Rachel made Kane ache.

She awakened feelings he’d always kept control of. He felt the heat rising within him as his hands moved over her slimness. Not just the softness of her flesh but the softness within her reached out to him. He wanted to lose himself in her. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t any good for her. That she deserved much more. He wanted her.

Kane made Rachel want again, feel again.

This attraction hadn’t been in her plans. She’d come only to bring him his infant niece. But she couldn’t pretend this was simply about baby Heather anymore. That was the problem. Nothing was simple. After fifteen years away, she hadn’t banished the thrill when Kane Riley looked at her, touched her. And now that she knew his kiss, knew what being with him and baby Heather felt like, she wasn’t sure she could ever forget it….

Dear Reader,

It’s the little things that mean so much. In fact, more than once, “little things” have fueled Myrna Temte’s Special Edition novels. One of her miniseries evolved from a newspaper article her mother sent her. The idea for her first novel was inspired by something she’d heard a DJ say on her favorite country-western radio station. And Myrna Temte’s nineteenth book, Handprints, also evolved in an interesting way. A friend received a special Mother’s Day present—a picture of her little girl with finger-painted handprints and a sweet poem entitled “Handprints.” Once the story was relayed to Myrna, the seed for another romance novel was planted. And the rest, as they say, is history….

There are plenty of special somethings this month. Bestselling author Joan Elliott Pickart delivers Single with Twins, the story of a photojournalist who travels the world in search of adventure, only to discover that family makes his life complete. In Lisa Jackson’s The McCaffertys: Matt, the rugged rancher hero feels that law enforcement is no place for a lady—but soon finds himself making a plea for passion….

Don’t miss Laurie Paige’s When I See Your Face, in which a fiercely independent officer is forced to rely on others when she’s temporarily blinded in the line of duty. Find out if there will be a Match Made in Wyoming in Patricia McLinn’s novel, when the hero and heroine find themselves snowbound on a Wyoming ranch! And The Child She Always Wanted by Jennifer Mikels tells the touching tale of a baby on the doorstep bringing two people together for a love too great for either to deny.

Asking authors where they get their ideas often proves an impossible question. However, many ideas come from little things that surround us. See what’s around you. And if you have an idea for a Special Edition novel, I’d love to hear from you. Enjoy!

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman, Senior Editor

The Child She Always Wanted
Jennifer Mikels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Dan,

Always

JENNIFER MIKELS

is from Chicago, Illinois, but resides now in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband, two sons and a shepherd-collie. She enjoys reading, sports, antiques, yard sales and long walks. Though she’s done technical writing in public relations, she loves writing romances and happy endings.

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

Epilogue

Chapter One

“H e doesn’t like company. Isn’t friendly to anyone.”

Rachel Quinn had let Velma Monroe’s unasked-for advice float past her. It didn’t matter that Kane Riley wouldn’t be pleased to have company. She was going to see him.

“He has the Maggie Lee now, a cabin cruiser to take out the weekend warrior types,” the woman said on a little laugh while she punched in the prices of Rachel’s purchases on the lone register at the Grocery Mart, a family-owned grocery store. Velma was pear shaped with a no-nonsense, short hairstyle. A few gray threads wove through the soft-brown color. But despite a stern look, an often disapproving one, she had beautiful brown eyes.

“That’s the boat that Charlie Greer named after his late wife.”

Rachel recalled that from when she’d lived in Hubbard Bay years ago, and phone calls to Lori Wolken, a close school friend, had helped her play catch-up.

“And he bought himself the Sea Siren. It’s one of those touring boats to take the summer vacationers on cruises around the islands or for whale watching.”

Hunger gnawing at her stomach, Rachel placed two candy bars and a can of soda on the counter.

She watched the woman’s eyes shift with a curious glance from her blondish-red hair to the infant in Rachel’s arms. “Thought you’d have redder hair. Most Quinns do. You’ve been gone from Hubbard Bay for some time, haven’t you?”

“Sixteen years. I was fifteen years old when my family moved away.” Quickly she paid Velma for the items, including the package of diapers and a can of baby formula.

Velma cast another look at Heather. “Young one. Practically newborn, huh?”

“Yes, she is.”

“What’s her name?”

“Heather,” she answered while pushing the cart forward.

Somehow she managed to leave the Grocery Mart without answering Velma’s last question. “Why are you back in Maine?”

People would know soon enough. Even when Hubbard Bay’s population blossomed with tourists, locals kept close tabs on their own. Why she’d returned would be at the top of tomorrow morning’s gossip. Rachel didn’t care. She refastened Heather’s car seat. This baby was all that mattered.

