The Pregnancy Clause
Elizabeth Sinclair
She had twelve months to make a baby…Or, according to her father's will, she'd lose her beloved farm. Trouble was, Emily Kingston was wildly wary of men. In fact, the only male she'd ever trusted was her childhood sidekick, Rian "Kat" Madison, who'd rescued her from countless scrapes, who'd promised to always be there. And even Kat had up and vanished without a trace.But suddenly, sixteen years later, Kat was back. All muscle and mystery, he was the perfect candidate to "donate" his traits without entangling Emily's emotions. But her once-boyish buddy had a shocking proposition of his own: Marry…and make a baby the old-fashioned way!
“You’ll father my baby?”
He nodded. “But we do it my way, on my terms, or not at all.” Kat looked directly at her. “First of all, we get married.”
“Married!” Emily stared at him, openmouthed.
“Married. As in old shoes, rice, orange blossoms. Married. As in legitimate mother and father for our child.”
Emily didn’t like the emphasis he’d put on our, but she hadn’t recovered enough to retaliate.
“Second, I won’t agree unless the baby is conceived the old-fashioned way.”
Dear Reader,
May is the perfect month to stop and smell the roses, and while you’re at it, take some time for yourself and indulge your romantic fantasies! Here at Harlequin American Romance, we’ve got four brand-new stories, picked specially for your reading pleasure.
Sparks fly once more as Charlotte Maclay continues her wild and wonderful CAUGHT WITH A COWBOY! duo this month with In a Cowboy’s Embrace. Join the fun as Tasha Reynolds falls asleep in the wrong bed and wakes with Cliff Swain, the very right cowboy!
This May, flowers aren’t the only things blossoming—we’ve got two very special mothers-to-be! When estranged lovers share one last night of passion, they soon learn they’ll never forget That Night We Made Baby, Mary Anne Wilson’s heartwarming addition to our WITH CHILD…promotion. And as Emily Kingston discovers in Elizabeth Sinclair’s charming tale, The Pregnancy Clause, where there’s a will, there’s a baby on the way!
There’s something fascinating about a sexy, charismatic man who seems to have it all, and Ingrid Weaver’s hero in Big-City Bachelor is no exception. Alexander Whitmore has two wonderful children, money, a successful company…. What could he possibly be missing…?
With Harlequin American Romance, you’ll always know the exhilarating feeling of falling in love.
Happy reading!
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
The Pregnancy Clause
Elizabeth Sinclair
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Sinclair was born and raised in the scenic Hudson Valley of New York State. In 1988 she and her husband moved to their present home in St. Augustine, Florida, where she began pursuing her writing career in earnest. Her first novel reached #2 on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and won a 1995 Georgia Romance Writers’ Maggie Award for Excellence. As a proud member of five RWA affiliated chapters, Elizabeth has taught creative writing and given seminars and workshops at both local and national conferences on romance writing, how to get published, promotion and writing a love scene and the dreaded synopsis.
Books by Elizabeth Sinclair
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
677—EIGHT MEN AND A LADY
787—THE OVERNIGHT GROOM
827—THE PREGNANCY CLAUSE
ROSE’S BAKED FRENCH TOAST
1 loaf white bread, cubed
8 oz cream cheese, cubed
8-12 eggs, depending on size
½ cup maple syrup
1 cup milk
Using a 11×13-inch pan, line the bottom with ½ of the bread cubes. Next, layer the cream cheese on top of the bread. Then add the remaining bread cubes on top. Beat the eggs, maple syrup and milk together. Pour entire mixture over bread. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Bake at 350˚F for 45 minutes or until lightly golden brown.
Serves 8
Contents
Chapter One (#u617c715e-b6b9-5115-82a0-214da2c41afa)
Chapter Two (#u560c333d-b3bb-528a-b8a5-2b3eead57461)
Chapter Three (#u5b8be7a3-09e9-5df8-85da-135c87566f5a)
Chapter Four (#ud722f73a-616e-5538-81f7-b603c825dfe5)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“You must have a baby before you turn thirty or Clover Hill Farms will be turned over to charity.”’
A baby? In ten and a half months?
Twenty-nine-year-old Emily Kingston stared in awe across the highly-polished mahogany desk into the somber face of the young lawyer. Lawrence Tippens recited the conditions of the codicil to her father’s five-year-old will as if he’d just told her to put on fresh lipstick.
“Why didn’t someone tell me this five years ago, when my father’s will was read?” She felt her eyes widen. “If I have a baby that means I have to…to…”
A red blush suffused Lawrence’s face. “Yes, well, the codicil doesn’t stipulate how you have the child, only that you have one by the time you turn thirty.”
Despite this emotional upset, Emily had to hide a smile. Lawrence would never change. He was as much a prude now as when he was in high school.
“Now, as to why you weren’t told about the codicil at the reading of the primary will—” He brushed imaginary lint from his navy, pin-striped lapels and avoided her gaze. Obviously, he hadn’t counted on her asking about the delay in the notification, or he’d hoped that she wouldn’t ask for details. “I regret to say that my father’s memory wasn’t too acute in his last years, and he did not employ the best filing system. In fact…ahem…he didn’t really have a system to speak of at all. He did most of his work at home and failed to transfer it to his town office so his secretary could put it in the proper place.”
Emily leaned toward the embarrassed man. “Exactly what are you trying to tell me, Larry?”
He bristled at the use of the nickname. “Last week, while cleaning out the closet in my father’s home office, my mother found a box of legal papers. My secretary discovered the codicil in that box. Since my father passed away only a week after your father, I doubt anyone knew about the codicil other than the two of them. As it was, if you recall, because my father was so gravely ill at the time, it took two weeks to locate the original will.”
“But this doesn’t make sense. When my father told me about the terms of his will, he gave me the impression that I would have sole ownership of Clover Hill Farms. He never said anything about a baby or the farm reverting to charity.”
Lowering his wire-rimmed spectacles to the bridge of his bony nose, Lawrence stared at her. “I cannot speak to your father’s reasoning or his decision. I can only relate what the codicil says. The terms of the original will were just as you say. The farm went solely to you—however, the codicil changes all that.”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this.”
The young lawyer sighed impatiently. “Let me explain.” Lawrence straightened the papers on his desk, lining them up like soldiers at a dress parade. “When your father originally had my father draw up his will, the terms were as you’ve stated them. This codicil applies conditions to that original document and to your continued ownership. You must meet these terms in the allotted time or lose the horse-breeding farm to the charity your father has designated here as his new beneficiary.” He used his forefinger to push his glasses back in place, then shuffled through the papers. “The Horseman’s Benevolent Association.”
Emily sighed, leaned back, then took a deep fortifying breath. The smell of lemon oil, leather-bound books, stale smoke and Larry’s expensive, overpowering, cologne assaulted her. The combination turned her already queasy stomach. “Is it legal? Could he do that?”
“Yes, he had every right to put additional stipulations on the distribution of his estate. I’m afraid you will have to produce a child in ten and a half months or you’ll lose your horse farm.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, I’m sure he assumed that marriage would precede the blessed event.”
“That’s impossible.” Emily wasn’t about to tie herself to any man.
He eyed her over his glasses, his gesture making him look older than his thirty years. “You mean you don’t have a young man who’s pressing you to marry?” Lawrence leered. “Of course, you didn’t date all that frequently in high school, but you’ve turned into an attractive woman. There must be men lined up on your porch.” His leer deepened. “If I can be of any help with the…uh…baby problem, don’t hesitate to ask.”
His condescending tone caused Emily’s anger to churn inwardly. Whatever made this pompous ass think she’d resort to asking him to father her child? She’d spent four years in high school avoiding his amorous overtures. Why would she change her mind now? Not in this lifetime. She’d rather walk over hot coals than climb into bed with Lawrence Tippens.
And as far as her personal life went, she wasn’t about to share with this stodgy legal machine that the Sahara Desert had a better chance of getting a torrential rain than she did of getting a date. She couldn’t be expected to run a business like hers and still play the social butterfly. The only nursery she should be planning to furnish should be one with hay on the floor.
“Thanks but no thanks, Larry. This idea needs getting used to. I’m a horse breeder—I’m not cut out to be a mother.”
