Loe raamatut: «Child of His Heart»

“I’m sorry, Nick, this isn’t going to work out.”

Erin took a deep breath and started to walk away, heart pounding.

“Wait!” He strode after her and put a hand on her arm. “I don’t understand. What happened between Saturday evening and this morning to change your mind?”

Lifting her eyes to his, she answered, “I—I’ve had time to think. You know how people in small towns talk.”

“You’re not going to tell me you’re worried about the town gossips. What could anyone say that could possibly harm either of us?”

She conjured up a vivid image of herself hugely pregnant, and Nick cast unfairly as the father. She couldn’t put him in such an untenable position.

Nor could she bear to sit and wait for him to reject her.

She shrugged, forcing herself to appear nonchalant. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to get involved. Please accept my decision.”

Shutting her heart to the hurt and anger in his eyes, she put her chin in the air, straightened her shoulders and walked out of his life….

Dear Reader,

Kids—you gotta love ’em. They say that mothers always know who their children are, but a father can never be certain. Until the advent of DNA testing, that is. The idea for Child of His Heart came by playing around with the writer’s favorite creative tool—what if? What if suddenly you discover that the child you always thought was yours might not be?

Nick Kincaid’s wife confessed on her deathbed to having an affair around the time their daughter was conceived. The galling knowledge doesn’t diminish Nick’s love for his daughter, Miranda, but he does think twice about getting romantically involved with Erin Hanson, who is pregnant by her ex-fiancé. The last thing he wants is to raise another child that isn’t his. Or does he?

Child of His Heart explores what it means to be a parent. Is fatherhood purely genetic? Or is a commitment to a child’s welfare on a daily basis just as important, perhaps more so? I think any parent, biological or adoptive, knows the answer to that.

Erin figures out pretty quickly that Nick would make a better father to her child than the biological father, despite Nick’s protestations. Nick gets there in the end, with Erin’s help, but not before he risks losing those he holds dearest. It’s a happy man who knows that, child of his loins or not, the child he loves and cares for is a child of his heart.

I hope you enjoy this story as much as I did writing it. I love to hear from my readers. You can contact me c/o Harlequin Enterprises, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada, M3B 3K9; or e-mail me at www.superauthors.com.

Joan Kilby

Child of His Heart
Joan Kilby

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the children of my heart—Ryan, Gillian and Matthew

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

THE PHONE WAS RINGING when Erin entered her Seattle apartment late one Sunday night in early August. She longed for a hot shower and a quiet finish to the weekend with her fiancé, John.

Correction—her ex-fiancé.

“Hold on,” she muttered at the phone. “I’m coming.”

Slipping off her Prada slingbacks, she tossed her overnight bag onto the living room sofa and moved through the dark to the granite-and-oak kitchen. Three of her seven clocks chimed the quarter hour and she automatically looked at her watch—11:45.

The phone clicked onto voice mail. “Hi, Erin. It’s Kelly. Call me—”

At the sound of her sister’s voice, Erin snatched up the phone. “Kel? I’m here. I just got in.”

“Erin, thank God. I’ve been calling since yesterday morning.”

“I was away for the weekend with John. What’s up?” Stifling a yawn, she flicked on the lights and wriggled onto a bar stool, pushing back the spiraling blond strands that fell around her shoulders.

“It’s Gran,” Kelly said. “She’s fine now—”

“What do you mean now? What happened?” Erin hugged the cordless phone to her ear, one arm wrapped around her waist. Please, God, not Gran.

“She had a slight heart attack,” Kelly explained.

“Oh, my God.” Erin slid off the stool, her free hand pressed against her forehead. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s back home. She’s fine, honestly,” Kelly reassured her. “The doctors did all kinds of tests and they say there’s no serious damage to her heart. But I’m worried, Erin. When it happened, I was at work. She felt pain in her chest, and instead of going to the doctor she went around the house and penciled a name on the back of all her needlepoint pictures so we wouldn’t fight over them in case she died.”

“As if we would.” But Erin could just see Gran doing that.

“Well, Geena might,” Kelly said. “You know she’s always coveted the one of the lighthouse.”

Erin chuckled, and Kelly joined in. Laughing was okay because they both knew that like them, Geena wished Gran could live forever. No amount of needlepoint pictures would make up for her loss.

“I asked her to come and live with us,” Kelly continued. “She refused.”

“I’m not surprised—that house is her home.” Erin opened the fridge door and reached for the carton of orange juice. “She and Granddad built it over sixty years ago. I can’t imagine her living anywhere else. And we grew up there. I’d hate to see it go out of the family.”

