A Family of Her Own

Booker couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Katie wasn’t only down on her luck, she was pregnant. Andy Bray, that sorry son of a bitch who’d come through town bragging about everything he was and everything he was going to be, when he wasn’t anything at all, had gotten her pregnant and left her to cope on her own.

Booker longed to make Andy pay for what he’d done. Then he reminded himself that he had no stake in Katie’s life. He might have loved her once, but she’d chosen someone else. Someone with all the trappings of responsibility—the preppy clothes, the supportive family, the college degree. That removed Booker from the picture completely. He should head over to the Honky Tonk, he told himself, and forget he’d ever seen her.

“She’s not my problem,” he muttered, punching the gas pedal. But he didn’t get farther than half a block before Katie’s parting words came back to him: Haven’t you ever done anything you regret?

Dear Reader,

I’ve written several other books in between the Harlequin Superromance novels I’ve set in Dundee, Idaho—all of which I’ve thoroughly enjoyed. But whenever I return to this fictional town, I always feel as if I’ve come home. Maybe it’s because I never planned on writing a series set in Idaho. But the characters in each new book simply beg me to go back and continue the story.

If you’ve read my earlier Dundee books, you’ll recognize the hero of this one. Booker Robinson is rather unique. He’s tough and weathered on the outside, but none of his critics can compare to the man he is inside. I think Katie Rogers does quite well for herself the second time around. I hope you’ll agree.

I love to hear from readers. Please feel free to contact me via my Web site at www.brendanovak.com. I frequently give away autographed bookmarks and sponsor drawings. Or you can write to me at P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611.

May you hold your family close, even if, like Booker’s, that family isn’t as conventional as most.

Brenda Novak

Brenda Novak

A Family of Her Own

To Sugar Novak, my mother-in-law, who will leave the world

a much better place for having been part of it. Sug, I’m

grateful to have you in my life. You’re one of the few

people I know who truly understands the meaning

of family. Here’s to all for one and one for all….

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

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

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

BOOKER ROBINSON SAT IN his truck at ten o’clock on a warm Thursday night, staring at the small rental house where Katie Rogers lived and telling himself he was crazy to even be here. He wasn’t the type to ask for anything. He’d made it a habit never to need anyone. He’d learned as a child that showing vulnerability was never rewarded.

But he’d heard that Katie and Andy Bray were almost engaged, that she was going to leave town with Andy soon. And he knew if she did, she’d be making a big mistake. Andy wouldn’t take care of her the way he would. Andy wouldn’t love her as he did. Andy loved only himself.

Taking a deep breath, Booker cut the engine, got out and walked up the driveway. He’d hoped Katie would come back to him on her own. For a few short weeks, they’d shared something that was heady, powerful and very mutual. He was sure she felt everything he did. But her family and most of her friends had convinced her she’d be ruining her life by taking a risk on someone like him, a man with a criminal past and not much of a future. And now she was running scared and on the verge of marrying someone else.

She might end up marrying Andy, Booker told himself, but she wasn’t going to do it without at least knowing how he felt about her. He lived with enough regrets already….

It took several minutes for someone to answer his knock. When the door finally opened, Katie’s best friend, Wanda, peered out at him.

“Oh…uh…hi, Booker.”

He could tell she was nervous about seeing him, so he didn’t bother with small talk. Wanda was one of the people telling Katie that he’d never amount to anything. “Is she home?” he asked, not bothering to specify Katie by name because they both knew who “she” was.

“Um…I don’t think—”

He broke in before she could finish. “I saw her pull into the garage from the end of the street.”

“Right.” She chuckled self-consciously. “I wasn’t sure if she actually came in or not, but she must have if you saw her. Just a minute.”

While he waited, Booker’s pulse raced. He’d never laid his heart open to a woman before, and he wasn’t sure where to start now. He hadn’t let himself love many people.

