Читать книгу Dream Baby - Ann Evans - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

May 1999

THE KID HADN’T SAID a word in over two hundred miles.

Jake Burdette slid another glance away from the road, just to make certain his son hadn’t fallen asleep or turned to stone or gone into some sort of cosmic trance.

Nope, Charlie was still with him all right, still seated in the front seat of the car, still so uncommunicative Jake might as well have been keeping company with an upscale kids’-store mannequin. One twelve-year-old boy dressed in clothes that were too tailored, a haircut that was too precise, a suitcase that was too expensive and an adolescent chip on his shoulder as big as a house.

Since the moment Jake had picked him up at Thea’s in New York—his private school term barely over—then flown down to Norfolk, and on to Orlando, conversations between the two of them had been increasingly one-sided. Nothing more than shrugs and grunts and a few uh-huhs ever since they’d hit the interstate. Not even the eye-popping excess of billboards advertising Florida’s theme parks got a reaction, and Jake’s suggestion that someday they might return for a trip to Walt Disney World was met with a complete lack of interest.

Jake stifled a huge sigh and glanced out the window.

There was no doubt that this little side trip to Florida had come at an inconvenient time in Jake’s life, a time when he really needed to focus all his attention on Charlie.

But right now, he had to keep his promise to his brother.

And Florida wasn’t that bad. After inching through the traffic congestion of Orlando, they’d headed north, past Thoroughbred country in Ocala, through the long corridor of rolling land that made up Florida’s panhandle. The area made you realize not all of the state had given way to the big developers. It was woodsy and wild, and it reminded Jake of some of the wonderful places his grandfather had taken him and his brother, Bobby, camping in Virginia.

To a spoiled snob of a city boy like Charlie, it must look like the backside of the moon.

Maybe Jake should tell him about a few of those childhood trips. They needed to start someplace. He opened his mouth to speak, but in that moment there was the familiar sound of electronic music. Charlie had pulled the video game out of his backpack. The kid could go hours on that thing.

So much for a folksy tale to bond them together.

An hour later Jake pulled off the interstate to gas up. Charlie was still smashing invaders from some high-tech planet—evidently meeting with success, if all the beeps and metallic crashes emitting from the video game were any indication. Still not a word of conversation. The only change in the boy’s stony countenance was the occasional frown of displeasure he gave the game in his hands.

Jake watched him covertly as he ran gas into the sports car’s tank. His son had a sweet forehead, wide and unblemished and intelligent. Without trying very hard, Jake could remember when the boy was four and had suffered through chicken pox—chicken pops, he’d called them—and Jake had sat by the side of his bed and stroked and stroked Charlie’s forehead until the boy had dropped into a restless sleep. Where had all that trusting innocence gone?

He screwed the gas cap back into place and then leaned against the passenger door. “You want a soda from the machine?”

Still fighting his video war, Charlie shook his head. There was the descending sound of a sudden defeat, and with a sigh of complete disgust, Charlie switched off the game and tossed it into the back seat. He stared out the front windshield.

“Sorry,” Jake said, guessing that he’d broken the boy’s concentration, and therefore caused him to lose the war. Jake turned and headed toward the convenience store. He seemed destined to remain on his son’s enemy list.

But for how long? How long would it take to reestablish a relationship that had once been taken for granted? He couldn’t give up. Charlie was his now. Thankfully, Thea had seen the wisdom in avoiding an ugly court battle.

From the interstate they bumped onto the cracked, paved road that led to Blue Devil Springs. “Almost there,” Jake remarked, trying for a cheerful tone.

No response. No surprise there.

“Look, Charlie...Charles,” he corrected himself when the kid turned an annoyed glance his way. “I know you’d rather be back in New York with your mom. I know you’re angry because you’re with me now. I don’t expect you to understand all the reasons behind that decision, but someday when you’re old enough...”

He stopped. God, he sounded so much like his father. And the kid would resent a lecture. A different approach was definitely in order.

“You know, after I take care of business in Florida, and we get home to Norfolk, you might find you like it. It has beaches. And we can go to the mountains, up to Washington...”

Again he stopped. He sounded pathetic, trying to find favorable comparisons between the two places.

