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Cherokee Dad
Sheri WhiteFeather
Discovering his missing girlfriend, Heather Richmond, on his doorstep with a baby was a shock for Michael Elk. The stunning blonde had sent his tortured heart to hell when she'd vanished eighteen months ago. Now she was suddenly asking him to claim her brother's baby as his own…. In order to protect her nephew, Heather had to depend on the only man she'd ever loved…and betrayed.But sharing a roof with irresistibly magnetic Michael Elk soon had her yearning to share his bed. Could they become a family for real, or would Heather's dark secret destroy their love once and for all?
“Who Does The Mob Think Justin’s Father Is?” Michael Asked.
“You,” Heather told him.
Yes, him. Who else could it be? He was Heather’s only lover, the only man she’d ever given herself to.
“You have no right to ask this of me. To expect me to raise your brother’s son,” Michael said.
“I’m not expecting you to do it forever. Just for a few months.”
“Why didn’t you think about me before you got tangled up in this mess?”
“Please understand. This is about Justin. An innocent child.”
What the hell was he supposed to do? Let the mob take the boy away from her?
“Please.” She went to the baby and picked him up.
Michael frowned, and Justin took that moment to smile.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
“All right,” he said as the boy’s grin tunneled an unwelcome path straight into his cautious, it’ll-be-over-in-two-months heart.
Dear Reader,
Experience passion and power in six brand-new, provocative titles from Silhouette Desire this July!
Begin with Scenes of Passion (#1519) by New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann. In this scintillating love story, a pretend marriage turned all too real reveals the torrid emotions and secrets of a former bad-boy millionaire and his prim heiress.
DYNASTIES: THE BARONES continues in July with Cinderella’s Millionaire (#1520) by Katherine Garbera, in which a pretty pastry cook’s red-hot passion melts the defenses of a brooding Barone hero. In Bed with the Enemy, (#1521) by rising star Kathie DeNosky, is the second LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB title in Desire. In this installment, a lady agent and her lone-wolf counterpart bump more than heads during an investigation into a gun-smuggling ring.
What would you do if you were Expecting the Cowboy’s Baby (#1522)? Discover how a plain-Jane bookkeeper deals with this dilemma in this steamy love story, the second Silhouette Desire title by popular Harlequin Historicals author Charlene Sands. Then see how a brokenhearted rancher struggles to forgive the woman who betrayed him, in Cherokee Dad (#1523) by Sheri WhiteFeather. And in The Gentrys: Cal (#1524) by Linda Conrad, a wounded stock-car driver finds healing love in the arms of a sexy, mysterious nurse, and the Gentry siblings at last learn the truth about their parents’ disappearance.
Beat the summer heat with these six new love stories from Silhouette Desire.
Enjoy!
Melissa Jeglinski
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Cherokee Dad
Sheri Whitefeather
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, attending powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.
Sheri’s husband, a member of the Muscogee Creek Nation, inspires many of her stories. They have a son, a daughter and a trio of cats—domestic and wild. She loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 17146, Anaheim, California 92817. Visit her Web site at www.SheriWhiteFeather.com.
To my editor, Melissa “MJ” Jeglinski, for truly caring about my work and giving me the opportunity to spread my wings. And to Joan Marlow Golan and Tara Gavin for trusting me to revise the proposal after they bought it. This isn’t the only Mafia-driven book I’ve written. Silhouette planted the seed in their Lone Star Country Club series, allowing me to let it sprout in a few different directions. I spent some engaging years in L.A., and I couldn’t resist creating a Los Angeles-based mob.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
One
Rain slashed against the windows, and lightning flashed in white-hot streaks. The intermittent bursts of thunder reminded twenty-five-year-old Michael Elk of the Cherokee thunder beings his uncle had told him about.
As a youth, Michael had scoffed at the existence of those revered beings, but on this weather-ravaged night, he wondered if they were out there, sanctioned by the Creator to perform special duties.
Thunderous duties.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Another pounding nearly jarred him out of his skin.
He placed the beer he’d been nursing on a side table and told himself to get a grip. Watching an old Hitchcock movie and listening to the storm was no reason to panic.
Then why did he sense that something was about to happen? Something, he decided, as he stared at the TV, that wasn’t in the script.
Another thunderous noise slammed through the living room, and Michael looked around, just to reassure himself that everything was all right.
