Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author
DEBBIE MACOMBER

“Macomber offers a very human look at three women who uproot their lives to follow their true destiny.”

—Booklist on Changing Habits

“Macomber is known for her honest portrayals of ordinary women in small-town America, and this tale cements her position as an icon of the genre.”

—Publishers Weekly on 16 Lighthouse Road

“Debbie Macomber is one of the most reliable, versatile romance authors around. Whether she’s writing light-hearted romps or more serious relationship books, her novels are always engaging stories that accurately capture the foibles of real-life men and women with warmth and humor.”

—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

“Macomber's women serve as bedrock for one another in this sometimes tearful, always uplifting tale that will make readers wish they could join this charming breakfast club.”

—Booklist on Thursdays at Eight

“Debbie Macomber is one of the few true originals in women's fiction…. Her books are touching and marvelous and not to be missed!”

—Anne Stuart

“As always, Macomber draws rich, engaging characters.”

—Publishers Weekly on Thursdays at Eight

“Debbie Macomber shows why she is one of the most powerful, highly regarded authors on the stage today.”

—Midwest Book Review

“Debbie Macomber’s gift for understanding the souls of women—their relationships, their values, their lives—is at its peak.”

—BookPage on Between Friends

“Macomber has a gift for evoking the emotions that are at the heart of the genre’s popularity.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Romance readers everywhere will cherish the books of Debbie Macomber.”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips

“A multifaceted tale of romance and deceit, the final installment of Macomber's Dakota trilogy oozes with country charm and a strong sense of community.”

—Publishers Weekly on Always Dakota

“Macomber…is no stranger to the New York Times bestseller list. She knows how to please her audience.”

—Oregon Statesman Journal

“Macomber closes book two with a cliffhanger, leaving readers anxiously awaiting the final installment to this first-rate series.”

—Publishers Weekly on Dakota Home

“Sometimes the best things come in small packages. Such is the case here….”

—Publishers Weekly on Return to Promise

“Ms. Macomber provides the top in entertaining relationship dramas.”

—Reader to Reader

“Debbie Macomber whips up a delightful concoction of zany Christmas magic as delicious as chocolate steeped with peppermint….”

—BookPage on The Christmas Basket

“Macomber's storytelling sometimes yields a tear, at other times a smile.”

—Newport News, VA Daily Press

“Well-developed emotions and appealing characters.”

—Publishers Weekly on Montana

“Overflowing with small-town atmosphere, a warm sense of family, and engaging secondary characters, this story will resonate with many American fans.”

—Library Journal on Return to Promise

“Debbie Macomber shines in this touching tale of four women who are able to share their strengths to overcome many trials and tribulations.”

—Romantic Times on Thursdays at Eight

This Matter of Marriage is “so much fun it may keep you up till 2 a.m.”

—Atlanta Journal

“Can This Be Christmas? will enchant and entertain readers for generations to come…a beautifully told story.”

—Harleysville, PA Bucks-Mont Courier

Moon Over Water
Debbie Macomber

To Liz Curtis Higgs

Speaker, Writer and Friend Extraordinaire

AUTHOR’S NOTE

As I’ve matured as a writer, I’ve learned that every book has its own timing. The plot for Moon Over Water was conceived back in the early eighties when I was still new to the writing business. Like other projects—every writer has them—it got filed away in a drawer, almost forgotten.

Then one day, in an all-too-rare burst of energy, I started cleaning the drawers of an old desk and stumbled upon a file of rejected stories and discarded plots. Moon Over Water jumped up and insisted its time had come.

Each day of writing was an adventure. Jack infuriated me, but then so did Lorraine. A wonderful writing teacher once told me, “Tears in the writer mean tears in the reader.” That being the case, I feel I need to warn you. I laughed and cried and cheered. I wrote and rewrote myself in and out of corners, spent endless hours talking over plot points with my editor, who—in addition to everything else—deserves an award for patience. So here it is, Moon Over Water, nearly twenty years in the making. I hope you enjoy this adventure as much as I did!

With almost every book, there are a number of people to thank, and that’s certainly the case with Moon Over Water. As always, I’m forever grateful to my husband, Wayne, who continues to love me after thirty years. His encouragement and loving support are the glue that holds me together. Much appreciation to Dianne Moggy and Paula Eykelhof, who make writing for MIRA such a pleasant experience. Thank you for making all my dreams come true. Special recognition belongs to my agent, Irene Goodman, master negotiator and talented cheerleader. Also to Renate Roth and Jenny LaCombe, my two able-bodied assistants, who help keep my life relatively sane. And last, but certainly not least, I’m thankful for Dr. Stephen Fredrickson’s medical advice. He was the one who insisted there was no possible reason in the world to remove that bullet.

I eagerly look forward to hearing what my readers think about each book. You can write me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.

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

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

One

“E ternal rest grant upon her, oh, Lord….” Lorraine Dancy closed her eyes as the first shovelful of dirt hit her mother’s casket. The sound seemed to reverberate around her, magnified a hundred times, drowning out the words intoned by Father Darien. This was her mother—her mother —and Virginia Dancy deserved so much more than a cold blanket of Kentucky mud.

Lorraine had received word the evening of April first that her mother had been involved in a horrible freeway accident. In the beginning she’d thought it was some kind of cruel hoax, a distasteful practical joke, but the mud-splattered casket was real enough to rip her heart wide open.

Her chest tightened with the effort to hold back tears. A low mewling sound escaped her lips and her trembling increased as she listened to the priest’s words in the gray afternoon.

After a while, the friends who’d come to say their last farewells started to move away. Father Darien gently took hold of Lorraine’s hands and in sincere compassionate tones offered a few final words of comfort. Reaching deep within herself, Lorraine managed to thank him.

Still, she remained.

“Sweetheart.” Gary Franklin, her fiancé, stepped closer and placed his arm around her waist. “It’s time to go home.”

She resisted and held her ground when Gary tried to steer her toward the waiting limo. She wasn’t ready to leave her mother. Not yet. Please, not yet. It made everything so final…to turn her back and walk away.

This shouldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. But the reality of the moment was undeniable—the open grave, the nearby headstones, the muddy ground. Her fears assailed her from all sides, sending a chill down her spine. Lorraine wasn’t sure she could survive without her mother’s love and support. Virginia had been her touchstone. Her example. Her mother.

“Sweetheart, I know this is difficult, but you can’t stay here.” Gary again tried to urge her away from the grave.

“No,” she said, her voice stronger this time. What made it all the more difficult, all the more painful, was the complete lack of warning. Lorraine had talked to her mother that very weekend. They were so close; it had been the two of them against the world for as long as Lorraine could remember. Not a day passed that they didn’t connect in some way—with a conversation, a visit, even an e-mail message. On Saturday they’d spent more than an hour on the phone discussing plans for the wedding.

Her mother had been delighted when Lorraine accepted Gary’s proposal. Virginia had always liked Gary and encouraged the relationship from the beginning. Gary and her mother had gotten along famously.

Just last weekend—just a few days ago—her mother had been alive. During their phone call Virginia had chatted endlessly about the kind of wedding she wanted for her only child. They’d discussed the wedding dress, the bridesmaids, the flowers, the invitations. Lorraine had never heard her mother sound more excited. In her enthusiasm, Virginia had even mentioned her own wedding all those years ago and the only man she’d ever loved. She rarely spoke of Lorraine’s father. That was the one thing she didn’t share with her daughter—at least not since Lorraine’s early teens. Those were private memories, and it was as though Virginia held them close to her heart. They’d sustained her through the long lonely years of widowhood.

Lorraine couldn’t remember her father, who’d died when she was barely three. It seemed her mother had loved Thomas Dancy so completely she’d never entertained the thought of remarrying. No man, she’d once told Lorraine, could live up to the memory of the one she’d lost.

Her parents’ love story was possibly the most romantic Lorraine had ever heard. When she was small, her mother had often told her how wonderful Thomas had been. In later years, of course, she hardly ever talked about him, but Lorraine remembered those long-ago stories—of her father being a decorated war hero and how her parents had defied everyone by getting married. They were the adventure tales, the marvelous bedtime stories of her early childhood, and they’d made a deep and lasting impression on her. It was one of the reasons Lorraine had waited until she was twenty-eight before becoming engaged herself. For years she’d been searching for a man like her father, a man who was noble. Honest. Brave. A man of integrity and high ideals. No one seemed right until Gary Franklin came into her life.

“Lorraine, everyone’s gone.” Gary’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Not yet. Please.” She couldn’t leave her mother, not like this. Not in a cold wet grave when Virginia Dancy hadn’t even reached the age of fifty. The pain was more than Lorraine could bear. As the agony of the moment consumed her, tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Come on, honey, let me get you away from here,” Gary murmured in a voice gentle with sympathy.

Lorraine took a step in retreat. She didn’t want Gary. She didn’t want anyone except her mother. And her mother was in a grave. “Oh, Mom,” she cried, then broke into sobs, unable to stop herself.

Gary turned her in his arms and held her protectively against him. “Let it out, sweetheart. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry.”

Lorraine hid her face in his shoulder and wept as she hadn’t since that night the state patrolman had come to her with the tragic news. How long Gary let her weep, she didn’t know. Until her eyes stung and her nose ran and there were no more tears to shed.

“The house is going to fill up and you’ll need to be there,” Gary reminded her.

“Yes, we should go,” she agreed, and wiped her nose with the tissue he handed her, grateful that Virginia’s neighbor, Mrs. Henshaw, would be there to let everyone in. Lorraine was calmer now, more self-possessed. People would want to talk about her mother, and since Lorraine was the only one left in the family, she’d have to be in control of her emotions.

Together she and Gary started toward the parking lot. Away from her mother. Away from the only parent she’d ever known.

Lorraine’s one comfort, small as it was, was the knowledge that after twenty-five years apart, her parents were finally together again.

Lorraine couldn’t sleep, but then she hadn’t really expected to. She should be exhausted. She was exhausted; she’d barely slept in days. This past week had been the most emotionally draining of her life. But even now, after the funeral and the wake, she was too restless to collapse into sleep.

Gary seemed to think that spending the night at her mother’s house wasn’t the best idea. He was probably right. Her sense of judgment, along with everything else, had been thrown off-kilter by the news of her mother’s death.

The wake had been here, at Virginia’s place. It only made sense that everyone come to the house. Lorraine’s apartment was much too small to host the event, and a restaurant seemed too impersonal. Parishioners from St. John’s Church where Virginia had faithfully attended Mass all these years, plus a large group of neighbors, co-workers and friends, had lingered to tell Lorraine how sorry they were. They, too, appeared to have difficulty accepting the suddenness of her mother’s death.

