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Child by Chance
Tara Taylor Quinn
Will her secret tear them apart? At sixteen, when Talia gave her son up for adoption, she knew she was making the right decision. Now, as an adult, she's come home to Santa Raquel, California, where she volunteers at the Lemonade Stand and provides art therapy at local schools. One of her students is a troubled boy named Kent–the son she gave up all those years ago!She meets his widowed father, Sherman, and they develop an intense connection through their shared concern for Kent. But Talia wonders if the secret she's been keeping might drive away the man she's starting to love.
Will her secret tear them apart?
At sixteen, when Talia gave her son up for adoption, she knew she was making the right decision. Now, as an adult, she’s come home to Santa Raquel, California, where she volunteers at the Lemonade Stand and provides art therapy at local schools. One of her students is a troubled boy named Kent—the son she gave up all those years ago!
She meets his widowed father, Sherman, and they develop an intense connection through their shared concern for Kent. But Talia wonders if the secret she’s been keeping might drive away the man she’s starting to love.
Sherman wasn’t his usual self.
Sitting in that conference room with Talia Malone, he couldn’t find the composure that saw him through every aspect of life.
“First,” he began, relying on his notes, “what you said about Kent giving us messages… It fits with what his psychologist says. He thinks Kent’s anger and acting out is his attempt to express some emotion he can’t get across in a healthy way.”
Her accuracy about his son excited him. Or something about her did. Maybe just the idea that at the end of this exercise in art therapy they might find a solution. A way to help Kent.
“I’d suggest that you take whatever you get from our meeting to Kent’s counselor,” she said. “Except for the collage he made. I promised to give it back to him by the end of the week. But you can ask Kent for it. Or take a picture of it here to email to his counselor.”
He nodded.
“The real question is whether Kent should know that you’ve shown it to his psychologist,” she said, frowning. “But keeping secrets, even when you think you’re doing it for someone’s good, can be far more harmful than telling him would’ve been.”
She sounded as if she knew what she was talking about…
Dear Reader (#ulink_aef67c35-2b0d-515a-9a0d-6dc805f2211d),
Once, many years ago, I wrote a story with a heroine who’d been a prostitute—Her Secret, His Child. Back then, I got handwritten fan letters in the mail and I answered every one of them. (I kept them, too, in notebooks that are now filed on a shelf.) After Her Secret, His Child was released, I was astonished to get letters asking me if I’d ever been a prostitute. A resounding no! But parts of me are in all my books. And I look back at that book now and realize some of the feelings—of not being good enough, of being used rather than cared about—resonated with me.
Child by Chance is the story of an ex-stripper. I’m just going to say it right out—No, I have never been a stripper. The closest I got to dancing was ballet class, for five years, three times a week. And I never once, ever, danced onstage.
But I learned to respect the physicality of dance. The athleticism of dancers. I learned about dedication. And I learned about finding my center and “pulling up.” Talia, the heroine in Child by Chance, knows all these things. But this isn’t a story about dance. It’s a story about life’s tough choices. About making mistakes. And making amends. About accepting the lemons life hands you and making lemonade. It’s a story of heart, redemption and the true meaning of love. All kinds of love.
I’d really like to hear what you think about the Lemonade Stand and this series, Where Secrets Are Safe. You can reach me at staff@tarataylorquinn.com. And if you like friendship stories, take a look at The Friendship Pact. I tried something different, and the verdicts are in! I’d be thrilled to hear yours, too.
Tara Taylor Quinn
Child by Chance
Tara Taylor Quinn
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With sixty-eight original novels published in more than twenty languages, TARA TAYLOR QUINN is a USA TODAY bestselling author. She is a winner of the 2008 National Reader’s Choice Award, four-time finalist for a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, a finalist for the Reviewer’s Choice Award, the Bookseller’s Best Award and the Holt Medallion, and appears regularly on Amazon bestseller lists. Tara is a supporter of the National Domestic Violence Hotline, and she and her husband, Tim, sponsor an annual in-line skating race in Phoenix to benefit the fight against domestic violence. When she’s not at home in Arizona with Tim and their canine owners, Jerry Lee and Taylor Marie, or fulfilling speaking engagements, Tara spends her time traveling and in-line skating. For more information about Tara, visit her website, TaraTaylorQuinn.com (http://www.TaraTaylorQuinn.com).
For Christina.
All children should be so lucky to have someone as devoted to them as you are to Emma, Claire and William. We are blessed to have you in our family and I hope you know how much you’re loved.
