Reunited Hearts

Oh, no.

Alyssa stared up into Trent’s face. “No, I’m fine, actually. I was just…” She tried to pull herself up and out of the jungle gym tunnel, but her cuff was caught.

Before Alyssa could protest, Trent caught her arms and pulled.

“I wasn’t really stuck.” She nodded her daughter Cory’s way. “We were playing a game.”

“But you were,” Cory protested. “You wescued her, mister.”

He smiled. “You can call me Trent.”

“And you can call me Cory. And now we can be fwiends.”

A group of small children entered the playground from below. Cory turned, hopeful. Alyssa nodded their way. “Yes, go ahead.”

Trent moved toward the slide. “It seems there’s only one way down. I’ll go first.”

He slid down, then stood grinning from the ground below. “Your turn.”

Was it the thought of her getting caught on the slide that sparked his grin or was he just trying to cajole a laugh out of her?

As he did so long ago…

RUTH LOGAN HERNE

Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, fresh baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders, and the dirt…

Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website at www.ruthloganherne.com.

Reunited Hearts

Ruth Logan Herne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have

no compassion on the child she has borne? Though

she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have

engraved you on the palms of my hands.

—Isaiah 49:15, 16

This book is dedicated to my four boys,

Matthew, Seth, Zach and Luke, four delights in my life

whose antics and humor have kept me laughing, which

is about the only thing that spared their lives some days.

Thanks for the constant kudos, the love,

the support and your belief in me. I’m so grateful.

And to Jon, my erstwhile and kindly son-in-law,

a gentle man in all respects. I love you guys.

Acknowledgments

First to Rene, Patty, Colleen, Rita, Andrea, Fran,

Meaghan and Susan, who’ve steadfastly believed.

To my buddy Kevin, who’s read them all

and makes me feel good about myself. You guys rock!

To the Song-Prayers, who’ve been wonderful supporters,

first readers and have my back in times of trouble.

I love you guys, prayer-warriors all. My day-care moms,

such a great group of women. I love that you

entrust your precious children to Baby: Survivor.

To my family, who juggle their schedules to help mine.

I could not ask for more, except maybe more chocolate.

And a maid. A maid would be really nice.

Thanks to Jason Sweeney for his advice on

military contracts and contacts, and to

Lieutenant Colonel Tim Hall from MIT for his advice

on military education and command. Huge.

Thanks to Cher Neidermeyer and Glenn Pierce of the

Ronald McDonald House in Rochester, and a special

thanks to Dr. Vermilion and Bernadette of the Golisano

Children’s Hospital at Strong. Thank you for your time

and expertise, helping me get it right. I’m very grateful.

To Dave for sitting next to me in church, jumping in all

over the place and pretending to love sandwiches, dust

and clutter. Your gentle support is a true blessing.

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 Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Two words jerked Trent Michaels out of his comfort zone, tunneling him back a dozen years, pre-West Point, pre-deployment, a young man searching for answers. For hope.

“Alyssa. Hello.”

Heart pumping from a swift adrenaline punch, Trent stared straight ahead as his high school love leaned down to accept his new boss’s hug, looking…

Amazing. Beautiful. Wonderful.

His heart ground to a stop, unwilling to believe what his eyes held true. Dark brown hair, clipped back, framed a face no less beautiful at thirty. Probably more so, the mature features offering a true version of what girlish looks had only hinted. Dark brows arched over hazel eyes, tiny spikes of gold lighting the color from within, her profile as dear and familiar now as it had been twelve years past.

But what was she doing in Jamison, New York?

He’d checked before accepting Helen Walker’s offer of military liaison with Walker Electronics. A good soldier always appraised his front line, and Trent had a slew of battlefield commendations testifying to his thoroughness. As of last week, Alyssa had been living in a squirrel’s hole-sized town in eastern Montana.

“How’s your father, dear? The surgery went well, I hear?”

Lyssa nodded, her expression warm, a small smile curving soft, sweet lips he remembered like it was yesterday. “Yes, thank you, although he’s already chomping at the bit. My mother has her hands full.”

Helen clucked womanly empathy. “I’ll bet she does, but at least you were able to come back.” She squeezed Lyssa’s hand in a silent message, her look sympathetic. “That’s a big help right there.”

“I hope so.” Lyssa straightened, her gaze traveling the table full of men with a polite smile of welcome, right until she came to him.

She stopped.

Stared.

So did he.

One hand came to her throat in a convulsive movement. She didn’t look happy to see him. Shocked, yes. Surprised, absolutely.

And scared. No, wait. Make that petrified.

Trent had become an expert in tactical assessment during his long stint in the military, but his current appraisal made little sense.

A second ticked by. Then two. And suddenly a voice interrupted the moment, a familiar voice, yet not one he’d heard in a long time. Twenty years, give or take, because it was his voice, his voice as a child, the speaker obscured by a curved oak support draped in grape vine and clear twinkle lights.