“What should we do?” Kelly asked.

“I agree she shouldn’t be alone.” Erin pictured Gran suffering another heart attack, reaching for the phone and collapsing before she could dial 911. “Maybe we could get her a live-in housekeeper.”

“I suggested that, too. She doesn’t want a stranger in her house. I got her a Medic Alert tag, but she won’t wear it. I don’t know if she’s in denial or just forgetful.”

Erin drank some juice while she considered their options; there weren’t many. “I could come home,” she said slowly.

“But how?” Kelly objected. “What about your job? And John?”

Erin’s shoulders drooped. “John and I broke up.”

She barely finished speaking before clocks began to sound the hour from their various locations around the apartment. As she waited for the chimes to cease, her mind flitted back over the weekend at John’s cabin. She’d gone with the expectation that they’d plan the wedding; he’d come to tell her he wanted to postpone it—again. After two days of arguments, lovemaking and tears she was drained, emotionally and physically.

“Oh, Erin. I’m sorry.” Hesitantly, Kelly added, “To tell you the truth, I’m glad. He wasn’t right for you. But are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Erin put down her glass and moved into the darkened living room to stand before the picture window. From her twelfth-story apartment the lights of Seattle twinkled around the dark fingers of Puget Sound. “I’m running on empty, but I’ll survive. John’s not a bad guy—”

“He’s manipulative. I don’t know why you can’t see it. What did he do—put off the wedding again?”

“This is a bad time for him, workwise. As prosecuting attorney he has responsibilities, and now he’s thinking of running for Congress. Maybe I’m being too pigheaded. Gran isn’t the only stubborn one in the family.”

Kelly snorted impatiently. “All you wanted was a June wedding. After being engaged for over two years you’d think he could fit that on his agenda. You shouldn’t have to do things his way all the time. Love is about mutual respect and compromise—”

“I know. I know,” Erin cut in. She was grateful for Kelly’s support, but her sister had a blind spot about John. “It might do us good to have a break from each other for a while.”

“I thought you just said you’d split for good!”

“This could blow over given a little time.” Gut instinct told her John was never going to change, but she’d invested so much time and emotional energy in the relationship that letting go was hard.

“Oh, Erin.” Kelly gave an exasperated sigh and switched topics.

Leaving her new position as manager of the Loans Department would be a sacrifice, Erin had to admit. She’d worked hard for three years and had finally been rewarded with the promotion. Job opportunities appropriate to her qualifications weren’t exactly thick on the ground in Hainesville. Not only that, she loved the vibrancy, the variety a larger city like Seattle offered. She enjoyed the anonymity and the freedom to do what she wanted, to be who she was, without fear of censure or gossip.

Yet sometimes, like now, when her mind was weary and her heart sore, she longed for the cozy comfort of the small town she’d grown up in. A place without traffic jams and road rage, where the air smelled of blossoms and freshly cut grass, not diesel fumes; where people who’d known her as a child stopped on the street to chat. A place with memories and continuity, where life proceeded at a user-friendly pace.

“A job is just a job,” she told Kelly. “Family is everything.”

“YOU’VE RUINED MY LIFE. You know that, don’t you?” Miranda complained from the passenger seat of her father’s Suburban. She tugged irritably at a purple-streaked strand of curly auburn hair. “I’m not even thirteen and my life is over.”

Nick Dalton ignored his daughter’s histrionics and kept his eyes straight ahead on the northbound lane of the interstate freeway. Puberty. Would it never end?

Usually he laughed off her over-the-top statements because they were underscored with humor and affection. But she was more furious than he’d ever seen her, and he was tired. Instead of finishing his last week as battalion chief for Orange County with paperwork, he’d had to contend with a major blaze that had broken out at a chemical plant and had been on duty around the clock, coordinating three battalions of firefighters. Now he and Miranda had been on the road for three long days and she’d been at him every waking minute. According to her, he’d “ruined” her life so many times it was a wonder she’d survived preschool.

“So sue me,” he teased, trying to pull her out of the despair she apparently loved to wallow in. “Taking you out of a smoggy, overcrowded, crime-ridden city and into fresh air and open spaces ought to be good for at least a million dollars.” When she didn’t even crack a smile, he added, “Don’t be so negative. I grew up in a small town.”

“Exactly,” she said, as if his origins accounted for his every deficiency. Miranda slumped in her seat, arms crossed over her recently blossomed breasts. “Hicksville isn’t small—it’s microscopic.”

