Their Secret Child

Chapter Two

The following Monday, Skip drove his Toyota pickup down the wooded driveway leading to his new home and parked beside his Prius. Yesterday, the movers had brought all the furniture; today he and Becky would arrange and unpack the boxes.

Standing in the morning sunshine, he grinned across the truck’s hood. “Well, Bean. This is it. This is home now.” Skip hoped the girl would like the house, the island, the school she’d be attending after the Labor Day weekend in a few weeks. He watched her gaze at the structure gleaming in the morning light, her mouth slightly open, eyes as round as pizzas.

“It’s amazing. I’ve never been in a house this big. Is it just for us?”

“Just us.” For now. He couldn’t predict the future, but he hoped he and the lady across the road could eventually become friends for Becky’s sake. After that…who knew?

“Look,” he said, embarrassed suddenly by her awe. It was, after all, just a house. One of three he owned, and not the biggest. “If you want to scout around, I’ll start inside. Come in when you’re ready.”

Her expression was grateful. “I’d like that. It’s so quiet here. I never realized it, but I like the sound of…”

“Nature?”

“Yeah.” The word blew out on a little huff as she observed an American goldfinch pick at the bark of an old Garry oak in the front yard.

Skip smiled. “The island may be small, honey, and a good portion may have burned to ashes in 1892, but it’s all grown back, including the wildlife, so enjoy it.” Happy to let her explore the premises, he walked up the porch steps to open the front door.

For the first time in over a decade he had come home.

Becky wandered around the property. The air was so fresh and clean and the trees were incredibly green and grand and gorgeous. As if she stood in Narnia during summertime.

She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Was it only ten months ago that her dad found her?

It seemed like yesterday. And forever.

Man, her real dad…

He was so cool. Kind and patient and just plain nice. And he occasionally called her Bean ’cause she was growing like a bean sprout, he said. When she thought of her other dad…Skip was so different than…him.

She was glad Jesse, as she’d begun to think of him, was in the Walla Walla prison. She swallowed back the ache in her throat at the thought of her mom. Becky couldn’t believe she’d been gone almost four years. She tried to picture the woman she’d loved so much.

Mom, with her soft blond hair and sweet smile.

Mom, reading to her just before bedtime.

Mom, helping with her homework.

The images swam across Becky’s mind…Except her mom seemed hazy, the way a person looked standing in a really thick fog. And when she tried to remember her mother’s voice, there was nothing, not a single word.

Maybe it was best this way. Maybe forgetting her mom’s face would help her forget the horror of that day.

She swung around and realized she’d almost walked into the forest. Jeez, Becks. Focus on this life. Your new life. Don’t think of then.

Hurrying to the front yard, Becky saw the road they’d traveled coming from the village. Across it, up a long dirt trail was a green cottage, and on its stoop sat a child.

They had to be the neighbors. Maybe the family had kids her age. Like one of the girls she’d met last week at the retirement ceremony.

Eager to begin new friendships, Becky walked down her dad’s driveway and across the road.

“Hi,” she called as she went up their lane.

The kid wore a pink top and shorts. Above each ear was a dark pigtail that hung down her skinny arms. She looked about six or seven. And a little scared. As she got closer, Becky said, “I’m Becky, your new neighbor.”

The girl had big brown eyes. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out. Becky plopped on the stoop next to a row of Barbie dolls.

“Hey.” She picked up a queenlike version. “I had a Princess Barbie a long time ago. But then my mom died and I had to move and I lost Princess.” Becky rocked the doll, humming a little tune. The child gave her the sweetest smile she’d ever seen.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“M-M-Michaela.”

Becky acted as if she heard stuttering all the time. “Pretty name.”

The kid’s smile showed two missing front teeth. “M-M-Mommy n’ me are g-g-gonna check the b-b-bees. Wanna c-c-come?”

Bees? Becky looked around. “There’s a hive somewhere?”

“Uh-huh. Mom s-s-sells the honey.”

“Ohhh. You mean, she has those white bee boxes?”

Sunshine dipped into the girl’s eyes, making them as gold as honey. “I can…ask…Mom…if you…can…come see them.”

“Hey, that’d be cool.”

The door behind them opened. “Michaela?” A skinny woman in jeans and blue t-shirt looked down at them.

The child scrambled up to grab the woman’s hand. “Mom, this is B-B-Becky. She’s our n-n-neighbor.” She pointed. “Over there.”

