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A Family Come True
Kris Fletcher
It started with a kiss… Ian North is the one person Darcy Maguire can always count on. So when her daughter's biological father shows up unannounced, she knows Ian will do whatever it takes to help. A kiss, however, is the last thing she expects.Suddenly their little white lie is out of control. They're spending Father's Day with Ian's family and lying about being a couple. Only pretending isn't enough for Darcy anymore. Ian is the best father her daughter could have, and she's ready to make it official. But how can she know for certain where the lie ends and reality begins?
It started with a kiss...
Ian North is the one person Darcy Maguire can always count on. So when her daughter’s biological father shows up unannounced, she knows Ian will do whatever it takes to help. A kiss, however, is the last thing she expects.
Suddenly their little white lie is out of control. They’re spending Father’s Day with Ian’s family and lying about being a couple. Only pretending isn’t enough for Darcy anymore. Ian is the best father her daughter could have, and she’s ready to make it official. But how can she know for certain where the lie ends and reality begins?
“Darce, it’s been a crazy couple of days. We can’t—”
“You’re right.” She nuzzled his chest. “But what if I told you that I’ve been thinking about this for a lot longer than the past couple of days?”
“You have?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She stood on tiptoe, kissed the corner of his mouth. “And I think you have, too.”
“God, Darce,” he said, and there might have been more but his words were lost as she kissed him, really kissed him, all heat and need and melting into him. She gripped his shoulders and curled against him, kissing him again and again with absolutely no one watching.
“Darce,” he said against her neck. “God, Darce, I’ve wanted you so long, but I didn’t— I can’t—”
“Oh, yes you can.”
His hands landed low, pulling her tight while his hips pushed against hers, and the rush of need had her digging her fingers into his shoulders to keep herself upright.
“We should think this over,” he said even as he molded her to him. “Get our heads clear.”
“I’ve done enough thinking. I want to feel.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_70cc7d75-5a8b-5dcb-adf2-975f72afcbd8),
Books are often compared to children. I have found this to be truest when considering how parents must learn that what works with one child won’t necessarily work with his or her sibling. Similarly, the process that enabled an author to write one book won’t always come in handy when it’s time to develop the next one.
I explored many different ways to tell this story. Some things have stayed constant all along, such as the main characters (three adults, one baby and a dog, though their names sometimes changed hourly) and the primary issue (the sudden reappearance of a biological daddy makes a pair of friends pretend to be lovers). But the how of telling the story eluded me until my amazing editor Piya said, “Hmm, what if you tried...”
With that, the true direction of this story was revealed. Darcy, Ian and the rest of the characters were free to come to life, take control of the book and make it fully their own. It seems that in writing, as in parenting, sometimes the best thing to do is to put the pieces in place, step back and prepare to be amazed.
I’d love to hear from you, either through my website (krisfletcher.com (http://www.krisfletcher.com)) or the group blog run by the Superromance authors (superauthors.com (http://www.superauthors.com)). I can’t promise to make the characters behave when you visit, but I can promise a very warm welcome.
Yours,
Kris
A Family Come True
Kris Fletcher
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KRIS FLETCHER has never faked a relationship, but she does take great delight in pulling the wool over her loved ones’ collective eyes. Ask her about the ancient ultrasound incident. People have almost forgiven her for that one.
Kris grew up in southern Ontario, went to school in Nova Scotia, married a man from Maine and now lives in central New York. She shares her very messy home with her husband, some of their kids and a growing population of dust bunnies.
This one is for Larry, who may or may not have been the inspiration for the socks-as-mittens portion of this book, but who definitely inspired the I-love-yous.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_fa7e52d8-36ed-5255-9917-a67b030d39da)
Renee Kloecker and Jen Talty, who provided peaceful cottage retreats when I needed them most.
My fellow playground mommies, for not being freaked out when I started taking notes on their children’s behavior to refresh my baby-deprived memory. Special thanks to my neighbor Carrie, who patiently answered my questions about life with a one-year-old and indulged my need to remember how it felt to hold a little one again.