“Hainesville,” he corrected her wearily. He rubbed his jaw, his fingers rasping over the stubble of his heavy beard. “People are friendly in small towns. And I hear the fishing in the area is fantastic.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is there a mall? Or a movie theater?”

“Maybe you can get a horse. Join a sports team.”

“I still don’t see why we had to leave L.A. I only got a navel ring. You can’t punish me as though I were a little girl. You didn’t freak out like this over the nose ring or the eyebrow ring.”

True, he had controlled his anger over the first two rings, telling himself that what was done was done and sooner or later she’d grow out of this ridiculous phase. But the navel ring had been the last straw. Curving provocatively from her bare midriff, it drove him crazy with paternal anxiety. Even now, he couldn’t keep his voice from rising when he spoke of it. “What the hell is a young girl doing with a ring in her navel? Huh?”

“You’re afraid I’ll look sexy,” she taunted. “You’re afraid I’ll start having sex.”

The smirk in her voice sent his blood pressure soaring. She’d pushed his hottest button. Nick gripped the wheel with both hands and forced himself to breathe deeply. You weren’t allowed to strangle your daughter. Nor could you lock her up until she was over thirty.

He’d taken the job at the Hainesville Fire Department partly to get Miranda away from the gang of older kids she’d started hanging with. Sex, drugs—who knew what those lowlifes got up to. Grounding Miranda hadn’t tamed her; more than once she’d snuck out of the house after he was asleep. Even the housekeeper he’d hired hadn’t been able to control her. The only solution, in his mind, was to distance her from bad influences.

Twelve-going-on-twenty, Miranda was trouble with a capital T. The older she got the more she looked like her mother, all lush curves and pouty lips. And if she looked like Janine, he couldn’t help think she would end up acting like Janine. His late wife had always been flirtatious, but until she lay dying in the hospital from injuries sustained in a hit-and-run accident, he’d never seriously thought she had deceived him. Before she’d passed away she’d confessed to having an affair around the time of Miranda’s conception. The memory was a slap in the face every time he looked at his daughter—if she really was his daughter.

“This move isn’t only about you,” he reminded her. “I got a promotion, don’t forget. You should be proud of your old man. At thirty-six I’m probably the youngest fire chief in Washington State.”

“Only because no one else wanted to come here!”

“Miranda, that’s enough.” The warning edge to his voice still had the power to subdue her—just. This move may have been sparked by concern for Miranda, but the change would be good for him, too. In the two years since Janine’s death he’d turned into a hermit. He needed balance in his life just as much as Miranda did.

A meeker voice said, “You look tired, Dad. Want some coffee?”

Nick glanced over to see Miranda, contrite after her outburst, screwing the lid off the thermal jug. “Thanks, honey. Any of those doughnuts left?”

She handed him a travel mug, then picked up the paper bag at her feet and offered it to him. “Don’t eat the blueberry one.”

Grinning, he tickled her behind her ear. “Who’s going to stop me?”

Reluctantly, she giggled. “Da-a-ad.”

ERIN TURNED INTO Linden Street and parked in front of Gran’s house. The two-story Victorian home, set on a wide, deep corner lot, was painted white with blue trim. Lilac bushes flanked the steps, and colorful petunias lined the footpath. In the center of the front yard grew a tall maple, in whose sturdy limbs she’d spent half her childhood.

Erin entered quietly in case Gran was sleeping, and was assailed by the deliciously spicy aroma of homemade gingersnaps. She stooped to set her suitcases on the runner protecting the polished hardwood floor just as the antique grandfather clock in the foyer began to strike noon. Reverently she stroked the polished mahogany and listened to the booming brass chimes. If she coveted anything in Gran’s house, it was this clock, brought west from Chicago by her great-grandfather, Henrik Hanson, more than a hundred years earlier.

The last vibrating note died away. She walked down the hall and into the kitchen. “Gran! I’m here.”

Sunlight streamed through the window overlooking the backyard, bringing a rich glow to the warm yellow walls. Ruth Hanson was pulling a freshly baked pan of Erin’s favorite cookies from the oven, her glasses fogged with heat. In her tracksuit she looked smaller and frailer than Erin remembered, her gray wig almost too large for her angular features. Her skin was stretched tightly over the bones of her face, but her smile was warm and welcoming. “Erin, honey!”

“What are you doing baking cookies?” Erin scolded. “You should be resting.” She grabbed an oven mitt from the table, took the hot tray and set it on a cork mat so she could hug her grandmother.