Virginia had been an active member of St. John’s and a devout Catholic. For twenty years she sang in the choir and worked tirelessly for her church “family.” As a stockbroker with a large national firm, she’d made a name for herself in the business world. Turnover at the firm was high, and Virginia had learned that office friendships were often fleeting. Nevertheless, the house had been crammed with people.

Contrary to what Lorraine had assumed, she wasn’t needed as hostess. Friends and neighbors arrived bearing casseroles, breads and salads, which soon covered the dining-room table. The extras spilled into the kitchen and lined the countertops.

Lorraine was grateful to everyone, especially Gary who’d been both kind and helpful. Yet throughout the wake, all Lorraine had wanted was to be alone, to grieve by herself without people pressing in on her. But that wasn’t possible. It took her a while to realize that the friends who’d come were in need of solace, too. So she’d accepted their condolences and done her best to assume the role of comforter. Before long, she’d found herself depleted of energy, and she’d sunk into her mother’s favorite chair. Sitting there helped her feel closer to the mother she’d loved so deeply. It eased the ache of loneliness that threatened to consume her in a room full of people.

An endless stream of sympathy and advice had come at her.

“Of course you’ll want to keep the house…”

Lorraine had nodded.

“Naturally you’ll be selling the house…”

Lorraine had nodded.

“Your mother was a fine woman…”

“We’re all going to miss her…”

“She’s in a happier place now…”

“…such a senseless tragedy.”

Lorraine had agreed with one and all.

By the time everyone had left, it was dark. Gary had helped her with the cleanup and urged her to return to her own apartment. Or to his. He didn’t seem to understand her need to stay here, but how could he? He’d never lost a parent.

“You should go on home,” she’d told him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t be alone. Not tonight.”

“It’s what I want,” she’d insisted, yearning for him to leave. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and one she didn’t fully understand. She loved Gary, planned to spend the rest of her life with him, but at that moment she’d wanted him out the door. She had to deal with her grief and pain in her own way.

“You need me,” Gary said with loving concern.

“I do,” she agreed. “Just not right now.”

Disappointment registered in his deep brown eyes and he nodded with obvious reluctance. “You’ll phone if you change your mind?”

Lorraine had said she would.

He’d kissed her on the forehead in a sweet gesture of love and consolation. Shivering with the evening’s cold, Lorraine had stood out on the porch and watched him drive away.

She’d finished the remaining dishes, then wandered aimlessly through the house, pausing in the entrance to each room. Tenderly she caressed the things that had once been her mother’s most prized possessions. She closed her eyes and pictured her mother and father together at last and the wonderful reunion they must have enjoyed.

Lorraine was comforted by the knowledge that Virginia had been happy during the last weeks of her life. She’d been thrilled at the news of her daughter’s engagement, thrilled at the prospect of planning a large formal wedding. No sooner had Lorraine accepted Gary’s proposal than Virginia had started making elaborate plans for the October wedding. She’d valued tradition and frowned on Lorraine’s having chosen a small emerald necklace in lieu of the usual engagement ring.

“You have your wish now, Mom,” she said aloud. The wedding ring on her left hand had belonged to her mother. The inside of the band was engraved with the words “I’ll love you always. Thomas.” The funeral director had given it to her that very day, just before he’d closed the casket. Lorraine had slipped it on and wouldn’t remove it until the time came for her own wedding. Her mother had worn this ring since the day Thomas Dancy placed it on her finger, and now Lorraine would wear it, too.

“What am I going to do without you, Mom?” Lorraine said into the stillness of the night, her eyes welling with tears. It surprised her that she had any left.

She mulled over everything she’d done that had been a disappointment to her mother. She’d dropped out of medical school after her second year and trained as a nurse/practitioner, instead. Virginia had said little, but Lorraine knew her mother regretted that decision. She liked to think she’d made up for it when she met Gary, who sold medical supplies to Group Wellness, where Lorraine worked.

The fact that she’d become a lapsed Catholic had distressed her mother, as well, but Lorraine had never identified with the church the way Virginia had. She attended a nondenominational Christian church, but her mother would have preferred she remain Catholic.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she whispered, knowing she’d let her mother down in countless other ways.

When she’d finished her emotional journey through the house, Lorraine had taken a hot shower and changed into a nightgown, one she’d bought Virginia the previous Christmas. After giving the matter some thought, she’d chosen to sleep in her mother’s room, rather than her own. When she was frightened as a child, she’d always climbed into her mother’s bed. Lorraine was frightened now, afraid of the future, afraid to be without Virginia, without family.

As she lay there sleepless, she gathered her memories around her, finding consolation in the happiness they’d experienced. Day-to-day life had been full of shared pleasures, like cooking elaborate meals together, watching the classic movies they both loved, exchanging favorite books. Virginia also worked for several church-sponsored charities, and Lorraine sometimes spent an evening helping her pack up boxes of food for needy families, or stuffing envelopes. Her mother had been a wonderful woman, and Lorraine was proud of her. She’d been devout in her faith, hardworking, kindhearted. Smart, but generous, too.

After an hour or so, Lorraine gave up even trying to sleep. She sat up and reached for the framed photograph of her parents, which rested on the nightstand. The picture showed Virginia as young and beautiful, wearing a full, ankle-length dress with a wreath of wildflowers on her head. Her long straight hair fell nearly to her waist. She held a small bouquet of wildflowers in one hand; with the other hand she clasped her husband’s. Her eyes had been bright with happiness as she smiled directly into the camera.

The Thomas Dancy in the picture was tall and bearded, and wore his hair tied in a ponytail. He gazed at his bride with an identical look of love and promise. Anyone who saw the photograph could tell that the two of them had been deeply in love.

As recently as last weekend, when they’d been discussing Lorraine’s wedding plans, she’d teased her mother about the photo, calling her parents “flower children.” Virginia had been good-natured about it and merely said, “That was a long time ago.”

Sadly this photograph was the only one Lorraine had of her parents together. Everything else had been destroyed in a fire when she was in grade school. Lorraine remembered the fire, not realizing until years later all that she’d lost. Her parents’ photographs and letters, her father’s medals…

Lorraine knew that Virginia O’Malley had met Thomas Dancy her freshman year in college and they’d quickly fallen in love. The war in Vietnam had separated them when her father volunteered for the army in 1970. He’d survived the war and come home a hero. It was a year later, during a routine physical, that something unusual had shown up in his blood work. That something had turned out to be leukemia. Within six months, Thomas was dead and Virginia was a young widow with a child.

Virginia’s parents had helped financially for many years, but both of Lorraine’s maternal grandparents had died in the early eighties. Her father’s relatives were unknown to her. Her mother had one younger brother, but he’d gotten involved with drugs and alcohol and communication between them had been infrequent at best. The last time Virginia had heard from her brother was five years ago, when he’d phoned her asking for money to make bail. Virginia had refused. Lorraine’s only cousin lived someplace in California, and she hadn’t seen or heard from her since the summer she was thirteen.

In other words, Lorraine was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

The phone startled her, and she whirled around and grabbed the receiver. “Hello,” she said breathlessly, uncertain who to expect.

Gary. “Just checking to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m okay,” she told him.

“You want me to come over?”

“No.” Why can’t you just accept that I need this time alone? His attitude upset her. This wasn’t like Gary.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be by yourself,” he said. He’d mentioned this earlier, more than once. “I know it’s all a terrible shock, but the last thing you should do now is isolate yourself.”

“Gary, please. I buried my mother this afternoon. I…I don’t have anyone else.”

Her words were met with an awkward pause. “You have me,” he said in a small hurt voice.

She regretted her thoughtlessness and at the same time resented his intrusion. “I know how that must have sounded and I’m sorry. It’s just that everything is still so painful. I need a chance to adjust.”

“Have you decided to sell the house?” Gary asked.

Lorraine didn’t understand why everyone was so concerned about what she did with the house. “I…don’t know yet.”

“It makes sense to put it on the market, don’t you think?”

She closed her eyes and sought answers. “I can’t make that kind of decision right now. Give me time.”

She must have sounded impatient because Gary was immediately contrite. “You’re right, darling, it’s too soon. We’ll worry about it later. Promise you’ll phone if you need me?”

“I promise,” she whispered.

After a few words of farewell, she ended the call. As she replaced the receiver, her gaze fell on the clock radio. She was shocked to discover it was barely nine o’clock. It felt more like midnight. She lay back down and stared up at the ceiling, letting her thoughts creep into the future. Her mother wouldn’t be at her wedding, wouldn’t be there for the births of her grandchildren. Virginia Dancy had looked forward to becoming a grandmother; now her grandchildren would never know her.

Rather than deal with yet another aspect of her loss, Lorraine turned her mind to Gary’s unexpected call. He’d brought up a number of questions she still had to face.

The house had to be dealt with soon. If it sat empty for long, it’d start to deteriorate, not to mention attract vandals. Gary was right; she had to figure out what to do about it. Finances and legal issues posed another problem. She’d never even seen her mother’s will.

She’d deal with one thing at a time, she decided. That was advice Virginia had given her as a child and it had always stood her in good stead. One step and then another.

The call from Dennis Goodwin, her mother’s attorney, came a week after the funeral, when Lorraine had returned to work. She’d been expecting to hear from him. Dennis had told her at the funeral that there were a few legal matters that needed to be resolved and then he’d get in touch. He wouldn’t need more than fifteen or twenty minutes of her time. He’d promised to phone the following week and set up an appointment.

True to his word, Dennis had called her exactly a week after she’d buried her mother.

Lorraine arrived at the appointed time, prepared to hear the details of her mother’s will. The receptionist greeted her pleasantly, then reached for the intercom button. “Lorraine Dancy is here to see you,” she announced.

A moment later Dennis Goodwin appeared in the reception area. “Lorraine,” he said, his voice warm. “It’s good to see you.” He ushered her into his office.

Lorraine knew that Virginia had both liked and trusted Dennis. They’d worked in the same Louisville office building, and during that time, he’d acted as Virginia’s attorney of record for her will and any other legal matters.

“Have a seat,” he invited. “How are you holding up?”

“About as well as can be expected,” Lorraine told him. She no longer felt the need to brush aside her own grief in an effort to comfort others. The week since the funeral had been difficult. She couldn’t have borne it without Gary’s constant support.

“As you’re already aware,” the attorney said, leaning toward Lorraine, “I knew your mother for a number of years. She was one of the most talented stockbrokers I ever met. Back in the eighties, she recommended I purchase shares in a little-known Seattle company called Microsoft. Because of her, I’ll be able to retire in a couple of years. In fact, I could live off that investment alone.”

