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Unexpected Family
Jill Kemerer
His Surprise Daughter After five years apart, Tom Sheffield is shocked to find his ex-wife, Stephanie, on his doorstep. The news that they share a child he's never met sends him reeling. Four-year-old Macy has his eyes, his mouth and, from their first encounter, his heart. Things with her mother are much more complicated. He doesn't understand what went wrong between them or why she kept their daughter a secret. And he's afraid of falling in love all over again. Yet he feels a glimmer of hope that somehow he can convince Macy and Stephanie to stay in Lake Endwell–and with him–for keeps.
His Surprise Daughter
After five years apart, Tom Sheffield is shocked to find his ex-wife, Stephanie, on his doorstep. The news that they share a child he’s never met sends him reeling. Four-year-old Macy has his eyes, his mouth and, from their first encounter, his heart. Things with her mother are much more complicated. He doesn’t understand what went wrong between them or why she kept their daughter a secret. And he’s afraid of falling in love all over again. Yet he feels a glimmer of hope that somehow he can convince Macy and Stephanie to stay in Lake Endwell—and with him—for keeps.
“It’s strange. Being here again.”
Stephanie scanned the room. “Brings back memories.”
“Any good ones?” The question slipped out.
She lowered her chin. “A few.”
“Well, most of my memories of us together were good.” Tom kept his voice low. The past pressed against his chest, his heart craving the release of honesty. All the times he’d blamed her for ruining his life had overshadowed one big fact: he’d loved her, loved being married to her, and those days, for him, had been good.
“Most of them?” She picked at the edge of her sweater.
“Until we fell apart.”
“Are you sure your memory isn’t tricking you?” Her tone held no trace of sarcasm.
“It’s not. I might not have been what you needed, but that time was special for me.” He grazed her hand.
She glanced at him, questions in her eyes.
“I know we can’t go back,” he said. “I just wanted you to know. I was happy being married to you.”
JILL KEMERER writes novels with love, humor and faith. Besides spoiling her mini dachshund and keeping up with her busy kids, Jill reads stacks of books, lives for her morning coffee and gushes over fluffy animals. She resides in Ohio with her husband and two children. Jill loves connecting with readers, so please visit her website, jillkemerer.com (http://jillkemerer.com), or contact her at PO Box 2802, Whitehouse, OH 43571.
Unexpected
Family
Jill Kemerer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
—Psalms 13:2
For Olivia and Brandon.
You make me a better person.
I’m blessed by you each day!
Contents
Cover (#ua25b0630-78fd-5333-b97c-8c50a423593a)
Back Cover Text (#ufd6e3b97-d872-58b8-9380-1cb45687875f)
Introduction (#udb702f2d-d7c4-56a3-a0e1-794472efb230)
About the Author (#u05438dc8-e1b2-596e-bbe7-1071964c2867)
Title Page (#u44306ed3-b416-5990-8009-5ca7ea5f8da8)
Bible Verse (#u3d5dcae1-e8eb-5702-8487-05d12b6c88b4)
Dedication (#ud975f982-6eb2-572a-9b70-0868328ca7aa)
Chapter One (#u7c1660b5-d95d-5cf9-9744-86ce0d2f03d8)
Chapter Two (#u1de4103e-ed02-5be4-a77e-3dab7ba7a0c2)
Chapter Three (#u012449d1-fd39-571d-8bb8-0593c5b916a5)
Chapter Four (#u64420e95-f9b8-5ecd-9dec-730e5080aba1)
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)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_16270224-4bee-5545-9a7e-cbf12ba88675)
Stephanie Sheffield climbed the creaking steps of the tan bungalow nestled in a clearing of dense woods. The covered porch looked lonely. A welcome mat would go a long way to cheer the space. If she owned a home like this, she would bring it to life with bundles of corn husks, pumpkins and a pot or two of burgundy mums.
But she wasn’t here to mentally redecorate.
Guilt had consumed her for five years. A sixth year wasn’t an option. Stomach tightening, Stephanie knocked.
Seconds ticked by without any movement inside. Maybe he wasn’t home. Maybe she had the wrong address. Or maybe God was giving her a grace period.
Grace? God may have forgiven her, but she still had to pay for her sins.
Stephanie rapped louder and turned to view the property. She half expected a deer to leap onto the lawn, moist from an autumn drizzle. Crimson leaves fluttered down from a tall maple, and the cobalt blue of Michigan’s Lake Endwell peeked through in the distance. The lake threatened to unleash memories, ones she couldn’t afford to think about right now.