“I’ve been doing nothing but resting since I got out of the hospital. Oh, it’s so good to see you.” Gran’s hazel eyes became watery and she dug into her pocket for a tissue. “But you shouldn’t have quit your job to look after me. You’ve got your own life to live.”

“It hasn’t been much of a life lately, to tell you the truth. I’m glad to be here.” She hugged her again. “Really glad.”

Gran held her at arm’s length. “I like your dress. That smoky blue matches your eyes. You look good.”

Erin grinned. “Who wouldn’t in one of Geena’s designer outfits?”

“You’re lovely enough to have been a model, too, except that would have been a criminal waste of brain power.” Gran picked up a spatula and scooped the hot cookies off the pan and onto a rack. “Before I forget, as soon as you’ve settled in, go down to the bank and see Jonah Haines. I wouldn’t have suggested you do that on your first day home, but Jonah’s a hard man to pin down. He’s always in some important meeting.”

“Sure. Do you have some banking that needs to be taken care of?”

“No, he’s looking for an assistant manager. Edna Thompson mentioned it when she brought around a casserole after my little spell.”

Assistant manager. It would beat flipping burgers at the Burger Shack. Erin dug a finger into the bowl of cookie dough. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me.”

Gran batted her hand away from the bowl with an oven mitt and smiled indulgently. “Erin, there aren’t enough good words in the Bible to describe you. But you never did learn to keep your hands out of the cookie dough.”

Something brushed Erin’s ankles. She glanced down to see a fluffy gray kitten with enormous blue eyes staring up at her from the black-and-white linoleum floor.

“Well, hello there. Who are you?” Erin crooned. She picked up the kitten and rubbed its soft fur against her cheek. The kitten meowed and climbed onto Erin’s shoulder, digging her sharp little claws into Erin’s skin through the thin fabric of her cotton-knit dress.

“That’s Chloe,” Gran said, rolling lumps of dough into balls and placing them on the cookie sheet. “Kelly brought her over to give me company.”

The front door opened and a woman called, “Gran? Erin?”

“Speak of the devil,” Erin said with a grin, then yelled, “we’re in the kitchen.”

Small feet raced down the hallway. “Auntie Erin. Auntie Erin.” Kelly’s youngest children, twins Tammy and Tina, charged into the room and flung themselves at Erin’s knees.

“Hi, kids,” Erin said, crouching to hug her blond, brown-eyed nieces. Tina’s features were a little finer, Tammy’s hair a fraction darker; otherwise the girls looked alike. The kitten scampered off Erin’s shoulder and into Tina’s arms, getting tangled in the little girl’s long hair and making her giggle. “How are you guys? Where are Robyn and Beth? And your mom?”

“I’m bringing up the rear, as usual.” Kelly, her shiny chestnut-brown hair swinging around the shoulders of her navy-blue suit, bustled into the room. “Robyn and Beth are playing at friends’ houses for the afternoon. I’m dropping these two off at day care on my way to work, but I had to stop in and say hi.” She threw her arms around Erin. “It is so good to have you back.”

Erin, half a head taller, embraced her sister. Even though they saw each other every few months, the time apart always seemed too long. “Do you have to go to work today?”

Kelly tilted her head in a gesture of apology. “I’m trying to close on a riverfront property. If I can nail this deal it’ll be my third sale this month.”

“Fantastic,” Erin said, then noted with surprise her grandmother’s pursed lips. “Isn’t it, Gran?”

“Kelly knows my thoughts on the subject. I’ve said all I’m going to say.” Gran slid the tray of cookies into the oven, then went to the fridge for a jug of lemonade. She set it on the table along with a couple of cookies each for the children, admonishing them kindly, “Sit up at the table so you don’t spill crumbs on my clean floor.”

“Gran thinks I spend too much time working and not enough with my kids,” Kelly explained, then added with a shrug, “I stayed home for fifteen years. It feels great to be out there, earning some money.”

“I can understand that.” Kelly’s two older girls, Robyn and Beth, were in grade four and grade two, respectively. Kelly had started back to work six months ago, when the twins turned three, but Erin hadn’t heard about this small friction between her sister and Gran. “How does Max feel about you working long hours?”

“He’ll get used to it. He’ll have to.” Kelly bit into a fresh cookie. “These are delicious, Gran, but you’re supposed to take it easy. Erin, you’re going to have to keep an eye on her. See that she doesn’t do too much.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“You girls! I’m not an invalid.”

“Hello? Who’s just spent time in the hospital? You need to take care.” Kelly wrapped one arm around Gran’s waist and carried on speaking to Erin. “I had to give up coaching the junior girls’ basketball team at the YWCA. If you’re interested, the position’s still open.”

