Книга - A Daughter’s Trust / For the Love of Family: A Daughter’s Trust / For the Love of Family

A Daughter's Trust / For the Love of Family: A Daughter's Trust / For the Love of Family
Kathleen O'Brien

Tara Taylor Quinn


A Daughter’S TrustSue Bookman wishes she believed that Rick Kraynick would make the best parent for her tiny foster baby. As the girl’s uncle, he’s got a strong claim. But is he blinded by the daughter he lost? And will he ever forgive Sue if she doesn’t choose him? For the Love of Family Belle Carson can’t bring herself to tell Matt Malone that she’s the girl he almost went home with. She needs this job too much. But Belle’s certainly never forgotten him. What’s a girl to do? Stay quiet or tell him the truth…and risk losing him again? A sixty-year-old secret will rock two families to the core!










A Daughter’s Trust


By




Tara Taylor Quinn






And




For the Love of Family


By




Kathleen O’Brien











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





A Daughter’s Trust


By



Tara Taylor Quinn


Dear Reader,



Welcome to THE DIAMOND LEGACY continuity! Four of us authors got together and planned one heck of a present. We had a great time making this happen—and, as we read one another’s stories, we shed some tears, too. Because isn’t that what life is all about? Being there for one another through the ups and downs.



In case you’re wondering if I really believe this stuff, let me assure you, I do. I believe in the messages we send out with every single book: that love is truly strong enough to conquer all, that true love is real, powerful and all around us.



I picked up my first Mills & Boon


novel when I was fourteen. I was waiting in line with my mother at the grocery store. I was bored. There was a cardboard display of books. Take one free, it read. So I did. I read the book, too. And I read a Mills & Boon book a day throughout high school and into college. I told everyone who would listen that I was going to write for Mills & Boon someday. I majored in English in college so I could write for Mills & Boon. I ignored the condescending looks. The naysayers. I learned from the myriad rejection letters that Mills & Boon sent to me—letters where they always encouraged me even while they were telling me my work wasn’t up to their standards. I never gave up. It took six years, but I finally did get that call. They were buying my book! And this year marks the release of my fiftieth original title!

Readers, writers and the publisher that gives us all hope—we have a lot to celebrate.



Tara Taylor Quinn


With over fifty original novels, published in more than twenty languages, TARA TAYLOR QUINN is a USA TODAY bestselling author with over six million copies sold. She is known for delivering deeply emotional and psychologically astute novels. Quinn is a four-time finalist for the RWA RITA


Award, winner of a National Readers Choice Award, a multiple finalist for the Reviewers Choice Award, the Booksellers Best Award and the Holt Medallion. Quinn recently married her college sweetheart, and the couple currently lives in Ohio with their two very demanding and spoiled bosses—four-pound Taylor Marie and fifteenpound rescue mutt/cockapoo Jerry. When shes not writing for Mills & Boon and MIR A Books or fulfilling speaking engagements, Quinn loves to travel with her husband, stopping wherever the spirit takes them. Theyve been spotted in casinos and quaint little small-town antique shops across the country.


For Kelly Barney, a young woman who knows what it means to open her heart to a new family member. I am very, very proud to be a member of your family. You are in my heart forever.




Chapter One


GRANDMA’S FUNERAL WAS ON a Friday. Baby Carrie woke up with a stuffy nose that morning. Camden spat up his formula. Not a good day to leave them with a sitter.

But Sarah Sue Bookman had no choice. At home, alone with her kids, having a baby on each arm was relatively easy. The norm. She could do it in her sleep. Had done it in her sleep.

But inside the sacred walls of Saint Ignatius…with Grandma Sarah really gone…Having to say goodbye…

She had to leave the babies with Barb.



SITTING IN THE SECOND ROW of pews in the hugely imposing, historic San Francisco church, Sue could sense the ghosts of saints around her. In the Italianate architecture, in the candlelit altars lining both sides of the nave.

Approving? Disapproving? Did they know how angry she was? How unwillingly she was giving up Grandma to them?

She tried to focus on the priest, who’d known Grandma Sarah for many years, instead of on the open casket where her body lay.

Sue had expected this day to come eventually. Grandma was eighty years old. But it hurt worse than anything she’d imagined.

Maybe if they’d had warning. Maybe if Grandma had been sick for weeks or months, instead of a few days. Maybe then…

The pastor talked about Sarah Carson’s generosity, her need to love everyone who came into her sphere—most particularly children. Just last week, when Sue had taken the babies on their regular visit to the house in Twin Peaks where her mother had been born and raised, Grandma had insisted Sue leave Camden and Carrie with her and hike a trail to the top of the peak. Something she’d been doing for as long as she could remember.

A hike she’d never take again. At least not from Grandma’s house. Not coming home to iced tea and conversation with the only person she’d ever felt truly safe with.

Father John talked about the one child Sarah had borne, Sam, Sue’s uncle. He was sitting in the front pew with his wife, Emily, and their daughter, Belle, who was two years younger than Sue.

Sarah had raised a fine man in Sam, the priest said, a man who could be relied on to lead the Carson family, to care for them, to carry on in the absence of his parents. With his car dealership that employed almost a hundred people, and his standing in the community, he was a testimony to the life Sarah Carson had lived.

And then the white-robed father looked at the woman sitting next to Sue. He spoke of the infant daughter Sarah Carson and her now deceased, beloved husband, Robert, had adopted. Jenny.

Sue’s mother.

Sue gave her mom’s hand—glued to her with their combined sweat—a comforting squeeze as the priest droned on about Jenny’s life as evidence of the mother Sarah had been. Sue’s father, seated on the other side of his wife with his arm around her, tightened his embrace, and rubbed the side of Sue’s arm with the back of his hand at the same time.

That’s how it had always been with them. Jenny and Luke together through every step of life, keeping Sue firmly within the bonds of their love.

Sue loved them. Yet she’d entertained the uncharitable thought, often enough for her to write her own sentence to hell, that if Jenny had had her way, all three of the Bookmans would dress like triplets.

All the time instead of just the vacation shirts. The Bookmans Take Manhattan. The Bookmans Do Hawaii. The Bookmans Visit Mickey.

When the Bookmans flew to Italy—The Bookmans Roam Rome—Sue had refused to wear the shirt. She would never forget her mother’s crestfallen expression as they’d left the house early that Saturday morning on their way to the airport.

She’d been nine at the time.

And she’d called Grandma Sarah from a pay phone at the airport in lieu of visiting the bathroom as she’d said she was going to do.

Grandma had told her she’d be embarrassed to wear the shirt, too. And she’d reminded Sue that Jenny loved her and only wanted what was best for her family. “Just follow that big heart of yours, my girl, share it, and you’ll be fine.”

It had sounded so easy.

When, in truth, nothing ever was.



“I’LL BE RIGHT BACK, Ma. I need some air.”

How many times in the past twenty years, since that first rebellion back when she was nine, had Sue made excuses like that? I need to use the restroom. I’m going to the water fountain. I’ll be right back…

As usual, they earned her the same concerned and loving look—a glance from her mom that effectively shut out all of the quiet voices floating around them in the crowded vestibule outside the church sanctuary. “You okay, baby?”

Nodding, Sue gave her mother a hug. “I’ll hurry.”

“How’s Belle? I saw you talking to her.”

“About like me. In shock. Can’t imagine life without Grandma.” Sue glanced over to where her cousin was standing with her mother and father, just as Sue was.

As it had always been.

Sam and Emily with Belle attached to Emily’s side. Luke and Jenny with Sue right next to her mother.

All that was left of the Carson family.

Some of Sue’s best childhood memories had been at Grandma Sarah’s house when the adults would be involved in whatever adults did around the table, and she and Belle could escape.

Sue from claustrophobia. Belle from her father.

“I won’t be long,” Sue whispered quickly now as one of Jenny’s longtime high school friends came up to offer condolences and ask how long she and Luke were in town.

Glad for the chance for a breather without having to leave her mom and dad unattended, Sue bolted out into the cool March air.

AS THE GROUNDSMEN lowered the cheap box into the public grave, he stood back, watching, but vowing not to feel. Not to try to understand.

If any mourners had attended the funeral, they’d since left.

Except for the lone onlooker who stood by the grave. A young black woman. A friend?

That he’d had a little sister he’d never known was not a surprise to him. The fact that his drug addict mother had been able to carry a second baby to term was a mystery. But that she’d been permitted to keep the girl—that, he could not comprehend. What kind of society, what kind of child services system, had allowed a mother already proven unfit to teach her daughter the ways of drugs and sex instead of ABC’s?

The fact that the child—a woman of sixteen—was dead, had killed herself, didn’t cause the twitch that suddenly appeared at the side of Rick Kraynick’s eye.

The fact that he cared did that.



THE BURST OF BRISK AIR didn’t alleviate Sue’s claustrophobia as she stood on the steps of St. Ignatius. She had to get away. To take in long clean breaths of ocean breeze. To hear the waves as she watched them crashing to shore and rolling out again.

Grandma Sarah had promised she’d live forever.

Grandma, the one person who’d never judged her. Not that she’d known everything about her granddaughter. Some things no one knew. Or would ever know.

Sue’s secret. Buried. Just like Grandma.

“Hey.”

Recognizing the voice, Sue glanced up. “Joe! Hi.” She’d phoned him. Left a message. She hadn’t expected to see him, even though he’d been her best friend all through high school. The only best friend she’d ever had. But high school had been a long time ago.

Before she’d emasculated him.

Now he was mostly just her boss.

Besides, he’d never met Grandma.

“Your message said one o’clock. Is it over?”

“Yeah. There’s no graveside service since her ashes are to be stored with my grandfather’s in the family vault. Mom and Uncle Sam are having a meal catered at Grandma’s house in Twin Peaks, so we’re heading there next. Would you like to come?”

“I should get back to work. I only stopped because I was in the area.”

Bosses didn’t often stop by churches where employees’ family funerals were taking place.

Old friends did.

“It would really help to have you there,” Sue said, afraid her composure was going to desert her completely.

How in the hell was she going to be able to walk into the house her grandparents had had built back in 1946, and lived in for sixty-three years, without Grandma there?

There’d never been a gathering at the house without Grandma.

Hunched in his trendy, expensive trench coat, Joe stared at her for an uncomfortable moment. And then nodded.

“I can ride over with you, if you’d like,” Sue continued. “Since you don’t know where she lives.” And then, feeling another unexpected stab through her heart, she added, “Lived.”

He didn’t meet her eyes a second time, but his nod was enough. Joe knew her. He understood.

Right now, he was the only tie to sanity she had.



“THANK YOU FOR THIS.”

Glancing at her as they pulled onto Grand View Avenue—a street with eclectic and colorful million-dollar, postwar homes, a street known for its magnificent views of the city and not for it yards, which were almost nonexistent—Joe merely shrugged.

He’d changed so much from the open-hearted boy she’d known, Sue hardly recognized him these days.

“Seems strange, after all this time, for you to meet my folks.”

In her youth, she’d kept him hidden. He’d been her prize. The one part of her life that was solely hers. Until he’d wanted more than friendship. And while she’d been able to give him love, she’d backed out of sex.

Joe grunted. As he found a spot to park in the street just beyond Grandma’s house, he added, “I won’t be able to stay long.” He didn’t crack a smile.

She wasn’t responsible for his divorce. Nor could she get him more time with the daughter she knew he adored. Those hurts had come long after she’d done her little number on him.

“Last week when I called the office, Thea said that you were with your father.” People were going into Grandma’s house. Some Sue recognized. Some she didn’t. Heart pounding, she wasn’t ready to join them.

Joe didn’t comment. She studied him, his close-cropped black hair, his crooked nose and his linebacker body.

“Is he still in town?” She might not get another chance for personal conversation with him for a while. She cared about him.

Besides, Grandma wasn’t in that house at the base of the famous Twin Peaks, wasn’t welcoming her guests.

Joe shrugged.

“How long’s it been since you’d seen him?” During their four years in high school she could only remember a brief visit from Joe’s fisherman father, who’d come down from Alaska for one of the holidays. The checks he was supposed to have sent to his mother, who was raising Joe, were only a little more frequent than his visits.

“A few years.”

“So he knows Kaitlin?” Joe’s ten-year-old daughter.

“They’ve met a time or two.”

“Was he here just to see you?”

“So he says.” The dry tone revealed more than the coldness in Joe’s eyes. “He’s been in town a couple of months.”

“Did he stay with you?”

“No.”

“Why do you think he came?”

“Money?”

“Yours?”

“I’m not aware of anyone else he knows who’d let him sponge off of them.”

“How much did he ask for?”

“None.”

“You gave it to him before he asked so he’d get out of town, right?” It was what this new, emotionally closed Joe Fraser would do. Joe Fraser, commercial real estate broker, loner.

“I’m not giving the man one red cent.”

“And he left without it?”

“No.”

Frowning, Sue tried to decipher that one. Did that mean Adam had found a way to get the money without asking? That someone else had given it to him, after all?

Or that he hadn’t left?

Her mom and dad parked their rental sedan across the street. Jenny stumbled as she got out of the car, and Luke hurried around to help her, steadying her with an arm firmly around her back. His gaze met Sue’s. He whispered something to his wife and they both smiled over. Waved.

Sue waved back and Joe turned to see who was there. She had to go in. They knew she was out here. They’d come looking for her. She swallowed.

“Is your dad still in town?” she asked Joe, instead. Their conversations were generally short-lived, over the phone and strictly about business. Specifically, the books she kept for him.

Joe replied with a brief nod.

“Has he said how long he’s staying?”

“For good. Are you going in there or not?”

A fresh wave of panic washed through her. “You’re coming, aren’t you? Just to meet my folks?”

He hesitated and Sue was afraid he was going to refuse. Then he opened the car door.



“WHO WAS THE HOTTIE?” Belle asked. “Someone new you forgot to tell me about?”

Joe had met Sue’s parents, a polite, uneventful moment considering all of the effort she’d taken in high school to keep them away from each other. And then, making sure they could take Sue home before heading back to their hotel in the city, he’d excused himself.

Sue gave her cousin as much of a grin as she could muster and shook her head. “That was just Joe.”

About sixty people were milling around Grandma’s huge living room, spilling over into the formal dining room and out onto the deck. Her mom and dad were there somewhere. Uncle Sam and Aunt Emily, too.

A lot of the rest Sue didn’t know.

“Joe Fraser?” Belle asked, as they watched people from their vantage point at the foot of the white-banis-tered curving staircase that led to the three bedrooms upstairs: Grandma’s room and, at one point, Jenny’s and Sam’s.

“Yeah.”

“Ah…” Belle sipped the wine she’d poured from a bottle out of Grandpa’s rack on the wall opposite the fireplace. “The Joe,” she added. “I didn’t realize you guys were friends again.”

“We aren’t. We’re friendly, but that’s about it. Joe hasn’t confided in me in years.” She sipped from the glass Belle had poured for her. “If not for the fact that he needed a bookkeeper when I needed a job that would allow me to stay at home with the babies, we probably wouldn’t be in touch at all.”

They’d made their peace. She’d just never again been welcome in the inner circles of Joe’s heart.

“It’s a shame,” Belle said. “He’s gorgeous. Available. And you guys were such good friends.”

“Joe’s changed a lot. And besides, I’ve never been in love with him. Not in that way.”

Belle nodded, and Sue knew she understood. Belle had recently gone against her overbearing father’s wishes and broken up with the man her dad had wanted her to marry. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to fall in love with the young lawyer.

The sound of a glass shattering on Grandma’s hardwood floor made Sue wince. She moved toward the sound, intending to clean up whatever had spilled before it had a chance to soak in, but saw Aunt Emily had got to the mess in the dining room first.

“I’ve already done some checking and found that on average, it’s taking homes a year or more to sell…”

Sue froze, just around the corner from the voice. Her uncle Sam’s.

“So you’re planning to sell?” She didn’t recognize the other voice. It was male.

“Of course. What would I want with this old thing?”

“Nadine and I wondered if perhaps you and Emily would move into it. The place is beautiful. And the views exquisite.”

They were talking about Grandma’s home.

“God, no! I wouldn’t live in a seventy-year-old house. I want copper pipes and insulation that works.”