He searched his son’s profile, looking for some chink in Charlie’s armor and not finding any. The kid’s jaw was tight with tension, and his gaze out the front window seemed impenetrable. And then suddenly the boy’s mouth gaped open a little, and he muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

Jake discovered why when he jerked his glance back to the road.

They’d reached the town of Blue Devil Springs.

Town was probably too big a word for the place. It wasn’t much. A few cross streets made up all of the downtown area, a collection of businesses that bore simple, unvarnished pronouncements like Ed’s Hardware, Painted Lady Antiques, the Cut ’n Curl, and a small establishment called simply the Pork Store. If Andy and Barney and the whole Mayberry crowd had been looking for a place to retire, this could have been it.

He drove slowly past the main intersection. Looking closer, he saw that Blue Devil Springs wasn’t a complete loss. There was a certain charm and Southern grace about it. There were lots of big oak trees dripping moss and a pretty Victorian band shell in the center of a small park. The grass there was green and lush. It wasn’t a ghost town bypassed by progress. The people on the streets looked energetic and involved in life, and overall, the place had an open, friendly feel.

Beside him, Charlie was still in a trance of stunned surprise.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jake said. “Don’t panic.” The boy rolled his eyes, but remained silent. “I’m getting hungry. Let’s see if we can find a place to get some food and information.”

They discovered some activity around what seemed to be the only red brick building in town—the Whispering River Café and Outfitter’s Post. Colorful rows of kayaks and canoes leaned against the building, and several huge tubs of dainty flowers led the way to the entrance.

The interior of the store wasn’t the dark, backwoods outpost Jack expected. It was bright, upscale, full of environmentally correct merchandise. As Jake led his son toward the back of the store where the café seemed to be, they wove past listening posts of New Age music, stacks of camping gear and a bulletin board fluttering with offers for guided float trips down the river.

The café was also a surprise. The room was small, but bathed prettily in mild sunlight coming through large arched windows. Unframed artwork decorated the walls. There were leafy alcoves for privacy. According to the menu posted at the entrance, vegetarian dishes seemed to be the heavy favorites.

They found a table for two against one wall. Almost before they sat down, a tall, good-looking fellow in jeans and a Save-The-Planet T-shirt placed menus in front of them and promised to return in moments.

For the first time, Charlie seemed to be interested in his surroundings, and Jake realized it was the artwork that drew the kid’s attention. Charlie’s gaze traveled over the numerous canvases that lined the walls, then settled on the one right beside their table. And suddenly Jake could see what had caught the boy’s interest.

Trendy as the Whispering River might be, whoever had decorated the place had made one huge mistake. The artwork was awful. Amateurish. They were all oils, the majority of them landscapes, but there wasn’t a stroke of talent in any of them that Jake could see.

Like Charlie, he peered closer at the one nearest them. It was a Florida beach at sunset—lifeless and boring, with wheeling seagulls in the sky that looked unpleasantly like flying worms. Jake’s eyes slid down to the artist’s signature. NLH, it said, and Jake noted that several of the surrounding works bore those small slashing marks in the right corner. He hoped to heaven that NLH hadn’t quit his day job.

He shook his head. “I guess now we know who actually buys all those Starving Artist paintings,” he muttered.

He hadn’t expected a reaction from Charlie, so it surprised him when the kid gave a little snort of amusement. Not an all-out laugh, really, but it was a more encouraging response than Jake had elicited from the boy so far.

He said softly, “You know, when you were five, you drew this great picture of a fish. Your mom put it on the refrigerator.” He motioned in the direction of NLH’s landscape. “In a head-to-head comparison, I think yours is better. At least I could tell it was a fish.”

Charlie turned his head to look at his father. “Mom still has that picture,” he said coldly. “It’s in a box with a bunch of my old stuff. Guess that’s all she’s gonna have of me now.”

Jake felt his heart rate slow to a crawl. So much for connecting. One step forward. One step back. “You’ll still be visiting your mother.”

Charlie’s gaze was openly dubious. “You won’t let that happen.”

