скачать книгу бесплатно
Once more, his rebellious mind centered on the woman who’d ridden away from him—looking like a part of her horse—a few hours ago. Woman. Equating the Emily on that horse with the girl-child he’d left behind sixteen years ago reminded him of his reasons for leaving and for not telling her he was going. Back then, he couldn’t have withstood the pain in her eyes any better than he had today.
He admitted he owed her an explanation, but giving her one was a whole different ball game. How could he explain that, sixteen years ago, in the space of a few hours, the life he’d always known had fallen apart? Would she understand that he’d had to find out who he was, get answers, and that those answers lay somewhere beyond the village of Bristol ? Would she care that he hadn’t found those answers, but that he’d made peace with all that and had come home to stay? Probably not. Their earlier meeting proved conclusively that he’d put the last bullet into the special friendship he and Emily had shared.
A persistent question niggled at the edges of his mind. If he’d made peace with all that, why was he here looking to hire a P.I.? Because the answers to all the questions didn’t matter anymore. Only the answer to one. Why? And only that one because he was curious. Curious as to why his birth parents had left him and allowed him to be adopted by the Madisons.
Kat picked up a glossy magazine, leafed through it then tossed it aside. The fragrance of the receptionist’s perfume wafted to him. Its flowery scent brought to mind an image of his adoptive mother. With that image came more, until he could no longer keep the memories at bay.
In his mind, he stepped through the half-removed doorway and into the house in which he’d grown up, the house where he’d known love, laughter and the warmth of a family…until sixteen years ago. He climbed the stairs to their bedroom.
Slowly, memories of the day he’d come home after his parents’ funeral crowded his mind. Their room had been untouched by the fire. The closet door hung open, just as it had back then. Sitting on the floor…
Unwilling to get into reliving the day his life had exploded around him, he shook away the memories and strode to the office window. He squinted his eyes against the glare of the bright June sunshine blanketing the city of Albany, New York.
Taking refuge where he had so many times over the years, he thought about Emily. The way his insides always warmed when she smiled at him. The way the mischief in that smile forecast one of her schemes, a scheme that would include him and would inevitably end in disaster. Emily, with tears in her eyes, asking him to help her bury a stillborn kitten or understand why her father had broken another promise. The cool smoothness of her lips on his cheek the day he gave her a necklace for her thirteenth birthday to mark her transition from child to teenager.
He’d told her the tiny gold key suspended from the delicate chain represented the key to their friendship. But after he’d found himself alone and miles away, he’d wondered if it had been the key to something more.
Today, that old magnetism connecting them had tugged at his heart. Back then he’d have coaxed a smile from Emily, but today he’d had to watch her pain and do nothing. Now, instead of using their friendship as a refuge, they’d been on the outside, both of them, for their own reasons, afraid to step back into the circle.
A knot of regret formed in his stomach. He hit the windowsill with his balled fist. “Why in hell did I think coming back here would be easy? Why didn’t I just stay away?”
“Excuse me? Did you say something?”
Kat glanced over his shoulder. The receptionist peered around the silk plant. He shook his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just thinking out loud.”
“Oh.” She dismissed him and went back to her computer.
Before he could immerse himself in his musings again, the door marked Private opened and two men came out shaking hands. The older of the two men nodded at the redhead and walked toward the bank of elevators outside the glass wall fronting her desk. The other man stepped back inside the den of privacy and then closed the door.
Turning his attention to the receptionist, Kat waited expectantly.
“You can go in now, Mr.—” she checked the black leather appointment book again, pointedly telling him that she had dismissed him as easily as he had her. Her sultry expression told a different story “—Madison.”
In another time, Kat would have made some clever remark, charming forgiveness for his rude behavior from her, but not today. Today, he had more important things on his mind than a redheaded receptionist with welcome in her eyes. Today he thought only of a dark-haired vixen riding away from him, as if wind-devils pursued her…and the things he’d found in his parents’ closet sixteen years ago: a small, hand-carved cradle, a metal box holding his adoption papers and a note to the Madisons from a minister outlining how he’d been found.