A lone figure jogged down the country road. He rounded the drive, and her muscles tensed.
Tom.
Did he still hate her?
If he didn’t, he soon would.
Drawing closer, he slowed to a walk. Shock flashed in those sink-into-them blue eyes, eyes that once lured her. Tousled dark brown hair softened his cheekbones. His straight nose pointed to a determined chin. He looked more athletic, more rugged than she remembered. Why couldn’t he have aged badly? And why did seeing him again make her feel as though she’d downed a warm cup of tea?
Stephanie leaned against the peeling porch rail and winced as pain shot up her rib cage. Now that he’d appeared, she had no idea what to say. Everything she’d rehearsed during the thirty-minute drive jumbled in her brain.
“What happened?” Tom closed the distance between them, reaching to touch her bruised cheek, but he snatched his hand back before making contact. His unexpected tenderness almost undid her. She chased away the sudden yearning for his touch.
“It’s nothing. I was in an accident yesterday. My car was totaled, but I’m fine. Bruised ribs. A few scratches.”
“Why are you here?” The tenderness was snuffed out like the candles she lit to chase away smells in her apartment.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Inside maybe?”
“Why?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Because I’m about to shatter your world, and even strong Tom Sheffield will need a seat for this.
She gestured to the door.
He stood taller, legs shoulder width apart, intimidating in his gray sweatshirt and black shorts. The old Stephanie would have let him call the shots. But the old Stephanie had been a girl, not a woman in control of her life.
“It’s important.” A breeze played with the hair around her neck. She brushed it aside.
Finally he nodded, opening the faded red door. The living room, while tidy, lacked color. The only pictures were of some stadium and what appeared to be an autographed photo of a baseball team. A dark leather couch, love seat, matching chair and a huge television filled the room. No cozy aromas like vanilla or cinnamon lurked in the air.
She sat on the couch as he lowered his body into the chair. She’d mentally rehearsed this moment a million times. Gotten in her car to confess at least twice a week. Picked up the phone to tell him, to explain. And now she was here and her vocal chords went on strike.
“So?” He opened his hands, giving her a pointed look. Stephanie couldn’t tell if his gruff manner was real or an act, but it didn’t matter.
“There’s no easy way to say this,” she said. “I’ve wanted to. I’ve tried. But the accident yesterday—well, it got me here when nothing else would.” The rest of her speech stuck in her throat. His clenched jaw didn’t ease her nerves.
“Well, could you move things along?” He tapped his fingers against his thigh. “I’ve got another hour of training to get in.”
“Training?” The Tom she’d known had been driven by work. By success. He’d rarely spent time exercising or, for that matter, on anything outside his car dealership. He’d preferred his job to her.
“Look, I don’t have time for chitchat. If you have something to say, say it.” He shot to his feet, but he seemed more uncomfortable than angry.
“There’s no good way to do this, so I’m going to be blunt.” Say it. Do it. Get it over with. “You have a daughter.”
His mouth dropped open. He shut it. Opened it again.
Stephanie’s legs instinctively prepared to run, but she didn’t move. The expressions crumpling his face hit her harder than tears ever could. The man’s world had just imploded, and she’d launched the bomb. What could she possibly say? Sorry?
Sorry wasn’t good enough, and neither was she.
His chest expanded. Cheekbones strained against skin, and the vulnerability, the pain she’d witnessed, vanished, replaced by something cold, something that would have broken her before she became a believer. She girded herself.
“What kind of joke is this?” His tone was lethal, the words quiet.
“It’s not a joke.”
Tom stared at her as if she’d grown two horns and a tail. Maybe she had.
“A daughter?” He shook his head. “No.”
“Yes.”
His face drained of its healthy glow, replaced by a tinge of avocado green. “What’s her name?”
She hesitated, not expecting the question. What had she expected? Him to order her to get out? Absolutely. A slew of angry accusations? Yes. But the name? “Macy.”
“Macy,” he murmured. His glare was penetrating before confusion clouded it. “How? When?”
“She’s four. She’ll be five on April 20.”
He paced, growing six inches taller, everything about him bigger, restless. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She’d tried to justify not telling him—oh, how she’d tried—but only one of her reasons held up. Why would he care she’d stupidly thought she’d hurt him enough? That she’d feared he’d want to stay together for the baby’s sake? That she couldn’t, wouldn’t put him through a lifetime of being married to her?