You’re a fool for even trying, you know that, don’t you? Who are you to say you’re any better than Andy? At least Andy comes from a good family and has a college degree. What do you have to offer?

He almost turned to leave, but then Katie appeared at the door.

“Booker?” She sounded surprised to see him. He’d known she would be. He hadn’t contacted her since they’d had that big argument several weeks ago—when she’d told him it was over between them, that she wanted to start seeing Andy, and he’d thought he could let her go.

He took a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “There’s really nothing to say.”

“You’re making a mistake, Katie.”

“You don’t know that.”

Maybe he didn’t know it. But he felt it. Letting her marry anyone else was a mistake. It had taken him nearly thirty years to fall in love, but the hell of living without Katie for the past few weeks had left little doubt in his mind that he was there now. “What we had was good.”

“I—I can’t argue with that, but…” She tucked her long blond hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ve already made up my mind.”

The expression in her large blue eyes was tortured. He could tell that she was torn between what she thought and felt and what others were telling her. He knew she was afraid of what he’d once been. He wouldn’t want a daughter of his to marry an ex-con, either. But he couldn’t change his past. He could only change his future….

“Katie…” Reaching out, he ran a finger along her jaw. The contact made him yearn to hold her, and she seemed to feel something similar. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek into the palm of his hand as though she was dying for his touch. “You still care about me,” he murmured. “I can tell. Come back to me.”

Tears glittered in her eyelashes, reflecting the porch light. “No,” she said, suddenly pushing his hand away. “Don’t confuse me. Andy tells me I’ll feel differently after a few months away from here. We’re going to get married, have a family—”

“But you don’t love Andy,” Booker said. “I can’t even imagine you with that self-serving yuppie.”

“He’s a nice guy, Booker.”

“Why? Because he helped you raise the money to replace that old floor at the Elks Club?”

“That was no small thing. Without him, I probably wouldn’t have been able to start my singles club for seniors.”

“He only did it to impress you. Can’t you see that?”

“Booker, I don’t want to argue about Andy. I’m trying to make a good decision for my future, and yours, too. I’ve got to go—”

“Marry me, Katie,” he said suddenly, passionately. “I know I can make you happy.”

Her eyes widened, and two tears slipped down her cheeks. “Booker, I can’t. You’re not ready to be tied down by a wife and family. You love your freedom too much. I knew that when we first started seeing each other.”

“Katie, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this quite so soon if—”

“I’m sorry, Booker. I’ve got to go.” The door closed in his face. When she drove the bolt home, he knew he’d lost her.

CHAPTER ONE

Two years later…

KATIE ROGERS SMELLED smoke coming from the engine of her car.

“Come on, you can make it,” she muttered, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel of the old Cadillac, which was pretty much the most valuable possession she had left. She’d purchased the vehicle three days ago after posting a Garage Sale sign near her apartment and selling off the last of her and Andy’s furniture. Then she’d packed up what remained of her belongings and headed out of San Francisco before he could come home and plead with her to give him one more chance. She couldn’t bear to deal with Andy Bray anymore. Not with a child on the way. Not when it seemed as though she was the only one who was finally growing up.

The smell of smoke became more pronounced. Katie wrinkled her nose and remembered, with longing, the nice new truck she’d owned when she lived in Dundee. She and Andy had used that truck to move to San Francisco. But once they’d arrived, Andy had talked her into selling it for the security deposit on a better apartment. “We don’t want to stay in a dump,” he’d said. “And we don’t need a car…. We’re in the city now, babe. There’re plenty of ways to get around. As soon as I start making the big bucks we can get another set of wheels….”

As soon as he started making the big bucks… Ha! Katie would’ve been satisfied had he earned just a few bucks. Or at least used some caution in the way he threw her money around.

Because they couldn’t afford parking, she’d finally agreed to sell the truck. But it was a decision she’d long regretted. If she’d had a reliable vehicle, maybe she would’ve left sooner.