The usual people who make it possible for me to write a book—Larry, the kids, the Purples, Agent Extraordinaire Jessica Faust, and Piya Campana, the World’s Most Patient and Insightful Editor.
Contents
Cover (#u4edca6b4-3d11-5c2e-94f9-bb2a90e990e1)
Back Cover Text (#udca5329a-cac9-5e83-bb95-507f5452ef4d)
Introduction (#ub8ad733d-045f-5b0c-8725-1cf5fe9412e6)
Dear Reader (#ud08fdb9c-8dec-597c-9cfc-413b631c1cd4)
Title Page (#u52706114-8f55-5ea0-b8d5-8836d9dafe65)
About the Author (#u78c8d59d-01aa-5739-854d-0016cfb7edc2)
Dedication (#u56341720-f873-513c-a1ff-c17af873ab15)
Acknowledgments (#ucd3e5900-6475-54aa-84c0-d2f898fc759f)
CHAPTER ONE (#u3fd67987-9c6e-5ec3-aa37-e7adc1164f54)
CHAPTER TWO (#uba492166-bdae-5112-98c6-7d650e1a29be)
CHAPTER THREE (#ufd634340-88ae-518c-bdb9-ad201a674c15)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u3816e9d0-54f9-5e5c-b41b-926361dde48d)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u07d18981-573a-5ba8-9b0c-34d9aaf58a2a)
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)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_90d8e455-fff3-518d-bc0a-8f120a8e3ffc)
THE MAN HOVERING at the entry to Ian North’s garage was very tall, very blond, and very late.
“Hey, Ian. Long time no see.”
“Xander?” Ian tugged his work gloves from his hands and set them on the anvil where, moments earlier, he had been happily pounding the hell out of a piece of hot iron while singing along to some vintage Queen. With a glance to make sure everything in his home forge could be safely ignored for a few minutes, he ventured toward his old college roommate. “What are you doing back here?”
Xander pulled sunglasses from his face and hooked them casually over the neck of his silky black tee. “I came to get my dog.”
“Your dog? Are you nuts?” Thank God Lulu was having a late-afternoon visit to the park with his landlady and her daughter. “She’s not yours anymore, buddy.”
“Sure she is. I told you I’d be back for her.”
“You said you’d be back in a month or so.” He crossed his arms and widened his stance. “By my count, two years is a lot longer than a month or so.”
Something flashed through Xander’s eyes—something Ian would have sworn was determination if not for the fact that the only times Xander had ever shown real resolve were when sex, beer or his latest get-rich-quick scheme were involved.
“It hasn’t been that long. A year, year and a half, max. I’m here, just like I said I’d be.” Xander peered past him. “What are you doing back there anyway? Making horseshoes?”
Ian thought of the final touches he’d just finished on a detailed picture frame for his dad. Horseshoes. Right. “Not quite. Now, if the only reason you’re here is for my dog, you should leave. I’m busy.”
“That’s it? No ‘Hey, Xander. Good to see you!’ No ‘Jeez, I hope everything was okay.’ Not even a simple ‘Where’ve you been?’”
“I don’t need to ask.” With one finger Ian pushed his safety glasses above his forehead, squinting against the sudden vibrancy of mid-June. In winter, southwestern Ontario was a sea of white, but now the reds of the flowers, the green of the grass and the blue of the sky could be blinding. “I got all the info I needed when the police came looking for you a couple months after you left. Are you on the run or did you land in the pen?”
Xander’s face lost some color. Ian cursed.
“Seriously?”
“It was victimless, okay? A little cyber project that got sidetracked. No one got hurt.”
“Except the little old ladies you bilked out of their life savings.”
“Hey, I don’t do that stuff. I just help people find their way into companies. Nothing with actual individuals.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still— Ah, jeez. You knew you were going to jail, didn’t you? That’s why you left Lulu with me.”
