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His Ten-Year-Old Secret
Donna Clayton
FabulousFathersTHE BONDS OF PARENTHOODHer child was alive! For ten years Tess had believed her little girl was lost to her forever. Then an unexpected inheritance led the lovely doctor back home…to the man she'd always loved. There she discovered her beloved Dylan was a bachelor father, and the child he was raising was their own daughter!Dylan had vowed to protect and cherish his child, yet he opened their lives to let Tess in. But this dedicated father was no longer the young lover Tess remembered. Could she uncover the tender man she had never forgotten, and convince him to take a chance on their newly formed family, and their own true love?…?ThisFabulous Fatherhad ten years of loving to catch up on!
What had Tess expected, he wondered A baby? (#u07959333-3b36-5adf-9734-15a4925126c4)Letter to Reader (#u962b33f2-8f63-5867-b016-f0e52b610142)Title Page (#u1a994d0f-1e77-5d5b-bc4b-ab1f6d6895fc)Dedication (#u63d9c30f-bd0c-5b2b-8568-bac29d5f0c97)About the Author (#uce7dbcd9-9139-5366-a8e1-e21495f79376)Prologue (#u496a2193-2c42-5f77-b872-6c0f74546083)Chapter One (#u107a87ba-84b9-5734-92d8-9826f5207d7b)Chapter Two (#ueab53bd5-fe1e-5688-91ad-d2f3229edf80)Chapter Three (#ucbf07238-f263-59b6-b418-a7cd959b35d6)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
What had Tess expected, he wondered A baby?
Since she was coming into town ten years after the child’s birth, of course their daughter was going to be all grown up. Why did Tess look so astounded?
When Tess lifted her gaze to his, it was filled with silent, thunderous questions Dylan found quite bewildering. Her attention clamped once again on the daughter, she uttered a soft, breathy “Oh, my,” turned and raced out the door.
“Wow,” Erin said to him. “Who was that, Dad?”
Dylan didn’t answer right away. Not because he meant to ignore his daughter’s query, but because he didn’t know what to say.
“That,” he said at last with a slow, measured reluctance, “was your mother....”
Dear Reader,
In May 2000 Silhouette Romance will commemorate its twentieth anniversary! This line has always celebrated the essence of true love in a manner that blends classic themes and the challenges of romance in today’s world into a reassuring, fulfilling novel. From the enchantment of first love to the wonder of second chance, a Silhouette Romance novel demonstrates the power of genuine emotion and the breathless connection that develops between a man and a woman as they discover each other. And this month’s stellar selections are quintessential Silhouette Romance stories!
If you’ve been following LOVING THE BOSS, you’ll be amazed when mysterious Rex Barrington III is unmasked in I Married the Boss! by Laura Anthony. In this month’s FABULOUS FATHERS offering by Donna Clayton, a woman discovers His Ten-Year-Old Secret. And opposites attract in The Rancher and the Heiress, the third of Susan Meier’s TEXAS FAMILY TIES miniseries.
WRANGLERS & LACE returns with Julianna Morris’s The Marriage Stampede. In this appealing story, a cowgirl butts heads—and hearts—with a bachelor bent on staying that way. Sally Carleen unveils the first book in her exciting duo ON THE WAY TO A WEDDING... with the tale of a twin mistaken for an M.D.’s Bride in Waiting! It’s both a blessing and a dilemma for a single mother when she’s confronted with an amnesiac Husband Found, this month’s FAMILY MATTERS title by Martha Shields.
Enjoy the timeless power of Romance this month, and every month-you won’t be disappointed!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
His Ten-Year-Old Secret
Donna Clayton
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With love to my brother-in-law,
Chip Fasano:
See, Chip, mechanics make great heroes! And many thanks to Terry S. Greer,
the hot-rod information man.
DONNA CLAYTON
is proud to be a recipient of the Holt Medallion, an award honoring outstanding literary talent, for her Silhouette Romance novel Wife for a While. And seeing her work appear on the Waldenbooks Series bestsellers list has given her a great deal of joy and satisfaction.
