Книга - Promise Forever

Promise Forever
Marta Perry


Your son. Two words had never held such power over CEO Tyler Winchester. He wouldn' t have believed them, but the child in the photo he stared at resembled someone he' d never forget: Miranda Caldwell, the woman who had stolen his heart eight years before. The two of them had fallen crazy in love, but their runaway marriage had unraveled as quickly as it had started.Seeing Miranda again after all that time brought back feelings Tyler had long since abandoned– feelings of love, and forever. But family, serenity and the faith she embraced weren' t high on his life' s to-do list. And Tyler had thought nothing could change that…until Miranda looked into his eyes once again, and little Sammy called him " Daddy."









“May I help you?” Miranda asked, shoving through the inn’s swinging door.


The tall stranger turned slowly. Afternoon sunlight coming through the front screen door lit broad shoulders, dark hair and an expensive suit that was far too formal for the island. Then he faced her, and her heart stopped entirely.

Tyler Winchester, the man she’d never expected to see again. The man who’d broken her eighteen-year-old heart when their marriage had dissolved.

The man who’d never known he’d fathered a son.

“Hello, Miranda. It’s been a long time.”

His voice was deeper than she remembered. More confident.

“Tyler.” Pain ripped through the numbness of shock when she said his name. She hadn’t said it aloud in years. How could two syllables have such power?




MARTA PERRY


wanted to be a writer from the moment she encountered Nancy Drew, at about age eight. She didn’t see publication of her stories until many years later, when she began writing children’s fiction for Sunday school papers while she was a church educational director. Although now retired from that position in order to write full-time, she continues playing an active part in her church and loves teaching a class of junior high Sunday school students.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania but winters on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. She and her husband have three grown children and three grandchildren, and that area is the inspiration for the Caldwell clan stories. She loves hearing from readers and will be glad to send a signed bookplate on request. She can be reached c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279, or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.




Promise Forever

Marta Perry







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


Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

—Colossians 3:12


This story is dedicated to my wonderful editor, Ann Leslie Tuttle, with gratitude.

And, as always, to Brian.


Dear Reader,

I’m so glad you decided to read this book. The love story of Miranda and Tyler brings the Caldwell Kin stories to a close. I’ve loved writing this series on the power of family, and I hate to see it end. So this has been a bittersweet story for me to write.

Maybe it was fitting that Miranda and Tyler’s story closes out the family series, because their story is a tale of a broken family brought back to wholeness through the power of God’s love. My prayer is that you’ve experienced that love in your own life.

Please let me know how you liked this story. You can reach me c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279, or visit me on the Web at www.martaperry.com.

Blessings,









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

Epilogue




Chapter One


Tyler Winchester ripped open the pale blue envelope that had arrived in the morning mail. A photograph fluttered onto the polished mahogany desktop. No letter, just a photograph of a young boy, standing in the shade of a sprawling live oak.

He flipped it over. Two words had been scrawled on the back—two words that made his world shudder.

Your son.

For a moment he couldn’t react at all. He shot a glance toward the office doorway, where his younger brother was trying to talk his way past Tyler’s assistant. Turning his back on them, Tyler studied the envelope. Caldwell Cove. The envelope was postmarked Caldwell Cove, South Carolina.

Something deep inside him began to crack painfully open. The child’s face in the picture was partly shadowed by the tree, but that didn’t really matter. He saw the resemblance anyway—the heart-shaped face, the pointed chin. Miranda.

The boy was Miranda’s child, certainly. But his? How could that be? He’d have known. She’d have told him, wouldn’t she?

The voices behind him faded into the dull murmur of ocean waves. A seabird called, and a slim figure came toward him from the water, green eyes laughing, bronze hair rippling over her shoulders.

His jaw clenched. No. He’d closed off that part of himself a long time ago, sealing it securely. He wouldn’t let it break open.

The truth was, he didn’t know what Miranda might do. It had been—what, eight years? He stared at the photo. The boy could be the right age.

He spun around, the movement startling both his brother and his assistant into silence. Josh took advantage of the moment to move past Henry Carmichael’s bulk. He looked from Tyler’s face to the photo in his hand, gaze curious. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing.” Nothing that he wanted to confide in Josh, in any event. He slid the photograph into his pocket.

“In that case…”

“Not now.” He suspected he already knew what Josh wanted to talk about. Money. It was always money with Josh, just as it was with their mother and with the array of step and half siblings and relatives she’d brought into his life. The whole family saw Tyler as an inexhaustible account to fund their expensive tastes.

You can’t count on anyone but yourself. His father’s harsh voice echoed in his mind. They all want something.

“But Tyler,” Josh began.

He shook his head, then looked at Henry. He could at least trust Henry to do what he was told without asking questions that Tyler had no intention of answering. “Have the jet ready for me in two hours. I’m flying to Savannah.”

“Savannah?” Josh’s voice suggested it might as well be the moon. “What about the Warren situation? I thought you were too involved in that contract negotiation to think about anything else.”

He spared a thought for the multimillion-dollar deal he’d been chasing for months. “I’ll be a phone call or a fax away. Henry will keep me posted on anything I need to know.”

“Whatever you say.” Henry’s broad face was impassive as always. Henry was as unemotional as Tyler, which was probably why they worked so well together.

Tyler crossed the room quickly, pausing to pull his camel-hair coat from the mahogany coatrack. It had been a raw, chilly March day in Baltimore, although Caldwell Cove would be something else.

Again the image shimmered in his mind like a mirage. Surf. Sand. A laughing, sun-kissed face. His wife.

They all want something. What did Miranda want?

He shoved the thought away and strode to the door. He’d deal with this, just as he dealt with any project that went wrong. Then he’d bury the memory of his first love so deeply that it would never intrude again.



The bell on the registration desk jingled impatiently. Miranda Caldwell dusted flour from her hands as she hurried from the inn’s kitchen toward the front hallway. The Dolphin Inn wasn’t expecting any new guests today, and the rest of the family had taken advantage of that fact to scatter in various directions.

She’d thought she’d have an uninterrupted half-hour to bake some molasses cookies before Sammy got home from school. It looked as if she’d been wrong.

She shoved through the swinging door to the wide hallway that housed the inn’s registration desk, along with whatever clutter of fishing poles and baseball bats her brothers had left on the wide-planked floor.

“May I help you?”

The tall stranger turned slowly. Afternoon sunlight through the front screen door lit broad shoulders, dark hair, an expensive suit that was far too formal for the island. Then he faced her, and her heart stopped entirely.

Tyler Winchester, the man she’d never expected to see again. The man who’d broken her eighteen-year-old heart when their marriage dissolved. The man who’d never known he’d fathered a son.

“Hello, Miranda. It’s been a long time.”

His voice was deeper than she remembered. More confident. Through a haze of dismay came the knowledge that Tyler didn’t sound surprised. He’d known he was going to find her here.

“Tyler.” Pain ripped through the numbness of shock when she said his name. She hadn’t said it aloud in years. How could two syllables have such power to hurt?

He lifted his brows, eyes the color of rich chocolate expressing nothing at all. “Aren’t you going to say you’re surprised to see me?”

“I…yes, of course I’m surprised.”

Tyler made no move to close the gap between them, thank goodness. If he attempted to shake hands with her, she’d probably turn to stone.

“What brings you to the island?” She managed to get the words out.

He seemed to move farther away from her, even though he didn’t actually move at all. Maybe it was just the effect of the chill in his strong-boned face.

“Not a pleasure trip,” he said crisply.

No, it wouldn’t be that. Tyler probably vacationed in the south of France. He certainly wouldn’t choose to come to Caldwell Cove after what had happened between them.

Maybe that didn’t matter to him. After all, he’d had eight years to forget his youthful indiscretion. While she’d been looking at a reminder every day in Sammy—

Sammy. She sent a frantic, fearful glance at the clock. Her son would be walking in the door from school any minute now. As soon as he heard the name, he’d know who Tyler was.

But Tyler didn’t know Sammy existed, and she had to keep it that way.

Oh, Lord, please. She sent up a fervent, desperate prayer. Help me get rid of him before Sammy gets home.

