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“What?” he said too loudly as a strange wave of guilt washed over him. If Claire had asked that question even last week, he wouldn’t have known why he’d continued to resist their spending an entire night together. Unfortunately, it was no longer a mystery. Miami, and indeed all of Florida, was tied to his prior history with Mallory Forrest. Plain and simple, his memories of her in and around this city held him back from making love with Claire.
Unable to see Connor’s guilty look of alarm, his fiancée charged ahead. “I don’t consider myself promiscuous by any means. But during the shower, when it was only us girls talking, the subject of sexual compatibility surfaced. I didn’t tell anyone we haven’t…ah…done the deed. They’d never believe it. So…I’m willing to toss out my superstitions if you’ll forgo convention. Let’s be wicked and book into one of the beach hotels tonight. Janine said couples who do are more relaxed at the wedding ceremony. They aren’t so anxious to dash off to start their honeymoon. What do you say, Connor?”
He couldn’t say anything. His conscience played havoc with his mind. In the end, he didn’t have to make lame excuses. Claire, typically accommodating, let him off the hook. “Okay. I won’t ask you to sacrifice your principles because I let Janine and the others override my good sense. I’ll be waiting on the porch in twenty minutes. I can tell something’s really bugging you. Just one last thing. Remember—together, we can overcome anything. That’s what people in love do.” She blew kisses into the phone, as had been her habit since he’d given her an engagement ring three months ago.
Connor heard the soft click when Claire replaced the receiver. Still, he continued to hold the buzzing instrument to his ear.
Had he ever believed that a nebulous emotion like love could conquer any and all adversity? No. He placed his faith in the logic of science. Yet he did love Claire, didn’t he?
Throughout his five-and-a-half-year hiatus on an atoll in the Pacific, he’d been too engrossed in his work to want a substitute for Mallory. The restlessness, the feeling that something was missing in his life, didn’t emerge until after he returned to Florida. Co-workers said that since he’d been out of the social circuit for so long, he needed a woman. He’d decided they were right.
Not counting the years he’d been with Mallory—for two of those they’d even lived together—he’d been pretty much a loner. Maybe that was why on the day he flipped the calendar and turned up his thirty-third birthday, he’d judged it was high time he settled down and started a family.
In areas where there were major weather centers, meteorologists formed tight-knit communities. Claire, an operational weather-support person and part-time forecaster, fit in his world. Short and blond, she looked nothing like Mallory Forrest, who was tall, willowy and brunette. Somehow, he and Claire hit it off. For eight months, they’d dated exclusively. And why not? From day one, she’d bent over backward to please him.
In that aspect, Connor realized, Claire was like Mallory. Was that why he’d proposed marriage so fast? Hanging up the phone, he planted his elbows on the desk, buried his face in his hands and rubbed away a fine tension that tightened the skin around his mouth. Damn, if he didn’t love Claire for herself, he was a class-A asshole.
Figuring he’d better leave if he was meeting Claire in twenty minutes, he tucked the pictures of his daughter and the report about her condition into an envelope to take along, then dug out his car keys. He would lay this newest development in his life on the table and let Claire decide if she still wanted to hook up with a guy who had a shady past.
As usual, Claire was ready. And, also as usual, she looked immaculate. That always amazed Connor about her. Her pale hair never had a strand out of place. Her blouses matched whatever else she wore, whether skirt or pants. Her makeup and nail polish were perfectly applied.
Connor complimented her appearance as he helped her into the front seat. She linked her hands tightly atop her purse, frowning worriedly.
He hauled in a deep breath, walked around the car and climbed back into the driver’s seat. Guessing it was going to be a silent ride, Connor selected one of Claire’s favorite tapes, popping it into the player before entering into traffic. The soft piano strains of “On My Own,” a tune from Les Miserables, floated from the back speakers.
“Balmy night,” Connor remarked, thinking the weather a safe topic.
Claire nodded but kept her eyes ahead as she twisted her engagement ring around and around her finger.
“Sorry I was a few minutes late. I didn’t allow for weekend traffic.”
“Connor, if you aren’t going to tell me why we need this impromptu talk, just hush. Please.” Claire unclasped her hands and massaged her neck. “If I’d known we were going to do this, I wouldn’t have had so much of the champagne Lauren brought.”
