From Megan Maitland’s Diary

Dear Diary,

Today the past reached out to me. I recognized the handwriting on the package the moment I saw it. It was the same round, unformed hand I had read on the note pinned to Garrett’s shirt all those years ago, begging me to find a home for her babies.

Inside the box was more of the past. Tiny pink and blue sweaters painstakingly embroidered with Lana’s, Shelby’s and Michael’s names, and a ragged-eared teddy bear that could only have belonged to Garrett.

But that’s all. Only the mementos and a short note asking me to give them to the Lords. No signature, no address, not even a telephone number.

Terrence and Shelia’s children are as dear tome as my own. How will they feel to know their birth mother has stepped back into their lives, and in such a mysterious fashion?

And why after all these years has she tried to contact them at all?

There’s never a dull moment at
MAITLAND MATERNITY

Lana Lord: Hearing a voice from her past only reinforced Lana’s belief that it didn’t take the bonds of blood to make a family. Now she had to teach this lesson to Dylan before it was too late.

Dylan Van Zandit: Dylan wanted to do right by the tiny life in his care. Could he overcome the betrayal he’d felt ever since his late wife had told him the baby wasn’t his?

Megan Maitland: Though never happier than when putting children into the arms of loving parents, what would happen if Megan gave the Lord siblings a message from the mother they never knew?

LeeAnn Larrimore: Her decision to give up her children all those years ago had affected countless lives. Would her attempt to reach out bring joy or more sorrow?

Baby 101
Marisa Carroll

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Marisa Carroll is the pen name of the award-winning writing team of Carol Wagner and Marian Scharf, two sisters born and raised in northwestern Ohio. They have won several industry awards, including Romantic Times magazine’s Career Achievement Award, and have appeared on numerous bestseller lists, including USA TODAY ’s. Together, Marian and Carol have published over thirty romance novels in the past fifteen years, and have established a goal of fifty published books, a kind of golden anniversary for the partnership. And they intend to stick to it—no matter how many arguments it takes.

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

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

SHE COULD SEE the sign as soon as the taxi turned the corner. It was halfway down the block in a row of sand-blasted brick storefronts. It was pink and blue neon, with a baby cradled in a diaper hanging from a stork’s beak. The name Oh, Baby! hung beneath it. The style was nostalgic, in keeping with the twenties-era feel of the street. Trees in wooden planters with waves of red and pink petunias at their bases lined the brick sidewalks, and wrought-iron tables and chairs in front of coffee shops and German delis were shaded by green canvas awnings. People sat at the tables and strolled along the street looking in the windows of art galleries and vintage clothing stores, enjoying the unusually cool and clear early September day.

The neighborhood had a cozy, small-town feel. It was hard to believe she was only three blocks away from bustling Mayfair Avenue in the heart of downtown Austin, Texas, and the noisy lunchtime crowd at Austin Eats Diner.

“Park there, driver,” she said, motioning. “In front of the baby shop.” The taxi driver maneuvered into the space and waited for her to make up her mind.

He caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “You want to get out, ma’am?” he asked. He’d seen how difficult it was for her to open the heavy door when she went into Austin Eats.

“No, not yet.”

She had given him fifty dollars when she got into the cab. She didn’t want him to be tempted to leave her stranded somewhere along the route or to worry that she would stiff him for a large fare. “Just let me know when you want to go inside,” he said, and settled back in his seat, content to wait.

She didn’t know if she was going to go inside. She wanted to, she wanted to as badly as she’d ever wanted anything in her life. But if there was one thing LeeAnn Larrimore had learned in forty-seven hard years, it was that you didn’t always get what you wanted.

Forty-seven. Not young anymore, but not old enough to die. She looked at her hands, clutching the cardboard box in her lap. They were skeletal, her wrist bones jutting below the sleeves of her shirt. Her whole body looked like that. She was dying of cancer and she didn’t have much time left. But even that sense of urgency couldn’t overcome the reluctance she felt at going inside her daughter’s store.

What if Lana should recognize her? She didn’t know how that was possible, though. The last time she’d seen her daughter, she had been an infant. For twenty-five years LeeAnn hadn’t even known what had happened to Lana, or her brothers and sister, after she’d left them on the doorstep of Maitland Maternity Clinic with a note pinned to Garrett’s shirt asking Megan Maitland to find a home for her babies.

It wasn’t until she had been told her condition was terminal that she had given in to that ruthlessly unanswered need to learn their lot in life. It hadn’t been hard. She had gone to the library and searched the Internet for news of Maitland Maternity. Not only the clinic’s high-tech and professional Web site, but all the news outlets she could find. And there had been news, lots of it. Maitland Maternity, it seemed, had been embroiled in a scandal throughout the past year.

But none of that tangle of false identities and lost sons returned to their families had meant anything to her after she read of the shoot-out that had wounded Garrett Lord, the adopted eldest son of a prominent Austin family, and Megan Maitland’s godson.

Garrett Lord, adopted son and godson. Garrett. Her son’s name. Her long-dead husband’s name. She had searched further. And there it was, a matter of public record. Four children, infant triplets and a toddler boy, had been adopted by Terrence and Sheila Lord, a well-respected banker and his wife, twenty-five years ago.

God had answered a desperate young mother’s prayers and given all four of them a loving home. More than that. He had given them parents who could supply them with all their earthly wants and needs.

But that wasn’t enough now. She had to know if the Lords had also given them love. The kind of love that had driven her to give them up in the first place, rather than subject them to the hand-to-mouth childhood she had experienced. And that her circumstances dictated would be all she could offer them if they remained a family. A lifetime of secrecy wasn’t an easy thing to erase. And she wasn’t strong enough to face the possibility that her children, raised in affluence, wouldn’t understand why she had done what she had.

So she had brought talismans with her. Three tiny sweaters, two pink and one blue, painstakingly embroidered with their names, Shelby, Lana and Michael. And a teddy bear, much worn and loved by Garrett, his daddy’s pride and joy. But her reckless, handsome husband had crashed his Harley into a concrete light post one dark, rainy night, leaving her with four babies and a mountain of medical bills. So she had given her children over to the care of strangers and gone on with her life, never searching them out until her doctor had pronounced her fate.

Today she’d gone to Austin Eats to try to find Shelby. She had been there, red-haired and vivacious, behind the counter. LeeAnn had ordered a glass of sweet tea and watched her daughter direct the busy kitchen staff and still have time to charm each and every customer with a word and a smile. Then a man came in and sat down at the counter, and LeeAnn’s breath had caught in her throat. Garrett? Or was it Michael? His coloring was the same as her dead husband’s, hair so dark a red it was almost brown, olive skin and eyes that could see into your soul.

She sat there, hands trembling, for another fifteen minutes, torn between happiness and fear. When the man got up to leave he looked around the room, his gaze flicking over her, assessing and dismissive. It was then she began to realize her fantasy might not play out as she wished. The little love offerings she had kept all these years might not be enough for her children to make up for giving them away. She had gotten up and made her way painfully out of the diner. But she hadn’t been ready to admit defeat. Going to Garrett’s ranch outside the city was out of the question, but there was still Lana. Still her sweet little first-born daughter.

A young woman turned the corner and walked to the door of the shop. Was this Lana? She had LeeAnn’s coloring, auburn hair and hazel eyes and a creamy tone to her skin that never seemed to tan. But LeeAnn didn’t have auburn hair anymore, the chemotherapy had seen to that. She raised her hand and touched the inexpensive gray wig she wore. The young woman turned her head, and their eyes met. She smiled. LeeAnn reached for the door handle.

A couple approached. The woman was pregnant, and both husband and wife immediately engaged Lana in conversation about the display of furniture in the window. She was obviously going to be busy with them for a long, long time. LeeAnn’s little store of courage gave out. She was so very tired. What if Lana didn’t understand her long-ago desperation? What if she hated her for never contacting them?

But she had to let her children know she still cared. Once before, she had trusted in the judgment and caring of a woman she had never met. Her confidence hadn’t been misplaced. One last time she would ask that woman to help her. She began to compose a note in her mind.

Dear Mrs. Megan Maitland,

Thank you for finding my babies a good and loving home all those years ago—I knew you would. The teddy bear was Garrett’s, and these three baby sweaters have the triplets’ names embroidered on them. The only fancywork I ever had time to do. My only wish is for the children to know I loved them.

Yours in gratitude.

“Do you want to go inside?” the driver asked again, sounding a little impatient. LeeAnn glanced at the meter. It was coming up on forty dollars. She gave one last look at the young woman now standing inside the bay window of her store, her hands resting on the carved finials of an antique-looking baby bed.

“No,” LeeAnn said wearily. “I don’t think I should go inside. But I want to mail a package. Take me to the post office, please.”

CHAPTER ONE

THERE IT WAS AGAIN. A baby crying. She was certain of it.

But that was impossible. She was alone in the store, had been for hours. For a split second Lana Lord wondered if someone had left an infant behind unnoticed in a quiet corner of the shop. Abandoned, just as she and her brothers and sister had been all those years ago.

Ridiculous. She placed the miniature Stetson she’d picked out as her brother Garrett’s birthday gift to their honorary little cousin, Chase O’Hara, carefully into its box. Beside it was a matching box with little cowhide boots she and her sister, Shelby, had chosen to be their brother Michael’s gift. No one had left a child behind at Oh, Baby!, she told herself sternly. There must be a television on in the kitchen of the bakery next door. Or maybe it was a lost kitten in the alley beyond the wall.