Becky got to her feet. “I didn’t mean to trespass, ma’am.”

“You didn’t.” The woman had a soft voice. Her hand stroked her daughter’s curly pigtails and for a second Becky remembered her own mother’s fingers sifting through her hair in the same way.

“B-B-Becky likes Princess best, j-j-just l-l-like me.”

“Slow down, button.”

Becky smiled. “I get nervous meeting new people, too.”

The alertness in the woman’s face eased. “I’m Addie Malloy.”

“I’m Becky Dalton.”

Ms. Malloy’s eyebrows crashed. “You’re Skip Dalton’s daughter?”

“Yes.” Was that bad? “Do you know him?”

The woman stared at her for so long Becky shuffled her feet. Then Ms. Malloy looked toward their house and her eyes got really cold. “Yeah,” she said. “I know Mr. Dalton.”

Oh, man. Their neighbor didn’t like her dad. Why? She started to back away. Had she heard about her past? Becky wondered. No, her dad would never tell. “I should go. My dad’s probably wondering where I am. It was really nice meeting you. ’Bye, Mick.”

“It’s Michaela.” Frost hung in the woman’s voice. “She doesn’t like Mick.”

“Oops.” Becky couldn’t stop a nervous giggle. “Sorry.” Leaving the pair standing on the sunny stoop, she hurried down the path among the trees.

Sheesh. Wasn’t that always the way? A cute kid with a mean mother…Poor girl. Becky knew what it was like to live with a parent who wasn’t kind or friendly. Yet, Ms. Malloy had seemed kind, patting the girl’s hair. But maybe that was for show. Maybe she was why Michaela stuttered. Maybe the girl was dying for friends, but Ms. Malloy didn’t want people hanging around. Becky peeked over her shoulder.

The steps were empty.

She broke into a run.

Skip put his shoulder into the shove that slid his sleigh bed into place. He wanted the bed facing the windows across the hardwood. That way, first thing every morning he’d look straight into the stand of evergreens circling his property. Almost done with arranging the bedroom furniture, he heard the front door open.

“Dad?”

Dad. A shiver darted through Skip. He still had a hard time accepting how easily his daughter had taken to him. Twelve years she’d been under someone else’s care. His own flesh and blood. What an idiot he’d been to allow such a precious commodity to be handed over to strangers. What had he been thinking to listen to his father’s rants about one-in-a-million chances and how Skip needed to stop feeling sorry for something that wasn’t his fault?

Except it had been his fault. He’d been nineteen, Addie only seventeen when he’d gotten her pregnant that Christmas. Much as he hated the truth, he had forfeited his child for a mere chance. He could push the blame onto his father until the cows came home, but the fact was, at the end of the day, he’d made the choice.

If he could erase the past, if he could just begin again, give Becky a new childhood, one with him and possibly Addie…

All the ifs in the world won’t change a damn thing, Skip.

“Dad?” She thundered up the stairs.

“In here, Bean,” he called. He started the nickname within days of seeing her for the first time, a tall, gangly girl with his dark hair and long, narrow feet.

She flung around the doorjamb, her cheeks flushed. “I met the neighbors across the road. Ms. Malloy and her girl, Michaela.”

Ah, hell. Skip crossed the room. “Becky, next time let me know before you leave the property, okay?”

“Why? Is there something wrong with them?” She cut a glance toward the window.

“No.” Only thirteen years of abandonment by him. “We live in the country and I’d rather you didn’t go somewhere without telling me.” He tried to soften his anxiety with a smile. “It’ll keep me from worrying.”

“Jesse never cared where I went.”

Jesse Farmer, her adopted dad. “I’m not Jesse, honey.” He brushed the too-long bangs from her eyes. “Look, I’m still learning the family thing, so bear with me, okay? If I’m a little paranoid it just means I need to know you’re okay.” That no one is hurting you anymore.

With a shrug she wandered to his clothing boxes stacked near the closet’s open door. Peering inside, she said, “I don’t think we’ll be friends with them anyway.”

“No?”

“Ms. Malloy isn’t…very friendly.”

“In what way?” Had Addie slammed the door in Becky’s face?

Another shrug. “She seems…uptight. Maybe it’s because her daughter stutters and stuff.”

He’d heard about Addie having another child, one from the man she divorced seven months ago.

“How do you know she stutters?”

“She was sitting on their front step when I went over, and we were chatting about her dolls when the mom came outside.”

“Oh.”