She slid behind the steering wheel, then dug in the grocery bag for a candy bar. Before she began driving down Main Street, she’d devoured half the candy. Like so many other streets in town, this one led to the harbor and the piers for the lobster boats, the ferry landing, and the docks for the yachts, sailboats and tour boats.

Nearing the harbor, she rolled down the van window. The smell of the ocean, the sound of a foghorn, the squawk of gulls filled the air. From the crowded parking lot near the pier, Rachel spotted the Sea Siren and negotiated a parking space. The sky above the Atlantic carried a gray cast and the promise of a June storm. Summer tourists in windbreakers and funny-looking hats milled around the deck of the boat, chatting and laughing.

She sensed she didn’t have a lot of time. Rushing, she unfastened Heather, and with her in her arms, Rachel hurried from the van and across the parking lot to the pier.

In her path a grizzled-looking fisherman dressed in a yellow slicker was carting a bushel of crabs from his boat. Without slowing her pace, Rachel sidestepped him and half ran, half walked along the planks to avoid jarring Heather too much. The sooner she made contact with Kane Riley, the better.

Then she saw him. He looked different, she decided in that instant. More sinewy, with muscled arms and long, sturdy-looking legs. Taller. A man of the sea, with his deep tan. The boy she remembered and had ogled had changed. Handsome features had strengthened. High cheekbones carved into his face with its strong, square jaw. A touch long, shaggy, his dark hair ruffled beneath the wind. “Kane?” She stopped on the pier, waited for him to look up. Straight, dark brows lowered over piercing, smoky-gray eyes as he studied her for a moment—a long moment. She’d forgotten how deciphering those gray eyes were. Feeling weighed and measured, she almost squirmed. “Do you remember me? Rachel Quinn,” she yelled to him. “I need to talk to you.”

He cast off the bow line. “Don’t have time.”

“I’ve traveled more than twelve hundred miles to talk to you.” He tossed the stern line onto the dock. “It’s really important. Vital,” she mumbled to herself as he strode toward the wheelhouse.

Rachel abandoned any notion of trying to shout over the chugging of the engine. Perfect timing, she berated herself. With Heather cuddled close and nowhere to go, she watched the boat, filled with passengers, motor out of the slip. The bow rose, rode a small swell, then lowered. She took a deep breath, drawing in the smell of fish and seaweed. If she’d arrived earlier, she’d have had a chance with him, could have made her announcement.

Well, she hadn’t. She ambled back to her van. So she’d have to handle this situation differently. She knew where he lived. He’d inherited Charlie Greer’s home, the same house that had at one time belonged to her family. She’d lived there until her teens.

The street his house was on led to the top of a cliff. The cottage was perched at the end of the street, and on a clear day it had a spectacular view of the sea. Odd that fate had brought her back here, that Kane, the one person she needed to see, owned it now.

The white clapboard house with blue trim was weathered from the wind and in need of paint. Wooden steps led to a wide wooden porch. The home, with its steep gable roof, had a full attic, high ceilings, a brick fireplace and plenty of creaky floorboards and groaning doors. A fish-shaped weathervane on the roof spun to point north. Rachel recalled her mother had loved the house, loved being so near the water.

She parked at the curb, facing a sky darkening with a storm. Within an hour, it rolled in from the north. Through the closed windows of her van, the wind howled. In the pewter-colored sky, lightning cracked, splaying fingers toward the choppy-looking water. Waves crashed against the rocky coastline even before rain began pounding.

She shifted on the seat behind the steering wheel, ate a second candy bar and downed a can of soda. Despite the junk food snack, her stomach growled. Heather slept, unaware of the storm. Rachel assumed that Kane had docked hours ago. So where was he?

He wondered what she wanted. Kane had no problem putting a name to her face. He hadn’t seen Rachel Quinn in more than a decade, but she’d been the girl he’d gone to sleep thinking about, the girl he’d never asked out, a red-haired beauty with shoulder-length hair, a girl with looks that had promised in time to rock some man’s world. Just the sight of her had been a bright light to him during some of the most dismal of days.

Slim, long-legged, about five-five, she wore her hair shorter now, chin length. It swung with the movement of her head. She’d changed a lot, he reflected as he recalled the baby in her arms.

He could only guess why she’d wanted to talk to him. Either she was the sentimental type who’d needed to see the family homestead, or she wanted to find his kid sister. They used to be good friends.

He shrugged and finished his dinner, a meat loaf smothered with brown gravy. A quiet thing, Rachel had always waited outside the house for Marnie. He figured she was afraid of the old man. Ian Riley had been drowning his sorrow in booze nightly and was more often drunk than sober.

Kane cursed himself for not giving her a few minutes earlier. He figured he owed her. Big-time. Sweet, she’d offered his sister friendship when shunning Marnie had been the in thing to do. Kids could be cruel. He hadn’t cared that he wore sneakers with holes, but their poorness had proved harder for Marnie. At thirteen, she’d agonized over the thrift-store clothes, over the taunts. His sister’s saviors had been Lori Wolken, some other girl and Rachel Quinn.