He bristled at her rejection, just as he’d done in high school, then became all business again. “Am I to assume then that you’re willing to let the farm go to charity?”
“No, certainly not.” The smug—Emily fought to remember she was a lady.
“In that case, short of contesting this, I see no other alternative for you except to comply.”
A dim ray of hope rose in Emily. “Contesting? You mean I can fight this legally?”
“You can.” Lawrence jogged the papers, papers that had changed her life, into a neat stack, then returned them to the manila folder from which he’d taken them a half hour ago. “However, since your father was of sound mind, your chances of winning are slim at best.”
Standing, Emily walked to the window overlooking the main street of the small town of Bristol, New York. She’d lived here all her life. Everyone knew everyone, along with their business. The thought of having to face people with the news of what had gone on here today made her want to crawl off in a corner and hide. And it would spread beyond these doors, she had no doubt. Larry could never keep a juicy little tidbit like this to himself.
A movement in the windowpane drew her attention from the lazy activity of Main Street. Reflected in the window, she could see Larry fingering a cigar, no doubt in anticipation of her leaving. He was much too proper to light it with her there, but the stale smell of predecessors to the cigar he held already clung to the legal books and drapes. Little did he realize that the cigar didn’t fit his professional personae any more than being a mother fit hers.
She knew nothing about raising babies. What could her father have been thinking? Larry had described Frank Kingston as being of sound mind. An arguable description from her standpoint.
She shouldn’t be shocked at this turn of events. Frank Kingston had either been breaking promises to her, her sister Honey and her brother Jesse all their lives or running other people’s lives. He’d known how much the breeding farm meant to her. He’d promised it would be hers. Hers. Why the change of heart? She shook her head. It didn’t make sense.
However, little her father did made sense to those not privy to his reasoning. Sense or no sense, he’d trapped her by making it all very legal and very binding. Men! They just couldn’t be trusted. Hadn’t she figured that one out a long time ago?
“If you have no further questions….” Lawrence stood and walked around his desk, obviously anxious to get rid of her.
“No. I think that’s quite enough for one day.”
As Emily made her way across the thick carpet to the door, she decided that her opinion of Lawrence hadn’t changed since high school. He was a pompous windbag of a man, so full of himself and his profession that she doubted there was room left over for a heart inside his bony chest. Nothing like his gregarious, soft-spoken father.
Emily halfheartedly shook the hand he offered, then left the cigar-scented offices of Tippens, Tippens and Forge.
AS KAT Madison watched out the café window, a young woman, obviously intent on something other than her safety, walked into the street and was nearly run down by an oncoming car. She looked familiar. That he couldn’t place her from this distance didn’t stop him from appreciating the gentle sway of her single dark braid against her denim-encased hips or the swell of her breasts beneath a white T-shirt shouting in black letters, I’ve Got The Answers.
Lucky her. Finding answers had brought him home to Bristol for the first time in over sixteen years, since his parents’ funeral. He’d only stayed for a day. Thoughts of that day drove a pain through his heart. Out of habit, he pushed them to the back of his mind.
“More coffee?”
Kat glanced at the young blonde he’d been flirting outrageously with before spotting the T-shirt-clad woman across the street. Nodding, he turned his gaze back to the street in time to see her red pickup drive by the window, heading out of town. Across the truck’s door in white letters he read Clover Hill Farms.
Emily?
Just his luck to be ogling the one person he really wasn’t ready to come face-to-face with. The one person who would inevitably confront him with questions he couldn’t answer.
“Here’s the key.”
Dave Thornton’s deep voice roused Kat from his observations. “Thanks.” He took the key to the summer cottage his friend had arranged for Kat to use until he found somewhere to live.
“I told the power company that you’d call when you leave so they can cut off the electric. Oh, and I had the phone turned on, too.”
“Thanks.” Kat shook the key. “I owe you one.”
Dave smiled. “So, what do you plan on doing with your parents’ house, Kat? Or do you go by Rian now?”
Kat wanted to correct him, but for all intents and purposes, Hilda and Charlie Madison had been his parents. Were still his parents. Besides, what other name could he use?
He shrugged. “Kat’s fine.”
He fell silent, remembering how his father had come up with the nickname because of his son’s ability to enter and leave a room without being noticed, a trait that had proven helpful on more than one occasion.
Stirring his coffee, Dave grimaced. “I’m sorry. I guess you don’t want to talk about them, huh?”
Kat laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s been sixteen years since they died in the fire.”
“I know, but when you love someone, it’s hard to forget.”
The sharp pain of their death had dulled with time. What hadn’t diminished was the pain brought on by what he’d found the day he’d sifted through the ashes of the partially burned house. He wondered if that ache would ever fade—or if he’d get any answers.
Dave stood. “Well, I gotta run. I promised Marilyn I’d meet her and go wallpaper shopping.” He grinned. “We’re turning the spare room into a nursery.”
Kat grabbed Dave’s extended hand and shook it, feeling envy eat at him. “Hey, congratulations, Dad. Thanks again. Say hello to Marilyn for me.”
“Will do.” Dave waved and slipped out the door.
Kat watched Dave leave the café. He hadn’t changed since high school. Tall, lanky and devoted to the woman he’d loved exclusively since seventh grade, Dave had found happiness, happiness compounded by the addition of a child. Lucky devil.
For a moment Kat allowed the envy to seep in, before he stopped it with a reminder that he was here to rebuild his parent’s house and sell it, not to form relationships. He had other things to settle first. Wives, homes and babies would have to wait their turn.
Throwing some change on the counter, he smiled at the blonde, then headed for his car. If he was going to rebuild the house, he might as well bite the bullet and take a look at it to figure out what he was going to need in the way of building supplies.
A BABY.
Emily had been pacing her living room and repeating those two words for over an hour, but full comprehension of her father’s demand still hadn’t registered. Why had he done this to her? If only Rose were here. Having been with the family for nearly sixteen years and having acted as Emily’s father’s sounding board, Rose knew better than most why Frank Kingston had done things.
Fine time for Emily’s housekeeper cum maternal confidant to be somewhere in Mexico touring pyramid ruins with her friends. Emily’s mother had died when Emily was a teenager and Rose was the closest thing to a mother that she had now. She’d gotten used to talking through her problems with Rose. Rose had more logic in her little finger than most people had in their whole heads, even if she was a bit on the old-fashioned side.
Emily nearly had this self-pity thing down to a fine art when the doorbell rang. The last thing she wanted right now was company. Cautiously, she peeked through the side window, then swung open the door.
“Hey, sister.” Honey and her four-year-old son Danny smiled at Emily from the front porch.
Pushing between his mother and his aunt, Danny tugged on Emily’s shirttail. “Aunt Emily, c-c-can I go s-s-see the horsies?” Danny’s eyes glowed with excitement.
“May I, Danny.” Honey frowned at her son. “And it would be nice if you said hello before you start making your aunt crazy.”
“Aw, Mommy.” Danny rolled his eyes at his mother, but adoration shone from his gaze.
For the first time, Emily thought about the baby her father insisted she have as something other than a complication she didn’t need in her life right now. How bad would it be to have a little person like Danny to look at you with love, trust and honesty?
“Hello, Aunt Emily. Now, c-c-can I go s-s-see the horsies?”
Honey sighed and shook her head. “The child is going to grow up illiterate despite my best efforts.”
Another, more insistent tug on her shirt drew Emily’s attention back to her nephew. His stutter hadn’t gotten any better. She’d hoped that time would ease his grief over his father’s death, and his stutter would go away, as the doctor had predicted. So far, it wasn’t working.
Emily scooped his sturdy body up into her arms. The feel of him cuddled to her chest made her suddenly aware of how good it felt to hold a child close, to inhale that special child-fragrance. “Sure you can, sweetie. Just stay out of the stalls, do as Chuck says and don’t get too near the mommy horsies, okay? But it’s gonna cost you.” She tapped her cheek with a blunt nail. “Plant one right there.”
Danny grinned and bestowed a wet kiss to her upturned cheek. She set him back on his feet. Without hesitation, he scampered down the steps, then raced in the direction of the barn. Emily watched him, her heart assuming a strange new beat.
Honey sighed. “The child is incorrigible.”
“You worry too much about how he’s going to grow up. He’s a good kid. He’ll be fine.”
