Dangerous Temptation

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ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

Epilogue

Copyright

Prologue

1955

The afternoon was hot and sultry. A storm had been threatening earlier, but it had moved away, leaving overcast skies and air as thick as cotton wool. It was an effort even to breathe, and most people were taking it easy until the heat of the day had passed.

In the small hospital the maternity ward was quiet now. The babies had been fed and changed, and put down for their rest, and the new mothers were taking a well-earned break, relaxing on their beds. Most of them were dozing, catching up on their sleep, although the heat in the narrow ward was stifling even with all the windows open. But in Blackwater Fork, North Carolina, air-conditioning was still a luxury.

In the end bed, nearest the swing doors, Alice Connor shifted restlessly. Unlike the other mothers, she was not enjoying the chance to get some rest. Being able to rest meant she was able to think, too, and right at this moment Alice didn’t want to think at all.

Beside her, in twin bassinets, her two sons slumbered peacefully. Alike as two peas in a pod, the babies knew nothing of their mother’s turmoil. They’d been fed, their diapers were clean, and they were content. In their world, they had no worries, not even where their next meal was coming from.

But for Alice, life was not so simple. Having another baby at all was going to mean the rest of them would have to make sacrifices; having twins was an eventuality she’d never even considered.

What Fletch would say when he came back from his trip, God alone knew. Persuading him that the child was his had not been easy. Imagining what he’d say when he found out about the twins didn’t bear thinking about. He was suspicious of her already, putting the hex on any man he thought might look at her twice. If he ever found out about Jacob—

Her breath caught in her throat, and turning it into a cough, so as not to alert the other women in the ward of her uneasiness, she rolled onto her side. Now she could see her babies, small and vulnerable in the well-worn gowns the hospital had provided. But she’d come into the hospital to deliver one baby. The gowns she’d brought for just one baby hadn’t been nearly enough for two.

It was just as well Fletch was away, she thought gratefully, delivering another load of lumber to New Mexico. It gave her a few days to come to terms with the situation, even if she still had no idea what was going to happen to them all.

At least the babies didn’t look like Jacob. Oh, they were dark-haired, of course, just like him, but their small, pouty features were exactly like the other four babies she had birthed. Unfortunately, as far as she knew, there were no twins in the Connor family tree. No twins in the Hickory family tree, either, she thought, wincing at the pun. Whereas Jacob had told her he’d had a twin brother, who’d died just a few days after they were born.

The thought seeded—and was quickly suppressed—that it might have been easier for her if one of her babies had died. She’d have been upset, of course, but that might have made things easier with Fletch. There was no chance that she could have kept it a secret, though. In a little place like the Fork, there was no way to keep a secret like that.

But at least Fletch wouldn’t have had to feed it. And there was always the possibility that he might have become attached to the one that remained. After all, he didn’t have any sons, only four daughters. She caught her breath. Which was just another reason why she was so on edge.

It was eight years since Joanne, her youngest daughter, had been born, and she and Fletch had agreed then that they couldn’t afford any more children. That was why he’d been so furious when she’d told him she was pregnant; so suspicious, too, that the baby wasn’t his.

But, somehow, she’d convinced him that it was, even if she had got a beating for her pains. But that was nothing new. Fletch often beat her when he’d had too much to drink. And at least the fact that he drank too much had given her an excuse. She doubted he knew exactly what he did when he’d swallowed more than a quart of whisky.

Things had gotten harder after she’d had to give up her job at the diner. By the time she was six months pregnant, Ben Garrett had decided she was no longer an asset to his business. The timber bosses and travellers who used the diner wanted a pretty woman to serve their needs. Not one boasting a stomach that stretched the buttons of her overall.

These past three months had been bleak. Fletch grumbled all the time about how they were going to continue paying the rent, and he stayed out later and later, drinking and playing cards with his cronies. The girls were needing new shoes for the coming winter, and the eldest, Lisa, was desperate to go to college. But how could they afford that, Alice fretted, when they barely had enough to eat? How were they going to feed one baby let alone two?

One of the babies stirred, small lips sucking at some non-existent teat, one star-shaped hand unfolding to expose a milky palm. Oh, God, they were so beautiful, she thought, stretching out her hand to touch a downy head. Dark hair clung to her fingers; a soft scalp shaped itself to her palm.

A hand touched her shoulder. “Alice?”