“You’re here on business, then.” She tried to sound as cool as he did, as if it were an everyday occurrence for the man who’d been her husband for one short month to walk back into her life. She moved behind the desk, putting an expanse of scarred oak between them. It wasn’t enough of a barrier, but it was all she had.

“You might say that.” Tyler leaned on the desk, the movement bringing him close enough that she caught the expensive aroma of his aftershave. “Maybe you’d better give me a room. I’ll be here at least for one night.”

Panic surged through her like a riptide. He couldn’t stay here. “No. I mean, I’m sorry.” She put both hands on the register to hide the pages. “We’re all booked up.”

His brows lifted again. “This early in the season? Try again, Miranda. I don’t buy it.”

When had Tyler become so sarcastic? That hadn’t been part of the boy she’d married.

Her heart ripped a little. She didn’t know him any longer. The boy who’d held her in his arms and promised to love her forever had turned into a man she didn’t understand at all.

He was rich, of course. Winchesters had always been rich and successful. They were filled with the arrogance that came with always getting everything they wanted just by lifting a hand.

Once what Tyler wanted was her—shy little Miranda Caldwell, an island girl who hadn’t had the least notion of the world he lived in. But that wanting hadn’t lasted long. Just long enough to make the baby he’d never known about.

She swallowed hard, trying to come up with the words that would make him go away.

“I’m sorry, Tyler.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m afraid we don’t have room for you. I think you should leave now.”

Some emotion she couldn’t identify chased across his face, and the skin around his eyes seemed to tighten. “Leave? After you’ve gone to so much trouble to get me here? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Get you here?” That was the last thing she’d ever do. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Tyler planted both fists on the desk, leaning so close their faces were scant inches apart. She felt the heat radiating from him—no, it was anger, so hot it threatened to singe her skin. His lips were a hard, bitter line.

“I’m talking about the little surprise package you sent me. Didn’t you think I’d come down here as soon as I received it?”

She stared at him, baffled. “I didn’t send you a package.”

With a swift movement he took something from his pocket and tossed it to the desk between them. It fluttered onto the faded red blotter. She forced frozen fingers to pick it up.

Sammy. Her stomach twisted, making her feel as she had during those months of morning sickness. Tyler had a picture of Sammy.

No. He couldn’t. Her mind moved slowly, struggling against the unthinkable reality.

With a quick, angry movement he turned it over in her hand. “Don’t forget the inscription.”

Your son.

The printed words struck her in the heart. They rang in her ears, mocking her. All these years of protecting her secret from him, only to have it blown apart by two simple words.

“Where did you get this?”

“You sent it to me.”

“No!” The word nearly leaped from her mouth. “I didn’t.”

He made a quick, chopping motion with one hand, as if cutting her away from him. “Who else? I have to warn you, Miranda. If you want child support, you’d better be prepared to prove that boy is mine.”

It took a moment for his words to penetrate, another for her brain to actually make sense of them. Then anger shot up, hot and bracing. How dare he imply she’d had someone else’s child?

Common sense intervened. They hadn’t seen each other in years. For all Tyler knew, she might have remarried, might have…

He doesn’t know for sure Sammy is his.

Beneath the anger, beneath the pain, relief flowered. If Tyler wasn’t sure Sammy was his son, she might still avert disaster. She wouldn’t have to fear the nightmare of Tyler snatching Sammy away from her.

She stood up straight, trying to find the strength Gran always insisted was bred into generations of Caldwell women. “My son has nothing to do with you.” She picked her words carefully. “I think it best if you leave now.”

Furrows dug between his brows, and his angry gaze seemed to grasp her with the power that had swept her eighteen-year-old self along with whatever Tyler wanted. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m satisfied, Miranda. I want to know why you sent this to me.”

His words rattled around her brain. Who had sent it? None of this made any sense at all. She tried not to glance at the implacable round face of the clock, warning her Sammy could walk in on them.

Nothing else matters. Just get him out of here before Sammy comes in.

“I don’t know who sent it. I didn’t. I don’t want anything from you.” It took a fierce effort to look at him as coolly as if he were a stranger.

He is a stranger, a tiny voice sobbed in her ear. He’s not the man you loved.

Tyler straightened, his shoulders stiff, his face a mask. “In that case, I’ll—”

The creak of the screen door cut off the sentence, and fear obliterated her momentary relief.

“Hey, Momma, I’m home.” Sammy’s quick footsteps slowed when he saw that his mother wasn’t alone. He glanced curiously at Tyler, then tossed a green spelling book on the desk. “Can I get a snack?”

“May I,” she corrected automatically. Cool, careful. She could still get out of this in one piece. As long as Sammy didn’t hear Tyler’s name, she was all right. “Go on into the kitchen. I have some cookies started.”

Sammy nodded, turned. She held her breath. Almost out of danger. There’d be time enough later to sort it all out. Get Sammy out, and…

“Just a minute.” Tyler’s voice had roughened. It carried a raw note of command.

She forced herself to move around the desk, grasp Sammy’s shoulders, look at Tyler. The expression on his face chilled her to the bone.

He knew. He’d taken one look at Sammy, and her son’s beautiful eyes, so like his father’s, had given them away. Tyler knew Sammy was his son.



Tyler couldn’t stop staring. At first he’d seen a child with Miranda’s heart-shaped face, her pointed chin.

Then the boy looked at him, and Tyler had seen the child’s eyes. Deep brown, with the slightest gold flecks in them when the light hit as it did in that moment, slanting through the wavy panes of the hall window. Eyes deeply fringed with curling lashes.

Winchester eyes—they were the same eyes he saw every time he looked at his brother and every morning in the mirror.

Stop, take a breath, think about this.

He didn’t really need to think about it. Maybe the truth had been there all along, beneath his initial assumption that he couldn’t have a child. He’d known, at some level, that if Miranda had a son, that boy was his.

She hadn’t told him. Anger roared through his thoughts like a jet. Miranda had borne his child, and she hadn’t told him.

The three of them stood, frozen in place, the old house quiet around them. From somewhere outside came the raucous squawk of a seagull, seeming to punctuate his anger. She hadn’t told him.

He shifted his gaze to Miranda, furious words forming on his tongue. He’d tell her just what he thought—

He couldn’t. Not with the boy standing there, looking at him with those innocent eyes. No matter how little he welcomed this news, how angry he was at the woman he’d once loved, he couldn’t say anything in front of the child.

He took a breath. “We have to talk.”

Miranda turned the child toward the swinging doors. “You go on back to the kitchen. I’ll be with you in a little bit.”

The boy nodded. After another curious glance at Tyler, he pushed through the door.

He gave the child—his child—another moment to get out of range. He heard the swish of the kitchen door closing. He could speak, if he could find the words.

“Well, Miranda?”

Her soft mouth tightened. “Not here. Anyone might walk in.”

The fact that she was right didn’t help. His son. The words pounded in his blood. “There must be privacy somewhere in this place.”

She gave a curt nod, then led the way to the room on the right of the hall.

Tyler shut the door firmly, glancing around at overstuffed, shabby chairs, walls covered with family photos, a couple of toy cars abandoned on a round pedestal table. He didn’t remember being in this room before, but that wasn’t surprising. Miranda’s family had been as opposed to their relationship as his had been.

He swung toward Miranda.

“Well?” he repeated. “Why did it take you eight years to let me know I’m a father? Or didn’t you want child support until now?”

She flinched, her eyes darkening. “I don’t need or want anything from you, Tyler.”

He suppressed the urge to rant at her. Tyler Winchester didn’t lose control, no matter what the provocation. That was one of the keys to his success. “Then why send me that picture now?”

“I didn’t!”

Even through his anger, he had to recognize the sincerity in her voice. And he couldn’t deny the shock that had been written on her face when she’d first seen him.

“You mean that, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Then who?”

“I don’t know. Does it really matter? You know.”

“I should have known eight years ago.” His anger spiked again. “Why didn’t you tell me, Miranda? Even if our marriage was a mistake, surely I deserved to know I had fathered a child.”

