Although confusing on paper, the directions were easy to follow. Getting lost in Henderson was probably impossible, Rachel thought as she negotiated the one thoroughfare.

Until recently, she’d lived in Stillwater fifty miles away, not far in terms of miles, but each town had its own character. Henderson was isolated and rural, a farming and logging town. Stillwater catered to tourists; the population swelled each summer when families occupied the lakeside cottages. Sportsmen came the remainder of the year.

While Rachel drove, Dylan kept up a running commentary about the puppies. “They sure are small. What if no one else wants to take them?”

Rachel answered firmly, “I’m sure they have a list of people waiting for puppies.” She hoped.

The animal clinic was a surprisingly long drive out of town—uphill all the way. By the time Rachel got there, her small car was choking a bit, with that insistent knock in the four-cylinder engine that had her losing sleep at night. She could have used Drew’s car, but pride prevented her from accepting any form of charity, however well-intentioned.

Stones End, the signpost read.

Very apt, Rachel thought as she turned at the sign. Stone fences lined both sides of the farm road, then rambled into the fields, framing straight lush cultivated rows of deep-green potato plants stretching into the far distance. One nearby field had gone to seed, adrift in a gaudy sea of wildflowers, as if someone had thrown caution to the wind and let nature take over.

While admiring the view, Rachel almost missed the animal clinic, which blended into the scenery. She parked the car, and they got out. Dylan carried the basket of puppies as if they were breakable. They climbed the porch steps.

Obviously new, the scent of cedar shakes clung to the building—a long low structure set against the shelter of tall flaring pine trees. In the distance, a collection of farm buildings topped the hill. The place was oddly silent, peaceful. The stillness was broken by a baby’s cry.

The human sound startled Rachel. She opened the screen door and entered a reception area.

A bell stood on the receptionist’s desk. One ring brought someone rushing into the room. With a baby thrown over her shoulder, the young woman smiled. “Hello, I believe we spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, that’s right.” At the sound of Rachel’s voice, the baby turned to look, and grinned a toothless smile.

His mother chuckled. “This is Nathaniel. He’s not usually cranky, but he’s teething.”

“He’s lovely,” Rachel said. And he was—robust and rosy-cheeked, with dark hair. His mother had fair hair; but the infant had her soft rainwater-gray eyes.

The woman smiled. “We like him.” She transferred his weight to her hip. “I’m Jessie Harding by the way. You’re new in town. Welcome to Henderson. I hope you’ll be happy here. Where are you from?”

Liking the woman’s directness, Rachel introduced herself and Dylan. “My aunt and uncle ran the Stillwater Inn until they retired recently.”

“I know the place. Isn’t it closed for repairs?”

“Yes, indefinitely.” Rachel didn’t add any details about her move. Explanations were awkward.

When Jessie laid the baby down in a playpen, he fussed for a minute until she gave him a rattle. “You said you found puppies along the road? I don’t know how anyone could throw them away, do you?”

“Well, no.” Now Rachel felt guilty because she didn’t want them either.

“If you’ll come with me, I’m sure the doctor will see you right away.” Jessie turned toward a closed door, knocked once, then opened it, pushing it wide.

Rachel was still struggling to explain, “I thought I could just drop them—” Stopping in midsentence, she stared at the man’s identity, frowning at his fair hair. Several days had passed and he hadn’t had it cut.

Openly familiar, Jessie teased, “Are we interrupting anything important?”

With an uneasy feeling that didn’t make sense, Rachel wondered at their relationship. Was he married to Jessie, the father of her child?

Caught in the act of aiming a dart at a gameboard on the opposite wall, he grinned. “Not at all.”

However, at the sight of Rachel, his smile fled. When his gaze wandered over her before finally leveling on her face, the corn flakes topped with strawberries and cream she’d eaten for breakfast curdled in her stomach. Conscious of her less-than-flattering attire—denim cutoffs and a blue cotton T-shirt—she tugged at the ragged edge of her shorts.

When a plump owl on a wooden perch behind the desk winked, Rachel jumped. She’d assumed it was stuffed.

“We’re repairing a broken wing,” he explained with a crooked smile. He rose and came around the desk. It was made out of oak—old, but not antique. “Hello, we meet again.” His gaze fixed on her hair.

Rachel resisted the urge to smooth it back. “You’re a vet!” She couldn’t hide her surprise. This man didn’t fit her mental image of a vet.

Folding his arms, he leaned against the corner of the desk. “It’s a legitimate way to make a living.”

“I only meant…” She glanced at his credentials on the wall, proof of his veterinary qualifications—even if they were fairly new. “It’s such a surprise.”

By now, Jessie couldn’t hide her curiosity. “I didn’t realize you knew each other.”

“We don’t,” Rachel said hastily.

He corrected her. “We’ve met.”

“I see,” Jessie said with a chuckle. “Well, while you two are deciding, Dylan can help me clean the pups and set up the examining room. Shout if you need us.”

Rachel hastily said, “Dylan can’t stay. We have to go.”

Dylan looked back. “Just a few minutes, okay?”

With a resigned sigh, Rachel agreed, fully aware of the matchmaking gleam in Jessie’s eyes. It didn’t match the annoyed gleam in his eyes when he said dryly, “My sister isn’t long on ceremony.” He held out his hand to Rachel. “I think we just got off on the wrong foot. Can we start over? I’m Jared Carlisle.”

The name suited him, both gentle and hard. Of course, he would have to be both in his line of work. But what about his personal life? Rachel placed her hand in his. She didn’t want an introduction, didn’t want to know this man who looked at her with eyes that saw a reflection of her twin sister.

On that note of caution, she murmured, “Dr. Carlisle.”

He winced at her formality. “If you insist. But I prefer Jared. And you’re Rachel.”

“Mmm.” So, he hadn’t forgotten her name. She tugged her hand free. She felt awkward, yet unable to define why.

“I need to explain about the other day.” His gray gaze confronted hers.

Preferring to forget that first disturbing meeting, she shifted under that unwavering look. “There’s no need.”

“I think there is.” His eyes clouded. Apparently intent on dredging up the past, he continued, “What I said that day was uncalled for. I didn’t know about your sister.”

Rachel took a fortifying breath. “You and Laurel were acquainted?” Obviously, they weren’t friends.

He hesitated before saying, “I hardly knew her.”

“I see,” Rachel murmured, when she didn’t see at all. Nevertheless, she accepted his condolences without further comment. Her thoughts were private, too personal to share with a stranger who obviously had his own memories of Laurel.

