Her Sister's Secret Son

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

He had a son. A son.

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

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

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

Which meant Rachel would lose.

Dear Reader,

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

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

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

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

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

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman, Senior Editor

Her Sister’s Secret Son

Lisette Belisle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

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

LISETTE BELISLE

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

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

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pierces hadn’t fared as well.

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

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

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

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

Guilty!

Drew visibly staggered from the blow.

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

The judge pronounced the punishment. “Five years.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’d been in town a month.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowned at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was.

That one word shocked Jared.

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

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

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

She looked hurt.

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

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

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

Nothing could be further from the truth.

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

And yet, it felt all wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, she didn’t want that.

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

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

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

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

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

The motor was running.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dylan frowned. “Is Drew going to jail?”

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

“But he said he was sorry!”

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

Rachel stood and helped him gather his paperwork.

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

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

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

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

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

They couldn’t be more wrong.

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