EMILY FINGERED the tiny key on the chain around her neck. She gazed absently out over the front lawn of her house and pushed at the porch floor with her foot to keep the old rocker in motion.
She’d grown up on Clover Hill Farms. Seen the Kingston fortunes rise with the popularity of their prize stud horses. And she’d seen them fall when a horse died. She’d watched the joining of a stud and mare, then, eleven months later, seen the fruit of that union in the face of a spindly-legged foal. She’d cried when the foals her father had bred for others had left for new homes. And she’d loved it all, every minute of it.
Could she turn her back on it?
The monotonous, back-and-forth motion of the rocker reflected the rhythm of her thoughts.
One minute the idea of caring for a small, helpless human being scared her so much, she actually contemplated, if just for a split second, giving up the farm. The next, the notion of having someone to love and to return her love, to look up to her for guidance, to laugh with her, to share her solitary life, made her go all warm inside.
After an hour of rocking and thinking, she’d come to some pretty startling conclusions. The idea of having the baby and caring for it didn’t scare her, or at least not as much as other aspects of this mess. What scared her more was the idea of having to allow a man close enough to accomplish the task. As far as Emily was concerned, she’d rather go nose-to-nose with an unbroken horse than trust a man, any man. There had to be a way…
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the slightly singed toast she’d had for breakfast. The thought of eating another solitary meal made her want to cry. Resolutely, she got up, went inside and grabbed her purse, then headed for her car. Even Tess’s prizewinning gray meat loaf was preferable to another sandwich alone—then again, maybe she’d settle for a side trip to her favorite fast-food stop on the way to Honey’s for some much needed advice.
EMILY AND HONEY shared the top step on the back porch of Amanda Logan’s big, white house. By Bristol standards, the Logan house claimed mansion status. To Em, however, it had always been as warm and welcoming as her own ranch house. She was sure that Honey’s mother-in-law had a lot to do with that.
Sipping iced tea and watching Danny chase the yellow balloon she had brought him, Emily mentally snuggled down into the familiar warmth she always felt here.
Honey ran a finger down her sweating glass, leaving behind a trail of water droplets. “So, have you made any decisions about the farm?”
Emily frowned at her sister. “What do you mean decisions about the farm? I’m keeping it, of course. I’ll have the baby.”
Sitting her glass down at her feet, Honey wiped her wet hands on her denim-covered thighs, then looked Emily straight in the eye. “How many dates have you had recently?” Emily was about to respond, but Honey held up her hand. “Let me reword that. When was the last time you had a date?”
Snapping her mouth closed, Emily searched her memory. Though she struggled for an answer that would satisfy her sister, none came to mind. The last date she could recall was a year ago on New Year’s Eve with Sam Davis, the grandson of one of Rose’s friends. Rose said she had arranged the date because Sam was in town for just a few days and his grandmother was concerned that he’d be alone New Year’s Eve, but Emily wasn’t sure Rose hadn’t had an ulterior motive. If she had, it hadn’t worked. Sam was nice, but certainly didn’t rock the earth beneath Emily’s feet.
Honey leaned back, a knowing look filling her eyes. “I thought so. You haven’t had a date in so long, you can’t even recall when it was.”
“I can too recall it.”
“When?”
“Last New Year’s Eve.”
Honey’s red lips quirked to one side. “That was arranged. It doesn’t count. Besides, Em, that’s over a year ago.”
Avoiding her sister’s censuring look, Emily watched Danny chase his balloon across the lawn, hit it, then bound off after it again. She felt a bit like the balloon. In the past two days, she’d been battered from pillar to post with other people’s conclusions about her life. She needed to come to some decisions, something that would signal she’d taken back control. But Honey usually thought in absolutes and Emily had none, so she couldn’t broach the subject just yet.
Grabbing for something to steer the conversation in a new direction, she settled on one of the other unexpected events of her long day. “Guess who’s back in town.”
Casting Emily an I-know-you’re-avoiding-me look, Honey asked, “Who?”
“Kat.”
Sitting up straight, Honey gaped at Emily. “Kat Madison?”
“One and the same.”
