Rachel made Kane ache.

She awakened feelings he’d always kept control of. He felt the heat rising within him as his hands moved over her slimness. Not just the softness of her flesh but the softness within her reached out to him. He wanted to lose himself in her. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t any good for her. That she deserved much more. He wanted her.

Kane made Rachel want again, feel again.

This attraction hadn’t been in her plans. She’d come only to bring him his infant niece. But she couldn’t pretend this was simply about baby Heather anymore. That was the problem. Nothing was simple. After fifteen years away, she hadn’t banished the thrill when Kane Riley looked at her, touched her. And now that she knew his kiss, knew what being with him and baby Heather felt like, she wasn’t sure she could ever forget it….

Dear Reader,

It’s the little things that mean so much. In fact, more than once, “little things” have fueled Myrna Temte’s Special Edition novels. One of her miniseries evolved from a newspaper article her mother sent her. The idea for her first novel was inspired by something she’d heard a DJ say on her favorite country-western radio station. And Myrna Temte’s nineteenth book, Handprints, also evolved in an interesting way. A friend received a special Mother’s Day present—a picture of her little girl with finger-painted handprints and a sweet poem entitled “Handprints.” Once the story was relayed to Myrna, the seed for another romance novel was planted. And the rest, as they say, is history….

There are plenty of special somethings this month. Bestselling author Joan Elliott Pickart delivers Single with Twins, the story of a photojournalist who travels the world in search of adventure, only to discover that family makes his life complete. In Lisa Jackson’s The McCaffertys: Matt, the rugged rancher hero feels that law enforcement is no place for a lady—but soon finds himself making a plea for passion….

Don’t miss Laurie Paige’s When I See Your Face, in which a fiercely independent officer is forced to rely on others when she’s temporarily blinded in the line of duty. Find out if there will be a Match Made in Wyoming in Patricia McLinn’s novel, when the hero and heroine find themselves snowbound on a Wyoming ranch! And The Child She Always Wanted by Jennifer Mikels tells the touching tale of a baby on the doorstep bringing two people together for a love too great for either to deny.

Asking authors where they get their ideas often proves an impossible question. However, many ideas come from little things that surround us. See what’s around you. And if you have an idea for a Special Edition novel, I’d love to hear from you. Enjoy!

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman, Senior Editor

The Child She Always Wanted
Jennifer Mikels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Dan,

Always

JENNIFER MIKELS

is from Chicago, Illinois, but resides now in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband, two sons and a shepherd-collie. She enjoys reading, sports, antiques, yard sales and long walks. Though she’s done technical writing in public relations, she loves writing romances and happy endings.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“H e doesn’t like company. Isn’t friendly to anyone.”

Rachel Quinn had let Velma Monroe’s unasked-for advice float past her. It didn’t matter that Kane Riley wouldn’t be pleased to have company. She was going to see him.

“He has the Maggie Lee now, a cabin cruiser to take out the weekend warrior types,” the woman said on a little laugh while she punched in the prices of Rachel’s purchases on the lone register at the Grocery Mart, a family-owned grocery store. Velma was pear shaped with a no-nonsense, short hairstyle. A few gray threads wove through the soft-brown color. But despite a stern look, an often disapproving one, she had beautiful brown eyes.

“That’s the boat that Charlie Greer named after his late wife.”

Rachel recalled that from when she’d lived in Hubbard Bay years ago, and phone calls to Lori Wolken, a close school friend, had helped her play catch-up.

“And he bought himself the Sea Siren. It’s one of those touring boats to take the summer vacationers on cruises around the islands or for whale watching.”

Hunger gnawing at her stomach, Rachel placed two candy bars and a can of soda on the counter.

She watched the woman’s eyes shift with a curious glance from her blondish-red hair to the infant in Rachel’s arms. “Thought you’d have redder hair. Most Quinns do. You’ve been gone from Hubbard Bay for some time, haven’t you?”

“Sixteen years. I was fifteen years old when my family moved away.” Quickly she paid Velma for the items, including the package of diapers and a can of baby formula.

Velma cast another look at Heather. “Young one. Practically newborn, huh?”

“Yes, she is.”

“What’s her name?”

“Heather,” she answered while pushing the cart forward.

Somehow she managed to leave the Grocery Mart without answering Velma’s last question. “Why are you back in Maine?”

People would know soon enough. Even when Hubbard Bay’s population blossomed with tourists, locals kept close tabs on their own. Why she’d returned would be at the top of tomorrow morning’s gossip. Rachel didn’t care. She refastened Heather’s car seat. This baby was all that mattered.

She slid behind the steering wheel, then dug in the grocery bag for a candy bar. Before she began driving down Main Street, she’d devoured half the candy. Like so many other streets in town, this one led to the harbor and the piers for the lobster boats, the ferry landing, and the docks for the yachts, sailboats and tour boats.

Nearing the harbor, she rolled down the van window. The smell of the ocean, the sound of a foghorn, the squawk of gulls filled the air. From the crowded parking lot near the pier, Rachel spotted the Sea Siren and negotiated a parking space. The sky above the Atlantic carried a gray cast and the promise of a June storm. Summer tourists in windbreakers and funny-looking hats milled around the deck of the boat, chatting and laughing.

She sensed she didn’t have a lot of time. Rushing, she unfastened Heather, and with her in her arms, Rachel hurried from the van and across the parking lot to the pier.

In her path a grizzled-looking fisherman dressed in a yellow slicker was carting a bushel of crabs from his boat. Without slowing her pace, Rachel sidestepped him and half ran, half walked along the planks to avoid jarring Heather too much. The sooner she made contact with Kane Riley, the better.