“If you hadn’t phoned me, Claire, I wouldn’t have bothered you until morning.”
“No. No.” She let her hands fall. “I have a hunch it’s something we need to settle tonight.”
Connor battled a sick feeling in his stomach. He probably should’ve asked Mallory more questions, particularly as he didn’t have any idea why she’d never informed him she was pregnant in the first place. But maybe the details didn’t matter. Claire was right; they needed to hash out the primary issue tonight.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the neon sign of the café looming up on his right. Connor parked in a lot behind the building, glad to see it was sparsely populated. By ten-thirty or so, after the movie houses let out, his favorite local hangout would get crowded. He’d counted on business being slow at this hour.
“If the back-corner booth is available, let’s take it,” he said, locking the car after helping Claire out. “Or any booth that offers privacy.”
Again she said nothing. Not that Connor blamed her. Paul shouldn’t have shot his mouth off. And yet it certainly saved him having to dive headlong into deep water.
The back booth was vacant. Connor waited until the waitress had delivered water and two cups of black coffee before he eased the envelope from his jacket. He set it unopened on the table between them, studying Claire with a troubled expression.
“I’m not going to like this, am I?” she finally whispered.
He shook his head, his own pain rising. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he said, turning his coffee cup around in its saucer several times.
Claire ran a forefinger along the rim of hers. Neither of them seemed inclined to test the dark, steamy brew, although both of them loved chicory coffee. “At the beginning is probably best,” she said reluctantly.
Connor shifted one hip, slumping sideways a little. “There’s this woman I used to be best friends with. Mallory Forrest. She, uh, we met here in Miami at a science camp when I was a junior and she was a sophomore in high school. We both lived in Tallahassee. She attended an exclusive private school. I went to public.” His voice faded, as Connor recollected that long-ago first encounter. Mallory, the beautiful dynamo who outclassed everyone at that camp, and forever after.
Noting Claire’s stony expression, Connor cleared his throat. “Given the disparity in our backgrounds, that camp should have been the beginning and end of our friendship. Her dad was a prominent attorney. A year or so later, Bradford Forrest was elected to the state senate. He’s still there. Mallory’s mom headed the state’s volunteer hurricane-relief program. It was through Mallory that I got involved in relief work. I told you my mother died, and we lost most of what we owned in a hurricane the year I was a senior. Disaster insurance on mobile homes was too expensive, and after the hurricane, my application for government relief got bogged down in the system. Mallory found out. She tracked me down in the aftermath. I don’t really know how she did everything she did. Like helping me arrange a funeral. Wangling me a place to stay, and later, a full-tuition scholarship to FSU. At the time, Mallory believed in me more than I did. She was convinced I could invent a system for early detection of hurricanes even though I wasn’t nearly as sure about my abilities. I…uh…always felt in awe of her, but one step behind, too, if you know what I mean.”
Connor saw the light dawn in Claire’s eyes.
“You’re going to tell me this woman suddenly appeared again, aren’t you? That she…she…wants you back.”
Wanting to save Claire as much pain as possible, he decided to bypass everything that had happened between him and Mallory at college and during his grad-school years. Though his hands were far from steady, he pulled open the envelope flap and dumped out the pictures and the report Mallory had brought him. “She doesn’t want me back, Claire. She came to tell me I’d fathered a child. Her child.”
Claire turned chalk-white. “Obviously she’s lying. Why, you spent almost six years alone, for all intents and purpose, on a remote island.”
He nodded miserably. “My rationale, exactly. But this little girl—named Lydia after my mother, by the way—is six now. There’s no mistaking she’s mine, Claire. These baby pictures could be me at the same age.”
Claire pressed her lips together tight, then poked gingerly through the photos until she came to the report. “What’s this? Proof of some kind? A demand for child support? What precisely does this woman want from you, Connor?”
“A kidney,” he said, straightening again. He lifted the cup of now-cold coffee to his lips and took a healthy swig, grimacing as he did so.
“This is hardly the time to crack jokes,” Claire snapped.
“I’m not joking. Read the paper. It’s from a Tallahassee doctor. A detailed explanation of my daughter’s condition, and the subsequent need for me to be tested as a possible organ donor.”