“Your son resembles you,” he said.

“Dylan?” she said in confusion.

He smiled a polite sort of smile that meant less than nothing. “How many children do you have?”

“None.” She had the pleasure of wiping the smile off his face. “Dylan is my nephew.”

He recovered from his surprise. “Let me get this straight. Dylan is Laurel’s son, not yours.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I thought…”

Rachel wondered why a searing glance from this man should hurt so much. “I know what you thought.” An awkward silence hung between them. He’d obviously assumed she was Drew’s mistress. She didn’t know how to stop the gossip, short of painting a sign and wearing it around her neck.

“He called you Mom.” Jared’s voice sounded almost accusing—as if he couldn’t bear to be wrong about her.

“I’ve taken care of him since the day he was born.”

“I owe you another apology.” His gaze flickered over her. He didn’t apologize, she noted.

“Apology accepted,” Rachel snapped, making a valiant effort to contain her temper. Her head was beginning to ache from the effort. “I don’t have to explain Dylan’s existence to you or anyone else.”

At the wounded tone of her voice, Jared could feel his indifference slipping. He’d insulted her, he’d infuriated her without even trying. Before the situation deteriorated further, he decided to take control.

“Jessie must be waiting,” he said, taking the upper hand. After all, he was a vet, trained to deal with emergencies—the four-legged kind. Women, he’d discovered, were an entirely different species.

Jared opened the door to the examining room and motioned Rachel inside first. She stepped past him then stopped at the sight of some caged ferrets. The antiseptic smell mixed with the odor of animals was familiar to Jared. His lips twitched when Rachel wrinkled her delicate nose.

“Don’t you like ferrets?” he asked, pointing to the playful spine-coiled creatures.

Rachel, on the other hand, had a steel spine. “Not caged ones. Are they yours?”

“We’re boarding them for the owners.” Jared smiled at her nephew. “Hi, Dylan.”

Dylan didn’t waste any more time on pleasantries. “Do you take care of sick dogs?”

Jared reached for a sterile white lab jacket. “Yes, among other things.”

“Like what?” Dylan quizzed.

“Domestic animals—horses, cows, pigs. Then, there are animals who get sick or injured in the wild.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Dr. Carlisle doesn’t have time for this.”

“That’s quite all right.” Jared folded his arms, amused at her hesitation. Until now, he’d been feeling like the underdog. From her tight-lipped expression, he didn’t think he’d risen very high in her estimation.

Since the trial’s end, he’d tried to get the memory of a woman standing alone in the middle of a dusty road out of his mind. But the image had stuck. And here she was in the flesh. Well, not quite. Her shorts revealed a lot of leg, however. He smiled at the irony of the situation.

Jared was also aware of his sister’s curiosity.

After the first year, the shine hadn’t rubbed off Jessie’s marriage to Ben Harding. While home for the summer, she frequently reminded Jared that he needed to find the right woman, settle down and partake in his share of marital bliss, which he had little or no intention of doing.

If he ever weakened that resolve, and that was a mighty big if, he would never consider a woman like Rachel Hale.

Would he?

“Is this the patient?” Jared eyed the basket on the examining table. Neutering livestock took up more of a country vet’s time than he cared to think about. He was looking forward to a change of pace. And a challenge. Hopefully, Rachel and her nephew would provide both—strictly professional, of course.

Liar.

Jared knew he was lying to himself. Rachel intrigued him, and he was going to get to know her better. He frowned at her red hair, pale skin, and freckles. There was something about her—something innocent. So, who was he trying to convince?

Himself?

No doubt, Rachel was clearly trouble. Maybe he needed a hobby instead of a woman—like lighting firecrackers and watching them go off—hopefully without blowing himself up in the bargain. Jared grinned at the mental image and watched her bristle. He knew she was aware of him. The attraction was mutual.

So much for heeding his father’s sage advice to stay away from “that Hale woman.”




Chapter Three


A muffled sound came from the basket.

Reminded of her reason for being there, Rachel said, “If you could just take the puppies, we’ll be going.”

Jared looked into the round wicker basket. “Puppies?”

He sounded exactly like Dylan, Rachel thought, hiding her amusement. Apparently puppies brought out the kid in grown men as well as children. She stood back and watched as Jared examined a puppy, every move sure and controlled. His hands gently explored the delicate mass of flesh and bone. What had she expected? He was a trained veterinarian after all, which meant he liked animals—perhaps better than humans, she reminded herself.

Rachel cleared her throat. “What kind of breed are they?”

“Do you want a list? Could be collie, maybe setter, or a hound.” He peered into the pup’s eyes and smiled when it blinked and yawned. “They may not have a pedigree, but they are cute.”

Rachel had to agree, but she couldn’t be responsible for them—not if it meant Dylan getting hurt if something went wrong. He’d known too much upheaval in his short life. He’d lost his mother at an early age. And now Drew.

Dylan asked, “Are they going to be okay?”

Jared examined the weakest pup. “This one’s dehydrated. We’ll keep him and try intravenous feeding, but you can take the rest home.” After placing them all back in the basket, he knelt and spoke directly to Dylan. “Without mother’s milk, they don’t have natural immunity, so infection is a risk. Keep them warm. They’ll need a special formula. We can supply that, along with some miniature bottles and soft nipples. They can have puppy food in a couple of weeks, but for now they have to be hand fed on demand.”

Dylan nodded. “Got it.”

While admiring Jared’s way of dealing gently with Dylan, Rachel didn’t appreciate having to be the bad guy and letting the boy down. “I’m sorry, but I never said we were taking them.”

Now both Dylan and Jared turned to frown at her.

Dylan pleaded, “Why can’t we take them home?”

“Because we have a dog.” At her response, she could see storm clouds gathering. “Besides, I have to work.”

“Mary Ellen will help.” Dylan was usually cooperative, but he could be stubborn when it mattered.

“I can’t ask the baby-sitter to dog-sit,” Rachel said, trying to find a logical excuse—one that Dylan would accept.

“She likes dogs,” he argued. “She said so.”

Jared stood. His height didn’t intimidate Rachel—nor did his maleness. She had experience dealing with men, and keeping them at arm’s length. In her current job at the sawmill, she dealt with loggers and truckers. Before that, she’d worked at the Inn, which catered to tourists and rugged outdoorsmen. She’d met all types. Men, in general, didn’t affect her. This one in particular did, however.

Well, she wasn’t going to let that stand in the way of her common sense. Was she? No! She was not bringing those puppies home with her—not even one. She’d done her duty, rescued them, brought them to the vet.