“That’s not true. I want you to keep in contact. But there have to be some guidelines to your visits. She can’t just...there has to be someone looking after you.” Jake unfolded his napkin carefully and placed it across his lap. Criticizing Thea wouldn’t accomplish a thing except send Charlie further away. Quietly he added, “Right now your mother’s career is very important to her, and she doesn’t always think about her responsibilities.”

“Like you thought about yours five years ago?”

Jake lifted his head and met his son’s eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for apologies and justifications, but neither would he allow Charlie to believe everything Thea had probably told him about his father.

“When your mother and I broke up, I had a job that kept me out of the country for months on end,” he declared firmly. “Bridge construction often takes place in locations that barely have indoor plumbing. I couldn’t drag a little boy off to an environment like that. It seemed best to let your mother have full custody. She gave up modeling when she married me, and I had no idea she was so involved again. I thought—”

“She’s famous,” Charlie flared. “She doesn’t need you for anything. She’s a supermodel, and everyone loves her.” He turned his attention back to the painting on the wall, and Jake watched while muscles jumped and twitched along the tight ridge of Charlie’s jawline.

The boy was right. Everyone did love Thea. If you could believe half of what you read in the tabloids.

While heavily involved in rebuilding the family construction company, Jake had heard all about his ex-wife’s life. The New York parties that ran until all hours of the night. Rubbing elbows with the Hollywood elite. He was glad he wasn’t part of that lifestyle, but he’d never begrudged Thea any of it. She’d always been a good mother. There was never any mention of Charlie in those tabloid stories and Jake had been confident his son was safe. That Thea had never drawn him into her social life.

Until he walked away from a Nigerian newsstand six months ago with an American paper in his hands and saw the media coverage of Thea’s latest New York party. A glittering montage of celebrities and social arbiters all laughing, drinking, pressed close to one another. And in the middle of it all, his son Charlie. He knew in that moment that for four years he’d been fooling himself, and that as fathers went, he’d been pretty damn negligent.

It was an interesting bit of irony to discover that he’d failed miserably as a father on the same day that he was to make a catastrophic mistake with his own brother as well. That afternoon Jake had been furious with Thea, and three telephone calls to his lawyer in the States that wouldn’t go through hadn’t helped. The hill crew had yet to check in, and after the road foreman had asked a second time what they should do about it, Jake had snapped at Bobby to take care of it. Bobby, who’d never questioned a directive his older brother gave him. Bobby, who had always looked up to him and counted on Jake...

The waiter brought tall glasses of water to the table. He didn’t carry a pad to write down orders, and the small badge over his left breast said his name was Ben. Beneath it was a button that proclaimed, “Yes, I’ll remember what you want.”

“The special today is sliced turkey on mixed rye and pumpernickel,” he said with a genuinely friendly smile. “The soup is tomato bisque. Can I get you something to drink?”

Charlie swung his attention from the painting on the wall and scowled up at Ben. “A blind man could paint better pictures than these!”

“Charlie!” Jake snapped. “Apologize.”

He and Ben exchanged glances, and Jake had the oddest notion that the man knew the boy’s anger was not really directed at him. “No, that’s all right,” Ben countered. “Everyone’s an art critic. To tell you the truth, I’m not that crazy about them myself.” Then, with a wink, he added, “But you ought to see the artist.”

Charlie had subsided into sulky silence. Jake tried to fill the void. “Good-looking, huh?”

“Nora Holloway’s one of the prettiest girls the Springs ever produced. So what if she ought to be painting barns instead of beaches?”

“So the owner thinks he’ll win her over if he buys a few of her paintings?”

“I’m the owner,” the waiter said with a light laugh. “No, we tried a few years back, but it was plain as pudding we didn’t click. So what can I get you two?”

Jake ordered a rare burger, and Charlie asked for the special with instructions on just how much mayonnaise he wanted on his sandwich and a fussy inquiry as to the freshness of the lettuce. Was it possible to get alfalfa spouts instead?

Jake sat back in his chair and wondered when the little boy who had eaten mud pies in the dirt had become so picky.

Silence descended while they waited for their lunch. Charlie took out a pen and started doodling on the place mat—nesting circles with spikes along the edges. Jake hid his annoyance by studying NLH’s painting again. He hoped Ben was right about her looks, because she sure as hell had no gift with depth perception.