She started violently, turning to face the man behind her with wide, unguarded eyes. “Jacob!” Her mouth was dry, and she looked anxiously over his shoulder. “Oh, God, Jacob, what are you doing here? Do you want to get me hanged?”

“I just heard.” Jacob Wolfe’s voice was soft and soothing, his eyes moving beyond her stiffening form to where the two babies lay together, their cribs side by side. “Oh, Alice, they’re amazing! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to have twins?”

Alice looked around the ward with panic-stricken eyes. But thankfully, most of the women appeared to be asleep. Those she knew, or knew her anyway. The others couldn’t know that Jacob wasn’t her husband. Or at least she prayed they didn’t. But that didn’t mean that he could stay.

“You’ve got to go,” she said, her voice low and anguished. “You shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees you, if anyone recognises you—”

“They won’t.” Ignoring her fears, the babies’ father hooked his hip onto the bed. He took her resisting hands in his. “How are you? They told me at the diner that you’d been admitted last night.”

“At the diner?” Alice was horrified. “Oh, Jacob, you didn’t—”

“Hey, there aren’t that many twins born around here,” he declared softly. “Of course, it’s a talking point.” He smoothed his thumbs over her knuckles. “I didn’t ask any questions. Nobody suspects.”

“Fletch will,” said Alice unsteadily, drawing her hands out of his grasp. “There are no twins in his family. Mine neither, come to that.”

“No.” Jacob turned his head and looked almost enviously at the two sons he could never claim as his own. “Are they both strong? Are they healthy?”

Alice stifled a resentful retort, and nodded. “It looks like it,” she said, trying not to feel bitter. It was six months since she had laid eyes on him, and she’d hoped she’d never see him again. It wasn’t fair, she thought. A man could flirt with a woman indiscriminately; he could tease her and flatter her, and make her feel so good, she didn’t know if she was on her head or her heels. Particularly a man like Jacob Wolfe, with his dark good looks and tall, lean figure, and a bankroll to match the flashy car he drove.

He’d come into the diner one day last fall, and from the very beginning he’d let her know he found her attractive. And what the hell, she had been attractive, thought Alice grimly, aware that in a place like Blackwater Fork her red-blond hair and shapely figure had always marked her for attention. It was why Ben Garrett had hired her, for God’s sake. He could have had any number of teenage girls to serve his customers coffee and the juicy steaks and luscious cheesecakes his wife cooked up in the kitchen of the diner, but he’d chosen Alice. She might be in her thirties; she might have four children, three of whom were already on the way to growing up. But she was still the best-looking woman he had ever employed, and the increase in his takings since he took her on had justified his confidence in his decision.

Jacob Wolfe was something else. Alice had known that from the start. For all he dressed like the other men in casual shirts and jeans, he was no salesman. Not a trucker like Fletch, either, with dirty fingernails and calluses on his palms. No, he was a gentleman, she’d known that right away. Which was why she’d been so flustered when he’d shown so much interest in her.

She’d been a fool, she knew it. She’d never been a pushover for any man until Jacob came along. Apart from anything else, she’d known what Fletch would do to her if he ever found her messing with anyone else. And for all her faults, she’d always been a good mother. She loved her kids, and she’d do nothing to threaten their future.

But Jacob had gotten under her skin, and although Ben had told her he owned a mill up north and that he’d only come down here looking for timber, she’d found herself watching for him every time someone opened the diner door.

She hadn’t really expected him to come back. After that first time, when he’d taken her home after dark in his fancy car, she’d been sure that was the last she’d see of him. He’d gotten what he wanted. He’d made mad, passionate love to her in the rear seat of his car, parked in the back of Dillon’s Grocery, with the fear of Sheriff Peyton finding them and reporting them to Fletch.

But he had come back. All through that winter, when the roads were frozen and treacherous, and anyone with a lick of sense would have stayed home in New Jersey, he’d made the trek to Blackwater Fork. Luckily, he’d been able to strike some deal with Abe Henry out at the lumber yard, giving him a legitimate excuse to stay around. And if Ben had had his suspicions, he wasn’t saying anything to Fletch. He’d heard that old story about the king shooting the messenger.

Alice supposed she had been naíve thinking she could get away with it. But the times she was with Jacob were the best times of her life. Fletch had never made her feel like Jacob made her feel. She’d wanted him with an urgency that had defied all reason.