“Why you, Connor? Why can’t her mother give her a kidney?”
Connor rolled his head around his shoulders, failing to relieve the tight muscles in his neck and back. “The report says Mallory did give one of her kidneys eight months ago. Lydia’s body started rejecting the organ last month. Recently that kidney had to be removed.”
Claire picked up and read the report. Once she reached the end, she folded it neatly and glanced past him, fiddling with her cup. “It’s a unique way to get a man back, I have to admit.”
Connor stirred, angry at Claire for the first time since they’d met. It was the most cutting thing he’d ever heard her say. “This isn’t about my renewing a relationship with Mallory. In fact, the last thing she said before she left was that I’d deal exclusively with Dr. Dahl, who wrote the report. Mallory said there’d be no reason for my path and hers to cross again. For all I know, she may be married.”
Claire stared at him. “You didn’t ask? Come on, Connor, what did you talk about after she broke up your bachelor party? She did, didn’t she? Break it up? That’s why Paul was so rattled.”
“Yes. Although Paul was already rattled because he mistook Mallory for an exotic dancer he and Greg hired to perform at the party.”
“A stripper?”
Connor shrugged. “I can’t say. The party didn’t progress that far. The dancer showed up as I was trying to throw Mallory out.”
“Really? You were going to throw her out?”
“Yes. Before she shoved one of those baby pictures into my hands and announced in front of everyone that she and I had a child together.”
Claire fingered the report. “According to this, the mother’s dad and brother have been ruled out as potential donors. It doesn’t mention her mom. You said she headed up the state’s hurricane-relief volunteers.”
“Beatrice. Yeah. There was never any love lost between us. She wanted Mallory to marry an up-and-coming lawyer. She referred to me as that storm-chaser. Bea looked on me as a stray her daughter had rescued from the slums. I can’t tell you why she’s not a candidate. Her name only came up in passing today, when Mallory told me she named Lydia after both our mothers. Lydia Beatrice. She said everyone calls her Liddy Bea.”
“This is really happening, isn’t it,” Claire declared unhappily. “You have a child with another woman.”
Connor reached across the table and tried to take her hand, but she deflected him so fast, she bumped her cup and spilled coffee all over. “I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, using his napkin to soak it up while he moved Lydia’s pictures out of harm’s way. “I’d give anything for us not to be having this conversation. But, frankly, I doubt the news comes as any greater shock to you than it did to me. I haven’t seen or heard from Mallory Forrest since the night before I left Florida, headed for that remote island.” He thought it was probably wisest not to mention that he’d tried desperately—and unsuccessfully—to contact Mallory.
“Did you fight over your going away? Is that why you split up?”
A perplexed frown settled between his eyebrows. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. She seemed happy I’d gotten the grant. Honestly, Claire, seven years is a long time to recall a specific conversation.” Connor didn’t see any need to describe his and Mallory’s final parting. She’d cooked his favorite meal to celebrate the fact that he’d received his master’s. At the ceremony, a courier had brought him news of the grant.
What he hadn’t told Claire was that Mallory had wanted to go live in Hawaii. He informed her it’d be a bad idea to pack in what she had in Florida and trek halfway around the world on the off chance he’d see her a couple of times a year when or if he got breaks. She’d burst into tears and stormed out. A week later, after he realized how terribly he missed her, he’d written Mallory a letter, telling her he’d changed his mind. But she didn’t write back. In fact, she didn’t answer a single one of his letters. He’d poured out his heart in them, talking about love and marriage and the future. It was plain to see she hadn’t spent any time pining away for him.
“I don’t know, Connor. This all seems so ludicrous. So unreal. Like something out of a daytime soap.”
The waitress came by with a pot of hot coffee. “Oh, my. Didn’t your coffee taste right?” she asked.
“I’m afraid we let it get cold.” Connor slid their cups to the edge of the table. “Would it be an imposition to have you dump these and pour fresh?”
“Not at all. I would’ve come by earlier, but you two seemed engrossed.”
“Thank you” was Connor’s only comment. Claire said nothing. However, she was the first to sip from the new coffee when it arrived.