This is your mother’s home, you jerk. His childhood home. Not that sentimentality had ever mattered one whit to Uncle Sam.

“So it is going to you, then?” The other man continued to butt in to family matters that were none of his business.

“Of course.” Uncle Sam’s voice boomed with confidence. “We meet with the attorney this week, and I’m sure I’mexecutor of the estate. I am Robert and Sarah’s only biological child. Their only heir.”

“Oh!” The other man’s surprise was evident. “I didn’t realize…I mean, Jenny’s always…”

“Been adopted,” Sam said drily. “I am the only true Carson and I know my father well enough to be sure that while he’ll have taken care of Jenny, the bulk of the estate will come to me…”

“Oh, God, Sue, don’t listen to him.”

Sue jumped as Belle spoke just behind her. Her cousin put a hand on her arm, resting her chin on Sue’s shoulder. “He’s an ass. It means nothing…”

“He’s right,” Sue said. “He is the only Carson by blood.”

“So?”

“I never realized he resented my mother so much.”

“He resents the world because he’s not God,” Belle said, mimicking her father’s tone.

Turning, Sue met her cousin’s caring gaze. “Did you ever resent me, growing up?” she asked. “I was two years older, and so close to Grandma. And your dad’s right, you had blood ties. I didn’t.”

“As if it mattered,” Belle said, flipping Sue’s ponytail affectionately, “to anyone but him. And I was as close to Grandpa as you were to Grandma.” They walked toward the kitchen—and relative peace. “The only thing I resented about you, my dear, was that you had parents who really loved each other. And you.”

Sue could have placated Belle with meaningless words, but they both knew the truth. Emily Carson loved Belle with all her heart. At one point, she’d probably loved Sam that way, too.

But somewhere along the way Sam Carson, the heir apparent and new head of the family, had become one very difficult man to love.




Chapter Two


THIRTY-ONE-YEAR-OLD Assistant Superintendent of Schools Rick Kraynick was slowly getting used to eating alone. Living alone.

Thinking alone.

What he didn’t usually do was drink alone. Or drink, period. He’d seen firsthand what substance abuse could do to a person. And while there were days, too many of them if he was honest with himself, when he didn’t much care about his health and well-being, he wasn’t going to be a burden to society.

So he should have felt right at home at the Castro Country Club Friday night. On 18th Street, the club wasn’t far from Twin Peaks, one of Rick’s favorite jogging spots in his younger days. And a favorite picnic place for him and Hannah…

Look out there, Daddy. You can see the whole world from here!

Nodding to the folks—mostly men of varying ages—hanging out on the faux marble steps leading into the old white Victorian mansion whose first floor housed the Castro Country Club, Rick tried not to let

his mind wander. To think beyond the moment. The current goal.

He’d spent the afternoon trying to find the woman who’d given birth to him. She wasn’t at the address he had for her. No one had been home in the place where she supposedly rented rooms. Her phone service had been shut off—again.

He had no idea where she was working. If she still was. Just because Nancy Kraynick had had a job last week didn’t mean she’d still be employed today.

The older woman who’d been hanging clothes out at the house next door had eventually suggested he check “the club” for his mother. After some prompting, and a five-dollar bill, she’d remembered the name of the place.

Turned out Castro House was a coffeehouse that held substance abuse recovery meetings. And offered former addicts a place to hang out and talk, to bond with others fighting the same battles.

What she hadn’t told him was that it was largely a gay men’s establishment. Which might be fine for his female mother. Rick, on the other hand, was pretty certain, by the glances he was receiving, that he was raising false hopes. His instincts telling him to get the hell out, he approached the espresso counter and ordered a mocha he didn’t want.

Luck would have it that this Friday, because he’d taken the day off and was on a mission, he was sporting a pair of worn, close-fitting jeans. With a long-sleeved cotton baseball shirt that had seen too many washings.

He’d been going for comfort. And no flash.

In this place, tight-fitting clothes—no matter how old, were flash.

Paying for his coffee, pretending not to see the smile the volunteer barista bestowed upon him, Rick turned, taking in as much of the room as he could without making eye contact.

As far as he could tell, his mother wasn’t here.

But then, it’d been years since he’d seen her. Would he even recognize her?

“Have a seat…” A man about Rick’s age pulled out the second chair at a table for two.

“Uh, thanks, but…I’m looking for someone,” he said, sipping too quickly. He burned his tongue.

“Who?” the casually dressed man asked. “I might know him. We’re all pretty friendly around here.”

“Nancy Kraynick. You know her?” Not that she was probably going by that name now. After all, it was only her legal designation, which didn’t seem to compel her to actually introduce herself that way. Growing up, he’d heard her called many different things. Some not so nice labels.

“Yeah,” the guy said, surprising Rick. “She’s been a regular around here, on and off, for the past couple of years.” Rick had to wonder, was Lothario telling the truth or just looking for an opening?

“Have you seen her today?” Rick asked.

“No. But then I just got here. You a friend of hers?”

He couldn’t bring himself to claim even that close an association. “No.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t some john, are you? Because I have to tell you, she’s through with that. Has been for some time. So if you’re looking to get something from her, you’d best try looking someplace else.”

Protectiveness? From a man…toward Rick’s mother?

This guy must not know her well. He hadn’t had time to see that her lies were only skin-deep.

His mother always had been able to spin the most believable yarns. Especially believable to a young man who’d adored her and needed badly to believe she would straighten herself out and make a home for him. With her.

Problem was, Nancy Kraynick’s yarns had always become tangled in the knots of drug abuse, and in alcohol stupors that went on for months.

“No, I’m not a john,” he said now, biting back his disgust at the woman his mother was—a woman who’d had johns to ask about.

The pretty man frowned. “She’s not in trouble, is she?”

“Probably, but that’s not why I’m here.”

The guy studied him and then pulled out the empty chair. “You look troubled,” he said. “Have a seat. Maybe Nancy will show.”

“No thanks.” Rick couldn’t even pretend he had an appointment, pretend he’d stay if he could. Five minutes and he’d had enough of this place.

There were other ways he could find out what he needed. He had a name and address of someone who could probably help him, thanks to Chenille Langston, the young black girl who’d stayed behind after Christy’s small funeral. The name and address of a woman who apparently had another Kraynick in her care…A name and address he shouldn’t use. And he had official options, too, which would inevitably involve red tape—and probably require evidence of things that might take a while to prove.

If what he’d been told at the cemetery this morning was true, his whole life was about to change. Again. He needed information. Confirmation. His mother had seemed the obvious source. Stupid of him to think his mom would ever—ever—have answers for him.

An hour later, standing in his en suite shower in the Sunset district home he’d shared with Hannah, Rick scrubbed until his skin stung.

Then he stood, leaning an arm against the wall, head bowed, as he let the hot water cascade over his back.

A year ago, life had been great. He’d been the single dad of a great kid, with a world of possibilities ahead for both of them. Tonight he was the son of a druggie; the older brother of a dead sister he never knew about; a grieving father.

They’d told him it would get easier. That as time passed, the violence of the grief raging through him would lessen.

They’d lied.



MOST OF THE CROWD WAS gone by nightfall. Sue slipped upstairs, to call Barb, from the bedroom she’d always slept in on visits to Grandma.

“I’m finished sooner than I thought,” she said, keeping her voice low, for no logical reason. Old habits, conditioning—a need to keep her private life private—died hard. “I’d like to swing by and pick up my brood.”

Emily and Belle were in the kitchen, overseeing the caterers. Uncle Sam was downstairs, too, probably in the living room, cataloguing his take. Or checking that no one had taken anything yet. Not until he directed who would get what.

“Wilma called. She told me to keep them all night, no matter what you said. You need this night to yourself.” Barb’s tone was sympathetic. “Besides, they’re already asleep.”

Glancing at her watch, Sue realized it was after nine o’clock. Far too late to be making this call. Wilma, a foster care supervisor, was right. Sue wasn’t ready to take up motherhood again tonight.

“I’ll be there first thing in the morning,” she said, missing the young charges in her care. Missing the busy-ness, the unconditional acceptance of love. “Don’t worry about breakfast. I’ll get them early enough to feed them at home.”

Closing her cell phone, sliding it back into the case at her hip, Sue took the deep breath necessary to go back downstairs—but stopped. Someone was upstairs. Crying.

Following the sound down the hall to Grandma’s room, Sue pushed open the door. Her mother, sitting in the off-white Queen Anne chair in the corner by Sarah’s bed, had her face buried in a nightgown she’d given Grandma for Christmas.

“Hey.” Sue fought her own tears as she knelt at her mom’s feet. “Come on, you shouldn’t be up here alone.” She’d said the first thing that came to her mind, though there was no reason why Jenny shouldn’t be visiting her own mother’s room.

Jenny started, clutching the hand Sue placed on her knee. “I…she was…I loved her so much,” she said.

“I know.” Tears filled Sue’s eyes and she could hardly speak as her throat closed up. “Where’s Dad?” she managed to ask after a moment.

“In the bathroom.”

Sue’s gaze followed her mother’s around the room, taking in the long dresser covered with tiny antique perfume bottles on top of doilies Sarah had stitched herself. The collection of miniature porcelain animals. The tall bureau that had been her grandfather’s, still holding his key valet and an encased Giants baseball he’d caught on a fly at a World Series game.

“Not once in all my years growing up did they ever make me feel as though I didn’t belong to them,” Jenny said.

And that’s when Sue realized. “You heard Uncle Sam, too.”

“It’s not like he’s ever tried to hide how he feels,” Jenny said. “I love my brother, Sue. I see the insecurity behind all of his blustering. I just wish he’d see that I’m not and never have been a threat.”

“I can’t stand to be in the same room with him,” Sue said. “He’s just plain cruel…”

“Everything he says is true.”

“That everything here belongs to him?”

“That he’s the only true Carson child.”

“Mom! I can’t believe you’re saying that! We belong here as much as he does.”

“And what we care about, the things that were dear to Grandma and Grandpa, the pictures, the things that hold memories, Sam won’t want, anyway. It’s going to be fine, honey. I can’t let him upset me like this.”

“Who’s upsetting you, Jen?” Luke came into the room and Sue stood, giving her father a hug. Her parents had flown in from their home in Florida two days before. They’d been in town over Christmas, but she’d missed them more than usual this time around.

“Sam,” Jenny answered.

“Well, then that makes three of us he’s getting to, huh?” Luke pulled his wife to her feet, an arm around her and one still around Sue. “How about the Bookmans go face the dragon together?”



HEART POUNDING Monday morning, Rick listened to the phone ring. Once. Twice.

Come on, he willed Ms. Sue Bookman—the faceless woman who, at the moment, meant more to him than anyone else in the world.

A third ring. And a fourth.

Answer your phone.

He didn’t know her age, her race or her marital status. He just knew she held his future in her hands.

And that she lived just outside the Bay Area.

The Internet phone listing matched the address he’d been given at the cemetery.

“Hi, it’s me. I’m probably changing diapers. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

She was changing diapers.

“Sue, my name is Rick Kraynick. I’m assistant superintendent of Livingston schools…” He wanted her to know he was a good guy. Trusted around children. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with you. Please call me as soon as possible. Thank you.”

There. That should do it.

Sitting back at the huge, glass-topped desk in his corner office on the fourth floor of the district building, Rick almost smiled. He’d made the call. Nothing was going to stop him.




Chapter Three


GRANDMA’S ASHES WEREN’T even in the vault before Sue’s uncle arranged the meeting for the reading of the will. He ’d said his urgency was out of respect for Jenny and Luke, who had a home in Florida to return to, but Sue didn’t buy that for a second.

Sam Carson, in an impressive gray suit, paced the foyer of the high-rise building that housed the lawyer’s office more like an expectant father than a grieving son.

“Mom said he’s been chomping at the bit all weekend,” Belle whispered to Sue as the two stood together on Tuesday morning across from the reception counter, much more casually dressed, in good pants and blouses, in a quiet corner of the high-rise entryway. They were sharing a cup of bad coffee neither of them wanted while they waited to be called to the first-floor office. Sue held the cup while Belle gently bounced Camden up and down, soothing the little guy back to sleep.

Baby Carrie was good for another hour, snoozing in the pack on Sue’s back.

Jenny and Luke had not yet arrived from their hotel a short walk down the street.

“Thank goodness Stan Wilson’s not here yet,” Sue whispered back when Sam stopped to say something to his wife, who was sitting on a chair in the opposite corner, reading a magazine. “At least Mom and Dad won’t be blamed for making your dad wait.”

Stan Wilson had been handling Grandma’s affairs for only a couple of years. Their longtime attorney, Mitch Taylor, had retired shortly after Grandpa’s death.

Sue wondered if Mr. Wilson had met Sam Carson yet.

“Dad makes me sick,” Belle said. “It’s not like he needs any of Grandma’s money.”

“Maybe he’ll relax a bit when he’s officially God Carson,” Sue said, then bit her tongue. After a long talk with her parents Friday night at their hotel—where she’d opted to sleep over rather than have them drive all the way out to her place—she was supposed to try her best to love her uncle. Her mother had always insisted that Sam loved all of them. He just had…issues.

Well, so did the rest of them.

Of course, it was a little easier for Jenny to be understanding these days. She had Luke as a buffer. And they lived in Florida. Out of Sam’s reach.

Sam didn’t mess with Sue, either, but she sure hated to see how much grief he gave Belle.

And Emily.

Sue’s phone vibrated against her hip. Juggling the coffee in one hand and the stuffed diaper bag on the opposite shoulder, she checked to see who was calling.

In her business, she never knew. The state might have someone who wanted to see one of her charges. More importantly, they could have an emergency and need someone to take a baby immediately.

Which was why she had her home phone calls forwarded to her cell anytime she was away.

She didn’t recognize the number.

But because she didn’t want to get stuck making small talk with her uncle, who was heading toward Belle, Sue listened to the message.

She didn’t know any Rick Kraynick, assistant superintendent of Livingston schools.

Had never heard of him.

He wasn’t from child services…

The revolving door from the outside spun around. From behind the pillar practically blocking her from the cold air, Sue could make out two people, not her parents. Both were tall. And broad. And…

“Joe?” she called out, sliding her phone back into its case. She walked over, taking in the man at her boss’s side. He was older, in his fifties, Sue would guess. Gray hair. With eyes that, while not the same dark blue as Joe’s, seemed equally impenetrable. Another strong, silent type?

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Weird that he’d show up on the very morning she was waiting to hear Grandma Sarah’s last requests.

“Business,” Joe said, guiding her away from the other man without any acknowledgment whatsoever. As though he wanted to make sure they didn’t meet. “A nine o’clock appointment. How about you?”

“Me, too,” she said, feeling awkward standing talking to him with a baby on her back. Joe didn’t seem to notice. “Nine o’clock.”

Even after several years of working for him, of being peripheral acquaintances, she still had trouble with the new Joe. She missed her friend. More this week than usual. “Grandma’s will is going to be read.”

He frowned. “I’m here for a will, too.”

“Oh!” Sue’s hand found its way to his arm before she could worry if she’d offend her employer. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “Who died?”

“It’s not for me.” Joe glanced back to the man who’d come in with him. Dressed in a beige trench coat, with shoulders hunched up to his ears, the older gentleman had spoken to the receptionist and was standing alone in the foyer, apparently in a world of his own. “I’m just here with him.”

“Who is he?” she asked. But she thought she knew. The eyes might be different colors, but there was something so…alike…

“My father.”

The infamous Adam Fraser. “He’s a lot more muscular looking than I pictured him,” she said, trying not to stare. There’d been a time when she’d wanted five minutes alone in a room with that man.

A time when she’d thought about writing to him, begging him to come home to his son.

A time when she’d hated him for all the pain and rejection he’d put Joe through.

“Comes from years on a fishing boat,” Joe said drily. He had his back to the man. “Who’s that?” he asked, nodding to her right.

Sue turned. Smiled at her cousin’s curious stare. Sam had moved on. “Belle.”

“Your cousin. She’s a couple of years younger than you.”

He’d remembered. “Right.”

“Is the baby hers?” Camden was sleeping, snuggled against Belle’s chest as though he belonged there.

Infants had an uncanny ability to adapt.

Especially ones who’d been passed from one pair of arms to another since taking their first breath.