“Mom loved her job.”

“She made several smart investments of her own,” he added. “You won’t have to worry about finances for a long time to come.”

The news should have cheered her, Lorraine supposed, but she’d much prefer to have her mother back. No amount of financial security could replace what she’d lost.

She folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to continue.

“Your mother came to me four years ago and asked me to draw up her will,” Dennis said. He rolled away from his desk and reached for a file. “According to the terms, you’re her sole beneficiary. Under normal circumstances, our meeting wouldn’t be necessary.”

Lorraine frowned.

“But in the event of an untimely death, Virginia asked me to speak to you personally.”

Lorraine slid forward in her chair. “Mom wanted you to talk to me? About what?”

“Medical school.”

“Oh.” She gave a deep sigh. “Mom never understood about that.”

The attorney raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“It was a big disappointment to Mom when I decided to drop out.”

“Why did you?”

Lorraine looked out the window, although she scarcely noticed the view.

“A number of reasons,” she finally murmured, glancing down at her hands. “I love medicine and Mom knew that, but while I have the heart of a physician, I don’t have the competitive edge. I hated what medical school was like—the survival of the fittest. I couldn’t do that. Maybe I’m lazy, I don’t know, but I have everything I want now.”

“How’s that?”

Her smile was brief. “I do almost as much as a doctor, but without the bucks or the glory.”

“I believe your mother did understand that,” Dennis said, although Lorraine suspected it wasn’t completely true. “But she wanted you to know that the funds are available if you should change your mind and decide to go back.”

Lorraine’s eyes stung as she held back the tears. “Did she tell you I’d recently become engaged?”

“She hadn’t mentioned it. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Gary and I only recently told…” Lorraine let the rest fade. The attorney waited patiently, but she didn’t trust her voice.

“If you reconsider and decide you’d try medical school again, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

His offer surprised her. “Thank you, but I’m not going to do that. Not when Gary and I are about to start our lives together.”

“Well, I promised I’d mention it to you if the occasion arose. It saddens me that it has.”

Within a few minutes, Dennis finished explaining the terms of the will and handed her the necessary paperwork. When she’d read everything, he passed her another sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“An inventory of the safe-deposit box. I went down to the bank yesterday afternoon and retrieved everything. I have it all for you here.” He stood and picked up the manila envelope on his credenza. “I wanted you to be sure that every document listed on the sheet is accounted for.”

Because she knew it was expected of her, Lorraine dumped the contents of the envelope onto the desk surface and checked off the items on the list. She’d previously seen or known about everything here. Or so she assumed until she found the opened letter addressed to her mother. How odd, she mused, studying its colorful foreign stamps.

“Do you know anything about this letter?” she asked the attorney.

“Nothing. Actually, it seemed odd to me that Virginia would put something so obviously personal in with documents that were all business-related.”

“It’s from Mexico,” Lorraine said unnecessarily.

“Yes, I noticed that.”

“Postmarked seven years ago.” She withdrew the single page inside. After scanning it, she turned it over and read the signature. Gasping, she lifted her head to stare at Dennis Goodwin.

“You’re…you’re sure you didn’t know about this?” She was unable to conceal her shock.

“Lorraine, I don’t know anything about that letter. I was your mother’s lawyer, not her confidant. What she chose to place in the safe-deposit box had nothing to do with my role as her attorney.”

Lorraine sagged against the back of the chair and raised her hand to her throat. “Could…could I have a glass of water please?” Her mouth felt incredibly dry and her voice had gone hoarse. This couldn’t be true. Couldn’t be real. This was crazy.

“I’ll be right back.” Dennis stepped out of his office and quickly returned with a large paper cup.

Lorraine drank the contents in several noisy gulps and briefly closed her eyes, trying to take in what she’d learned.

“I’m sorry if something’s upset you,” Dennis said.

“You really haven’t read the letter?” she asked shakily.

“No, of course not. It would’ve been highly unethical to do so.”

Lorraine waited until she’d regained her composure enough to sound unemotional. “It appears, Dennis,” she said calmly, “that my father isn’t dead, after all.”

Two

T he nightmare woke Thomas Dancy out of a sound sleep. He opened his eyes and filled his lungs with air. A breeze wafted in through the open bedroom window and a full April moon cast fingers of cool light into the room. It’s just a dream, he reminded himself. One that came to him periodically. It was always the same, and despite the passage of almost thirty years; it hadn’t lessened in intensity. He relived every gut-wrenching detail—and always woke up at the same point, trembling with fear and terror. Again, as he did every time, Thomas felt unabashed relief that it had only been a dream. Again, he reminded himself that the worst was over. He’d walked through that hell once, and lived.

Thomas threw back the sheet and sat on the edge of the thin mattress as the darkness and the effects of the nightmare closed in around him. Even now that he was wide-awake, the fear refused to release him, had seeped into his bones.

He’d lost so much, back in the early seventies. By far his greatest and most profound loss had been his wife and daughter, but the dream had nothing to do with them.

In an effort to combat the lingering traces of depression—the dream’s legacy—he formed a mental picture of Ginny and tiny Raine the day he’d left for Vietnam. Ginny had been so young, so beautiful. Her face had been streaked with tears as she held their daughter in her arms. Despite everything that had gone wrong in the years since, that particular image never failed to lighten his heart.

She’d come to the airport to see him off to war. A war he didn’t understand and had no desire to fight. It had nearly killed him to leave his family that day. But in the end he’d been the one to do the killing.

Guilt surged up in him and he shook his head, refusing to allow his thoughts to stumble down that path. He rubbed his face with both hands, as if he could erase the last residue of the dream and all the memories it brought back.

He couldn’t.

The trembling started again, and he stood and walked over to the window and stared into the night. He gazed at the reflection of the moon over the smooth water of the bay, off in the distance. He needed a reminder that the war and its aftermath were far behind him.

As memories of the war faded, they were replaced by thoughts of Ginny. Despite the years, despite her abandonment, he still loved her. He’d made a new life for himself here in El Mirador, and he’d come to think of Mexico as his home. He was a simple man, living a simple life. He’d never be rich, but then, money wasn’t important to him. Ginny had understood that.

Ginny…

Earlier that night, before his dreams had erupted into the sights and sounds of a brutal war, his wife had come to him. He’d seen her as she was at twenty, and their love had seemed as real as the windowsill beneath his fingers.

His heart sang at the sound of her name in his mind. He remembered the first time he saw her on the university campus and how he’d dismissed her as virginal and uptight. But the cliché about opposites attracting was certainly true in their case. He’d embraced the beliefs of the late sixties—like student power and “doing your own thing”—ideologies she’d regarded with contempt.

As it happened, they’d attended the same English class and sat across from each other. Thomas took it upon himself to break through that barrier of reserve she held between herself and the world. Ginny was the challenge he couldn’t resist. He didn’t mean it to happen, but before he knew it, he’d fallen in love.

So had she.

A slow smile relaxed the taut muscles of his face as he recalled the first time they’d slept together. She’d been innocent, and while he was far from a virgin, that afternoon with Ginny was the first time he’d truly made love. The honesty of their lovemaking had forever changed him. Instinctively he’d known that, despite his other lovers, she was the only woman he’d really loved.

He wanted to marry her. His feelings had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with his heart. They met every day after class and took crazy chances to be together in either his dorm or hers. Once they’d made love, it was impossible to stop, and their physical need for each other grew until it dominated all common sense.

He realized Ginny was pregnant long before she suspected it. Good Catholic girl that she was, she’d refused to let him practice birth control. God knows, he’d tried not to get her pregnant…. But Ginny would wrap her legs around him in a way that drove him to the brink of insanity, refusing to let him withdraw early. It was as if she was purposely trying to make it happen.

By that time he was renting a two-room apartment off campus. His sole piece of furniture had been a worn-out mattress tucked in a corner. What cooking he did was on a hot plate. The lack of material wealth was of little concern to either of them. They were too much in love to care.

Ginny’s conservative family was shocked by the changes in her when she arrived home for the holidays with him in tow. Her hair was waist-length and her attire consisted of long cotton dresses and sandals. Her parents hadn’t liked him then and liked him even less when they discovered he’d gotten their honor-student daughter pregnant. It didn’t surprise him that her family strongly disapproved of their marrying. One of the things that distressed Thomas most in the years that followed was the rift he’d caused between Ginny and her family.

They wrote their vows themselves and at Ginny’s insistence found a sympathetic priest who agreed to perform the ceremony. Their lovemaking had been good before they were married, but afterward it was incredible.

With a wife to support and a baby on the way, Thomas had been forced to drop out of college and find full-time employment. At one time he’d seriously considered medicine as a career, but that had been an unlikely dream from the beginning. He and Ginny both knew that. Besides, the only way he could’ve attended medical school would have been on a scholarship, and his marks had fallen since his involvement with Ginny. Still, he wouldn’t have traded his marriage for even a full-ride scholarship to the best medical school in the country.

Although they lived below the poverty level, Thomas and Ginny were blissfully happy. At Lorraine’s birth, he was with Ginny as much as the doctors would allow. It’d been hell not to go into the delivery room with her. When the nurse came out and told him he had a daughter, Thomas broke into tears of joy. His heart had never known that kind of happiness.

Two days after they brought Lorraine home from the hospital, Thomas walked into a U.S. Army recruiting office and handed over his life to Uncle Sam. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he had no real choice. Little did he realize when he put on that uniform how much he was about to lose.

The nightmare was about Vietnam. Again and again he relived the day he’d held David Williams in a blood-filled rice paddy and watched him die. He’d been helpless to do anything but scream in anguish.

He wrote Ginny about David, but words were inadequate to describe his loss. More than a friend had died that day. Part of Thomas Dancy had died, too. The young man he was, the innocent twenty-one-year-old who believed in the power of love and goodness, also bled to death in that rice field. From then on, he was able to kill without conscience.

He’d gone to war a kid, trying to provide for his family, and returned a killer. It’d taken Ginny’s love to wipe away the ugliness of those long months in Vietnam. Halfway through his tour he’d flown to Hawaii on leave and never returned to the war. He despised what he’d become.

The army referred to him as a deserter, but Thomas knew that walking away then had saved his life. He would have lost his mind if he’d gone back. He’d hidden in San Francisco for a while and Ginny had come to him there, loved him, given him back his sanity. The bitterness and hatred inside him had slowly melted away until he was almost whole again, almost able to put all the horrors he’d seen out of his mind. But he felt a moral obligation to save others from what he’d experienced. Instead of fleeing to Canada as so many before and after him had done, he made it his mission to work toward ending the war. He joined an extremist group and made friends with its leader, José Delgado, who had family in Mexico. Because Thomas had some fluency in Spanish after four years of study, José insisted they speak the language when talking about their plans. It had started out as a safety measure and then later become a necessity.