Then she saw him. He looked different, she decided in that instant. More sinewy, with muscled arms and long, sturdy-looking legs. Taller. A man of the sea, with his deep tan. The boy she remembered and had ogled had changed. Handsome features had strengthened. High cheekbones carved into his face with its strong, square jaw. A touch long, shaggy, his dark hair ruffled beneath the wind. “Kane?” She stopped on the pier, waited for him to look up. Straight, dark brows lowered over piercing, smoky-gray eyes as he studied her for a moment—a long moment. She’d forgotten how deciphering those gray eyes were. Feeling weighed and measured, she almost squirmed. “Do you remember me? Rachel Quinn,” she yelled to him. “I need to talk to you.”

He cast off the bow line. “Don’t have time.”

“I’ve traveled more than twelve hundred miles to talk to you.” He tossed the stern line onto the dock. “It’s really important. Vital,” she mumbled to herself as he strode toward the wheelhouse.

Rachel abandoned any notion of trying to shout over the chugging of the engine. Perfect timing, she berated herself. With Heather cuddled close and nowhere to go, she watched the boat, filled with passengers, motor out of the slip. The bow rose, rode a small swell, then lowered. She took a deep breath, drawing in the smell of fish and seaweed. If she’d arrived earlier, she’d have had a chance with him, could have made her announcement.

Well, she hadn’t. She ambled back to her van. So she’d have to handle this situation differently. She knew where he lived. He’d inherited Charlie Greer’s home, the same house that had at one time belonged to her family. She’d lived there until her teens.

The street his house was on led to the top of a cliff. The cottage was perched at the end of the street, and on a clear day it had a spectacular view of the sea. Odd that fate had brought her back here, that Kane, the one person she needed to see, owned it now.

The white clapboard house with blue trim was weathered from the wind and in need of paint. Wooden steps led to a wide wooden porch. The home, with its steep gable roof, had a full attic, high ceilings, a brick fireplace and plenty of creaky floorboards and groaning doors. A fish-shaped weathervane on the roof spun to point north. Rachel recalled her mother had loved the house, loved being so near the water.

She parked at the curb, facing a sky darkening with a storm. Within an hour, it rolled in from the north. Through the closed windows of her van, the wind howled. In the pewter-colored sky, lightning cracked, splaying fingers toward the choppy-looking water. Waves crashed against the rocky coastline even before rain began pounding.

She shifted on the seat behind the steering wheel, ate a second candy bar and downed a can of soda. Despite the junk food snack, her stomach growled. Heather slept, unaware of the storm. Rachel assumed that Kane had docked hours ago. So where was he?

He wondered what she wanted. Kane had no problem putting a name to her face. He hadn’t seen Rachel Quinn in more than a decade, but she’d been the girl he’d gone to sleep thinking about, the girl he’d never asked out, a red-haired beauty with shoulder-length hair, a girl with looks that had promised in time to rock some man’s world. Just the sight of her had been a bright light to him during some of the most dismal of days.

Slim, long-legged, about five-five, she wore her hair shorter now, chin length. It swung with the movement of her head. She’d changed a lot, he reflected as he recalled the baby in her arms.

He could only guess why she’d wanted to talk to him. Either she was the sentimental type who’d needed to see the family homestead, or she wanted to find his kid sister. They used to be good friends.

He shrugged and finished his dinner, a meat loaf smothered with brown gravy. A quiet thing, Rachel had always waited outside the house for Marnie. He figured she was afraid of the old man. Ian Riley had been drowning his sorrow in booze nightly and was more often drunk than sober.

Kane cursed himself for not giving her a few minutes earlier. He figured he owed her. Big-time. Sweet, she’d offered his sister friendship when shunning Marnie had been the in thing to do. Kids could be cruel. He hadn’t cared that he wore sneakers with holes, but their poorness had proved harder for Marnie. At thirteen, she’d agonized over the thrift-store clothes, over the taunts. His sister’s saviors had been Lori Wolken, some other girl and Rachel Quinn.

Looking up, he stared at the window and the rain pounding against it while a waitress poured more coffee in his cup. He’d driven to Bangor earlier. He was in a foul mood, mostly because of the rain. If a downpour lasted for days, he’d lose money.

Living nearby was a certain brunette with no interest in anything but good times, which suited him fine. He kept his life free of complications, of connections with others. He always would.

As nightfall closed in on the town, Rachel grumbled under her breath. This was dumb. While she was sitting in a car, waiting for Kane, her legs cramping, he might be hunched over a warm meal somewhere. Expecting Heather’s cry any minute, she yanked the giant denim diaper bag from the floor to the seat and hunted for a bottle of formula that she’d made up in a gas station rest room earlier.

When lightning flashed again, she glanced at the cottage’s wide porch. She should have known this wouldn’t be easy. Nothing had been going right since she’d left Texas. She’d never believed in omens or superstitions. She’d always been far too practical, too level-headed for mystical ponderings. But she’d had a flat tire in South Carolina, the alternator had quit outside of Washington, D.C., and the water pump had begun to leak at Maine’s state line.

Weary, she slouched on the seat, wanted to close her eyes. She might have, but a beam of headlights sliced through the curtain of rain. Rachel squinted through the van windows and the downpour. An old-model black truck maneuvered into the driveway beside the house.