“I plan on making certain of that. Speaking of fine, will he be okay out there?”
Emily nodded. “Chuck will keep an eye on him. He loves having Danny around.” She continued to watch as Danny’s short legs carried him to the barn. “And you can stop worrying about him. He’ll make a fine man some day.”
“Well, you don’t help matters when you—” Honey leaned into Emily’s line of vision. “Do I see maternal longing in those green eyes?”
Emily straightened and glared at her sister. Sometimes the closeness they had was more of a liability than a blessing. Maybe if she just ignored her…. “Did you come over here just to antagonize me or is there another purpose for your visit?” She walked into the house ahead of Honey, leading her into the kitchen. “Coffee?”
Honey feigned a look of horror. She backed up, as if to escape some threat. “What terrible thing have I done to be subjected to a cup of that black poison you call coffee?”
Smiling for the first time today, Emily waved her into a chair and got a can of soda for each of them from the refrigerator. Honey could always cheer her up. “Okay, so I can’t make coffee to save my life. Shoot me. With Rose around, I don’t need culinary talents.”
“Em, you may be an ace with those four-legged beasts you love, but you wouldn’t know a culinary talent if it bit you on the backside.” Honey popped the can, tucked a wayward strand of her long, blond hair behind her ear, then took a sip. “When’s Rose due back?”
“Not for a while. About two weeks, I think.” Sighing, Emily looked around the sparkling yellow kitchen. “If someone doesn’t take pity on me, I just may starve to death before then. One can survive for just so long on peanut butter and banana sandwiches.”
Honey snickered at her younger sister’s blatant bid for a dinner invitation. “You sure picked the wrong night to wangle a dinner invitation. Tess is making her prizewinning meat loaf tonight. Now, if you’d waited until tomorrow night, Tess has it off and I man the kitchen.” She curled her nose. “But I don’t dare go near it while Tess is there.”
“It’s a good thing the woman has a day off, or I’d worry more about Danny’s nutrition than his manners.” She shook her head. “I’ll never understand why your mother-in-law has kept her for all these years. Amanda can certainly afford someone better.”
Honey shrugged. “Tess grows on you.”
“So does bacteria, but most people don’t encourage it.” Tess made the only gray meat loaf Emily had ever seen in her life. She wasn’t a cook by any means, but even she knew meat loaf should be brown.
Avoiding Emily’s comment, Honey took a sip from her soda can.
Lowering her voice as if she might be overheard, Emily leaned toward Honey. “Wonder where she won that prize, and how many drinks the judges had before they awarded it to her.”
Honey snickered. “Never mind where she won it. If hers was the winner, can you imagine what the losers were like?”
Both women laughed.
“So, what does bring you here, aside from being thrown out of Amanda’s kitchen by a woman small enough to have learned how to cook in a hollow tree with a bunch of elves?”
“Just plain nosiness.” Honey set her soda can down. “What did Tippens want to see you for?”
Emily’s good mood evaporated. She rose, then walked to the trash and deposited her empty can. “It seems Dad’s will had a codicil.” She turned to her shocked sister.
“A codicil? Can they do that? I mean, so long after the will has been read?”
“From what Lawrence said, it can be done any time the deceased requests it be done. Apparently, due to a filing glitch, the codicil was just discovered.”
“But how can something like that get misplaced?”
Emily glanced at her. “Larry said his father’s filing system left a lot to be desired.” Grabbing another soda from the refrigerator, Emily popped the top. Gas hissed from the can. “It gets better. Seems Dad insisted that if I’m to keep Clover Hill Farms, I have to have a baby.”
“A baby?” Honey’s lower jaw dropped. “And if you don’t?”
“If I don’t, the farm goes to the Horseman’s Benevolent Association.”
“What? Well, that sucks dead canaries.” Honey leaned forward and rested her forearms on the pine table. “What in blazes possessed Dad to do such a thing?”
“Beats me. But when did he ever not make a sharp left when everyone else was ready to go right?” Throwing herself back in the chair facing her sister, Emily rubbed at the ache in her temple. “He promised me sole ownership of the farm. Why did he lie to me, Honey?”
Honey laughed derisively, took a sip of her soda, then shook her head. “Heaven only knows. Why did he do half the things he did? Why did he insist I marry a man I didn’t love? Why did he alienate his own son?” She rose and walked to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, she looked out, presumably checking on Danny’s whereabouts. “Everyone in this valley knows that Frank Kingston was a law unto himself. That he left the farm to you came as a surprise to no one, considering that I detest horses and Jesse detested Dad.” She shook her head. “He wasn’t well-liked, but he sure was obeyed. I figure that Henry Tippens died of that heart attack so quickly after Dad died only because Dad was up there already and poor Henry didn’t dare keep him waiting.”
Despite Honey’s attempt at levity, Emily knew her sister still felt the pain of their father’s interference in her life. When he’d insisted Honey marry to make her unborn child legitimate and preserve the Kingston’s good name, he’d sentenced his daughter to a life with a man who suffered from a Peter Pan complex. The best thing Stan Logan ever did for Honey and Danny was get himself killed last year in a motorcycle accident. Since then, Honey had made it her life’s mission to make sure Danny didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.
Emily’s father hadn’t cared that he’d forced Honey to marry the wrong man. He just didn’t want the whole valley to laugh at him. Emily had never mentioned any of this to Honey. Aside from the fact that Honey didn’t seem to want to talk about it, Emily had promised her father she would never tell Honey just how much she knew about Danny and his father. To Emily, a promise was golden. Once made, it could not be broken.
She laughed to herself. Frank Kingston had been dead for five years and ironically, he was still running their lives from his grave.
“This may not be as bad as we think.” Honey had left the window and returned to her seat across from Emily. “Since you are going to marry sometime, it follows that you’ll have children, too. Right?”
“In theory that works, but I didn’t tell you the whole thing.” She glanced at her sister’s raised eyebrow. “I have to have the baby before I turn thirty. Since I just turned twenty-nine, that gives me exactly one and a half months to get pregnant.”
Honey let out a long breath. “Hells bells.”
“Of course, there’s the small problem of finding a man before then.” Emily smoothed the corner of the lacy doily in the center of the table. “That is, if I even want a man in my life to begin with.”
Honey’s laughter filled the kitchen. “I hate to tell you this, little sister, but it’s gonna be damned difficult to have that baby without a man.”
Emily placed both palms on the table and stared at her sister. “Honey, I can’t be a mother. I have no idea what to do with a baby. I don’t even know which end to diaper. I didn’t even help you take care of Danny when he was small.”
“Well, that would have been a little hard, considering I was traveling all over the United States from car race to car race with Stan. And as far as taking care of a baby goes, it’s an inborn instinct. Oh, and by the way, you diaper the end with no hair.”
“Cute, Honey. Really cute. I’m at a crossroads in my life and you’re making jokes.”
“Sorry.” Honey didn’t look contrite.
Emily stared at her sister. Maybe for some women mothering was inborn, but for Emily, the only babies she had any acquaintance with had four legs and a mane, and not a one of them grew up and attended college or got the measles or…or called her Mommy.
THE NEXT DAY, Emily settled more comfortably on her horse’s back. She did her best thinking in the saddle, and she planned on riding out to the west pasture, just to clear her head.
As she rode farther from home, hammering coming from the old Madison place disturbed the silence. She couldn’t imagine who would be hammering over there. It had been deserted since fire had partially destroyed it years ago.
She reigned in Butternut and walked him through the barrier of trees dividing her property from the Madisons’. The hammering stopped, replaced by the loud squeak of a rusty nail being torn from old, dry wood. Pushing the branch of a maple out of her way, she peered through at the ruins of the house.
On a ladder, shirtless and bronzed from exposure to the sun, was a man. With one hand he held on to the ladder, while with the other he tore off a half-burned board.
She eased the horse closer. When she was within shouting distance, she stopped.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Surprised, the man spun toward her, almost losing his balance. As he clutched the rung of the ladder, the muscles in his shoulders and arms danced under his tan skin. Butternut sidestepped and a shaft of bright sunlight blinded her from seeing the intruder clearly.
“I would have thought that after all these years, you’d have given up trying to send me to an early grave.”
Taken aback by his words and the familiar tone of his voice, Emily eased the horse closer. “Who told you you could tear this house apart?”