“Thomas?”

Reluctantly he turned at the sound of his name.

“The dream again?” Azucena asked in a low whisper.

He nodded, not wanting to explain that his thoughts had been of Ginny and the daughter he no longer knew.

She slipped out of bed and walked to his side, her bare feet silent against the stone floor. “Come back to bed,” she urged in Spanish as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Soon,” he promised, unwilling just yet to let go of the memories.

“Come,” she enticed once more, splaying her fingers across his chest. “I will help you forget the bad dreams you have.”

“Azucena…”

Her response was wordless. She kissed his neck and pressed her heavy breasts against him.

He needed her then as he’d needed her so many times before. Despite the advanced state of her pregnancy, he kissed her with little gentleness and she responded with a hunger that quickly ignited his own. When he would have stopped, she pulled him to the bed and drew him close.

Azucena deserved a much better man than he would ever be. She deserved someone who would love her completely for herself. A man who could give his name to the child who grew inside her. It shamed him that she was only two years older than his daughter, but that didn’t stop him from burying himself between her thighs. In the moment of his release he cried out Ginny’s name. It wasn’t the first time, and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last.

Lorraine had read the letter so many times she’d memorized it. She’d given up sleeping at her own place and spent the nights at her mother’s house instead. While she stayed there, she slept very little. Exhausted and angry, she sat in the dark living room night after night and tried to make sense of what she’d learned.

She was vaguely aware that two weeks or so had passed since that afternoon in Dennis Goodwin’s office. Morning dawned and bright light spilled into the room and still Lorraine hadn’t slept. She wasn’t capable of dozing for more than an hour or two. The deep satisfying sleep of those at peace with life seemed forever lost to her.

The mother she’d known and loved was someone whose existence had virtually disappeared. Virginia—or the person she’d pretended to be—was completely out of reach now. Her actions were beyond Lorraine’s understanding—or forgiveness. Lorraine felt as if the foundation of her entire world had crumbled beneath her.

Although she knew each word of the letter by heart, she removed it from the envelope and read it once again.

Dearest Ginny,

Today is our daughter’s twenty-first birthday. Where did all those years go? It seems only yesterday that I bounced Raine on my knee and sang her to sleep. It hurts to realize how much of her life I’ve missed.

I know you don’t want to hear this, but I never stopped loving you or needing you. I wish things could have been different for us. All I ask of you now is that you tell Raine the truth about me.

The decision to tell her I was dead is one we made together. At the time it seemed the right thing to do, but I’ve regretted it every day since. You know that. You also know I’m a man of my word. I’ve done as you wanted and stayed out of your lives, but I’m pleading with you now to tell Raine the truth. All of it. She’s legally an adult and old enough to make her own judgments.

I’m teaching at a small school in a coastal town called El Mirador on the Yucatán Peninsula. You can reach me by phone at the number on the bottom of the page. The school will make sure I get the message.

Are you well, Ginny? Do you lie awake at nights and think of me the way I do of you? Are you happy? This is my prayer for you, that you’ve found peace within yourself.

I’ll always love you.

Thomas

Three truths hit Lorraine full force each and every time she went over the letter. First and foremost, despite what she’d been told, her father was alive and well. Second, he loved her. Last—and what had the most profound impact on her—her mother had lied to her all these years.

There was a loud knock at the front door, yanking Lorraine from her thoughts.

She wasn’t surprised to find Gary standing on the other side of the screen door. “I thought you’d be here.” He glanced into the living room and eyed the disarray.

“What time is it?” she asked, although it was obviously morning.

“You were due at work an hour ago.”

“Is it that late already?” she asked. She drifted around the room, picking up books and papers and videotapes, piling them neatly on a shelf. Anything to avoid looking at him. Anything to delay telling him what she’d done.

“I don’t know what to do to help you anymore,” he said, lifting his palms in a gesture of helplessness. When she didn’t answer, he walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, then pulled out a tin of coffee.

Lorraine followed him.

“It might be a good idea if you dressed for work,” he suggested pointedly.

Rather than argue with him, she did as he asked, taking a quick shower and putting on her uniform, although she had no intention of showing up at the clinic. The scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted her when she returned. Gary handed her a mug and poured himself one.

“Let’s talk,” he said, motioning for her to sit at the table.

Once more she complied, because fighting him demanded too much energy.

He took the chair across from her. “Sweetheart, I know this is difficult, but you’ve got to get on with your life.”

She didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “I realize that and I will.”

“That’s a good start.” He sipped his coffee, then sighed heavily, as if he’d dreaded this confrontation. “You haven’t been yourself ever since that meeting with your mother’s attorney.”

“I know.”

He hesitated, as if unsure how far to press her. “I realize the letter upset you. Hell, it would’ve upset anyone, but you’ve got to come to grips with reality. Sleeping here every night, watching the same videos over and over isn’t going to help.” He paused and changed tactics. “It’s been a month now, and you haven’t dealt with your mother’s death any better than when it first happened.”

“You’re right, I haven’t,” she agreed, cradling the mug with both hands, letting its warmth seep into her palms. Somehow she managed to go in to work most days, but she’d been late a number of times. Again and again she sat in front of the television and escaped into her favorite movies. Movies her mother had loved, too—romance, adventure, suspense, anything that would take her mind off the lies Virginia had told her. Lies both her parents had conspired in.

“What do you do here every night?” he asked. “Besides watch Humphrey Bogart and Cary Grant movies.”

“Do?” It seemed he had only to look around for an answer to that.

He glanced back into the living room and frowned.

Lorraine tried to look at the house through his eyes and had to admit its appearance must come as something of a shock. She was as neat and orderly as her mother had been. Both were meticulous housekeepers, yet Lorraine had gone about systematically tearing every room apart. The house was a shambles.

“What do you hope to prove?” he asked.

Lorraine was stunned by his lack of comprehension. “I’m not hoping to prove anything. I’m hoping to find what else my mother saw fit to hide from me.”

He stared into the distance as if it took some effort to assimilate her words. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you thought about talking to a counselor?” he asked gently. He risked glancing in her direction.

“You mean a mental-health professional?”

“Ah…yes.”

Lorraine couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “You think I’ve gone off the deep end? That I’m losing it?” As her laugh turned to a giggle, she wondered if he wasn’t far from right. At times the sense of betrayal and pain threatened to strangle her. That her parents, particularly her mother, had chosen to lie to her was incomprehensible.

“I know how difficult this is for you,” Gary added, rushing his words. “I’m trying to understand, and I know the people at Group Wellness are, too, but there’s a limit to just how accommodating everyone can be while you deal with this.”

“I agree with you.”

Gary’s eyes revealed his suspicion. “You do?”

“I’m booking the next month off work.”

“A month?” She could tell he was taken aback by the news. “That long? I think a week or two should be sufficient, don’t you?”

“Not for what I have in mind.”

“I thought we’d decided to save most of our vacation time for our honeymoon and—” He stopped midsentence and his eyes narrowed. “Have in mind? You have something in mind?”

“I’m going to see my father.”

It was a moment before he spoke. “When?”

“My flight’s scheduled to leave at seven o’clock Tuesday morning.”

Gary stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her any longer. “When did you decide this?” His voice was calm, which Lorraine recognized as a sign of anger.

“Last week.” She’d known when she bought the ticket that Gary would disapprove. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t discussed her plans with him beforehand.

“I see,” he said in a hurt-little-boy voice. He reached for his mug and took a long swallow.

“I phoned the school where he teaches and talked to the secretary.” Communication had been difficult, but the woman’s English was far superior to Lorraine’s high-school Spanish.

Gary’s silence was comment enough, but Lorraine hurried on with the details, hoping to settle this before she left for Mexico. She didn’t want to slight Gary or offend him, but she had to see her father, talk to him face-to-face. She had to find out what had driven him and her mother apart. Why her parents had allowed her to believe he was dead. There had to be a logical explanation for the lie; she prayed there was. Of all the emotions he’d revealed in his letter, the strongest was love, for her and for Virginia. And all these years they’d deprived her of that love. Why?

“Have you talked to your father?” Gary asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

She hesitated before answering, knowing Gary would find fault with this aspect of her plan. “Not directly.”

“I see.”

“The phone number is for the school where he teaches.”

“So I understand.” He sounded downright bored now.

“And he was in class when I called,” she continued. Surely that made perfect sense. “I left a message giving my flight information and asking him to meet my plane.”

“Then he returned your phone call?”

Again she hesitated. “Not exactly.”

Gary snorted. “It’s a simple question, Lorraine. Either he returned your call or he didn’t.”

This conversation had been unsatisfactory almost from the first. “I resent your tone, Gary. I was hoping you’d support me.”

He released his breath in a long-suffering sigh. “I just wish you’d talked to me about it first.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him, and she was. “I realize this is unfair to you, but I have to find out what happened between my parents. My father’s alive, and I want a chance to know him—to talk to him, to learn why they felt they had to lie. You can understand that, can’t you?”

He took his time answering. “Yes,” he admitted with obvious reluctance. “But like I said, I wish you’d involved me in this. We’re engaged. I would’ve thought you’d want to talk it over with me before you booked the trip.”

“I’m going to see my father, not quit my job.”

“Taking a month off has…ramifications,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Our honeymoon time,” he shot back. “Group Wellness isn’t going to give you a month off now and then two more weeks a couple of months down the road.”

“Five months.”

“Whatever.”

“Gary, please. Try to see it from my point of view.”

“See it from mine.”

“Darling, I’m sorry,” Lorraine said. “I was hoping you’d understand. I have to do this before I can get on with my life—with our life.”

Slowly he nodded, as if his agreeing to her trip was a gift. “I still wish you’d told me first so I could’ve changed my schedule and joined you.”

Joined her? Not once had Lorraine thought of asking Gary to accompany her. He couldn’t come anyway, she decided with a surge of relief. Not when he was so recently promoted and training his replacement.

But that wasn’t the real reason, and she knew it. She loved Gary, but she didn’t want him with her. This journey into her family’s past was her adventure, and hers alone.

Letting Lorraine travel to Mexico by herself had never sat easy with Gary Franklin. He loved his fiancée and realized this was a difficult, unsettling time for her. A measure of his love was his willingness to stand by and let her fly off on her own. Not only that, he’d offered to drive her to the airport—which meant getting up at 4:00 a.m. He glanced at his watch in the dashboard light. Quarter to five now. They’d discussed this trip countless times since the morning she’d sprung it on him, and he was convinced she was making a mistake. But Lorraine didn’t want to hear that and had stopped listening to him.