Looking up, he stared at the window and the rain pounding against it while a waitress poured more coffee in his cup. He’d driven to Bangor earlier. He was in a foul mood, mostly because of the rain. If a downpour lasted for days, he’d lose money.

Living nearby was a certain brunette with no interest in anything but good times, which suited him fine. He kept his life free of complications, of connections with others. He always would.

As nightfall closed in on the town, Rachel grumbled under her breath. This was dumb. While she was sitting in a car, waiting for Kane, her legs cramping, he might be hunched over a warm meal somewhere. Expecting Heather’s cry any minute, she yanked the giant denim diaper bag from the floor to the seat and hunted for a bottle of formula that she’d made up in a gas station rest room earlier.

When lightning flashed again, she glanced at the cottage’s wide porch. She should have known this wouldn’t be easy. Nothing had been going right since she’d left Texas. She’d never believed in omens or superstitions. She’d always been far too practical, too level-headed for mystical ponderings. But she’d had a flat tire in South Carolina, the alternator had quit outside of Washington, D.C., and the water pump had begun to leak at Maine’s state line.

Weary, she slouched on the seat, wanted to close her eyes. She might have, but a beam of headlights sliced through the curtain of rain. Rachel squinted through the van windows and the downpour. An old-model black truck maneuvered into the driveway beside the house.

In seconds the truck door opened. Shoulders hunched against the rain, a man raced to the house in several long strides. Wearing a seaman’s cap, a yellow slicker, jeans and work boots, he might be anyone. That sounded like a logical reason to her for stalling. In truth, uncertainty plagued her, kept her in the van. Coming here to see him was what she’d promised to do, but was she doing the right thing?

A light went on at the back of the cottage. It was the kitchen. She’d dried dishes often enough at the old porcelain sink. Mentally she geared up for the next moments, considered what she’d say. This situation was too important for her to mess up. But she was no more prepared now than she’d been hours, even days, before, and her empty stomach knotted.

Nerves had kept her from eating more than the candy bars. She could have excused uneasiness to old feelings and memories of when he used to make her teenage heart palpitate. Unbeknown to him, Kane Riley had been the first love of her life. In retrospect, Rachel concluded that she’d fantasized about him because he’d been forbidden fruit, the bad boy. But she wasn’t fifteen anymore, innocent and naive; she was experienced, had had a lover. Whatever nervousness was besieging her had more to do with concern for a baby than puppy love.

As she slid out of the van, the wind whipped at her, tossed down her hood. She yanked it up again, then stretched into the back seat to unbuckle Heather from her car seat. She wrapped her snugly in a heavy blanket and nestled her against her chest and beneath the opened rain slicker.

Almost punishingly the rain whipped at the side of her face before she reached the steps. They creaked beneath her feet; memories flooded her. As a child, she used to chase up the stairs after her brother. As a teen, she’d come down those stairs with the gangly sixteen-year-old star of the school basketball team.

On the porch now, she dabbed a hand at her wet face before she knocked on the door. In a matter of minutes she would fulfill a plan that had started in Texas almost two weeks ago. Optimism, along with tenacity, ranked as her best traits, but she was filled with doubt.

Tempted to turn on her heels and scurry back to the van, she rapped again. An instant later, the door swung open. Kane still intimidated her with a look, she realized, feeling more nervous than she wanted to be. “Hi,” she said with exaggerated brightness.

Deep-set eyes traveled down to her soaked and mud-spotted sneakers, then came back to her face. “What do you want?”

Rachel had used the moment to inch closer to the screen door, to breathe again. “It’s been ages.” She gave him her best smile. “I don’t know if you remember me. I was friends with Marnie,” she said, hoping the mention of his sister would stir his smile. “We—my family used to live here—in this house.” When he said nothing, she went on, “Charlie Greer sold it to my parents. Before we moved to Texas, Charlie bought it back.” As another chill gave her goose bumps, she contemplated what was the best way to get Heather into the warm house. “Do you remember me?”

He bore a five-o’clock shadow. It darkened his jaw, emphasized the shiny blackness of his hair, those pale-gray eyes. “I remember you.” No friendliness entered those eyes, even when they slanted toward the pink bundle cradled in her arms. Had he trained himself to keep his face so expressionless, his emotions so unreadable? “If you’re looking for my sister, I can’t help you.”

“This is kind of complicated. May we come in?” Rachel had been so anxious to see him that she’d never considered he might not be receptive to her. Had he always been so unfriendly? Years ago, blinded by infatuation, she’d never noticed anything except his muscles, those gray eyes and the sensation that quivered within her whenever he’d been near. “I really need to talk to you.”