In seconds the truck door opened. Shoulders hunched against the rain, a man raced to the house in several long strides. Wearing a seaman’s cap, a yellow slicker, jeans and work boots, he might be anyone. That sounded like a logical reason to her for stalling. In truth, uncertainty plagued her, kept her in the van. Coming here to see him was what she’d promised to do, but was she doing the right thing?

A light went on at the back of the cottage. It was the kitchen. She’d dried dishes often enough at the old porcelain sink. Mentally she geared up for the next moments, considered what she’d say. This situation was too important for her to mess up. But she was no more prepared now than she’d been hours, even days, before, and her empty stomach knotted.

Nerves had kept her from eating more than the candy bars. She could have excused uneasiness to old feelings and memories of when he used to make her teenage heart palpitate. Unbeknown to him, Kane Riley had been the first love of her life. In retrospect, Rachel concluded that she’d fantasized about him because he’d been forbidden fruit, the bad boy. But she wasn’t fifteen anymore, innocent and naive; she was experienced, had had a lover. Whatever nervousness was besieging her had more to do with concern for a baby than puppy love.

As she slid out of the van, the wind whipped at her, tossed down her hood. She yanked it up again, then stretched into the back seat to unbuckle Heather from her car seat. She wrapped her snugly in a heavy blanket and nestled her against her chest and beneath the opened rain slicker.

Almost punishingly the rain whipped at the side of her face before she reached the steps. They creaked beneath her feet; memories flooded her. As a child, she used to chase up the stairs after her brother. As a teen, she’d come down those stairs with the gangly sixteen-year-old star of the school basketball team.

On the porch now, she dabbed a hand at her wet face before she knocked on the door. In a matter of minutes she would fulfill a plan that had started in Texas almost two weeks ago. Optimism, along with tenacity, ranked as her best traits, but she was filled with doubt.

Tempted to turn on her heels and scurry back to the van, she rapped again. An instant later, the door swung open. Kane still intimidated her with a look, she realized, feeling more nervous than she wanted to be. “Hi,” she said with exaggerated brightness.

Deep-set eyes traveled down to her soaked and mud-spotted sneakers, then came back to her face. “What do you want?”

Rachel had used the moment to inch closer to the screen door, to breathe again. “It’s been ages.” She gave him her best smile. “I don’t know if you remember me. I was friends with Marnie,” she said, hoping the mention of his sister would stir his smile. “We—my family used to live here—in this house.” When he said nothing, she went on, “Charlie Greer sold it to my parents. Before we moved to Texas, Charlie bought it back.” As another chill gave her goose bumps, she contemplated what was the best way to get Heather into the warm house. “Do you remember me?”

He bore a five-o’clock shadow. It darkened his jaw, emphasized the shiny blackness of his hair, those pale-gray eyes. “I remember you.” No friendliness entered those eyes, even when they slanted toward the pink bundle cradled in her arms. Had he trained himself to keep his face so expressionless, his emotions so unreadable? “If you’re looking for my sister, I can’t help you.”

“This is kind of complicated. May we come in?” Rachel had been so anxious to see him that she’d never considered he might not be receptive to her. Had he always been so unfriendly? Years ago, blinded by infatuation, she’d never noticed anything except his muscles, those gray eyes and the sensation that quivered within her whenever he’d been near. “I really need to talk to you.”

“About what?” Despite the question, he opened the screen door.

Edgy, Rachel gripped the straps of the diaper bag that she’d slung over her shoulder before leaving the van and scooted past him into the house. Behind her, she heard the click of the front door closing. Tension crept up again as she faced him. She couldn’t blurt out words. Now because he acted so displeased with their intrusion, she felt stymied how to proceed. She could hardly thrust Heather at him with her news. This baby is yours. Take her.

With Heather’s squeak, Rachel mentally returned to a more immediate concern. “I’m sorry, but I’ll need to change and feed her, or in a minute she’ll demonstrate her lung power.”

He pointed to his left. “You can take her in there.”

She knew what room he meant. It used to be her bedroom. An enormous room, she’d shared it with her younger sister, Gillian. She paused at the doorway. Her posters of rock stars, the collection of stuffed animals, the lovely, ruffled shams, the laced curtain and the patchwork quilt were gone. The room contained a bed with a bare mattress, a small chest of drawers and a rocking chair.

Bending over the bed, she unwrapped the pink blanket, then the pale-aqua lightweight one from Heather. “This was my room, mine and my sister’s,” she said, aware he’d followed and was standing in the doorway. It felt so strange to be in the room she’d called her own as a child. She’d never insisted on privacy from Gillian. She’d liked being in a room with her sister, especially on stormy days and nights. Rachel had hated to be alone. Her sister, daring and bolder even at a young age, had loved to sit with her nose pressed to the window and watch the sky explode with lightning.

“Are you almost done?” he asked, as if she’d said nothing.

It was best Heather was too young to understand any of this. Rachel removed the soiled diaper, then fastened a clean one. “Yes, I’m done,” she replied while she maneuvered Heather’s tiny feet into the fleece, peach-colored sleeper and zipped it. She dumped the soiled diaper into a plastic bag that she’d removed from the diaper bag and wiped her hands with a moist towelette.

Only once had he glanced at Heather. She remembered his father had been like this, curt and remote. An angry, morose man, he’d made Marnie cry with his harsh words. What if Kane had become his father? Would Marnie have wanted Heather to be with a man like that?

Kane eyed the baby in her arms, had already noted no wedding band. A baby and no husband. He’d never figured this kind of future for Rachel Quinn, then he’d never really known her. “There’s coffee if you want a cup,” he said, and walked out. He viewed her last few moments as a stall tactic. Whatever her problem was, she was struggling to spit it out. What bothered him most was why she was involving him.