Although his only intent was to protect her, shield her from further hurt, she refused to consider any outcome other than a joyful reunion with the father she’d never known. He’d long admired Lorraine for her common sense, but she exhibited little of it in this unpleasant matter.

Gary had liked Virginia, and her death had shaken him, too. He’d respected Lorraine’s mother for her business savvy and the way she worked in what was still largely a man’s world. Furthermore he trusted her judgment. Since she’d chosen to tell Lorraine a lie regarding her father, he figured there had to be a good reason. Gary feared that whatever it was would mean bad news for Lorraine, maybe even heartbreak.

Besides her unwillingness to listen to his advice, he couldn’t help resenting the fact that she didn’t want him with her. She hadn’t tried to hide it, either, and that hurt.

He parked the car and gathered his thoughts as he approached the house.

“Ready?” he asked Lorraine when she answered the doorbell.

She nodded. At least she’d packed sensibly, he noted—just one medium-size wheeled suitcase. She wasn’t like some women, who found it necessary to bring along every outfit they owned. She looked smart, too, in an off-white linen pantsuit, her blond hair neatly pulled back. She seemed a little uncertain, but obviously determined to follow through, no matter what happened.

“Do you have your passport?”

“Yes.”

“Travelers’ checks?”

She nodded.

“Insect repellant?”

“Gary! Honestly, you make me sound like a child heading off to camp.”

He hadn’t thought of it like that, but she was probably right. “Sorry,” he said with a grin.

Because there was so little traffic this early, the drive to the airport didn’t take long. He insisted on going to the gate with her. Then they stood there waiting, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t want you to worry,” she murmured at last.

“I’ll try not to. Will you phone?”

She hesitated and shrugged lightly. “I don’t know about the phone situation in El Mirador. My guess is the schoolhouse is the only place in town with a working phone.”

He wished she hadn’t reminded him how primitive this village was likely to be.

“I’ll write,” she promised, “and phone if I can.”

“Great.” He had to be happy with that.

Her seat assignment was called and he waited in line with her before she entered the jetway. They hugged and kissed and he clung to her for a moment, then stepped back as she disappeared into the long tunnel that led to the plane. She’d vanished from view, and still Gary stood there.

Despite Lorraine’s optimism, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything—in his life and in hers—was about to change.

Three

J ack Keller had never thought of himself as a big-game fisherman. But owning a thirty-two-foot twin-diesel cabin cruiser made about as much sense as anything else in his life, which was damn little.

He’d “retired” as a mercenary, gotten out of the death-defying game while the getting was good. At the end of his five-year stint he was sick of it all. Sick of the low-profile and corporate rescues Deliverance Company had specialized in. Jack was tired of fighting hotheaded terrorist groups and corrupt governments that used innocents in a cruel game of greed and revenge.

He had, however, been paid well for his skills, and he’d managed to save most of it. The major part had been wisely invested, and with the proceeds of the sale of his condominium in Kansas City, he could live comfortably in Mexico until he was a very old man. Growing old in the tropics appealed to Jack. Footloose and fancy-free, that was him. The boat was a bonus he hadn’t expected. An inheritance of sorts from Quinn McBride, a friend whose life he’d saved a decade earlier. Jack had lived aboard Scotch on Water for the past three years. He’d stayed in the Gulf of Mexico for most of that time, dropped anchor here and there, made a few friends. The strongest of these friendships was with Thomas Dancy, another American expatriate who lived in the tiny coastal town of El Mirador.

Although Thomas was about fifteen years his senior, the two shared a camaraderie and a deep love of their adopted country. Thomas was a man of secrets, but Jack had a few of his own. It was because of Thomas and Azucena that Jack had hung around the Yucatán; in the past few weeks, though, he’d decided to expand his horizons. Lately he’d been thinking about heading to the Florida Keys, stopping off at some of those small Caribbean paradises along the way. He’d heard the people were friendly, and it didn’t hurt any that the women were gorgeous.

Then again, he might return to Belize. He’d pulled into port at Belize City any number of times and he was impressed with the beauty of the country. His American dollars were always welcome; Jack had no problem with that. The women were warm and friendly—and there was a pretty señorita he was certain would be glad to see him. Jack couldn’t quite remember her name, but no doubt it’d come to him in time.

Either Florida or Belize—he had yet to decide. Before he set his course for either destination, he needed supplies and figured he might as well check his mail, too. Not that he was expecting anything. He hadn’t heard from Cain, Murphy or Mallory in several weeks, but he wasn’t much for keeping in touch with old friends himself. His life as a mercenary was far behind him. These days he had little in common with the men of what used to be Deliverance Company. His friends were married now, and the last Jack had heard they’d settled into domesticity. Not Jack, though.

Standing on the flybridge, the sun in his face and a breeze slapping his unbuttoned shirt against his tanned chest, Jack set Scotch on Water in a westerly direction. He checked the chart and saw he wasn’t far from El Mirador. It’d been a couple of months since he’d shared a beer with Thomas. Azucena must be ready to pop that kid of hers any day now, if memory served him right. Perhaps he’d arrive in time for the blessed event, and he and the new father could celebrate.

This was their third kid in six years. Good grief, Thomas was as bad as Cain and Murphy, but at least Thomas had an excuse. Azucena was a traditional Catholic and didn’t believe in birth control. Sex without marriage, sure; birth control, no. Interesting logic, Jack thought with a grin. During one visit, Thomas had confessed how upset he’d been when Azucena turned up pregnant the first time around. In the years since, he’d apparently grown accustomed to fatherhood. Then again, Jack might, too, if he had a hot-blooded woman like Azucena warming his bed. There was some reason Thomas couldn’t marry her, some reason in his past; he’d alluded to it but never explained.

A few years back, fool that he was, Jack had given marriage serious consideration. He found it hard to believe now, but he’d actually been ready to buy into the whole scene—wife, family and house in the suburbs. Luckily he’d escaped that trap…but at the time he hadn’t felt especially lucky. In fact, it’d hurt like a son of a bitch when Marcie turned down his proposal. What really got him was that she’d married a plumber named Clifford instead. It still boggled his mind that a woman as smart and sexy as Marcie would find happiness with a slow-witted moose of a man named Clifford.

But they did seem happy. He found it remarkable, but had to admit he felt relieved; he wouldn’t want her to be anything else. He’d received picture Christmas cards from her and Clifford for the past two years. The first one showed her standing proudly beside her big oafish husband with her stomach extending halfway across the room. She looked a good ten months’ pregnant. Next year’s Christmas card explained why. Twins. He’d forgotten their names now, but they were rather unimaginative, as he recalled. Billy and Bobby or something along those lines. What he remembered most was how happy Marcie had seemed. Her face had glowed with joy as she held one squirming toddler and Clifford hoisted the other. Jack had kept the photograph tucked away on the boat as a reminder that she’d made the right choice in not marrying him. Other than that one all-too-brief episode, Jack had realized a long time ago that he wasn’t the marrying kind. Nope, not even close. He wasn’t interested in settling down with a woman, putting up with all that domestic crap. He enjoyed his carefree life and didn’t need anyone messing with his mind. Or his heart…such as it was.

No question, things had worked out for the best when Marcie married Clifford. Jack would have made a rotten husband, but there were times, albeit few and far between, when he wondered what would’ve happened if Marcie had married him.

He’d drink a beer in her honor, Jack decided, frowning into the wind. To Marcie and their lucky escape.

The Boeing 767 landed in Mérida on the Yucatán Peninsula early that afternoon. As Lorraine exited the aircraft, she peered over the customs counter, hoping her father had received her message and follow-up letter and had been able to meet her plane. The only photograph she had of him was the wedding picture, which showed him with long hair and a beard. He’d be fifty now, and Lorraine had no idea whether or not she’d even recognize him.

The map securely tucked in her purse showed that El Mirador was about seventy-five miles north of Mérida. She glanced around anxiously. It took an unusually long time to clear customs, with lots of people complaining about the unnecessary hold-up. From what Lorraine could make out, the small customs office was short-staffed because of some museum theft. Apparently every available officer was checking the luggage of passengers leaving the country.

After what seemed like an eternity, she was waved through. She collected her suitcase and carefully searched the waiting area, but saw no one remotely resembling the man in the photograph.

“Time for Plan B,” she muttered to herself, grateful that she’d thought this out beforehand. She made her way across the airport to the car-rental booth.

“Can I help you?” the clerk asked.

“Great,” she said, digging through her purse for her driver’s license. “You speak English.”

“Yes.” The young woman flashed her a toothy grin.

“I need to rent a car.”

“Very good.”

“I’m not sure how long I’m going to be needing it, possibly an entire month, unless there’s a rental agency I can return it to near El Mirador.”

The friendly smile faded when Lorraine mentioned the name of the town. The clerk looked over her shoulder and said something in Spanish that Lorraine didn’t understand. Right away the first woman was joined by a second, who appeared to be the manager. They spoke in rapid Spanish, and while Lorraine recognized a few words, she couldn’t catch the gist of the conversation.

When they finished, the girl with the toothpaste-ad smile turned serenely to face Lorraine once again. “I’m sorry, but my supervisor says we have no cars available at this time.”

Lorraine didn’t believe it. “But you were perfectly willing to rent me one a minute ago.”

“Yes.” She didn’t deny that.

“Why won’t you now?”

“El Mirador has no roads.”

“No roads?”

The clerk pulled out a rental agreement, silently read it over and underlined the appropriate section before handing it to Lorraine. People in the line behind her were becoming impatient, so Lorraine moved away and sat down to read the section the other woman had highlighted. With the aid of her dictionary, it did make some sense. Apparently rental cars were not allowed on anything but paved roads. In other words, El Mirador was well off the beaten path, and the roads leading in and out of it were either dirt or gravel. Getting there, it seemed, would be no easy trick.

“Okay, then. Plan C.” Except she had yet to figure out what that would be. There had to be another way to reach El Mirador. A bus. If she couldn’t get a rental car, she’d take a bus. Which meant she had to find the bus station first.

That decided, she picked up her suitcase and walked outside the air-conditioned airport. The blast of heat made her stagger. She felt as if someone had thrown a hot towel over her head. Almost immediately her linen pantsuit became damp and clung to her like a second skin. Summers in Louisville could be stifling, but she’d never experienced anything like this—and it was only May. She looked down at her limp wrinkled trousers and sweat-stained jacket; this was what she got for wanting to make a good impression on her father. Had she been meeting anyone else, she would have dressed less formally.