“About what?” Despite the question, he opened the screen door.

Edgy, Rachel gripped the straps of the diaper bag that she’d slung over her shoulder before leaving the van and scooted past him into the house. Behind her, she heard the click of the front door closing. Tension crept up again as she faced him. She couldn’t blurt out words. Now because he acted so displeased with their intrusion, she felt stymied how to proceed. She could hardly thrust Heather at him with her news. This baby is yours. Take her.

With Heather’s squeak, Rachel mentally returned to a more immediate concern. “I’m sorry, but I’ll need to change and feed her, or in a minute she’ll demonstrate her lung power.”

He pointed to his left. “You can take her in there.”

She knew what room he meant. It used to be her bedroom. An enormous room, she’d shared it with her younger sister, Gillian. She paused at the doorway. Her posters of rock stars, the collection of stuffed animals, the lovely, ruffled shams, the laced curtain and the patchwork quilt were gone. The room contained a bed with a bare mattress, a small chest of drawers and a rocking chair.

Bending over the bed, she unwrapped the pink blanket, then the pale-aqua lightweight one from Heather. “This was my room, mine and my sister’s,” she said, aware he’d followed and was standing in the doorway. It felt so strange to be in the room she’d called her own as a child. She’d never insisted on privacy from Gillian. She’d liked being in a room with her sister, especially on stormy days and nights. Rachel had hated to be alone. Her sister, daring and bolder even at a young age, had loved to sit with her nose pressed to the window and watch the sky explode with lightning.

“Are you almost done?” he asked, as if she’d said nothing.

It was best Heather was too young to understand any of this. Rachel removed the soiled diaper, then fastened a clean one. “Yes, I’m done,” she replied while she maneuvered Heather’s tiny feet into the fleece, peach-colored sleeper and zipped it. She dumped the soiled diaper into a plastic bag that she’d removed from the diaper bag and wiped her hands with a moist towelette.

Only once had he glanced at Heather. She remembered his father had been like this, curt and remote. An angry, morose man, he’d made Marnie cry with his harsh words. What if Kane had become his father? Would Marnie have wanted Heather to be with a man like that?

Kane eyed the baby in her arms, had already noted no wedding band. A baby and no husband. He’d never figured this kind of future for Rachel Quinn, then he’d never really known her. “There’s coffee if you want a cup,” he said, and walked out. He viewed her last few moments as a stall tactic. Whatever her problem was, she was struggling to spit it out. What bothered him most was why she was involving him.

“The coffee smells wonderful.”

He looked back over his shoulder, made eye contact with her. He wondered where she’d left the baby. With a hand he motioned toward the coffee brewer. “There.” He had no intention of waiting on her, making her feel welcomed. He caught a whiff of some light and lemony fragrance as she passed by to reach the coffeepot.

“That room is the one that I—”

“Grew up in,” he finished for her. Turning, he braced his backside against the kitchen counter. “I know.”

From across the table she stared quizzically at him. He couldn’t blame her. He was being more curt than he intended. But annoyance had inched under his skin. Annoyance with himself for letting her into the house.

“When did Charlie die?” she asked between sips of coffee.

“It’s been a while.” Because he lived alone, he paid little attention to the house. With her there, scanning the room, he noticed the refrigerator needed wiping. Unlike Charlie, he had no housekeeper, wanted no one snooping around. “Why don’t we cut to the chase. What do you want from me?”

“This is difficult.”

“If this is about my sister, I haven’t seen her in years.” He wondered if Marnie had found all she’d wanted. Wherever she’d gone and whatever she’d done, she had to have found something better than they’d had here.

“I know.”

“You know?” That caught his attention. “Does that mean you’ve seen her recently?”

Though Rachel remained unsure what to do about Heather, she had to tell him about his sister. Being the bearer of bad news was never easy. “Marnie was in Texas.”

“In Texas?” He set down his cup and gave her his full attention. “How do you know that?”

“I was there.” Rachel wanted to stop, plead a headache, illness—escape. How would she tell him?

“I worked in a bank, and she came in for a job.”

“She has a good job.”

“She was a bank teller.”

“She—” His face tensed.

She guessed her hesitation was irritating him, but how could she blurt out what needed to be said?

“Why do you keep saying…was?”

She could have told him that Marnie had chosen not to contact him. One night over dishes of rocky road ice cream, Marnie had cried and explained that she’d never wanted to burden her brother with her problems. “Kane, I’m sorry—”

“Sorry. What the hell are you sorry about?”