“I did. I own it, Squirt. Or have you forgotten?”
Squirt?
Emily sucked in her breath. Only one person in her entire life had called her Squirt, and he’d walked out on her without a word sixteen years ago. Gently nudging Butternut in the ribs, Emily moved into the shadow of an overhanging maple tree to see him more clearly.
Shock ebbed over her. Above his left eyebrow, just below a wayward lock of wavy, jet-black hair, a pencil-thin, two-inch scar marred his tanned skin. She knew that scar very well—after all, she’d been the cause of the injury that had produced it. When she was seven and he was eleven, she’d dared him to jump from the maple in her front yard with a homemade bedsheet parachute. Because he always did anything she asked of him, Kat Madison had jumped and landed facedown on a piece of glass in the driveway.
Kat, the only man she knew who could enter a room and not be heard. She might have known that, true to his nickname, he’d sneak back into town on silent feet. She recalled hearing the story of how he’d insisted on spelling his name with a K to make himself unique. He was unique all right, a unique jerk who cared nothing about a friend’s feelings.
Silently, the rhythm of her erratic heart pounding in her ears, she continued to study him. He’d changed. Matured. She quickly did the math in her head. Thirty-three. But more than his age had altered. The lanky Kat she’d known hadn’t had muscles out to here and skin the color of soft suede. Nor had that Kat ever looked at her with a mixture of longing and pain in his eyes.
She called her emotions under control, then hardened herself to say all the things she’d been waiting to tell him. Instead, the pain generated by his abrupt appearance spoke for her.
“Were you ever going to tell me you were here or were you going to just walked away again without a word?”
He said nothing. She fought back the sudden rush of tears unaccountably choking her. Turning the horse, she started to ride away, then pulled up short and glanced back.
“You could at least have written.” Her voice harsh with emotion, she stared into his dark eyes. Although his face twisted, he said nothing, offered no explanation, made no apologies. “Stay away from me, Kat Madison. Just…stay away.”
Quickly, before he could reply, she rode away, her skin cooled by the wind mixing with the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Chapter Two
Kat stood in the reception area of the office of J. R. Pritchard and Associates, Private Investigations. He glanced around at the plush carpeting, the silk foliage, the gleaming chrome-and-leather furniture and the fancy door with the brass plate declaring the room beyond to be Private. Quite a contrast to the drab, grungy offices of the private investigators in the old Humphrey Bogart flicks Kat loved.
“Can I help you?” The curvaceous redhead behind the desk smiled up at him.
Yesterday, Kat would have smiled back, taking advantage of and pleasure in the obvious interest in the woman’s eyes. Why not now? His answer came with all the ease of morning turning to night.
Emily.
Their earlier meeting remained fresh in his mind. So fresh, that, even after a shower, he could still feel the dust stirred up by Emily’s horse’s hooves abrading his sweat-soaked skin. But the discomfort of the grit seemed a fitting cover for the pain inside. He’d lost the friendship of a person who had been a primary player in his young life, his confidant. The image of Emily’s pained expression was burned into his conscience.
“Sir?” The receptionist, eyebrow raised, captured Kat’s attention. “Did you want to see someone?”
“I have a three o’clock appointment to see Mr. Pritchard.”
The woman ran a bloodred nail down her appointment book. “Mr. Madison?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Pritchard has someone in the office with him right now. If you’ll take a seat, he’ll be with you in a few minutes.” She smiled and batted long, false, sooty lashes at him.
“Thanks.” Kat turned away, deliberately taking a seat behind the large silk tree that blocked the view of the receptionist.
Once more, his rebellious mind centered on the woman who’d ridden away from him—looking like a part of her horse—a few hours ago. Woman. Equating the Emily on that horse with the girl-child he’d left behind sixteen years ago reminded him of his reasons for leaving and for not telling her he was going. Back then, he couldn’t have withstood the pain in her eyes any better than he had today.
He admitted he owed her an explanation, but giving her one was a whole different ball game. How could he explain that, sixteen years ago, in the space of a few hours, the life he’d always known had fallen apart? Would she understand that he’d had to find out who he was, get answers, and that those answers lay somewhere beyond the village of Bristol ? Would she care that he hadn’t found those answers, but that he’d made peace with all that and had come home to stay? Probably not. Their earlier meeting proved conclusively that he’d put the last bullet into the special friendship he and Emily had shared.
A persistent question niggled at the edges of his mind. If he’d made peace with all that, why was he here looking to hire a P.I.? Because the answers to all the questions didn’t matter anymore. Only the answer to one. Why? And only that one because he was curious. Curious as to why his birth parents had left him and allowed him to be adopted by the Madisons.
Kat picked up a glossy magazine, leafed through it then tossed it aside. The fragrance of the receptionist’s perfume wafted to him. Its flowery scent brought to mind an image of his adoptive mother. With that image came more, until he could no longer keep the memories at bay.
In his mind, he stepped through the half-removed doorway and into the house in which he’d grown up, the house where he’d known love, laughter and the warmth of a family…until sixteen years ago. He climbed the stairs to their bedroom.
Slowly, memories of the day he’d come home after his parents’ funeral crowded his mind. Their room had been untouched by the fire. The closet door hung open, just as it had back then. Sitting on the floor…
Unwilling to get into reliving the day his life had exploded around him, he shook away the memories and strode to the office window. He squinted his eyes against the glare of the bright June sunshine blanketing the city of Albany, New York.
Taking refuge where he had so many times over the years, he thought about Emily. The way his insides always warmed when she smiled at him. The way the mischief in that smile forecast one of her schemes, a scheme that would include him and would inevitably end in disaster. Emily, with tears in her eyes, asking him to help her bury a stillborn kitten or understand why her father had broken another promise. The cool smoothness of her lips on his cheek the day he gave her a necklace for her thirteenth birthday to mark her transition from child to teenager.
He’d told her the tiny gold key suspended from the delicate chain represented the key to their friendship. But after he’d found himself alone and miles away, he’d wondered if it had been the key to something more.
Today, that old magnetism connecting them had tugged at his heart. Back then he’d have coaxed a smile from Emily, but today he’d had to watch her pain and do nothing. Now, instead of using their friendship as a refuge, they’d been on the outside, both of them, for their own reasons, afraid to step back into the circle.
A knot of regret formed in his stomach. He hit the windowsill with his balled fist. “Why in hell did I think coming back here would be easy? Why didn’t I just stay away?”
“Excuse me? Did you say something?”
Kat glanced over his shoulder. The receptionist peered around the silk plant. He shook his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just thinking out loud.”
“Oh.” She dismissed him and went back to her computer.
Before he could immerse himself in his musings again, the door marked Private opened and two men came out shaking hands. The older of the two men nodded at the redhead and walked toward the bank of elevators outside the glass wall fronting her desk. The other man stepped back inside the den of privacy and then closed the door.
Turning his attention to the receptionist, Kat waited expectantly.
“You can go in now, Mr.—” she checked the black leather appointment book again, pointedly telling him that she had dismissed him as easily as he had her. Her sultry expression told a different story “—Madison.”
In another time, Kat would have made some clever remark, charming forgiveness for his rude behavior from her, but not today. Today, he had more important things on his mind than a redheaded receptionist with welcome in her eyes. Today he thought only of a dark-haired vixen riding away from him, as if wind-devils pursued her…and the things he’d found in his parents’ closet sixteen years ago: a small, hand-carved cradle, a metal box holding his adoption papers and a note to the Madisons from a minister outlining how he’d been found.
EMILY FINGERED the tiny key on the chain around her neck. She gazed absently out over the front lawn of her house and pushed at the porch floor with her foot to keep the old rocker in motion.
She’d grown up on Clover Hill Farms. Seen the Kingston fortunes rise with the popularity of their prize stud horses. And she’d seen them fall when a horse died. She’d watched the joining of a stud and mare, then, eleven months later, seen the fruit of that union in the face of a spindly-legged foal. She’d cried when the foals her father had bred for others had left for new homes. And she’d loved it all, every minute of it.
Could she turn her back on it?
The monotonous, back-and-forth motion of the rocker reflected the rhythm of her thoughts.