“The coffee smells wonderful.”

He looked back over his shoulder, made eye contact with her. He wondered where she’d left the baby. With a hand he motioned toward the coffee brewer. “There.” He had no intention of waiting on her, making her feel welcomed. He caught a whiff of some light and lemony fragrance as she passed by to reach the coffeepot.

“That room is the one that I—”

“Grew up in,” he finished for her. Turning, he braced his backside against the kitchen counter. “I know.”

From across the table she stared quizzically at him. He couldn’t blame her. He was being more curt than he intended. But annoyance had inched under his skin. Annoyance with himself for letting her into the house.

“When did Charlie die?” she asked between sips of coffee.

“It’s been a while.” Because he lived alone, he paid little attention to the house. With her there, scanning the room, he noticed the refrigerator needed wiping. Unlike Charlie, he had no housekeeper, wanted no one snooping around. “Why don’t we cut to the chase. What do you want from me?”

“This is difficult.”

“If this is about my sister, I haven’t seen her in years.” He wondered if Marnie had found all she’d wanted. Wherever she’d gone and whatever she’d done, she had to have found something better than they’d had here.

“I know.”

“You know?” That caught his attention. “Does that mean you’ve seen her recently?”

Though Rachel remained unsure what to do about Heather, she had to tell him about his sister. Being the bearer of bad news was never easy. “Marnie was in Texas.”

“In Texas?” He set down his cup and gave her his full attention. “How do you know that?”

“I was there.” Rachel wanted to stop, plead a headache, illness—escape. How would she tell him?

“I worked in a bank, and she came in for a job.”

“She has a good job.”

“She was a bank teller.”

“She—” His face tensed.

She guessed her hesitation was irritating him, but how could she blurt out what needed to be said?

“Why do you keep saying…was?”

She could have told him that Marnie had chosen not to contact him. One night over dishes of rocky road ice cream, Marnie had cried and explained that she’d never wanted to burden her brother with her problems. “Kane, I’m sorry—”

“Sorry. What the hell are you sorry about?”

“Marnie died a week and a half ago.” Rachel gave him a moment while the words registered. She prayed her voice didn’t break, and she didn’t cry. “I tried to contact you.” She hurried an explanation. “I knew from Lori—Lori Wolken—that you were still living here. I tried to reach you.” She withdrew two papers she’d slipped earlier into her jeans pocket. “When I couldn’t, I called Lori with the news about Marnie. She told me that you weren’t in town.”

Expressionless, he kept staring at her.

Rachel wished someone who knew him was here. “I learned you returned from a two-week fishing trip yesterday.”

“How?” A demand edged his voice. She could hear a silent message. Explain this to me. Tell me this isn’t real. “How did she die?”

Rachel set the folded death certificate for Marnie and a birth certificate for Heather on the table. “Your sister was proud, really proud.” Would he blame Rachel? She’d always felt as if she hadn’t done enough, hadn’t come up with good enough arguments to convince Marnie that she shouldn’t have the baby at home, hadn’t tried hard enough. If only she’d convinced Marnie to accept help, how different everything might be now.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The harsh command forced her head up. Such pain clouded his eyes. She wanted to touch him. “I was her friend, but she wouldn’t let me help. She always said she wouldn’t take charity. I tried.” Rachel felt the knot forming in her throat. “I really did. But she wouldn’t go to the hospital, wouldn’t let me pay.”

“Hospital? She was ill?”

“Oh, no.” Rachel wished she was standing closer, could touch him. “Kane, she was pregnant. But instead of going to a hospital, she decided to have the baby at home.”

His shoulders raised, but that was the only visible change.

“She had a midwife come to the trailer.” Rachel took a step closer. This was far more difficult than she’d imagined. “There were complications. We called for an ambulance, and they rushed her to the hospital, but—”

He kept staring past her as if she were invisible.

“Before she reached the hospital, she was gone.”

“Why didn’t she have it in the hospital? She had a job, medical insurance, didn’t she?”

She had loved Marnie like a sister but wasn’t blind to her faults and hoped he wasn’t, either. “She took off a lot and lost the job.” She didn’t wait for him to ask why. “There was a man. She wanted to be with him.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but he held on to a stone face.

Rachel presumed he’d mastered that look when he was young. “Kane, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do—”

His deep-set eyes came back to her. “Was she scared?”

The memory of that night closed in on Rachel again. “I don’t think so.” She felt tears smarting at the back of her eyes and grabbed a deep breath. Tears now would do no good. “She wasn’t really aware,” Rachel added. “It all happened so fast.” Her voice trailed off. She was talking to his back. “Wait,” she said before he reached the door. She wasn’t insensitive to his need to be alone. She wished she could have offered some kind of solace, but what could she have said? That evening had been awful, frightening. She’d lost a wonderful friend. But it didn’t matter what either of them felt. Heather had to come first for both of them. “What about Marnie’s baby?”

Chapter Two

S ilence hung in the air. Seconds on the kitchen wall clock ticked by with excruciating slowness before he swung back, before those eyes locked on hers. “Baby?”

No, he didn’t look baffled. He looked dazed. As much as she wished she could give him time to mourn, she had to make him understand. Heather existed. If he didn’t accept his obligation— She let the thought die for a moment, hating to think of Heather as an obligation. But his acceptance of his responsibility for Heather might be the little one’s only hope for a life that didn’t include foster homes. “Heather—the baby is Marnie’s. You’re her uncle.”