“What’s he doing back here?”
“I saw him working on the old Madison place.”
“Do you think he’s back to stay?”
Denying the hope that surged through her at that consideration, Emily shook her head. “No. I have the feeling he’s fixing it up to sell it, then leaving again.” The thought sat in her stomach like a large rock.
“And?”
Emily stared at her sister. “And what?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. What did you expect to happen? I haven’t seen the man in sixteen years.” She threw Honey an impatient look and turned her attention back to Danny. Uncomfortable with having to relate to Honey what she’d said to Kat, Emily switched subjects for the second time. “So, what do you think I should do about conceiving a baby?”
A heavy sigh came from Honey’s side of the porch step. “As I see it, as long as you’re determined to go this route, you have three choices—adoption, in vitro fertilization, or the good old-fashioned way.”
Standing, Emily walked to the white, lacy porch railing and balanced herself atop it, keeping her balance by hooking one sneakered toe in the cutout of the vertical boards. “Adoption takes forever. I don’t have forever. And the old-fashioned way is not even a consideration.”
“Why?”
Not believing the feigned look of innocence on Honey’s face, Emily frowned. “Because that entails a relationship with a man, and, if you recall, we just established that my social life is nil. Besides I always felt sex was highly overrated.”
“Hells bells, Em, your first experience was with Joey Sloan. He didn’t know what the zipper on the front of his pants was for until he was twelve. What can you expect? I never did understand what you saw in him.”
“He liked horses.”
Honey snorted, then glanced at her son racing after his balloon. “Sex doesn’t have to be like that. When it’s the right time with the right person, it’s…”
“It’s what?”
Honey turned to her, as if waking from a dream. “Let me make this simple for you. It’s not Joey Sloan in the back seat of his father’s old sedan parked on the overlook above the village dump.”
Emily glowered at her sister, then tapped her cheek with the tip of her blunt nail, not wishing to get any deeper into the subject of her teenage male preferences. Besides, Honey didn’t need to know that an emotional relationship or the possibility of one had no part in Emily’s plan for her future. “Artificial insemination has its possibilities, however.”
“Good grief, Emily, you sound like you’re talking about one of your horses.”
“The problem is—” Emily went on, as if Honey hadn’t said a word “—I’d have to find a donor.”
Honey emitted a very unladylike snort. “Why don’t you just stroll down Main Street stopping every man you see until you find one willing to donate a few of his little guys to the cause.”
Emily threw her sister a disparaging look. “Can we be serious here for a minute? We’re talking about a baby for goodness’ sake.” She shook her head. “I don’t want just any man fathering my child. I want to know who he is.”
“Why?”
“Because I want my child to have the best possible start in life that he can.”
A smile curved Honey’s lips.
“What’s that grin for?”
“I was just thinking that the idea of this baby has really got you interested and not just because you can keep the farm. You want this baby, don’t you?”
Avoiding her sister’s gaze, Emily gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”
For a long time, neither of them said anything, each lost in their thoughts. Emily once again pictured herself with a baby, soft, tiny, warm and loving. Although the picture left her smiling inside, the responsibility still scared her half to death.
Honey sat up straight and turned to Emily, her eyes glowing, her lips curved in a self-satisfied smile. “I’ve got it. If you’re so determined to do this, why not ask Kat?”
At that precise moment, Danny’s balloon popped, and so did Emily’s daydreams about the baby. When her heart had stopped doing doubletime, Emily turned to her sister.
“Kat?”
A knowing expression transformed Honey’s face. “I always felt you and he had something going as kids. And who was it who always rode to your rescue—” Honey went silent. She stared at Emily.
Emily swirled the suggestion around in her mind. Even as angry as she was at Kat, the suggestion appealed to her in a very comforting way.
“Em, I was kidding. You’re not seriously considering—”
She left her perch on the railing and came back to hunker down next to Honey on the step. The last thing she wanted was the baby’s father hanging around. With Kat’s nomadic track record, he was quickly becoming a strong candidate for fatherhood. “Why not?”
“Emily Kingston….” Honey grabbed her sister’s arm. “Are you nuts? You have no idea what he’s been doing since you last saw him.”