The meal came, and it looked delicious. Without a word, Ben went off to snag ketchup and mustard for Jake’s burger.

A layer of glistening hamburger juice covered the top of his bun, and Charlie’s lip curled in repulsion when his father made no attempt to pat it dry. “Gross.” Then he sighed heavily. “How long are we gonna stay in this place?”

“Just until we find the lady I told you about. I promised Uncle Bobby I’d find her, make sure she’s all right. I’m sorry the sitter fell through and I had to drag you down here with me, but as soon as I take care of this, we’ll be on the next plane out. Unless you’d like to have a little vacation. School’s over. We could kick back and do some fishing.”

Charlie looked horrified. “That’s your idea of a vacation? Fishing?”

“We’d do what you want to as well, of course. What did you do on your last vacation?”

“Mom took me skiing in Switzerland. We stayed with an Italian count.” Charlie’s mouth quirked. “In a castle.”

Jake didn’t care to admit that even though he could speak fluent Italian and had been around the world more times then he could remember, he’d never learned to ski.

Thankfully, Ben returned to the table, placed the condiments in front of Jake and then rocked back on his heels. “Everything look okay?”

Jake nodded around a mouthful of burger. With one hand, he motioned Ben to stay. Taking a swallow of iced tea, he asked, “I wonder if you’d know a woman in town named Isabel Petrivych? Not a full-time resident. Her friends at college say she comes up here quite a bit to work for some hotel during school breaks.”

“Hotel?” Ben echoed with a shake of his head. “There aren’t any once you get away from the interstate.”

“I only met her once, but she’s attractive—dark hair, dark eyes, a slight Slavic accent. By now she must be noticeably pregnant and—”

“You mean Izzie?” Ben interrupted with a sudden grin. “Yeah, I know her. And she’s more than ‘noticeably’ pregnant. She’s about six months gone.”

“Do you know where I can find her?”

“Anyone in Blue Devil Springs can tell you where to find her. She and Nora have got this town buzzing, what with their plans for the baby.”

“Nora?” Jake prompted. The inquiries he’d – made to find Isabel hadn’t mentioned the involvement of another woman.

Ben pointed toward the painting on the wall. “NLH. Nora Lyn Holloway. She and her brother own Holloway’s Hideaway about three miles down the road. Their cabins are built around the headwaters of Blue Devil Springs. Once it boils out of the ground, it feeds into three rivers. Cleanest in the state, and you’ve never seen prettier.”

Jake put down his burger to give all his attention to Ben. “And this woman is helping Isabel with her pregnancy?”

“More than that, from what I hear. The two of them have met with Nora’s lawyer and are ironing out the final plans.”

“Final plans for what?”

“Adoption.” Ben tossed a look over his shoulder, conscious of other diners waiting. “Can I get you two anything else?”

Charlie shook his head. “No, thanks,” Jake replied absently. Uneasiness clogged his throat, and he suddenly felt his appetite vanish.

Absently he watched his iced-tea glass sweat a water ring on his place mat. Adoption for Bobby’s child? Jake had never considered that possibility. As little as he knew of Isabel, he’d assumed she planned to keep the baby. That meant the child could be told about his father. Adoption, on the other hand, would effectively sever the link to Bobby. Jake didn’t like the sound of it at all.

The remainder of the meal passed without incident and in silence. Jake left a generous tip on the table and took the bill up to the register, where Ben was doing double duty as the cashier.

Ben handed Jake his change. “Thanks for coming in.”

“There is one more thing I need, if you don’t mind,” Jake said. “Directions.”

“Sure. Where you want to go?”

Jake inclined his head toward one of the paintings directly behind the cashier station. “NLH. Where do I find her?”

HALFWAY TO a sitting position. Isabel groaned and shook her head. She fell back on her elbows.

Nora smiled encouragingly, though she had just finished a punishing series of sit-ups herself. This would never do. Isabel had managed only ten easy crunches today, and if they were going to keep to Dr. Brewster’s recommended regimen of exercise for expectant mothers, they had to do better than this.

Drawing her legs up so that she could rest her chin on her knees, Nora eyed the girl speculatively. Isabel was a brilliant medical student. Someday she’d make a wonderful doctor. But she was one stubborn pregnant woman.