She crossed her arms, hugging herself. He’d thought, when he first saw her, that she didn’t look any older than she had at eighteen. Now he saw the faint lines around her eyes, the added maturity in the way she stood there, confronting him.

“Well?” He snapped the word, annoyed at himself for the weakness of noticing how she looked.

She spread her hands out. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Tyler. By the time I knew I was pregnant, our marriage was over.”

He’d told himself he barely remembered that one short month. That wasn’t true. He remembered only too well—remembered the furious quarrel with his father over his involvement with a local girl, remembered storming out of the beach house intent on showing the old man that he could manage his own life.

A runaway marriage would do it. He hadn’t found it difficult to persuade Miranda or himself that was their only option. They’d come back from their secret honeymoon to face the music—to tell both their families they were married.

Miranda’s father had been disapproving but ready to accept the inevitable.

Not his. His father had ranted and raged at both of them, his emotions spilling out like bubbling acid. And then he’d had a heart attack. He’d died before the paramedics reached him.

Tyler slammed the door on that memory. He’d better focus on the present. “You were having our baby. I should have been told.”

Anger flared in her heart-shaped face. “You wanted the divorce.”

“I had a right to know,” he repeated stubbornly. He moved toward her a step, as if he could impel an explanation. But this wasn’t the old Miranda, the sweet young woman who’d been so dazzled by love she’d gone along with anything he said.

“What was the point?” She brushed a strand of coppery hair away from her face impatiently. “You were busy taking your father’s place and saving the company. You had a life mapped out that didn’t include a child.”

“And you figured you didn’t need me.” That was what rankled, he realized. She hadn’t needed him then, didn’t seem to need him now.

“I had my family.”

She gestured toward the groupings of family photographs hung against the wallpaper, the movement sending a whiff of her scent toward him. Soap and sunshine, that was how Miranda had always smelled to him. She still did, and he was annoyed that he remembered.

“They thought you shouldn’t tell me?” This branch of the Caldwell clan had never had much money, as he recalled. He’d have expected them to be lining up for child support long before this.

She glanced at him with an odd expression he couldn’t quite pin down.

“They were as opposed to our marriage as your family was, remember? They never held with marrying someone from a different world. My daddy said only grief could come from that.”

“Looks like he was right, doesn’t it?”

Her chin lifted, looking considerably more stubborn than he remembered. “I have Sammy. I don’t consider that a source of grief, no matter what.”

“Sammy.” He didn’t even know his son’s full name. “What’s the rest of it?”

She didn’t look away. “Samuel Tyler Caldwell, like mine.”

It struck him, then, a fist to the stomach. He had a son. Somehow, he had to figure out how to deal with that.

“Didn’t he ask questions about his father?”

She winced. “Of course he asked. Any child would.”

“And did you bother telling him the truth?”

“Sammy knows his father’s name. He knows our marriage ended because we weren’t suited to each other.”

It was what he believed himself, but it annoyed him to hear her say it. “Why does he think I never came around?”

“When he asked, I told him you had to work far away.” For an instant there was a flicker of uncertainty in her face. “Eventually he stopped asking. He gets plenty of masculine attention. My father, my brothers, my cousins—he doesn’t lack male role models, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

It hadn’t been, but now that she said it, he knew the sprawling Caldwell clan would take care of its own. But Sammy was his son. He didn’t know what that was going to mean yet, but it had to mean something.

“I’m his father.”

She crossed her arms again, as if she needed something to hang onto. “He doesn’t have to know you were here. You can leave, and we’ll go back to the way things were.”

“I don’t think so, Miranda.”

“Why not? You don’t want to have a son.”

“Maybe not, but I have one. I’m not just going to walk away and pretend it never happened.”

She took a breath, and he seemed to feel her gathering strength around her.

“If you mean that, then I’ll have to tell him you’re here.”

His world shifted again. He had a son. Soon that son would know Tyler was his father.




Chapter Two


Had she ever felt quite this miserable? Miranda sat on the porch swing, staring across the width of the inland waterway at the sunset over the mainland. Maybe, when she was eighteen and discovering that she couldn’t function in Tyler’s world. And that her fairy-tale marriage wouldn’t survive the strain.

At the sight of Tyler standing in the hallway that afternoon, all the pain of losing him had surged out of hiding. Tyler was back—Tyler knew about Sammy. Somehow she had to come to terms with that.

This old swing, on the porch that stretched comfortably across the front of the inn, had always been a refuge. It wasn’t today.

She closed her eyes, letting the sunset paint itself on the inside of her lids. Lord, I don’t know what to do.

No, that wasn’t quite right. She knew what she had to do. She had to tell Sammy his father was here, before her son heard it from someone else. She just didn’t know how.

Please, Lord, help me find the words to tell Sammy without hurting him. Panic gripped her heart. Don’t let Tyler’s coming hurt him. He’s so young.

Certainly there weren’t any easy words for this situation. Telling her family that Tyler was here had been difficult enough—telling her son would be infinitely worse.

Her mother had been comforting, her father rigidly fair, silencing the angry clamor of her three brothers, who wanted to dump Tyler into the deepest part of the channel. Her sister, Chloe, married now, hadn’t been present, but she’d undoubtedly join them as soon as she heard.

Her father had been firm. Tyler had a right to see his son, Clayton Caldwell had said. They’d have to put up with it, for Sammy’s sake.

That had been the only thing that would make the twins and Theo behave, she suspected. David and Daniel considered themselves substitute fathers, while Theo had always been a big brother to his ten-years-younger nephew. None of them would do anything to hurt Sammy.

She rubbed her forehead tiredly, then tilted her head to stare at the porch ceiling, painted blue as the sky. She cherished her family, but coping with their reactions had made it impossible for her to work through her own feelings about Tyler’s reappearance.

Maybe she wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. Just the thought of him seemed to paralyze her with shock.

“Momma?” Sammy pushed through the screen door and let it bang behind him. “Grandma says you want to talk to me.”

She forced down a spurt of panic and patted the chintz-cushioned seat next to her. Please, Lord.

“Come sit by me, sugar. We need to talk.”

Sammy scooted onto the swing. Those jeans were getting too short already, she noticed automatically. He was going to have his father’s height.

His face clouded. “I studied for my arithmetic test. Honest.”

She was briefly diverted, wondering how Sammy had done on that test. What she had to tell him made arithmetic unimportant for the moment.

“I know you did.” She ruffled his hair, and he dodged away from the caress as he’d been doing for the last year or so, aware of being a big kid now. For an instant she longed to have her baby back again, so that she could savor every single experience.

Tyler had missed all those moments. Tension clutched her stomach. Was he angry about that? Or just angry that she hadn’t told him about his son?

Sammy wiggled. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

“No. I just need to tell you something.” She hesitated, searching for the words.

“Somethin’ bad?”

Sammy must be picking up on her apprehension, and that was the last thing she wanted. She forced a smile. “No, not bad. Just sort of surprising.”

Say it, she commanded.

“You know the man who was here this afternoon, when you got home from school?”

He nodded.

She took a breath. “Well, that was…Tyler Winchester.”

Sammy jerked upright on the swing. “My father?”

“Your father. He came to see you.”

Her son’s small face tightened into an expression that reminded her of his grandfather’s when faced with an unpalatable truth. “He never wanted to before.”

“Sugar…” He didn’t know about you. Her throat closed at the thought of saying that. She ought to, but she couldn’t.

“He wants to see you,” she said finally. “He wants to get to know you.”

Sammy slid off the swing and stood rigidly in front of her, his solemn expression at odds with his cartoon-character T-shirt. “When?”

“Maybe tomorrow after school?” She made it a question. “If that’s okay with you.”

“I’ll think on it.” That was what her father always said when presented with a problem. I’ll think on it.

“All right.” She was afraid to say more.

He went to the door, his small shoulders held stiffly. Then he paused. “Will you come up and say good-night?”

She couldn’t let her voice choke. “In a minute.”

She watched him disappear into the house. He’d taken it quietly, as he did everything, but this was a bigger crisis than he’d ever had to cope with in his young life. And she was to blame.