As if someone had poked him hard in the back, it straightened. “So you say.”

What did that mean? Didn’t he believe her? “I’m telling the truth.”

In anger most people shouted, he spoke low. “You come here with a story about my sister and a baby. Okay, I don’t doubt my sister is—” He paused, his gaze dropping to the folded sheets of paper on the table. In an abrupt move he picked them up and unfolded one. Absently he ran a thumb over the seal of Texas on the paper confirming his sister’s death. “Okay. My sister is…gone. You’d have no reason to lie about that.”

She heard a silent but. “You don’t think I’m telling the truth about Heather?”

“The baby could be yours. You could be trying to pawn it off as Marnie’s.”

“Pawn it off!” Fury rose so swiftly Rachel thought she’d lose her good sense and take a swing at him.

“She’s your sister’s baby. Not mine.” He had no idea how much it hurt her to say that, how often she’d made herself remember that, since she had started caring for Heather. If he saw Heather’s gray eyes, eyes so like his own, or touched her and felt the velvety soft skin, he would never turn away from her. But he hadn’t even seen her yet. “Heather is yours.”

Before she could utter a protest, she watched him snag a rain slicker from a hook by the door. A second later it closed behind him. How could he walk away? Heather was his flesh and blood. He was the only one she had. How could he be so unfeeling, so indifferent? And what should she do now? She had no choices, she realized.

Planning to return to the motel for the night, she went to the bedroom and lifted Heather into her arms. Because of Kane’s reaction, misgivings about him nagged at her. Rachel drew Heather closer, wishing for some way to know she was making the right decisions for her.

Since that night, she’d become responsible for Heather. She’d been the one who’d first held Marnie’s baby. She’d cuddled the newborn close while the midwife had frantically tried to save Marnie’s life. After a call to 911, with paramedics crowding Marnie, Rachel had wandered to a far end of the room, rocking the newborn and praying for her friend.

No one’s fault. An unexpected rise in Marnie’s blood pressure. A cerebral hemorrhage. It would have happened at any time. Those were the words said to Rachel. Her friend’s life had been a thin thread, ready to snap. That knowledge had been small consolation.

Rachel had lost a best friend, a woman she’d been as close to as her sister, Gillian. And as Rachel would do for her brother or sister, she would have done anything for Marnie. With her gone, that loyalty transferred to Marnie’s baby, to a child she was struggling not to get too attached to.

Rain slowed to a drizzle by the time Kane reached Tulley’s Bar. His skin and hair damp, he straddled a stool at the scarred wooden bar and downed a whisky quickly, letting the heat burn his throat while he read the death certificate once more.

Because his old man had been a drunkard, Kane drank cautiously and never set foot in Tulley’s before sunset. Too many times his father had reached for a drink to start his day.

He stared at the amber liquid in his glass while he fought a myriad of feelings. The shock from Rachel’s words settled over him. It seemed unreal, impossible. Marnie was gone. His stomach muscles clenched. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been in his life for more than a decade. He’d believed she was somewhere else, that her life was better than the living hell they’d shared with their old man after their mother had died. But Marnie wasn’t happier. She was gone. He would never see her again.

He wanted to vent anger, but who deserved it? And to give in to a softer emotion never occurred to him. He’d blocked any urge to cry when his mother had died. Losing someone else close to him only reinforced something he’d always known. There was danger in letting the heart feel too much.

So what now? Did Rachel have his sister’s belongings? Who’d paid for the funeral? And what about the kid? Was it really his sister’s? If it was, what would he do with it?

At seven the next morning Kane had no answers. Even before he opened his eyes, he cursed the sound of rain thudding against the roof in a steady, syncopated beat. Through his bedroom window he saw the dreary gray sky. In no hurry he stretched on the bed, then roused himself. Rain had canceled yesterday’s tours. Today the Sea Siren would be stuck at dock all day. Yawning, he yanked on jeans and tugged a T-shirt over his head.

In the kitchen he plugged in the coffee brewer. On the table were the papers Rachel had given him. He unfolded the birth certificate. Heather Riley. He noted that someone had typed the word unknown on the line for the father’s name. The seal of Texas made the document legal. He closed his fingers around it. Calmer now, he could talk sensibly to Rachel. With only half a dozen motels in town, he assumed he’d have no problem finding her.

He gave himself half an hour to nurse a couple of cups of coffee, shower and shave, then drove his truck down Main Street toward the Sea Siren to talk to his deckhand before he started his search.

Instead of going to the boat first, as he spotted Rachel’s van parked outside Benny’s Café, he negotiated the truck into an adjacent parking lot. No amount of avoidance would work. He parked his truck and strolled toward the café. Through its windows, he saw her.

Head bowed, she sat in one of the blue vinyl booths. As he opened the café door, the bell above it jingled. The café was decorated in blue and white. A breakfast crowd, mostly locals, occupied the stools at the counter and several tables. Heads swiveled toward Kane before he shut the door behind him. He received no nods of hello, no smiles. He never expected any.

People believed he was his father’s child, and Ian Riley had ranked low on everyone’s list of favorite people by the time he’d died. For good reasons, they’d claimed. He’d come to town, sweet-talked Kathleen Feenley, and got her pregnant. He’d ruined a good girl. But no one had really objected to him until he’d become an embarrassment, the town drunk. Then Kane had committed his own offense. He didn’t need their condemnations. He damned himself whenever he thought about Charlie’s last day.