Becky looked over her shoulder. “The little girl’s really cute—and shy. And she has these big brown eyes. I think her mom is overprotective because of the way she talks.” Suddenly, her face brightened. “Hey, maybe we can ask them over for dinner in a couple days and—”

“Whoa, whoa.” Skip brought up his hands. “Let’s take it one day at a time, Bean. We’ve got a lot to do around here first.” Primarily, he needed to get reacquainted with the lady in question.

“How about we wait a few days, see where we’re at with the unpacking.” He inclined his head toward the door. “You haven’t even checked out your room yet.”

Which told him how much neighbors and friends meant to his daughter. The “friends” she’d had in the trailer park in Lynnwood—where her family had lived—Skip wished she’d never met.

Becky rushed into the hallway, bent on her assignment. “Which room is mine?”

He leaned in the doorway. “There are four, so take your pick.”

“I can? No way!”

He watched her dash into each, listened to her “oohs” and “aahs” as she toured their confines, until in the last and farthest from his room, he heard, “This one! I’m picking this one.”

He was grinning when she poked her head from the doorway. “Is that okay?”

“Yup, it’s yours. And so are these boxes.” He walked to five piled in the corridor, hoisted two into his arms. When they had carried them in, he said, “Have at it, honey. Decorate it any way you want.”

She flung her arms around him in a quick, rare hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

“My pleasure.” He walked to the doorway. “You going to be okay for a bit? I’d like to wander over and introduce myself to Ms. Malloy and her daughter. Might as well find out now if I’ll need to plant a twenty-foot wall in front of my house.”

Her eyes were apprehensive. “Really?”

Skip laughed. “Just kidding, Bean.”

“Oh. Want me to come?” She looked longingly around her room.

“No. You have fun. I’ll be back in two shakes.” He started down the hallway.

“Dad?” She peered around the doorjamb.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t let Ms. Malloy scare you.”

“Why? Is she ugly?” From what he’d seen across the school gym last week, she looked as he remembered. Petite and pretty.

Becky shook her head. “Her eyes are mean.”

He couldn’t imagine it. Addie had the prettiest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. And they gazed at him every day from Becky’s dear face.

All through lunch, the memory of Skip’s daughter smiling at Michaela dug like a sliver into Addie’s thoughts. He had a daughter who looked like him. Who was almost the age their child would have been. Wasting time had obviously not been a priority in Skip Dalton’s life. How incredibly dumb she’d been to presume he had mourned the loss of their child. Instead, he immediately found someone else and—She slammed the last rinsed lunch plate onto the drying rack and bit her tongue to keep from screaming.

Some rich guy looking for a summer place. Too late she associated the chitchat in Burnt Bend regarding the house in the trees across Clover Road….

He had been that guy.

Such a fool she was, keeping her head in the sand, shunning gossip. She hated it at seventeen when she found herself pregnant, and she hated it today, but sometimes, dammit, she should listen. On rare occasions that grapevine fed vital information.

A laugh welled in her throat—before anger, dislike and hurt surged forth. Damn him.

He would have known she lived within shouting distance. He would have investigated his neighbors, the area surrounding his land. A successful and affluent man like Skip Dalton would have taken precautionary steps before moving into a community, especially a rural community where trees and three-hundred-yard driveways concealed houses from view. He was money now. Barrels of money.

“Mommy?” Michaela spoke at her side.

Cool head, Addie. Your daughter is all that matters. “What, angel?”

“Can I lick s-s-some honey off a s-s-spoon after we check the b-b-bees?”

“Oh, button.” Addie cupped her child’s face, kissed her silky hair. “You bet.” And just like that the hurt in her heart eased. “Go to the washroom, then we’ll head out.”

“Yay!”

Smiling, she watched the child run from the kitchen. Michaela loved honey—such a natural source of nourishment—and, amazingly, was not afraid of the hives.

Michaela, she thought. Her baby, her reason for living.

Two minutes later, she led the way down the path to the wooden honey shed where she kept their “spacemen” suits, as Michaela called the white coveralls they wore to attend the hives, and where, in an hour, she would be melting the wax off the honeycombs with a hot knife before running the honey.

For years, Addie’s father operated eighty hives, but Addie’s main responsibility was Michaela. Added to that was the high school where she’d begun teaching again after her divorce. So last winter, she had reduced the apiary to twelve hives. Eight on a red clover field three miles down the road, and four on a neighboring cucumber-squash patch. Although she harvested the bulk of the honey the first week of August, the clover bees would continue to produce until Labor Day.