Had it really been for Sammy’s sake that she’d hidden his existence from Tyler? She struggled to say the truth, at least to herself.

She’d been so distraught when she’d come home from Baltimore, her marriage in tatters, that she hadn’t even realized what was happening to her body. By the time she did, she’d already been served with the divorce papers. The trek she’d made to Baltimore in a futile effort to see Tyler and tell him had only convinced her that their marriage was over.

She crossed her arms, hugging herself against the breeze off the water. She’d made her choice. This was the world for her son—the secluded island, the patient pace of life, the shabby inn, the sprawling Caldwell clan who’d accepted him without question as one of them.

Now Tyler was back, with his money and his power and his high-pressure life. He wanted to see his son.

What if he tried to take Sammy away? The question ripped through her on a tidal wave of panic. She wasn’t as naive now as she’d been at eighteen, but she still knew that power and money could sometimes overcome justice.

The Winchester wealth might dazzle Sammy. She couldn’t compete with all the things Tyler could give him.

Worse, Sammy could risk loving him, as she had. What were the chances Tyler would walk away again, leaving broken hearts behind?



Tyler pulled into the shell-covered driveway of the Dolphin Inn that evening, his lights reflecting from the eyes of a shaggy yellow dog who looked at him as if deciding whether to sound an alarm. His son’s dog?

That was one of the many things he didn’t know about his child. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to stay in his room at the island’s only resort hotel.

He’d never intended to start a family. The example his parents had set would be enough to sour anyone on the prospect of parenthood. It was too late now. He’d fathered a child.

Deep inside a little voice said, Run. Go back to Baltimore, forget this ever happened.

Tempting, but impossible. Would he eliminate those days with Miranda if he could, even knowing how their relationship would end?

Of course. Their marriage had been a mistake, pure and simple, born out of sunshine and sultry breezes.

He got out of the car, his footsteps quiet on the shell-encrusted walk. The dog, apparently deciding he wasn’t a threat, padded silently beside him. He rounded the building and had to force himself to keep walking.

Miranda’s family waited on the wraparound porch, at least the masculine portion of it. She’d told them.

Tension grabbed his stomach. They had no reason to welcome him. They couldn’t stop him, but they could make this more difficult if they chose.

“Evenin’.” Clayton Caldwell didn’t offer his hand, but at least he didn’t seem to be holding a shotgun.

“Mr. Caldwell.” He stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. “Is Miranda here? I’d like to talk with her.” Has she told our son about me?

Miranda’s youngest brother shoved himself away from the porch railing. “Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

The kid’s name floated up from the past. Theo. Theo had the height of all the Caldwell men, even at seventeen or so. Dislike emanated from him.

“That’s enough, Theo.” Clayton’s soft Southern voice carried authority. He eyed Tyler for a moment. “Miranda’s down at the dock.”

Tyler jerked a nod, then spun away from their combined stares. He walked toward the dock that jutted into the channel between Caldwell Island and the mainland, aware of the men’s gazes boring into his back.

Miranda stood with her hands braced against the railing, her jeans and white shirt blending into a background of water and sky. She must have heard his footsteps crossing the shell pathway, then thudding onto the weathered wooden boards. She didn’t turn.

Caldwell boats curtseyed gently on the tide on either side of the dock as he approached Miranda. Her slim form was rigid.

Slim, yes, but there was a soft roundness to her figure. The bronze hair that had once rippled halfway down her back brushed her shoulders.

It’s been eight years, he reminded himself irritably. Neither of us are kids any longer. If they hadn’t been kids, fancying themselves Romeo and Juliet when their families tried to part them, maybe that hasty marriage would never have happened.

Then there’d be no Sammy. The thought hit him starkly. That would be a harsh trade for an untroubled conscience.

Miranda turned toward him, her reluctance palpable. He looked at her without the anger that had colored his image of her earlier.

Her shy eagerness had been replaced by maturity. She probably had a serene face for anyone but him.

That serenity had been the first thing that attracted him to her. She’d worn her serenity like a shield even while she waited tables at the yacht club, taking flak from spoiled little rich kids. Like he had been.

Just now her body was tight with apprehension, her face wary. She stood outlined against the darkening sky, and the breeze from the water ruffled her hair.

One of them had to break the awkward silence. “Should I have called before I came over?”

She shook her head, the movement sending strands of coppery hair across her cheek. “It’s all right. I thought you’d probably come back tonight.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “We have things to settle, I guess.”

“Yes.” He bit back the horde of questions he wanted to throw at her. Why didn’t you tell me? She still hadn’t answered that one to his satisfaction. “I take it you’ve told your family.”

“I didn’t have a choice. You can’t come back to a small place like Caldwell Cove after all these years and not cause comment. You must remember what the grapevine is like.”

“We were summer people. The island never included us.”

Her face shadowed, and he almost regretted his words. Summer people. The wealthy visitors who owned or rented the big houses down by the yacht club had always maintained a clear division between themselves and the islanders.

“I guess not,” she said carefully.

“Did you tell Sammy?”

She rubbed her arms, as if seeking warmth. “I told him.”

“How did he take it?” He didn’t know if he wanted his son to be glad or sorry he was here.

“He was upset. Confused.” She shook her head, and he saw the stark pain in her eyes. “I tried to explain.”

“I hope you did a better job of explaining it to him than you did to me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Funny, but I don’t feel too much like being fair, Miranda.” The anger he’d thought he had under control spurted out. “It isn’t every day I find out a girl from my past had a baby she never bothered telling me about.”

“I tried to tell you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Tried how? I wasn’t that hard to find. A letter or phone call would have done it.”

Some emotion he couldn’t identify flickered across her face. Once he’d known the meaning of her every look, every gesture. At least he’d told himself he did. Maybe that had been an illusion.

“I came to Baltimore,” she said slowly, not looking at him. “Not long after I’d gotten the papers.”

He didn’t need to ask what papers. His mother had wielded the Winchester clout as easily as his father. She’d pushed the divorce through in record time.

“You didn’t oppose the divorce.” That wasn’t what he’d intended to say, but it just came out.

“No, I…” She stopped, seeming to censor whatever she’d been about to say. “That doesn’t matter now.”

He leaned against the weathered railing next to her, studying her down-tilted face and wishing he could see her eyes. “If you came to Baltimore, I didn’t see you.”

“I changed my mind,” she said carefully. “I did what I thought was best for all of us. Maybe I was wrong, but it’s too late now.”

He stared at her, frowning. He wanted to push for answers, but maybe she had a point.

“All right, forget what we did or didn’t do then.” He didn’t think he could, but he’d try. “Let’s talk about now. Is Sammy angry about his father showing up after all this time?”

“Not angry, no.” Her grip on the railing seemed to ease. “Confused, as I said, but he’s a much-loved, secure child. He can deal with this.”

None of that love and security in Sammy’s life came from his father. Well, fair enough. Tyler hadn’t had that from his father, either.

Again he had the urge to walk away. All he could offer this child was money. He’d lost the capacity to form close relationships a long time ago, if he’d ever had it.

He couldn’t leave until he’d talked with Sammy. He owed both of them that much, at least.

“When can I meet him?” He threw the question at Miranda.

Her soft mouth tightened. “I suggested tomorrow, and he said he’d think about it. I’d like to let him agree without pressuring him.”

Was she trying to get out of it? “I have a business to run, Miranda. Tomorrow after school. I’ll be here.”

Her head came up, and she glared at him, then jerked a nod. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

“Tomorrow after school. I’ll see you then.”

He pushed away from the railing. He’d gotten what he’d come for. He had no reason to linger.

Miranda took a quick step, stopping him. “I said I’d talk to him, Tyler. I’m not going to force him to do something he doesn’t want to, just because you’re in a hurry.”

He swung toward her, and they stood only inches apart. He could read the expression in her eyes—she was wishing for distance between them. He reached out and caught her wrists in his hands, feeling smooth, warm skin and a pulse that thundered against his palms.

“It’s already been his lifetime, Miranda. I won’t wait.”