Joining the long line for a colectivo —cab—she patiently waited her turn. Unfortunately the taxi driver spoke little English, but with her pocket dictionary and traveler’s phrase book, she was able to get her message across. The driver nodded repeatedly at every question, then loaded her suitcase into his trunk, which he tied closed with a frayed rope.

Lorraine climbed into the backseat and searched for a seat belt. There wasn’t one. The instant he got behind the wheel, her meek and mild-mannered driver turned into a road warrior. Lorraine was tossed about the backseat like a sack of oranges, flung from one side of the vehicle to the other as he wove in and out of traffic. He switched from lane to lane, sometimes racing toward oncoming traffic at a death-defying rate. It would have helped had she found something to hang on to, but all she had were her wits, and those had scattered long ago. The one compensation was that she was too terrified to notice how miserably hot it was.

By the time she arrived at the bus station, she was grateful to have survived the trip. Her shoulder ached from being slammed against the side of the car and her jaws hurt from being clenched. She paid the fare with no argument but without any tip, either, and lugged her suitcase into the depot.

One thing was for sure: her presence certainly attracted a lot of attention. Every eye in the dilapidated place was focused on her. With what she hoped was grace and style, she squared her shoulders and made her way up to the window as if she’d done this every day of her life.

“I’d like a ticket to El Mirador,” she said in English, forgetting to use Spanish.

The man stared at her blankly.

Lorraine reached for her phrase book and flipped pages. She discovered that mentioning the name of the town wasn’t enough to achieve the result she wanted. She attempted a number of times to ask for a ticket, and each time the agent merely shrugged and looked blank.

Then he tried speaking to her. First he spoke slowly, then louder as if that would make her understand. After five minutes of this, she was ready to scream with frustration.

“Perhaps I can help.”

Lorraine turned to find a smiling clean-cut man standing next to her.

“Jason Applebee,” he said.

“Lorraine Dancy.” She held out her hand, noting that his was bandaged. “You’re American?”

He nodded. “I guess that’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? Around here I stick out like rice in a bowl of beans.”

“I take it you speak Spanish?”

“Fluently.” Then, as if to prove his point, he spoke to the man behind the counter. The clerk grinned, nodded and said something in return. His eyes moved to Lorraine; she couldn’t miss the relief in his expression.

Lorraine didn’t understand what either of them had said. By this point she was beyond translating even the simplest verbs. Jason turned to her. “Now, what were you trying to ask?”

“I need a ticket to El Mirador.”

“You’re joking,” Jason said, his face lighting up. “I’m heading that way myself.”

“Really? I thought it was just a small town.”

“Actually, I’m going to a place not far from there. I was planning to spend the night in El Mirador.”

“You mean there’s a hotel?” If things didn’t work out with her father, it was reassuring to know she’d have someplace to sleep that night.

“I guess you could call it that,” Jason said, and they both laughed.

Lorraine paid for her ticket, and Jason bought his, as well. When they’d finished, they sat in the shade outside and waited for the bus, which was due to arrive, Jason said, in thirty minutes.

“Will you be staying at the hotel, too?” her newfound friend asked as he arranged his backpack at his feet.

“I don’t know yet,” Lorraine muttered. It had been a long day already, with a plane change in Atlanta and a two-hour delay. “How long will it take to reach El Mirador?”

“A couple of hours, possibly more—if the bus doesn’t break down, that is.”

“Oh, great.” She sighed loudly, wondering if anything else could possibly go wrong.

“Hey, it isn’t so bad,” Jason said. “You should’ve been at the dig I was on last week.” He explained that he was a part-time archaeology lecturer at a small college in Missouri; she didn’t recognize the name. He was here doing research for his doctoral thesis. He’d been in Mexico a month now, he told her, although this wasn’t his first trip. Lorraine guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. He had short dark hair and the ubiquitous sunglasses, and wore a short-sleeved cotton shirt tucked neatly into khaki pants. The freshness of his clothes made Lorraine feel even more despairing about the condition of her own.

“So you were working on this dig?”

“Yeah, and it was fantastic, other than this,” he said, lifting his bandaged hand. Jason entertained her for the next hour—the bus was late, of course—with tales of his adventures, including a harrowing description of the accident in which he’d injured his hand. He’d rescued one of the Mexican assistants on the dig from a knife-wielding pair of thieves. She shuddered at his dramatic telling.

Lorraine liked Jason. It was impossible not to. He was witty and cheerful, not to mention generous with his help. At one point he bought some melon slices from a street vendor and shared them with her. Lorraine hadn’t really been hungry, but the fruit quenched her growing thirst.

She’d never made friends with anyone so quickly. She suspected that everyone responded to Jason this way; his open exuberant personality encouraged confidences and camaraderie.

With billowing exhaust and much grinding of gears, the bus finally pulled into the station. Jason had been right to warn her about its likely condition. The rattletrap of a vehicle looked as if it’d been on the road since the Second World War. Its color was no longer distinguishable and half the windows were missing. In this heat, though, that was probably a blessing.

The bus was one thing, her fellow travelers another. The minute the bus rolled into the yard, people appeared from every direction. Adults and children and caged chickens. One man was hefting a pig under his arm.

“Go and get us the best seat you can,” Jason advised, urging her toward the bus. “I’ll make sure our luggage gets on board.”

Lorraine watched, amazed, as two men climbed on top of the bus and waited for Jason and another man to throw suitcases up to them. She didn’t envy anyone the task of lifting her suitcase, let alone hurling it eight feet off the ground.

After about ten minutes a breathless Jason climbed on board and collapsed onto the seat beside her.

“You mentioned you’d be traveling to someplace near El Mirador,” Lorraine said once he’d caught his breath.

“I’m on my way to another dig,” he said, shifting a bit to give her more room on the cramped seat. The narrow cushion was barely wide enough for one adult, let alone two.

He’d told Lorraine a little about Mayan ruins earlier, and she’d found it fascinating.

“There’s a dig near El Mirador?” She’d researched the tiny coastal town at the library and on the Internet, but hadn’t learned much. El Mirador had a population of less than a thousand. The economy of many of these towns along the coast depended, naturally enough, on the fishing industry, but there was little else. She couldn’t remember reading about Mayan ruins in the area around El Mirador, but that didn’t mean much.

“Actually,” Jason explained, “our El Mirador was named after another El Mirador, in Guatemala. It was an important Mayan site—one of the earliest. But there’s a Mayan temple a few miles from this El Mirador, too. It was discovered a few years ago, and they’ve only begun excavating, so I want to spend a few weeks there before I go home.”

“Home is Missouri, right?”

“Jefferson City,” he said. “Now what about you? Why are you traveling to El Mirador? It’s not like the town’s exactly a tourist destination.”

Lorraine took her time answering, wondering how much to tell Jason. She’d known him slightly longer than an hour. Granted, they’d become virtually instant friends, but still…This wasn’t the kind of personal information one generally shared on such recent acquaintance.

“My father lives there,” she said without elaborating.

“In El Mirador?” Jason’s eyes widened briefly. “What’s he doing there?”

“He’s a teacher.”

“The Peace Corps?”

Lorraine looked out the window. Considering how nervous she was about meeting her father, she should be grateful for someone to talk to. She’d tell Jason the whole story, she decided impulsively. He’d certainly told her a lot about his own background, and she sensed she could trust him. She took a deep breath. “To be honest, Jason, I don’t really know. I haven’t seen him since I was three—I was told he’d died of leukemia. I only found out a month ago that he’s actually alive, and once I did, I couldn’t stay away. My fiancé thinks I’ve gone off the deep end and maybe I have. I don’t know anymore.” She ended up telling Jason about her mother’s death, the letter she’d discovered with the items from the safe-deposit box and about Gary.

Jason took a moment to absorb everything. “Does your father know you’re coming?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, struggling not to sound defensive. Then she sighed. “I’m not sure.” Since he hadn’t been in Mérida to meet her, she no longer knew what to expect.

“But you’ve been in touch with him?”

“Oh, yes.” Lorraine had grown resentful when Gary asked her these same questions. But Jason seemed genuinely interested and concerned about her, while Gary had been so insistent. So overprotective. “I phoned and left a message at the school, but he didn’t return my call. When I didn’t hear back from him, I sent a letter. I was hoping he’d be waiting for me at the airport…but he wasn’t.”

“When did you mail the letter?”

“Beginning of last week.”

Jason shook his head. “I hate to tell you this, but he probably hasn’t gotten it yet. The mail—” They hit a rut in the road just then. The bus jolted badly and sent both Jason and Lorraine flying upward. Her teeth felt as if they’d been shaken loose, and she heard Jason’s cry of pain as his head slammed into the roof. The pig escaped, squealing as it raced toward the back of the bus. Undisturbed by the commotion, the driver didn’t even slow down.

After a few minutes, everything was quiet again, and Jason finished his sentence. “The mail in this part of the world is notoriously slow.”

“Oh, dear.”

“You should probably assume that your father has no idea you’re coming,” he warned her.

His words sobered Lorraine. She’d traveled thirteen hundred miles, the last part under deplorable conditions. Now there was reason to believe that her arrival would take her father completely by surprise.

Ever since that night the dream had awakened him, Thomas Dancy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Ginny. He realized this probably had more to do with Azucena than Ginny. His common-law wife was due to deliver their third child any day.

He hadn’t meant to love Azucena, hadn’t meant to start this second family. But along with his other faults, he was weak. Too weak to resist a second chance at love—and life. He usually didn’t give in to these occasional bouts of remorse and self-loathing; he was too realistic for that. But occasionally, like now, thoughts of his former life wouldn’t leave him alone.

He sat at his desk, his classroom empty, and stared at the test papers he should be grading. Instead, his mind was on Ginny and the daughter he didn’t know. Guilt weighed heavily on him for breaking the vows he’d spoken in love. He’d always intended to remain faithful to Ginny. In the early years, after he’d fled to Mexico, she’d met him at prearranged destinations, in Mexico City or Veracruz. He lived for those few brief days together. Then Raine had started school and Ginny’s visits became less and less frequent until they finally stopped. Still, he’d spoken vows of love and fidelity. Vows he’d written himself.

He was burdened by more than guilt and regret. He worried about Azucena and this baby yet to be born. He was fifty now, and he’d been with her for only the past eight years. Sometimes he believed he had a right to take whatever happiness he could, the happiness Azucena offered him; other times he prayed Ginny would never know of his weakness for this woman so much younger than himself.

He hadn’t wanted more children, but Azucena was stubborn and she’d yearned for a baby. She had a loving generous heart, and he couldn’t deny her, not when she’d done so much for him. Soon there would be three children. He wondered if this third child would be a son like the first two.