Ignoring stares, he weaved a path around some tables to reach Rachel. Though no sun shone through the windows, she looked sunny. He figured it was a visual thing. She wore faded jeans and a bright yellow top that clung gently to the curves of her breasts. Because too many emotions remained close to the surface, he steeled himself when he saw sympathy in her expression. “Guess we need to talk.”

“Sometimes it’s difficult for me to believe Marnie’s gone,” she said with a world of hurt in her voice that made Kane certain she wasn’t giving lip service but was telling the truth. “This must be such a hard time for you.”

“A shock,” he said candidly. He figured that this woman, with her overabundance of kindness and too-caring manner, set herself up to be hurt easily. While he slid into the booth across from her, she angled to her left. Was the baby there? Was it a boy or girl? A girl. He recalled Rachel saying “she” when in need of a place to change the diaper.

“I—” She closed her mouth when Rosie Furnam, the oldest of the café’s waitresses, a grandmother with a love for gossip, came near.

“Do you want something?” She looked less than pleased.

Kane never ate in town, hadn’t for years since Charlie had died. For meals out, he would drive to one of the towns nearby. “Nothing.”

“More coffee?” she asked Rachel.

Briefly Rachel’s eyes met his before raising to Rosie’s questioning stare. “No, thank you.”

Kane waited until Rosie finally sauntered away. “Tell me what happened to my sister.”

Rachel explained what the doctors in the emergency room had told her.

No one’s fault. Those words gave Kane no comfort. He glanced at the wall of windows, away from the soft compassion in the green eyes studying him. He wanted none of it. “You handled the funeral, you said.”

As if it pained her, she avoided meeting his eyes. “We had a small memorial service.” She concentrated on the dark liquid in her cup. “Several people from the trailer court, and former co-workers came.”

He didn’t want to know the details. “Let me know how much I owe you.” When she raised her head, he sensed she planned a protest. “She was my sister.” My responsibility. Except he’d forgotten that, hadn’t he? “And if I owe you anything else—”

“Please. She was my friend.” Moisture glistened in her eyes. “A wonderful friend. I’d have done anything for her. I wanted her to go to the hospital.” She was rambling as if trying to understand what went wrong. “I had money saved. She could have gone.”

Despite years of separation, Kane knew his sister wouldn’t take a handout from anyone. He wasn’t sure she’d have even welcomed help from him. They’d had to accept too much charity as kids. “She always was stubborn. If she didn’t want to take your help, you couldn’t have done anything to change her mind.”

“Thank you. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but—”

“I’m not doing anything,” he countered, because he wasn’t trying to offer comfort. Instinctively her chin rose a notch. Better she was offended. He didn’t need this woman as a friend. If she’d thought he planned to make this easy, she was wrong.

“I was telling the truth. Heather is Marnie’s,” she said softer as if suddenly aware how many people were staring at them.

“Marnie named her?” Less stunned, he admitted now that he really hadn’t doubted her. She’d have had no reason to lie about the baby, and like the death certificate for his sister, a birth certificate for the baby forced the truth on him.

“Heather was the name she’d said she liked best, the one I used for her baptism. Do you like it?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s fine. Who’s the father? He wasn’t named on the birth certificate.”

Rachel toyed with a spoon. “I really don’t know.”

“Why don’t you?” Settling back in the booth, he stretched denim-clad legs beneath the table. “You claim you and my sister were good friends.”

Inches from them, Rosie lingered at a table. Revealing discretion, Rachel waited for the waitress to move away. “We were. But Marnie never told me the father’s name. I asked, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

“How did you get the baby?”

“During her pregnancy, Marnie had written a note, had it notarized. It gave me temporary guardianship until Heather was with you. That protected her, kept her from falling into the system.” A slim, almost shy smile curved her lips. “I rushed here with her before anyone challenged the paper.”

He’d guess she was one of those honest-to-the-core people who didn’t even park illegally.

Her gaze shifted to the window. “The rain’s stopped.” Vacationers’ cars lined the town’s main street, bumper to bumper. Summer tourists ambled along the sidewalks now, drawn to the souvenir shops and art galleries.

Inside the café, they’d become the center of attention. Regulars at the counter stared their way. One of the waitresses cleared a table at a snail’s pace instead of getting an order to the cook’s counter. Kane thought the woman across from him needed to know. “Being with me isn’t the popular thing to do.”

Rachel met his stare with an equally steady one. “It never was. I was warned years ago to keep my distance from you.” She sounded slightly amused. “You were ‘the wild one,’” she said, a laugh definitely lacing her voice.

Eyes darted their way again. Questioning looks fixed on them when Rachel sounded as if she was having fun with Kane. As Rachel slid out of the booth, he expected one of the town’s do-gooders to rush over and deliver a warning about him. Bending forward, she grabbed the handle of the cushioned seat that held the baby and lifted it. Kane couldn’t see his sister’s child.

“I’m not fifteen now. I prefer to make my own judgments. I’ll see you at the house,” she said, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

He considered grabbing her arm, telling her there was no more to be said. But with her comment he imagined the shock rippling through the people seated at the tables and counter. If he caused a confrontation, he’d just make her grist for the gossip mill. He didn’t care what anyone thought, but he had enough guilt to bear without being responsible for the town ostracizing her for getting involved with him. No, thanks. He didn’t need any of this. His life had been simple, and he planned to keep it that way.

At the house Rachel stood on the porch, waiting for Kane. Her hand remained clenched around the handle of the baby carrier. At her feet was a suitcase and a bag, bigger than the denim one draped over her shoulder. This one was decorated with pink and blue ducks.