“What are your intentions toward this child?” she ventured, during a moment when Connor seemed content to let silence reign.
“Intentions? What do you mean? This is all brand-new to me, Claire. I haven’t made any concrete plans. But I don’t see how I can ignore the situation, do you?”
“No. No, of course not. She’s an innocent, regardless of what went on between you and her mother.”
“Nothing went on between us—not what you’re implying when you use that tone, Claire. We were best friends who drifted into a…a…well, when I began work on my master’s, Mallory got a job at a PR firm near the campus. We shared an apartment. In the beginning, it was to save money….”
“You lived with that woman?” Claire’s voice rose. “And we’re engaged, yet we’ve never spent a whole night together? Boy, do I feel like a fool, bragging to my friends about what a perfect gentleman you are.”
Connor swore under his breath. “I like to think I am a gentleman, Claire. I asked you to be my wife. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“I don’t know anymore. Right now I’m confused, Connor. I’ve built this image of you in my mind. Now I find out you’re not that person.”
“I’m exactly the same man you’ve been dating since we met. This all happened in another life. Which doesn’t alter the fact that I have obligations toward a child I unknowingly helped bring into this world.”
Claire looked completely unhappy as she murmured, “You make it sound so logical. I don’t want to lose you, Connor. But neither am I ready to go into marriage with this hanging over our heads.”
He forced her to connect with his eyes. “What’s your solution, then?”
“I think we should postpone the wedding.”
“All right. That shouldn’t be a monumental task, since we planned such a small gathering. I’ll phone half our guest list tomorrow. What excuse shall we give people?”
“Much as I dislike being the subject of gossip, Paul and Greg and half the guys we work with were at your bachelor party and heard this woman… Mallory,” she said, choking out the name. “Don’t you figure we owe our friends the truth?”
“I do, yes. But I’ll say whatever you want, to save you embarrassment.”
“It’s too late for that, Connor. I do have one request, however.”
“If I can grant it, you know I will.”
“Like I said, at the moment I’m not sure of anything where you’re concerned. What I’d like to do is go with you to Tallahassee. You’re planning to consult this doctor in person, I assume.”
“I…uh…yes. I’ll take the tests. Mallory indicated she’d arrange with the hospital for me to visit Liddy. I have to see her, Claire.”
“Am I welcome?”
Connor felt the tension shrouding her question. He shouldn’t have hesitated, but he felt caught in a vise without fully knowing why. “Sure. No problem. We’ll ask this Dr. Dahl whether or not we should both visit Lydia. I’ll need a few days to set up an appointment.”
“Will you make the flight arrangements, or shall I?”
“I’ll do it. This is my—” he didn’t want to call his daughter a problem or a mistake, so he settled on a more neutral word “—my responsibility.”
“All right. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go home now. You can come over around eleven tomorrow. That’ll give me a chance to warn my parents and also the minister before we begin phoning guests.”
“I repeat, I’m so sorry, Claire.”
She rose without a word. While he paid the bill, she walked out to the car.
If possible, the ride back to her cottage was more strained than the trip to the café had been. Both of them remained locked in private misery. Neither took the initiative of switching on the music that had previously softened the strain.
“Don’t bother getting out,” Claire said, when Connor stopped in front of her house. He did, anyway, and walked her to the door as was his habit. He bent to kiss her good-night, but she turned her head so that his lips only grazed her hair. Claire hurried inside, leaving him standing on a pitch-black porch.
Burying his hands in his pants pockets, Connor wandered slowly back to his car. He couldn’t blame Claire for how she felt. He’d hit her with a hell of a mess. But he’d told the truth when he said it was as great a shock to him.
CHAPTER THREE
“DO I LOOK ALL RIGHT?”
Connor shifted his eyes from a blueprint he’d pulled from his briefcase to Claire, who sat next to him on the commuter plane. “Great. You always look great.”
She fussed with a silk scarf nailed to the lapel of her suit by a brooch. Connor recognized it as the art deco pin he’d given her for her birthday. A gold cloud, crossed by a diamond-studded lightning bolt. He’d seen it in the window of a jewelry store and had hoped that Claire would appreciate the significance. “Hey, you’re wearing the pin.”