“No.” Sue shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Belle’s not married. That’s Camden. He’s mine, too.”

With one last pointed look, Belle moved over to join her mother. Uncle Sam had disappeared. Probably to go check on Stan Wilson himself since the receptionist hadn’t yet produced him. Had he really been waiting for his mother to die so he could take over the Carson dynasty?

A dynasty of six.

“She’s cute.”

Joe’s words brought Sue back to the slight chill of the high-ceilinged foyer. She glanced over at Belle again, and then realized Joe was staring at the baby on her back.

“That she is,” she said, remembering the changing table that morning. She’d rubbed her face against the baby’s belly and Carrie had chortled out loud. The sound, one she’d heard countless times from more than fifteen babies over the past four years, had calmed her. Reminding her that everything would be okay. It always was. If you held on long enough.

“What’s her name?”

“Carrie.” Chosen by her mother.

“How long have you had her?”

“Since she was twelve hours old. Almost five months, now.”

“What happened to her parents?”

“There was no father named. Her mother’s young, has no means to care for her.”

The room was cold. The day was cold. Not even the memory of Joe’s friendship could warm her.

Grandma was gone. For good.

“I thought there was always a waiting list for newborns.”

“Her mother won’t give her up. She has six months to complete a state-ordered program as part of the process of getting her back.”

“How long until she regains custody?”

“Depends on the mother. Could be months. A year or two. Never. In the meantime, because she can’t be adopted, I keep the baby.”

“You could have her for years?”

“I could.” Sue couldn’t allow herself to consider the possibility or she’d get too attached. “It’s not likely, though. I’m sure her mother will come through. She wants this baby more than anything. In all my years of fostering, I’ve never had a baby for more than nine months.”

And in all the years she’d worked for Joe, he’d never asked her a single question about the kids in her care.

“And you had no problem giving it up after all that time?”

Now he was trespassing. “Having problems is relative,” she said. Her last long-term baby had been with her seven months. Dante’s mother had loved her son enough to straighten out her life. She’d visited every single day those last couple of months. Handing him over to her had been as much a celebration as it had been a loss.

“There’s always another one,” she said now, hoping that Dante’s mom was still as dedicated to her boy when he was three and four and into everything as she’d been when he was a cuddly little baby.

The revolving door at the front of the foyer turned again, admitting a middle-aged man with a briefcase and a cell phone pressed to his ear who disappeared through one of many identical doors.

Where were her parents?

And then something else dawned on Sue.

“I thought you and your dad’s half brother, your uncle Daniel, were your dad’s only family.” Joe had said so when his grandma Jo had passed away several years before.

“We are.”

“Your uncle didn’t die, did he?”

“No. He’s still here in San Francisco. Still in construction.” Though she’d never met Daniel Kane, Sue felt as though she knew him. Joe had idolized him.

Only nine years older, Daniel had been there when Joe was young, and hadn’t seemed to mind him tagging along. Adam’s and Daniel’s mother was Joe’s Grandma Jo—the woman who’d raised all three.

Daniel had given Joe his start in the construction business.

“So who passed away?” Sue asked again, staring at the man who’d fathered—and then abandoned—her onetime best friend. “Someone from his dad’s side?”

Adam Fraser’s father had been a soldier in World War II. He’d made it back from the war only to be killed in a car accident before Adam was even born. But apparently no one from his dad’s family had ever tried to see Adam. Or be a part of his life.

“He says he doesn’t know what’s going on.” Joe sounded more bored than anything. “He claims he got a call from some attorney and was told he needed to be here this morning for the reading of a will.”

“Surely the guy gave him the name of the deceased.”

“Yeah, but he says he doesn’t have any idea who the woman is.”

“That’s odd.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You don’t believe him. You think he knows?”

“How many people get calls out of the blue telling them they’re supposedly named in a will of someone they’ve never met?”

“It happens.”

“On TV.”

“So what reason could he possibly have for lying?”

“Because he has something to hide?”

“Then why bring you along?”

“How do I know? I barely know the man.”

Hard to believe she’d once been privy to Joe’s every thought.

“You’re here.”

“He’s my father.”

That sounded like the Joe she’d known.

Uncle Sam strode back down the hall toward the foyer just as the revolving door turned again. Sue’s parents had arrived. Belle, still cuddling a sleeping Camden, stood with her mother to greet them.

And Sue’s cell phone vibrated against her hip. She recognized the number. Please God, she prayed silently as she turned from Joe to take the call. Let my third crib be filled. Not another one emptied…

Sue barely had time to finish the call—and certainly no time to digest the information—as her parents moved toward her. She forced a smile, keeping her news to herself, trying not to look at the little guy in Belle’s arms—a baby she’d cared for, almost exclusively, for five months. She had only six more hours to keep him close to her heart before she had to hand him over. And never see him again.



“I’M SORRY, MR. KRAYNICK. I appreciate your candor and your intentions here. I understand your situation, but unfortunately, I can’t give you access to the baby. It does appear, by these documents, that you and the mother’s baby could be half brother and sister, but…”

Frustrated beyond belief, Rick already knew what the woman—State Worker Number Four—was going to say. He’d been hearing the same news, in various versions and from various people, for the past three days, which was why that morning he’d finally used the information he’d been given at the cemetery.

Ever since he’d heard from that young girl that his sixteen-year-old sister had had a baby, he’d been unable to think of anything else.

The city’s social services network had verified that the infant existed. But they couldn’t possibly expose a baby girl to a complete stranger on his word that he was family. It didn’t help matters that he’d admitted he’d never even met his sister.

He’d hoped producing his birth certificate, to compare with the one they could get for Christy, would verify their relationship. Would change things.

Turns out birth certificates were pretty easy to duplicate. And alter.

“What about DNA testing?” he asked now, as he faced the middle-aged black woman who at least smiled with compassion, as opposed to state worker numbers two and three. “If I prove I’m her biological uncle, then I can start adoption proceedings, right?”

State Worker Number One, on Saturday morning, had been too new at his job to do anything other than worry about getting things right.

Monday’s worker had given Rick nothing but repeated explanations about the way San Francisco’s system worked. Yes, the city was the official guardian of the child. The city had custody. But the child’s welfare and care were given over to a private organization.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Tuesday’s worker replied with a slow shake of the head. “We don’t have the money to provide DNA testing and—

“I’ll pay for it.”

“Do you have any idea how far backed up the state’s labs are?” she asked. “They’ve got criminal evidence waiting to be tested. It could take months before you get any results. Certainly weeks.”

“And how long will the baby be in foster care?”

The woman scanned the file for a moment. And looked up at him, eyes filled with sympathy. “Probably not long.” She didn’t elaborate. But Rick had a feeling she knew more than she was saying.

“So how do I get them to hold off doing anything with her? At least until I can prove we’re blood related?”

“You could go to court. Petition for a hearing. That might put a stay on an adoption. If you’re interested in adopting her, I’m fairly certain they’d give you some time. Would you like to fill out an adoption application?”

“Yes. Please.” He didn’t ask himself what he was doing. There was no question here. If the orphaned child was a member of his family, she belonged with him. He’d take care of her. Period.

The kind woman handed him a sheaf of papers. “You can start here,” she said. “But there’s no guarantee of anything. While it’s true the state of California always tries to place children with family if at all possible, even if it’s proved that you’re the child’s uncle, it’s possible that someone else equally qualified could step forward.”

Equally qualified? As in, also blood related?

Was that what the woman had read in the file? Was there someone from the baby’s father’s side?

“It would help so much if you’d known the baby’s mother. If you’d spent time with the child…” If you’d been around to help your sister when she’d been pregnant and struggling, Rick figured the lady was thinking. “But walking in cold like this, after the fact, it’s hard to believe you’ve suddenly developed the kind of love it takes to raise a child.”

His mother was the reason Rick had never known about Christy. Okay, so he hadn’t been in touch in years. He had been in touch since Christy’s birth. A couple of times.

His mother. She’d seen the baby. Was that what this woman had just read? That Nancy Kraynick was petitioning for custody of Christy’s little girl?

Surely not.

Pray God, not.

“Or if you were her father…”

He’d been a father. A damn good one.

“Our emphasis has to be on the children. On their long-term well-being. And really, the decision at this point isn’t even ours. You’d have to contact WeCare Services. They’re the organization in charge of Carrie’s case.”

His fight wasn’t with this woman. She’d done more to help him than anyone else in the past four days. She’d just given him the name of the organization that employed Sue Bookman.

Another official contact.

Taking his paperwork, he thanked her and left.

He had to find a way to see the child. Not to convince a court to let him adopt her because he’d seen her, but because he had to see his little sister’s baby. Especially if she could be adopted out before he had a chance to petition for her himself. He had to know she was okay.

And to promise her that, somehow, whether she was adopted or not, he would not abandon her. He was not going to take any chances that another life would be lost.

According to Chenille Langston, his sister’s fifteen-year-old friend who’d talked to him at the grave site, Christy had loved and wanted this baby enough to “stay off the junk” during her entire pregnancy.

Out in his car, Rick checked his cell phone again, waiting to see if the Bookman woman had called him back. Seeing the empty message box, he dialed his lawyer.




Chapter Four


WHILE HER FIRST INSTINCT was to grab Camden and run, Sue left the baby in her cousin’s arms, falling in beside her parents, behind Belle and Uncle Sam and Aunt Emily, as they all made their way down the hall to the lawyer’s office suite. Joe had been in conversation with his father as she’d left.

Probably just as well. Sue and Joe just didn’t seem to have that much to say to each other these days.

The room was furnished with expensively upholstered couches for two, four of them, gathered around a central, cherry table laid with eight packets. A ninth chair, a high-backed desk chair, filled one of the corners of the meeting area.

Luke and Jenny were the first to sit. Sam and Emily took the couch next to theirs. That left two couches. One for Belle and Camden? The other for Sue and Carrie?

Belle sat, settling the sleeping baby boy more comfortably against her.

Sue preferred to stand.

Uncle Sam had opened the packet in front of him. Was shifting through papers as though he owned them all.

The papers. And the people in the room, too.

As Belle said, it wasn’t as if Grandma’s money was a big deal compared to his own bank account. Okay, so the house, built for a pittance back in the ’40s, was probably worth a million or more, but then Uncle Sam’s house would probably sell for that in California’s current market. And other than the house, the most valuable thing Grandma had was the diamond necklace Grandpa had given her when they’d married. It had been his mother’s, a gift from his father. And his grandmother’s before that.

Sue lost track of how many generations the necklace had been in the family, how many greats it went back, but she loved the story that went with the cherished piece. Had never tired of hearing it.

It had arrived in California with the Dale Carson who’d first come to America from Scotland. The son of itinerant farm workers. He’d fallen in love with the daughter of one of the wealthy gentlemen farmers he’d worked for, but their plans to marry were discovered. And the aggrieved father put an end to their affair. His love had given the young man the only thing of value she had with her—her necklace—and told him to use it for passage to America, where he could at least have the hope of a more promising future.

The young man had made it to America, working his way across the ocean in the bowels of a ship. The necklace, they said, he’d kept hidden away. And years later, in his new land, his new home, he gave it to the woman he married.

The necklace became a symbol. Hard work would get Carsons where they needed to be. They didn’t ever have to sell out; if things got tough, they just had to work harder.

As far as jewelry went, the piece was probably extremely valuable.

And Sue didn’t give a hoot.

She wanted her grandmother back…

Jenny and Luke held their packets, unopened. Belle picked up hers.

Sue didn’t give a damn what any of them read. What any sheets in the packet said.

She didn’t need goods.

She needed Grandma Sarah.

Jenny had Luke. Belle had Emily. Sam had Sam.

Sue used to have Sarah.

And…there were two extra packets on the table, in addition to Sue’s. What was that about?

The door to the room opened again. Sue recognized Stan. She’d met him once; she’d joined Grandma for lunch a couple of years ago after Sarah had had an appointment with the lawyer. They’d all walked out of this high-rise building together.

She’d have smiled, greeted him, in spite of the heaviness of her heart, except that…Stan wasn’t alone. Staring, she tried to make sense of the presence of the two men entering right behind her grandmother’s lawyer.

What were Joe and his dad doing there? Looking for someone? An attorney associate, perhaps?

“Good morning, everyone. Good, you’re seated. Going over the information.” Stan spoke quickly. Too quickly. “Gentlemen, have a seat.” He pointed from Joe and his father to the empty couch. “Can I get anyone coffee?”

Joe’s father sat. Joe stood behind him. Next to Sue.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

Uncle Sam, his jaw tight, stared suspiciously at the newcomers. “Stan? Is there some mistake here?”

“No, Sam. This is Adam Fraser and his son, Joe. Sarah asked that I contact them to be here this morning.”

Sue and Belle exchanged a glance. Luke and Jenny opened their packets. Emily studied the one she’d yet to open. Sue could feel the tension tightening her body and stealing air from the room. If this Adam Fraser guy got anything from Grandma, Uncle Sam was going to cause one hell of a scene.

One of his worst nightmares since Grandpa died was that some freeloader would take advantage of Sarah.

And from what Sue knew of Adam Fraser, he fit the freeloader bill.

Oh, God, please. Enough is enough. No scenes between my uncle and my boss today okay?

And while she was asking, she sent up a quick request for brevity. Her minutes with Camden were ticking away.

Not to mention divvying up Grandma’s stuff just seemed so…barbaric. Heartless.

Divvying up her stuff made her seem…gone.

“So—” the lawyer adjusted his gray-and-white-striped tie as he sat, keeping on the gray jacket that perfectly matched his pants “—let’s get started, shall we?” He glanced at Joe and Sue. And at the empty spaces on the couches. “Shall I get a couple more seats?”

“No,” Sue and Joe answered simultaneously.

Sue added, “I’m fine. I prefer to stand.”

Everyone in the room was looking at her and Joe.

She’d made it through four years of high school as best friends with Joe Fraser without ever having to introduce him to her family. And four days after she did introduce him, he’d showed up in a very private family meeting.

It was like something from The Twilight Zone.

“I’m good, too,” Joe said. And Sue wondered what he was really thinking behind that cool facade.

She tried to focus on anything but Grandma being gone. And Camden going.

She wondered who Rick Kraynick was and what emergency he had that he thought she could help with.

And she remembered she needed diapers.

Stan had them all open their documents. Adam handed one set back to Joe and one to Sue. Neither bothered opening them. The lawyer started to read—legal stuff about the history of last wills and testaments, about the sound minds of Sarah and Robert as they’d drawn up their bequests. About probate and executors. And then, so calmly Sue almost missed it, he announced that he’d been named as executor of Sarah Carson’s will.

No one looked at Sam, except Sue. She stared straight at him, saw the stiffening of his shoulders as he sat upright. Watched the red rise in his face. Obviously, in his perusal of the pages, he’d missed the executor part. Or hadn’t yet read that far.

Sue’s stomach, filled with nervous tension, threatened to send her to the restroom as she contemplated what else Uncle Sam hadn’t yet gotten to in those papers. What else was soon to be disclosed.

“Why are you really here?” Sue whispered to the man standing so stiffly beside her. He had to know. He had to tell her.

Someone had to do something before Uncle Sam exploded.

“I have no idea,” Joe whispered back.

Sue’s gaze shot to him. His lips were tight, the nerves in his throat pulsing.

“You sound worried.”

“With my dad, I never know what to expect.”

Yes, but what could abandonment or drinking habits have to do with Grandma Sarah? Unless the man had swindled her grandmother out of her small fortune? But if that were the case, the swindler wouldn’t be invited to the unveiling of his sins, would he? Not with the family gathered.

“Now.” Stan Wilson cleared his throat, crossing one leg over the other. “Before I get to the actual will, I have a short letter Sarah asked me to read to you.”

Sam sat forward, elbows on his knees. He reminded Sue of a cat looking at a fat, cornered mouse. Or an insecure man who was worried that, once again, what he felt was rightfully his was going to be stolen away…

A tiny foot jabbed her in the back, and Sue slowly swayed back and forth, tuning in to the little girl whose weight was a welcome reminder that life existed outside this room. Outside the horrible gray that seemed to color everything since Grandma Sarah had died.