“Marnie died a week and a half ago.” Rachel gave him a moment while the words registered. She prayed her voice didn’t break, and she didn’t cry. “I tried to contact you.” She hurried an explanation. “I knew from Lori—Lori Wolken—that you were still living here. I tried to reach you.” She withdrew two papers she’d slipped earlier into her jeans pocket. “When I couldn’t, I called Lori with the news about Marnie. She told me that you weren’t in town.”

Expressionless, he kept staring at her.

Rachel wished someone who knew him was here. “I learned you returned from a two-week fishing trip yesterday.”

“How?” A demand edged his voice. She could hear a silent message. Explain this to me. Tell me this isn’t real. “How did she die?”

Rachel set the folded death certificate for Marnie and a birth certificate for Heather on the table. “Your sister was proud, really proud.” Would he blame Rachel? She’d always felt as if she hadn’t done enough, hadn’t come up with good enough arguments to convince Marnie that she shouldn’t have the baby at home, hadn’t tried hard enough. If only she’d convinced Marnie to accept help, how different everything might be now.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The harsh command forced her head up. Such pain clouded his eyes. She wanted to touch him. “I was her friend, but she wouldn’t let me help. She always said she wouldn’t take charity. I tried.” Rachel felt the knot forming in her throat. “I really did. But she wouldn’t go to the hospital, wouldn’t let me pay.”

“Hospital? She was ill?”

“Oh, no.” Rachel wished she was standing closer, could touch him. “Kane, she was pregnant. But instead of going to a hospital, she decided to have the baby at home.”

His shoulders raised, but that was the only visible change.

“She had a midwife come to the trailer.” Rachel took a step closer. This was far more difficult than she’d imagined. “There were complications. We called for an ambulance, and they rushed her to the hospital, but—”

He kept staring past her as if she were invisible.

“Before she reached the hospital, she was gone.”

“Why didn’t she have it in the hospital? She had a job, medical insurance, didn’t she?”

She had loved Marnie like a sister but wasn’t blind to her faults and hoped he wasn’t, either. “She took off a lot and lost the job.” She didn’t wait for him to ask why. “There was a man. She wanted to be with him.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but he held on to a stone face.

Rachel presumed he’d mastered that look when he was young. “Kane, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do—”

His deep-set eyes came back to her. “Was she scared?”

The memory of that night closed in on Rachel again. “I don’t think so.” She felt tears smarting at the back of her eyes and grabbed a deep breath. Tears now would do no good. “She wasn’t really aware,” Rachel added. “It all happened so fast.” Her voice trailed off. She was talking to his back. “Wait,” she said before he reached the door. She wasn’t insensitive to his need to be alone. She wished she could have offered some kind of solace, but what could she have said? That evening had been awful, frightening. She’d lost a wonderful friend. But it didn’t matter what either of them felt. Heather had to come first for both of them. “What about Marnie’s baby?”

Chapter Two

S ilence hung in the air. Seconds on the kitchen wall clock ticked by with excruciating slowness before he swung back, before those eyes locked on hers. “Baby?”

No, he didn’t look baffled. He looked dazed. As much as she wished she could give him time to mourn, she had to make him understand. Heather existed. If he didn’t accept his obligation— She let the thought die for a moment, hating to think of Heather as an obligation. But his acceptance of his responsibility for Heather might be the little one’s only hope for a life that didn’t include foster homes. “Heather—the baby is Marnie’s. You’re her uncle.”

As if someone had poked him hard in the back, it straightened. “So you say.”

What did that mean? Didn’t he believe her? “I’m telling the truth.”

In anger most people shouted, he spoke low. “You come here with a story about my sister and a baby. Okay, I don’t doubt my sister is—” He paused, his gaze dropping to the folded sheets of paper on the table. In an abrupt move he picked them up and unfolded one. Absently he ran a thumb over the seal of Texas on the paper confirming his sister’s death. “Okay. My sister is…gone. You’d have no reason to lie about that.”

She heard a silent but. “You don’t think I’m telling the truth about Heather?”

“The baby could be yours. You could be trying to pawn it off as Marnie’s.”

“Pawn it off!” Fury rose so swiftly Rachel thought she’d lose her good sense and take a swing at him.

“She’s your sister’s baby. Not mine.” He had no idea how much it hurt her to say that, how often she’d made herself remember that, since she had started caring for Heather. If he saw Heather’s gray eyes, eyes so like his own, or touched her and felt the velvety soft skin, he would never turn away from her. But he hadn’t even seen her yet. “Heather is yours.”

Before she could utter a protest, she watched him snag a rain slicker from a hook by the door. A second later it closed behind him. How could he walk away? Heather was his flesh and blood. He was the only one she had. How could he be so unfeeling, so indifferent? And what should she do now? She had no choices, she realized.