“Come on, Iz,” Nora pressed. “You can do it. One more time.”

They were seated on the huge Indian rug that lay in front of the resort’s registration desk. Throwing Nora one last sullen look, Isabel maneuvered backward until her spine was against the wall of the desk. “I don’t want to,” she replied, crossing her arms across her breasts.

“Of course you don’t. But you need to. Remember what Dr. Brewster said? Strengthening your abdominal muscles will—”

“—make the delivery easier,” Isabel finished for her. “Yes, I know, and I don’t care. No more crunches today.”

“It’ll also make it easier to get your figure back after the baby’s born. You want that, don’t you?”

Isabel cast a disgusted glance downward. “Too late. It will never come back.”

“I’ll do them with you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better. You sit there looking like a model on a workout video, while I look like I’ve swallowed a basketball.”

“No, you don’t. You look beautiful,” Nora said and meant it. “Glowing.”

“It’s the sweat—” The girl’s face suddenly transformed to surprise, and her hands flew upward to clutch her stomach. “Oh!”

Nora moved to Isabel’s side quickly. “What’s the matter?”

“The baby kicked really hard.” She massaged the swell of her abdomen, grinned sheepishly after a long moment, then captured Nora’s fingers in hers. “Give me your hand.”

At first Nora felt nothing. Then suddenly, beneath the thin material of Isabel’s blouse, she felt the slight roll of the baby as it shifted in the womb. It was such a small thing, no more than a sliding pressure against her fingertips, but it stalled Nora’s breath in her throat.

She lifted her eyes to Isabel and smiled. “So strong,” she said. Her fingers tingled, eager to feel that movement yet again, but the baby had settled down, and the jump of life had disappeared. “Is it wonderful to feel him move inside you?”

“No. It’s unnerving. Scary. Like an alien creature is trying to take over my body.” Catching sight of Nora’s budding frown, she added, “Don’t look so upset. Not every woman instinctively longs to have a baby, you know.”

“You might learn to love him as you reach your due date.”

“I won’t,” Isabel said in such a precise, cool way that Nora’s frown deepened. The girl scooped a handful of dark hair away from her face and flung it back over one shoulder. “I don’t see motherhood the same way you do, Nora. I’ve never wanted children, and God knows, I had even less reason to want this child after I spoke to Bobby in December.”

Five months ago, when Nora had found Isabel at her front door, the girl had tearfully confessed that a two-day love affair with a young engineer on his way to a job overseas had produced a child. But when she’d called him in Nigeria to give him the news, the jerk had encouraged her to have an abortion, even volunteering to send the necessary funds by Western Union. Horrified by the suggestion, Isabel had told him just what she thought of that idea and then fled to the only person she knew she could turn to and trust with her secret—Nora.

“I made such a horrible mistake,” Isabel continued with a rueful shake of her head.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. My parents had such high hopes for me. I am the oldest child. They saved for years to give me a good education in America.” Isabel dropped her head, her gaze fastened on her swollen stomach. “If they knew—if I wrote and confessed how I have disappointed them...”

“You could never disappoint them,” Nora said. She reached for Isabel’s hand, drawing the girl’s eyes upward again. “They love you. Perhaps you should give them the chance to show you how much.”

“No,” Isabel replied firmly. “This is what’s best for everyone. Bobby and I got carried away by a night filled with too many stars and two many glasses of wine. I’ve seen what happens to children whose only mistake in life is to be born in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can’t do that to a child.”

They had argued this point more than a few times. Isabel was determined to give the baby up for adoption. She had very clearly defined career goals to become a doctor and the tenacity to make them a reality. Her parents had sent her to the United States for an education in the hopes that she would return to her war-torn homeland to help rebuild it. It was a noble, lofty ambition, and it would not be an easy life. Especially for a young woman with a small child.

“It doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t have to go back to Bosnia.”

“Yes, I do. I owe it to my family. And my country.”

“Izzie, what if—”

“No,” Isabel cut in. “I’ve made up my mind, and I’m not going to change it. I deliver a healthy baby and begin my internship at Blakely-Forbes, and you become the wonderful mother you were always meant to be.”