One minute the idea of caring for a small, helpless human being scared her so much, she actually contemplated, if just for a split second, giving up the farm. The next, the notion of having someone to love and to return her love, to look up to her for guidance, to laugh with her, to share her solitary life, made her go all warm inside.
After an hour of rocking and thinking, she’d come to some pretty startling conclusions. The idea of having the baby and caring for it didn’t scare her, or at least not as much as other aspects of this mess. What scared her more was the idea of having to allow a man close enough to accomplish the task. As far as Emily was concerned, she’d rather go nose-to-nose with an unbroken horse than trust a man, any man. There had to be a way…
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the slightly singed toast she’d had for breakfast. The thought of eating another solitary meal made her want to cry. Resolutely, she got up, went inside and grabbed her purse, then headed for her car. Even Tess’s prizewinning gray meat loaf was preferable to another sandwich alone—then again, maybe she’d settle for a side trip to her favorite fast-food stop on the way to Honey’s for some much needed advice.
EMILY AND HONEY shared the top step on the back porch of Amanda Logan’s big, white house. By Bristol standards, the Logan house claimed mansion status. To Em, however, it had always been as warm and welcoming as her own ranch house. She was sure that Honey’s mother-in-law had a lot to do with that.
Sipping iced tea and watching Danny chase the yellow balloon she had brought him, Emily mentally snuggled down into the familiar warmth she always felt here.
Honey ran a finger down her sweating glass, leaving behind a trail of water droplets. “So, have you made any decisions about the farm?”
Emily frowned at her sister. “What do you mean decisions about the farm? I’m keeping it, of course. I’ll have the baby.”
Sitting her glass down at her feet, Honey wiped her wet hands on her denim-covered thighs, then looked Emily straight in the eye. “How many dates have you had recently?” Emily was about to respond, but Honey held up her hand. “Let me reword that. When was the last time you had a date?”
Snapping her mouth closed, Emily searched her memory. Though she struggled for an answer that would satisfy her sister, none came to mind. The last date she could recall was a year ago on New Year’s Eve with Sam Davis, the grandson of one of Rose’s friends. Rose said she had arranged the date because Sam was in town for just a few days and his grandmother was concerned that he’d be alone New Year’s Eve, but Emily wasn’t sure Rose hadn’t had an ulterior motive. If she had, it hadn’t worked. Sam was nice, but certainly didn’t rock the earth beneath Emily’s feet.
Honey leaned back, a knowing look filling her eyes. “I thought so. You haven’t had a date in so long, you can’t even recall when it was.”
“I can too recall it.”
“When?”
“Last New Year’s Eve.”
Honey’s red lips quirked to one side. “That was arranged. It doesn’t count. Besides, Em, that’s over a year ago.”
Avoiding her sister’s censuring look, Emily watched Danny chase his balloon across the lawn, hit it, then bound off after it again. She felt a bit like the balloon. In the past two days, she’d been battered from pillar to post with other people’s conclusions about her life. She needed to come to some decisions, something that would signal she’d taken back control. But Honey usually thought in absolutes and Emily had none, so she couldn’t broach the subject just yet.
Grabbing for something to steer the conversation in a new direction, she settled on one of the other unexpected events of her long day. “Guess who’s back in town.”
Casting Emily an I-know-you’re-avoiding-me look, Honey asked, “Who?”
“Kat.”
Sitting up straight, Honey gaped at Emily. “Kat Madison?”
“One and the same.”
“What’s he doing back here?”
“I saw him working on the old Madison place.”
“Do you think he’s back to stay?”
Denying the hope that surged through her at that consideration, Emily shook her head. “No. I have the feeling he’s fixing it up to sell it, then leaving again.” The thought sat in her stomach like a large rock.
“And?”
Emily stared at her sister. “And what?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. What did you expect to happen? I haven’t seen the man in sixteen years.” She threw Honey an impatient look and turned her attention back to Danny. Uncomfortable with having to relate to Honey what she’d said to Kat, Emily switched subjects for the second time. “So, what do you think I should do about conceiving a baby?”
A heavy sigh came from Honey’s side of the porch step. “As I see it, as long as you’re determined to go this route, you have three choices—adoption, in vitro fertilization, or the good old-fashioned way.”
Standing, Emily walked to the white, lacy porch railing and balanced herself atop it, keeping her balance by hooking one sneakered toe in the cutout of the vertical boards. “Adoption takes forever. I don’t have forever. And the old-fashioned way is not even a consideration.”
“Why?”
Not believing the feigned look of innocence on Honey’s face, Emily frowned. “Because that entails a relationship with a man, and, if you recall, we just established that my social life is nil. Besides I always felt sex was highly overrated.”
“Hells bells, Em, your first experience was with Joey Sloan. He didn’t know what the zipper on the front of his pants was for until he was twelve. What can you expect? I never did understand what you saw in him.”
“He liked horses.”
Honey snorted, then glanced at her son racing after his balloon. “Sex doesn’t have to be like that. When it’s the right time with the right person, it’s…”
“It’s what?”
Honey turned to her, as if waking from a dream. “Let me make this simple for you. It’s not Joey Sloan in the back seat of his father’s old sedan parked on the overlook above the village dump.”
Emily glowered at her sister, then tapped her cheek with the tip of her blunt nail, not wishing to get any deeper into the subject of her teenage male preferences. Besides, Honey didn’t need to know that an emotional relationship or the possibility of one had no part in Emily’s plan for her future. “Artificial insemination has its possibilities, however.”
“Good grief, Emily, you sound like you’re talking about one of your horses.”
“The problem is—” Emily went on, as if Honey hadn’t said a word “—I’d have to find a donor.”
Honey emitted a very unladylike snort. “Why don’t you just stroll down Main Street stopping every man you see until you find one willing to donate a few of his little guys to the cause.”
Emily threw her sister a disparaging look. “Can we be serious here for a minute? We’re talking about a baby for goodness’ sake.” She shook her head. “I don’t want just any man fathering my child. I want to know who he is.”
“Why?”
“Because I want my child to have the best possible start in life that he can.”
A smile curved Honey’s lips.
“What’s that grin for?”
“I was just thinking that the idea of this baby has really got you interested and not just because you can keep the farm. You want this baby, don’t you?”
Avoiding her sister’s gaze, Emily gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”
For a long time, neither of them said anything, each lost in their thoughts. Emily once again pictured herself with a baby, soft, tiny, warm and loving. Although the picture left her smiling inside, the responsibility still scared her half to death.
Honey sat up straight and turned to Emily, her eyes glowing, her lips curved in a self-satisfied smile. “I’ve got it. If you’re so determined to do this, why not ask Kat?”
At that precise moment, Danny’s balloon popped, and so did Emily’s daydreams about the baby. When her heart had stopped doing doubletime, Emily turned to her sister.
“Kat?”
A knowing expression transformed Honey’s face. “I always felt you and he had something going as kids. And who was it who always rode to your rescue—” Honey went silent. She stared at Emily.
Emily swirled the suggestion around in her mind. Even as angry as she was at Kat, the suggestion appealed to her in a very comforting way.
“Em, I was kidding. You’re not seriously considering—”
She left her perch on the railing and came back to hunker down next to Honey on the step. The last thing she wanted was the baby’s father hanging around. With Kat’s nomadic track record, he was quickly becoming a strong candidate for fatherhood. “Why not?”
“Emily Kingston….” Honey grabbed her sister’s arm. “Are you nuts? You have no idea what he’s been doing since you last saw him.”
“But he’s perfect. Clean-cut. Good-looking. He’s a rolling stone, never settles down. He’d probably donate his sperm, finish the house and hit the road again. Voilà! No attachments.”
Honey thought for a minute. “Healthy. Is he healthy?”
“A doctor’s exam will determine that. I’m sure you can’t donate sperm if you aren’t healthy and I’m sure they must do some kind of tests, even if you know who the donor is.” Emily waited, knowing by the look on her face that Honey had not given up. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Okay. What about willing? You don’t know that he’d even do this.” She smiled as if in victory. “I wouldn’t start buying the layette just yet.”
For a second Emily was stumped, then she recalled a trump card Honey hadn’t counted on. “He owes me after walking out on me without explanation. Maybe, if he does this for me, I might forgive him.”