No one could ask more of her.

Meanwhile, Jared reeled off a list—as if she’d never raised an objection. “Keep them warm. A hot water bottle should do it. They can be adopted at eight weeks.”

Rachel asked, “How old are they now?”

“Around four weeks—more or less. Is there a problem?”

“What if Dylan gets hopelessly attached?” Rachel knew her response was out of proportion, but some instinct warned her not to get involved. “What if they don’t all make it?”

Jared countered in a reasonable tone, “There’s always a risk, but animals can teach young children about life.”

Life!

What did he know about her life? Dylan was her sole responsibility. She had to deal with the fallout when things went wrong. If anything happened to her, Dylan would be all alone in the world. Rachel’s brief experience with the child care system after her parents died had left her wary.

With a persuasive note, Jared said, “Children often cope better than we think they can.”

Rachel’s glance fell on the puppies. They tumbled over each other, trying to scramble out. She had to admit, they were adorable. They were odd sizes with different coloring—some tan, some black, some mixed with white patches. One pup scrambled atop the others and whined pathetically. Dylan picked it up, cradling it in the palm of his small hand. It fit snugly.

“I won’t get attached,” he promised, his hazel eyes full of puppy love. “Honest!”

Rachel sighed. “Oh, Dylan…I know you. I wish I could say yes, but I can’t.”

Rachel tightened her lips, refusing to belabor the point. After all, this man was a stranger. Easy for him to voice his opinion and claim children should be exposed to some hard knocks in life, but a degree in veterinary medicine didn’t make him an expert on children. Dylan was hers; he’d already “coped” too often and experienced too much loss. She knew all about Dylan’s insecurities, his fear of losing the people he loved. Only time would heal his losses. And hers.



A few days later, Jared was on hand when his father passed his medical physical with flying colors.

“Keep an eye on your blood pressure and watch out for cholesterol,” Dr. Peterson advised, fixing Ira with a stern look. “That’s an order.”

Ira calmly buttoned his shirt. “Thought that little yellow pill was supposed to take care of that.”

“Only if combined with proper diet and exercise.”

“Man don’t need exercise if he does an honest day’s work.” Ira patted his chest. “Besides, this here pacemaker keeps everything ticking. Never thought I’d be wired up like a time bomb, but there you go. You know, Doc, you ought to try it. Might recharge your battery.”

Doc Peterson scowled. “Oh, get out of here. You should have enough pills for a month. Jared can bring you back then.”

Ira frowned. “I can drive myself.”

“No, you can’t! And that’s final! Jared or Jessie can drive you around.”

Jared tried to defuse the situation. “Dad, you’re on the losing end of this argument.” His father had taught him how to drive when he was sixteen. Taking away the car keys was one of the hardest things Jared had ever done.

Ira was still sputtering when he left the doctor’s office. Fred Cromie had come into town with them to do a few errands. He was waiting outside. He’d worked at Stones End as a farmhand for as long as Jared could remember. His friendship with Ira went back even further. The elderly farmhand had been like a father to Jared—filling in wherever Ira failed.

When Fred heard the test results, he let out a whoop that turned a few heads in downtown Henderson. “How about grabbing some lunch at the diner?”

With an under-browed glance at Jared, Ira said, “Sounds good. I could use a square meal.”

Fred laughed. “Least the boy’s trying. Course there’s only so much you can do with food that comes out of a box or a can.”

Ira grouched, “Gotten so I can’t tell the difference.”

“The boy” grinned. Accustomed to his dad’s crankiness and Fred’s teasing, Jared ignored them both. His mood lifted when he caught sight of Rachel’s bright head and long-legged grace on the opposite side of the street.

Wearing a pale lavender dress that came short of her knees with delicate string sandals on her feet, she reminded him of a long, cool, thirst-quenching drink on a scorching hot day. She was on the end of a leash, with the other end attached to a yellow Labrador. Her nephew was with her.

She stopped by a small blue car, opened the back hatch and tried to coax the huge playful dog to jump in. When a cat crossed the dog’s path, the dog bolted after it, directly into the path of a passing truck.

For a perilous moment, Jared thought the dog was going to drag her along—but then she dropped the leash. Jared acted—tackling the dog, and rolling it into a nearby ditch.

Brakes squealed as the truck came to a screeching stop, missing them by inches. The driver was shaken. “Honest, I never saw the dog until it was too late! You hurt?”

“No harm done.” An acrid odor of scorched tires stung Jared’s eyes. His left shoulder had connected with the concrete curb. Before he could move, the dog straddled his chest and pinned him down. When the yellow Lab licked his face, Jared said with a weak laugh, “Good dog.”

“Thanks for saving her.” Dylan’s gruff little voice betrayed bottled-up emotion as he dragged the dog off Jared.

A yellow Labrador retriever, the dog was shorthaired with a bulky chest and regal head, a soft mouth and gentle eyes. Like most of her breed, she was clearly an active, good-natured dog. The dog brought back memories of Jared’s own youth, both good and bad.

Rachel’s face was white as she knelt beside Jared. “I’m so terribly sorry about the dog. Today was bring your pet day at summer school. I’m afraid Sunny got a little too much attention and a bit out of control. She didn’t want to leave. Are you all right?”

The color of her dress turned her eyes purple; the neckline was cut square and exposed her throat and shoulders. When she bent over him, a filigree locket on a long gold chain slipped into the mysterious shadow between her full breasts. Jared’s gaze followed the movement.

He’d seen that locket before—on Laurel. He didn’t want to think about Rachel’s twin. Laurel was temperamental and self-centered. Perhaps Rachel was the calm after the storm.

As if she felt his warm gaze, Rachel drew back. A tiny telltale pulse beat in her throat.

Jared’s pulse soared. “I’m fine.” Actually, he felt a little light-headed.

“Your arm is cut,” she pointed out gently.

At a glance, he dismissed the angry gash. “It’s nothing.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Well, if you’re sure?”

Jared had the distinct feeling she was treating him like a child. No one had mothered him since he was seven years old. He felt a bit bemused as a slow smile softened her perfect features. Today, she wore her hair free, curling around her smooth shoulders. Her mouth was frosty pink, and full. Her face grew flushed with concern for him, or perhaps the heat.

Jared lay there, feeling winded, yet oddly content. For the first time since they met, Rachel was looking at him with approval. Maybe risking life and limb to rescue damsels in distress—or their dogs—wasn’t a bad idea.

She said slowly, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

He could think of a dozen ways—unfortunately, none of them were suitable for daytime exposure, let alone public display, in the middle of Main Street.