“But he’s perfect. Clean-cut. Good-looking. He’s a rolling stone, never settles down. He’d probably donate his sperm, finish the house and hit the road again. Voilà! No attachments.”
Honey thought for a minute. “Healthy. Is he healthy?”
“A doctor’s exam will determine that. I’m sure you can’t donate sperm if you aren’t healthy and I’m sure they must do some kind of tests, even if you know who the donor is.” Emily waited, knowing by the look on her face that Honey had not given up. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Okay. What about willing? You don’t know that he’d even do this.” She smiled as if in victory. “I wouldn’t start buying the layette just yet.”
For a second Emily was stumped, then she recalled a trump card Honey hadn’t counted on. “He owes me after walking out on me without explanation. Maybe, if he does this for me, I might forgive him.”
Honey shook her arm. “Em, you’re letting your desire to keep the farm do your thinking. For all you know, Kat could be an escaped convict, a serial killer, an alien.” Emily cast her a look of incredulity. “Okay, so the alien thingy was a bit much. What I’m trying to say is that this is not a good idea. Besides, how do you plan on explaining this to Rose?”
“I’ll figure out something. She won’t be home for weeks. I have plenty of time. And as far as asking Kat goes, I disagree. With a few ground rules—” She jumped up. “I have to go home and figure out how to contact him.”
She kissed her sister’s cheek, then raced down the stairs to her truck, yelling goodbye to Danny as she climbed into the driver’s seat. In the rearview mirror, she could see Honey standing on the porch, mouth agape, hands outstretched, as if wondering what just happened. For once, she’d left her older sister speechless.
Emily didn’t have to wonder what had just happened. She’d had an epiphany. Kat had always helped her before. Why not this time? All she wanted was one healthy, enthusiastic sperm to conceive her baby. Surely he could spare one. Besides, he owed her for running out on her.
KAT SETTLED into the black leather chair across from J. R. Pritchard. Pritchard looked more like a successful CEO than a P.I. Navy suit, burgundy-and-beige tie executed in a perfect Windsor knot beneath the button-down collar of a crisp, white shirt. Definitely not the Bogart type Kat had anticipated.
“Mr. Madison—”
“Kat.”
Pritchard raised an eyebrow. “Kat. What can I do for you?”
Reaching into his back pocket, Kat extracted a worn, brown leather wallet. From it, he pulled a slip of paper, which he unfolded, then passed to Pritchard. “This is a rubbing off the end of a handmade cradle. I want to know who made the cradle and who it was made for.”
Pritchard studied the design, one Kat was very familiar with: a hand-carved, crude reproduction of a rose twined around an equally crude heart, all enclosed in a circle.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Pritchard continued to study the rubbing. “There’s a good chance that someone might recognize it for that very reason. There’s also a good chance, again for that very reason, that you’ll never find out who carved it.” He tossed the paper on his desk. “Why is it important that you find the artist? Is this cradle an antique or something?”
An explanation hung on Kat’s lips. No one knew about the cradle or his adoption. He didn’t like sharing that knowledge. “The rubbing might have something to do with my birth parents. I was adopted by Hilda and Charles Madison when I was ten months old.” He pulled another folded sheet of paper from his wallet. This one showed the wear marks of having been unfolded many times. He handed it to Pritchard.
He nodded, then looked at the paper. “Ah, so you’re looking to be reunited with your birth parents.”
“No.” Kat’s tone was much sterner than he’d planned. Pritchard’s head jerked up. “No emotional reunions. Just find the artist and the information I asked for, then call me. I’ll take it from there.” All Kat wanted to know was why anyone would abandon a ten-month-old infant to strangers and walk away. He didn’t need Pritchard digging around in his life—not that he had anything to hide. But some things were better off staying between a man and his conscience.
Pritchard stared at him for a long time, then shrugged, as if he really didn’t care to know Kat’s reasoning and that suited Kat just fine. He had no intention of sharing it. “Any hurry on this?”
Kat shook his head. “None.” He’d already spent sixteen years searching, he could wait a while longer.