“I haven’t played in years.”

“That won’t matter for an ace player like you.” Kelly glanced at her watch. “Come on, kids. We’ve got to go.”

Amid clamors of protest from Tammy and Tina, Erin walked her sister to the door. “When can we get together? I have an appointment at the bank, but that won’t take all afternoon.”

“Drop by the office. I’ll be in from two o’clock on.” Her smile turned sly. “The new fire chief is coming by to pick up the keys for his rental houseboat.”

“New fire chief?” Erin said, disentangling the kitten’s claws from Tammy’s sweater. “What happened to Chief Roland?”

“He retired in July,” Gran explained as she slipped each of the children another cookie. “Steve Randall’s been acting chief since then. He applied for the position but didn’t have enough experience.”

“So who’s the new guy?” Erin asked.

“A total babe,” Kelly said, rolling her eyes dreamily. “If I weren’t married… I met him last winter when he came to interview for the job and look at rental houses. He’s a widower from Los Angeles with a young daughter. You’ll have to check him out.”

Erin shook her head. “I’m not interested in meeting anyone.”

“You’ll be interested in this guy,” Kelly predicted. “See you later.”

Erin and Gran waved them off from the porch.

“Why don’t you go on upstairs and put your things away,” Gran said as she closed the door. “I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

“You’ve exerted yourself enough for one day,” Erin said firmly, taking Gran’s arm and leading her to her first-floor bedroom. “I’ll clean up after my appointment at the bank. And I’ll make dinner tonight. No, don’t say a word.” She smiled gently. “I’m here, Gran. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Erin carried her suitcases upstairs to her old room. It looked the same as it had in high school—high ceiling, pale cream wallpaper sprigged with rosebuds, white-painted iron double bed covered with a patchwork quilt. Her heels tapping on polished floorboards, she crossed to the wide bay window, where as a girl she’d curled up on the window seat and read, or stared out at the full moon to dream. Many was the time she used to push up the sash and crawl onto the huge old maple, or nimbly descend its broad limbs rather than mundanely take the stairs.

Nostalgia flooded through her, warring with a niggling sense that she was going backward in life. When she’d left Hainesville for college she never thought she’d return here to live. Had she done the right thing in coming home? She’d been happy in the small town as a child and a teenager, but she was an adult now, and used to a wider world. What kind of future could she have in Hainesville?

The move was only temporary, she reminded herself. She would stay as long as Gran needed her, and long enough to rejuvenate her spirits.

She began to unpack. One suitcase was devoted to her shoe collection—part of her shoe collection, that is. Jimmy Choo, Dolce and Gabana, Manolo Blahnik, Prada—she adored them all. She lined up the shoes in neat rows in the closet and hung her clothes above. On top of the old maple dresser she placed her favorite clock, a brass turn-of-the-century German mantel clock decorated with cherubs. Beside her bed she set an Aynsley china arch clock, white with pink roses. The rest of her clocks and shoes she’d packed for shipping; they would arrive tomorrow.

When she’d finished unpacking, she went down the hall to shower, then changed into a skirt and fitted jacket in gray linen. After some consideration she chose a pair of black crocodile skin pumps with kitten heels. She brushed her long hair, letting it fall in loose waves over her shoulders. Then, checking that her briefcase held a copy of her résumé, she slipped quietly downstairs.

Outside, her gaze went to the basketball hoop above the garage door. She hadn’t played since college, basketball being one of those things she never found time for in Seattle. Coaching might be fun.

She walked toward the center of town beneath the cool dappled green of overarching shade trees. Past the Contafios’ next door, with their orchard and horses; past the monkey puzzle tree on the corner. Children’s laughter, a distant lawn mower and the tinkling bell of the ice cream truck accompanied her. The fragrance of roses, warm grass and ripe apples drifted on the soft breeze. All at once she didn’t miss Seattle one bit. A spring came into her step and she smiled, thinking of her earlier doubts. Truly, life seemed to be taking a positive turn.

On the outskirts of the town center, Erin went by the fire hall and waved to Steve, who was out in the yard, washing down one of the trucks. There was no sign of his new boss. She continued on, past Knit ‘n Kneedles, where Gran got her yarn and patterns, past the health food store and the bakery, then crossed the street at the single set of traffic lights.

Between Blackwell’s Drugstore and Orville’s Barbershop stood the imposing stone building bearing the name Hainesville First National Bank on a brass plaque. Hainesville’s only bank, national or otherwise. With luck this would be her new place of employment.