“I’m glad I was on hand.” He nursed his sore shoulder.

“I thought you weren’t hurt.”

“Just an old football injury.” He couldn’t say it hurt like hell, or that sharp needle-like pains were travelling down his arm. “It acts up now and then,” he insisted.

The driver of the truck left. Rachel watched him drive off as if she’d lost her last ally.

Jared got to his feet. “How are the puppies?”

“They’re growing. As you might expect with bottle feedings every three hours around the clock.” She sounded exasperated. Apparently she hadn’t forgiven him for saddling her with the puppies. Or perhaps she was just cranky from lack of sleep.

Either way, Jared was to blame. “I thought I’d stop by. They’ll be needing a checkup. And puppy shots.” He had to admit it was a flimsy excuse to see her.

“I didn’t realize you made house calls.”

“I can bill you, if that makes it better.”

Her irritation melted with a surprised laugh. “You wouldn’t happen to want a free puppy as payment?”

“On second thought, forget the bill.” Jared bent and scratched the dog’s head. “Hey, girl. What’s her name?”

Dylan replied, “Sunny.”

Jared drew a sharp breath at the coincidence. “That’s a good name for a dog.”

“I know.” The boy’s smile was missing two front teeth. “My dad had a dog named Sunny. My mom told me.”

With those few words, Jared’s past collided with the present. He rocked back on his heels—as if he’d taken a direct punch to the midsection. He looked at Rachel. What sort of macabre joke was she playing? She stared back innocently. There had to be another logical explanation…apart from the obvious one. But why would Laurel make up something like that?

Jared had once owned a dog named Sunny.

And Laurel had known about it.

In a daze, Jared stared down at Dylan’s unruly red hair, freckles and wide hazel eyes. Of all places to find out—in the middle of the street on a busy afternoon.

Jared shook his head, feeling as if his world had tilted and remained permanently askew. Dylan’s hair color matched Rachel’s; the boy’s eyes were an indefinite hazel; but there was that dimpled chin, and nose—so similar to Jessie’s baby.

But the resemblance was indecisive. Dylan didn’t look like Drew or Jared; he looked like himself—like a Hale.

But what about Sunny?

The dog’s name could be a coincidence, Jared reasoned, trying to maintain calm. Surely, if there was a blood tie, he’d feel some emotional connection to the boy.

But he felt nothing; in fact, he felt numb.

Cars swept past them, reminding him that this wasn’t the time, nor the place, to get the answers he needed.

Help came from an unexpected source. At some point—Jared wasn’t sure exactly when—his father and Fred had joined them. When Jared introduced Rachel and her nephew, Fred merely looked curious, while Ira looked disapproving.

“Fool chance you took,” Ira said, with a disparaging glance at the dog. “And all over a dumb animal.”

Dylan frowned. “That’s my dog, and she’s not dumb!”

Ira issued an unrepentant “Humph.”

If his father ever knew what a special dog could mean to a little boy, he’d obviously forgotten, Jared thought. No one could accuse Ira Carlisle of having a soft heart, least of all his son.

With Dylan visibly upset, Jared caught a glimpse of Rachel frowning at Ira, who was frowning back at her. It was a clear-cut case of instant dislike on all sides. Jared might have laughed at the situation if it wasn’t such a damn mess! The moment was surreal. They could all be related.

When Rachel felt Dylan lean against her hip, she placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Carlisle,” she said, before adding, “Dylan, that was rude. Please apologize.”

Dylan looked up at her in angry appeal. “But, he…”

Her mouth tightened. “Dylan,” she said, deliberately using her “no opposition” voice, which generally got a response.

Dylan hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Better keep a closer eye on that dog,” Ira returned.

When Jared said nothing, Rachel drew back in confusion. She and Dylan hadn’t made a hit with Ira Carlisle, but why was Jared openly distancing himself? She couldn’t deny her disappointment. Had she begun to hope for something more?

Every feminine instinct screamed a warning that he was all wrong for her. He could be kind—if and when it suited him; but then, he could turn it off without notice.

Only moments ago, Jared had been lying in the gutter, flirting with her; now he looked tense and edgy. His hot-and-cold attitude was beginning to annoy her.

Had she misread more than friendship in his warm gaze? Obviously, she had. Dylan was vulnerable; and she wasn’t prepared to risk her heart. Jared was definitely a risk.

She sighed.

Even surrounded by a pair of grumpy old men, he looked gorgeous. They were all three frowning at her!

Suddenly, Rachel needed to get away from Jared’s stare. Something in his eyes confused her. He’d saved Dylan’s dog. She’d stood frozen and watched it happen—terrified for Jared’s safety and the dog’s. She owed Jared her heartfelt thanks, but couldn’t quite put her heart into it. “I’m very grateful.”

His eyes flickered over her, but didn’t meet hers. “I’m glad I was on hand,” he said, equally stiff.

Rachel lifted her chin. “Excuse me, I have to go.”

She felt ridiculously let down by Jared’s coolness. It must be the heat, she argued with herself as she shoved the dog into the car. She refused to admit it could be anything else.

To her dismay, Jared gave her a hand. His arm brushed against hers. She felt a trembling heat, then cold. She climbed into the car. She turned the key in the ignition.

Jared gently closed her door. “Drive safe.” There, he’d done it again. Of all the miserable, phony, low-down…

How dare he be kind! She gave him a pasty smile. She was not attracted to Jared. She didn’t need an added complication in her life, particularly a six-foot-two, gray-eyed wolf in sheep’s clothing! She had Dylan. Love was highly overrated anyway.

Hadn’t it—or its facsimile—destroyed Laurel?

Hadn’t it eluded Rachel all her life?

The car started on the third try.

Rachel took a deep breath, then calmly bid Jared a cool farewell. She took pride in maintaining an even temper. Heaven knew she worked at it! The habit was ingrained. As a child she’d heard it often enough…Laurel was the extrovert; Rachel was more shy, more reflective. People always compared them. Even her mother always said, Laurel followed her heart, while Rachel used her head. Mama always laughed when she said it. But somehow, that had excused Laurel’s excesses and made Rachel feel less loveable. After all these years, why did it still have the power to wound?

Dylan had the last word. He attached his seat belt, then muttered under his breath, “I don’t like that man.”

Which one?



Jared watched Rachel and her nephew drive away; he felt a strong urge to follow and get some answers, but knew he couldn’t act rashly. He had to think.