“She left me with some hard news to deliver,” Stan continued, his expression serious. He glanced at Adam Fraser, and Sue’s stomach tightened right along with the male fist at her side. “I’ve dealt with a few grieving families so far in my career, but I’ve never had a situation quite like this. I ask you all to bear with me and forgive me in advance if I don’t do this well.”

“Just read the damn letter, Stan. We’re fine,” Sam said, with the authority of one who believed he had the right to speak for everyone.

With her father’s condescending tone ringing through the room, Belle shot Sue a glance. Rolled her eyes. And Sue was reminded of a hundred other times she and Belle had commiserated over their dysfunctional family.

Then her eyes landed on Camden and she had to look away. She’d given away fifteen infants. She was used to it. Fine with it. It was a part of the job she accepted. Today, she had no idea how she was going to pull it off.

Stan unfolded a piece of blue stationary, and even from her vantage point, Sue recognized Sarah’s distinctive, flowing handwriting.

“ ‘My dearests, it is with a very full heart that I sit down to write to you. First, because I know that by the time you get this, I will be gone from this earth, from you. Sam, Jenny, Emily, Luke, Belle and my sweet Sue, I loved you all so much.’”

Sue’s neck ached. Her back ached. Her head started to ache. Tears filled her eyes.

“ ‘And it is with great difficulty that I tell you, in death, what I could not bring myself to tell you in life, with hopes that somehow the truth will serve you well.’”

Frozen, Sue stood there. Grandma had secrets? She didn’t believe it. Not for a second. Grandma Sarah had been the most perfect individual Sue had ever known. She’d spent her life trying to be even half the woman Grandma was.

“ ‘My husband, Robert Carson, fathered three children. Our son, Sam, and our adopted daughter, Jenny. And Adam Fraser. Adam is Robert’s firstborn son by a matter of weeks. Jenny was born later, to the same woman who gave birth to Adam.’”

Sam jumped up. “That’s a lie!” His accusing gaze went from the lawyer to Adam Fraser and back, as though the two of them had concocted this scheme.

Adam’s reaction, in comparison, was almost nonexistent, though the words he uttered softly were almost the same. “That’s impossible.”

Joe didn’t move at all.

“Oh, my God,” Jenny murmured, her mouth open, the papers in her hand trembling as she started to cry.

“What the hell!” Sam’s outburst spewed spittle. “You expect me to believe that my father was a cheat who had two bastard children?”

“Sam, sit down,” the lawyer ordered. There was no mistaking the underlying warning that while Sam was in his office, he’d either do as Stan said, or be removed.

Sue glanced at Belle, more out of habit than anything else. Sue felt cold. And hot. And confused. Her mind reeled as she tried to take in the ramifications of what they were hearing.

“Robert was my biological grandfather?” She directed the question to Stan, but in fact just wanted out of this nightmare.

“Yes.”

“My father was really my father.” Jenny’s voice was weak, disbelieving.

“It’s all a bunch of lies,” Sam spat. “Someone put her up to this, blackmailed her to write that. My mother would never have stood for such a thing. She’d never have raised her husband’s bastard child.”

“Watch yourself,” Luke said quietly, with a menace that Sue had never heard from him before. He pulled Jenny closer, looking for Sue at the same time. She met his gaze briefly, and then, when tears threatened again, she turned away.

Someone had to stay rational here. To make sense of this. To get them all out of it.

“Billy Fraser was my father,” Adam said, his volume almost rivaling Sam’s now. “He died in a car accident just months before I was born.”

“Billy Fraser?” Sam asked, his eyes hard as he stared at the man who, if any of this was true, was his half brother. “He was Dad’s best friend. They went to high school together. Fought in the war together.”

“And he died before Adam was conceived.” Stan’s words dropped like bombs between them.

“This is all wrong,” Sam yelled, as though if he spoke loudly enough he’d convince them all. “My mother was out of her mind.”

“I assure you Sarah was in full faculty and acting of her own accord when she brought this letter to me,” Stan said, holding up a folder. “There are other documents here—Jenny’s original birth certificate, adoption papers, blood work that was done shortly after Adam was born. If you still aren’t convinced, you could have DNA tests done, but I don’t think you’ll find that necessary after you look at all of this.”

“You’re telling us my father was unfaithful to my…adoptive mother?” Jenny asked.

“That’s preposterous.” Sam stood again, moved toward the coffee cart in the far corner of the room, but didn’t go so far as to pour himself a cup. “There’s no way my father would have done this!” More quietly, he added, “Dad was not a womanizer. He was loyal.”

For once, her uncle seemed to be truly at a loss.

“And this man—” Jenny, with tears still on her lashes, glanced to her left “—you…are my brother? My…full brother?”

Adam didn’t move. But he stared back. Almost as if by looking at her, there’d be some kind of recognition.

“Wait,” Sue said, struggling hard with the emotions swirling around her. And inside her.

Her beloved Sarah had faced the heartache of infidelity? And lied to them all? To Jenny? Letting her think she was adopted when, in fact, she was as much a Carson as Sam was?

And what about Adam? How come Robert and Sarah hadn’t adopted him? Why hadn’t any of them even known him? Had Robert just turned his back on his firstborn? Then why not on Jenny?

Robert had had an affair with a woman while having a baby with his wife at the same time? And the affair had continued long enough that Jenny was also conceived?

Was nothing sacred?

While Stan turned over Sarah’s letter to her children, Sue asked Joe, “Do you believe any of this?”

He looked as stunned as she felt.

“This sounds like another one of my father’s fantastic tales,” Joe said softly. And then, after glancing toward his dad, said to the room at large, “So we’re to believe that my father spent his whole life thinking his father was dead, when instead the man was alive and well right here in San Francisco?”

“I’m telling you, this is bullshit.” Shaking his head, Sam handed his mother’s letter back to the lawyer and pinned his half brother with his infamous menacing stare at the same time. “If you think I’m going to stand for this, you’re sadly mistaken.” Sue wasn’t sure if Sam was addressing Stan, Adam or both.

Stan handed the letter to Adam, who sat on the couch, head bent over it as he read.

Sam paced. Belle and Emily spoke quietly, watching him. Luke and Jenny were deep in conversation, Luke rubbing his wife’s arm. Sue just wanted to escape.

“Sam, come sit down.” Emily’s voice was encouraging. Loving.

Sue didn’t know how she did it.

“I will not.” Sam strode over to her, though, standing behind her. Facing Adam. And Joe and Sue.

Adam, her uncle? And…

And Joe…Camden whimpered. Sue watched as her cousin gently lifted him, crooned to him. And then, with a mind that felt drugged, she offered, “Belle, this means we’re cousins by blood.”

Finally, a ray of sunshine in the whole crazy mess. She and Belle shared blood!

“What about Daniel?” Joe’s voice sounded odd beside her. “If this is true, Jenny’s his half sister. Sue his niece.”

Daniel. Joe’s uncle, nine years older than him. The builder. Sue had another uncle?

“I have another brother?” Wide-eyed, Jenny looked to Adam. And then to Stan.

Sue wanted out. Too many people. Too many emotions. Too much pain.

“My younger brother, Daniel, yes,” Adam said, defensive and lost at the same time. “From my mother’s second, brief marriage.”

Sue listened, one of Carrie’s feet in each of her hands, while her heart and mind tried to find each other.

And that’s when the truth hit her. In shock she turned and stared at her high school sweetheart. Her boss.

“We’re cousins,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.

Joe stared back.

And Sue opened her mouth one more time, saying quietly enough that only he could hear, “Thank God we didn’t have sex.”




Chapter Five


RICK’S APPOINTMENT with his attorney early Wednesday morning went only moderately better than his meeting with social services the day before. He had a chance, but success was not guaranteed. At least his lawyer was going to file a motion for a hearing and for DNA testing.

Until then, WeCare Services wasn’t even going to grant him visitation rights.

And in the meantime, unless and until they got a stay with the court, someone else could get custody of the baby.

Cell phone in hand before he’d even reached his Nitro, Rick punched in the speed dial number he’d programmed the day before.

Maybe she hadn’t received his message. Or had lost his number. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to him. At this point he didn’t much care.

She was to be at every meeting pertaining to Carrie’s welfare. To give her opinion. An opinion that, apparently, carried as much or more weight as that of the social worker WeCare had assigned to the case.

“Hello?” She answered before the first ring was complete. She sounded breathless.

Young and breathless.

“Ms. Bookman?”

“Yes. This is Rick Kraynick, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I recognized your number on caller ID,” she said, her voice uneven, as though she was still doing whatever had her so breathless to begin with. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back with you. I’ve been a little…distracted.”

The words came in disjointed spurts. Was she jogging?

“No problem,” he said, when in fact he’d spent the better part of the night before watching his phone—with mounting frustration. “Did I get you at a bad time?”

“No worse than usual,” she said, “better than some. So, how can I help?”

God, if only this could be that easy. He’d ask; she’d help. And he could officially pull off the road to hell.



HURRY, PLEASE, Sue silently urged the man on the other end of the line. No matter how vigorously she bobbed, Camden wouldn’t go back to sleep. There’d been a mix-up with his paperwork the day before, so she’d had him one more night.

But they’d be here within the hour to take him away from her. One hour. Sixty minutes of which, to Sue, every second counted.

The baby was going to be calm, happy, in a good mood to begin his new life. It was the only way she could rest assured that he’d have a smooth transition.

Or at least any hope of one.

Besides, Carrie was due to wake up, and one thing Sue had discovered over the years was that talking on the phone was a tad difficult with a squalling infant nearby.

“Mr. Kraynick?”

“Yes. Sorry. I was…are you sure there isn’t a better time to call? Are you jogging or something?”

“I’m bouncing a baby, Mr. Kraynick. It’s what I do.”

“Is it Carrie?”

Just that quickly Sue’s mood went from self-pitying to defensive. “How do you know Carrie?”

“I’m her uncle, her mother’s older brother, and I know you have her.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny your allegations, Mr. Kraynick. Please call social services.” She rattled off the government number. If he was legitimate, the city would send him to WeCare. And Sonia, Carrie’s social worker.

Sue was already walking back to check on Carrie, about to hang up.

“Wait!” The urgency in his voice stopped her. “Please,” he said more calmly. “Just hear me out.”

He didn’t sound like a crackpot. Weary, maybe. Desperate, perhaps. But not nuts.

“How did you find me?”

“A friend of Christy’s. Apparently Christy talked about you all the time. She said Christy had visitation rights.”

That was true.

Christy had never missed a visit.

And maybe that was why Carrie was so special. Because Sue had spent a lot of time with the baby’s sixteen-year-old mother. Had seen how hard the girl was working to get her baby back. How determined she was.

“Why are you calling?”

“Because you have a say in Carrie’s welfare and I’m concerned. I…”

She was invited to all meetings pertaining to the baby’s welfare. She gave input for Carrie’s sake. And only regarding what she’d seen with her own eyes. Only regarding what she knew, not what she heard.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you, Mr. Kraynick. Maybe if you talk to your sister—”

“What do you know about Christy?”

“Uh-uh, Mr. Kraynick,” she said softly, laying a sleeping Camden in his crib. Carrie was sound asleep, on her right side, just as Sue had left her. “This conversation is over.”

“I grew up in foster care,” he said, as though that gave him privilege. Some insider’s edge.

“Then you know you shouldn’t be calling me.”

“I know that, right now, you’re my best shot.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m no shot at all.”

“My mother was a user,” he said out of the blue, reminding her of Joe when he spoke about his father—Sue’s uncle now. With seemingly no emotion, as if he didn’t care. She wasn’t convinced.

Joe, her cousin. Uncle Adam. Uncle Daniel. Grandma lying to her all her life. Grandpa being unfaithful. Her maternal grandmother giving away her mother, but raising two sons and a grandson. Grandma Sarah’s diamond shockingly going to her mother instead of to Uncle Sam.

Even after twenty-four hours Sue still couldn’t quiet the cacophony.

Shaking her head, she tuned back in to the conversation at hand. And wondered why it was still taking place. The man should never have called. His life, his mother’s life, had nothing to do with her.

Was he some kind of crackpot, after all?

He was still talking.

“The point is,” he said, “that while I was in and out of her life growing up, I didn’t know her that well. Which is why I was not even aware she’d had another child, that I had a sister, until last week,” he continued, almost as though he was reading to her from a storybook.

A sad one. As an infant, Rick Kraynick could have been any number of her babies.

In a quiet moment, with Camden’s few things packed, his long, furry snake rattle on top of the bag, ready to hand to him as he was carried out the door, Sue sank down on the couch in her family room.

“All the more reason you should talk to her,” she said, though she still wasn’t going to get involved. “Christy’s very sweet. And frankly, could use your help. She’d probably be overjoyed to know she has a brother, that you care about Carrie…”

“I…you haven’t been told yet.”

“Told what?”

“Christy’s dead.”

She couldn’t have heard him right.

“What?” Sue covered her face.

“She committed suicide last week. Her funeral was Friday.”

No! First Grandma. Now this? What was happening? “I…last week was a bit crazy here…”

Sonia knew that. And since Christy wasn’t due for another visit until the following week, her social worker likely figured there’d been no reason to further burden Sue yet.

“I can’t believe it. I just saw her…”

“I got a call from the police.” He sounded weary. And as confused as she felt. “They were trying to locate next of kin. She had my mom’s name on her to notify in case of emergency, but the number was disconnected. That happens a lot with my mother. My mother’s last name is the same as mine, and Kraynick isn’t common. When they did a search, my number came up and…”

Oh, God. Christy? Dead? She’d been doing so well. Was so excited about getting Carrie back. “She was only sixteen! It doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m struggling with it all myself.”

Sue’s mind raced, and her heart felt painful jabs at every thought. A child having a child before she had a chance to grow up. But struggling so hard to make it, anyway. Carrie, an orphan. Grandma gone. Joe, her cousin. Jenny having been lied to by her own father her whole life. Never knowing her mother. Sue, never knowing Grandma Jo. And now this stranger, this man, losing a sister before he ever knew her. A young sister.

“Carrie is my niece,” Rick Kraynick said, breaking the silence. “I intend to adopt her. But right now I need to meet her. To make sure she’s okay. To connect with her. Let her get a sense of my presence.”

“You’ll have to go through social services to arrange that.”

“I’m sure you realize that’s not as easy as it sounds. I’m a single male who never knew her mother and without enough proof that I’m family. They aren’t real eager to give me the time of day. For all intents and purposes, the mother we have in common didn’t raise either one of us. All I have going for me is half a set of genes, which has yet to be proven. My lawyer’s on it, but it could be weeks before this is sorted out. We’re filing for a hearing that will stay any adoption proceedings already in process, but there’s no guarantee we’ll be granted the hearing. And it’s not the state that we have to be concerned with at this point, as I’m sure you’re aware. It’s WeCare. And their red tape is worse than the state’s.”

Stacking blocks were strewn around the quilt on the floor, residuals from this morning’s after-breakfast, pre-bath playtime. Both Camden and Carrie could roll over now. She’d be sitting up soon.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kraynick, but—”

“Please,” he interrupted before Sue was even sure what she’d been about to tell him. She had guidelines. Her status as a foster mother rested on them. Because the rules were in place to protect the children.

To protect Carrie.

“I have to see her.” All coolness, or hint of composure, sure, left the man’s voice. “She’s a part of the sister I just saw buried.”

Sue said nothing.

“Family is not something I can take for granted, Ms. Bookman. I grew up without one. I know how it feels to wonder what’s wrong with you, why you weren’t wanted enough to have a mother and father who loved you. What it’s like to be caught in the system. I survived. My little sister did not. I can’t let the same thing happen to her daughter.”

“You’re already doing what you can. You’re applying to adopt her.”

Jenny had been adopted. And lied to.

“I’ve started the paperwork.” Frustration seeped from the man’s voice on the other end of the line. “But I’ve been led to believe that someone else is there before me. A possible family member. From what I gleaned from my attorney, the process was already in the works before Christy’s death, just in case she didn’t meet minimum standards to get Carrie back. If I can’t get a stay, the adoption could be granted before I’m able to prove my rights to the child.”

Christy hadn’t told her about someone applying to adopt her baby.