She didn’t know what she’d expected would come of it. She never asked Jacob about himself, about his life away from Blackwater Fork, and he never volunteered it. It was as if they were both fooling themselves that this was the only life they knew.

Finding herself pregnant had not been part of the equation. She’d had a coil fitted after Joanne was born, and Jacob always used a rubber. She’d thought she was safe—from that eventuality at least. But accidents happened, and she’d found herself just another victim….

“You knew I’d come,” he said now, aware of the wounded censure in her eyes. “I want to help you, Alice. That’s why I’m here. I heard Fletch was away and we need to talk.”

“Won’t your wife wonder where you are?” Alice inquired acidly, the resentment jelling into anger and expelling the initial weakness she had felt upon seeing him again. But God, she hadn’t even known he had a wife until she’d told him she was expecting his baby. Then, he’d confessed the truth fast enough, before abandoning her to face her shame alone.

“Iris has nothing to do with us,” he told her now, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “And before you berate me for leaving you alone all these months, think what would have happened if I’d stayed.”

Alice swallowed the bile in her throat. “Don’t tell me you stayed away for my sake!”

“No.” His eyes darkened. “I admit, I had my reasons. But don’t envy Iris, for Christ’s sake. I never loved her, and you know it.”

“Liar!”

Alice turned her face away from him, but he caught her chin and turned it back. “I mean it,” he said. “But I’ll never leave her. She gave me what I wanted, and I owe her for that.”

“A sawmill,” said Alice scathingly, tears stinging her eyes as she remembered at least part of what he’d told her six months ago. He’d married Iris to gain control of her late father’s sawmill. However successful he said he’d been, she could despise him for that.

“That was part of it,” he agreed. “I’m not proud of it, but I’ve made her a rich woman. It’s a shame we’ve got no son of our own to leave it to.” He looked at the cribs. “Whereas you’ve got two—” he looked at her again “—that you don’t want.”

Alice’s eyes widened in horror. “No!”

“Why not?” Jacob was gaining confidence now. “You’ve no money. You can’t afford two more mouths to feed. Talk is, Fletch beat the living daylights out of you when he found you were pregnant.” His fingers dug into her jaw suddenly. “If I’d been here, I’d have killed him for that.”

“But you weren’t here, were you?” Alice snatched her chin away and rubbed the mark his fingers had made with the back of one shaking hand. “How dare you come here now and suggest I hand my babies over to you?” She took a breath, and then went on defiantly. “They’re not your babies anyway. They’re mine—mine and Fletch’s, do you hear? And there’s nothing—nothing—you can do about it.”

“Hey, calm down.” Alice’s voice had risen as she spoke, and for the first time Jacob seemed to become aware that there were other people in the ward. “I’m not suggesting you hand both babies over. For God’s sake, Alice, what kind of a brute do you think I am?”

Alice sniffed. “But you said—”

“Whatever it was, I said it badly,” declared Jacob tersely, realising he was in danger of alienating her altogether. “I just thought we might come to some agreement. It’s in everyone’s interest to do the best we can.”

Alice regarded him suspiciously. “So what do you want?”

Jacob hesitated only briefly. “I think you know.”

Alice gasped. “You’re mad!”

“They’re my sons, Alice.” Jacob looked at her unblinkingly. “You know it, and I know it. Why shouldn’t I want to help them?”

“Help them?” Alice almost choked on the words. “Like you helped me, you mean?” Her face contorted. “Get out of here, Jacob, before I call a nurse and have you thrown out!”

Jacob didn’t move. “Go ahead,” he said. “Call a nurse. Call the administrator if you want to. But don’t forget, I have some influence around here, too. One word to Abe Henry about that quart of moonshine Fletch keeps in his cab, and he’d be out of a job.”

Alice’s jaw sagged. “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” said Jacob, which wasn’t quite the same thing. “For Christ’s sake, Alice, I care about you. D’you think I want to make life difficult for you with that big ape?”

“Fletch would kill you,” said Alice suddenly. “If he ever found out about you and me, he’d kill you.” Her lips twisted. “Then he’d kill me.”

Jacob sighed. “He’s not going to find out about you and me,” he assured her. “If you show a little sense.”

“And give you one of my babies? What d’you think Fletch is going to think about that?”