After lunch at the diner, he drove home and wrestled with his conscience. Whether intentional or not, there was a real possibility that he’d abandoned Laurel when she was pregnant. Youth was no excuse. The years slid away…and he was eighteen again, and his dog had been fatally wounded in a hunting accident involving Drew and his friends. Jared went looking for Drew at the Stillwater Inn. Drew wasn’t there, but Laurel was. She served him drinks and flirted openly. She’d listened to his anger about Sunny and offered sympathy. When her shift ended, they went down to the lake and found an empty tourist cabin. He didn’t need to coax her onto the bed. She was more than willing. With her red hair spread against the pillow, Jared paused. He’d never been with a girl before, but clearly it wasn’t the first time for Laurel. She’d laughed at his clumsiness.

When it was all over, he tried to do the gentlemanly thing and asked to see her again. She laughed. Why would she choose a poor farmer? He was shocked to learn she was dating Drew Pierce. She only went with Jared to get even with Drew for taking a college girl home for the weekend. Apparently, Drew’s parents didn’t approve of Laurel. She started to cry—hot, angry tears. At that point, Jared’s fury and hurt male pride met a hollow death when he realized she was just a crazy, mixed-up kid.

He got dressed and went home, where he got into a flaming argument with his father for staying out all night. The exchange had opened old wounds and left the family in shambles. The following day, Jared left town, humiliated over Laurel, and bitter over his father’s betrayal. He never saw Laurel again. At eighteen, Jared lost his innocence. He’d never quite believed in anything since….

The truck hit a bump.

Jared glanced at his father’s slumped shoulders. Ira had been silent at lunch. Fred hadn’t said much, and neither had Jared, who couldn’t recall what he’d eaten. Whatever it was, he had a bad case of heartburn.

They dropped off Fred, then reached the turn to Stones End. At the house, Jared swung into the driveway. The motor died, and the silence of the hills closed in around him. He looked at the old farmhouse. It needed a coat of paint and a new roof. The front porch sagged. There was work to be done. The question was, where to start?

With a mental reminder to pick up some house paint, he climbed out of the truck.

So did Ira. He stared at Jared across the cab. “I heard that boy—what was his name?”

Jared braced himself. “Dylan.”

Ira lifted an eyebrow. “I heard him say his dad had a dog named Sunny. Seems to me that was your dog. Not Drew’s.”

Meeting that stone-cold stare, Jared knew the same hardness had crept into his own eyes. “That’s right.”

“I want you to tell me there’s no chance that boy is your flesh and blood.” Ira was breathing hard—as if he’d run a mile.

The reminder of his father’s weak heart stopped Jared from snapping back and telling him to stay out of his personal life. Jared broke out in a sweat as he recalled telling Laurel about Sunny. The possibility of a child coming from that one night seemed unreal. But Dylan was real—so was the possibility that he was Jared’s flesh and blood. “I can’t do that.”

“Then you find out!” Ira’s face contorted with fury. “All these years, I saved Stones End for you…for you, and your sons. If that boy is a Carlisle, he belongs here.”

Jared weighed each word. “What about the aunt?”

Ira dismissed Rachel. “Deal with her. If he’s yours, she has no right to keep the boy from you. Besides, she’s done her duty by the boy—she’ll probably be relieved to be set free.”

Somehow, Jared didn’t think Rachel would be relieved. From what he’d seen, she was devoted to Dylan. But Ira hadn’t seen that. Even if he did, would he care? Sometimes Jared worried about growing old and alone, but most of all he worried about growing hard…like his father. “I’ll look into it.”

Ira bent just enough to grunt, “Good.”

Jared bit back a comment. His father probably thought he’d won. Somehow, that didn’t feel so bad. Like this harsh northern land that produced him, Ira Carlisle was still a force to be reckoned with; but just then, Jared saw only a tired old man. He deeply regretted causing his father any pain.

In heavy silence, Ira walked toward the house. He climbed the porch steps and went inside.

Jared watched him go, worried about all the upheaval this would cause. He let his gaze wander over the emerald green fields and distant hills. The beauty of Stones End hurt his eyes and burdened his heart. Years ago, he’d left, weighed down by lies and half-truths—lies his father had told him about his mother—that she’d left and never asked to see Jessie and Jared again.

Eventually, Jared had hired a detective and learned she’d died in a charity hospital. But the trail didn’t end there. There was a mother’s ring with three stones. Three. He’d found a photo among his mother’s things. It showed a small child with fair hair. Her flowered dress looked too big, a pink ribbon drooped in her hair, but nothing dimmed her smile. She looked like Jessie…but in the background, there were palm trees instead of Maine’s native pine.

On the back of the snapshot was one word—Olivia.

He had another sister. He couldn’t rest until he found her. The detective was still working on the case and claimed they were close. But Jared’s recent trip to trace down another lead had come to nothing.

And now, there was Dylan.

Finding Olivia would have to be put off until Jared took care of matters closer to home.

Just then, Jared had to get back to work; but later that evening, he walked over to Jessie’s house. Made out of log beams and glass, it stood in a clearing by the pond.

It was a summer house, which meant Jessie and her family would be leaving when the leaves turned. Ben Harding owned and operated a horse farm in Virginia—a lucrative enterprise if the size of this house was any sign. Jared found Ben and Jessie on the front porch, rocking, as they sipped iced tea.

At her feet, Jessie’s dog, Bandit, lifted his head at Jared’s arrival, then settled down again.

“Evening.” Jared smiled at Jessie, then nodded toward the man she’d married. He wasn’t sure what he thought of Ben—a hard battle-scarred man. “Where’s the little guy?”

“Asleep,” Jessie responded. “Finally.”

Jared looked up at the summer evening sky. “Seems early.”

She laughed. “Not if you’re five months old.”

“Or the worn-out parent of a five-month-old.” Ben didn’t look particularly worn out. He looked restless, like a caged tiger ready to spring.

Obviously, Jessie wasn’t daunted. “Admit you love it.”

When she reached for Ben’s hand, Jared wanted to warn her not to love so much, not to wear her heart on her sleeve. But then Ben’s hand closed over hers, and Jared knew their love was mutual. Jessie had won this man’s heart. Ben had drifted into her life—a stranger who stayed—a willing captive.

With a warm glint, Ben smiled. “I’m not complaining.”

Conversation slipped into concerns with the farm. The previous summer, Ben had managed Stones End and married Jessie in the bargain. At length, Ben stood up and stretched. “Well, I’ll be turning in.”

Jessie murmured, “I’ll be along in a minute or two.”

Jared stood. “I should be going.”