“And I can’t do anything about that.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Rick said, enunciating clearly. “My sixteen-year-old sister is dead, Ms. Bookman. Right now, I just want to see her daughter while I still know where she’s living.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kraynick. I really am. Get permission from WeCare and I’ll happily facilitate a visitation at your convenience. Think about it. If foster parents were able to make these kinds of decisions, they’d be at risk of intimidation from every abusive parent who wanted access to his or her child.”

“That’s your final word?”

“It has to be. I’m sorry.”

Feeling uneasy, Sue hung up.

And wished she could call Grandma.



HE SHOULDN’T BE DOING this. He was assistant superintendent of a fairly large school district. Had ethical and moral standards to uphold. Examples to set.

Yet Rick drove slowly down the street, anyway, searching for the address Chenille Langston had given him at the cemetery. They’d only had one brief conversation but the young girl had told him that Christy had driven her friend by the place many times, when she’d been lonely for her baby. She’d said she wanted Chenille to know where Carrie was in case of an emergency. Christie wanted to be sure Carrie was cared for. Loved. But Chenille was only a kid herself. No one listened to her, she’d said. They certainly wouldn’t give her a baby.

Chenille’s words to Rick at the cemetery had been “It doesn’t get any more emergency than this.” She’d trusted him to make certain that Christy’s baby didn’t get lost in the system.

So he was using the statement of a confused young woman as justification for circumventing the system?

Maybe Mark and Darla Samson were right. Maybe he did need to talk to somebody. They’d been after him to do so ever since Hannah died the year before.

Maybe he really was nuts.

Not thath is friends had said as much. But he suspected, by the wariness in their eyes, the shared glances when they thought he wasn’t looking, that they thought so.

He’d known Mark, and through him, Darla, for years. Had hired him, in fact, to be the high school basketball coach when he’d been principal of Globe High.

Rick stopped the Nitro in front of a large yard with a smallish house set far back on the property, about ten miles south of San Francisco. It was just after four on Wednesday afternoon. The Samsons would absolutely not approve of this visit.

He could hear a baby crying as he approached the front door, and his heart lurched. Carrie? His flesh and blood?

She sounded hungry.

Rick knocked. And then, seeing the button beside the handle, rang the bell.

The crying stopped. Footsteps approached, on what sounded like a wood floor.

Wood floors were drafty. And…

The door opened.

“Oh. You’re not Barb.”

Rick stood there, taking in the sight before him.

Gorgeous, feminine—untouched by the trappings of accessories—the woman had a pure beauty. And babies. Three of them. One strapped to her front in a baby sack. The other two on either hip.

He wondered which of them was his niece.

He met the woman’s dark brown eyes, taking in her impatience, the blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, the T-shirt and jeans and bare feet. “Can I help?” he asked over the crying, motioning to the babies in her arms.

“No,” she said. She was bouncing her babies. One of whom, the crying one, needed its nose wiped. His nose wiped, if the blue sleeper was anything to go by. “But as you can see, I’m busy, so—”

“I’m Rick Kraynick.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Kraynick,” she said, backing up enough to be able to close the door.

“Wait! Which one is Carrie? I’m standing here. What would it hurt to point her out to me?”

“If you don’t leave this instant, I’m going to call the police.”

Obviously his suit and tie and shined shoes had done nothing to reassure her that he was a good guy. He’d left the jacket on, just in case, in spite of the almost seventy degree temperature.

“I’m going.” But he couldn’t take a step back. Not yet. All three babies were adorable. But one…she reminded him of…“Just tell me which—”

Her foot shot to the door. And just as she was kicking it shut in his face, the crying infant in blue spewed what had to be a full bottle of formula, as though shooting a ball from a cannon. The sour burst hit the face of the baby in the carrier, who promptly started to cry. It covered Ms. Bookman’s arm and chest, her floor, her door and Rick’s shoulder.

The shooter, once he was done, let out the most piercing wail Rick had ever heard.

He was one sick puppy.

Without further thought, Rick stepped inside the still partially open door. Relieving Ms. Bookman of the boy, he placed the smelly baby against his chest so he could rub his back. Soothe the ache.

Some skills, once learned, never left you.

“Go ahead, tend to them and yourself,” he said, loudly enough to be heard over the crying. “There’s no cure for colic but patience. And soft pressure on the stomach. I’ll follow you so you can keep me and shooter here in your sight at all times.”

“I can’t—” The baby still in her arms started to cry.

Reaching for his wallet while juggling the messy baby, Rick threw it on the table. “My license is in there,” he called out over the noise. “My school ID is as well. And all my credit cards. They’re yours while I’m here,” he added. “And I can’t kidnap Carrie while you’ve got her…Go!” he called, sending her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

With another worried look in his direction, she went. Rick followed, making sure to stay in view at all times.




Chapter Six


IT DIDN’T TAKE SUE LONG to get the babies cleaned up. Or herself, either, once she had the girls settled on a blanket on the floor with several brightly colored toys in their vicinity, encouraging exploration. She’d have liked to change, but they had a stranger in their midst.

Settling for hot soapy water and a couple of baby wipes, she was as good as she was going to get.

Rick Kraynick, in the meantime, standing within sight at all times, managed to get three-month-old Jacob cleaned up and to sleep.

“You’re very good at that.” Something about his splayed fingers covering the baby’s entire back, his forearm supporting Jacob’s diapered bottom so tenderly—and competently—made her more aware of the man than she should have been. Than she wanted to be.

She reached for Jacob. And her fingers brushed against the solid warmth of Rick Kraynick’s chest, where the baby was nestled.

“I’ve had some practice.”

Jacob didn’t stir as she laid him in the newly changed bassinet in the family room.

“You have a family of your own?” she asked, handing Rick a wipe for a spot he’d missed on his shoulder. Why wasn’t his wife there with him on his mission of mercy?

“No.”

So he was unattached. The fact made him no more attractive. Made no difference to her. Right?

He’d said he’d grown up in foster homes—a great place to get child care experience. His lack of wife, his life, were not her business.

She headed toward the door.

“Sorry about the suit,” she said, jittery and anxious to be rid of him. She had to get dinner started. And she didn’t need any more complications right now.

He didn’t follow her to the door. Instead, Rick Kraynick, baby wipe still in his hand, watched as Carrie rolled over. And over again. To reach the bright yellow rattle that was her favorite. It went straight to her mouth. And Sue wondered, not for the first time, if the little girl was going to teethe early.

She’d rolled over a couple of weeks sooner than Sue had expected, too.

Her visitor’s expression—soft and filled with pain, too—called to her, making her nervous.

“Mr. Kraynick, you have to go.”

He nodded. “That’s her.”

He was moved by the baby. And why did she care? This man was a total stranger to her. So why didn’t he seem like one?

“I’m not going to—”

“I know—confirm or deny. But you don’t need to. That’s Carrie.”

He was right. But then, he’d had a fifty-fifty chance.

“You need to leave.” Please. Before I do something I’m going to regret. Like let you stay.

“She seems to be a happy baby.”

“Mr. Kraynick.” Barb would be arriving soon to collect the two babies she’d had to leave with Sue when her third had a reaction to this morning’s inoculation, running a fever of 104, and had to be taken to the emergency room. “You have no idea which of those babies might or might not be your niece. Now I’m asking you to leave.”

“I heard you,” he said, still watching the baby.

Sue opened her mouth to threaten to call the police. He was breaking the law, refusing to leave her home. And then she noticed that his eyes were glistening.

And it occurred to her that they’d both buried a family member that week.

“Mr. Kraynick.” She hadn’t meant to allow any softness in her voice. He really had to go. His presence was causing her to feel things she couldn’t afford to feel.

“She…I’m sorry. She looks exactly like…someone I used to know…” His voice faded away.

Just when she was going to lose her battle with herself and allow him to pick up the baby, Rick Kraynick, the oddest man she’d ever met, turned, thanked her for her kindness and walked out of the room. And out of her life.

“I CAN’T STOP THINKING about her.”

“Rick, come on, man. What are you doing?” Mark easily dribbled around him and went for the layup. He scored.

Again.

And rebounded his own ball. Holding it against his side, he stopped and stared at Rick. “You aren’t seriously considering trying to get her yourself, are you?”

“I’m not just considering it, I’m going to do everything in my power to get her.” He’d given up on family. On making a family, or hoping for one. But he was not turning his back on family that already existed. Period. His mother aside. Her he’d written off years ago. “She’s my flesh and blood, man. She’s my sister’s child. And I know I can be a good father to her, give her a happy life. Hannah certainly had no complaints.” With a lunge, he stole the ball from the former college all-star point guard, took it out to the three point line and back to the basket for a score. And when Mark rebounded, he played him one on one until he stole the ball a second time.

In the end, the score was even. Rick was no more out of breath than his former employee as they headed into the locker room.

“I wish you’d reconsider this baby thing,” Mark said as they sat, a bench apart, untying the shoes that they left in the lockers behind them in between these Friday workouts.

Half an hour had passed since either man had said a word to each other.

“ ‘This baby thing,’ as you put it, isn’t negotiable,” Rick grunted.

“It’s ludicrous, man. You’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”

Disappointment? That would be a step up from the hell that had been his constant companion since he’d lost Hannah the previous fall.

A darkness that had dissipated, for hours at a time, since he’d heard about the orphaned baby living half an hour away from him. He was meant to do this.

“You really think they’ll give a baby girl to a single guy? Come on, man, they don’t even like to give them to couples who are living together and not married, let alone to a man living alone.”

Rick didn’t bother to respond. He wasn’t just a man. He was Carrie’s uncle.

He stripped off his shirt and shorts, dropped them in a pile in front of his locker and strode to the shower.

The two men had just secured their lockers when Mark spoke again.

“It’s not fair to her, either, is it?” he asked, his chin jutting as he faced Rick across the bench. “To be a stand-in for what you lost?”

“No one, I repeat, no one, will ever replace Hannah.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Mark’s gaze was filled with an empathy the two men didn’t generally share with each other. “You think I don’t know that while you might be breathing and moving, you’re no longer alive? I watched you dust yourself off back in high school, each time you got moved to another family.

And then again when Sheila took off. You’ve done it again. You go to work, you rule with your firm but fair hand, but you’ve got no heart.”

“Then you don’t need to worry about me using some-one else’s baby to replace my own, do you?”

“I’m worried that you’re going to take a little girl from the chance of a loving, two-parent family, and bring her to a house of grief.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you don’t think I’d stand a chance getting her, isn’t it?”

“Ah, Rick, come on. This is me. I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah.” Rick was the first to drop his gaze. “I’m kind of worried about me, too. But everything else aside, man, rest assured, I’m positive this is the right thing for me to do.”

Grabbing his keys, he headed for the door.



“MA, DO NOT LET Uncle Sam make you feel guilty about that necklace.” With Carrie on her hip, little newborn William sleeping in his car seat carrier on the floor, and three-month-old Michael napping in a swing, Sue used her free hand to straighten up the family room Saturday morning. Picking up toys. And talking into the Bluetooth her parents had bought her for Christmas the year before. “That’s what your father says, too,” Jenny told her, “and I know you’re both right. But I’ve spent a good part of my life wishing Sam and I were closer. Looking for something I could do to show him how much I love him. And…”

“He had no business assuming that Grandma’s diamond necklace would go to him.”

Michael sighed, but didn’t wake up.

“Well, he did, actually,” Jenny said.

“We had dinner with your aunt Emily and uncle Sam last night,” Luke added. “He’s ordered Emily and Belle to have nothing to do with Adam and the rest of the Frasers, and wanted your mother to agree to stay away from him, as well—”

“Which, of course,” Jenny interrupted, “I didn’t agree to, but it turns out that our dad told him the diamond would be Sam’s when both he and mom were gone.”

Our dad. Those words took on a whole new world of meaning now that they knew Robert had been Jenny’s dad biologically as well as legally.

Her mother seemed to be taking the deceit a whole lot better than Sue was.

“But Grandma wanted you to have it,” she said now. “Just don’t do anything rash, Ma. Give yourself time to get used to the idea of not having been orphaned. And I’m glad you told him you weren’t going to obey him. You need to get to know Uncle Adam.”

God, how strange was that? Joe’s dad, her uncle?

She hadn’t talked to her boss since the day of the will reading. Was kind of afraid to, actually.

She’d thought his adult coolness toward her had been because of her rejection in high school. But if that was the case, all would be well now, right? Maybe she’d rejected him because, on some level, she’d sensed they were related.

“I’ve been telling her that the necklace was Sarah’s to give, not Robert’s.” Luke jumped in again, his voice as clear as her mother’s via their high-tech cellular phone. “From the look on Emily’s face, I don’t think she and Belle agree with Sam about staying away from Adam, either.”

“I’m sure Belle wouldn’t,” Sue said, and then added, “Take the necklace with you back to Florida. Don’t leave it in the lockbox at the bank here.”

For all she knew Sam had a key to the lockbox. “Do you have it now?” she asked, as it occurred to her that it might already be too late.

“We do,” Luke said. “We got it yesterday afternoon.”

The appointment with Stan that they’d asked her to join them for. She’d been accepting delivery of William.

She’d had Michael for two days. He’d settled in nicely. But then, he’d been in another foster home since his birth. He was used to commotion.

William, at three days old, was still just acclimating to the world.

“You have to see it, Sue, honey,” Jenny piped up.

Carrie stuck a finger in Sue’s mouth. Sue kissed the little tip. And had a mental flash of a man’s face—staring with longing at his niece. Why couldn’t she just forget the man? “I’ve seen it, Ma.” She forced herself to clear her mind of the man who’d been haunting her. “Every time Grandma wore it.”

“It would help to look at it again, hon,” Luke said. “Help you accept that your grandma is gone.”

“I don’t need help.” Unless they could find a way to get Grandma back to her.

“Sue, love…” Jenny started.

“We’ll bring it when we come for dinner,” Luke finished for her.

Smiling at the baby in her arms, finding solace in the innocent stare she received back, Sue said, “Just bring yourselves. You’ve got a newborn to bathe, Ma.”

Babies. If life stayed about the stream of infants in and out of her life, she could control it. Mostly.

“I sure wish you’d put in for vacation,” Luke said. “Come back to Florida with us for a few weeks. A change of scenery would do you good. This next little while is going to be really hard for you in particular, sweetie. From the day you were born, Grandma was the one person who seemed to be able to reach you—”

“Okay, you guys, really, I’m fine. Can’t we just enjoy our last night together?”

Her parents’ return flight to Florida left first thing in the morning.

And they were as desperate to take care of her as she was to be left alone.



IT WAS SATURDAY, with still no word regarding an emergency hearing to put a stay on whatever adoption procedures were pending for Carrie. Tempted to take a hike to the judge’s chambers to find out if the guy had even seen the paperwork yet, or signed it, or was going to sign it, Rick got control of himself enough to decide against that particular maneuver. The court-house was closed on Saturdays, anyway. It didn’t help that judges’ chambers were off hallways behind locked doors. Unauthorized people were not allowed back there.

How did a guy take care of a situation when he had no idea what was going on? Rick was going quietly crazy.

Which was why, after another basketball game with a couple of strangers hanging out at the court at the park down the street, followed by a jog and a quick run of the vacuum, he dialed the number he’d been told was reconnected. Again.

It actually connected this time.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Ricky?” The voice was needy as always. And filled with hope. As though he was her answer. He’d spent his youth trying to be that answer. She wasn’t getting the rest of his life, too. “Is that really you?”

“Yes. It’s me. I missed you at Christy’s funeral,” he said, hearing the sarcasm in his voice even as he told himself to cool it. “Nice of you to show.”

“You were there, Ricky? I—I talked to everyone…at the church. How could I have missed you?”

Rick studied the neat rows patterned into his newly vacuumed carpet.

“I was at the cemetery. For the burial.” He’d driven to the wrong community church. He’d assumed his sister would be buried in the neighborhood where he’d grown up. Where his mother still lived. Instead, it was at a church across from the funeral home.

“I was there, too…”

“Not to watch your daughter lowered into the ground, you weren’t.” His words were biting. Filled with things she had no way of knowing about. Things that, in part, had nothing to do with her.

“No…we left. They said we had to. They lower the casket after the family leaves.” Her voice broke and Rick tried not to feel a thing. He should be a master at it by now, at least where she was concerned.

“Nice to know I had a sister, Nancy.” Nancy. What kid called his mother by her first name?

He’d been about eight when he’d first asked the question.