Reading is one of Donna’s favorite ways to while away a rainy afternoon. She loves to hike, too. Another hobby added to her list of fun things to do is traveling. She fell in love with Europe during her first trip abroad recently, and plans to return often. Oh, and Donna still collects cookbooks, but as her writing career grows, she finds herself using them less and less.
Donna loves to hear from her readers. Please write to her in care of Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017.
Dear Erin,
Please forgive your old dad for being sappy, but I need to tell you that-even with your grimy knees and elbows, and your ever-present baseball cap—I couldn’t have been blessed with a more charming, beautiful and loving daughter. For almost ten years now, you and I have been on our own. We’ve had some lean times, you and I, but so far we’ve made it through. And I wouldn’t change a day of the past.
I’m telling you all this for a reason. Your mom is back in town, and our lives are about to change forever. Tess Galloway had an unforgettable effect on my life once. And there’s a pretty good chance that’s not going to change this time around. But now you’re involved. So I’m not afraid to tell you, I’m more than a little nervous about her arrival in Pine Meadow.
But the fact that your mom is here and eager to meet you has had me thinking about the kind of dad I’ve been. You and I tinkered with car engines when we should have been finding a teacher for piano lessons or visiting fancy museums. I may not have risen as far in the world as some people thought I should, I may only be a mechanic, but I’m your dad. I’ll always be your dad. And I’ll always love you with all my heart.
Love,
Dad
Prologue
She simply could not put off this chore any longer. Tess Galloway stood at the threshold of her father’s bedroom door. The late-afternoon sun slanted golden through the window, casting streaks of light across the worn, brown rug. Absently Tess worried her bottom lip between her teeth and went inside.
The air still held a whispery trace of familiar spicy aftershave. Barely noticeable after all these weeks, the scent offered her a vague sense of comfort as she inhaled it deeply into her lungs, yet her heart pinched in her chest with painful longing.
The dark-stained pine of the bed’s footboard was scarred and dull with age, the mattress sagging in the middle. Tess grinned gently at the memory of how her father had allowed her an occasional, albeit short, bedjumping session when she’d been a little girl. She grazed her fingertips lightly across the cotton spread.
Two small steps had her standing in front of his bureau, and without even picking up the pipe that rested there, Tess detected the faint aroma of tobacco. The rich fragrance kindled feelings of deep love and total security the likes of which she would never again experience.
“Daddy,” Tess whispered to the empty room. Her eyes stung as unexpected tears shattered her sight into glittering shards. “Oh, how I miss you.”
A month had passed since Harry Galloway’s funeral. For weeks Tess had found one excuse after another to keep from sorting through his belongings, packing up his clothes, cleaning out his bedroom.
But the chill of fall was in the air and close on its heels would be winter. She was certain there was someone in need of warm clothing. Her father’s gray wool overcoat might be a bit frayed at the cuffs, but it would certainly keep someone toasty when the temperatures dipped low. And his olive mackintosh was just as rain repellent as ever. There were several suits. Trousers and a sport coat or two. Dress shirts and ties. Not to mention shoes. Three pair to be exact, all in good condition, seeing as how her father worked all his life in one shoe repair shop or another. It would be a sin to let such serviceable clothing hang in the closet, sit in the drawers, unused.
Tess dashed a tear trail from her cheek with the back of her hand. “This simply must be done,” she told herself, giving the words an insistent inflection. “Today. ”
The topmost bureau drawer slid open and Tess dived into it with both hands, scooping out paired socks that had been rolled into balls and stragglers that had no mate but that her father hadn’t been able to get rid of. There were neatly folded handkerchiefs, at least a dozen of them, one of which her dad slid into his back pocket every day. Harry Galloway would never have been caught without his trusty handkerchief. One never knew when one’s glasses would need a good cleaning, or a park bench brushed off, or a little girl’s nose wiped...
Again, Tess felt an achy spasm shoot through her chest.
“We’re thick as thieves, me and you, Tessie.” She could almost hear his soft, gentle voice as he’d described their close and loving relationship. Her dad had been an emotional man. Yes, he had.