The Welcome to Dundee, Home of the Annual Bad-to-the-Bone Rodeo, Population 1,438 sign she’d seen thousands of times in her youth appeared in her headlights. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Katie began to relax. She’d make it home safely. After traveling 640 miles, she was only another ten or so from her parents’ house—

Suddenly the Cadillac gave a loud chung, and the lights on the dashboard blinked out. Katie frantically pumped the gas pedal, hoping to get a little farther, but it didn’t do any good. The car slowed, trailing smoke.

“No!” Katie shifted the transmission into neutral so she could crank the starter. Returning to Dundee in her current situation was pathetic enough. She didn’t want anyone she knew to see her stranded on the side of the road.

But the car wouldn’t start. She was pretty sure it was dead.

Her tires crunched on the snow-covered shoulder as she managed to pull over without the aid of the power steering that had gone out when everything else did. Then she sat, listening to the hiss coming from the engine and watching smoke billow out from under her hood. What now? She couldn’t walk the rest of the way to her folks’ house. The doctor didn’t want her to be on her feet. Just two weeks ago, she’d experienced premature labor pains and he’d told her she had to take it easy.

Sitting inside a dead car wouldn’t get her anywhere, though. For all she knew, the engine was on fire and the car would momentarily explode, like so many seemed to do on television.

Wrestling her luggage out of the back seat, she dragged it a safe distance. Then she perched on the bigger suitcase and shivered in the cold night air as she watched several cars pass. She didn’t have the heart to stand or make herself noticed. She’d hit rock bottom. Life had finally gotten as bad as it could be.

And then it started to rain.

BOOKER T. ROBINSON switched on his windshield wipers as he descended into Dundee. It was a chilly Monday night, cool enough that he thought the rain would turn to snow before morning. Dundee typically saw a lot of snow in February. But Booker didn’t mind. He was comfortable living in the farmhouse he’d inherited from Grandma Hatfield. And any kind of extreme weather was good for business.

Sticking one of the toothpicks from his ashtray into his mouth, a habit he’d developed when he quit smoking over a year ago, he calculated how much longer it would be before he had Lionel Richman paid off.

Another six months, he decided. Then he’d own Lionel & Sons Auto Repair free and clear. He could buy the lot next door and expand. Maybe he’d even give the business his name. He’d kept “Lionel & Sons” because it had been that way for fifty years, and the people of Dundee didn’t like change any more than they’d liked him when he first moved to town. But since he’d taken over, he’d developed a solid reputation for knowing cars and—

The sight of an old banged-up sedan parked off the highway up ahead piqued Booker’s curiosity enough that he braked. He owned the only tow truck in the area, which was currently at his shop. But he hadn’t received a distress call on his radio. Yet.

Where was the driver? He couldn’t see anyone inside or around the vehicle. Whoever owned the Cadillac had probably already walked or hitched into town, looking for help. But if the smoke pouring from beneath the hood was any indication, the car hadn’t been sitting too long.

Chewing thoughtfully on his toothpick, he pulled up behind the stranded vehicle, left his lights on so he could see and climbed out. If the car was unlocked and he could get under the hood, it would probably be smart to take a look while he was here. Chances were the car had a busted hose—a problem he could solve without going to the trouble of towing the Cadillac to his shop in town.

The moment he stepped out of his truck, however, he realized he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. Someone—a woman, judging by her size—peered at him from around the front of the car. She was wearing a man-size sweatshirt with a hood that shielded her face from the rain, a pair of faded jeans with bottoms a little wider than he typically saw in these parts and—his eyes darted back to her feet—sandals? In February?

The car had California plates. Leave it to someone from sunny California to run around in sandals all winter.

He shrugged on his leather jacket as he walked over, stopping well short of her. He didn’t want to frighten her. He only wanted to get her car going so he’d be able to meet Rebecca and Josh for a drink at the Honky Tonk and not be interrupted later. “Having trouble?” he asked above the sound of the wind.