The mother you were meant to be. The words settled around Nora’s heart, full of unbelievable good fortune and frightening possibilities. Could it really be so easy for her to become a mother at last?

Two months ago, after the prenatal visit that had confirmed the baby’s sex as a boy, Isabel had suddenly posed the idea, one she’d evidently been considering for some time. They had been having lunch at the Whispering River. Nora had just slipped a bite of chicken salad onto her fork, and Isabel’s words stilled her hand in midair.

“I would like you to adopt my baby.”

The café was noisy, full of diners, and Nora shook her head, not sure she’d heard correctly. “What?”

“I’d like you to adopt my baby.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“Don’t say no right away,” Isabel added quickly. “Just think about it.”

“There’s nothing to think about. It’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“It just is.”

“Why? Because you’re not married? Single women have been adopting children for some time now. Many come from my own country—out of orphanages where they would surely have died. At least in this case you’d know who the mother was, and I can promise you, in spite of the fact that Bobby doesn’t want the baby, he comes from a good family. Virginians. Aren’t those founding fathers or something?”

Nora shook her head, knowing that her gaze on Isabel must be incredulous. “Izzie, I can’t adopt your baby.”

Isabel set her water glass down and looked back at her with clear, determined eyes. “Nora, for as long as I have known you it has been your dream to have a child. Why not my baby? Give me reasons.”

It was crazy. Too fast. She couldn’t just adopt her friend’s child. Could she?

The answer was yes, according to Nora’s family attorney, John Forrester. Nora, who had greeted the new year certain that she was destined to remain childless for life, could be celebrating next Christmas as a mother. The idea—so frightening, so wonderful—had taken hold and now had such a tight grip on her senses that most nights Nora could hardly sleep for thinking of all the ways she would love this child.

Isabel drew her attention back to the present with a touch of her hand. “Nora,” she said softly. “Have you changed your mind? Do you not want this child?”

Nora’s stomach was full of sudden butterflies, but she responded in a low, unshakable voice. “I want this child with all my heart.”

Isabel smiled. “Then together we will make it happen.” With a toss of her head she climbed carefully back to her feet, dragging Nora with her. “Now, please, no more torture today. Ten crunches are enough.”

“All right,” Nora conceded as she slipped back into her sneakers. “But twice as many tomorrow.”

Brushing wisps of hair out of her eyes, Nora tightened the ponytail at the back of her neck. Isabel toed the rug back into order where it had bunched up, while Nora maneuvered two enormous leather chairs back into place. Placing them at just the right angle, she glanced out the wide front window, past the front driveway and the narrow grassy slope where railroad-tie steps led down to the spring pool. Through the trees, the water was no more than a cool, inviting glimpse of crystalline blue. It was still a little too chilly for swimming. Memorial Day really kicked off the beginning of summer, and right now there was no movement down there. Not even a canoe sliced through the water of the river.

Nora cut her eyes to the left, down the line of Cabins One through Three, where the Hideaway’s only guests, a couple from New Orleans, had checked into Cabin Two a couple of days ago. “The Pullmans’ car is gone. Wonder where they’re off to.”

“Oh,” Isabel said from behind the registration desk. “I knew I forgot to tell you something.” When Nora swung around, she grimaced and said, “They checked out.”

Nora frowned. “When?”

“While you were fixing the air conditioner in Cabin Six.”

“That’s a day early. Did they say why?”

“Mr. Pullman said his office called unexpectedly.” Isabel wrinkled her nose, clearly indicating she doubted that story. “Mrs. Pullman said the quiet made it impossible for them to sleep at night.”

“Damn,” Nora muttered. She walked to the front of the registration desk, leaned over the counter and pulled the reservation book in front of her. What she saw there didn’t make her feel any better. “We don’t have anyone else booked until Friday.”

Determinedly optimistic, Isabel rushed into speech. “Unless we get a walk-in, that gives us three days to relax. You can paint, and I can soak in the tub. Try to get my belly to stop itching.” She must have seen something in Nora’s face, because her tone became anxious. “What’s the matter?”