“No,” Jessie said, adding softly, “Stay.” And once they were alone, she said, “What’s up? I can always tell when something’s on your mind.”

Jared laughed. He’d spent years protecting Jessie from life’s blows—everything from neighborhood bullies to eating too many unripe apples. When had she gotten so wise?

“I have a problem.” He leaned against the porch rail, but didn’t relax. He looked out toward the pond and the surrounding trees. The forest floor was green and lush. There was new growth where last summer’s fire had left total devastation.

Jessie sat back, rocking gently. “So, tell me.” The squeak on the porch floorboards made an easy rhythm, but it didn’t make the words he had to say anything less than tawdry.

He didn’t know where to begin. “It’s not that easy.”

“Nothing that really matters ever is.”

The moon settled lower in the sky. Somehow, the words felt less awkward under shadowy light where Jessie couldn’t read every expression on his face. Of course, she could probably hear the painful regret in his voice. Explaining to Jessie was hard, much harder, than he’d thought. If he could spare her, he would. At the end, she looked deeply saddened, not judgmental. “And you never saw Laurel again?”

Jared took a deep breath. “No.”

Jessie came to stand beside him. “Does Rachel know?”

Jared looked down into her troubled face. “I don’t know how much she knows. I need to find out before I do anything.”

Wrapping her arms around her waist, Jessie nodded. “There was gossip about Drew and a girl from Stillwater.” In simple words, she explained all she knew, which unfortunately wasn’t much. “This girl turned up and claimed she was pregnant with Drew’s child. When he refused to marry her, his father paid to keep things quiet. But there was still talk.”

Jared frowned. “Why didn’t I ever hear about it?”

“You weren’t here.”

At the reminder, Jared felt a familiar stab of guilt. At eighteen, he’d left, joined the Navy, then worked his way through college and veterinary school. Over the next eight years, he’d come back for visits but never stayed long until he came home for good last summer. He’d left Jessie to deal with his father and the farm. He felt guilty about that, too. So much guilt, so many mistakes. Hopefully, he could handle this situation without making more. He wanted to do the right thing—for everyone.

Contrary to his father’s opinion, Rachel Hale was very much a part of the equation. Jared couldn’t rule her out.

Reminded of Dylan’s aunt, he straightened abruptly. “Ben’s waiting up for you. I should be going.”

Moments later, Jared walked away from Jessie’s snug house. The windows were all lit up. Feeling more alone than usual, Jared walked down the road toward the main farmhouse. The day had started out with promise, but now the evening turned cloudy. Shadows drifted across the far meadow and crept up on Stones End. Like day into night, the past held Jared’s future. In all his wanderings, he’d learned a simple truth: this was where he belonged. He was a Carlisle. Blood ties were indestructible. Instinct told him that Dylan was his.

There were simply too many clues to ignore. But he needed more than instinct before disrupting so many lives.

He had a son.

Son.

The word whispered through him and stole into his heart. His son. His. Then, he remembered Rachel. He remembered her blue-violet eyes, her soft pink mouth.

She was going to hate his guts.




Chapter Four


The sun poured through a large window overlooking Main Street. Pierce Sawmill was emblazoned across the glass in gold-edged letters.

Rachel worked in accounting. Her job wasn’t glamorous, but she enjoyed it—usually. Today, the air conditioner was broken. Despite a requisition, no one had come around to repair it.

The metallic scream of a saw biting into hardwood drowned out the sound of Jared’s arrival. Only the stirring of warm air, the office door opening, alerted Rachel to his presence. She looked up from her desk, wondering how long he’d been standing there watching her. The thought sent a forbidden shiver down her spine—one she quickly rejected.

“Can I help you with something?” She felt the heat in her face rise as she lifted her voice above the noise.

“Jessie mentioned you worked for Drew.” His voice seemed to echo and bounce off the four walls.

Unable to suppress the defensive note, Rachel said, “I work for the Pierces.” Another log tumbled with a deafening crash. To her relief, Jared closed the door. Her relief lasted about a second. He’d shut himself in with her. Her office was small. It shrank with Jared Carlisle in it.

He apologized. “I should have called first.”

“Did you want to see Evan?”

Rachel assumed he wanted to see Drew’s brother who managed the sawmill.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, as if she hadn’t interrupted. “Could we go somewhere for coffee?”

“I’m sorry. We’re short of staff. I can’t leave the office unattended.” At her refusal, the air crackled between them. What were they playing, cat and mouse? Hit and miss? Who was keeping score? Rachel sighed. She wasn’t very good at this male-female game.

“What about after work?” he said.

Rachel latched on to a ready-made excuse. “I’m sorry. Dylan will be expecting me home at four.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Look, if it’s about the other day. I’m sorry if my father upset you.”

“He didn’t upset me,” she insisted. “In any case, he was right. Risking your life for a dog was foolish.”

He winced. “Ouch.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Actually there is,” he said with quiet intensity. “Is there any reason why we can’t be friends?”

The request caught her off guard. “Not really,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Good.” He smiled. “If you recall, the puppies are due for their shots. You forgot to give me your home address.”

That wasn’t surprising; she’d hoped he’d forget all about her, and the puppies. She gave him the address, adding, “I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you.”

“Not at all.” There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes—as if he knew she wasn’t sorry at all. “I had to come into town. The sawmill isn’t that far out of the way.”

The office door opened. “Rachel—” Her boss, Evan Pierce, frowned at Jared’s presence. “Am I interrupting?”

Jared replied, “I was about to steal your assistant away, but she resisted.” He walked out, saying, “I’ll be in touch.”

After Jared left, Evan said, “Whenever you have time, please log this in.” He handed her a thick file. “By the way, my mother sends her regrets. The family left town after the trial, but she’s very anxious to get to know Dylan better. She’s expecting you both to join her.” Evan didn’t smile.

Rachel could never tell whether he approved of her or not. “I’d like that, too. But Dylan still needs to adjust to this move, and school’s starting soon—then, there’s my job.”

“There are schools in Bar Harbor,” he said dryly. “And as far as your job is concerned, we have connections there. It shouldn’t be too difficult to line up a job.”

Rachel stiffened, refusing to let Drew’s influential family take over her life. “Please thank your mother. Dylan and I would love to visit sometime, but not now.”

After he walked out, Rachel tried to concentrate on work. She stared at the figures on her computer screen and watched them blur. The numbers didn’t add up. The trial had left the Pierces in debt. And with no funds to buy new timber, cut or standing, the situation at the sawmill was only bound to get worse.