You‘re my friend, aren ‘tyou, Ricky? His mother’s eyes had been slits in her face as she’d tried to focus on him.

Yeah. She’d seemed to need a friend. Though he wondered what being a friend to an adult actually entailed.

You see then, all my friends call me Nancy. She’d smiled. And he’d smiled back. And that was what Rick remembered most about that little interlude.

He’d lost a mother that day. But, hey, he’d gained a friend, right?

“I wanted to tell you, Ricky. I wanted Christy to know you. I really did, but…”

The proverbial “but.” His archenemy.

“But what?” He asked now, telling himself to be kind. Somehow. For himself, if not for her. He wasn’t a mean man. And didn’t want to become one.

“I was afraid…”

“Afraid I’d take her from you?”

Her silence was his answer. Both then and now. She wasn’t going to tell him he had a niece, either. Some things didn’t change.

“I know about Carrie, Nancy.” He wasn’t going to spare her, but managed to soften his tone, at least. “I need to know what your plans are.”

“Oh, Ricky, I was going to tell you. As soon as it’s all official.”

As soon as he couldn’t do anything to stop her?

“I’m going to get her, Ricky. My baby’s little girl—” Her voice broke again.

Rick waited. The woman was grieving over her daughter, for chrissake. No one should have to bear that kind of senseless pain.

“I’ve worked so hard. Ever since we found out a baby was coming.” Nancy listed the steps she’d taken. A list he could have recited for her. “Christy’s going to be watching me. And I’m going to make her proud, Ricky. And maybe you, too?”

“It’s not right, Nancy. You had your chance. Two of them.” He was being harsh. But a baby’s life was at stake.

“It’ll be different this time, Ricky. I promise you.”

I promise, my little man, we’ll stay together this time. I’m going to make it this time. I’m going to make you proud of me…

Rick grabbed his keys. Cell phone in hand, he headed out to the Nitro. He needed air. Sunshine.

“We’ll be a family, Ricky. You, me and Christy’s baby. A real family. Just like we always said we wanted.”

It was the one thing he and this woman had in common, other than a shared gene pool—their desire to be part of a family.

Putting the Nitro in Reverse, Rick unclenched his jaw enough to speak. “Is it for sure, then? You’ve been granted custody? Have you heard something official?”

“It’s not final yet, but Sonia—she’s Carrie’s social worker—said that everything looks good. I’m going to do the visitations and there’ll be another meeting or two, and then the hearing before the judge. Sonia told me that unless something unexpected comes up, Carrie will be mine long before summer.”

“Are you sober?”

“Completely. I haven’t used hard in almost three years. Not even when I heard about Christy. I get tested every week. I’m not going to blow this one, Ricky. I promise. Seeing Carrie’s birth—I don’t know, it did something to me…”

Something birthing her own children hadn’t been able to do? Putting the Nitro in Drive, he stepped on the gas.

“Then losing Christy…This is my chance, Ricky. My last chance. I know it with every bone in my body. I have to give this baby everything I couldn’t give you. Or Christy.”

Like that was ever going to make up for the two lives she’d already harmed? One beyond repair?

“I was at the club last night,” Nancy said, her quiet tone not a familiar one. “James said someone was there, looking for me. A man. From his description, it sounded like you. Was it you, Ricky? Were you looking for me?”

“Probably,” he said into his cell phone, when it appeared the woman was going to wait until he’d given her what she wanted.

“We are going to be a family this time, son,” Nancy said. “I don’t blame you for your doubt. And I’m prepared to spend the rest of my life showing you that I mean what I say. I will succeed this time.”

If he had a dollar for every time he’d heard those words, for every time he’d believed them, he’d be rich. No happier, but rich.

“When’s your court hearing?”

“April tenth.”

Three weeks. That didn’t give him much time. Stopped at a light, Rick signaled a lane change, and as soon as green appeared, he cut over, making a right and then another one, heading south of town.

“Would you go with me, Ricky? You don’t have to vouch for me or anything, but it would mean so much to have you there.”

“What time?”

“Ten o’clock. Can you get off work?”

Get off. He was assistant superintendent. Who would he ask? Himself?

He couldn’t blame her for not knowing that. For knowing nothing about him. He’d carefully guarded his life to ensure that she didn’t.

“I don’t know.” He gave the only answer he could.

“Wait until you meet her, Ricky. I’ve only seen her a couple of times, and in pictures. But she’s special. An angel. Our angel.”

At what cost? Her mother’s life?

“Call me if anything changes,” he said. “Or if you hear anything else. At all.”

“I will.” Then she added, “What I did to you, the way I let you down, that’s the worst part of my life, Ricky. You know that, right?”

Worse than your daughter’s suicide? “It doesn’t matter. I made it through, and have a good life.” Good being relative. He had a decent job he enjoyed. A nice home. Enough money.

“I’m very very glad you called.” He heard the tears in her voice and felt a little sick to his stomach.

“Just keep in touch.” He almost choked on the words.

“I will. I love you.”

She needed him to tell her he loved her, too. He opened his mouth, but just couldn’t say the words.




Chapter Seven


SHE’D BEEN OFF THE PHONE from her parents less than fifteen minutes, not nearly enough time to deep breathe her way back to calm, when someone knocked. With Carrie on her hip, Sue did a visual check of her sleeping young men and pulled open the door.

Rick Kraynick, looking too good in jeans and a button-up denim shirt, stood there.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head, swinging the door closed again. She was already having enough trouble getting the man out of her thoughts.

“Wait. Please.” The hand administering resistance against the solid wood panel wasn’t violent. Or particularly pushy. But it was firm. “I need to speak with you.”

There was something about him. A sense of vulnerability mixed with toughness that she couldn’t ignore.

And she couldn’t give in to it, either.

“You know my number.”

“In person,” he said. “I need to speak with you in person.” He swallowed, his eyes beseeching her far more than anything he could say. “Please.”

“We’ve been through this, Mr. Kraynick. Talk to social services. Or better yet, get yourself into some kind of counseling. You don’t seem to be able to take no for an answer.”

“I called my mother.”

Christy’s mother. Carrie’s Grandma. Sue didn’t want to care. She repositioned the baby, holding her up against her, with Carrie facing back into the house.

“You have to leave now.” She wished she felt the conviction behind her words.

With a glance behind her, Sue verified that both boys were still sleeping. Chances were that wouldn’t last long. William was eating every two hours.

All night long.

As well as during the day.

And Michael wasn’t sleeping through the night yet, either. Or at least, if he was, he’d stopped since his move to a new home. Which meant, since she also used her evenings to do Joe’s bookwork, Sue was coming off a night with very little sleep.

“My mother just told me she’s adopting Carrie,” the man said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“I can’t discuss that with you.”

Dressed casually today, he looked no less serious about himself. Or his business. He had no less effect on her. Sue rubbed Carrie’s back, bobbing to keep the baby entertained.

To keep her close.

To ignore how drawn she was to this intense man.

“She says Carrie’s birth changed her. I guess she was there for the last couple of months of the pregnancy and was with Christy for the birth.”

“And she wants Carrie.”

“Yes.”

“If she’s the junkie you say she is, she’ll never get her.”

“She got me back enough times. And Christy, too.”

“Yes, but…”

“She’s older now. She’s already got a job, working in a preschool. And she’s renting an apartment from a preacher and his wife. And I just found out from my lawyer yesterday that there was a suicide note. In it, Christy said she wanted the baby to go to her mother.”

“Which could carry some weight, of course, but a judge could just as easily decide that Christy’s suicide meant she was unstable—not fit to be making decisions for her baby.” For the baby in Sue’s arms. Why was she still talking to him? Anyone else and she’d have shooed him away immediately.

“I’m not willing to take that risk. Carrie might be one in a hundred to you, Ms. Bookman, but she’s the only child of my dead sister. She’s all the family I have left. And I, apparently, am all the family she has as well—discounting a junkie who’s already had two chances at motherhood and failed. I can’t just stand back and let the system take its course.”

“Did Christy know she had a brother?”

“No. My mother never told her. Just like she didn’t tell me about Christy.”

Carrie’s feet jabbed Sue’s stomach. The infant was going to be wanting her lunch soon. And before that, to get down and move around. The little girl was busy developing. She had places to explore, things to learn. Muscles to strengthen.

“Before finding out about Christy, how long had it been since you’d been in contact with your mother?”

“Years.”

“Your choice or hers?”

“Mine.”

“And yet you want me to believe family means so much to you?”

“My mother…I’d like a chance to discuss this with you. Please.”

Carrie grabbed for her ponytail. Missed. Tried again. Rick Kraynick followed the action with his eyes. And grinned. Sue’s insides quivered. Pulling the ponytail over her opposite shoulder, Sue reminded herself that she was a foster mother not only because she loved what she did, but because she was truly good at it.

For most people, loving from afar was difficult, especially loving babies. Many foster mothers of infants burned out quickly or petitioned to adopt their charges. Giving them up was too hard.

But Sue could do it. Loving from afar was what she did. The only way she could love.

The system needed her.

And she needed it.

“I don’t see any point in further discussion,” she finally told the man waiting in front of her. And plenty of reason not to further their acquaintance if every expression that crossed his face seemed to be permanently implanted in her memory banks. “There’s nothing I can do with any knowledge you give me, except to keep sending you to social services.”

“And there’s no legal reason why you can’t just listen,” he persisted. “You’re allowed to have guests in your home. I’d like to come in as your guest. I won’t touch the baby. I’ll be here only to speak with you.”

“On her behalf.”

“As one person involved in the foster system to another who grew up in the system. Period. Just talk. Can you give me that much?”

Leaning back, the baby in her arms put her hands on each side of Sue’s chin, her big round eyes focusing somewhere around Sue’s mouth. As though she could understand that the answer was important. Sue didn’t want to help Rick, but he was asking her for something she wanted as well. Information about Carrie. And for Carrie’s sake, she really wanted to know what he had to say.

“I don’t feel good about this.”

The man was entirely too…everything.

“But you’ll listen?”

“You have twenty minutes.”

Stepping back, Sue knew she was making a mistake.



“MY MOTHER IS A DANGEROUS woman.” Rick came right to the point as soon as he sat down on one end of the couch in Sue Bookman’s home. Pulling a blanket from the changing table shelf, Sue laid Carrie on the floor several feet from two other babies—both sleeping—and then joined her there. Setting herself up as a human barrier between him and his niece.

Carrie’s temporary mother was a definite distraction, he’d give her that. The woman wore baby barf as easily as other women wore silk scarves. That alone impressed him.

“How is she dangerous?” Sue looked him straight in the eye.

“She’s intelligent, keeps herself attractive, and, most dangerous of all, she knows how to pretend that she cares.”

“I’m not getting the danger element.”

“She’s a fake, Ms. Bookman. A lie.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, call me Sue.”

He couldn’t be distracted. There was no place in his life for an attractive woman. Not now. And probably not ever again. Not a nice woman like Sue Bookman. She had to be nice to be approved for the responsibility of caring for needy babies.

“Aside from the fact that my mother doesn’t know the meaning of love, other than wanting it for herself, she’s dangerous because she doesn’t look, speak or act like what she is.”

“And what, exactly, is she?”

“A drug addict. Her parents died when she was a teenager, leaving her with nothing. She ran away from her foster home and got into drugs as a way to make money, at first. At least that’s how she tells it. She was a good front for the dealers on the streets. No one suspected her.”

He was saying more than he’d meant to. Sue Bookman was easy to talk to. “She had me when she was seventeen,” he continued. “I don’t think even she knows who my father is.”

Rick focused on his hostess, but was still aware every second of the baby lying on the floor with his blood in her veins, could see her out of the corner of his eye. Carrie was on her back. Staring at him.

“And there followed eighteen years of chaos,” Rick said. “When she was sober, my mother looked like a candidate for mother of the year. She was funny and attentive in public. She was in all the right places at the right times. Showed an interest in my days, in my little happenings.”

“You loved her.”

What kid didn’t love his mother?

“I learned very quickly not to believe in her,” he countered. “Because she never stayed sober long. I don’t know, maybe the memories were too strong for her to fight, to avoid or get away from. I’ve wasted too much of my life trying to justify why she did what she did.”

“People are complicated.”

Hannah hadn’t been.

“Life shouldn’t be that complicated. Not for kids. As soon as I’d get settled in a new school or apartment, or both, I’d come home to find someone from child protective services waiting for me, to take me to yet another foster home.”

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t want her pity. Or her compassion. Not for himself. Not unless it had to do with helping him get Carrie.

“I was lucky. Every single home I was placed in provided a loving environment, a chance to be a kid. Problem was, I didn’t get to stay in any of them. My mother wouldn’t give me up. And it didn’t seem to matter how many times she faltered, she still managed to convince the state that she would get better. And that I was better off with her—my real mother.”

“She’d get well, you’d go home and then she’d use again.”

“Right.”

“You think she did the same thing with Christy?”

“I know she did.”

“And you think she’ll do the same thing with Carrie.”

With his gaze steady, and implacable, he faced her. “Don’t you?”

“I’ve never met the woman. How could I possibly know…”

Sue’s hand had found Carrie’s foot, her fingers caressing the skin just above the baby’s ankle. The unconscious response of a mother?

“You’re a professional,” Rick said. He wasn’t sure what he expected her to do, but he knew that he needed her. Carrie needed her. “You hear the stories. And have to be familiar enough with the statistics to at least have an opinion.”

“But it’s not a professional one and…”

Carrie rolled, her downy curls flattening and springing back as she moved. And Sue Bookman caressed the baby’s cheek. Rubbed a hand over the top of her head.

“Do you want Carrie going to my mother?” Rick asked.

“Come on, pumpkin, it’s time for you to eat,” Sue said, pulling the baby into her arms as she stood.

“I still have five minutes.”

“Do you have more to say?”

Rick didn’t stand. He wasn’t ready to leave. This woman. This home. And he hadn’t done what he’d come to do. “Do you want her going to my mother?”

“I take good care of my children,” Sue said, standing there with his niece cuddled securely in her arms. “And when they leave here, I have to let them go. I don’t think beyond that. If I worried about the future of every baby I care for, if I analyzed the statistics on happy placements, I’d lose my sanity.”

“But you have input before they go. You can influence where they go.”

Spinning around, she crossed the room, rewinding the swing. Checking on the baby still asleep in the carrier. And then she turned back to look at him.

“Your time’s up.”

Rick stood. Pissing her off wasn’t going to help anything. “My mother told me today that scheduled visitations here will be a part of her adoption process.”

Sue Bookman didn’t say anything. Her expression didn’t change, not in any perceptible way. But Rick knew he had her full attention.

She was a mama bear protecting her cubs. The quintessential mother. The kind of woman he’d fall for.

“I wanted you to know who she really is so she doesn’t fool you, too,” he said quietly. And at her continued silence, he added, “You’ll be giving reports to the committee and they’ll listen to you—”

“Get out, Mr. Kraynick.”

He did.




Chapter Eight


SHE THOUGHT ABOUT Rick Kraynick all through dinner with her parents—in spite of repeated remon-strations to herself to get the man out of her system. Carrie’s Uncle Rick, with his compelling combination of determination and vulnerability, would have stolen her heart—back when she’d thought she would marry and have children. Rick Kraynick, with his dark hair and serious eyes, was making her tense.

But that wasn’t all of it. As she sat there with her mother, she thought about Rick implying that he wanted her to fudge her reports on his mother, if she was favorably impressed by the woman. He wanted her to lie. To keep Carrie’s grandmother permanently out of the girl’s life. Like Grandma and Grandpa had lied to her? To everyone? To keep Grandma Jo away from her? Away from Jenny?

And why? The woman had been a wonderful mother to Joe. And by the sounds of things, to Adam and Daniel, too. According to Joe.

Why couldn’t Adam have known his father, as well? Maybe if Uncle Adam had grown up with a male influence, he’d have been better equipped to step up and take responsibility when his wife’s death left him with a son to raise. And maybe, if Jenny hadn’t always felt like she was second best, not quite as much a part of the family as her brother, she’d have been less apt to smother her own daughter…

Why couldn’t Sam have been told that Jenny was his half sister? Or Jenny that Robert was her real father? What right did Sarah and Robert and Jo Fraser have to perpetuate lies that affected the lives, the self-concepts, of so many people?