She taped the lid of the box securely and added a mass of curling blue ribbon. There, all done. For her own gift she’d selected half a dozen different outfits from the store’s inventory, but her favorite was a set of Curious George books for his momma to read to him.

A grandson for Megan. And the return of Connor O’Hara, the grown son she had given up at birth. What a tumultuous year it had been for the Maitlands, and the Lords. Scandals and mysteries and more excitement than she cared to recall. Now it seemed as if everything had sorted itself out, and most everyone she knew had found someone to love.

Everyone but her. While all her friends seemed to be making commitments to love and cherish, she was breaking off her engagement. She felt very out of step with the world at the moment.

The faint wailing came again.

Lana looked at the beaten tin ceiling. It wasn’t a hungry kitten or a TV show. It was a real, live baby crying somewhere above her, where there was supposed to be nothing but empty office space and storage areas. Or so she had been told when she opened her business three years ago. This had never been a residential building, the Realtor had said. At least not since its heyday in the Roaring Twenties. But it had also recently changed hands. Lana had just gotten her signed copy of the new lease. Maybe the owner was up there looking around, although she doubted anyone from Van Zandt Development Corporation would be inspecting the building with an infant in tow.

But a homeless woman with a child might have found her way upstairs. Someone scared and desperate, with no money to buy formula or baby food. As scared and desperate as her own biological mother must have been to leave the four of them on the doorstep of Maitland Maternity Clinic all those years ago.

Lana stood. She didn’t like thinking about her birth mother. It made her feel disloyal to her real mother, Sheila Lord. The woman who had taken three infant triplets and two-year-old Garrett and raised them as her own. Years ago Lana had made the decision not to waste time speculating and fantasizing about a woman she couldn’t even remember. And she’d mostly stuck to that resolve.

She held very still and listened for a minute or so longer. Yes, definitely a baby crying. She should probably call the police, Lana realized. Let them come and check it out. But that might take hours, and the baby sounded as if it were in real distress. Still, only a fool would head up the staircase at the back of her storage room alone and unarmed. She didn’t own a gun, but she did possess a good, heavy baseball bat.

It took her a minute or two to locate the bat and a flashlight and come up with the key to the padlock her brother Michael, the head of security at Maitland Maternity, had insisted she install on her side of the staircase door. She pushed the old-fashioned button-type light switch and was amazed to find that it worked. A low-wattage bulb at the top of the stairs glowed feebly against the dark-painted walls.

Lana clutched her bat in one hand and the flashlight in the other. She knew she ought to at least call her best friend Beth’s new husband, Ty Redstone, an Austin police detective, or her brother Michael and tell them what she was doing. But that would involve a lot of explaining and listening to demands that she stay put, and she was too impatient, and too curious, to accept the delay. The good Lord had conditioned womankind not to be able to ignore a child’s cries. At least He had this woman, and she kept on climbing.

She loved babies. She couldn’t let this one suffer any longer without trying to help. When they were girls, she and Beth had vowed to have half a dozen kids apiece. Beth had gotten her degree in childhood development and opened a day-care center at Maitland Maternity. Now she and Ty were well on their way to realizing that childhood dream. Lana had thought she was, too, until her ex-fiancé told her he didn’t really want kids. At least not for a long, long time, and then only one or two. So today, instead of planning the last-minute details of her wedding and throwing away her birth control pills, she was picking out baby clothes and wrapping presents to give to another woman’s child.

At the top of the stairs the hall was dark, the window at the far end painted over. It might as well be the middle of the night. What if it wasn’t a homeless young mother on the other side of the transom-topped door, but a drug-crazed kidnapper? If that was the case, then she was not only foolish but plumb crazy to do what she was about to do. She put her ear against the panel, heard nothing, then stepped back, took a deep breath and knocked with the end of the bat. If some wild-eyed, wild-haired psycho opened the door, she’d grab the child, kneecap the bad guy with the Louisville Slugger and take off running like a bat out of hell.

She stepped into the shadows and waited.

“Who’s there?” A male voice, low and rough with a hint of cowboy drawl, came from behind the closed door.

“Lana Lord.” Her hands were shaking, her knees wobbly, but her brothers had taught her the best defense was a good offense. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” she demanded.

The door opened and sunlight spilled out, framing the man standing before her. He wasn’t particularly tall, an inch or so under six feet, but broad-shouldered and well-muscled. Strong enough to make short work of Lana and her baseball bat despite the tiny baby he held cradled against his chest with one long-fingered hand. But it was also obvious he wasn’t a deranged kidnapper. He was wearing chinos and a blue dress shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled past his wrists. The baby was holding a handful of his shirtfront in his tiny fist. The cotton was damp, as though the baby had spit up on him and he’d tried to wipe away the stain.

“I wasn’t imagining things. I did hear a baby crying.” Lana couldn’t take her eyes off the infant. So tiny, so fragile, especially in contrast to the hard wall of the man’s chest.

“That’s all he seems to do. Cry.”

“You’re holding him wrong,” Lana blurted.

“What are you, some kind of expert?” Dark brows drew together over eyes whose color she couldn’t quite make out.

“In a way. I own the baby store downstairs. And I’ve done a lot of baby-sitting in my day.” In fact, she and Beth had worked summers and weekends at a day-care center all the way through college. Her hands itched to reach out and touch the little one. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“My name’s Dylan Van Zandt, and I own the building.”

“You’re Van Zandt Development Corporation?”

“In the flesh. Look. Thanks for checking up on us. It’s good to know I have such conscientious tenants. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see to my son.”

Lana usually spoke her mind, and this was no exception. “I think it’s time you take your son home. Whatever you’re doing up here in the dust and dirt can wait until tomorrow.”

His frown deepened. “We are home.”

“What?”

“You heard me. This is our home.”

“But…here?” She couldn’t quite see over his shoulder into the room behind him. “No one told me—” She’d been away from the store since Friday afternoon. She’d spent the weekend at her brother Garrett’s ranch and hadn’t returned to Austin until early that morning to collect her gifts for the birthday celebration.

“I haven’t exactly had time to send out engraved announcements.” The baby screamed. Dylan Van Zandt didn’t budge, just stood there stiff and unmoving.

Lana leaned the baseball bat against the door frame, tucked the little flashlight into her pocket, and held out her arms. “Let me have him.”

“What?”

“I said let me have him. He’s probably afraid you’re going to drop him.” She wiggled her fingers. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Still frowning, Dylan let her take the child. The infant was tiny, a newborn, light as a feather in her arms. Where is his mother? She wanted to ask but didn’t. Instead she cuddled him against her breast, one hand under his bottom, one hand gently patting his back. He didn’t stop crying. His legs were drawn stiffly up against his belly, his face screwed into a scowl that was a perfect match for his father’s.

Dylan Van Zandt stood aside and let her precede him into the apartment. And it was a residence, not unused office space as the real estate agent had led her to believe. The ceilings were high, with ornate plaster cornices. A small marble fireplace graced one wall. Light streamed onto the hardwood floor, dulled by years of neglect, from long windows that looked onto Kings Avenue. The room was empty except for half a dozen cardboard packing boxes piled in the middle.

“This way.” Dylan Van Zandt gestured toward another doorway. It led into the kitchen, Lana discovered. Green and white thirties-era linoleum covered the floor. Glass-fronted cupboards reached to the ceiling above a granite countertop. The refrigerator was so old it had a round compressor on the top, but it was humming away. The gas stove belonged in a museum. A brand-new microwave oven was on the counter, probably because the gas had been shut off up here years ago. She wondered if the water was also shut off. There was no way he could take care of a baby properly with no water and no heat or air-conditioning, although it was surprisingly cool in the big high-ceilinged rooms.

The kitchen was long and narrow. A small table and two chairs sat in one corner. An overstuffed recliner, a man’s chair, held pride of place by the window. Beside it an end table held a lamp, a combination radio and CD player and long metal tubes that looked as if they contained blueprints or architect’s drawings. The bathroom was directly ahead of her. She could see the corner of a claw-footed tub and a pedestal sink with a black leather shaving kit on the rim. The only baby items in view were a diaper bag and a glass bottle of formula with a screw-on nipple top like the ones they gave new mothers when they left the hospital. And a top-of-the-line infant carrier, draped with yellow and blue blankets.

“He doesn’t like you holding him any better than he does me,” Dylan said over his son’s continuing screams. He was standing behind her, and she couldn’t tell if she heard frustration or anger in his tone.

She turned. “He’s colicky. Does he cry like this often?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I…I haven’t been around him that much. He’s only been out of the hospital two weeks. He was a preemie. He weighed three and a half pounds when he was born.”

Lana took a closer look at the baby. “How old is he now?”

“Ten weeks.”

“He’s so tiny.” The sound of her voice penetrated the infant’s self-absorbed misery. He opened cornflower blue eyes and stared at her for a long moment while Lana held her breath. He was the most beautiful baby she’d ever seen. Perfect little ears, creamy skin, a button nose and silky hair the color of winter sunshine.

He didn’t look anything like the dark-haired, hawk-nosed man in front of her. Maybe he had kidnapped the child, after all.

“What do you do for colic?” Dylan was asking her.

“What?”

“How do I stop him from crying?”

“You really don’t know anything about babies, do you?”

“No.” There was no smile, no self-effacing shrug to soften the denial.