With the migrant camp closed since the previous summer, the local farmers were in trouble. Henderson relied heavily on the lumber industry. Hundreds of jobs depended on the sawmill remaining solvent, including Rachel’s.

When she finished work, Rachel walked home—surprised to find Jared there. He and Dylan were in the yard playing catch.

While she stood unnoticed, Jared threw a long one, and Dylan missed. The ball flew into the woods, and Dylan and Sunny took off after it. The dog was barking with glee, Dylan was laughing, so was Jared. The scene was so normal, so rare…everything she wanted for Dylan.

At that moment, Jared saw her. Unable to tear her gaze away, she watched his easy grace as he crossed her yard. She pushed her hair back, aware of a certain expectancy.

He spoke first. “I got here about half an hour ago. Mary Ellen explained you were running late, so I told her she could leave. I hope you don’t mind,” he said with a crooked smile some women might find endearing.

Apparently, he’d charmed the baby-sitter. But Rachel wasn’t an impressionable teenager. She frowned, refusing to be swayed by his rampant masculinity. “She should have called me and let me know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And what would you have said?”

“That’s hardly the point.”

At her tone, he looked surprised. “You’re upset.”

“Of course. I’m responsible for Dylan.”

Jared’s mouth tightened in a flash. “And you think I might do something to harm him? Believe me, you have nothing to fear in that department.”

Not reassured, she decided to drop the subject, but felt compelled to add, “Next time, please let me know.” Assuming there was a next time.

He nodded toward the sign on the lawn advertising free puppies. “Have you had many takers?”

She nodded. “We’ve got a waiting list.”

“I gave them their shots, they’re ready to go. You’ll be glad to get your life back,” he said, as if her life was filled with thrills and excitement whenever she wasn’t dog-sitting.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Rachel hadn’t had a date in more months than she could remember. “I’d still feel better if you’d accept some kind of payment.” Her mouth went dry when his gaze slid over her lips.

When she blushed, Jared felt like a fraud—a lecherous one at that. The urge to kiss her soft pink mouth had come out of nowhere. He cleared his throat. “It’s not necessary.”

When Dylan turned up with the ball, Jared said, “Before I forget, there is one other thing. I waited for your mom to get home.” He’d left a box in the back of his truck parked in the shaded driveway. Now, he reached in and pulled out a squirming ball of fur. Jared set it on the ground where it shook itself into a floppy-eared black and white puppy. “Remember this little one?”

“He made it!” Dylan’s voice held awe.

At the tone, Jared’s grin grew wider. “He had a little trouble at first, but he’s a fighter.” He didn’t reveal the lengths to which he’d gone to save the puppy. There was little he could do for Dylan, but using his veterinary skills was a start.

Dylan nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s a fighter.”

Sunny trotted up. Nose to nose, the big dog and the little one got acquainted. “Sunny adopted the pups,” Dylan explained.

The new pup broke away to explore, sniffing at the long grass, darting into the pansies and coming out with yellow pollen on its black nose. When the pup started to dig, Rachel picked it up. “Oh no, you don’t,” she scolded, laughing when a silky pink tongue licked her thumb.

A moment later, she set him down at a safe distance, and the curious pup found another patch of flowers.

Dylan promptly named the puppy “Digger.”

Rachel gave a resigned sigh. Despite all his promises—“not to get attached”—Dylan had given each puppy a name, which Rachel knew would only make it harder when the new owners came to take them away in the next week. There was Bear and Tony and Cindy and Cookie and Pepper—and now Digger.

Just then, a car pulled up, and a rough-looking man got out. “Sign says you got dogs,” he said. “I need a good watchdog. Are they going to be big?”

Jared said, “Small to medium-size.” He didn’t like the man’s attitude and was tempted to send him on his way.

Rachel beat him to it. “I’m sorry, they’re all taken.”

The man nodded toward Digger. “What about that one?”

Rachel scooped up the puppy. “We’re keeping him.”

At that, Dylan grinned from ear to ear. Jared just stood there as a slow smile crept over his face. Damned if she hadn’t surprised him. So Rachel had a heart—she was just afraid of losing it—but under the right conditions, she would take a risk and “get attached.”

After the man left in a huff, Dylan threw his arms around Rachel. “Thanks, Mom!” The boy was obviously delighted, and Jared could see why. Rachel was the kind of mother any boy would love, which only made Jared’s dilemma worse.

Rachel was conscious of Jared’s undivided attention. He warmed her with a smile that she imagined meant approval.

“I’ll have to send more of my patients to you for some TLC.”

“No, thanks, I think we’ve met our quota.” Rachel set the puppy on the ground. “Supper is in one hour,” she called after Dylan as he ran off with Sunny and the pup trailing behind.

She turned back to Jared. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

When he accepted, she hid her pleasure. The feeling came from deep inside, a warm tide, like a well that couldn’t be emptied. He followed her into the house.

Her voice even, she said, “How’s business?”

“Things are slow. We’ve got one in-patient, a turtle with an infected shell. He’s on antibiotics. The ferrets went home last week. However, there is a prize pregnant cow that’s gone past her delivery date.”

A laugh escaped her. “Sounds promising.”

He grinned back. “Could be twins—that would mean a bonus.”

“One would hope.” Disarmed by his humor, Rachel relaxed her guard. He obviously liked children—he was saving turtles and owls. How dangerous could he be?

Jared looked around the small front hall with its neat coatrack. Curious about the way she and Dylan lived, he felt like a fraud, a man on a mission to uncover the past. A narrow flight of stairs wound its way upward on the right; and to the left, an arched door opened into the cozy living room. Dominated by shades of yellow accented by pale greens and blues, the room was filled with plants. A partially finished jigsaw puzzle took up most of the coffee table. Tropical fish swam companionably in a fish tank. The glass sparkled. “Nice,” he said, taking in the bright atmosphere, slowly absorbing the meaning. Home.

Aware of the breathless quality of her voice, Rachel said, “The kitchen’s through here.” Why had she weakened and invited him inside? Now, she didn’t know what to do with him. She reached into a cupboard. If only she had instant coffee…but all she had was regular ground.

While he wandered around, looking at Dylan’s drawings displayed on the refrigerator door, Rachel measured coffee grounds and water. It took a while for things to percolate. She wasn’t sure what they talked about, but eventually the coffee was done. She reached for her mother’s fine cups and saucers—thin china decorated with cabbage roses, etched in gold, and breakable. They weren’t valuable—except to Rachel. In fact, she usually reserved them for very special occasions. Feeling bemused at the realization, she stopped, then firmly reached for a pair of solid earthenware mugs.