She sniffed back another tear. “Stop, darn it,” she chastised herself aloud.
Aggravated with herself, Tess pulled the second drawer completely free and dumped its contents onto the bed. V-necked T-shirts and cotton boxers tumbled into a pile. The third drawer held polo shirts and sweaters. One shabby-looking sweatshirt caught her eye and she picked it up. The pilled fabric was soft against her cheek and she remembered this was her father’s favorite. The one he wore to work around the house. She set it aside. A cherished keepsake.
She found several pairs of shorts in the fourth drawer, and as she tossed them into the pile, she noticed they were threadbare in places. How few of them there were wasn’t lost on her, either. Tess had been aware that her father had gone without for her. Boy, had she been aware.
He’d worked so hard. Had sacrificed so much. Just so she could earn the title of Dr. Tess Galloway. His greatest wish had been to provide her with a college and medical school education free from the strangling claws of bank loans. For several years he’d been successful, paying for her tuition and books with his meager salary, but not without a great deal of personal sacrifice. Because of Tess, Harry Galloway never tool a vacation, never bought a new car and just simply made do with what he had or could acquire secondhand.
Not wanting the pile of her father’s clothing to become so large it rolled to the floor, she stopped clearing out drawers and began to gently, lovingly tuck the clothing into a large plastic bag.
Her protests against all his sacrifice had fallen on deaf ears. Harry hadn’t allowed Tess to work anything more than a part-time job all through her college years.
But as the tuition increased, and his salary hadn’t, Harry was forced to allow Tess to seek out education loans through the University of Connecticut; however, he’d done everything he could to keep those debts to a minimum.
Tess had just finished her medical residency and had accepted a partnership in a large family practice. Her loans were almost miniscule compared to some of her graduating peers, and she was in a much better position than they would be for years to come. All due to her father’s ceaseless efforts to pay the tuition bills, all due to his endless determination to set aside his own needs to provide for those of his daughter.
Once the bed was clear, she turned back to the bureau and bent to pull out the final drawer. A thought struck her with such startling suddenness that her spine straightened almost of its own accord, and she rested her hand on the bureau top.
With the smell of her father’s pipe tobacco wafting around her, she realized that with all his making do, with all his self-sacrifice, he’d never once over the years made her feel the least bit guilty. He’d never made one comment to make her feel beholden. Never said a word meant to incite her need to feel obligated or indebted to him. He’d never once brought up her mistakes of the past. He’d simply given to her. He’d simply loved her. Unselfishly. Unconditionally.
He’d been such a kind, caring, loving parent.
With a sigh, Tess returned to the task at hand. She tugged the final, bottommost drawer from its slot and twisted toward the bed. Sweatpants and heavy work trousers fell out along with something that made a heavy clunk as it bounced onto the mattress.
Curiosity knit her brow as she brushed aside one leg of a pair of navy sweatpants to see the object more clearly.
It was a box. A tin box. A tad smaller than a shoe box. The blue paint had chipped away in several places allowing rust to eat at the metal.
The edge of the mattress depressed as Tess sat down. She picked up the box, acutely aware of the coolness of its surface. The latch caught, and for a moment she thought the box was locked. But the latch finally gave, and the lid sprang free.
Envelopes, a tight bundle of them, were crammed in the tight space. A rubber band secured them togetter. These weren’t regular white letter envelopes. They looked official. No, they looked like oversize, tan business envelopes. And they were unopened. Tess had to strain to pry them out of the cramped space. There looked to be over a hundred of them. However, before she was able to examine them too closely, her attention was caught by the small book resting in the bottom of the box. The tiny book’s rough, black cover was reminiscent of the old register books banks gave out before the age of computerized accounts. Utter bewilderment had her head shaking back and forth as she wondered what in the world she’d discovered.
After setting the envelopes aside, Tess picked up the bankbook, turned it over and her mouth opened in surprise, but no sound came forth.
Minster Savings And Loan, Pine Meadow, NJ.