When he climbed out of his truck, she moved closer to the porch railing. “I have all of her things in the van.”

How much could someone that small have? Stalling, he stopped by the mailbox at the curb. They needed to talk this out now. She needed to understand that he had no room in his life for the baby. “She’s not staying,” he said as much for Rachel’s benefit as a confirmation that this was best.

As he joined her on the porch, he saw disbelief sweep across her face. “You won’t take her?”

He’d thought his problem was obvious. How could he take her? “I don’t know anything about babies.”

“That’s not really a problem. You can learn.”

He figured she was afflicted with the rose-colored-glasses syndrome. It didn’t matter that this child was his sister’s, that some part of her could be back in his life. “She belongs with her father, not me.”

A brisk wind cut a path through the porch. It whipped at her hair and flapped at the lightweight jacket she wore as if sensing a frail opponent. “I told you.” She hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know who that is.”

Kane shoved the house key into the lock and opened the door for her. “Then we’ll need to find him. Any ideas about where to start?”

She raised a hand, swiped at strands flying across her cheek. “I’d be guessing. I think he’s one of three men she dated on and off during the past two years.”

An urge to touch the silky-looking strands crept over him. “Why didn’t she tell you who the father was?” Shifting his stance, he blocked the wind from her and the baby. “I thought friends told friends everything.”

“Do you?”

He could have told her he had none. He didn’t allow himself that kind of closeness with anyone anymore. “It’s going to take time to find the baby’s father.” Because he wasn’t any more father material than his own dad, he asked a logical question. “What do you expect me to do with her?”

Worry rushed Rachel. She crossed her fingers and toes. She didn’t know what she would do if he refused. “Well—arrangements need to be made—to care for her. You could hire a nanny.”

“Why not you?” he asked, snatching up the pink-and-blue duck bag and the suitcase.

“Oh, no, not me.” Already she’d spent too much time with Heather. It was one thing to bring Heather to him, quite another to stay, care for her daily. She preceded him into the house. “I need to return to Texas.”

“Married?”

Rachel shot a look back at him. “No, I’m not but—”

“I can’t stay home with her,” he said, not giving her time to offer reasons. “Someone needs to be here.”

Rachel wondered what he thought she did to pay rent. “I never intended to stay. I have my job. I—”

He moved and dropped several envelopes and a magazine on a circular maple end table. “Then you’d better have another idea. Because you can’t come here, drop all of this in my lap and take off.”

Rachel scowled at him in vain. Head bent, he was sorting through the envelopes. What he’d said was exactly what she’d planned to do. One evening Marnie had insisted on talking about what-ifs. If something happened to her, she wanted Rachel to be her baby’s temporary guardian until she took the baby to its uncle. “Keep the baby until she’s with Kane, until you’re sure she’s where she’ll be happy,” she’d said.

A week later Marnie was dead, and Rachel’s lightly made promise had become a vow of forever. But what if the two promises didn’t go hand in hand? “I’m sorry, but I’m not the answer to your problem.” Her voice trailed off as those gray eyes fixed on her. She didn’t know what was more disconcerting—being ignored or having those eyes on her.

“What do you do?”

“I’m in charge of customer investments.” His brows knit with a questioning look. “Mutual funds, IRAs, annuities,” Rachel explained.

“So how did you get time off?”

She’d had to. She’d promised her best friend she’d take care of her baby. “After Heather was born, I took a leave of absence because I wasn’t sure when I’d be back. And I stayed home to be with her and to make arrangements, find you. Legally she’s yours, not mine now, because I did find you.”

“I can’t care for her by myself.” He waited a second as if giving his words time to sink in. “I can hire someone until I find the father, but that won’t happen by tomorrow.”

“There are a lot of wonderful people in this town,” Rachel reminded him. “They’ll help—”

“They won’t help me.”

Rachel puzzled over that. “Why wouldn’t they?”

For a long moment he held her gaze with an unflinching one. “If you leave, so does the baby,” he said instead of answering her.

He couldn’t mean that. “How can you—” She heard her own anxiousness and paused, drew a deep breath.

“You want what’s best for her, don’t you?”

What was his point? “Of course, I do.”

“I’m not it.”

Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t know if that was true. But Marnie hadn’t believed that. Seeing the stubborn set of his jaw, she knew he meant what he’d said. She was torn. She needed to protect herself. She could only do that by leaving. He had no idea what he was asking of her. She cast a look at Heather asleep in the infant carrier seat. She was so innocent. Someone had to protect her, too.

If she kept her guard up, she could help them, couldn’t she? Stop! Stop thinking about yourself. Think about the baby. The baby needs you. She remembered how hard it had been for her sister and brother when they’d lost their parents. Though she’d had some difficult times supporting and raising them, she’d done her best to hold them together. She’d known that the more love a child had, the better off the child would be. So she gave them all she could. Heather, too, needed that until Kane found Heather’s biological father or became the daddy Heather needed. “I’ll stay until you hire a nanny.”

“Fine.”

There was such a ring of satisfaction in his voice. “You expected me to change my mind, didn’t you?” Rachel challenged.

“You lead with your heart.” He looked down, checked his watch, offered no more explanation. “I have to leave.”

She assumed with the sky more blue and filled now with lighter, fluffier clouds that he had a tour or a fishing trip.

“Here’s a key to the house.” He detached a key from a ring. “We’ll need to get another made.”

Before she changed her mind, Rachel accepted it, but she hadn’t considered that a yes meant living with him.

“If you need help hauling anything in, leave it, and I’ll do it when I get back.”