Planning to return to the motel for the night, she went to the bedroom and lifted Heather into her arms. Because of Kane’s reaction, misgivings about him nagged at her. Rachel drew Heather closer, wishing for some way to know she was making the right decisions for her.

Since that night, she’d become responsible for Heather. She’d been the one who’d first held Marnie’s baby. She’d cuddled the newborn close while the midwife had frantically tried to save Marnie’s life. After a call to 911, with paramedics crowding Marnie, Rachel had wandered to a far end of the room, rocking the newborn and praying for her friend.

No one’s fault. An unexpected rise in Marnie’s blood pressure. A cerebral hemorrhage. It would have happened at any time. Those were the words said to Rachel. Her friend’s life had been a thin thread, ready to snap. That knowledge had been small consolation.

Rachel had lost a best friend, a woman she’d been as close to as her sister, Gillian. And as Rachel would do for her brother or sister, she would have done anything for Marnie. With her gone, that loyalty transferred to Marnie’s baby, to a child she was struggling not to get too attached to.

Rain slowed to a drizzle by the time Kane reached Tulley’s Bar. His skin and hair damp, he straddled a stool at the scarred wooden bar and downed a whisky quickly, letting the heat burn his throat while he read the death certificate once more.

Because his old man had been a drunkard, Kane drank cautiously and never set foot in Tulley’s before sunset. Too many times his father had reached for a drink to start his day.

He stared at the amber liquid in his glass while he fought a myriad of feelings. The shock from Rachel’s words settled over him. It seemed unreal, impossible. Marnie was gone. His stomach muscles clenched. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been in his life for more than a decade. He’d believed she was somewhere else, that her life was better than the living hell they’d shared with their old man after their mother had died. But Marnie wasn’t happier. She was gone. He would never see her again.

He wanted to vent anger, but who deserved it? And to give in to a softer emotion never occurred to him. He’d blocked any urge to cry when his mother had died. Losing someone else close to him only reinforced something he’d always known. There was danger in letting the heart feel too much.

So what now? Did Rachel have his sister’s belongings? Who’d paid for the funeral? And what about the kid? Was it really his sister’s? If it was, what would he do with it?

At seven the next morning Kane had no answers. Even before he opened his eyes, he cursed the sound of rain thudding against the roof in a steady, syncopated beat. Through his bedroom window he saw the dreary gray sky. In no hurry he stretched on the bed, then roused himself. Rain had canceled yesterday’s tours. Today the Sea Siren would be stuck at dock all day. Yawning, he yanked on jeans and tugged a T-shirt over his head.

In the kitchen he plugged in the coffee brewer. On the table were the papers Rachel had given him. He unfolded the birth certificate. Heather Riley. He noted that someone had typed the word unknown on the line for the father’s name. The seal of Texas made the document legal. He closed his fingers around it. Calmer now, he could talk sensibly to Rachel. With only half a dozen motels in town, he assumed he’d have no problem finding her.

He gave himself half an hour to nurse a couple of cups of coffee, shower and shave, then drove his truck down Main Street toward the Sea Siren to talk to his deckhand before he started his search.

Instead of going to the boat first, as he spotted Rachel’s van parked outside Benny’s Café, he negotiated the truck into an adjacent parking lot. No amount of avoidance would work. He parked his truck and strolled toward the café. Through its windows, he saw her.

Head bowed, she sat in one of the blue vinyl booths. As he opened the café door, the bell above it jingled. The café was decorated in blue and white. A breakfast crowd, mostly locals, occupied the stools at the counter and several tables. Heads swiveled toward Kane before he shut the door behind him. He received no nods of hello, no smiles. He never expected any.

People believed he was his father’s child, and Ian Riley had ranked low on everyone’s list of favorite people by the time he’d died. For good reasons, they’d claimed. He’d come to town, sweet-talked Kathleen Feenley, and got her pregnant. He’d ruined a good girl. But no one had really objected to him until he’d become an embarrassment, the town drunk. Then Kane had committed his own offense. He didn’t need their condemnations. He damned himself whenever he thought about Charlie’s last day.

Ignoring stares, he weaved a path around some tables to reach Rachel. Though no sun shone through the windows, she looked sunny. He figured it was a visual thing. She wore faded jeans and a bright yellow top that clung gently to the curves of her breasts. Because too many emotions remained close to the surface, he steeled himself when he saw sympathy in her expression. “Guess we need to talk.”

“Sometimes it’s difficult for me to believe Marnie’s gone,” she said with a world of hurt in her voice that made Kane certain she wasn’t giving lip service but was telling the truth. “This must be such a hard time for you.”

“A shock,” he said candidly. He figured that this woman, with her overabundance of kindness and too-caring manner, set herself up to be hurt easily. While he slid into the booth across from her, she angled to her left. Was the baby there? Was it a boy or girl? A girl. He recalled Rachel saying “she” when in need of a place to change the diaper.