Contents
Cover (#uce1c5026-511e-5c51-a6b6-eab062d33cb7)
Back Cover Text (#u891a3284-8752-5fba-ab24-12ff071916af)
Introduction (#uec6ce227-ff9d-58a4-aae4-0f553f9f9587)
Dear Reader (#ulink_d49124d1-c7ba-5661-a56a-0e29ac84b228)
Title Page (#u2de6dc7a-aefa-5334-8b7a-bdf360e7e87d)
About the Author (#uec0908bf-6720-5a21-abf8-18b426ff93d6)
Dedication (#u56a29c2c-80e5-52a0-b5fe-ec13d1247e1a)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_a40bd1ee-9d63-5936-a359-9cee0dd63441)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_cccec6e8-49e4-5493-92ae-a565a0290a92)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_67e982e5-3781-5ca1-9d2e-2759337ee58e)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_f7a474fd-7895-55c6-b348-5d252c109326)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_285afb2d-29e2-517f-848c-fe55167f9ee3)
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_f77f0812-9d7f-53da-bd3d-ff766fcc0a12)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_99a85e92-3460-58f1-ae25-5656ebaf1877)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_d93a2881-a804-569d-9046-07e7493f4ee5)
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)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_162890b6-e14b-5763-aa83-01ab153b17dc)
SHE’D MOVED WITH confidence on some pretty exclusive Vegas stages. Had entertained moneyed and powerful men. With and without her clothes.
But as she walked down the hushed elementary-school hallway lined with short lockers that Friday afternoon, twenty-seven-year-old Talia Malone had never felt more uncomfortable in her life.
No one at that school was going to know that the ten-year-old boy in the classroom midway down that hall was her son.
She’d given birth once, ten years before, but she’d never been a mother.
Had no idea how to be one.
You were a mother when you were his age. Tanner’s words from earlier that morning played over and over again in her head, much like his words had always done when she’d been growing up and her big brother had been a demigod in her life.
Before she’d grown deaf and dumb to his wisdom, slept with one of her high-school teachers and ended up pregnant.
She slowed her step, eyeing a deserted alcove hosting a water fountain that was so low to the ground she’d have to bend in half to take a sip.
She hadn’t technically been a mother at ten. Tanner, of all people, knew that. But she’d been ten when their baby sister, Tatum, had been born. Between her and Tanner and their brother Thomas they’d managed to make sure that baby girl was protected and loved.
But then Talia had run off. Abandoned the family. Abandoned Tatum. And her sweet baby sister had ended up a victim of domestic violence—drugged and pretty much raped, too—all because she’d been so desperate for love and acceptance that she’d believed the young rich creep who’d told her he loved her more than anyone else ever would.
She’d believed his hitting her had been her own fault...
Deep breath.
Talia didn’t want the water she sipped. And didn’t leave the alcove immediately, either.
Used to waiting in the wings for “showtime,” Talia stood between the fountain and the wall, watching the quiet hallway for signs of life. A janitor crossed the hallway several yards down from her, on his way to a different part of the Santa Raquel, California, elementary school.
She was there to facilitate a class. Not teach.
Her class didn’t start for another half hour. She’d arrived early. On purpose. Kent Paulson, adopted son of widower Sherman Paulson and his late wife, Brooke—who was killed in a car accident, her obituary had said—wasn’t in the sixth-grade art class she’d be visiting. He was only in fourth grade. Two doors down from where she was standing.
All she wanted was a glimpse of him. She wasn’t there to claim him.
She just needed to know that he was okay. Happy. Better off than he would have been growing up the bastard child of a teenage mother, and a drug-addicted, sometimes homeless prostitute grandmother. Or knowing that his biological father, who’d served time in prison for a host of crimes including statutory rape and child endangerment, was a registered sex offender and unable to work any job that would put him in the vicinity of minors.
“I don’t care!” There was no mistaking the very adult anger in the childish voice as a door opened and a small arm pulled away from the larger hand that was holding it.
“Keep your voice down.” A woman reached for the boy’s hand.
“Ouch!” he cried, snatching his hand back before she’d even touched him. “You’re hurting me and that’s against the law. You aren’t allowed to hurt me.”
“Shhh.”
“Why? So that all the other kids don’t figure out that life sucks?”
The words struck a chord. One that hadn’t played inside her in a long time, but was still achingly familiar. Growing up as the mostly destitute offspring of a prostitute, she’d learned quickly that she wasn’t like the other kids. Wasn’t naive. Or innocent.
Retreating farther into the alcove, Talia watched as the middle-aged, short-haired brunette escorted the small-boned, dark-haired boy past her—not even seeming to notice that she was there.
“This makes it four school days in a row that you’ve disrupted class. You’re going to get yourself into some serious trouble here. I’m doing my best to help, but you’re going to tie my hands if you aren’t careful.” The woman’s words were hushed, but brimming with intensity. And, Talia kind of suspected, sincerity, too.
“I don’t care,” the boy said.
“You do, too, care, Kent.”
Kent!
Surely there weren’t two of them in the group of fourth-grade classrooms lining that hallway.
The couple had passed out of hearing range, and Talia stepped out from her alcove far enough to watch them until they turned a corner out of sight.