Xander had the grace to look down as he scraped his foot against the cracked pavement of the driveway. “Look, when I left, I knew that the situation wouldn’t be good for a puppy. Then things got out of hand and— Anyway, that’s all in the past. I paid my debt to society. I’m a changed man and I want my dog.”
“Let’s review the facts, Xander. Two years ago—oh, pardon me, not that long but I don’t feel like doing the math—you asked if you could stay with me for a week. In a moment of foolishness I said yes.” Though to be honest, at that time Ian had been new in Stratford, running from a major life curve that had left him shell-shocked and heartsore. Xander’s request had been a welcome distraction. “When the week turned into a month, I didn’t say anything. When you brought Lulu home, I didn’t say anything. When you took off and left me with her and thirty bucks for food—okay, I said some things then, but you weren’t here so they don’t count. Now, though, you’re here, so listen up. She was a puppy when you left. You only had her two weeks. Not yours anymore.” He poked Xander in the chest. “Go back to your computer and do something useful, like making some multinationals pay taxes.”
But Xander didn’t move. “Look, I know I took advantage of you. But I had a lot of time to think while I was away, and I see what an idiot I’ve been. From now on it’s nothing but the straight and narrow for me. I have a job lined up—totally legit—and I’m starting over. Just me, the future and my dog.” Xander’s eyes darted around the garage, lingering on the steps leading to Ian’s second-floor apartment. “By the way, where is she?”
Ah, hell. Ian remembered that tone. Xander’s persistence lasted about as long as a boy band’s fame, but when he first dived into something he gave it his all. Which meant that right now there would be no changing his mind. Only time and the inevitable roadblocks could do that.
The good news was that if Ian could put the guy off for a day or two, Xander would see something shiny and move on. The bad news was that Lulu and company could return at any minute.
If he could just buy himself a little time...
“She’s not here.”
“Why not? Is she at the vet? Is she sick?”
“She’s fine. She’s healthy and strong and she can eat me under the table. She went on an outing with friends.” Vagueness was his ally. At least, he hoped so. “She’s happy here, Xander. If you want a fresh start, do it right. Get yourself a new dog.”
Xander shook his head. No surprise there. “Nope. One of the things they taught us when I was...away...was about seeing ourselves in our new lives. They had us figure out all the details. Every time I did it, Lulu was in the picture. I don’t want any old dog. I need her.”
Ian’s fear level rose from Damn, I don’t need this to Crap, this could get bad. Xander sounded serious. This might still be nothing more than a whim, but given that Xander was the one who’d bought Lulu in the first place, things could get complicated.
Ian hated complicated.
“Listen, Xander, I’m in the middle of a project and I need to get moving. You should do the same.”
Xander shook his head, crossed his arms and leaned against Ian’s prized Mustang. “I’ll wait.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You know,” Xander said with a sigh, “there was a time when you would have invited me in and we could have talked this out over a beer.”
“And there was a day when you wouldn’t have disappeared without so much as a Facebook post. Guess we’re even.” He returned to the anvil and made a show of examining the cross-peen hammer he’d been using. Yeah, it was juvenile, but hey, Xander wasn’t the only one who could trot out the tough act.
Too bad it didn’t work. Xander ambled into the garage, hands in his pockets, eyes darting from the forge to the anvil to the wall of hammers and files.
“You know, Ian, I’m thinking I got us off on the wrong foot here. How about we start over? I walk in and say, ‘Hey, buddy, long time no see.’ Then you say, ‘Xander! Talk about a sight for sore eyes!’ And I say, ‘Same here. How are your folks? How long have you been playing Little House on the Prairie? How’s work and your pretty little landlady and my dog?’”
Pretty little landlady? If Darcy heard Xander describe her that way, she’d be the one hefting hammers. “I have another idea. You see this?” Ian lifted a curved length of forged iron. “I think this would make a great hook. You know, for grabbing your sorry, law-breaking runaway ass and dragging it to the curb before I—”