What if he was a kidnapper, after all? Maybe he was in the middle of a nasty custody battle with the child’s mother. It happened. You read about it all the time. What had she gotten herself into? Lana looked at his hands. He was wearing a plain gold wedding band. He caught her looking at him. Followed the path of her gaze. Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face.

“My mom’s been taking care of him. She fell and fractured her ankle yesterday putting up curtains in the nursery. She had to have surgery on it. She’s going to be laid up for at least six weeks.”

“Where’s the baby’s mother? Where’s your wife?” Lana asked, whispering to avoid upsetting the baby.

Dylan Van Zandt didn’t meet her eyes. He looked past her at something or someone she couldn’t see. His eyes were storm-cloud gray, she saw, bleak as the hill-country sky after a December rain. “She’s dead,” he said, not a trace of emotion evident in his words or his voice. “She died two months ago. Ten days after our son was born.”

CHAPTER TWO

HE SHOULDN’T HAVE blurted it out that way. Her eyes were as big as saucers. Her grip on Greg tightened perceptibly. For a moment he thought she was going to turn and run, taking his son with her. He saw the thought flash behind her green-gold eyes, then vanish as quickly as it came.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing you can say.” She had guts, he’d give her that. Climbing that dark stairway, confronting him with nothing but a baseball bat. He could have been some criminal. A kidnapper, a drug dealer—a wife killer.

“How did it happen?” she asked. The baby squirmed against her shoulder, as though trying to get closer. She laid her cheek against the top of his fuzzy head and swayed gently the way Dylan had seen his mother do. Greg quit squirming, and his cries trailed off to whimpers. When he didn’t answer right away she said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking such a personal question.”

Dylan raked a hand through his hair. “It’s okay. It was a car accident. She was on her way to the hospital to visit Greg.” And to get away from me. Best leave that thought unspoken. Technically he’d been miles away when the accident occurred, but in a way he had killed Jessie, with his accusations and his lack of trust.

“How terrible.” The baby stiffened and began to howl again. “Poor little tyke.”

“Is he hungry? Would a bottle help?” He had no idea what it was the scrap of humanity he called his son wanted.

She shook her head, moved to the table and set Greg in his carrier. She took one little foot in each hand and stretched his legs out, then pushed them back against his body. She kept doing that, stretching and bending, and after a minute or so his son quit crying. He gave a hiccuping burp, answered with the same sound from his diapered end. A blissful look came over his pinched features. “Now you feel better, don’t you, little one.” She held out her hand, and Greg grabbed on to her finger as though he’d never let go. “Got rid of all that nasty gas. Yes, that’s better. I’ll bet you’re hungry, too, aren’t you, Greggy?” She looked at Dylan and almost smiled. “You did call him Greg, didn’t you?”

“Yes. He’s named for his uncle. My best friend. I…I have a bottle all ready to go.” Dylan rushed to the fridge, afraid if he hesitated Greg would start crying again. He put the small bottle of special formula in the microwave, remembering to take the nipple off. He hadn’t last night, and it had melted enough to clog the hole. Greg hadn’t been able to get anything to eat, and he’d worked himself into a frenzy before Dylan figured out what was wrong and got a new nipple. “It’ll be ready in a minute. He eats every two hours, around the clock. If he’s not screaming to beat the band, that is.”

“Such a little tummy,” Lana crooned, tickling his son there. Her hair, the color of cinnamon and nutmeg, brushed against her cheek, soft and shining. He liked the way she wore it smooth and simply cut. Her makeup was simple, too, lipstick and a little mascara, not much more. Her skin was peaches and cream, she had a nice body. He wouldn’t have been a man if he hadn’t noticed that right off. Her breasts pushed against the silky apple-green blouse she wore. Her waist was small, her hips rounded. Her voice softened, the crisp boarding-school accent she’d used before melting away into the softened vowels and dropped gs of a native Texan. “It has to be filled so you get big and strong. Then your daddy will start callin’ you Bubba and hopin’ for football scholarships to come wing-in’ your way.”

Dylan set his jaw. That’s exactly what he had fantasized when Jessie first told him she was pregnant, back when he had no doubts at all that Greg was his child. But no more. Now it was hard for him to say the words my son. He thrust the bottle at her. “Here’s his formula.”

“Don’t you want to feed him?”

“Do you want him to start crying again?”

If she was startled by the harshness in his voice, she didn’t show it. “You really are new at this, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never had anything to do with a baby this small. I’ve got two nieces and two nephews, but they were big strapping Bubba babies.” He tried for a smile and hoped he got it on straight.

“This one’s no different.” She took the bottle, then set it on the table. She picked Greg up and handed him over.

“Here, take him. Show me your stuff.”

“What?”

“Show me how you feed him.”

“I…” What the hell did she think she was doing? She had no business ordering him around like this. He was about to tell her so when he thought better of it. Greg was his sole responsibility, at least until his mom was up and around again. He set his jaw and did as she demanded, feeling big and clumsy and self-conscious. Greg stiffened as soon as Dylan touched him. His eyes snapped shut, and his face puckered into a scowl. “He’s going to start crying again.”

Lana sighed. “Here, let me show you. Like this. Loosen up.” She touched his arm lightly. He felt the warmth of her fingers through the sleeve of his shirt, felt the connection all the way to the marrow of his bones.

“I’ll drop him.” She didn’t seem to be affected by the contact.

“No, you won’t. Just pretend he’s a football and you’re a running back.”

Automatically he shifted Greg lower into the crook of his arm, curled his hand around his bottom, cradled his head. Lana laughed, a bright melodious sound that warmed his soul the way her touch had warmed his skin. Jessie had never laughed like that, at least not for a long, long time. “That’s better. I was right. You were a running back, weren’t you?”

He grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “A real hotshot on my high school team, but never better than second string in college.”

Greg started sucking on his fist. “He’s hungry. What football metaphor can you come up with to help me out there?”

“Don’t try and get the whole ten yards in one carry.” She handed him the bottle.

“What do you mean by that?”

She smiled again. “Don’t let him drink too fast. And bubble him when the bottle’s half empty, whether he wants to stop sucking or not.”

“You are good at this,” he said, relaxing a little. “How about giving me a few more lessons?” It was the depth of his need to get a handle on this baby-raising that prompted him to make such an outrageous request.

“I…”

“I’ll pay you.”

“Certainly not.”

He wished he’d kept his damned mouth shut. She was a businesswoman and a Lord. He hadn’t been in Austin long, but he knew the Lord name was a respected one. She was way, way out of his league, and here he was offering to pay her for parenting lessons. For being a goddamn nanny. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

“It’s not that.” She looked at Greg, and he saw her mouth tighten slightly. “I don’t have time. I’m late now for a party. My godmother’s grandson…it’s his first birthday. I can’t miss it. And then there’s my business….”

“Just the basics,” he said, determined that she not walk out of his life as quickly as she had barged into it. “Just until I can get my feet under me.”

“They have excellent parenting classes at Maitland Maternity. Or you could make arrangements to leave Greg at the day-care center there. They accept infants. My friend Beth Maitland—Beth Redstone, I should say—runs it. The care’s excellent.”

She was babbling. He’d only known her for a few minutes but he’d bet his last cent, and he didn’t have much more to bet, that it wasn’t like her. She was entranced by Greg, he could tell. She wanted to say yes. He decided not to try to charm her. Hell, he wasn’t that good with women anyway, never had been. He settled on the truth. “I can’t afford full-time day care. Every cent I have’s tied up in buying and renovating this building.”

“Oh. Then a nanny?” She bit her lip. “No. I suppose that would be even more expensive.”

“And what woman in her right mind would want to be here all day?”

“Then it’s certainly no place for a baby.”

She had a damned good point and he knew it, but he was between a big rock and a hard place. Not only did he have everything he owned tied up in this place, but he had a big chunk of his parents’ money in it, as well. “We’re staying here, Miz Lord. For the time being we have nowhere else to go. Look, I’m sorry I asked. You’ve been a big help. Greg and I will muddle through. Go back to what you were doing. And thanks again.” He motioned with his head for her to precede him out of the kitchen. Greg sensed his agitation and began to fuss, pushing the bottle out of his mouth with surprising force. Two seconds later he was crying again.

All the starch seemed to go out of Lana Lord. “See, you’re upsetting him because you’re upset. You win, Dylan Van Zandt. I’ll help you with Greg until you can get the hang of it and get this place fit to raise a baby in.”

SHE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN Michael and Garrett would have conniptions when she told them what she’d agreed to do for Dylan Van Zandt. Not even being in the middle of little Chase’s birthday party with a hundred people standing around watching them had made a difference. She should have kept her mouth shut until they were all four alone. Michael had backed her into a corner and refused to let her go until she’d told them all the details. When she described going up the staircase armed only with a baseball bat, she thought her brother the security expert was going to have a stroke.

Michael lectured her on the stupidity of that kind of stunt, and Garrett lectured her on her lack of even a modicum of common sense for a good ten minutes, until she had all she could take and told them both to knock it off. If she wanted to help Dylan Van Zandt with his son she would, no matter what her siblings thought of the idea.

Shelby, bless her heart, had been all for it. She thought it was time for Lana to meet someone new. Garrett had said very little after that, but the set look on his darkly tanned face left no doubt in his sister’s mind that if there was anything even slightly out of place in Dylan’s life, her brother would make the other man wish he’d never laid eyes on one of the Austin Lords.