“Fine.” She jerked her hands free, and fierce maternal love blazed in her face. “Just you be careful of what you say to him. If you hurt Sammy, I promise you, I’ll make you regret you ever heard of Caldwell Cove.”



“Chocolate, vanilla or something more exotic?” Tyler lifted his eyebrow as he asked the question, and Miranda tried not to let that simple movement affect her. She was immune to Tyler Winchester’s charm—she’d gotten there the hard way.

She concentrated on the list of flavors posted behind the counter in the ice-cream shop. “I’ll have the peanut-butter ripple.”

Taking a walk through town with Sammy after school had been her idea. It seemed so much less intimidating than pushing the boy into a face-to-face interview with a father he didn’t know.

She’d suggested to Sammy that they show Tyler around Caldwell Cove, not that there was much to see. The village still lay in a sedate crescent along the inland waterway, anchored by the inn at one end and Uncle Jeff’s mansion at the other. The spire of St. Andrew’s Church bisected the village. Little had changed since Tyler was here last, except for the new resort hotel down near the yacht club.

She had an ulterior motive for this walk. She wanted Tyler to understand that Sammy belonged here. Sammy’s happiness didn’t depend on anything his father could give him. Maybe when Tyler realized that, he could go away with a clear conscience.

Tyler handed Sammy a chocolate cone, then took a small vanilla for himself. Conservative, she thought. When had Tyler become conservative?

When he’d been drawn back into the Winchester way of life, probably. He’d slipped into his father’s place as CEO of Winchester Industries, apparently forgetting that he’d ever had other dreams.

Concentrate on the present, she ordered herself. Don’t succumb to the lure of the past.

They stepped onto the narrow street bordered by the docks, and she looked for an inspiration to give them something to talk about.

“Sammy, why don’t you tell your father about the boatyard.”

Her son didn’t seem too enthusiastic about his role as tour guide. He licked, then pointed with an ice-cream daubed finger toward the docks and storage sheds lining the quay.

“That’s Cousin Adam’s boatyard. He fixed Grandpa’s fishing boat when the motor died.”

“Adam took all of us on the schooner for Pirate Days, remember?” she prompted.

Enthusiasm replaced the caution in Sammy’s face as he turned to Tyler. “That was really cool. I got to help put up the sails and everything. Cousin Adam’s going to give me sailing lessons this summer. He says me and Jenny are big enough to learn.”

“Jenny is Adam’s little girl,” she explained. “You must remember Adam, don’t you?”

“I remember Adam.” His expression suggested the memory wasn’t a happy one. “As I recall, he, um—” he glanced at Sammy “—suggested it would be better if I didn’t see you.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm and hoped he’d attribute it to the March sunshine. “I didn’t know that.” It made sense. Adam, Uncle Jefferson’s older son, belonged to the rich branch of the family, the one that sometimes frequented the yacht club. He would have heard the rumors that his little cousin, who was supposed to be waiting tables at the club, was instead dating a wealthy summer visitor.

“Your ice cream is dripping.” Tyler reached out with a napkin and dabbed at her chin just as she ducked away from his touch. His fingers brushed her cheek instead, and her skin seemed to burn where they touched.

“I’ll get it,” she said hurriedly, hoping the napkin she raised to her lips hid her confusion. She couldn’t be reacting to Tyler. She was immune to him. Remember?

“Mine’s getting away from me, too.” Tyler licked around the top of the cone, where the ice cream had begun a slow trail toward his fingers. “I’d forgotten how hot it can be on the island in March.”

“Summer’s on its way,” she said, then regretted that she’d mentioned the season. Tyler wasn’t to know it, but summer always brought back memories of him. She glanced at his face involuntarily, then wondered how often this adult version of her first love indulged in something as simple as an ice-cream cone.

Tyler licked a froth of vanilla from his lips, drawing her gaze. He’d always had a well-shaped mouth. He didn’t smile as easily now as he had when she’d known him, and she didn’t think that was entirely due to current circumstances. Maybe Tyler didn’t find much to smile about anymore.

It probably would be an excellent idea to stop looking at Tyler’s lips. Next she’d be remembering how they felt on hers, and things could only get worse from there.

They strolled along the tabby sidewalk, uneven from the shells that formed part of the concrete, worn by a century or two of foot traffic. Live oaks shaded them, and Sammy hopped carefully over a crack in the walk.

Concentrate on what you’re doing, she commanded herself. “Don’t you want to tell your father about your school?” she asked.

Sammy flicked a faintly rebellious look toward her. “That’s it.” He waved at the white frame building, set in its grove of palmettos, that had served the island’s children for over a hundred years. “I’m almost done with second grade.”

“Looks as if the building’s been there a hundred years.” Tyler said just what she’d been thinking, but it didn’t seem complimentary when he said it.

“It’s a good school.” She hoped she didn’t sound defensive. What if Tyler thought his son should go away to some private academy? The idea turned her ice cream to ashes.

“Equipped with the latest in chalkboards, no doubt.”

She felt diminished by his sarcasm, and that angered her. “Our classrooms have computers. We’re not exactly living in the dark ages here.”

“I like my school.” Sammy stopped, frowning at Tyler with an expression so like his father’s it nearly stopped her heart. “You shouldn’t put it down just because it’s not new and fancy.”

Tyler looked baffled, and little wonder. He probably hadn’t expected Sammy to pick up on the byplay between adults.

She was tempted to let him stew, but she couldn’t. If she didn’t take pity on Tyler’s efforts with Sammy, she would only hurt her son.

“Why don’t we have a game of catch.” She nodded toward the playground where island children had played under the spreading branches of the live oaks for years. “I brought the ball.” She pulled it from her bag and tossed it to Tyler, stepping onto the grass.

He caught it automatically. “I don’t think…”

She frowned him to silence. Didn’t he see she was trying to help him? “Sammy wants to play T-ball this summer. I’ll bet he could use some practice.”

“Sure. Right.” He swallowed the last of his cone and threw the ball to Sammy, then patted an imaginary glove. “Throw it in here, Sammy.”

Sammy lobbed it to Miranda instead. She didn’t miss the quick flare of irritation on Tyler’s face. Well, he couldn’t expect this to be simple, could he?

Temptation whispered in her ear again. It would be so easy to be sure Sammy didn’t warm up to his father. So easy, and so wrong. Even if it insured that Tyler would go away, she couldn’t do it.

Her throw went a little high, and Sammy had to reach for it. He wore a surprised look when he came down with the ball.

“Good catch, Sammy.” Tyler’s voice had just the right amount of enthusiasm. Sammy responded with a cautious smile.

Tyler blinked, his face softening with the effect of that smile. Her eyes stung with tears, and she was grateful for the sunglasses that shielded them. Tyler didn’t need to know that it moved her to see Sammy playing with his father.

That wasn’t the purpose of this little excursion, remember? You’re supposed to be showing Tyler what a happy life Sammy has here so he’ll soothe his conscience and go away.

Tyler’s comments about getting back to his business had confirmed what she’d already suspected—he’d turned into the same driven businessman his father had been. She’d known that would happen when he’d insisted they move back to Baltimore after his father’s death.

Their dreams of settling down on the island and starting a small business had vanished like the mist. Tyler hadn’t had time for that. Now the CEO of Winchester Industries probably didn’t like to take time for a simple game of catch.

“Try it this way.” Tyler walked over to Sammy, reaching toward him to correct his throw.

Sammy jerked away. “I don’t want to.”

“Sammy,” she began, but what could she say? Be polite to the father you’ve never seen before didn’t seem to cover it.

Her son frowned, first at her, then at Tyler. “Why do you want to play ball now? You never even wanted to see me before.”

Miranda’s heart thudded. There it was, the question she didn’t want to answer. But she didn’t have a choice.

She couldn’t look at Tyler. She didn’t even want to meet her son’s eyes, but she forced herself to. “Sammy, that’s not fair.”

“It is, too.” His fists curled. “He could’ve come, but he didn’t.”

“No, he couldn’t.” She felt Tyler’s gaze on her.

“Why not?” Sammy demanded.

Truth time was here, and she wasn’t ready for it. She had to be. “Your daddy didn’t know about you.”