It was like they’d spent their entire lives playing the wrong roles.

And what right did Rick Kraynick have to do the same thing to Carrie—to make her into something she wasn’t? To prevent her from being as complete? To understand herself. To know what she came from? It was very clear he intended to keep the little girl from ever knowing her grandmother.

For that matter, was he hoping to keep the truth of Carrie’s mother from her, too? Was he just going to pretend that Christy hadn’t been a teen addict who’d struggled to get herself clean for the sake of the baby she’d adored?

And why, since he’d behaved inappropriately, did Sue feel guilty for kicking him out?

Yeah, the man had had it rough as a kid. He’d lost a sister he’d never met. He’d suffered. Didn’t everyone?

If his mother was as he said, he had valid points.

But he shouldn’t be airing them with Sue.

She passed the potatoes when her father asked. Cut her chicken. Pushed food around on her plate.

She’d never met a man she couldn’t stop thinking about.

Sue made it through dinner mostly because her parents were happy just being with her. They didn’t require scintillating conversation. And because they were grieving together.

And after dinner three babies needed baths and feedings while her folks were there, which left little room for meaningful conversation.

As she washed and dried little limbs, Sue tried not to think about Rick Kraynick. He’d been up-front with her from the beginning about who he was and what he wanted from her. And she’d been rude.

That wasn’t her way.

If his adoption petition was considered, he could very well be back as a legitimate visitor. Someone she would watch. Sonia was going to want her opinions. She was going to have to be unbiased. Kind. Looking out strictly for Carrie’s best interests…

Her father was on a ladder in the kitchen, changing a bulb that had burned out just that morning, when she and her mother came out of the bedroom with three clean and kicking babies.

“I’d have gotten to that,” Sue told him while, with Carrie on her hip, she gathered three bottles to fill with formula.

“Now you don’t have to,” he said, climbing down. “You’ve got some condensation on the window in your family room,” he continued. “Which means a seal has come loose. It’ll need to be replaced at some point.”

“Is it a safety issue?”

“No, but eventually it’ll cause water damage to the drywall.”

Eventually, she’d replace the window.

“And I took care of the drip in the sink in your bathroom. It just needed to be tightened.”

“Thanks.” She handed a bottle to her mother. And one to her father, who took Michael and sat in the kitchen chair next to his wife’s. Sue grabbed Carrie’s bottle and joined them.

“I really don’t feel good about you being out here all by yourself,” Luke said. He and Jenny exchanged “the glance.” Sue prepared for another two-against-one onslaught of loving concern.

“Are you seeing anyone?” her mother asked.

“No.”

“It’s not healthy, Sue, a woman of your age spending every waking moment with other people’s babies.”

“They’re my babies while I have them. And it’s my job.” One of them.

“You know what your mother’s saying.” Luke adjusted the nipple in Michael’s mouth. “You should be getting out. Having some kind of social life.”

Thinking about getting married.

“I’m perfectly happy as things are.” She included both her parents in her glance. “Marriage worked great for you guys, but I’m just not interested. I don’t want a husband. I don’t miss not having a man around. And if I were to enter a relationship not really wanting it, it would never work.”

They’d been through this before. Every single time she saw them.

“This is the twenty-first century, guys,” she said softly. “I don’t have to have a man to be complete.”

“Don’t you get lonely, honey?” Jenny asked.

“With this brood? Are you kidding?” Setting down her bottle, she lifted Carrie to her shoulder, gently patting the little girl’s back.

Her mother already had William up on her shoulder. Sue breathed a silent sigh of relief as Jenny and Luke exchanged another look. The one that said they’d let the issue of Sue’s lifestyle ride for now.

“We brought the necklace for you to see,” Luke said half an hour later as the threesome walked down the hall together after having laid the babies in their cribs.

“Dad, really, I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

As they entered the family room, Jenny went for her purse, pulling out the familiar black velvet box.

Sue turned away. “I do not want to see Grandma’s necklace.”

Grabbing her hand, Jenny pulled her down to the couch. Luke sat on her other side. “Grandma’s gone, sweetie,” her mom said.

“I know that.”

“Your father and I—” Jenny and Luke placed their hands over Sue’s “—we know how close you were to her, how badly you must be hurting.”

“I’m fine,” Sue said, not moving.

“We…oh, honey…” Jenny’s eyes filled with tears.

“What your mother is trying to say is that we understand and we’re here for you,” Luke stated.

“I know that.”

“Denial is the first stage of grief,” he continued.

Okay. She wasn’t denying anything. She just wasn’t like them, needing to cling to each other…

“We’re worried about you here all alone, with no one to see you through this difficult time.”

Sue jumped up. “Ma, Dad…” She stopped. Took a breath. Lessened the intensity of her tone. “Really, I’m going to be all right.”

They shared “the glance” again.

“Look, I promise I’ll stay in touch. And Belle’s here…”

“Just don’t underestimate the effect this is having on you.” The seriousness of Luke’s glance got her attention more than his earlier worry had. “You’re too much like me,” he said. “You take on more than you should. You think you can handle anything.”

What other option was there?

But she knew what her dad was saying. He’d retired early from his banking career because of stress-related high blood pressure. A condition that no longer existed, thank God.

“I’ll be careful, Dad. I promise.”

One thing she’d learned about herself several years ago, she wasn’t Wonder Woman.



DRESSED IN GYM SHORTS and a muscle shirt, the same clothes he’d worn lifting weights in the spare bedroom an hour before, Rick sat in the dark on the settee in his bedroom, looking out over the city from the wall of windows. The house wasn’t big. Wasn’t opulent. But it had these windows.

And a fenced-in grassy yard that had been perfect for a little girl to play in.

Ten forty-five.

Rick sat, looking for a plan.

It had something to do with the natural, sexy woman he couldn’t get out of his mind. But so far, the details wouldn’t come to him.

So he sat. He stared.

He hung on.

A move he’d perfected over the past few months.

When his cell rang, it took him a couple of rings to find the damn thing. In the master bath. On the counter. Where he’d left it when he’d stripped out of the jeans he’d worn that day.

He tripped over them as he grabbed the phone.

He recognized the number. Sue Bookman.

“Hello?”

“People change,” she said simply.

Back in his bedroom, Rick returned to study the city he loved. Fog and all. “Sue?”

“Yeah. Is it too late? I meant to call earlier, but by the time my folks left, William was up again and a little fussy with his ten o’clock feeding. But I can call back another time—”

“No!” He sat on the edge of the love seat, his arms on his knees. She was calling him at ten o’clock at night when she could have waited until morning if the call were purely professional. Had she been thinking about him as much as he’d been thinking about her? “Now’s fine.”

“I won’t keep you. I was out of line this afternoon and I apologize.”

“Out of line how?”

“When I didn’t like what you had to say, I was rude. I’m sorry.”

“You sound tired.”

“It’s been a long day.” And then, before he could respond, she added, “A long couple of weeks.”

Definely not a professional call.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

He barely knew the woman. But asking the question seemed natural.

“Not really.” Her chuckle lacked humor. “It’s just that sometimes life doesn’t make a lot of sense, you know?”

More like most times. “Yeah.”

“I found out earlier this week, at the reading of my grandmother’s will, that the man I thought was my maternal grandfather by adoption, was actually my biological grandfather.”

Rick’s heart rate sped up. The conversation had just become personal. Between him and her.

“You lost your grandmother?”

Her pause was telling. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

The darkness surrounding him was more companion than demon at the moment.

“Were you close to her?”

“Very. You see, the thing is, I don’t get close to people. I tend to get cramped. To suffocate if anyone gets too close. Except for my grandmother. I never got that feeling with her. Not once.”

“What about your parents?”

“Oh, yeah. It happens with them most of all. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Maybe because you need to talk about it and I’m risk free.”

“But still…”

“Maybe because I want to hear it.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” More sure than he’d been about anything in a long time. Except for getting Carrie.

“Why?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

It was like they were dancing. Only they were using words to circle each other. To feel each other out.

Because there was more here than a foster mother and a potential adoptive parent.

You ’re losing it, Kraynick. You ’ve met her twice.

But he answered her anyway. “My niece aside, you intrigue me. It’s been a long time since I met a woman I didn’t immediately forget two minutes after I left her…That didn’t come out as I meant it to sound.”

Rick moaned inwardly. He really had been out of the singles scene a long time.

“Maybe not, but it might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in quite a while.” Her voice dropped. “This isn’t going to sway my opinion regarding Carrie.”

“I understand.”

“I mean that.”

“I’m enjoying a conversation with a woman I’ve met,” he said, bemused as he looked out over a city that, recently, had seemed to go on without him. “Not with a foster parent.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep.”

“Okay then, my mom was adopted,” she blurted, before going on to tell him about her mother’s relationship with her older brother, the biological son of her adoptive parents. And that wasn’t all. There were two uncles involved, too. And a couple of cousins.

“And you guys just found out all of this?”

“Pretty amazing, huh?” Silence hung between them until she said, “Had enough?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“What are we doing here?”

“Talking.”

“Yeah, but we don’t really even know each other and…Strangely enough, this feels…good.”

“So talk. This feels…good.” He repeated her words back to her.

“It’s been a tough couple of weeks all around, huh?”

“That it has.” “It’s kind of like we were meant to meet. To talk.”

He was glad to hear she thought so, too. “We’ve been through similar experiences,” he said. “Both finding out about family we didn’t know we had. It’s good to talk to someone who understands.”

“Especially since we aren’t going to get a chance to have relationships with some of them. Your sister. My biological grandmother. And even some I did spend time with weren’t who I thought they were. My whole life I thought my grandfather was this somewhat quiet, very loyal, hardworking family man who adored my grandmother. And then I hear that he was not only unfaithful to her, that he’d had a mistress on the side for years, but that he’d also had babies by her? He had both women pregnant at the same time with his two sons!”

“But they never knew they were half brothers.” “

No! We didn’t even know this other woman existed, and she was my mom’s mother! This woman raised her two sons—the second, younger than my mother, was fathered by the man she eventually married—and a grandson. So why in the hell did she give my mother away?”

“Maybe your grandfather gave her no choice. Maybe it was some kind of deal they made, that one of them raise one of their children while the other raised the other?”

“That stinks. Like kids are assets you’re going to split?”

Rick leaned back on the couch, propping his heels on the low table in front of it, more alive than he’d felt in a long time. “Yeah, probably not. You said he was a loving man. There was probably more to it than that. Maybe…

maybe the first pregnancy came so soon after her husband’s death she could pass the baby off as his. But your mother would have been obviously illegitimate.”

“That wasn’t my mom’s fault. And certainly no reason not to love her.”

“But then you live in a society that wouldn’t blink twice at a child born out of wedlock.” What an untenable situation. “I can’t imagine the rest of Robert’s life, as he lived with those choices.”

“My grandfather’s smile always seemed a little sad. I understand why, now. But I’ll say this for him. He was there for us. Always.”

“Us. You mentioned a couple of cousins. Are they Sam’s kids?”

“Belle is. The other, Joe, is Adam’s son.”

“So you knew this Belle growing up, but since you never met Adam, you wouldn’t have known Joe, which means you have a new cousin to become acquainted with, too.”

“No, that’s weird, as well. Adam’s son, Joe, was my best friend.”

Rick frowned. “What?”

“Yeah.” Sue paused a long moment. Then she explained about the friend she’d had but never brought home. “The best way I can describe my childhood is cloying,” she added, by way of explanation. “My mom’s the type who’s not content unless she’s inside your skin. Maybe because Uncle Sam always made her feel less a part of the family, I don’t know. Anyway, she met my father while they were still in high school, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. They do everything together, especially now since Dad’s retired.”

Rick was beginning to understand why Sue lived alone. And hoped it wasn’t a condition she wanted to maintain forever.

“By the time I met Joe, I was fourteen. We went to the same high school—just like my parents. I’d realized by that point that I was either going to spend my life fighting to get breathing space from my parents, go insane or keep secrets from them. He was my secret. I realize now that part of the secrecy was my way of keeping my distance, even with Joe.”

“You guys had no idea you were related.”

“Nope.”

Rick didn’t think he had a right to ask the obvious question. A boy. A girl. Close. Hormones.

“He asked me to go steady when we were seniors.”

Rick laid his head back against the cushions, focused on the lights twinkling with abandon in the vast world before him.

“Did you?”

“Yes.”




Chapter Nine


SUE HAD BEEN WANDERING around her house, touching things—a cold metal frame on the mantel, a picture of Grandma, the soft baby blankets on the edge of a bassinet. She rinsed the dishes in the kitchen. And picked up the toys left on the floor from her parents’ playtime with the kids.

She ended up in her bathroom, the baby monitor on the counter so she could hear if anyone needed her, and closed the door. Lighting a couple of candles, she switched off the lights, turned on the water in the garden tub, poured in bubble bath and started to undress.

All with her cell phone planted firmly at her ear.

“Joe and I went steady that whole year,” she told Rick, remembering. Speaking of things she’d never told anyone before. Not even Grandma. Because she could. Because she had a feeling he’d understand. Because, as he’d said, he was risk free.

Her blouse fell to the floor. Doing things with one hand was no problem for a woman used to living with a baby on her hip as an almost permanent fixture. The hooks on her bra were as easily mastered.

“Did you sleep with him?”

Why the question seemed appropriate, as if Rick Kraynick had a right to such intimacies, Sue couldn’t say. She unbuttoned her jeans, stepped out of them.

“Almost.” She told him the truth. “But no.”

After sliding her panties down her hips, legs and feet, Sue stepped into the soothingly hot water.

“So you think you sensed some kind of familial connection?” Rick’s voice sounded low. Sleepy. But not the least bit as if he was falling asleep.

“Maybe. I’d like to think so. I hurt him horribly.” She told Rick one of her secrets. She’d hurt too many people.

And wasn’t about to add another to her list.

No matter how much real estate Rick was taking up in her thoughts. Incredible, after only meeting this man twice.

“Was he at the reading of the will, too? This Joe?”

“Yeah. I was standing next to him when we found out we were cousins. He’s my boss now. I do bookkeeping for him from home. But we haven’t been close since high school. He’s all locked up inside. I’d hoped that finding out we were family would bring us closer again, but it doesn’t seem to have.”

“Give him time.”

Time. Everything took time. What happened when time wasn’t enough? She ran water down her neck, scooping it in her hand to splash over her breasts.

“Are you in the tub?”

Sue stared at her bare toes, sticking up from the bubbles and said nothing.

“I thought I heard the water running.”

Her nipples, also showing through the bubbles, were hard. What in the hell was she doing? And why?

“Would it offend you terribly if I said I wish I was there with you?”

It should. Instead, he was turning her on. She’d thought of little else but him since the first time she’d seen him. And these days, people thought nothing of going straight to sex. People, maybe. Not Sue.

“Are you saying it?”

“Are you offended?”

“I’m trying to be.”

“Don’t try so hard.”

“Rick…”

“I know. It’s complicated.”

This was the oddest…whatever it was…she’d ever encountered. “I’mnot offended.” But she was scared to death. What was happening to her? Who was this man who’d turned her inside out just by appearing in her life?

“Tell me if there are bubbles in that water with you. And let me imagine what you look like right now. Let me imagine, just for tonight, that I’m there with you…”



SUE DIDN’T ANSWER HER phone Sunday morning any of the three times Rick called. She didn’t answer it Sunday afternoon, either. Nor did she respond to the messages he left.

Her parents were gone. She’d said they were flying out early.

So maybe she’d gone to church.

And then out to lunch. And to a family get-together or to the park or out with friends he didn’t know about. Maybe there was a foster family group that met once a month.

Or…

By seven o’clock he’d run out of excuses for her. As conscientious as Sue was, she wouldn’t have those babies out all day, missing nap times, and then into the night, as well.

Which meant one of two things. Either she was avoiding him or something was wrong.

He couldn’t believe, after the incredible phone call they’d shared the night before, that she’d just avoid him. They’d started something. Sue wasn’t the type to tease.

A too-familiar fear tightened his chest. He’d rationalized that last time with Hannah, too. Made excuses when his six-year-old hadn’t called him immediately when she got out of class, as was their agreement.