Honey shook her arm. “Em, you’re letting your desire to keep the farm do your thinking. For all you know, Kat could be an escaped convict, a serial killer, an alien.” Emily cast her a look of incredulity. “Okay, so the alien thingy was a bit much. What I’m trying to say is that this is not a good idea. Besides, how do you plan on explaining this to Rose?”
“I’ll figure out something. She won’t be home for weeks. I have plenty of time. And as far as asking Kat goes, I disagree. With a few ground rules—” She jumped up. “I have to go home and figure out how to contact him.”
She kissed her sister’s cheek, then raced down the stairs to her truck, yelling goodbye to Danny as she climbed into the driver’s seat. In the rearview mirror, she could see Honey standing on the porch, mouth agape, hands outstretched, as if wondering what just happened. For once, she’d left her older sister speechless.
Emily didn’t have to wonder what had just happened. She’d had an epiphany. Kat had always helped her before. Why not this time? All she wanted was one healthy, enthusiastic sperm to conceive her baby. Surely he could spare one. Besides, he owed her for running out on her.
KAT SETTLED into the black leather chair across from J. R. Pritchard. Pritchard looked more like a successful CEO than a P.I. Navy suit, burgundy-and-beige tie executed in a perfect Windsor knot beneath the button-down collar of a crisp, white shirt. Definitely not the Bogart type Kat had anticipated.
“Mr. Madison—”
“Kat.”
Pritchard raised an eyebrow. “Kat. What can I do for you?”
Reaching into his back pocket, Kat extracted a worn, brown leather wallet. From it, he pulled a slip of paper, which he unfolded, then passed to Pritchard. “This is a rubbing off the end of a handmade cradle. I want to know who made the cradle and who it was made for.”
Pritchard studied the design, one Kat was very familiar with: a hand-carved, crude reproduction of a rose twined around an equally crude heart, all enclosed in a circle.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Pritchard continued to study the rubbing. “There’s a good chance that someone might recognize it for that very reason. There’s also a good chance, again for that very reason, that you’ll never find out who carved it.” He tossed the paper on his desk. “Why is it important that you find the artist? Is this cradle an antique or something?”
An explanation hung on Kat’s lips. No one knew about the cradle or his adoption. He didn’t like sharing that knowledge. “The rubbing might have something to do with my birth parents. I was adopted by Hilda and Charles Madison when I was ten months old.” He pulled another folded sheet of paper from his wallet. This one showed the wear marks of having been unfolded many times. He handed it to Pritchard.
He nodded, then looked at the paper. “Ah, so you’re looking to be reunited with your birth parents.”
“No.” Kat’s tone was much sterner than he’d planned. Pritchard’s head jerked up. “No emotional reunions. Just find the artist and the information I asked for, then call me. I’ll take it from there.” All Kat wanted to know was why anyone would abandon a ten-month-old infant to strangers and walk away. He didn’t need Pritchard digging around in his life—not that he had anything to hide. But some things were better off staying between a man and his conscience.
Pritchard stared at him for a long time, then shrugged, as if he really didn’t care to know Kat’s reasoning and that suited Kat just fine. He had no intention of sharing it. “Any hurry on this?”
Kat shook his head. “None.” He’d already spent sixteen years searching, he could wait a while longer.
IT HAD BEEN a full two days since Emily had talked to Honey, her decision to ask Kat to father her child already taking form in her mind. Trouble was, when she got home, her nerve had deserted her. After the things she’d said to him, how could she now ask for such a monumental favor?
She leaned against the rail fence separating the corrals. She still hadn’t forgiven him for deserting her all those years ago, but that was something she’d have to worry about later. Right now, she didn’t have time to waste. She needed a father for her child. Correction. She needed Kat to father her child.
The ring of a hammer pounding nails into wood echoed across the west pasture. Her fingers unconsciously sought and curled around the tiny key lying against her collarbone. The smooth metal, warmed by her body heat, and its familiar shape gave her courage. After doing one last mental check of her list of stipulations, she swallowed hard and headed toward Kat’s house.
Plan A was officially in motion.
Chapter Three
Kat laid the pry bar aside, pulled a soiled rag from his back pocket, then wiped the perspiration from his face and upper torso. Standing back a few paces, he gazed at his former home. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, then smiled.
He’d been very careful about his plans for renovating the old Victorian house. The last thing he wanted to do was remove the things that gave it character, and, he had to admit, the familiarity he cherished. Thankfully, only the corner where the living room had been would have to be rebuilt. The rest of the house had survived. He had only a few more boards to pull off, then he’d check the studs for fire damage. By next week, he could start to rebuild. If all went well, he’d have the house ready to go on the market in about four weeks.
A noise behind him drew his attention from the house. He swung around. Emily stood just inside the line of trees dividing their land, a blanket folded over her arm and a picnic hamper at her feet. Sunlight danced off her rich brown hair, which was caught back in a long braid. Her face, devoid of all makeup, creased in a tentative smile that tore at his insides. Her curves, encased by jeans and a bright yellow sweater, reminded him again that Emily had become a woman. Something inside him mourned missing the transformation from the little girl with the dirty face and the ripped jeans into this breathtaking beauty.
What had brought her here? After their last encounter, he’d thought she would avoid him at all costs. As she walked past him to the base of the large oak hanging over most of the yard, the smell of perfume drifted to him. Emily? Perfume? She’d never smelled like anything but the horses she loved.
“Hi.” She set the basket down, then spread the blanket in the shade.
“Hi, yourself.”
“I thought you might want some lunch.” She pointed at the picnic basket, the same one they’d hauled on many picnics as kids. Then she half-smiled. “Actually, it’s kind of a peace offering.”
Why did she feel compelled to come with a peace offering, when he was the one who should be apologizing? Tempted to lighten the moment by chiding her about her cooking, he held back. With the ease of their past association gone and the tension that hung between them, he didn’t feel comfortable teasing her anymore. Instead, he offered a weak, “Great! My stomach was beginning to think my throat had been cut.”
Avoiding his gaze, Emily opened the basket.
“Rose is away, so I had to make the sandwiches.”
“Rose?”
“My housekeeper. She came here after…well, after.” Fumbling with the contents of the basket, she looked at him expectantly. “I made—”
“—peanut butter and banana sandwiches,” Kat finished for her.
She brightened, as if pleased that he remembered her favorite sandwich. He smiled back. Her expression became hesitant, as if his smile made her uneasy. She quickly turned away. “Cooking was never my strong suit.” She fussed with laying out the contents of the basket, then glanced at the house. “What are you going to do with it when you get it done?”
“Sell it.” He noted the stiffness in her body begin to drain away. Relief that he wouldn’t be right on her doorstep? Her next words answered his question.
“Then you’re not planning on living here?”
Was that a note of hope in her voice? “No.” An honest answer, if a bit evasive; he didn’t plan to live in the house. Again, Kat thought he saw relief in her posture. The intense surge of disappointment he experienced took him by surprise.
The air between them became thick enough to ride a horse over. Kat searched for words, any words. Anything was better than this tension. Anything to bridge this gulf separating them. He sighed. Only one thing would do that and he had to be the one to do it.
“Emily, I’m sorry that I took off and never said anything to you.”
She turned slowly toward him.
“It was unfair. I wish I could tell you why I did it, but I can’t. Not yet.” He took her hand. “I promise that someday I will, but not right now. Trust me, okay?” Her fingers tightened around his. That small gesture brought something alive inside him that had been cold and dead. “I want to be friends again. Is that possible?”
Even as he said the words, currents of awareness raced up his arm from their clenched hands. For the first time in his life, Kat wasn’t sure exactly what he felt for Emily. Was it just friendship?
Before he could decide, she removed her hand from his. “I don’t know. Can we?”
The pain of Kat’s leaving still sat heavy on Emily’s heart. She wanted to know why he’d gone, but he obviously wasn’t going to tell her.
He’d promised long ago that he’d always be there for her, and he hadn’t been. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Kat’s promises were about as substantial as her father’s. She’d trusted him when they were kids. Dare she trust him again?
“I’d like us to be friends, Squirt.”
She looked into his dark eyes for a long time, trying to assess his sincerity. He winked. That familiar gesture, coupled with the use of the nickname he’d given her years ago, gave birth to a warm rush of contentment inside her. She’d missed Kat, but she truly hadn’t realized just how much until she’d come face-to-face with the one person who’d made her childhood tolerable. She wanted him in her life, but not just for the sake of fathering her child. She wanted her friend back, even if she wasn’t sure she could ever trust him again.