“Yes. So if any of your old friends in Tallahassee remark on it, I can point out your generosity.” Her fingers traced the sparkling stones. “What type of gifts did you used to buy Mallory?”
Connor’s brows drew in. “None. I could rarely spare a dime in those days.”
“Oh.” She leaned close and slid her arm through Connor’s.
He eyed her sideways. “Claire, this trip isn’t about Mallory. It has to do with a sick child who didn’t ask to come into this world. A child I helped create. That’s as hard for me to comprehend as it is for you.”
“I doubt that,” she murmured. “My mother, Lauren and Janine all took pretty pointed shots at your obvious switch in principles. They asked how you could claim to love me and never try to get me into bed when it’s obvious you had unprotected sex with another woman. Lauren said maybe we should both get blood tests.”
“Do we have to discuss this in public?” Connor flushed and glanced around surreptitiously. “And we never had unprotected sex,” he whispered. “Something must have happened.”
“Obviously!” Claire arched a penciled eyebrow. “Or maybe it’s not your kid at all.”
“You never saw baby pictures of me, Claire, because all my family albums were lost in the hurricane. Most of what we owned was lost. But if you get to see Liddy, the resemblance will be as plain to you as it is to me.”
“Maybe.” Claire pulled away, and Connor buried his nose in his work again.
Ten or so minutes passed before she nudged him. “I forgot to ask what hotel you booked us into. I should tell the station where I can be reached.”
“The two motels I contacted were completely booked. It’s Florida State University’s graduation, one of the hotel clerks told me. He said most of the better accommodations were already full.”
“Well, what are we going to do?”
“He also said there are always cancellations. And apparently hotels usually keep rooms in reserve for drop-ins. It’ll be okay, Claire. I didn’t have time to do an extensive search, but we can check some places when we arrive. Someone will have a couple of free rooms.”
“Two? Not just one?”
“Claire, if you’re questioning my commitment, sleeping together will only muddy the waters even more. Let’s get this ordeal behind us, then we’ll sit down and work through any remaining doubts before we reschedule the wedding.”
“Why are you always so damned logical, Connor? Haven’t you ever done anything on pure impulse?”
A period in his life when Mallory had drawn him into some pretty wacky, spur-of-the-moment outings flashed past Connor’s eyes. Images he quickly erased. “Not for a long time,” he said in all seriousness. “What you see is what you get, Claire. I hope you understand this is who you’d be marrying.”
She turned to stare out the window. “I thought I knew you.” She swung back. “Surely you realize that the curve you threw me two nights before my wedding—a day I’ve dreamed about since I was fourteen—would upset any woman? I don’t think I’m being unreasonable, Connor.”
“No. I just think you’re forgetting that the same curveball came out of left field and hit me, too.”
The plane took a decided dip. The stewardess announced their descent into Tallahassee, noting they were half an hour late. Connor returned the blueprint to his briefcase and placed the case under the seat in front of him. It wasn’t lost on him, however, that Claire neither agreed nor disagreed with his statement.
Collecting both their bags from the overhead bin, Connor stepped aside and let her lead the way off the plane.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked, seeming not to notice that he juggled her suitcase, cosmetic case, his duffel bag and a briefcase, while her hands were free.
With difficulty, he glanced at his watch. “My appointment with Dr. Dahl starts in twenty minutes. He’s sandwiched me in between a speech he had to give at the U and an afternoon surgery. We’ll have to go directly to his office instead of phoning hotels from here.”
“Go to the clinic with our bags? We’ll look like a couple of vagabonds.”
“Just me. I’m wearing jeans. You look like a million bucks, as usual. Come on,” he said, motioning over her head to one of the waiting cabdrivers.
Once he’d given the driver the address and they’d settled into the back seat, Connor took Claire’s hand. “It’ll be fine. We won’t see a soul who knows us or who’ll likely ever see us again. I’ll ask the clinic receptionist if you can use their phone book along with my cell phone to locate rooms. Cost is no object,” he added, having learned early on that Claire liked everything first-class.
“Really?” She perked up at that. “Okay, but you may be sorry. I may find an indecently expensive resort. I mean, if the doctor’s able to schedule your tests for tomorrow, I’d rather sit by a pool than hang out in some hospital waiting room.”