She poured coffee. “Sugar, cream?”

“Yes, please.”

Rachel joined him at the round wooden table. Set in a cozy alcove, it suddenly felt much cozier. She lifted her cup to her lips, and took a cautious sip.

He took a swallow, lifted an eyebrow. “This isn’t bad.”

“What did you expect?” She needed to lighten the atmosphere, which had grown oddly heavy.

“Not a great cup of coffee,” he countered with an easy careless smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Rachel suspected a lot of things came easily to Jared Carlisle, perhaps too easily. “I’d almost forgotten,” she said, searching for a safe neutral topic. “Earlier, you said you wanted to discuss something.”

At the reminder, Jared hesitated. “It was nothing important,” he said at last. He’d almost forgotten his mission. Was he prepared to reveal his suspicions?

His gaze returned to the drawings on the refrigerator. He could remember his own mother displaying his childish artwork. He supposed that’s what mothers did. Funny, how he’d forgotten that. But he’d never forgotten coming home from school one day and finding her gone—and no one pinned his drawings up anymore. At the time, he was seven years old, not much younger than Dylan. All these years later, he still felt a pang of regret. A boy needed a mother. Jared knew firsthand how it felt to lose one. If Dylan was his son, Rachel was part of the package.

Turning away from that troubling thought, trying to sound casual, he said, “Raising a young boy on your own can’t be easy. Have you always been responsible for Dylan?”

Suddenly the focus of all his attention, Rachel cautiously reached for her own cup. “Yes.” The cup was warm. She wrapped her fingers around it. Nevertheless, his next words sent a chill up her arm—straight to her heart.

“What about Laurel?”

Her mouth tightened. “What do you want to know?”

He cleared his throat. “Where was she?”

Rachel took a moment before answering. “After Dylan was born, Laurel was very unhappy. She needed to get away.”

“So she left Dylan?”

“She left him with me. She came to see him whenever she could.” She added a few details.

Jared learned that Rachel’s aunt and uncle had been wonderful; they’d helped her finish college. She’d taken advantage of on-campus daycare while attending classes. Apparently she’d had no social life. Although Jared didn’t discover anything new about Dylan, he learned that Rachel had sacrificed her youth for the boy. She didn’t seem to realize how unusual that was.

With each question, he watched her withdraw further and further. He felt like an interrogator…like an unfeeling brute pulling the wings off a fragile butterfly. And for what? So that he could take Dylan from her?

Before making a move, Jared needed to get acquainted with the boy, to lessen the shock when it came—to know whether this odd tenuous bond he felt with this child was real, or all in his mind—or his heart.

Jared glanced at his watch. “I should be going, I’ve still got other cases.” He pushed away from the table. He had to see Rachel again—for more than the obvious reasons. “Thanks for the coffee. Maybe we could do this again.”

“Mmm,” was her noncommittal response. She collected the used mugs, then set them in the sink.

As far as refusals went, hers left Jared with no room to argue. He’d heard Rachel use the same tone with Dylan, which didn’t do much for a man’s ego. Of course, his masculine ego wasn’t at stake here…was it?



Over the next week or so, a green pickup truck could be seen parked in Rachel’s driveway with enough regularity to start tongues wagging. One day, when Mary Ellen wasn’t available to stay with Dylan, her mother volunteered to fill in. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Rachel asked when she dropped him off in the morning.

“Not at all,” Nora insisted. “Dylan’s a joy to have around.” She was a kind, warmhearted woman, naturally friendly and inquisitive when it came to her new neighbors. The entire O’Neil family had taken Rachel and Dylan under its protective wing—for which Rachel was grateful, except when it came to answering questions concerning her personal life.

“Have you got time for a cup of tea?” Nora said.

Hoping to avoid one of Nora’s “heart to heart” talks, Rachel refused politely. “I’m running late for work.”

Nora just smiled. “Mary Ellen tells me Jared Carlisle’s been spending a lot of time at your house.”

“Just to see the puppies.” Rachel eased her way from the kitchen, down the hall, to the front door.

Nora followed. “That’s not what Mary Ellen said.”

With one hand on the doorknob, Rachel stopped. “What did she say?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but it seems like Dylan’s got a huge crush on the man. He needs a father. Seems like he’s decided Jared’s a good candidate for the job.”

Rachel closed her eyes. “Oh, God.”

Smiling, Nora said gently, “Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but were you in love with Dylan’s father?”

“He’s my sister’s child, but he’s always been with me.”

“Is that why you never married?”

“Not really. At first, Dylan and school took up every minute of the day,” she admitted. “Then, when I finally came up for air, I discovered all the suitable men in town were taken, and the rest were too old, too young or too married.”

Nora laughed. “Well, you could do a lot worse than Jared. The Carlisles are good people. Ira’s a little testy at times, and there was all that trouble years ago with the mother, but Jessie and Jared turned out okay.”

Rachel shook off the urge to ask for more details. “I really do have to go….” She made her escape.

But she couldn’t escape Nora’s words—Dylan had decided Jared would make a good father.

Thus, a few days later, when Jared stopped by with the casual invitation, “I thought we could go out for pizza, you, Dylan and I,” Rachel balked.

She was thinking of Dylan when she said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jared raised an eyebrow. “Why isn’t it a good idea?”

“This is difficult to put into words, but you may have noticed that Dylan is a very friendly little boy.”

“He’s a great kid. You must be proud of him.”

“Yes, well.” Rachel took a deep breath. “Of course, I’m proud of Dylan, but his openness often leads to his getting hurt. He puts his faith in people too easily.”

“I’m not sure I follow you. Why don’t you spell it out?”

“He likes you,” she said. “I don’t want him getting ideas.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re turning down a date with me because I included Dylan in the invitation.”

“Please understand, he’ll read more into it.” She sighed. “He has a habit of getting attached to people, then he doesn’t understand when they drop out of his life.”

By “people” Jared guessed she meant men. Although he didn’t like it, he had to admit she had a point. He had no serious intentions toward Dylan’s lovely aunt—not honorable ones.

Rachel was simply a means to get at the answers concerning Dylan. Wasn’t she?

Considering himself well-warned, Jared said, “Are you protecting Dylan? Or yourself?”

She stiffened. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Jared shrugged. “I suppose not. But just as a matter of interest…you did let Drew get close.”

“That’s different. He’s Dylan’s father.”

Jared caught the ring of conviction in her voice. It made him pause—she was so sure that Drew was Dylan’s father.





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