“No.” She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt farther forward. “Everything’s fine.”

The wind made it difficult for him to hear. He took the toothpick out of his mouth and moved closer. “Did you say everything’s fine?”

She moved back a distance equal to his advance. “Yes. You can go on your way.”

Booker glanced at the smoke rising from her car. He might’ve thought it was just steam coming off a warm engine on a cold night. Except steam didn’t explain the luggage or why this woman was standing on the side of the road in a sweatshirt so wet it dripped along the hem. And it sure as hell didn’t explain the distinctive scent of a burned-up engine.

“Everything doesn’t smell fine,” he said.

“I’m just letting the engine cool.”

The engine was going to need a lot more than a good cooling. He could tell that without even looking at it. But Booker didn’t say so because this time when she’d spoken, something about her voice had sparked a flicker of recognition.

The California license plate flashed through his mind. He didn’t know anyone from California, except…God, it couldn’t be…

“Katie?” he said, trying to make out her face despite the shadow of her hood.

He saw her shoulders droop. “It’s me,” she said. “Go ahead and gloat.”

Booker didn’t respond right away. He didn’t know what to say. Or how to feel. But gloating was pretty far down on his list. Mostly he wanted to leave so he wouldn’t have to see her again. Only he couldn’t abandon her, or any woman, on the side of the road in the cold rain. “You need a lift?”

She hesitated briefly. Then her chin came up. “No, that’s okay. My dad’s good with cars. He’ll help me.”

“Does he know you’re out here?”

A slight hesitation, then, “Yeah, he’s expecting me. He’ll know when I don’t show up.”

Booker put the toothpick back in his mouth. Part of him suspected she was lying. The other part, the stronger part, felt immediate relief that she was somebody else’s problem. “I’ll take off, then. Your dad can call me if he has any questions.”

He strode briskly to his truck, but she followed him before he could make his escape.

With a sigh, he rolled down his window. “Is there something else?”

“Actually I’m here a little earlier than planned and—” she hugged herself, shivering “—well, it’s possible that my parents won’t miss me for a while. I think I’d be better off taking that ride you offered, if you don’t mind.”

Everything’s fine…. She’d said so when he first pulledup. Why couldn’t he have taken her at her word and let her remain anonymous?

The pain and resentment he’d felt two years ago, when she’d closed the door in his face, threatened to consume him again. But considering the circumstances, he had to help her. What choice did he have?

“What’s with the sandals?” he asked.

She gazed down at her soaked feet. “I bought them in San Francisco. They’re one of a kind, designed especially for me.”

They were still only sandals, and it was raining, for Pete’s sake. She must have realized that he didn’t understand the full significance of what she’d just said because she added, “The day Andy and I bought these was the best day of the past two years. And the only day that turned out anything like I’d planned.”

So they were a symbol of her lost illusions. Well, thanks to her, Booker had a few lost illusions of his own. Not that he’d possessed many to begin with. His parents had taken care of that early on. “Hop in,” he said. “I’ll get your luggage.”

KATIE SAT WITHOUT TALKING, listening to the hum of the heater and the beat of the wipers as Booker drove into town. Of all the people in Dundee, he was the last person she’d wanted to see. So, of course, he’d been the first one to come along. It was that kind of day—no, year.

Clasping her hands in her lap, Katie stared glumly out at the familiar buildings they passed. The Honky Tonk, where she used to hang out on weekends. The library, where her friend Delaney, who was now married to Conner Armstrong, used to work. Finley’s Grocery. Katie had once knocked over a whole display of Campbell’s soup there, trying to get a better look at Mike Hill, a boy she’d had a crush on all the time she was growing up.

“You warm enough?” Booker asked.

He’d already removed his jacket so she nodded, even though she was still chilled, and he turned down the heat.

“So,” she said, hoping to ease the tension between them, “how’ve things been since I went away?”