“Excuse me, Mom?”

Lyssa turned, her face ashen. Her gaze darted from Trent to the silhouetted boy, her expression mouse-on-the-glue-board trapped. Her lips moved, but nothing came out.

The boy moved closer.

Trent saw his face, his hair, his shoulders as they’d been twenty years before, the boy’s stance, his smile, his look of question totally Trent Michaels.

He froze, tight and taut, his head unwilling to digest what his gaze held true.

“Jim says I’m all set in the kitchen. Can I go back to Grandma’s now? Practice my throws?”

She nodded, still silent, the beat of her heart evident beneath a ribbed knit top, her breathing tight and forced.

“Yes. I’ll see you later.”

The boy escaped through the nearest exit. Once outside, he ran for the hillside, barreling downward, his movements lithe with natural athleticism.

Trent had no idea when he’d stood, but he was standing now, his brain processing the scene. And disbelieving.

Alyssa swiped hands against her pants, then headed for the office, the only private spot in the place, knowing he’d follow. Knowing he had no choice.

He followed her into the room, closed the door with a decided click, then braced himself against the door, shoulders back, chest out, hoping his posture intimidated her and not caring if it did because he was fairly certain that if his stance didn’t worry her, the unveiled anger in his voice would. “Alyssa, what have you done?”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t possibly reason how this happened after all those years of being so careful and cautious, tucked away in an obscure corner of brushland Montana.

And now…

Alyssa tried to draw a breath, but the look on Trent’s face, the pain vying with anger, the hurt…

What she’d seen as good and sacrificial twelve years before seemed completely selfish now.

Dear God, please. Please.

So now you pray, an inner voice scoffed. You might have wanted to think of that somewhere along the way, missy. A little late at this point, don’t you think?

Shame cut deeper.

Trent’s gaze knifed through her, his locked-arm position forbidding. When she stayed silent he strode forward, stopping just short of contact. “Why?”

She shrugged, fighting for words, her closed throat prohibiting speech.

He grabbed her upper arms, anger trumping the sorrow in his face. “I wasn’t good enough, was that it? Did Daddy decide I wasn’t worthy enough to know I had a son? So he sent you away to avoid the embarrassment of knowing I fathered his grandchild?”

“No.”

“And you let him?” Trent railed on, ignoring her protest. “You let him send you away, carrying our child, our son, and never told me, Lyssa? Never gave me the chance to do the right thing? How could you? Did I mean that little to you?”

Pain coursed his features again. His grip tightened and she braced herself, experience telling her what came next, feeling the power and strength magnified by the anger and hurt in his face, his eyes.

Oh, his eyes.

Wet with unshed tears, a glimpse of the boy she’d known and loved shone through, the boy who never cried, never gave up, his stoicism on and off the football field renowned. To see what she’d done to him, what she’d brought him to—

Dear God, please…

Please…

He released his hold, stepping back, his face contorted. “Why?”

The hard edge in his voice straightened her backbone. She drew a breath, squared her shoulders and met his gaze, determined to take her just due. Hadn’t she learned that over the years? That life handed out punishments on a regular basis? With the feel of Trent’s vise-like grip a fresh memory to join a host of older ones, she raised her chin. “I gave you choices you wouldn’t have had otherwise, Trent. And that’s all I have to say right now.”

All she had to say?

He stepped forward again.

She cringed, her expression a mix of fear and dread.

Trent stopped cold.

He’d never scared a woman. Ever. The very thought sickened him, but the look on her face, no, scratch that, the look he put on her face, was mortal fear.

He needed time and space to sort this out, to deal with the anger coursing through him, an anger that seemed quite justified under the circumstances.

He turned, put his forehead to the door and breathed deep, realizing that the CEO of Walker Electronics and her team had witnessed the entire spectacle.

The Army had worked to prepare him for surprise attacks, but nothing in their tactical maneuvers readied him for this.

A boy.

A son.

Hidden. Furtive. Kept secret.

Thoughts of his childhood coursed through him, of how hard he worked to become who he was because of who he’d been, the cast-out four-year-old thrown away by vagrant parents passing by on I-86, saved by a pair of hunters who rescued him on a cold, windy, sleet-filled afternoon, hypothermic, hungry and dazed.

A host of emotions wrestled for his heart, his soul. Breathing deep, he opened the door without a backward glance or another word. He headed for the exit looking neither left nor right.

Helen Walker might rethink her offer, and with good reason. Most CEOs deplored scandal and he couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t big on drama himself, and small-town drama to boot? Magnified by a power of ten, minimum.

But there was no way he could face that table of well-dressed executives right now, not with any semblance of self-control. Better he go, get hold of himself, deal with the new hand just given to him in the game of life.