She didn’t bother to ask where he was going or how long he’d be gone. With the closing of the door, she stretched for a breath, glad to be alone. He’d disturbed her more than a decade ago. And still did.

Get over it, she told herself while scanning the room. She was here to stay for a few days. But never had she expected to live in this house again. Clasping the key, she eyed the blue Early-American-style sofa. The furniture he’d chosen was an eclectic mix of Early American, Cape Cod and thrift store specials, though the blue sofa and a chair worked together, and the seascape over the fireplace was a blend of blues that suited the room.

Looking around, she could almost see her mother standing by the front window with its endless view of the ocean. Sounds of her brother and sister affectionately squabbling hung in the air. Near the fireplace an image came alive of her father petting the family dog, a black lab.

She loved the house, probably because some of the most wonderful days of her life had passed here with her parents and sister and brother. They’d been a family in the true sense, sharing love and laughter.

Family. She’d always wanted that. Other girls talked about careers, not Rachel. She’d always wanted a family of her own—husband, children. By now she’d thought that she’d be married, have that family, but so much of what she’d yearned for had passed her by. She couldn’t have regrets. There was no going back, no chance to recapture those dreams, and dwelling over what would never happen was a waste of time.

Curious to see if the house had changed, she lifted Heather’s infant seat and went into the kitchen. She’d explore the other rooms later. Stark, the room contained a round, dark-wood table and chairs, and a nineteenth-century corner cupboard. She stared at the shelf above French doors. Her mother had displayed her collection of nineteenth-century Staffordshire children’s plates and mugs on it. Now it was bare. There were no frills, no knickknacks, no decorative touches. The house of a no-nonsense man, Rachel gathered.

She placed Heather’s carrier on the floor by the kitchen table, then began opening and closing cabinet doors to locate coffee. Sparse, the cabinets contained only a few dishes and staples, enough food for one person to keep from starving. The refrigerator held eggs, beer, a few cans of soda, a bottle of good wine and cheese.

After finding the coffee, she started the coffee brewer, then reached for the telephone on a wall near the back door. Before she’d left Texas, she’d phoned her brother and sister. They’d both insisted she call collect when she located Kane.

Rachel stalled, waiting until the coffee finished hissing, then poured herself a cup while she prepared for her brother’s arguments. Sean had been concerned about her making the trip, about taking on the responsibility of Heather, but Rachel had assured her brother that everything was temporary. He would not be happy to hear she was staying.

His brother’s brief businesslike greeting preceded a beep. She left a cheery message, including her new phone number on his answering machine, then punched out Gillian’s phone number. The phone rang ten times. Who knew where her footloose sister was? Still Rachel tried again five minutes later while drinking a second cup of coffee.

“Hello,” a bright, happy voice greeted. People claimed Gillian resembled a redheaded Meg Ryan. Rachel didn’t see the physical resemblance. But both women were slim built, bubbly and had a sparkle in their eyes.

“Hello, yourself,” Rachel said.

“Hey, big sister. How are you? I was thinking about calling you. I have a new job, a modeling job in San Francisco.”

“Modeling?”

“For a hairstylist at a convention, so I’ll be leaving Los Angeles this weekend. I’ll let you know if I end up with orange or magenta hair.” She breezed on without taking a breath. “I assume you found Kane.”

“Yes. I’ll be staying in Hubbard Bay a little longer. What about Hawaii?” Since getting her small-plane pilot’s license nearly two years ago, Gillian had been looking for the “perfect job.” It had come last week. A charter plane company needed another pilot.

“I don’t go for another three months,” she answered. “So why are you staying?”

Rachel explained the situation with Kane.

“You’re living with him?”

“He’s gone most of the day,” Rachel was quick to remind her. Don’t ask what I’m doing. It sounded insane, she knew. She was living with a man she didn’t know, for an indefinite amount of time, to protect a baby she didn’t want to get too close to. The situation was ludicrous.

“Sean was worried you’d get attached. Did you call him?”

“I left a message.”

“He won’t be pleased.”

No, he wouldn’t be, Rachel knew. Even though he was three years younger than her, he’d become as protective as a big brother since he’d become an adult. “I’m not attached. I could hardly leave Heather with a man who knows absolutely nothing about babies.”

“So you’ll stay there until he does?”

Rachel shared with her Kane’s plan to find Heather’s father. “I’ll be here until he hires a nanny or finds the right man. I’m not certain that he’d be best for Heather.”

“You think she should stay with Kane?”

Now there was a question. “I don’t know.”

“Such indecisiveness is so unlike you, Rachel. You usually know what you’re doing at every moment.”

“This is a different situation.”

A smile sprang into her voice. “I’m glad you’re not being too logical.”

“I’m being logical,” Rachel countered but didn’t feel defensive, aware her sister, who was a relentless tease, was having fun at her expense. “The baby needs someone with experience to care for her.”

“You know, it’s all right if you don’t act sensible all the time. For too many years, you had to think about the consequences of everything for you, Sean and me. You need to enjoy. Wing it.”

Rachel laughed. “Wing it?”

“Do something adventurous.”

“And you should show some caution,” Rachel returned.

Another bubbly laugh came through the phone. “Got to go now, sis.”

Rachel shook her head, aware Gillian lacked even a smidgen of caution. Lovable and unpredictable, she lived for the moment. Rachel rattled off Kane’s phone number to her sister and elicited Gillian’s promise to call when she reached San Francisco. Do something adventurous, she’d said. Wasn’t staying with a stranger adventurous enough for a woman who lived an orderly, well-thought-out life?

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