She could see the scar on his face that ran from his eye to his chin—souvenir of a knife fight, he’d once told her—and the tattoo on his right biceps. It moved beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt as his hands clenched the steering wheel more tightly. But he didn’t respond.

“Booker?”

“Don’t pretend we’re friends, Katie,” he said shortly.

“Why?”

“Because we’re not.”

“Oh.” Booker’s friends had always been few. He regarded everyone, except maybe Rebecca Wells—Rebecca Hill since she’d married Josh—with a certain amount of distrust. So considering their history, Katie knew she shouldn’t be surprised. She’d lost his good opinion along with everything else. If she’d ever really had it. Even when they were seeing each other before she left, she’d never felt completely certain that he cared about her. He’d driven her around on his Harley and shown her one heck of a good time. But he was somewhat remote, and she’d always approached their relationship with a sense of inevitability, believing that it wouldn’t—couldn’t—last. Then he’d shown up at her door and proposed! She didn’t know how to explain it, except that his widowed grandmother, Hatty, had just died. He and Hatty had been so close throughout her final years that Katie could only suppose his sudden marriage proposal was triggered by his loss.

Now he was obviously holding a grudge that she’d turned him down at a difficult time, or been the one to cut things off between them. “I make a left at 500 South?” he asked after several minutes.

She pulled her attention from the rain beading on the windshield. “What?”

“Your parents still live in the same place, don’t they?”

Last she’d heard they did. But she didn’t know. She hadn’t talked to them since a year ago last Christmas, when they’d told her not to call again. “They’ve been on Lassiter nearly thirty years,” she said, infusing her voice with as much confidence as she could muster. “Knowing them, they’ll be there another thirty.”

“Seems I heard your father say something not too long ago about building a cabin a few miles outside of town.” He shifted his eyes from the road to study her. “They give up on that?”

Apprehension clawed at Katie’s insides. Her folks still had the same telephone number. She’d definitely heard her mother answer when she used the pay phone yesterday. She’d wanted to tell her family she was on her way home. Only she’d lost her nerve at the last moment and hung up.

“Yeah.” Having the same number didn’t necessarily mean they hadn’t moved within a certain geographic area, but Katie was sticking with the gamble. Doing anything else would reveal a rift she preferred to keep private. “They like living so close to their bakery. That bakery is their life,” she added.

The Arctic Flyer appeared on the right, evoking bittersweet memories. Katie had worked there the summer of her junior year because she’d wanted to try something besides her parents’ bakery, and she’d broken the ice-cream machine her first week. Harvey, the owner, had complained every day about the money she was costing him, until the part to repair the darn thing finally came in.

Booker turned up the radio, and she glanced surreptitiously in his direction. Her memories of him didn’t go back nearly as far as her Arctic Flyer days. She’d heard tales of him visiting for several months when he was about fifteen; he’d raised enough hell that the entire town still regarded him as trouble. He’d mentioned a few things about that visit himself, like stealing Eugene Humphries’s truck and wrecking it only a few hours later. But Katie was nine years old at the time. She hadn’t met Booker until years later when he moved in with Hatty.

“Aren’t you curious to know what I’m doing back?” she asked, turning to conversation to stanch the flow of memories.

He looked pointedly at her two suitcases, which he’d wedged into the back seat of his extended cab. “That’s pretty obvious.”

“Actually, it’s probably not what you think. San Francisco was fabulous, for the most part,” she said. Which was true—if she confined her comments to the city itself.

When he made no reply, she plunged ahead. “It’s just that I’m a country girl at heart, you know? I decided that San Francisco is a great place to visit, but nowhere I’d want to stay.”

He slung one arm over the steering wheel, and she supposed it was his rebel attitude that made him look both bored and on-edge at the same time.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” she asked.

His toothpick moved as he chewed on it. “Where’s Andy?”

“He—” she scrambled for something to crack Booker’s reserve “—he’s laid up and couldn’t come along.”