“I—” She closed her mouth when Rosie Furnam, the oldest of the café’s waitresses, a grandmother with a love for gossip, came near.

“Do you want something?” She looked less than pleased.

Kane never ate in town, hadn’t for years since Charlie had died. For meals out, he would drive to one of the towns nearby. “Nothing.”

“More coffee?” she asked Rachel.

Briefly Rachel’s eyes met his before raising to Rosie’s questioning stare. “No, thank you.”

Kane waited until Rosie finally sauntered away. “Tell me what happened to my sister.”

Rachel explained what the doctors in the emergency room had told her.

No one’s fault. Those words gave Kane no comfort. He glanced at the wall of windows, away from the soft compassion in the green eyes studying him. He wanted none of it. “You handled the funeral, you said.”

As if it pained her, she avoided meeting his eyes. “We had a small memorial service.” She concentrated on the dark liquid in her cup. “Several people from the trailer court, and former co-workers came.”

He didn’t want to know the details. “Let me know how much I owe you.” When she raised her head, he sensed she planned a protest. “She was my sister.” My responsibility. Except he’d forgotten that, hadn’t he? “And if I owe you anything else—”

“Please. She was my friend.” Moisture glistened in her eyes. “A wonderful friend. I’d have done anything for her. I wanted her to go to the hospital.” She was rambling as if trying to understand what went wrong. “I had money saved. She could have gone.”

Despite years of separation, Kane knew his sister wouldn’t take a handout from anyone. He wasn’t sure she’d have even welcomed help from him. They’d had to accept too much charity as kids. “She always was stubborn. If she didn’t want to take your help, you couldn’t have done anything to change her mind.”

“Thank you. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but—”

“I’m not doing anything,” he countered, because he wasn’t trying to offer comfort. Instinctively her chin rose a notch. Better she was offended. He didn’t need this woman as a friend. If she’d thought he planned to make this easy, she was wrong.

“I was telling the truth. Heather is Marnie’s,” she said softer as if suddenly aware how many people were staring at them.

“Marnie named her?” Less stunned, he admitted now that he really hadn’t doubted her. She’d have had no reason to lie about the baby, and like the death certificate for his sister, a birth certificate for the baby forced the truth on him.

“Heather was the name she’d said she liked best, the one I used for her baptism. Do you like it?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s fine. Who’s the father? He wasn’t named on the birth certificate.”

Rachel toyed with a spoon. “I really don’t know.”

“Why don’t you?” Settling back in the booth, he stretched denim-clad legs beneath the table. “You claim you and my sister were good friends.”

Inches from them, Rosie lingered at a table. Revealing discretion, Rachel waited for the waitress to move away. “We were. But Marnie never told me the father’s name. I asked, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

“How did you get the baby?”

“During her pregnancy, Marnie had written a note, had it notarized. It gave me temporary guardianship until Heather was with you. That protected her, kept her from falling into the system.” A slim, almost shy smile curved her lips. “I rushed here with her before anyone challenged the paper.”

He’d guess she was one of those honest-to-the-core people who didn’t even park illegally.

Her gaze shifted to the window. “The rain’s stopped.” Vacationers’ cars lined the town’s main street, bumper to bumper. Summer tourists ambled along the sidewalks now, drawn to the souvenir shops and art galleries.

Inside the café, they’d become the center of attention. Regulars at the counter stared their way. One of the waitresses cleared a table at a snail’s pace instead of getting an order to the cook’s counter. Kane thought the woman across from him needed to know. “Being with me isn’t the popular thing to do.”

Rachel met his stare with an equally steady one. “It never was. I was warned years ago to keep my distance from you.” She sounded slightly amused. “You were ‘the wild one,’” she said, a laugh definitely lacing her voice.

Eyes darted their way again. Questioning looks fixed on them when Rachel sounded as if she was having fun with Kane. As Rachel slid out of the booth, he expected one of the town’s do-gooders to rush over and deliver a warning about him. Bending forward, she grabbed the handle of the cushioned seat that held the baby and lifted it. Kane couldn’t see his sister’s child.

“I’m not fifteen now. I prefer to make my own judgments. I’ll see you at the house,” she said, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

He considered grabbing her arm, telling her there was no more to be said. But with her comment he imagined the shock rippling through the people seated at the tables and counter. If he caused a confrontation, he’d just make her grist for the gossip mill. He didn’t care what anyone thought, but he had enough guilt to bear without being responsible for the town ostracizing her for getting involved with him. No, thanks. He didn’t need any of this. His life had been simple, and he planned to keep it that way.