Family. She loved her siblings dearly but she could make her own decisions and trust her own instincts. Lana leaned against the headrest and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. It was hot and humid, and thunder-clouds were building up over the hills west of town. If traffic didn’t start moving soon, her air-conditioning would give up the ghost. She should have had the car serviced weeks ago, but she’d been too busy.

And if she was busy then, she was going to be even busier in the future.

What had she agreed to? Parenting lessons? What did that entail? Baby-sitting? Probably. She could hardly leave Dylan’s son alone up there in the dust and dirt and mouse droppings. No, she’d have to keep him with her during the day. The thought made her heart skip a beat. A baby, one that she could care for as if it were her own.

She sobered at that. Greg wasn’t her baby. And she had better keep that foremost in her mind.

There was a parking space in front of Oh, Baby!, and since it was Sunday evening she took it. Mostly she parked around the corner on a little side street to leave room for customers’ cars. She sat still for a moment looking at her building, seeing it with different eyes. It was made of brick, old and mellowed. The windows were tall and well-proportioned on the second floor, square and functional on the third. The four stores on the ground floor all had bay windows and oval glass in the doors. She loved the small-town feel of the neighborhood. It looked like Main Street somewhere in the Midwest, not just a few blocks off the main drag in Austin, Texas.

When she’d first opened her store, there had been a little flower shop between the bakery and the vintage clothing store. Along with a New Age bookshop, they made up the other tenants, but the flower shop had gone out of business long since. She hadn’t thought about it in years. There had been a curving marble stairway leading nowhere that the owner had used to display floral arrangements and garden ornaments, she recalled. And once she’d glimpsed an old-fashioned metal-gated elevator through an open curtain behind the counter. She hadn’t made the connection then—that the space behind the grandiose wooden doors had once been the lobby of an apartment building—but now she did.

And soon it would be again.

That meant people moving into the neighborhood, stabilizing it even more. She liked the idea. Young couples ready to start their families, all of them buying furniture and strollers and bottle sets and rocking horses. She liked that very much.

Lana was smiling when she arrived at Dylan’s door at the top of the stairs. It was open a few inches, as though he was expecting her. She pushed it wider and called softly, in case Greg was asleep. No answer. She walked into the empty main room of the apartment, taking a moment to look around. An archway she hadn’t noticed on her first visit opened into a hallway that must lead to the bedrooms. She wondered if there were two or three.

It would be nice to be living here, so close to her work, without that long commute and the upkeep on her parents’ huge old house. But her parents had loved that house. They’d lived there all their married life. And if she moved in here, the apartment wouldn’t be occupied by a potential customer.

Lana walked to the kitchen doorway. “Hello,” she said softly.

Dylan didn’t answer because he was sleeping as soundly as the baby in the carrier beside him on the table. His elbows were propped on the blueprints of the building, his dark head resting on his hands, a pair of reading glasses dangling from his fingers. Lana hesitated, undecided whether to wake him or to leave as quietly as she’d come.

Greg stirred and sniffled and made adorable baby sounds, and Lana didn’t leave. A moment later Dylan opened his eyes, blinked just like his son and focused on her. “You came back,” he said.

“I told you I would.” She’d explained about the party, that she had to be there. But she wasn’t sure he’d believed her when she said she’d come back. “How did it go?” she asked. His beard had darkened, she noticed, and he looked dead tired, despite his nap.

“Okay. I fed him again. Didn’t try for a touchdown in one run. Got him to burp like you told me. He fell asleep, and I guess I did, too. Damn, I had a lot of work I wanted to get done.” He stood and began rolling up the blueprints.

“Are those the plans for the renovation you spoke of?” Lana asked. She felt awkward standing in the doorway. She felt awkward around him, period. She’d been with Jason Fairmont almost two years, and she hadn’t even thought of dating since they’d broken up. But Dylan Van Zandt was a very attractive man, the kind no sane woman could be indifferent to.

“Yes.” The frown between his dark brows smoothed out a little. “Would you like to see them?”

“Yes, I would.”

He unrolled the blueprints, slipping one edge under Greg’s carrier and holding the other flat with the palm of his hand. “There are four apartments on this floor, corresponding to the storefronts below us. They all have two bedrooms, three if you count the maid’s room, here.” He pointed to a small room at the very back of the apartment layout. “I’m planning to turn those into a bathroom and walk-in closet for the master suite.” He circled the area on the drawing with his finger. “Updating the kitchens and bathrooms will be the biggest expense. Have to bring the heating plant and the electrical circuits up to code, too. And the elevator to comply with the disability laws. That could cost me a pretty penny to renovate.”

“Do all the apartments have fireplaces? And those beautiful high ceilings?”

“Yes, ma’am. But the fireplaces will have gas logs. They make ones so real-looking you can hardly tell the difference.”

“What about the third floor?”

“I figure two big loft apartments. I’m hoping this area of the city will start attracting artsy-craftsy types. It’s close enough to the university that that’s not too big a stretch.”

“And all those Generation Xers who work downtown and at the Statehouse are going to start wanting places where they can spread out a bit, raise a family and still not have the commute they’d get if they moved to the suburbs.”

“Exactly what I told my dad when I talked him into putting a chunk of his retirement money into this place.” He looked at her and nodded approvingly. Lana felt herself color slightly. She hadn’t meant to speak her thoughts aloud. She felt disloyal again, the way she had earlier when she’d been thinking about her birth mother. Her parents had loved their big Tudor in its old established neighborhood with gated driveways and enormous live oaks dotting the lawn. She loved it, too. But it was so much house for a single young woman. And it was a forty-minute drive into the city—on a good day.

“I hope it works out for you.”

Greg began to snuffle into his fist.

“Time to eat again.” Dylan touched his big blunt finger to the baby’s cheek, but the movement seemed forced and wooden to Lana. “Every two hours. Just like clockwork. It’s gonna be a long night and an early morning tomorrow, buddy. No sleeping in.”

“You’re starting the renovations tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Time’s money in this business. The electrical contractor’ll be here at seven, the plumber at noon.”

“That’s a lot of noise and confusion for a baby. And what about the paint?”

“Paint? We’re a long way from paint.”

“No, I mean the old paint. You’ll be banging around, knocking it off the walls and woodwork. It looks really old. It’s got lead in it, I’ll bet. You can’t have Greg here, if that’s the case.”

“Hell, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You said you had nieces and nephews. That means you must have siblings. Couldn’t one of them watch over Greg for a few days?”

“My brother and his wife are in New Jersey, and my sister’s husband’s in the military. They’re in Germany for the next eighteen months. My dad’s got his hands full taking care of Mom.”

“Then you’ll both have to come home with me.”

He spun around. “We can’t do that.”

Lana had the feeling that her brothers’ reactions would echo Dylan’s. They were leery enough of her giving parenting lessons to a complete stranger. When they found out she was inviting him to live under her roof, there would be hell to pay. She almost smiled but didn’t, because for some reason her heart was beating so high up in her chest it made her short of breath. “Yes, you can. You want me to give you parenting lessons. Okay, you’ve got me. But not if I have to worry about Greg being exposed to God knows what up here. Come home with me, or the deal’s off.”

CHAPTER THREE

“HE’S JUST THE CUTEST little thing.” Brittany Carson warbled the words and blew bubbles on Greg’s tummy as he cooed and gurgled in his carrier on the counter of the showroom at Oh, Baby! “I could just eat him up.”

“It looks like that’s what you’re doing,” Janette Malkovitch, Lana’s manager, said. “He’s not candy, you know.”

“He’s better than candy. He’s precious, aren’t you, sweetums.” Greg cooed louder. “He likes me best,” Brittany said. In just three days’ time he’d become a much happier baby. Lana couldn’t help wondering if it was because he spent so little time in his father’s company. In the few days Dylan had been living under her roof he’d tried hard, but his heart wasn’t in it. He treated Greg like a half-tame baby animal, kept him clean and fed and his diaper changed, but never once had Lana seen him pick his son up just to cuddle and coo over him as Brittany and Janette were doing.

“You have work to do.” There was a sharp note in Janette’s voice that wasn’t lost on Lana. She glanced around the display area. It looked fine. Brittany was a conscientious and focused kid, even if she did have five earrings in each ear and her navel pierced, which fortunately didn’t show in the clothes she wore to work. Nor did the two tattoos she’d gotten over the summer.

“Oh, lighten up, Janette,” Brittany countered. “We’ve sold two of those really expensive solid cherry furniture suites since he’s been here. I mean, when customers come in and see him lying in the bed or swinging in his swing, they can’t help themselves. They buy the works, even if they just came in to window-shop. I think we should consider keeping a baby here all the time.”

Janette was divorced with three kids and an ex-husband who was six months behind on child support. She was slightly more immune to Greg’s charm than Brittany, but only slightly. “Honey, if you’re that susceptible to a man’s come-on already, you’re in for a lot of heartbreak.” But she was grinning when she said it, and she bent to give Greg a kiss. “Men are all alike. They smile and look deep into your eyes and let you think you’re their moon and stars. When all they really want is for you to fill their stomach or warm their beds, preferably both.” Janette ran the tip of her finger along the satiny curve of Greg’s cheek. “Are you hungry, little man? Hmm, I bet you are.”