He lived in a red-and-white farmhouse in the Texas Hill Country, the place where he’d been born. A place that gave him peace, at least most of the time.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Again, that sound. It seemed too close, too personal, too—
Too much like someone banging on the door?
Cursing his stupidity, he rose. Then wondered if thunder beings ever came to a man’s door.
Oh, sure. Right along with the Easter Bunny, Freddy Kruger and the Tooth Fairy.
Or maybe Santa Claus in a Halloween mask.
With an amused chuckle, he opened the door.
And flinched as if he’d been sucker punched.
Heather Richmond stood on the other side, dripping with rain and hugging a blanketed bundle to her chest.
Heather—his missing girlfriend, the woman who’d purposely disappeared a year and a half ago, the stunning blonde who’d sent his tortured heart to hell.
Their gazes locked, and his pulse jumped to his throat. Water glistened on her cheeks and dotted her lashes. Even in the dark, her eyes shined bright and blue.
“I tried the bell,” she said, her voice quiet amid the storm. “But it wasn’t working.”
He could only stare, could only struggle to get his emotions in check. The cumbersome bundle in her arms looked suspiciously like a baby.
Whose baby? His or someone else’s?
He had no idea what Heather had been up to. She’d gone to California on a business trip, then vanished into thin air. He’d filed a missing person’s report, frantic something horrible had happened to her, but a police investigation had turned up deceitful evidence.
“May I come in?” she asked.
He wanted to say no, to send her away. But the blanket moved and a little hand popped out from the damp folds of the fluffy material.
He couldn’t send the child away, not if it was his.
Without speaking, he stepped back, allowing her entrance into the home they’d once shared.
She walked into the living room, making damp marks on the hardwood floor. When she adjusted the sleeping baby, he noticed a cap of dark hair.
“Michael?”
His name on her lips pierced him like an arrow. And so did memories of the police report. The convention Heather had supposedly attended never existed, and she’d closed her savings account in Los Angeles, withdrawing the money she’d acquired from her deceased mother’s life insurance policy.
The LAPD concluded that she’d disappeared purposely, and since she hadn’t been involved in a crime, they hadn’t pursued her whereabouts.
There had been one vital clue in the mystery, though. The authorities discovered that Reed Blackwood, her half brother, had been living in L.A. and had left town on the day Heather closed her savings account.
But Reed was no longer on probation, so the ex-con was free to go where he pleased. And so, they’d claimed, was Heather.
Michael had considered hiring a private investigator to track her down, but his pride had gotten in the way. Why search for a woman who’d lied to him? Who’d gone to L.A. on a farce? Who’d stomped on his heart?
“Michael?” she said his name again, drawing his attention back to her.
“Yes?”
“Is it all right if we stay here tonight?”
We. Her and the child.
“Yes,” he responded again.
After that, silence stretched between them. The air grew thick and tense, swirling like a poltergeist. Was she going to tell him about the baby? Offer him an explanation? Or would silence prevail, trapping him in this haunting lull?
Finally she spoke, her voice much too soft. “Will you bring in the baby’s crib? It’s a portable model. There’s a small suitcase I need, too. And a diaper bag.”
How old was the child? he wondered as he accepted Heather’s keys and ventured outside. He’d yet to get a closer look, to determine its age.
Had she been carrying his babe in her womb when she’d run off?
The storm blasted his face, and he squinted into the rain. He suspected Heather’s car was a rental since she’d left her other vehicle behind when she’d split.
He hauled in the requested items, and she thanked him quietly.
Silence again. Then, “Will you hold him while I make up his bed?”
Him. So the child was a boy.
Michael stepped forward, and she transferred the baby into his arms. He wasn’t unfamiliar with babies; his uncle had a six-week-old son. Of course, this child was bigger, much heavier than his tiny cousin.
The top of the blanket fell away, exposing golden skin, chubby cheeks and long sweeping lashes. He was a pretty baby, almost too pretty to be a boy.
“What’s his name?” Michael asked.
She fluffed the bedding. “Justin.”
He glanced at the child’s face. He could see that Justin had some Indian blood in him. “How old is he, Heather?”
“Ten months.” A little nervously, she reached for the baby and placed him in the crib, removing the blanket that swaddled him.
Justin stirred but didn’t waken.
A ten-month-old with Indian blood. It didn’t take a genius to do the math, to figure the ethnic equation. “Is he mine?”