He was a father. Had been one for some time, it seemed.

A boy. His boy. He pinched the bridge of his nose as realization spiked deeper. Their boy.

Trent shook his head, gripped the nape of his neck to thwart the crushing headache, then climbed into his car, a different man than the one who had arrived short minutes before.

Very different.

Chapter Two

As mundane tasks vied for Alyssa’s attention, her thoughts kept slipping to Trent, stymieing her productivity. By ten o’clock she had no idea how she made it through the night.

What was he doing? Thinking? Was he hunting up a lawyer, wanting what had been denied him for so long? A chance to know his son, the child who grew to look more like him every day?

Fear dogged her steps. She avoided Helen Walker’s table by staying holed up in the office until Helen’s group left. What must they think of her? Of him? Of Jaden?

Regret spasmed her midsection. Her gut had clenched tight upon seeing Trent and hadn’t relaxed yet.

Dear God… Dear God…

The lament sounded lame, even to her. She’d wandered away from faith a long time ago and had much to regret in the ensuing years. No way, no how was God breathlessly waiting for her wake-up call. And now that it had come…

“Lyssa.” Cat Morrow touched her arm. The concern in the older waitress’s voice mirrored her expression. “He didn’t know?”

Lyssa leaned her head back, eyed the pressed tin ceiling tiles, bit her lip and shook her head, one tear snaking its way along her cheek. “No. You did?”

Cat sent her a look of disbelief. “Oh, honey, it only takes one look for anyone who knew Trent as a boy. He’s the spitting image of his father. Why didn’t you tell him?” Cat pulled her into a hug, her embrace unleashing the floodgates Alyssa held in check all night. “Anyone who was around you two knew what was going on. It was written all over your faces. There, there…” Cat crooned, patting her back, much as Alyssa would have done to Cory, her three-year-old daughter. “It’s all right.”

Alyssa pulled back, grabbed a handful of tissues from the box alongside the register, blew her nose and shook her head. “It’s not. I know that. And I know it never will be.”

“That’s not true—” Cat protested, but Alyssa knew better.

“Trent’s an upright guy. Always was. Always will be. He’ll never understand what I did.”

Cat tipped her head, puzzled. “I’m having a hard time myself,” she admitted.

“He couldn’t have accepted the appointment to West Point if he knew, not with their rules.” Alyssa met Cat’s gaze and drew a deep breath, half remorse, half resignation. “Cadets can’t be married or responsible for a child. And if Trent knew, he’d have insisted on marrying me, taking responsibility for us.” Visions of Trent’s hopeful excitement, the goals of a little boy lost finally attainable, danced in her brain as she remembered his joy at receiving the invitation to attend the esteemed military academy. “I couldn’t let him do that.”

“It was his job to do that,” Cat reminded her. “As the father, he had a duty to his child, his son. And for a guy like Trent, whose parents didn’t want him, fatherhood’s got to be a pretty big deal. He’s not like other guys.”

Alyssa had discovered that firsthand in Montana. Thoughts of Vaughn Maxwell’s temper taught her that all men weren’t created equal. And she was grateful to have kept Vaughn’s inner nature from Jaden during the short years they were together. Why hadn’t she seen through Vaughn’s facade sooner? What was she thinking? If she’d been honest with herself, she could have left before the unthinkable happened. But she’d stayed, leaving no one but herself to blame for the consequences.

Shame coursed through her again. “I don’t know how to make this right.”

Cat’s look said that wasn’t possible.

Alyssa turned and stared out the window. “What will I tell Jaden?”

“The truth?”

“How?” She faced Cat again and lifted her shoulders. “He’ll never trust me again.”

“Never’s a long time,” Cat advised. She shouldered her bag and arched a brow. “The truth shall set you free,” she paraphrased. “John’s gospel. Smart dude. He was pretty tight with Christ, remember?”

Alyssa couldn’t meet her eye. It had been easy to fall away from faith, from God in Montana. Aunt Gee was a free spirit who lived for the moment, and she’d taken Alyssa in when she needed a home. Alyssa had followed suit, for a while at least.

Shame knifed again.

Sure, she’d straightened up after a couple of years. And Gee had actually matured as well, but nothing made up for the choices Alyssa made those first years away. Foolish. Sinful. Self-indulgent.

God? You there? Can we talk?

Cat reached out and gave her a brisk hug, a hug that said she’d somehow find a way. “I’m off tomorrow, but back on Wednesday. I’ll see you then, all right?” Alyssa nodded.

“And if you need me, need a shoulder, need a pal, need more tissues…” Cat’s gaze encompassed the dwindling supply on the counter alongside them “…give me a shout. I’m not far away.”

“Thanks, Cat.”

The older woman shrugged and nodded, knowing. “You’re welcome, kid. And pray. Nothing’s so bad that God doesn’t want us. Hear us. Care for us.”