“He is due for a feeding. I’ll warm his bottle.” Brittany looked up as a very pregnant young woman entered the store. It was her responsibility to greet customers. “Sorry, little guy. You’ll have to wait,” she whispered, moving away from the carrier.

“You go get Greg’s bottle ready,” Lana said, raising a hand to wave Brittany back. “I’ll wait on her.”

“Thanks.” Brittany picked up Greg’s carrier and disappeared into the back room to heat his bottle.

Janette made a clucking noise with her tongue. “You’re spoilin’ that girl as bad as this baby.”

“I look at it as an advanced course in domestic studies. When I was her age we had to carry around a ten-pound sack of flour with a beeper attached to it for two weeks. It’s not nearly as much fun as practicing on a real baby.” Lana put down the Beatrix Potter catalog she’d been perusing and smiled at the young woman standing uncertainly just inside the door. “May I help you?”

“Hi. I was told you have car seats…used car seats. The social worker at Maitland Maternity sent me here. My baby’s due any day and I won’t be able to leave the hospital without one.” The young woman was dressed simply in cotton slacks and an oversize T-shirt that strained across her bulging middle. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and her face looked haggard and too careworn for someone her age. Another of the single mothers-to-be from a nearby women’s shelter who received free prenatal care at Maitland Maternity, Lana guessed. Sent to take advantage of the gently used car seats she collected from customers and friends, and friends of friends.

“Right over here,” she said, leading the way to the corner of the store where she kept several of the seats on display with a sign inviting customers to donate their car seats when they were no longer of use. “Choose the one that will suit you best.”

“I…I don’t have much money,” the young woman said.

“That’s okay. The cost is whatever you can pay.”

“Really?” Her face lit up. “That’s great. I…I was really worried about getting a good one. I only have a few bucks…”

“Whatever you can afford,” Lana repeated gently. “I think you’d like this one.” She picked up a car seat that doubled as a carrier. “This will do wonderfully until the baby’s about six months old.”

The young mother’s face fell again. “But…they told me my baby will need to be in a car seat until—”

“When he outgrows this one, you come back and trade up to a full-size model,” Lana said, giving her best imitation of a used-car salesman. “No extra charge.”

“Great! I’ll take it.”

“Fine, here it is. Janette will show you everything you need to know about fastening your baby in safe and snug.”

“Thank you. This is a load off my mind.” She followed Lana to the counter.

“You really should let me publicize this little program of yours. I could do a lot more for you if you’d let the PR people at the clinic run with it.”

Lana turned to find the regal figure of her godmother, Megan Maitland, standing beside a mahogany reproduction of Prince William’s cradle.

“Aunt Megan.” Her mother’s longtime friend had suggested long ago that the Lord siblings call her that, and Lana still did. “What are you doing here in the middle of the day? I thought you were going to take some time off to spend with Connor and Lacy and little Chase.” Megan had recently been reunited with Connor, the grown son she had been told had died at birth.

“I’m on my way home now, but there’s something I need to talk to you about.” Megan motioned toward the back of the store. “Can we use your office?”

“Brittany’s back there feeding Greg. Remember I told you at the party I was giving baby basics lessons to…my new landlord.”

“That includes keeping his child here in the store?” Megan looked around.

“It does for the time being. As a matter of fact, he’s staying at the house.” Megan looked surprised. Lana pointed to the ceiling. “Lead paint. It’s not safe for the baby. They’re staying in the maid’s room.”

“Do your brothers know this?”

Lana laughed, but it sounded thin and nervous even to her own ears. “Well, no. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell them just yet. Or Shelby, for that matter.”

“Certainly, if that’s what you want.”

Lana was surprised Megan didn’t pursue the subject. She seemed distracted, and Lana wondered what she was doing here at this time of day. It must be important.

“Come over here. We can be private enough.”

Lana led the way to an alcove filled with framed prints and quilts and Noah’s ark figures displayed in an antique cupboard. Once they stepped inside they were out of sight of Janette and her customer. “Now, what’s up?”

Megan didn’t return her smile. “I’d like you to come out to the house tonight.”

“You know I never turn down an invitation for dinner with you.”

“This isn’t just a dinner invitation, dear. I received something in the mail yesterday that concerns you. All of you.”

Lana began rearranging the Noah’s ark figures on the piecrust table in front of her. Something in her godmother’s voice set off an internal alarm. She flicked the switch on a music box and watched the little animals move around the ark, two by two, as it played Brahms’s “Lullaby.” Her hands were trembling. Only one person in the world would try to contact all four of them through Megan Maitland. “It’s from our mother, isn’t it?”

“Yes, apparently it is.”

Lana couldn’t quite trust herself to speak. After twenty-five years of silence, her mother had apparently just dropped back into her life—into their lives. “Apparently? You mean there’s no name on…the letter? Is it a letter? Did she give you a phone number, an e-mail address?”

Megan squeezed Lana’s hand. “There was a note and a box of baby things. The note was just like the first one, Lana. The one that was pinned to Garrett’s shirt all those years ago. No return address. No signature. Nothing to identify who wrote it. For some reason, even after all these years, your mother doesn’t want you to know who she is.”

“VAN ZANDT DEVELOPMENT.” Dylan tucked the cell phone between his ear and his shoulder and went on looking at the schematic for the updated wiring he’d have to install to bring the building up to code.

“Dill Pickle? Is that you?”

“Mom?”

She giggled at his shocked tone. “Oh, dear, did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you did,” he said, turning his back on the drawing, giving his mother his full attention. “You haven’t called me that since I was two.”

“It must be these painkillers. I swear my head feels two feet across. I had to dial you three times to get the call to go through.”

“How are you feeling otherwise?”

“I want out of this bed and this horrible contraption. I can’t even get up to go to the bathroom. How could I have been so foolish? I only fell two feet from the second step of the ladder.” In his mind’s eye he could see her shaking her head, her curly brown hair barely streaked with gray. “I really, really do have to lose some weight. The doctors have all been very nice, but I know that’s what they’re thinking. ‘If you weren’t so heavy, Mrs. Van Zandt, the injury to your ankle wouldn’t have been so severe.’”

“Mom, you’re not fat.” But she wasn’t skinny, either. He couldn’t remember her as anything but pleasingly plump. His parents were both nearing sixty, active and healthy except for his dad’s high blood pressure and now his mom’s broken ankle. Nevertheless, they were looking forward to turning over the business to him in a few years and retiring. That’s why he had to make this project work. They’d put a big chunk of their savings into it and let him take out a loan against the company assets.

“I’m not skinny, either. And I’m bored witless already, as you can tell. How’s Greg? How are you two doing? Should I send your father up there to help out?”

“We’re doing fine, Mom. And Dad needs to stay there with you and the office. The bids for the new gymnasium at the high school are coming up next week. We’ve got a good chance at getting the job.”

“I know, I know. But there are other things just as important as the school bid. Like my little Greggy. Are you sure he’s okay?”

She was beginning to sound tired, her words slurring now and then, but Dylan knew better than to try to cut the conversation short. Even half zonked on painkillers, his mother wouldn’t stand for that. She sensed how conflicted he was about his son. She had accepted the little guy wholeheartedly, but Dylan wasn’t fooled. His mother could count. She and his dad had to be aware that Greg could have been conceived during the time Jessie had lived apart from him. But it made no difference to Linda Van Zandt. Greg was her grandchild, just as his sister Christy’s and his brother Trent’s kids were. “He’s fine. I…I’ve got someone to help with him.”

“Who’s that?” His mother’s voice was razor sharp again, just like her wits.

“Her name’s Lana Lord. She’s the tenant in the store below my apartment. The store called Oh, Baby!”

“I’ve heard that name.”

“It was on the architect’s drawing of the new facade, remember?”

“Oh, yes, a baby store. I read an article about one of them in the business section of the Statesman once. Supposed to be a real growth industry. Lots of waited-till-it-was-almost-too-late professionals having babies and spoiling them rotten. Did I tell you about it? They have more hair than sense and buy whole new sets of furniture for every baby they have. Thousands of dollars worth. Then they just pitch it and start over.” She sounded shocked by the waste. “Why, I still have Grandma Parsons’ high chair and crib. It was good enough for me and Billy Joe and Gracie and the three of you. It’s good enough for Greg when I get it painted, and someday it will—”

“Mom, do you want to hear about Lana Lord or not?”

“Of course I do. It’s the medicine. I just run on and on.”

“You always run on and on, Mom.”

She laughed. “Okay. Tell me about this woman who’s taking care of my Greggy.”

“She heard him crying the first night and came upstairs. She’s keeping him with her in her store during the day. I’ve got him with me at night…at her house.” He didn’t have to tell her that. She wouldn’t know where he was if she called on the cell phone. But if she did find out, there’d be hell to pay.

“Her house? You’re living with this woman you only met three days ago?”

“We’re staying in the maid’s room. The house is huge. A big old Tudor monstrosity, cold and damp as the dickens.”

“I see. Then she must be one of the Austin Lords.”

“She is.” Dylan didn’t elaborate, although his mother’s silence told him she wanted more details.

“Well,” she said after a silence. “I’m glad Greg’s out of that musty old apartment. I mean, the paint has to be lead-based—”

Was he the only adult in Texas who hadn’t thought about lead paint on the walls? He cut her short. He could hear someone coming up the steps from Lana’s store. Only she had the key. He glanced at his watch and frowned. It wasn’t five-thirty yet. Something must be up with Greg. Another bellyache? Diarrhea? “I’ll call you back, Mom. Someone’s here.”