Her son stared at her.

She licked dry lips. “I never told your father about you.” She reached a hand toward Sammy, but he took a step back. “Sugar, I thought it was best.”

The words sounded feeble to her own ears. Hurt and accusation battled in Sammy’s face. As for Tyler…she could almost think that was pity in Tyler’s eyes.




Chapter Three


“I have a proposition for you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Miranda realized she could have phrased it better. Standing in the doorway to Tyler’s hotel room that evening had rattled her so much that she didn’t know what she was saying.

“A proposition?” Tyler looked as startled at her words as she probably did. “In that case, I guess you’d better come in.”

Clutching her bag with cold fingers, she stepped inside. They could hardly discuss Sammy’s relationship with his father at the house, where her son would wonder what they were talking about. Any public place was out of the question.

Tyler crossed the room to switch on another lamp against the darkness that pressed against the sliding glass balcony doors, giving her a moment to collect herself. She took in the sweep of plush, sand-colored carpet, the pale walls and the cream furniture with pastel floral upholstery. Dalton Resorts knew how to treat their wealthy guests.

“I haven’t been in the hotel before. It’s quite…elegant.” It was certainly the antithesis of the Dolphin Inn, but people who could afford this wouldn’t be staying at the inn anyway.

Tyler looked at her, hand still on the cream pottery lamp. He had traded the casual shirt and khakis he’d worn for the meeting with Sammy for a white dress shirt, open at the throat, and dark trousers. Maybe the dining room in the hotel required formal attire. Or maybe that was just how he felt comfortable now.

“I thought your brother-in-law worked for Dalton.”

“Luke did start out with Dalton, and he helped pick the site for the hotel.” Her brother-in-law had been a driven businessman, too, before her sister, Chloe, brought out a different side to him. “He and Chloe are running the youth center in Beaufort now.”

“That’s quite a change.” He strolled toward her, and she had the sense that he wasn’t in the least interested in what Chloe and Luke were doing. He was wondering what had brought her here tonight.

“Yes, well, they’re happy.” Chloe and Luke’s love was so bright that it almost hurt to look at them.

Tyler stopped, a bit too close for comfort, and she glanced past him. He’d converted an oval glass-topped table to a makeshift desk. It was littered with papers and centered with a sleek laptop computer.

“I see you’ve been working.”

He followed the direction of her gaze, frowning. “Business doesn’t stop just because I’m out of the office. We have an important deal coming up soon.”

The fact that he couldn’t even get away from Winchester Industries for two days gave her a surge of confidence. Her plan to deal with this situation was dangerous, but it would work. It had to.

Tyler turned to her, still frowning. A lock of dark brown hair had fallen over his forehead, the only thing even faintly disarranged about his appearance. Had he run his hand through his hair in frustration over being tied here when his business was in Baltimore?

“How is Sammy?”

She took a breath, trying to think of Sammy without pain. She’d let him down so badly.

“He’s doing all right,” she said carefully. “All this has been hard enough on him, without finding out—” She stopped, started again. “I should have told him the truth about you long ago. I was wrong.”

She waited for him to say she should have told him, too, but he didn’t. She could almost imagine she saw sympathy in his eyes.

“Do you think he understands why you didn’t?”

“I don’t know.” Sammy’s small face appeared in her mind’s eye. “As much as an seven-year-old can, I guess. He forgives, even if he doesn’t understand.”

He studied her face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You wanted…” His tone made it a question.

She looked at him blankly, realizing that she’d been staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. Or as if she’d never see him again.

He lifted an eyebrow, something that might have been amusement flickering in his face. “You have a proposition for me, remember?”

“Oh. Yes.”

He had to be deliberately attempting to make her nervous. There was no other reason for him to be standing so close, taking up all the air in the room.

Concentrate. This idea will work, won’t it? Please, Lord.

“You said this afternoon that you want to be a part of Sammy’s life.” It frightened her just to say the words. “You must realize that you have to get to know Sammy before that can happen.”

She expected him to bring up again the fact that it was her fault he didn’t know Sammy, but he nodded. “I realize that. I don’t want to rush him. But I’m not going to disappear.”

She clasped her hands together, trying to find a core of strength inside. “This can’t be a halfway thing, Tyler. I won’t let Sammy be hurt by it.”

“I’m not looking to hurt the boy.” He sounded impatient. “So what is this idea of yours?”

Now or never. She had to say it.

“You stay here, on the island, for one month.” She swept on before he could interrupt. “You can move into the inn, so you’ll see Sammy every day. Then—” She breathed a silent prayer. “Then we can make arrangements together for you to be a real parent to him.”

“Stay here?” He made Caldwell Island sound like the outermost reaches of the earth, and his firm mouth tightened even more. “I can’t do that. I have a business to run.”

That was what she’d thought he’d say, but even so, the words made her heart clench. Tyler would see how impossible this was, that was the important thing.

“I’m not trying to be unreasonable.” She nodded toward the computer. “You can stay connected, go back to Baltimore for a day or two if you have to. Surely even the CEO gets some vacation time.”

“I can’t run a business that way, especially not now.” His dismissal was quick. “Sammy can come to Baltimore to get to know me.”

Fear flared and had to be extinguished. “Sammy isn’t a package, to be sent back and forth when you have time for him. If you want to be his father, you have to realize that. You getting acquainted with him needs to happen here, where he feels safe.”

His eyes narrowed. “Suppose I just start legal action. You can’t keep me from my son.”

The thought of facing a phalanx of ruthless Winchester lawyers made her quake, but she held her voice steady. “And have our private quarrel splashed all over the papers? I don’t think you’d like that. And I don’t think a family court judge would look favorably on a father who won’t take a few weeks to get acquainted with his son.”

Something that might have been surprise flickered in his eyes. “You’ve grown up, Miranda.”

“I’ve had to.”

“What you ask is impossible. You must know that.”

It wouldn’t have been impossible for the man he’d been at twenty-one, but she couldn’t say that, and maybe it wasn’t even true. Maybe she hadn’t really known the man she’d married.

She had to say the hard thing and end this now, before it damaged Sammy. Tyler’s sense of duty to the child he’d fathered had brought him here, but his sense of duty to the company would take him away again.

“If you can’t get away from your business for something this important, maybe you’re not meant to be a father.”

Tyler didn’t answer. He couldn’t. She had known all along how this would turn out, but still pain clenched her very soul. She turned away.

He grasped her arm, pulling her around to face him. At his touch, her treacherous heart faltered. She forced herself to look at him, her gaze tangling with his. Her breath caught in her throat, and for an instant she thought his eyes darkened.

“I know a challenge when I hear one, Miranda.” His voice lowered to a baritone rumble. “I’ve managed too many business deals not to know when someone’s making an offer they think I won’t accept.”

“I don’t—”

His grip tightened. His intense gaze was implacable. “Get a room ready for me. I’m moving in tomorrow.”



This was certainly a far cry from the elegance of the Dalton Resort Hotel. Tyler tossed his suitcase onto the patchwork quilt that adorned the four-poster bed in the room to which Miranda had shown him. He glanced around, wondering if he’d made a hasty decision the previous night. Did he really propose to run Winchester Industries from this small room on an island in the middle of nowhere?

He strode to the east window and snapped up the shade, letting sunlight stream across wide, uneven floorboards dotted with oval hooked rugs. Someone had put a milk-glass vase filled with dried flowers on the battered, rice-carved bureau, and the faint aroma seemed a ghost of last summer’s flowers.

Well, there was a phone jack, at least. With that, something to use for a desk and enough electrical outlets, he ought to be able to make this work if he wanted to.

Maybe that was the question. Did he want to do this? He frowned at what seemed to be a kitchen garden. The small patch of lawn, crisscrossed with clotheslines, couldn’t be intended for the use of guests. Beyond it was some sort of shed, then the pale green-gold of the marsh grasses. A white heron stood, knee-deep, waiting motionless for something.

Tyler assessed his options, trying to weigh them as if this were any business deal that had come up unexpectedly. In a business deal, the first step would be to research what was being offered. He grimaced. Miranda wasn’t exactly offering him anything. As for research—well, he didn’t need a DNA test to confirm what he knew in his bones. Sammy was his son.