Nora’s breath escaped in one long sigh. “Izzie, I can’t provide a good home for the baby if the Hideaway continues to lose money this way. Cabin Six is going to need a new compressor. Four has a water leak in the bathroom, and I’ll be darned if I can find it.” With a flick of her wrist, Nora turned the reservation book around so that Isabel could see as she flipped through the pages, stopping on the weeks of June, July and August. Too many blank spaces where names ought to be. “The summer should be completely booked by now.”

She shut the book with a snap, leaning dejectedly against the counter. “Maybe Trip is right,” she said almost to herself, remembering the last argument she’d had with her brother. “Maybe it’s time to sell the place.”

Isabel gasped. “You don’t want to do that. You love the Hideaway.”

“I do. And I’d eat bread and water before I’d let it’go. But a baby needs things, expensive things...”

“The baby needs someone to love him. And that he will have. You mustn’t give in to Trip’s demands. He has his own selfish reasons for wanting you to sell.”

Nora smiled at her. Isabel made no secret of her opinion of Trip. “I know he’s not without his faults, but he’s still my brother and the only family I have left.”

“Better to be completely on your own, perhaps,” Isabel grumbled.

Nora decided to ignore that remark. How could Isabel hope to understand the relationship Nora shared with her brother? The girl had grown up in a large family, with so many siblings jockeying for position, vying for their parents’ attention.

But childhood had been completely different for Nora and Trip. The Hideaway had gone through years of financial difficulties, and although loving, Nora’s parents had been too busy trying to keep the family business afloat to spend much time catering to the whims of their children. Trip had been a demanding baby, and Nora, a lonely little girl of eight had gladly taken on the task of looking after him. Through sickness and poor grades and driving lessons, he had relied on her, and though Trip was spoiled and self-centered at times, Nora still thought of him as the scared little boy who needed her.

It was probably too late to change the way Trip was, but was it too late to change her life? Was she only hanging on to the Hideaway out of stubbornness? Since her father had died, six years ago, and her mother shortly after that the profits had grown smaller and smaller each year. Bracing her head on her arms, she grimaced. “I don’t know, Iz. Maybe it’s just time to—”

“Oh, no!”

Nora straightened. Isabel’s face had gone white. “What’s the matter? Is it the baby again?”

“Oh, it can’t be. What is he doing here?”

“Who?”

The girl gripped Nora’s forearms tightly. “I can’t see him. I won’t.” Her frightened eyes flew to the window. “Don’t let him see me. Don’t even tell him I’m here.”

“Who?” Nora asked, a bud of panic beginning to bubble to the surface of her own senses. While she stood in stunned silence, Isabel practically leaped from behind the registration desk and disappeared through the doorway that led to the private quarters of the lodge. “Where are you going?” Nora called after her. “Izzie, for Pete’s sake, don’t tell who—”

A car door slammed, and Nora whirled to look out the front window. A car had pulled into the semicircular driveway, and a man was just coming around the front of the vehicle. In the passenger seat, Nora caught a glimpse of a young boy, but her gaze quickly swung back to the man.

She lost him for a moment when he reached the front doors. That damned beveled glass! It turned his body into nothing but cuts and angles. Then he was inside, walking toward her in a purposeful stride.

He didn’t look dangerous. Determined, maybe. Nora could see the hard set of his chin, the way his eyes scanned one side of the room and then the other before fixing steadily on her. For no reason she could name, Nora suddenly wished that she was dressed in her three-piece suit, the one she’d worn to the IRS audit last year.

Only this guy didn’t look like an auditor, or any kind of government employee for that matter. His clothes were too casual, his tan was too dark and his golden-brown hair a little too long to meet any policy manual’s expectations. He had strong features—the kind of genetic marvel that great ancestry could bestow upon a person. Any woman would want to know more about this man. So why was Isabel so—

Realization dawned about the same time that the man came to a halt directly in front of Nora.

Even in her advanced stage of pregnancy Isabel was gregarious, outgoing. She’d never have run away from a great-looking guy like this. Unless...

This man had to be the father of her child. The irresponsible, insensitive Bobby. He was older than Nora expected, but it had to be him.

Nora’s heart bumped a little—the man was wonderful to look at—but she ignored it. Whatever reason Bobby had decided to show up on their doorstep now, Nora’s allegiance lay with Isabel. And the baby.

Her baby.