He loved his children, doted on them and, according to Azucena, spoiled them. Because of Antonio and Hector, he realized how much he’d missed with his daughter. Raine was an adult now, but in his mind she remained a child. She’d been so young when he left! Ginny had brought him photographs during those infrequent visits; the last one was a school picture of Raine, gap-toothed, pigtailed, eight years old.

A knock sounded on his door. “I apologize for disturbing you,” one of the older students said in Spanish on entering his classroom. “A man has asked to see you.”

“Did he give his name?”

“Jack Keller.”

Thomas grinned despite himself. “Tell him I’ll be right out.” He had little in common with the former mercenary, but it was always good to spend time with another American. Jack didn’t visit all that often, but he invariably brought news of home and the world. On the negative side, he tended to have a foul mouth and a quick eye for a pretty face, but both of these faults were easily forgiven. Jack was a good friend to a man who had few.

Thomas shoved the test papers into his leather case and headed for the school office. Jack lounged in a broken-down desk chair, flipping the pages of a year-old magazine. He looked like hell. He needed a haircut, but Azucena would probably see to that. His sun-streaked brown hair brushed his shoulders. Apparently he hadn’t shaved in two or three days, either. His jeans were cut off at midcalf, the ends frayed, and he wore tennis shoes without socks.

“Jack.” Thomas greeted him with enthusiasm and held out his hand.

“Hey, Thomas.” Jack tossed aside the magazine and vaulted to his feet. He gripped Thomas’s hand for a firm shake, then slapped him on the back in a gesture of fondness.

“You’re beginning to look like an old sea dog,” Thomas said.

“Yeah, well, you don’t look so bad yourself. Are you a proud papa yet?”

“Any day now.” It worried Thomas that there were no medical facilities close to El Mirador, not that Azucena would agree to have this baby anyplace but in their own home with a midwife. Yet he couldn’t help being concerned, despite the ease of the two previous deliveries.

“Got time for a cold beer?” Jack asked.

“Of course.” Thomas would send word to Azucena via a student. She would want Jack to come to the house for dinner. Not only did she like Jack a great deal, it was a matter of pride to her that she feed their guests like visiting royalty. She’d have Thomas’s head if he didn’t bring Jack home with him.

He left instructions with Alfonso, then he and Jack strolled over to the waterfront cantina. No sooner had they sat down at a table and tasted their beer than Alfonso was back, breathless from running.

“Señor Dancy!” he cried. “Señor Dancy!”

“What is it?” Thomas’s first thought was of Azucena.

“There’s a woman at the school asking for you,” Alfonso blurted.

“A woman?” Thomas ignored Jack’s raised eyebrows.

“Sí. She says her name is Lorraine Dancy. She says she’s your daughter.”

Four

L orraine’s nerves wouldn’t allow her to wait quietly for her father. She couldn’t sit still, and as she paced the school hallway, her heels clicked against the hard stone floor. A framed document on the wall, written in both Spanish and English, stated that the school was financially supported by a group of Texas churches. It listed the headmaster’s name, plus the three teachers. And it explained that the children’s uniforms were sewn by the Women’s Missionary Society. She read the information twice, then paced some more. Lorraine had arrived in El Mirador half an hour ago—it was nearly six now. She’d known her chances of catching Thomas Dancy at the school this late in the afternoon weren’t good. Jason had wanted her to check into the lone hotel with him, but she’d decided to look for her father first.

As it turned out, the school building was open, and when she mentioned her father’s name to a young man in a school uniform, he’d nodded with enthusiasm and even managed to ask her a few questions in English. He’d suggested she wait inside while he went to get her father.

For a moment Lorraine had felt almost light-headed with relief—at least her father was there. Then the real anxiety had begun, the jittery nervous fear. The almost sickening excitement.

At the sound of footsteps behind her, Lorraine turned. Thomas Dancy stood in the doorway, framed in bright sunlight.

“Raine,” he whispered.

“Thomas Dancy?” she asked hesitantly, then added, “Dad?” He’d called her Raine in his letter, too, but her mother had always insisted that her name not be shortened.

The look in his eyes was answer enough. Deep blue eyes, the same color as hers. He stepped slowly toward her and she could see that he was indeed the man in her mother’s photograph. He gazed at her for a full minute, an awed expression on his face. Then he smiled, and his eyes shone with an intensity that suggested tears.

“Raine,” he said again. “If only I’d known…”

“You didn’t get my letter?” she asked.

“No…no.”

“I phoned, too.”

He frowned. “I didn’t get the message.”

“Then you didn’t know I was coming?”

“No…but I thank God you did.”

They stood only a few feet from each other, and he continued to stare at her. “How like your mother you are,” he whispered. “So beautiful…” He raised his hand as if to touch her face, then apparently changed his mind and let his arm fall. The love in his eyes was unmistakable.

At the mention of her mother, Lorraine felt her own eyes fill with tears.

“Raine, what is it?” He stopped short of taking her in his arms.

She stopped short of letting him. “Mom was killed April first,” she told him shakily.

Her father looked as if she’d suddenly reached out and stabbed him. His eyes widened with shock and then slowly, as though his legs would no longer hold him, he staggered toward a chair. “Killed? How? Dear God in heaven, tell me what happened.”

“She was on her way home from work. It’d been raining that day and no one knows exactly why, but her tires lost traction and her brakes locked—and she skidded into oncoming traffic. She was hit by a huge semi…There was nothing he could do to stop. Nothing anyone could do.”

Her father closed his eyes. “Did she suffer?” he asked, his voice so low it was an effort to understand him.

“No. The investigating officer told me death was instantaneous.”

Thomas nodded, his face wet with tears that ran unrestrained down his cheeks. “April first, you said?”

“Yes.”

He nodded again, reached into a pocket for his handkerchief and wiped away the tears. “I woke up that night.” He paused for a moment, apparently deep in thought. “My Ginny is dead,” he said as if he needed to hear himself say the words to believe they were true.

Lorraine sat down in the chair beside his. “Mom told me you were dead.”

“I know. We…we thought it best.”

“Why?” Everything Lorraine had endured today would be worth it if he could answer this single question.

Thomas inhaled a deep breath and turned to face her. He took both her hands, clasping them between his own. It was then that he noticed the ring.

“It’s Mom’s. I put it on the day of the funeral.” She told him a little about her engagement to Gary and then paused, needing answers before she continued.

His thumb tenderly caressed the wedding band. “I’ll love you always,” he whispered—the words engraved inside the ring. His eyes gazed into hers. “I loved your mother and you with all my heart, Lorraine. First and foremost, I need you to believe that.”

“Why would you leave us?” she cried. Now that she was with him, she wanted to know the truth with an urgency that left her trembling. For more than twenty years her mother had lived under false pretenses, and Lorraine had to find out why. She couldn’t imagine what would drive her parents to do something so drastic. Honesty had been the very basis of her mother’s character. Or so she’d thought.

“Mom loved you, too…all that time. She wouldn’t talk about you, especially once I got older. Whenever she did, she’d start to cry.”

“I know…I know.”

Tears spilled from Lorraine’s eyes. “She told me you’d died of leukemia.”

The merest hint of a smile touched his mouth, lifting one corner. “We concocted that story together.”

“But you’re alive!” She needed the truth, and quickly, while she was strong enough to bear it. “Please—tell me…”

“It started in Vietnam,” he said, his voice falling to a whisper. “In many ways, the man I was meant to be died there.”

“But you were a decorated hero! Mom said the thing she regretted most about the fire was that your medals were lost and—”

Thomas’s head snapped up. “She told you that?” His expression was sober. Regretful. “I was far from a hero, Lorraine. I deserted halfway through my tour of duty. I couldn’t take the killing any longer, the death….”

Lorraine didn’t want to believe what she was hearing. It couldn’t be true. Any of it. “But—”

“I returned to the States and joined a militant antiwar group. They helped me hide out. From the moment I turned my back on the army, I made it my mission, my goal in life, to keep other young men from dying senselessly on foreign soil. I wanted to save them from watching their friends blown to bits for reasons that had nothing to do with us or our country.”

“But surely you could come back now—even if you were a deserter. There was an amnesty, wasn’t there?” All her life she’d viewed her father as a hero. This lie her parents had lived made no sense, and she found Thomas’s story confusing.

“I did much more than desert.” He broke eye contact and lowered his head to stare at their joined hands. “As I said earlier, I joined a militant antiwar group. A number of us decided to blow up the ROTC building at the University of Kentucky. We didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt…. The security guard wasn’t supposed to be anywhere close to the building.”

“He died in the explosion?”

Her father nodded. “Two of our group were picked up almost immediately when they tried to cross the Canadian border. José and I knew it was only a matter of time before we’d be arrested, as well.”

“José?”

“José Delgado, a friend, a good one at the time. The two of us made our way into Mexico before an arrest warrant could be issued.”

“What happened to him?”

“José? We bummed around the country for a while, then he found another cause. We argued and split up—I haven’t seen him in years. The last I heard he was part of a guerrilla group somewhere in Central America.”

“But couldn’t you come back now? That happened almost thirty years ago!”

“No,” Thomas said with a sadness that couldn’t be disguised. “There’s no statute of limitations on murder. The minute I cross the border, I’ll be arrested for murder and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Raine, I want you to know that I was involved with the group, but I was against the bombing. I never believed violence was the way to get our message across. But I didn’t have the courage to stand up to the others. That was my greatest sin and one I’ve paid for dearly in the years since.”

“What happened to the two who were arrested?”

Again her father lowered his gaze. “Rick and Dan? Rick committed suicide in prison, and Ginny told me Dan was paroled after serving six years of a twelve-year sentence.”

Questions crowded Lorraine’s mind, and she asked the most pressing ones first. “Why didn’t Mom join you? Surely after five or ten years she could have done so without anyone suspecting.”

“That was what we planned in the beginning,” he said. “Your mother moved to Louisville and she visited me every six months or so. We were able to keep in touch through a mutual friend.”

“Who?”

“Elaine Wilson.”

“Aunt Elaine?” She’d died when Lorraine was nine.

“Everything fell apart after Elaine died,” her father said. “Ginny would write that she’d be coming, but each time she’d find some excuse to postpone it. Eventually her visits stopped entirely.”

“But couldn’t we have moved to Mexico? Then the three of us would’ve been together.”

He hesitated. “Ginny was afraid that if she left the country for more than a few days, she wouldn’t be able to return. She worried about her parents. She worried about you, too. Your mother loved you beyond everything, and she wanted you to have the best education and all the advantages America has to offer.”