“Right.”

Alyssa wasn’t about to buy into that line of reasoning, not when she knew better. No one had pushed her to foolish relationships when she’d left. She’d managed that one on her own. And yes, she’d turned it around, had changed things before she met Vaughn, and then…

And then married a guy who hid his angry side until the chips were down and whiskey took the place of sweet tea on the side porch.

She should have seen it coming. There were signs.

She’d ignored them.

Foolish, foolish girl.

And now?

Cat said she should pray. Cat didn’t know, didn’t understand that there were some things that were unforgivable. Even by God.

Trent went round the whole thing in his head, trudging the sidewalks deep into the night, and still came up with nothing.

He’d loved her. He thought she’d loved him. When she broke things off and headed out west for college, he’d been devastated but man enough to realize he’d broken trust with her by giving in to temptation. Even at eighteen, he was supposed to be the God-sworn guardian, the protector.

He’d failed miserably, then lost the girl besides. His fault, he knew, for not respecting her enough to wait. But obviously he wasn’t the only one lacking honor. The thought of the boy rocked Trent back on his heels.

That Alyssa could do such a thing angered him enough to keep him walking the streets, until he was tired enough to fall into the motel room bed hours later, the pain in his head no match for the one in his heart.

A sharp knock woke Trent with a start the next morning.

At least he thought it was morning. He’d drawn the heavy curtains when he’d finally crashed, shrouding the room from light. Noise. People. Life.

Obviously life found him. Housekeeping, maybe?

“Go away. Do not disturb. Clean tomorrow.” He growled the words into his pillow, his temples reverberating like a drill unit on parade: Left. Left. Left, right, left.

“Trent? It’s Helen. May I come in?”

Helen?

What was his boss doing here on a Tuesday morning? A frightfully early Tuesday morning?

To fire him.

Of course. Totally understandable. Scandal equates loss of job.

Trent sighed, stood, tossed a pillow back to the top of the bed, ran a hand through his hair and pulled open the door. “I’ll save you the trouble and the embarrassment of firing me and verbally refuse the offer of employment you extended yesterday, okay?”

Intense morning sun blinded him, the sharp angle piercing the V-angled crack. Helen stepped in, gave him a once-over, tsk-tsked, pulled out the desk chair and sat down. “I never saw you as a quitter, Trent.”

“Beats getting axed.”

Did a tiny smile soften her gaze? No. Had to be a quirk of the sun. Trent hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

“You’ve had better days.”

Talk about an understatement. “Yeah.”

He shut the door, drew open the curtains and let sunlight soften the room. He drew a breath, waved to his slept-in clothes and offered an apology. “I know I look awful…”

She nodded.

“And that scene at The Edge was at best disconcerting.”

“Agreed.”

“And it’s understandable that you don’t want or need an executive who comes with scandal preattached.”

“And there’s where we differ.”

“Huh?” Part of Trent’s bemused brain kicked into gear, reminding him that former army captains and executives don’t say “huh.” He cleared his throat, sat on the lower edge of the bed, leaned forward and asked, “Excuse me? I don’t understand.”

Helen regarded him with something akin to affection. “Trent, I watched you grow up.”

“You and everybody else in town.”

“True enough. You were an anomaly, a boy set apart by circumstance, but it wasn’t your situation that drew attention.”

“No?” Trent scowled. “Could’ve fooled me.” Heaven knows he felt like a circus monkey more than once, his tragic family situation touted in local media.

“It was how you handled those conditions,” Helen went on. “The grace under pressure, the time you put in studying, learning, practicing, working. We marveled at you and there was many a prayer offered in thanksgiving that we found you in time. That you survived.”

Unlike Clay, his little brother, a good little fellow who drowned when he stumbled into a water-filled ditch three counties east. Why couldn’t their parents have dumped them together? Then, at least, Clay might have stood a chance. The hollow spot dwelling just beneath Trent’s breastbone nudged an arrow of pain.

“So now, you’re under pressure again.” Helen rose and shrugged. “And I have no doubts that you’ll handle it just fine. In fact, this new twist compels you to stay here, help my company compete successfully for those military contracts. You’ve got a whole new reason to be in Jamison as of yesterday.”

He stared at her. “You still want me?”

She held up her wrist, the unadorned watch a quiet message. “I expect you to be setting up your office in an hour. And I’m hoping you brought another suit.”

Several, in fact. “Yes.”

“Then I suggest a shower, shave, coffee and ibuprofen for that headache you’re trying to hide.”

A hint of warmth stole over him. “I’m not a big pill popper. I don’t have any.”

Helen opened her purse, withdrew a small bottle and shook two tablets into her hand. “They’re generic, but they do the trick.”

Trent clenched his fist around the pills. “You’re sure?”