He could stay. That meant subjecting himself to the uncertain welcome of Miranda’s family and trying to figure out how to be a father under Miranda’s no doubt critical gaze. Then, assuming he could gain Sammy’s acceptance, he’d face the tricky task of working out long-distance custody arrangements between Baltimore and Caldwell Cove and he’d commit himself to being a significant part of Sammy’s life for—well, forever.

He shoved the window up, letting the breeze that bent the marsh grasses billow the ruffled curtains. The alternative was to leave. Go back to Baltimore, take up life as it had been. He could afford generous child support, the best schools, anything material his son needed. He could satisfy his conscience without getting emotionally involved.

“Is everything all right?” Miranda paused in the doorway, clutching an armload of white towels against the front of a green T-shirt with a dolphin emblazoned on it.

No, Miranda, nothing’s been all right since that photo of Sammy landed on my desk. Miranda was undoubtedly talking about the room, not his inner struggle.

“Fine.”

“You looked as if you might be having second thoughts about this, now that you’ve seen the accommodations.” She put the towels on the edge of the bureau.

“The accommodations are fine.”

“If you want to change your mind—”

“I don’t,” he said shortly, trying to ignore the fact that he’d been thinking just that. He’d better concentrate on the room instead of noticing how well those faded jeans fit her slim figure. “I need something to use for a desk. A table would work, if you have one to spare. If not, I’ll go out and buy one.”

“No need. I’ll find something.”

She shoved a strand of hair from her eyes. He found himself thinking that its color was nearer mahogany than auburn and then told himself that it didn’t matter in the least what color Miranda’s hair was. She vanished before he could say anything, her quick footsteps receding down the hallway.

All right, he needed some rules if he were actually going to stay here. The first one had to be no staring at Miranda. And the second one better be no remembering the past.

He heard her coming before he could decide on rule three. Something thumped against the wall. He reached the door to see Miranda backing toward him, holding one end of a rectangular oak table. Her mother, wearing a dolphin T-shirt also, wrestled with the other end. He sprang to help them.

“Mrs. Caldwell, let me take that.”

Sallie Caldwell surrendered her grip, giving him a smile too like her daughter’s for comfort. “I’m afraid the table doesn’t match the rest of the furniture, but Miranda said that didn’t matter.”

Miranda had probably said that if he didn’t like it he could lump it.

“It’ll work.” He guided the heavy table through the doorway, finding it necessary to remind himself again not to let his gaze linger on Miranda’s face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, either from exertion or because she had indeed said what he imagined.

Miranda helped him position the makeshift desk near the window. Then, as if she thought she’d spent enough time in his company for one day, she retreated to the doorway where her mother waited.

“If there’s anything else you need, just let us know.” Sallie Caldwell put her arm around her daughter’s waist with easy affection as she smiled at him. She had Miranda’s bronze hair, streaked with gray.

“I will.” He tried without success to imagine his mother letting gray appear in her hair or wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt.

“We’ll try to make you comfortable while you’re here.”

They all knew there was nothing comfortable about any of this. Still, he sensed that Miranda’s mother meant what she said. There was no artifice about her—just the same unselfconscious natural beauty her daughter had.

“Thank you, Mrs. Caldwell. The room will work just fine.”

If I stay. The words whispered in his mind as the Caldwell women vanished down the hall.

His cell phone rang, and he flipped it open. Probably Henry, responding to the message he’d left at the office. But it wasn’t his assistant—it was his brother.

“Henry’s secretary passed your message on to me. He’s out of the office. What’s going on?” Curiosity filled Josh’s voice.

“Out of the office where?” What was reliable Henry doing out of the office when he’d left him in charge?

“Didn’t tell me.” He could almost see Josh’s shrug. “Something you want me to take care of before he gets back?”

His first instinct was a prompt no, but someone at the office had to know where he was. And why. And how long he intended to stay.

“Not exactly.” He hesitated. His brother would have to know. As irresponsible as Josh was, he wouldn’t spread the news if Tyler asked him not to. “I have a…situation here, and I don’t want anyone else to know the whole story. You can tell Henry, but no one else. Understood?”

“Got it.” He could almost see Josh leaning back, propping his feet on the desk. “What’s up?”

“You remember Miranda Caldwell?”

A pause, but Josh would remember. After all, their father’s death had rocked both their worlds.

“Your ex-wife.”

“Yes. Turns out there was something she neglected to mention when we got divorced. I have a son.” He waited for an explosion of questions.

Instead Josh whistled softly. “I assume you’re sure he’s yours.”

“I’m sure.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

The very question he’d been asking himself. Apparently he already knew the answer. “I’m going to stay here for a while to get to know him.”

He expected an argument. He didn’t get it. “Okay. I’ll tell Henry. What about Mother?”

“Not yet.” He thought uneasily of their mother, honeymooning in Madrid with her new husband. She wouldn’t be happy that Miranda was back in his life. “Thanks, Josh.”

He hung up, realizing why he didn’t want to tell anyone. The possession of a son had made him vulnerable. He didn’t like to be vulnerable. Miranda’s image presented itself in his mind and refused to be dismissed. Look where vulnerability had gotten him eight years ago.



Several hours later, he sat back in the chair and stretched, congratulating himself. He had a reasonable facsimile of an office set up, he’d been in touch with Henry about his plans and he’d contacted the Charleston subsidiary of Winchester Industries and arranged a meeting there, since it was only a couple of hours away. Almost as much as he might have accomplished in Baltimore.

At corporate headquarters, though, he wouldn’t have been quite so distracted by the view from the window. There, he’d look out on the Inner Harbor. Here, he looked out at Miranda, busy putting sheets on the clotheslines strung across the yard.

He stood, frowning at the photo of Sammy he’d propped next to his computer. The reason had nothing to do with sentiment, he assured himself. He’d put it there to remind himself that he had to find out who’d sent it, and why.

He picked it up, gaze straying again to Miranda. The chances he’d learn the truth about that without her help were slim and none. Therefore he needed to enlist her aid. He glanced at his watch. He’d better do it now, before Sammy came home from school.

Tucking the photo into his shirt pocket, he headed for the backyard and Miranda.

When he pushed open the screen door, Miranda was bending over an oval wicker clothes basket. She looked up at the sound, and her face went still at the sight of him.

“I thought you were busy with work.” She shook out a damp sheet and began pinning it to the line, as if to show him that she was busy, as well.

“I’ve made a good start.” He approached her, then had to step back as she shook out another sheet. “Don’t you have a dryer?”

“Of course we have a dryer.” At his raised eyebrow, she shook her head as if in pity. “We like to sleep on air-dried sheets. So do our guests.”

“Why?” He caught the end of the sheet she was manhandling. For a moment he thought she’d yank it free, but then she handed him a clothespin.

“They smell like sunshine.”

You smell like sunshine. He dismissed the vagrant thought. “Wouldn’t it be more efficient to use a laundry service?”

“That’s not how we do things here.” She snapped out the words as if he’d insulted her. Sunlight filtered through live oaks and dappled her face.

He reminded himself that he wanted her cooperation, not her enmity. “So you’re helping to run the inn now.”

“That’s right.” She pinned up another sheet. “My college plans were derailed.”

She’d been saving money that summer, he remembered, waiting tables at the yacht club so she could attend the community college that fall. Both their lives had gone in an unexpected direction, but hers had obviously been skewed more than his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it.

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded in acceptance. “I don’t regret anything.” A smile blazed across her face. “I have Sammy.”

He nodded, the photo seeming to burn a hole in his pocket. Maybe he’d better get to the point before he brought up any more touchy subjects. “I’ve been thinking about that picture of him.”

“I’ve already told you, I didn’t send it.” She snatched the basket and ducked under flapping sheets to the other end of the yard.

He followed, evading damp linen. He needed her on his side in this. “I know you didn’t send it. Don’t you want to know who did?”

“Yes, of course.” She stopped, eyes clouded. “I’ve worried and worried, and I still don’t have an idea.”