She was stacking the fresh frames—combs in which bees produced harvestable honey—when Michaela darted for the shed door. “Mom! I f-f-forgot F-F-Felicity.”

Chuckling, Addie handed her daughter the house key. “Can’t have that, button. Don’t forget to lock up when you come out.”

From the time Michaela was old enough to come along, Addie had set the rule that only one doll came for the trip when they went to see the bees, and that doll remained secured in the truck’s cab away from the insects.

As Michaela rushed down the path toward the back door, Addie headed for the pickup with their coveralls and gear: hive tool, smoker and the last stack of fresh frames.

That’d be so cool, Becky Dalton had told Michaela when she asked if the girl wanted to see the hives thirty minutes ago.

How old was she? Eleven, twelve? What did it matter?

A lot, dammit!

He’d moved on without a second’s thought after telling Addie how much he loved her, and that nothing short of death would keep them apart. Lying rat. God, how could she have been so stupid?

“Arrgh!”

Rehashing the memories, she wanted to scream and stamp her feet.

A thought had her stumbling. What if he’d gotten a college girl pregnant around the same time he and Addie—

Oh, God. Her heart hurt. How often had she stood at the edge of that game field over the years and looked up at the bleachers? And remembered.

Remembered sitting among the hundreds of cheering students, watching the boy in the black-and-gold Fire High uniform take charge of his team.

How many times had she wondered if their baby had his eyes or mouth or those crazy elongated lashes? Whether she was tall or short, dark or blond? If she had his runners’ legs?

Most of all, she wondered if the child knew how badly Addie had wanted her. And failed her.

She threw the gear into the bed of the truck harder than necessary, then reached down to the stack of frames on the ground. Forgive me, little one.

A shadow fell across her face. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of a pair of ratty men’s sneakers.

“Hello, Addie.”

Her heart slammed her ribs. His voice. So familiar and at one time so beloved. She couldn’t move, couldn’t move an inch. He’s here was her only thought. Right here.

Slowly she rose; turned.

He stood two strides away, hands shoved into the pockets of a pair of tan cargo shorts. He’d always been tall, but today, this moment, thirteen years after, he loomed over her five-foot-four stature.

On occasion she had glimpsed his face on TV, noted the transformation of boy to man. Where once he held girls in thrall, today he undoubtedly did the same to women. Not because he was handsome, but because he exuded an elemental roughness manifested by those hewed cheeks and jaw, those dark brows, that hawkish nose.

A breeze riffled the flip of brown hair on his wide forehead and a memory speared up. There was a time she had trailed her fingers through that lock. A time she’d loved its texture.

“It’s been a long while,” he said when she continued to stare.

She gathered her scrambled thoughts. “What do you want, Skip?”

Imperceptibly, his shoulder lifted. “Just to say hi.”

“And now you have.”

“I’m…um…” He looked around her front yard. His eyes were still that rich honey color, she noticed. Full of deep, dark mystery.

On a gesture to the big house she watched rise from the earth over the past three months, he said, “My daughter and I moved in across the road today.”

Disregarding her pattering heart, she picked up two supers—square boxes housing the honeycomb frames—and carefully set them inside the truck.

“Yes,” she said. “I noticed the moving trucks earlier, and…Becky met my daughter.” She couldn’t help emphasizing my. His daughter looked like him, the way Michaela looked like Dempsey. But, dammit, no matter how the cards fell, Michaela was her daughter.

My daughter. Mine.

Leaning down, he grabbed the second stack of honey frames. “I know. That’s why I came over. I wanted to make sure she didn’t cause trouble.”

So. This visit wasn’t to reacquaint them or introduce his family to hers. He was here to make sure he wouldn’t be considered a lousy parent for having an intrusive daughter.

How like Skip. His name suited him after all. Skipping town thirteen years ago and now skipping back without a qualm, without a single concern that he’d nearly killed her with his brush-off.

Did he even care that she’d suffered twenty-three hours of labor, that she’d died a million deaths when they whisked her baby away in the time it took her to inhale a single breath?

Do you know I still wonder where she is?

“I have work to do,” she said, seizing the frames from his hands. “And you have your family to go back to.”

His wife, no doubt, would be wondering what he was doing across the road at the neighbor’s house. The neighbor dressed in thready jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and old leather boots. On a blistering hot day.