“Okay.” There were voices in the background. “My roommate’s getting visitors, and this call is probably costing me a fortune. I’m sure the hospital doesn’t have a five-cents-a-minute plan. Dylan, you’ll give me your number at this woman’s house, won’t you? I don’t like being out of touch.”

“You can always reach me at this number. But I’ll call you as soon as I get hold of the new one. I’ll let you talk to Greg, how’s that sound?” he asked, half teasing.

“Wonderful. I miss him so much.”

“I know you do, Mom. We’ll be out to see you this weekend. I promise.”

“Good. Take care of that precious little boy of ours.”

“I will, Mom.”

He broke off the connection and turned. Lana was standing in the doorway of his apartment, the living room of which was now doubling as his field office. “Hi,” she said.

She was holding Greg against her shoulder, against her heart. She was patting his back gently, absently, as though it were the most natural rhythm in the world. He couldn’t feel that way when he held the child. He wondered if he ever would. Physically, he was more comfortable with him in his arms, but there was no personal feeling there, no warmth, no connection.

“You were on the phone. I hope we didn’t interrupt you.”

“No,” he said. “I was talking to my mom.”

“How is she?” She continued patting Greg’s back as she moved around the room, stopping to look at the architect’s rendering of the facade of the building where it was taped to the wall between the big front windows.

“Pretty spaced out on painkillers. She was worried about Greg. I told her we were staying with you. I promised to give her your phone number. I hope that’s okay.” It still felt strange to him to be in her home, even though the place was so big he never saw her unless she came into the kitchen while he was getting ready to feed Greg.

“Of course it’s okay. There used to be a separate line running into the maid’s room. We can have it turned back on. I’ll call the phone company today.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll be sure to send you the bill.” She smiled. He didn’t like being in her debt, and she knew it.

“Thank you.” He didn’t smile back. He couldn’t. He never knew what to do, how to react to her teasing. Jessie had never teased him. But then their marriage had been based on her needs and his promise to his dying buddy to take care of his wayward sister. Love hadn’t been part of the equation.

“How did it go with the electrical inspector today?” she asked as she wandered over to look out the window at the street below. It was a humid and rainy afternoon. Business was probably slow. Maybe that’s why she had brought Greg upstairs in the middle of the afternoon.

“About like I expected. This place is a mess. A lot of the wiring up here is original. Scary as hell when you look at it.”

She turned, alarm on her face. “But downstairs—”

“It was rewired about ten years ago. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.” He didn’t want to worry her, but there were some areas on the ground floor that had been missed or skipped to save money. That wiring would have to be replaced, too. Another twenty thousand dollars he hadn’t been counting on.

“We have trouble with the computers sometimes when the air-conditioning is going full blast.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t make any move to leave or to hand over Greg. Dylan weighed the prospect of asking her out to dinner. He owed her a lot for bailing him out of a tight spot. But it would have to be someplace quick and casual. There was no one else to leave the baby with, unless he got the salesgirl—what was her name, Brittany?—to baby-sit. His mom would have a fit at that. He barely knew the girl.

But if Lana didn’t think her employee was competent enough to watch his son, she’d say so. He’d learned that much about her already. She spoke her mind and was confident in her opinions.

She stood there rocking, humming snatches of a lullaby under her breath. Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark against her cheeks. She looked tired. That made up his mind. Taking care of his son on top of running her business and overseeing that big house with only a once-a-week cleaning service and part-time gardener must be taking their toll. Besides, he liked the idea of sitting down to a meal with her, not bringing home take-out to wolf down at the kitchen island with only Greg in his carrier beside him for company.

“Lana.”

“Yes.” She opened her eyes. They were hazel, he’d noticed more than once. Sometimes more green than gold, sometimes darkening almost to brown. When she was angry or upset they got that way. Lightning in river water, he thought. Like now. She was frowning, too.

“I’d like to buy you something to eat tonight. A little thank-you for all you’ve done for us this week.”

“I can’t.” Her frown deepened. She must have tightened her hold on Greg, because he began to fuss a little. She shushed him, settling him more comfortably on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt. It’s—”

“No apology necessary.” The words sounded perfunctory, and he regretted not being able to keep his chagrin hidden. Fine. She didn’t want to go out with him. That was all there was to it. She probably had a date and was trying to figure out how to tell the date she had Dylan and Greg living in her house. He’d never thought of that when he’d taken her up on the offer. On top of everything else he was complicating the hell out of her love life. “Look, if you need to be alone tonight, I’ll take Greg to the mall or something.”

“No. It isn’t that. I mean, if you’re asking me do I have a date, the answer is no. But I do have plans.” Dylan braced himself and didn’t know why. Possibly because he could see the agitation swirling in the depths of those green and gold eyes. Something had upset her. She brushed her lips across Greg’s hair, then took a little breath as though she wanted to get it all out in one string of words. “I’m meeting my sister and brothers at my aunt Megan’s. We were left on the doorstep at Maitland Maternity twenty-five years ago. Abandoned by a mother we never knew. We haven’t heard a word from her since then.” She shook her head as though she couldn’t quite come to terms with what she was about to say. “Until today.”

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR THE FIRST TIME in her life Lana was uncomfortable in Megan’s house. It felt alien to her, not the gracious, elegant home-away-from-home it had been for as long as she could remember. She had spent as much time growing up here as she had in her parents’ house. She had played with Ellie and Beth, Megan’s twin daughters, shared secrets with them, called boys on the phone with them. They had all swum in the pool and played in the yard, a tribe of healthy youngsters watched over by doting parents. Her memories of this place were all good ones.

But tonight it felt different because she was different. She was no longer Lana Megan Lord, beloved daughter of Terrence and Sheila. She was nobody. Alone and un-loved. It was as if memories of heartache and loss she’d never known she had suddenly forced themselves into the forefront of her mind. She clutched the little pink sweater Megan had given her tightly between her hands, staring at her name embroidered in crooked letters with darker pink floss. Embroidered by a ghost from the past, a woman of whom she had no conscious memory at all. Her mother.

She looked up. Shelby sat across from her on a matching sofa. They were in Megan’s private study, the place they always gathered when they were visiting her. It was a big, cozy room, filled with soft leather furniture and shelves of books and family photos, and almost always friends and members of Megan’s large family. But tonight the five of them were alone.

“She says this was the only fancywork she ever had time to do.” Shelby quoted from the note Megan had read them as she distributed the gifts. It had been handwritten, short and unsigned. “That sounds so sad.”

“I can’t imagine ever being this small.” Michael had placed the tiny blue sweater bearing his name on a table, as though distancing himself from the woman who had given it to him, embroidered it so lovingly and then walked out of his life. “At least we know now the names pinned to our shirts really were the ones she gave us.”

When they were small, the triplets had sometimes climbed into the branches of the live oak tree in the back yard and wondered aloud who they might be. Garrett, older by two years, had scoffed at them. He remembered their names, he’d insisted when they picked others they liked better. He’d told Megan so from the very first day.

But one day when the three of them were ten and Garrett was twelve, they’d quit asking him about memories of their real mother. That was the day he and Michael had gotten into a fight over Garrett’s insistence that he could remember nothing about her anymore. And if he did he wasn’t going to tell Michael, or Shelby and Lana, either. She had thrown them all away, he’d said. Just like they were toys she didn’t want. If she didn’t want them, then he didn’t want to remember her. That had been the last time he’d spoken of her to Lana. And not long after that Lana had made the same promise to herself.

“Why do you think she sent these things to us now?” Shelby asked, her eyes sparkling with emotion. “Why, after all these years without a word?”

“Who knows.” Michael moved restlessly around the room, his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants. The physical resemblance between Shelby and Michael was marked. The same with Garrett. They all had tanned skin and dark auburn hair and strongly marked lashes and eyebrows that had somehow become muted to cinnamon and cream when they got to Lana.

“What if she’s in need? I mean, if she never had time for a hobby then maybe she still hasn’t got enough money—”

“You can’t go by that, Shelby. You can’t make any kinds of assumptions from that note. We may be dealing with a real nut case here.”

“Mike. You’re talking about our mother.”

“She’s not my mother. My mother was Sheila Lord. I don’t intend to go looking for some stranger to replace her.” Michael had taken their mother’s death hard. Their father had been sick for several months before his death. But Sheila had only complained of a headache, of needing to lie down for a few minutes. She’d died of a massive stroke only an hour later. Some days it was hard for Lana to believe she was gone, even though it had been almost three years.

Shelby winced at the vehemence in their brother’s tone. Some of the excitement faded from her eyes. “I…I thought you might want to help me find her.”

“Find her? What in hell for?”

“She said she loved us,” Shelby whispered. She turned to Lana. “What do you think, Lana? Shouldn’t we look for her?”

Lana glanced helplessly at Megan. The older woman smiled her understanding and encouragement. She knew how much Lana still missed her mother. “No,” Lana said, placing her little pink sweater on top of Michael’s blue one. “I’m with Mike. Let her come to us. She obviously knows who we are, how to find us if she wants to. I won’t go looking for her.”

“I’ll help you, Shel.” Garrett was standing with one shoulder propped against the fern-filled marble fireplace. He looked at the scruffy, bedraggled teddy bear that had been his gift from the past. If he remembered playing with it as a toddler, he gave no evidence of it.

“Oh, Garrett, will you?” Shelby’s smile returned, brighter than before.