Rick tucked his shirttail into his jeans, grabbed his wallet and keys and headed for the door.

Traffic was light—not many people out in the dark on a Sunday night in March—and he was out of town driving south in a matter of minutes. Made it to Sue’s before eight.

When he saw the lights on, he briefly considered driving on past.

He had to knock three times before she pulled open the door. She was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved, red-and-white-striped pullover, her feet bare. As though she’d been home awhile.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked, still on edge with the heightened sense of awareness that tragedy struck without warning.

“Yes.” Since her gaze was focused somewhere around his chin, he couldn’t tell if she was angry, offended or secretly glad to see him. Rick took it as a good sign that she hadn’t shut the door in his face.

“I called.”

“I know.”

He nodded. Stood there with his hands in his pockets. And thought of her voice, soft and seductive. The sound of water trickling over naked skin…

“Last night was a mistake.”

So she had been avoiding him. “Why?”

In the doorway, a barrier between him and her home, Sue said, “I…with Carrie…it’s not right.”

At least she hadn’t said she wasn’t interested in him.

“I’m not going to be used,” she added.

Eyes narrowed, Rick hardly felt the fifty-degree chill. “Regarding Carrie, you mean.”

“It fits, doesn’t it? I fall for you. I give you what you want—your niece.”

“When did you come up with this theory? Before or after you shared your bath with me?”

“After.”

Her doubts were understandable. He blamed her for them, anyway.

“How about, I meet my niece’s foster mother. She’s different from any woman I’ve ever met. I want to get to know her. And the more I do, the more she’s in my thoughts all day long—”

“Can you honestly tell me those thoughts don’t include the fact that I can help you get Carrie?”

“My interest in you doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

“But you still hope I’ll help.”

“Of course I do.”

“Like I said, last night was a mistake.” She started to close the door.

“Wait.” Rick shoved his foot between the door and the jamb. “I hope you’ll help,” he said, “but last night…my interest in you…that has nothing to do with Carrie.”

“Uh-huh. And will it still be there if I recommend that your niece be placed with your mother?”

He didn’t like the question. “I think so.” His answer was instant, and honest.

“But you aren’t sure.”

“Last night did not happen with any thought in mind of you helping me with Carrie. I was thinking of you. Period.”

She glanced down—so did he—and saw her toes curling around the edge of the door frame.

“I don’t want a serious relationship,” she said when she glanced back up.

She’d said that before. “How about friendship?”

“I’m not going to help you with Carrie. If I think she’d be better off with your mother, I’m going to say so.”

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with that.”

“Not really. But I’ve been forewarned.”

“And you still want to be my friend?”

“I still want to explore last night further.”

When Sue grimaced, the tension between them escalated. “You’re not easy to peg, Rick Kraynick. Or to ignore.”

“Neither are you, Ms. Bookman. So at least we have that going for us, huh?”

She leaned back against the doorjamb, her arms crossed over her chest. “What makes you so…difficult?”

“Me? I’m as simple as they come. Boring, even.”

Her burst of laughter made him smile. “How does it work when you need time to yourself?” he asked. “With the kids, I mean?”

“Same as any other parent with kids. I call a sitter. One of the other foster mothers and I trade off whenever we can.”

“You think she’d be available one afternoon this week?”

“Which one?”

“Any one you’ll agree to spend with me.”

“Tuesday?”

“Tuesday. You think you can arrange it?”

Sue said she would. And before Rick made it back to his place, she’d already called him on his cell and told him that Tuesday was a go. She was going to meet him in the parking lot at school with her bike.

She talked to him for another hour while he sat in his underground parking lot, and had him laughing as she told him about embarrassing moments growing up with her dedicated parents. How they’d wear matching shirts with slogans, traipse through the grocery store as a threesome and flip coins in the middle of the aisle over ice cream flavors. And they showed up at lunch on the first day of school—every year until she started high school.

She had him laughing. Out loud.

Damn, that felt good.



His BUTT LOOKED EVEN better on a bike seat than it did in tight jeans. The deep tenor of his voice, familiar to her, from their phone conversations, distracted her from the vision. He told her about his climb from teacher to principal to administration in the Livingston school district—the system she’d attended—as they rode up and down streets she’d once walked on a regular basis. Some had changed. Some were exactly the same.

They were on their way to a new bike path he’d told her about. Along the route of an old railroad track, a paved path that stretched for more than twenty miles.

“This feels fabulous.” Dressed in black leggings and a matching long-sleeved formfitting tunic, she smiled over at him. “I used to ride all the time, but with the babies, I hardly ever have a chance anymore.”

“What do you do for exercise?”

“I used to hike Twin Peaks while Grandma played with the babies. But now that Grandma’s gone…”

There it was again. That reminder. Every single reminder was like finding out again, for the first time, that Grandma had died.

And that she’d lied.

“Sounds like the two of you were close.” Rick’s green eyes made Sue feel things she’d never felt before…as though he knew her better than anyone else ever had.

Which was ridiculous. Everybody knew how close she was to her grandmother. She was just vulnerable because she was missing Grandma.

“Very,” she said, turning her gaze back to the path in front of them, the trees sprouting new spring leaves. And she wanted the ride to last forever.

“They say it gets easier,” he said softly.

“That’s what I hear.”

“I’m not sure they know what they’re talking about.”

“You sound as though you’re speaking from experience, aside from your sister, that is.”

“I guess I am.”

“Recent experience?” Had he been in love? And she’d died?

Rick’s shrug gave Sue the idea she was on the right path. Did he find the subject difficult to talk about?

“How come you never married?” she asked, hoping to draw him out if he wanted to share with her.

Hoping he wanted to share with her.

He pedaled along easily. “She said no.”

Sue almost skidded off the path. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Seven years.”

“Is she still alive?” Sue asked gently.

“As far as I know.”

“Do you ever hear from her?”

“Briefly, six months ago.”

So much for the lost love theory.

“And you haven’t met anyone since?”

“I wasn’t looking.”

“Married to the job, huh?” she guessed. He’d climbed the career ladder quickly.

“Maybe. I’m told I work too much.”

She was told the same thing. By her parents. Every time she talked to them.

They covered another mile, passing a couple of other bikers and a pair on in-line skates, and Twin Peaks came into view. Sue asked him if he’d ever been up there.

“Of course,” he said. “Hasn’t everyone who’s lived in San Francisco for more than a week?”

She chuckled.

“What’s going to happen to your grandma’s house?” Rick asked.

Sue stared at him before answering. Who was this man? Where had he come from? And why was he in her life right now? When she was most susceptible?

“Uncle Sam’s got it listed already. He and Mom already divvied up most of Grandma’s stuff, and movers are putting the things in storage bins.”

She’d heard the words. She’d processed facts. Period. Her life had revolved around that house in Twin Peaks. Around her grandparents.

Her life had been a lie.

“That’s quick.”

“Do you have any idea how much it would have meant to know that we were blood relatives while I was growing up?” she blurted. “Do you have any idea how many times I wished I was as much a grandchild to Grandma and Grandpa as Belle was?” Sue couldn’t believe she was saying this.

“You were! Come on, you more than anyone know that adopted kids are as loved, as valued, as important as biological children.”

“To the parents, that’s true. But just because adults have it all worked out doesn’t mean children do. We can explain, and love, but we can’t tell a child how to feel. Or an adult, either.”

“But you felt loved.”

“Yes, and now I feel incredibly betrayed. How could Grandpa never once look his daughter in the eye and tell her he’d fathered her? I just don’t get it.”

“At least he had her there to love.”

Sue pedaled harder as the questions pushed her on. She didn’t want to think about these things. Didn’t want to talk about them.

But they wouldn’t leave her alone.

“Still, it would have helped so much if we’d all known who we were. If Mom was truly adopted, unrelated by blood, then fine. That’s who she was. Instead, that’s only who she thought she was. And she has another full brother and a half brother…To know that your parents deliberately kept the knowledge from you…”

“I’m sure they had reasons.”

“That doesn’t mean they were right. Or that they made the best choices.” Sue’s thoughts raged on. “That’s one of the reasons I think Carrie being placed with your mother might be the best choice,” she said before she could think better of it. “As long as your mother adores her, and stays clean—and with her history, the state won’t give her two chances with this one—with her Carrie has a chance of growing up with a strong sense of self. And sometimes it’s only your sense of self that keeps you holding on…”

Her parents had given her that. And it had kept her alive at a time when she’d rather have been dead. When she’d prayed for death.

“Your mother knew Christy better than anyone,” she said, grasping the handlebars tighter. “She knew her likes and dislikes, her mannerisms and idiosyncrasies, how old she was when she took her first steps and what kinds of things made her laugh. She probably knows who Carrie’s father is, and she was around for Carrie’s birth. She’s the only one who can—”

“I disagree.”

His voice had changed.

“I know.”

And that was why she couldn’t start to count on this man’s friendship, no matter how much he engaged her. A baby’s life wasn’t something you could get around.

Or compromise on.




Chapter Ten


RICK TOLD HIMSELF to forget the woman pedaling beside him. After the way he’d been raised, he’d always wanted to have a family. A close family. That did everything together.

Sue’s goal was to remain single, detached. Alone.

Or so she’d said in more than one of their conversations.

And he knew with every fiber of his being that Carrie belonged with him. Whether Sue Bookman helped him get her or not.

If he got the baby, where would Sue fit into his life?

Where did he want her to fit?

She said something about turning back, and his thoughts skidded to a stop. What was he doing, thinking of this woman in terms of his future? He’d known her little more than a week.

“I will be a good father to Carrie,” he said aloud, as much to get himself back on track as anything.

“Rick, you don’t even know if you’ll get a chance. The court might go through with your mother’s adoption of her, regardless.”

He had to get the chance. That baby was not going to go to his mother by default. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel.

“Being a parent is so much more than changing diapers and giving baths,” she said. “It’s more than looking after younger kids in a foster home. It’s a lifetime commitment.”

They’d wheeled past a familiar road about a quarter of a mile back. He’d given it a brief mental acknowledgment and moved past. Now Rick turned back.

Sue followed without another word. Until he signaled the turnoff.

“Where are we going?”

He tried to tell her, but ended up saying, “Humor me.”

“Okay.”

He slowed, and she matched her pace to his. The road was quiet. And short.

“A cemetery?” she asked. “Are you sure we can ride in here?”

“Positive.”

He pedaled slower and slower until he pulled up in front of a headstone and stopped.

“Kraynick,” Sue said, reading the stone.

He nodded. Sort of. As always when he came here, he could barely move.

“Christy?” Sue asked softly. And then answered her own question. “It can’t be. The ground is too settled.”

But the grave site was still new enough that the edges were clearly delineated, the mound of dirt only partially covered with the spindly beginnings of grass.

There was a stone embedded in the ground at the grave’s head, and Rick expected her to get off her bike to read it, but she didn’t. She stayed with him.

And right now, Rick needed her. Needed her like he’d never needed anyone.

She stood between him and what he had to have. And yet, at the same time, she was part of what he had to have.

“I know exactly what it takes to be a father.”

Sue didn’t move, her gaze steady on the stone in front of them.

“Her name was Hannah.”

“What happened?”

“She died.” Stick to the facts, man. They’re only facts.

“I’m so sorry.” The tenderness in her voice—a woman who was a virtual stranger to him yet didn’t feel like a stranger at all—soothed the rawness chaffing a wound that would never go away. “How long ago?”

He’d started this. “Six months.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, Rick. I am so sorry.” Her eyes widened as she gave him a quick glance. And then her gaze returned to the stone. “How old was she?”

“Six. She’d be seven now.”

See, facts aren ‘t that hard. As long as you stick to them.

“Was she sick?” Sue turned on her bike, facing him directly. The look she gave him held a depth he couldn’t describe. She spoke without words. Which made no sense.

None of this made sense. Him with someone. Sharing Hannah.

“She was on the playground at school. A teenager high on acid lost control of his new Mustang convertible, drove through the fence and hit her.”

Yes, that was what the newspapers said. Mark had told him. The police hadn’t been as forthcoming. Rick had tried to read the clippings. Hadn’t succeeded yet.

He ‘d yet to make it through the boxes of cards that had come to the house. Darla had packed them up for him, left them in the spare bedroom. They were there somewhere.

“How awful. I’m…I don’t know what to say…”

Rick pedaled on.

The tragedy had nothing to do with them.

The past couldn’t be changed.



SHE STILL HAD AN HOUR before Barb’s daughter, Lisa, would be expecting her home. An hour before it was time for baths and bed for her three charges.

And she was with a man who’d disappeared into a private hell she couldn’t seem to penetrate. It was as though she’d been riding with a stranger, not the man who’d touched her so deeply in such a short space of time.

He lifted her bike into the van, and then loaded his into his SUV before turning back to her, keys in hand.

“I saw where Hannah is buried.” Sue said. “Can I see where she lived?” She was pushing. Requesting entrance into his personal space. Maybe it wasn’t wise, but it felt right.

Rick studied her, eyes narrowed, then turned away. “You want to follow me?” he asked over his shoulder as he opened the driver’s door on his Nitro.

Nodding, Sue got into the van quickly, buckling her belt and turning on the ignition at the same time. She wasn’t going to give him time to change his mind.

Looking around Rick’s living room ten minutes later, honing in particularly on all of the pictures of Hannah—of him and Hannah—Sue blinked back tears.

His daughter’s eyes were green, like her father’s. But her hair was darker than his by a couple of shades.

Sue didn’t mean to stare, but the little girl had been what child models were made of. Oozing happiness and confidence. She compelled you to look at her.

Glancing up, she saw Rick watching her. His eyes were glistening.

“I can’t imagine your loss,” she whispered.

“Neither can I. No matter how many months go by.”

He’d shown her only this room. The dark brown leather couches, coffee and end tables, home theater system. The room was nice. And there was nothing that spoke of anyone living there—no shoes left by the door, no opened mail or remote control on the table. No briefcase or keys or knickknacks. Nothing but the pictures.

“Can I get you something to eat? I was going to do grilled shrimp and onions.”

“Sounds wonderful. But I’ve only got another forty-five minutes or so. I promised Lisa I’d be back before bath time.”

“The shrimp’s already marinated,” Rick said, heading to the kitchen. Sue followed and fell into place beside him, slicing celery and cutting up broccoli, sharing the space easily. Naturally.

The refrigerator was covered with photos of Hannah and Rick. On bikes. On snowshoes. In swimsuits. There was one where their faces were painted gold and red—San Francisco Giants’ colors.

“The pictures, they’re all just of the two of you.”

“Yeah.”

Rick had said he’d never been married. “So you lived alone with her at the time of her accident?”

“We lived alone from the moment I brought her home from the hospital.”

Shocked, Sue stared at him. “Her mother died in childbirth?”

“Her mother didn’t want her,” he said, tipping the pan of shrimp to fill their plates. “Or me.”

“What do you mean, she didn’t want her?”

Rick brought silverware, napkins and iced tea to the table. Sue followed with their plates.

“I met Sheila shortly after I graduated from college,” he said a couple of silent minutes into the meal. Sue had been eating the shrimp. And waiting. “I’d taken a job at Globe High School. As math teacher and basketball coach.”

In the district where he was now assistant superintendent.

“Sheila was the varsity cheerleading coach—an after-school, mostly volunteer position. In her day job she was a model.”

Sitting there in her bike clothes, sweaty and with her hair in a ponytail, Sue wished she’d had a chance to shower. At least.

Rick’s lover had been a model?

“For a boy who’d grown up virtually on his own, never being in one place long enough to form any kind of lasting relationship, having Sheila around took some getting used to. But in a good way. She changed everything for me.”

He took a bite of shrimp, his gaze faraway. “She taught me about love. Taught me how to love.”

Keeping her eyes on her plate, Sue asked, “How does one teach someone to love? Either you feel the feelings or you don’t.”

“Love is action, Sheila always said.” He paused, and Sue looked up at him, then couldn’t look away. “According to her, when you do things for people, you are loving them. When you spoil them, you are loving them in a big way.”

The twinge Sue felt was simply because she was hungry. The bike ride and all…

“So did she?” she asked quietly, reminding herself there was no reason to feel jealous. Rick was with her. He’d cooked dinner for her. Pursued her.

And it wasn’t like she wanted anything permanent, anyway.





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