“Not—give—me one of the babies,” amended Jacob steadily. “Let me adopt one.” He paused. “Iris—Iris can’t have children. We tried—everything we could, but it was just no good. And—adoption isn’t easy, even for people like us. We’re too old now. We waited too long.” He lifted his shoulders dismissively. “I’d make it worth your while.”

Alice’s mouth curled. “You want to—buy—your own son.”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Alice held up her head. “Fletch won’t let you do it,” she said bravely, but she suspected he would. Jacob had fastened onto the one aspect of Fletch’s character she couldn’t change. For years, she’d been telling herself he loved his daughters, and perhaps he did, in his own way. But she’d always known, deep down inside her, that he’d marry them off to the devil himself if he made it sufficiently worth his while. And as for these two…

“I’ll have to ask him, won’t I?” Jacob remarked now, getting up to circle the bed and look down at the twins in their cribs. “My God, they are alike, aren’t they? My mother once told me my brother and I were identical when we were born, too.”

“Then it’s a pity it wasn’t you who died instead of your brother,” exclaimed Alice recklessly. She flinched at the sudden anger in his eyes, but she pressed on regardless. “I wonder, if he’d lived, would he have married Iris for her money?” She gazed at him contemptuously. “At least Fletch married me because he loved me. And whatever else you say about him, I know he doesn’t cheat on his wife!”

She thought he might hit her then. Alice was used to being hit if she voiced her opinion. But she should have known Jacob was far too civilised to do something like that. “I’ll overlook your ignorance,” he said coldly, “because I know you must be tired. But, please, don’t insult my intelligence by pretending the Neanderthal you call a husband has any scruples. I doubt there’s anything I couldn’t buy from him including you. So I suggest you stop fighting me and take the opportunity I’m offering.”

Alice gulped. “Go to hell!”

“I very probably will.” Jacob was philosophic. “But before I do, I want to know there’s someone I can leave to take my place. A son,” he said, looking down at the cribs, a muscle jerking spasmodically in his jaw. “My own son.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “Is that really so much to ask?”

1

1997

Jake saw the rental car at once. It was the only half-decent vehicle parked outside Casey’s bar at this hour of the afternoon. Which meant Nathan was already inside, waiting for him. Jake grimaced. It must be something serious to bring his brother here. It wasn’t as if they were friends. God Almighty, when he’d first found out he had a twin brother, he’d been desperate to see him. But Nathan wasn’t like that. Jake was reluctant to admit it, but Nathan always thought first about himself.

When he’d got back to his office, after taking a deposition at the courthouse, Loretta had told him Fletch had been trying to get in touch with him—which was nothing new. Since his mother died, and Fletch had lost his job hauling lumber, he was often on the phone to the man he’d raised as his son. Most times he’d had too much to drink and he’d wanted a sympathetic ear for his troubles. Because he drank so much, his own daughters had given up on him long ago.

But this time Fletch was ringing to complain about the fact that Nathan had come to the house on Jackson Street looking for his brother. “He wants to see you, boy,” he wheezed, his gravelly voice revealing the resentment he felt that Jacob Wolfe’s son should have come to his house. “I told him you don’t live here no more. That you’d got yourself a place out at Pine Bay, but he don’t want to come to your office. He says can you meet him in town. The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

Jake could hear Nathan’s voice in the background, but he didn’t bother asking to speak to him then. On the rare occasions that Fletch and Nathan had met, their mutual dislike had always coloured the proceedings. Fletch despised Nathan because of his parentage; Nathan thought Fletch was an ignorant old bastard.

Which was ironic really, Jake reflected now, as he got out of the Blazer and locked the door. If anyone was a bastard around here, it was him or Nathan. Only his brother preferred to forget who his real mother had been.

It was dark in the bar, but as his eyes adjusted to the light, Jake saw Nathan slumped in a booth at the far side of the room. There were already a couple of empty bottles in front of him, and Jake reflected that Nathan and Fletch weren’t as different from each other as they’d both like to think.

Nathan saw him, and getting to his feet, he gestured for Jake to join him. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded with his usual lack of restraint. “I’ve been sitting here for God knows how long. I thought you said you were coming right down.”

“Some of us have work to do,” remarked Jake mildly, sliding into the booth across from the other man. “In any case—” he indicated the empty bottles “—you look as if you’ve been busy. You won’t forget you’re driving a motor vehicle, will you?”