“It would be easier if you helped us, Mike.” The words seemed pulled from somewhere deep inside him. Garrett didn’t ask favors easily, even from those closest to him.

But Michael was adamant. He was perhaps the most stubborn of them all. “No, bro, not this time. I have absolutely no interest in the woman who didn’t care enough about any of us to try and keep us together as a family.”

“But, Mike.” Shelby tried again. “You don’t know that. She left us for Aunt Megan—”

“Yeah, I know she could have turned us over to the welfare people to get sucked into the system, but she couldn’t have known we’d stay together. It’s only because Aunt Megan knew how much Mom and Dad wanted a family. We were damned lucky, that’s all. She doesn’t deserve any credit for that.” He picked up his sweater and Lana’s and went to put them in the plain cardboard box in which they’d come. “I don’t want anything to do with her.”

“Please, Michael. Don’t throw it away,” Shelby begged. “Lana, you, too.”

He turned to her, the little pink sweater still in his hands. “I wasn’t going to throw them away. I’m just not interested in looking at them anymore.”

“Me, too, Shel, honey. I…I just don’t want to take it home with me,” Lana said uncertainly. She’d been on her own for half a dozen years. She was able to take care of herself, but these relics of their past had hit her hard.

Michael handed the box with the three little sweaters to Shelby. “Don’t get in a huff, sis,” he said with that devastating smile of his that lifted one corner of his mouth higher than the other.

“I’ll take yours for safekeeping. I’ll take the teddy bear, too, Garrett, if you don’t want it.” Shelby held out her hand. “You can come and get them whenever you want.”

Garrett handed the bear over. “I don’t need anything to remind me that I was left on the doorstep of a public building without even a blanket to cover me.”

“It was quite warm the day you came to me, Garrett,” Megan said. “I remember very clearly. There was absolutely no question of you suffering from the cold.” There was a slight note of reproof in her low, cultured voice as she stood and walked from behind the big mahogany desk where she’d been sitting.

“There’s always something inside you that’s cold when you don’t know who you are or where you come from.”

Shelby and Lana exchanged looks. They had never heard their brother speak like that before. “I’m going to start looking for her first thing tomorrow,” Garrett said. “I could use your help, Mike. But if you don’t want anything to do with it, I’ll go it alone.”

“Like I said—deal me out.”

“I’ll help you, Gar.” There was a note of defiance in Shelby’s voice.

“Thanks, sis.”

“I’ve got to be going,” Michael announced. “Thanks for everything, Aunt Megan. Shelby, are you ready to leave?” Michael had picked Shelby up at Austin Eats when he left Maitland Maternity. He’d offered to drive Lana, too, but it was more convenient for her to take her own car. And besides, she’d been too upset to deal with introducing her brother to Dylan and Greg. And then having to explain their new living arrangements. Time enough for that when the shock of their mother’s gifts had worn off.

“I’ll drop Shel off at her place on my way to the ranch. It’s not out of the way. We’ve got some stuff to talk about,” Garrett said. “Lana, do you want us to follow you home?”

Garrett didn’t ask her again if she wanted to help in the search, and she was grateful. She wanted it all to go away. She wanted everything to be the same as it had been that morning, before Megan stopped by the store. But it was different. And for more reasons than because of these tokens from the unknown past.

She thought of the man and baby waiting for her at home. “No, Gar, thanks anyway. I’ll be fine. You’ll be going out of your way to follow me and you know it.”

“Then we’ll all be going.” Garrett allowed Megan to give him a quick hug.

“Good luck in your quest, Garrett,” Megan said.

“We’ll need it,” he replied grimly.

“And good luck to you,” she said to Lana. Unspoken between them was the knowledge that Megan alone knew Lana wasn’t going home to an empty house. “I think you’ve embarked on quite a different quest of your own.”

A QUEST OF YOUR OWN.

A journey to find something wondrous and fine.

A journey to find one’s self.

Except she knew who she was. Didn’t she?

Megan was reading too much into the fact Dylan Van Zandt was staying with her. It was just a more convenient way to help him hone his parenting skills, and safer for Greg, too. There was no deeper meaning in having him in the big, empty house she’d rattled around in since her mother died.

She parked her car in the garage, passing Dylan’s truck on the way in. Her dad’s classic ’57 Thunderbird was parked along the far wall, covered with a nylon tarp. Michael kept saying he was going to take it, tune it up and drive it, but he never had. It didn’t matter. The garage was big enough for five cars. Now it only held two.

She’d told Dylan to feel free to park his pickup inside, but he hadn’t taken her up on the offer. Not even today when it had rained all day and she’d left a spare remote for the garage door lying conspicuously on the kitchen island.

He seemed determined to keep his distance. And, of course, it was better for both of them that way.

She walked slowly along the brick path that led to the kitchen door. The rain had stopped while she was at Megan’s, although the air was so thick and humid it made little difference. The heavy scent of the night-blooming jasmine that covered the side of the garage perfumed the darkness. The moon rode high in the sky, peeking out from amid a tatter of fleeing clouds. There was light in the kitchen, and in the maid’s room where Dylan and Greg had taken up residence. Lana quickened her step. It made the house look more lived-in. As it had when she was a girl—when there was a family living here, not just one sometimes lonely young woman.

She punched in the code of the security system Michael had insisted Sheila install after their father’s death and stepped inside. Dylan was standing by the microwave, watching the seconds count down on the digital display beside the door, Greg propped against his shoulder.

The baby was awake, staring at the door as though waiting for her to appear. His head wobbled, and he laid it on Dylan’s shoulder. He was very weak yet, compared with other babies his age. Lana’s heart turned over in her chest. He appeared so tiny and fragile. He had overcome much already, but he had more challenges ahead of him than other children, and not just because he was born prematurely.

Growing up never knowing your mother was a hard thing to do. She had managed because she had loving adoptive parents who had smoothed her way. But Greg had only Dylan, a man who distanced himself from his son as well as everyone else—or at least her.

Dylan turned around. “Hi,” he said. He was wearing a blue oxford cloth shirt, hanging open, exposing a muscled chest covered with dark hair. Greg’s little fingers were tangled in the curling mat, and the contrast between the man’s strength and hardness and the baby’s utter helplessness and fragility sent a glittering arc of sensation from Lana’s heart to her womb. It wasn’t a sexual awareness, she told herself, but something more primitive than that. It was more the receptiveness of the female for the male of the species, the protector, the provider. It was conditioning over a million years, nothing more.

“Hi. I thought you’d both be in bed by now.” She wasn’t a cavewoman. This was the twenty-first century. Women were just as often the protector and provider as men. She ignored the increased beat of her pulse and moved into the room.

“Greg decided he needed a midnight snack.” The microwave beeped, and Dylan turned to remove the bottle warming inside. He secured the nipple and tested the liquid on the inside of his wrist, as she’d taught him. He shifted Greg from his shoulder to the crook of his arm and touched the nipple to the side of the baby’s mouth.

Greg turned his head automatically and latched on to the nipple, sucking greedily. It should be his mother’s nipple, Lana thought sadly. Did Dylan have such thoughts, too, as he mourned the death of his son’s mother, his wife, his lover?

He was frowning slightly as he watched his son. He didn’t look sad, only fiercely focused on what he was doing. His hands were big and wide, his fingers long and blunt-tipped. Strong hands that could mold and build, soothe a crying baby, arouse a willing woman. Again she felt that glittering tug of awareness deep inside her. It bothered her. She didn’t want to think about making love to any man right now.

And she noticed something else. Dylan was no longer wearing his wedding ring.

Lana forced herself to concentrate on the baby.

“He’s certainly hungry.”

“He took three ounces his last feeding. If he takes three ounces this time, I’m hoping he’ll sleep longer.”

“I’d be happy to give him his two o’clock feeding.” Lana heard herself say the words. Dylan did look tired. He let her take care of Greg during the day, when he was upstairs overseeing the renovations of her building. But in the evening and during the night, he kept the baby to himself.

“Thanks, I’ll take care of it.” A rebuff, but a polite one.

“I wouldn’t mind, really.”

“I know you wouldn’t. But I think I can keep up with him.”

Lana dropped onto one of the stools arranged around the center island. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Too late for me. You look right at home sittin’ there.”

“I spent a lot of hours here. My mother was a wonderful cook.”

“Mine isn’t,” he said, and grinned. “It’s a good thing my dad can cook or we’d have all starved.”

“I have a limited repertoire, but I’m good at what I do. Great-grandma Bostleman’s buttermilk sugar cookies. And pot roast and chicken and dumplings.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll make us some the first cool day. But Shelby got all the real culinary talent in the family. Since we’re all adopted, she insists she picked it up from Mom through osmosis.” She fell silent, thinking of the hours just past, wishing her mother was here for her to confide in.

“How did your evening go?”

She hadn’t expected him to ask such a personal question. So far their short conversations had centered on Greg’s care, the weather, whether Dylan needed towels or soap or toilet paper for the bathroom. Her surprise must have registered on her face. “You looked kind of shell-shocked when you walked in the door.”

“I am.” Her arms ached to reach out and take Greg from him, to cuddle the little boy close and take comfort from his baby warmth and softness. She sat up a little straighter. “It’s not every day you hear from the mother you never knew. And then to find out she’s still as anonymous as she ever was.”