“But…she told me you were dead.” Lorraine didn’t know if she could forgive either of them for the lie.

“You were a child and far too young to carry the weight of our secret.”

“But I’m an adult now. I have been for years. There was no reason to continue hiding the truth from me,” she insisted. No reason Virginia couldn’t have told her and allowed her to form her own judgments, make her own decisions.

“Any blame falls on me, Raine,” he said. He raised his hand to her face, touching her cheek. “I was the one who screwed up. I was the one who got involved in a bombing that claimed an innocent man’s life.”

“But I needed you,” Lorraine said, fighting back tears.

“I needed you, too,” he said, and gathered her in his arms. They clung to each other for a long time.

When he released her, Lorraine sat back and tried to collect herself.

“You must be exhausted,” he said. “Hungry, too, I’ll bet.”

Her stomach growled, reminding her that, except for a few pieces of melon in Mérida, her last meal had been aboard the airplane. Yogurt, a banana and some type of forgettable roll. Her father was right; she was both tired and hungry.

He lifted her suitcase and led her out of the school. While they walked the short distance to his house, Thomas told her how he’d spent his life here in Mexico. Until nine years ago, he’d worked at various odd jobs around the country, not staying in any one place for long. Then the opportunity had come to teach science and math at this private school, a job he thoroughly enjoyed.

“I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t find my calling in life until I was over forty.”

Already Lorraine could see how easy it would be to love this man. He might have been militant in his youth, but despite the tragic results of his actions, he’d joined the antiwar effort for compassionate reasons. He’d repented his mistakes and was obviously still a good man, but one who’d achieved self-knowledge.

Lorraine was grateful to have found him.

It had been a shock when Lorraine showed up in El Mirador, but one of the happiest of Thomas’s life. His daughter was everything he’d hoped she’d be. Intelligent, beautiful, caring. And so much like her mother.

His first look at Lorraine had stopped him cold. She resembled Ginny in almost every way. In fact, it was like stepping back and seeing Ginny at nineteen.

The news that his wife was dead was a hard blow, and he’d need time to assimilate it. Time and privacy to mourn. He’d told Raine the truth—he had loved her mother. Yes, she’d hurt him; yes, she’d disillusioned him, but he’d forgiven her. He couldn’t blame her for the tragic turn his life had taken. He just wished things had been different for both of them. Too late now for wishing, though.

His home was a humble one and Thomas hoped Lorraine would understand that the village was poor. The school couldn’t afford to pay him a large salary.

Antonio and Hector were playing in the front yard. Under other circumstances, his sons would have raced toward him, but they were shy boys and unaccustomed to seeing him with strangers. They stopped and stared, Antonio clutching the soccer ball to his chest, as Thomas opened the door for Lorraine.

Azucena was in the kitchen preparing dinner. The scent of garlic drifted through the house. Thomas set Lorraine’s suitcase in the living room and tried to find a way to explain that this very pregnant woman was his common-law wife. Lorraine would probably be surprised, perhaps disapproving, but Azucena was his wife in every sense except the legal. Now that he was free to marry her, he would do so.

Azucena stepped into the room, her smile automatic until she saw Lorraine. Her welcome sobered as she glanced at him, her eyes filled with questions. Azucena spoke little English and showed no desire to learn. Because she made no effort herself, their sons knew only a few English words.

“This is my daughter,” he explained in Spanish. Her eyes widened, and Thomas could see that she was flustered. He’d told her about his family, about Raine, and sensed that she felt threatened. He wanted to reassure her but wasn’t sure how.

“Where’s Jack Keller?” Azucena asked abruptly.

“Back on his boat, I assume. I left him when I learned my daughter was at the school.”

“You knew about your daughter’s visit?” Her beautiful dark eyes were accusing.

“No.” He longed to take Azucena in his arms and apologize, but didn’t dare. “Her mother died last month, and she only recently found out I was alive.”

Azucena nodded, her expression sympathetic. “Introduce me as your housekeeper,” she advised with gentle wisdom. “Your daughter has had more than enough shocks.”

“I won’t lie to her again. It’s better if she knows.”

“We’ll tell her together,” Azucena said. “Later. She’s traveled a long way and must be exhausted.”

He hesitated, then agreed with a short nod.

“Ask her to sit down, and I’ll serve you both dinner.”

“What about you and the boys?” It didn’t seem right not to have them at the table with him. As he’d told Azucena, he didn’t like the idea of lying to Raine, but he could see that his daughter was physically tired and emotionally distraught. He didn’t want to burden her with still another difficult truth. But he also feared her anger. He couldn’t bear to lose her when he’d only just found her again. Although it went against his better judgment, he agreed with Azucena’s reasons to delay telling Raine about their relationship.

“Don’t worry, we’ll eat later,” Azucena insisted.

Thomas noticed Raine listening to the flow of words between them. Her eyes revealed her lack of comprehension. “This woman is someone special?” she asked, eyeing Azucena closely.

“My housekeeper,” he said, silently adding and so much more.

“She’s meticulous,” Raine said, glancing around the sparse but lovingly decorated home. Thomas tried to see the house through her eyes and knew it must be far less than she was accustomed to, but he made no apologies. He’d earned his living by honest means.

“Dinner’s ready if you’d like to eat now. Azucena’s a wonderful cook. She’s made a dish called camarónes con ajo, which is shrimp with garlic.”

“It sounds delicious. Please thank her for me,” Lorraine said.

“I will.” Thomas showed his daughter to the bathroom, where she could wash up.

She returned a few minutes later. The table was set with steaming ceramic bowls filled with rice, tomatoes and the delectable-smelling shrimp.

Lorraine took a seat. “When is…your housekeeper’s baby due?”

“Any day now,” he answered as he passed her the rice, hoping to avoid further questions.

“Those were her children outside?”

Thomas nodded.

“Her name is lovely.”

“It means lily.”

The irony of the situation didn’t escape him. At one time Azucena had, in fact, been his housekeeper. The school had hired her on his behalf, and for six months he’d barely noticed her. His house was kept spotless and his meals cooked every night. Beyond that, he was absorbed by the demands of teaching and enjoying his newfound profession. He’d never intended to take Azucena to his bed. He was married, although no one in El Mirador knew about his American wife. Nor did he wish to indulge in behavior that would be viewed with disfavor by the church-supported school.

To date, the headmaster had never mentioned Thomas’s living arrangements. He’d eaten meals in this house, so he had to know what was going on. Nevertheless he always referred to Azucena as Thomas’s housekeeper. And for those first six months that was exactly what she was. Thomas hadn’t made so much as an untoward gesture, and in the end, Azucena, whose name was regarded as a symbol of purity and perfection, had been the one to seduce him.

The meal was excellent. Azucena had chosen his favorite. He could see that Raine was enjoying it, too.

“She really is a wonderful cook,” Raine said as Azucena carried a plate of hot tortillas to the table.

It was difficult for Thomas to disguise his fondness for his common-law wife. He knew Lorraine had noticed the smile he’d given Azucena and might have commented, but their meal was interrupted by a loud demanding knock on the door. Both women looked at Thomas.

He set his napkin aside and moved across the room, unsure what to expect. The knock was not that of a friend. He knew trouble when he heard it.

Two uniformed policemen stood on the other side of the threshold. He’d rarely seen armed police in this town; not only that, he didn’t recognize either man, which was unusual in itself. He knew almost everyone in El Mirador, if not by name then by sight.

“Can I help you?” Thomas asked, taking care to pronounce each word distinctly and with authority.

“We’re looking for Lorraine Dancy.”

“May I ask what this is about?”

“Dad?” Raine said from behind him. “I heard my name.”

He ignored her, refusing to break eye contact with the two officers. “Why are you looking for my daughter?”

“We need to ask her a few questions,” said the taller and more muscular of the two.

“Questions about what?”

“Jason Applebee,” the second policeman informed him. “We need to know what her relationship is to this man.”

“Dad?” Raine had joined him. “What’s this about?”

“Do you know anyone by the name of Jason Applebee?” he asked in English.

She nodded. “He’s an American I met in Mérida. He helped me buy my bus ticket. Is everything all right? Nothing’s happened to him, has it?”

Thomas asked the two police officers those very questions. Raine had said nothing previously about meeting this other man, but Thomas could see that she cared about his welfare.

They answered, and he turned back to Lorraine. “They’re holding him at the police station. They won’t tell me why.”

“Oh, no.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Something’s wrong. We’ve got to help him.”

Thomas had been in Mexico long enough to know how difficult situations with the police could get. If for no other reason than Raine’s endorsement of her new friend, he felt obliged to do what he could to help the guy.

“They want you to go to the station with them,” Thomas explained next.

“Me?” Raine looked at him uncertainly.

“I’ll be with you.”

“Then I’ll go,” she said. “I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding and everything will be cleared up in no time.”

Thomas wished he could believe that. But one thing he knew: he would do everything within his power to protect his daughter.

The minute Lorraine entered the small building, Jason leaped to his feet, relief at seeing her evident on his face. “Lorraine!” he cried as if she were the answer to his prayers.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Jason glanced at the two officers standing near the door; they gazed back at him impassively.

With three policemen and Jason, plus Lorraine and Thomas, the station was cramped. For the first time Lorraine realized that only one of the men who’d come to the house had accompanied them here. She hadn’t a clue where the second man had gone. Not that it particularly concerned her.

“This is my wife,” Jason announced in English.

Lorraine barely managed to swallow her denial.

Her father glared at her, eyes narrowed. Both policemen immediately glanced at the ring finger on her left hand.

“Is this true?” the older man asked. He was tall and distinguished-looking with a crop of thick white hair.

Everyone present seemed to await confirmation. Jason’s gaze begged her to go along with him. She forced a smile and nodded.

The room erupted into shouts and denials from the officer who’d escorted Lorraine and her father to the station. She didn’t know what anyone was saying, but it didn’t take long for her father to become involved in the heated conversation.

“What’s all this about?” Lorraine demanded of Jason under her breath.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking as confused as she felt. “But from what I can make out, they think I’ve got some Mayan artifact, which is ridiculous.” He appeared frightened, baffled and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this,” he confessed in a low voice, “but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Why’d you say I was your wife?”

“I had to tell them something so I could convince them to contact you. I told them you were visiting your father, so you hadn’t registered at the hotel yet.” He paused, lowering his eyes. “They wouldn’t let me place a call or have an attorney present. I didn’t know what to do or what the hell’s going on. I helped you and I was hoping you could help me.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him, although she hated lying. She supposed there were times it was necessary; now seemed to be one such occasion.

The argument continued between the police and Lorraine’s father.

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