KAT SIGHED, laid aside the core of the apple he’d just devoured for desert and then leaned back against the old oak. Shadows covered his face.
“Squirt—” He studied her, then brushed at a stray strand of hair the slight breeze had deposited on her cheek. “I guess I’d better find a new name for you. You went and grew up on me.”
Emily wanted to remind him that, if he’d stayed around, he’d have been here for her growing-up, but she was too busy fighting the tingles of awareness racing the length of her body. She abruptly leaned away, breaking contact with his fingers.
What was wrong with her?
This was Kat, her buddy, not some hunk trying to seduce her. Resisting the urge to touch her cheek, she pushed the feelings aside. She had to concentrate on wording what she’d come here to ask him.
“Oh, oh. I remember that look. What’s going on in that devious little mind of yours?” He leaned down to see her face. “What do you want me to jump off this time?”
She shook her head, trying to produce a wide-eyed look of innocence.
Kat sat up, then leaned toward her. “Nope. That look hasn’t washed with me since you were six, and I took the blame for you almost burning up the field while you were practicing your Girl Scout campfire skills. You’re forgetting I know you too well. I haven’t forgotten that your teeth nibbling on your bottom lip means you’re up to something.” He smiled, then gently pried her lip free. “Out with it.”
It annoyed her that she hadn’t been aware, until he’d pointed it out, that she’d been gnawing on her lip or that she’d slipped so easily into their familiar ways. And it annoyed her even more that his casual touch had started those tingles up again.
Concentrate, Emily.
He’d given her the perfect opening. Instead of worrying about some crazy hormonal reaction, she needed to be thinking about how to form the words to get his agreement. After all, it wasn’t every day that she asked a man to father a child for her.
“I’m going to have a baby.” The words tumbled past her lips before she could stop them. Cautiously, she glanced at Kat.
His skin had paled slightly. He pushed himself to his feet. His mouth hardened. “What do you want me to say? Good going, Em?”
The bite in his words surprised her. What was he getting his shorts in a knot about? Then it hit her. He thought she meant she was pregnant already.
Before she could rectify her blunder, he turned away from her. “And who’s the lucky man?”
The edge in his voice cut through her confidence. She lowered her gaze. “You.” When he didn’t reply right away, she glanced up.
Kat had swung around, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging agape. “Excuse me? Would you remind repeating that?”
“I said, you.” Oh damn! None of this is going the way I planned. Emily stood, then hurried to him, trying to ignore how the noon sun kissed his bronze skin. She had to stop this stupid preoccupation with the man Kat had become and keep her mind centered on business. “I’m not pregnant already. I need to get pregnant. Kat, I need to have a baby, and I want you to be its father.” She touched his forearm, but he moved away.
His obvious confusion brought his thick dark brows together in a frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Impatient with herself and fumbling for the right words, Emily stamped her foot. “If you’ll sit down and stop roaming around like a grazing horse, I’ll tell you.”
Glaring at her, Kat flopped down at the base of the tree, then ran his hands through his hair. Resting his forearm across his bent knee, he waited. “Start talking and try to make it understandable this time.”
Emily retook her seat on the blanket. She tucked one leg beneath the other, then raised her chin to face him. She cleared her throat. “Lawrence Tippens called me to his office a few days ago. He said he’d found a codicil to my father’s will.”
Sitting a little straighter as Emily related what Lawrence had told her, Kat listened intently. She explained why adoption or any of the other options wouldn’t do. Then she waited while he digested the information.
He couldn’t believe his ears. Frank Kingston had done some pretty outrageous things, but where did he get off blackmailing his own daughter into having a child? “I take it you’re going to do it.”
She nodded. “There was never any question about it.”
“And exactly how do I figure into this?”
“I want you to donate your…sperm and father the baby.”
He laughed, but stopped abruptly when he saw her frown. “You’re serious aren’t you?” He had to be dreaming.
She scowled at him. “If I wasn’t serious, do you think we’d be having this conversation? I don’t make it a habit of popping out babies just for ha-has.”
“No, I mean about me donating my sperm. Why was I chosen to be the lucky one?”
She shrugged. “We’ve known each other forever. You know how much the farm means to me. You must know I’d never ask this if I could find another way to keep the farm.”
Suddenly aware of an unfounded anger rising in him, Kat fought to keep it tamped down. “So you’re bringing a small life into this world just to save your farm?”
Emily jumped to her feet and stood over him, her face flaming red, her fists jammed on her hips. “Are you crazy? Do you think I’d do that to any child? I want this baby for me. I’d want it even if I’d never had the farm.” She waved her hand. “I’ll admit, I didn’t want it at first. After all, it did come as somewhat of a shock. It still scares the hell out of me. But I’ve had time to think and I really want the baby, Kat—for myself.” Her face softened. “Really.”
Maybe he was nuts, but he believed her. “Okay. Sit down and cool your heels.” He waited while she resumed her seat. “Have you given any consideration to doing this the way most people do? You know, love, marriage, bed, two people….” He had no reason to finish the sentence. The blush that rose to her cheeks told him she’d gotten his drift.
“That’s out of the question. The last thing I’m looking for is emotional involvement.” She pulled a piece of paper from her jeans. “I wrote down the conditions.” She unfolded it and began ticking off the things she’d listed. “You’ll need a complete physical. When the doctor says you’re healthy, you’ll donate the sperm, then I’ll be inseminated and you can go your merry way. No attachments, not complications, no responsibilities, no—”
Kat jumped to his feet, his anger boiling to the surface and out of his control, not that he even tried to control it. “Let me get this straight. You want me to agree to my child being the end result of an hour in a locked bathroom with a paper cup and a girly magazine? Then I’m supposed to walk away as if the child didn’t exist?”
“That’s putting it a little crudely, but essentially, yes, that’s right.”
He raked his hands through his hair in an effort to keep from shaking her senseless. Gazing out over the meadows, stretching beyond the back of the house and dotted with grazing horses, he closed his eyes and saw a small wooden cradle holding a tiny baby and sitting on a stranger’s doorstep.
“No.”
“No?” She scrambled to her feet. “You mean, no, you won’t do it?”
He swung on her. “You got it, Em.”
“But you’ve always helped me out when I needed you. Why not now? I won’t make any demands on you as the father. I promise. You’ll be free to leave.”
She just didn’t get it. He wanted demands made on him. He wanted to take part in the life of any child that carried his blood and his genes. He would not do to a child what had been done to him. But he couldn’t tell her that without telling her everything, and he wasn’t ready to share any of that until he got the answer he craved.
“We’re not kids anymore, Em. You’re not planning to swipe apples from Old Man Watkins’ orchard. I’m not going to blindly follow your lead this time. This is too damned important.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I’m not asking that you blindly follow my lead. I’ve told you everything I expect of you. All you have to do is agree to the terms.”
“And after the baby’s born. I just walk away, right?”
“Free to forget us.”
He ran his fingers through his wind-rumpled hair. “Em, I’d jump out of a tree again for you, with or without a parachute, but this time I think it’s going to hurt too much when I land. You need to find yourself another guinea pig.” He stepped to her side. “I may be an oddball, but by damn, no kid of mine will be.” Skirting around her, he stalked toward the house, grabbed the pry bar, then began tearing at a burned board.
A vehicle turned into the driveway. Ignoring the new arrival, Kat glanced over his shoulder in time to catch the flash of Emily’s yellow sweater disappearing into the trees. The remains of their picnic lay scattered over the blanket at the base of the tree.
His heart hurt for Emily and himself. Didn’t she know that he’d gladly give her anything she asked? Anything—except the right to raise his child without him?
The door on the newly arrived vehicle slammed. Kat turned toward the sound, his heart still heavy about the conversation he’d just finished with Emily. Dave Thornton strode toward him.
“Hi. I was out this way to attend a meeting and thought I’d drop by to see what kind of progress you’re making.”
Throwing down the pry bar and glancing once more toward where Em had disappeared into the trees, Kat turned to his visitor. “I’m doing okay. Right on schedule.”
“Schedule?”