“What do you mean by that?” He moved a few steps closer, hooked the toe of his shoe around a stool, pulled it away from the island and settled himself on it without jarring Greg or taking the bottle out of his mouth.

Lana rested her elbows on the countertop and propped her chin on her hands. “My birth mother sent a package to Aunt Megan with a note that what was inside was for us. She obviously found out who had adopted us and that Aunt Megan was still in contact with us.”

“Or at least she hoped so.”

“No. She thanked Aunt Megan for finding us a good home.” Lana recited the little note, picturing the block lettering in her mind’s eye. “It was printed, as though she wanted to disguise her handwriting. As if she didn’t want us to have that small a hint of who she was.”

“Where was it mailed from?”

“Here in the city. I don’t know which post office. Garrett’s going to try to find out.”

“Garrett?”

“My older brother. There are four of us, you know?”

“No, I didn’t know.” He took the bottle out of Greg’s mouth and put him over his shoulder. He patted him on the back, gently, the way she had taught him. The baby burped and immediately began demanding the rest of his bottle.

“Abandoned on the doorstep of Maitland Maternity twenty-five years ago. We’re triplets, Shelby, Michael and I. Garrett’s the oldest. Shelby owns a diner on Mayfair, near the clinic. Austin Eats. Have you heard of it?”

“No, ’fraid not.”

“We’ll go there for lunch someday.”

“Sounds good.”

“Michael’s head of security at Maitland. Garrett owns a ranch outside the city. I have the store. We’ve got cousins scattered around the country here and there, but since Mom and Dad died there are really just the four of us. What about you?” She didn’t want to think of the way her family had changed in the past few hours. She had felt the earth move under her feet when Garrett and Michael squared off about searching for their mother. She didn’t want to think how deep a rift it might eventually cause in their relationships.

“One brother, one sister. Both married with kids. Both living out of state. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. We didn’t have much but family growing up. It was a bust time then.” Lana nodded. Texas’s economy had had a lot of booms and busts during the years it had been so dependent on the oil industry. “My dad nearly lost the business more than once. I joined the Marines when I got out of high school because he wouldn’t let me work for him, and I didn’t have the money to go to college. I ended up in Saudi.”

“You were in Desert Storm?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

For a moment she thought he would refuse, but then he began to talk. He told her of the weather and the vast expanses of sand. Of nights in the desert beneath a sky filled with stars, days spent readying themselves for combat. He talked of his friend Greg, his son’s namesake. Dead of cancer at twenty-seven. He didn’t mention his wife or how they had met, but surely it must have been through his late friend.

Dylan’s voice was low and rough, but soothing, too, like whiskey and honey mixed. She wanted him to go on talking, and she was afraid he would stop if she broke the spell with a question about Greg’s mother. The baby watched him and listened, too, his big blue eyes focused on Dylan’s face. It must have filled his world.

Greg finished the bottle, and Dylan burped him again. The little boy snuggled his face into Dylan’s neck and fell asleep. Lana wished she could do the same. “You’re getting very good at that,” she said. “He’s much more comfortable with you already.”

His mouth tightened. “I’m trying.”

“You’re a natural. Greg’s lucky to have you. Even if he has lost his mother he still has family. It will mean a lot to him in the future. I know. I don’t have any real roots of my own, only grafted ones. I loved my parents dearly, but sometimes it’s a little lonely inside.” She didn’t know why she was telling him this. It was late. She was tired. She didn’t like the sudden darkness that drained the softness from his eyes and hardened his face.

“I’ll do my best to give him that, if I can.”

“If you can? I just told you you’re doing great at this daddy business. He’s lost his mother. It’s tragic, but he still has you. You’re his father—”

Dylan cut her off. “That’s where you’ve got it wrong. I have every reason to believe Greg is another man’s son.”

CHAPTER FIVE

DAMN IT, had he really said the words aloud? He looked at Lana. Her eyes were dark with an emotion he couldn’t read.

“Are you sure?” she asked quietly.

He raked his free hand through his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent night’s sleep. Greg had been fussy all evening. Dylan had felt tied in knots trying to soothe the little one. She had said Greg could sense when he was angry or frustrated. As if to prove her right, the baby stirred and frowned in his sleep. Dylan began jiggling him gently, holding him close so he could hear his heartbeat and be reassured. Except his heart was hammering in his chest, thundering in his ears. He didn’t think that could be reassuring. He settled Greg a little lower in the crook of his arm.

She was waiting for an answer. “Yes. No. Look, will you just forget I said anything?” He should never have started talking to her. It was late. He was tired. She was too damned good a listener. He’d thought it was safe enough to talk about Saudi. After all, they’d both made it through without a scratch. But memories of his friend Greg and the months of pain and suffering before his death had crowded in.

And with that breach of his defenses came memories of Jessie. Young. Scared. Alone. So pretty. So needy.

“It’s not easy to forget a statement like that.”

He’d expected an automatic assurance that his words were instantly forgotten. A meaningless gesture, maybe, but one that would get him off the hook for tonight. That’s what Jessie would have done. What most women would have done. But not Lana Lord.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I never intended to say the words aloud.”

“And what about your son?”

“What about him?”

“Will you let it keep on affecting the way you feel about him?” He wondered if she was as good a shot with a gun as she was with words.

“I can’t answer that.”

She looked away. She folded her hands on the counter and stared at them. The overhead light picked out streaks of cinnamon and gold in her hair. He could smell her perfume, light and flowery. If he leaned a few inches closer he would feel the warmth of her skin radiating through the space between them. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t want Greg to suffer what I did as a child.”

“Suffer? I don’t understand.” But he thought he did, a little, anyway.

“Wondering why my mother left us on the doorstep of the clinic. Wondering what we’d done wrong that she would leave us all that way.”

“You said your adoptive parents loved you.” He didn’t love Greg. Couldn’t love him as a father should, and that ate at him. She was right. Kids could sense that kind of thing, no matter how hard you tried to hide it.

“They did. And it helped me put those doubts aside. But it never completely made them go away. I would hate for Greg to have those same doubts.”

“I told you I never intended to speak of it to a living soul.” Her adoptive parents had learned to love her. Maybe that was the key. Maybe he could be taught to love his son.

“You will try not to let it come between you and Greg.”

“I try every day of my life.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but at the baby he was holding. Her thoughts were all for Greg. For a moment Dylan was jealous of the sleeping infant. Lana was a woman who knew her mind and her heart, not like Jessie, who was buffeted by every passing emotion. Lana was fiercely loyal and fiercely dedicated to those she loved. It would be a lucky man who earned that love for his own. Was he hoping to be that man? Was that why he’d taken off his wedding band after all these weeks?

“What was she like?” she asked softly.

“She was twenty-four when she died, twenty-one when we married. It was a few weeks before Greg died. He had bone cancer. It went fast and it was pretty brutal.”

“You comforted her and perhaps you mistook her gratitude for love?”

“I knew there was another man,” he said, and heard the old anger in his voice. He swallowed hard and went on. “She was coming off a bad relationship. He was older, married. He broke it off and went back to his wife. Then Greg got sick. She was a wreck.” He hadn’t meant to be so blunt. This conversation was getting out of hand. Before he knew it he’d be telling her everything.

“And you were the one who was there to pick up the pieces.”

He considered not answering, turning away and walking out of the room. She wouldn’t follow him. She wasn’t that type. But if he stayed put, she’d keep asking questions as long as he kept answering them. And someplace inside him, a part of him wanted to keep talking, to maybe find out a few answers himself.

“I watched her grow up. She was just a kid when we went to Saudi. She sent tapes and letters. She was so young she dotted her is with little hearts and drew smiley faces in her Os.”

“But when you got back it was a different story.”

“Yes. She wasn’t a little kid any longer. She’d been living with an aunt. All the family they had left. And, well, she was a little wild.” She’d had a lot of problems with commitment and fidelity, too, but hell, he hadn’t known any of that until it was too late for both of them. She was cute and playful, and he’d fallen head over heels in love with her the first time he saw her. But he hadn’t told Greg. She was too young for him, and Greg had come to work for his dad. It would have complicated things.

He was Greg’s buddy, nothing more. Too old and too serious for her.

“You fell in love with her,” she prompted in that quiet voice of hers.

“Maybe a little.”

“Maybe a lot?”

“Maybe.”

“But you were just her older brother’s buddy from the war.”

“Yep, that was me. She went off to college and fell in love with her mystery man. Greg didn’t like it, but she was of age and there was nothing much he could do.”

She nodded. “Then Greg got sick. The love affair soured. Dylan to the rescue.”

“Semper Fi.”

“The Marine Corps motto.”

Semper Fidelis. Always faithful. He nodded. “Greg was my best friend. Jessie’s future was the most important thing in the world to him.” And he’d failed to keep her safe and happy. Instead, he’d contributed to her unhappiness and her death.

“But surely that doesn’t extend to—”

What was she going to say? He beat her to it. “A marriage of convenience? A rescue mission to save a screwed-up kid from herself?” He was angry again, and it showed. Greg squirmed and whimpered.

Lana took it right between the eyes. She didn’t flinch or look away. “Yes,” she replied steadily. “I guess that was what I was going to say.”

“I married Jessica because I loved her.” Somehow that seemed important to say. Maybe he thought it would shock him out of his awareness of Lana as a woman, all softness on the outside and steely strength on the inside, sitting there before him. Still, it was the truth. At least it had been for a while. But not at the end. Not for a long time before the end.

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