“There has to be a way to find out. Why don’t we talk to Sammy about this?”

“Absolutely not.” She shot the words at him, shoulders suddenly stiff.

“But he may have noticed who took the picture.”

“I mean it, Tyler.” Her soft mouth was firm. “I don’t want him questioned about this.”

“That’s ridiculous. If we can find out—”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she snapped. It looked as if they were back on opposite sides. “If we talk to Sammy, he’s going to ask how you got a picture of him.”

“We can say—” He stopped. What would they say?

“I don’t want him thinking that some stranger is going around taking pictures of him, manipulating his life.” A shiver seemed to run through her. “It’s bad enough thinking that myself.”

“All right.”

Miranda looked at him suspiciously, and he raised his hands in surrender.

“I promise. I won’t say anything to him.”

The tension went out of her, and she reached up to unpin a dry sheet. He caught the end of it, and she let him help her fold it.

“Why? That’s what gets me,” she said. “Why would anyone want to interfere in our lives like that?”

“I wish I knew.” He had to hurry to keep up with the deft way she flipped the corners together. “No one’s said anything to you about it?”

“Nothing.”

He finished the last fold, then put the sheet into the basket as Miranda moved on to the next one. She was right—the sheet did smell like sunshine.

“Stop a minute and look at it again.” He drew the photo from his pocket and handed it to her.

She studied the picture, absently twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Her gaze lifted, startled, to him. “This looks like—”

“What?”

“Come with me.” She dropped a clothespin into the basket and started around the inn at a trot. He had to hurry to keep up with her.

“Look.” She stopped at the corner of the veranda, pointing.

He stepped closer, looking over her shoulder at the photo, then at the scene in front of them. An ancient, gnarled live oak filled the corner of the yard, its branches so heavy they touched the ground in places. From this angle, they formed a kind of archway through which he saw a corner of the dock. It was exactly the same in the photograph.

“Whoever he was, he took the picture here,” he said.

This time he was so close he felt the shiver that went through her.

“Here. And sometime within the last six months.” She touched the photo with one fingertip. “I bought that polo shirt for Sammy when school started in September.”

“Stands to reason it was fairly recent. If he wanted to send it to me, whoever he was, why wait?”

Miranda’s breath seemed to catch. “Tyler, we have to find out who did this.” She swung around, apparently not realizing how close he was. She was nearly in his arms.

He caught her arm as she bumped against him. Her smooth skin seemed alive with memories—visions of holding her close, of promising to love her forever. The fresh scent of her surrounded and overpowered him.

This was bad. This was very bad. He’d never dreamed those feelings still existed, ready to be awakened. It was as if the very cells of his body remembered her.

He’d wanted Miranda’s cooperation. He’d gotten it, but in the process he’d found out something very unwelcome about himself. He was still attracted to her.




Chapter Four


Miranda couldn’t move. Tyler held her elbows, steadying her, and her hands pressed against his chest. She felt his heartbeat through her palms, up her arms, driving straight to her heart. It had been years since they’d stood together like this. It might as well have been yesterday.

She curled her fingers, pulled her hands away from him. She couldn’t look at his face. Instead she focused on the placket of his white knit shirt. Two of the three buttons were open, exposing a V of tanned skin against the white.

That wasn’t any better than looking into his eyes. She took a hurried step back, and he released her instantly. If he guessed her reactions—

He wouldn’t. Tyler was too focused on the task at hand to have time for any other considerations. At the moment he was totally consumed with finding out who’d taken the photo of Sammy.

She wanted to know that, too, but somehow she also had to find a way of keeping her balance where Tyler was concerned. That meant not finding herself in any more moments like that one.

Tyler glanced from the photo to the scene before him. He frowned, and she sensed that, as far as he was concerned, the moment when they’d touched might never have been.

Well, good. That was what she wanted, too.

“So, we know the picture was taken within the last six months, and by someone standing in just about this spot.” He seemed to measure the distance from the driveway to the street. “How unusual would it be for someone you don’t know to come this far onto the property?”

She steadied herself. Tyler didn’t feel anything. She wouldn’t feel anything, either.

“Not unusual at all, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?” He shot the question at her with that intent, challenging stare of his. “If someone’s not a guest at the inn, why would he be here?”

She pointed to the small placard attached to a post near the end of the driveway. “The historical society put those up a few years ago. I worked on the project, as a matter of fact. We designed a walking tour of historical houses. Visitors can pick up a brochure anywhere in town and follow it. In nice weather we often see people, brochure in hand, taking pictures.”

“There’s no way of tracing them?”

“None. People don’t buy tickets or sign up. They just follow the map.” A shiver ran along her arms, and she rubbed them. “Sammy wouldn’t think anything about it, even if he noticed someone with a camera.” She took another step away from him. “I should get back to the laundry.”

“Wait a minute.” His hand twitched as if he thought about touching her and changed his mind. “We haven’t finished talking about this.”

“I don’t know how to find the person who took the picture. There’s nothing else to say. I want to take down the sheets before it’s time to start dinner.” And I want to put a little distance between us.

“Fine.” He seemed to grind his teeth. “I’ll help you with the sheets, if that’s what it takes. We can talk and fold at the same time.”

She’s forgotten how persistent he could be when he wanted something. “Sammy will be home in a few minutes. I don’t want him to hear anything about this.”

He slid the photo into his pocket. “I’ve already said he won’t hear it from me, Miranda.” He moved past her, then stopped and raised an eyebrow when she didn’t follow. “Aren’t we going to fold laundry?”

Without a word, she brushed past him and started around the house, aware of him on her heels. Persistent. Aggravating. Determined to have his own way. Tyler hadn’t changed—those qualities had intensified, probably from years of surrounding himself with people who always agreed with the boss. Well, he’d have to get used to the fact that this situation was different.

She reached the dry sheets she’d hung out earlier and began taking them down. Tyler let her get one more sheet into the basket before he started in again.

“There’s no reason to suppose it was a stranger, anyway.”

She frowned at him, not sure where he was going with this.

He frowned back. “Well, think about it, Miranda. Why would a stranger go to the trouble of taking a picture of Sammy? How would a stranger even know who he was? Or who his father was?”

Good questions, all of them. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any good answers. She turned it over in her mind as she took a pillowcase off the line.

“I suppose it might be some bizarre string of coincidences. Weird things do happen. Someone visiting the island to whom your name would be familiar, maybe, then finding out about Sammy.”

It sounded weak to her. Judging from Tyler’s expression, it sounded pitiful to him.

“I don’t believe in that wild a coincidence.” He unpinned a sheet and handed her one end, his fingers brushing hers. “How widely known is it that I’m Sammy’s father?”

The only surprising thing was that he hadn’t asked the question sooner. “Islanders know, for the most part.” She carefully didn’t look at him. “Our elopement was quite a sensation. People talk.”

“Gossip.” He sounded uncompromising.

“Talk,” she said again. “But folks here are used to the situation. I don’t think they’d mention it to outsiders, anyway. Islanders protect their own.”

“Unless there’s something in it for them.”

She didn’t know how to combat that kind of cynicism. “You’re wrong, Tyler. No one here would deliberately set out to hurt me or Sammy.”

“Then what’s left?” His brows twitched, impatience returning. “I can’t believe in some kind of random coincidence. You can’t believe your neighbors would meddle. What are we left with? Your family?”

“No!” She planted her fists on her hips. “Tyler, that’s ridiculous. No one in my family would do anything like that.”

“According to you, no one would do it, but it happened.” He ducked under the clothesline, and it brushed the top of his head. The movement brought him within inches of her, and her breath stuttered.

“Get rid of your rose-colored glasses for a minute, Miranda. Someone did this thing. Someone deliberately took a picture of Sammy and sent it to me. Someone who knew I was Sammy’s father and knew how to reach me.”

His words battered her like waves in rough surf. She brushed her hair from her eyes, looking at him.

“Why?” The word came out in a whisper. “Why, Tyler?”

He caught her hands, imprisoning them in his hard grip. “We’ll find out, but you have to help me. We can’t be on opposite sides in this.”





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