Walloped with an overwhelming wave of weakness, she was relieved to be sitting because her whole body felt suddenly shaky. That name. Minster. It hadn’t been mentioned between her and her father in...years.
Seldom did Tess allow herself to even think it, because doing so only stirred up memories. Haunting memories of a love she’d felt so strongly the mere thought of it was enough to swallow her whole. But when she did indulge herself, when she did permit herself to get lost in remembering, she did so only in the very deepest part of the night, when there was no chance of her reminiscence being discovered.
However, the Minster name also conjured in her an ache. A terrible ache caused by a loss so complete it had left a hole in her life that would never be filled.
With well-practiced determination, she shoved the tormenting memory aside. It was either that, or risk getting completely caught up in the past.
She focused on the tin box instead. What did it . mean, this old account book? These unopened bank statements?
Her fingers trembled as she cracked open the spine of the small black book. The balance scrawled on the yellowed page made her gasp aloud.
Chapter One
“Sounds like Ol’ Lady Warrington let that hairy rat she calls a dog crawl up into this engine.”
Dylan Minster listened intently to the rough idle of the sweet, old Cadillac, his eyes riveted to the running engine.
“The first thing we need to do,” he said over the engine noise, “is pop off the distributor cap. Make sure it’s clean. No cracks.”
His daughter knew this already, he was sure. She was nearly ten years old now, and she’d been working on cars with him since she was a babe in diapers. But it never hurt to reiterate.
“Hand me a flathead screwdriver, Erin.”
The tool that was slapped into his palm didn’t have a flat, smooth head, but the crisscrossed one of a Phillips. He grinned. He had Erin now. This mistake was downright silly and deserved at least an hour’s worth of teasing. And he’d gladly oblige.
“You’re in for it now,” he said. But when he swung around expecting to see Erin, he came face-to-face with his stem-eyed mother.
When she offered him no greeting, he said, “Hi, Ma. How are you?”
“First of all,” she told him, “I take offense for poor Edith Warrington. She is not an old lady...”
“Aww, now.” He grinned, hoping to soften her obvious disapproval. “I didn’t mean any harm.”
“And Corky is a lovely little long-haired terrier,” she went on. “Not ‘a hairy rat.’ Edith is a wonderful friend. And she loves that dog like a baby. If she ever heard you talk like that—”
“She’s not going to hear me talk like that, Ma,” Dylan assured his mother.
“The only reason Edith patronizes your shop—” her gaze skirted loathsomely around the cluttered bay “—is because you are my son, and—”
“I know, Ma.” Dylan’s smile dissolved. His mother had a way of making that happen quite often. “And I appreciate the business your name brings me.”
“It’s your name, too.”
If only you’d do something with it. Her blatant motherly advice echoed unspoken in the air. He chose to ignore it.
Helen Minster tipped up her chin. And Dylan got the distinct impression that, now that she’d had her say, the subject was closed. He sighed.
“So what brings you out this afternoon?” he asked.
He watched his mother glance over her shoulder at her granddaughter who sat behind the steering wheel of Edith Warrington’s old Caddy.
She turned back to face him. “Why isn’t missy there in school?”
“Her name’s Erin, Ma,” he said quietly.
“Look at her,” Helen continued. “She’s filthy. Her hair’s a mess. Her fingernails are greasy. And she’s—”
“Ma.” His voice was clipped just enough to make her stop. “Let’s talk about this in my office.” Giving his daughter a quick glance, he said, “Cut the engine, hon. I’ll be right back.”
He stalked off toward the side door leading to his office, making every effort to dampen the burning embers of his anger.
Dylan was well aware of the fact that he was his mother’s worst and only disappointment. That he was no comparison to his brother and sister, both shining examples of the education, polish and success that Minster money could buy. And because he knew all these things, took full responsibility for them, he tried hard to be patient with her.
Flipping on the light in his small office, Dylan felt a self-conscious tweak as he looked around at the shabby furniture. The sorry excuse he called a desk was beat-up, the heavy gray metal dented and scratched. The couch was propped up on one corner by a red brick. And the leather seat of his desk chair was cracked in several places.