“I’d like to put the house on the market in a month.” He shrugged. “It’s not written in stone, but it gives me a target.” He gestured toward two saw horses. “Have a seat.” Once Dave was settled, Kat searched for something to take his mind off Emily’s proposition. “You say you’re out here for a meeting?”
“Yeah. The Horseman’s Benevolent Association.” He flushed. “I’m president this year. I don’t need the extra work, but it’s a good cause. We’re knee-deep in planning our annual charity drive.” Dave grinned. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into donating the house when it’s done?”
“No. The only charity that’s gonna see the money from this house is Kat Madison.”
“Too bad. It’s a nice house in a prime location.” He pulled a business card from his jacket pocket. “I’m a real estate broker, too.” He grinned sheepishly. “Hey, with a kid on the way and two more at home, every little bit helps.” He handed Kat the card. “When it’s ready, give me a call. I’d be happy to show it for you.”
Kat took the card, then walked Dave to his car, but he was barely aware of him pulling out of the driveway.
Kat’s attention was on the line of trees. Here he was talking about selling his home, and Em was fighting to keep hers. And he’d refused to help her. He felt like a louse.
SINCE EM and Dave had left, Kat had got nothing done. His mind was everywhere on everything but his work. Anger at Emily and her harebrained proposition still churned in his gut.
Methodically, as if compartmentalizing his thoughts also, he began gathering his tools and placing them precisely in the toolbox. The exercise served to cool his anger enough to be able to think rationally.
Once he got past the anger, the idea of having a baby with Em wasn’t at all unappealing. He thought about her tight jeans, her sweater clinging to her endless curves, her sweet kissable mouth, about—
Yes, the more he thought about it, the more appealing it became. The one aspect that stopped him, however, was leaving after the baby was conceived. Deserting his duties as a father to his own child? Missing out on its life? How could she even ask such a thing of him?
He wondered just how much Em wanted this baby. Was she just looking for a way to keep her home? He recalled her passionate words and the pleading look on her face.
I really want the baby, Kat—for myself. Really.
Not a doubt remained in his mind that she did want the baby. By why, if not for legal reasons? Could Em just be so in need of love that she felt a baby would fill the hole in her life?
The answers eluded him. But of one thing he was sure. Em needed him. He could help her. The rest would have to sort itself out. Besides, he’d be living right here, so she’d have to let him see his child. Wouldn’t she?
He threw the last of the tools in the box, snapped the lid closed, then hefted it into the back of his truck. He rinsed off in a bucket of water, then grabbed his shirt off the porch railing. He slid his arms into the sleeves and left the front open. As he walked past the oak tree, he glanced down at the remains of their lunch. Good excuse as any to show up on her doorstep.
AS EMILY entered the house through the kitchen door, the phone rang. She hurried to pick it up.
“Hello.”
“Hello, sweetheart.”
“Rose! Hi!” After the episode with Kat, Emily really needed the sound of a comforting voice. “Where are you?”
“Still in Mexico. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
Emily wasn’t about to go into long-distance details of what was going on in her life. Time enough for that when Rose came home. Besides, Emily needed time to figure out how to tell Rose what was going on.
As if Rose could see it, she smiled. “I’m fine. What about you? When are you going to stop this globe-trotting and come home?”
A high-pitched laugh filled the phone. “We’re in Mexico City. Right on schedule. We won’t be home for another two weeks. Although, if Carol and I had our way, we’d put Helen on the next flight to Albany.”
“Oh? Something wrong?” Last time Emily had spoken to Rose, her two traveling companions were fine.
“Nothing that being in the good ol’ US of A wouldn’t cure. Helen drank some of the water down here and she’s been feeling a little peaked for the last couple of days, if you know what I mean.”
Emily knew. She’d heard horror stories about what happened when you drank the water in foreign countries.
“Carol and I have been trying to get her to go home. She’s got her back up and flatly refuses.”
Standing straighter with concern for her housekeeper’s elderly friend, Emily frowned. “Is she going to be okay? Maybe you should just stick her on the next flight home.”
Again Rose laughed. “She’d kick and scream all the way to the airport. She’s determined to stick it out. Says she saved for ten years for this vacation, and she’s gonna make the most of it, even if it’s from the inside of a bathroom.” A door closed in the background. “Gotta go. Carol just came back with lunch. You take care and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
“I miss you,” she said impulsively, then quickly added, “I love you.”
“Love you more,” came Rose’s familiar reply, then silence. “You sure you’re doing okay?”
Emily must have given away something of her mood in her tone of voice. Deliberately, she brightened it. “Of course, I’m fine. Honey comes over every other day and checks to make sure I don’t starve to death. Don’t worry about me. I’ll survive. You enjoy your vacation.”
“All right. If you say so. Bye, sweetheart.”
“Bye.”
She returned the receiver to the wall phone and leaned her head against the cool plastic. How she missed Rose, and not just for her cooking. She needed someone to help her through this mess, if only emotionally. Rose always managed to get Emily’s feet planted firmly on solid ground. Right now, she felt as if she were being sucked up in the middle of a tornado.
Resolutely, knowing that self-pity would get her nowhere, Emily pushed herself upright and turned toward the sink. In the doorway, outlined by the sun, stood Kat. She couldn’t see his face. But she knew. The half-gainer her insides did confirmed it.
Unsure of what to say, she said nothing.
He held out the blanket and picnic hamper. “You forgot these.”
“Thanks.” She took them and placed them on one of the kitchen chairs. Another silence stretched out.
“Em—”
“Kat—”
He smiled. “You first.”
“No, you first.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me to do, and I’ve changed my mind.”
Emily’s insides did a flip. She wasn’t sure if relief caused it or that there was a very good chance she would soon become a mother. “You’ll father my baby?”
He nodded. “But we do it my way, on my terms, or not at all.” Kat came the rest of the way into the kitchen, then sat on the edge of the table. He looked directly at Emily.
She sobered. “I’m listening.”
“First of all, we’ll get married.”
Chapter Four
“Married!” Emily sank into the chair behind her and stared openmouthed across the kitchen table at Kat. Had he lost his mind, or she her hearing? “You did say married?”
“Yes. Married, as in old shoes, rice, orange blossoms.” Although his tone was light, his eyes held a seriousness that disturbed Emily. “As in a legitimate mother and father for our child.”
She didn’t like the emphasis he put on our, but her senses hadn’t recovered enough to retaliate. Besides, deep down, it warmed her that he cared enough for their yet-to-be-conceived child that he wanted it never to have to face life without the legitimacy of its parents’ marriage attached to its name.
“Why don’t you make some coffee and we’ll discuss the rest of the conditions?”
The rest? Wasn’t marriage enough? How many more outrageous demands was he going to hit her between the eyes with?
Kat jumped suddenly to his feet. “Never mind. I remember your coffee. I’ll make it.” He went to the cabinet, then search for and found the coffee canister. Methodically, he went through the ritual of brewing a full pot of coffee.
While he worked, Emily watched him, carefully assessing what she saw. Kat had become downright disgustingly gorgeous. With her own dark-brown hair trapped somewhere between chestnut and sable, she’d always envied the way his wavy hair glowed with the bluish highlights that only true ebony hair has. His shoulders, broadened and muscled from hard work, strained at the seams of the worn, blue cotton workshirt, as did the corded muscles of his legs against his faded denim jeans, as if his entire body would have been more comfortable without the encumbrance of clothes.
Whoa! She stopped that train of thought dead in its tracks.
Looking beyond the outer trappings that come with time and age, she sought the man. And he was there, in all his tantalizing glory. Kat no longer resembled the uncertain, gangly boy with too much arm and leg to control gracefully, the boy she remembered. Now, he moved with the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted, asked no one’s pardon, and as a result, savored life to its fullest.
She admired his confidence. Entering into marriage with Kat took on a less threatening aura. Why, she wasn’t certain, but at least the prospect no longer had the power to paralyze her vocal chords.
“I suppose marriage would certainly make it a lot easier to explain why you’re suddenly living with me. And after the baby is conceived, it would be simple to get an annulment.” She laughed lightly. “I mean, it’s not as if we’d be sleeping together or anything like that. So there wouldn’t be the physical thing to overcome, right?”
Kat’s movements stopped abruptly. A warning signal shot through her insides.
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