At the house Rachel stood on the porch, waiting for Kane. Her hand remained clenched around the handle of the baby carrier. At her feet was a suitcase and a bag, bigger than the denim one draped over her shoulder. This one was decorated with pink and blue ducks.

When he climbed out of his truck, she moved closer to the porch railing. “I have all of her things in the van.”

How much could someone that small have? Stalling, he stopped by the mailbox at the curb. They needed to talk this out now. She needed to understand that he had no room in his life for the baby. “She’s not staying,” he said as much for Rachel’s benefit as a confirmation that this was best.

As he joined her on the porch, he saw disbelief sweep across her face. “You won’t take her?”

He’d thought his problem was obvious. How could he take her? “I don’t know anything about babies.”

“That’s not really a problem. You can learn.”

He figured she was afflicted with the rose-colored-glasses syndrome. It didn’t matter that this child was his sister’s, that some part of her could be back in his life. “She belongs with her father, not me.”

A brisk wind cut a path through the porch. It whipped at her hair and flapped at the lightweight jacket she wore as if sensing a frail opponent. “I told you.” She hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know who that is.”

Kane shoved the house key into the lock and opened the door for her. “Then we’ll need to find him. Any ideas about where to start?”

She raised a hand, swiped at strands flying across her cheek. “I’d be guessing. I think he’s one of three men she dated on and off during the past two years.”

An urge to touch the silky-looking strands crept over him. “Why didn’t she tell you who the father was?” Shifting his stance, he blocked the wind from her and the baby. “I thought friends told friends everything.”

“Do you?”

He could have told her he had none. He didn’t allow himself that kind of closeness with anyone anymore. “It’s going to take time to find the baby’s father.” Because he wasn’t any more father material than his own dad, he asked a logical question. “What do you expect me to do with her?”

Worry rushed Rachel. She crossed her fingers and toes. She didn’t know what she would do if he refused. “Well—arrangements need to be made—to care for her. You could hire a nanny.”

“Why not you?” he asked, snatching up the pink-and-blue duck bag and the suitcase.

“Oh, no, not me.” Already she’d spent too much time with Heather. It was one thing to bring Heather to him, quite another to stay, care for her daily. She preceded him into the house. “I need to return to Texas.”

“Married?”

Rachel shot a look back at him. “No, I’m not but—”

“I can’t stay home with her,” he said, not giving her time to offer reasons. “Someone needs to be here.”

Rachel wondered what he thought she did to pay rent. “I never intended to stay. I have my job. I—”

He moved and dropped several envelopes and a magazine on a circular maple end table. “Then you’d better have another idea. Because you can’t come here, drop all of this in my lap and take off.”

Rachel scowled at him in vain. Head bent, he was sorting through the envelopes. What he’d said was exactly what she’d planned to do. One evening Marnie had insisted on talking about what-ifs. If something happened to her, she wanted Rachel to be her baby’s temporary guardian until she took the baby to its uncle. “Keep the baby until she’s with Kane, until you’re sure she’s where she’ll be happy,” she’d said.

A week later Marnie was dead, and Rachel’s lightly made promise had become a vow of forever. But what if the two promises didn’t go hand in hand? “I’m sorry, but I’m not the answer to your problem.” Her voice trailed off as those gray eyes fixed on her. She didn’t know what was more disconcerting—being ignored or having those eyes on her.

“What do you do?”

“I’m in charge of customer investments.” His brows knit with a questioning look. “Mutual funds, IRAs, annuities,” Rachel explained.

“So how did you get time off?”

She’d had to. She’d promised her best friend she’d take care of her baby. “After Heather was born, I took a leave of absence because I wasn’t sure when I’d be back. And I stayed home to be with her and to make arrangements, find you. Legally she’s yours, not mine now, because I did find you.”

“I can’t care for her by myself.” He waited a second as if giving his words time to sink in. “I can hire someone until I find the father, but that won’t happen by tomorrow.”

“There are a lot of wonderful people in this town,” Rachel reminded him. “They’ll help—”

“They won’t help me.”

Rachel puzzled over that. “Why wouldn’t they?”

For a long moment he held her gaze with an unflinching one. “If you leave, so does the baby,” he said instead of answering her.

He couldn’t mean that. “How can you—” She heard her own anxiousness and paused, drew a deep breath.

“You want what’s best for her, don’t you?”

What was his point? “Of course, I do.”

“I’m not it.”

Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t know if that was true. But Marnie hadn’t believed that. Seeing the stubborn set of his jaw, she knew he meant what he’d said. She was torn. She needed to protect herself. She could only do that by leaving. He had no idea what he was asking of her. She cast a look at Heather asleep in the infant carrier seat. She was so innocent. Someone had to protect her, too.

If she kept her guard up, she could help them, couldn’t she? Stop! Stop thinking about yourself. Think about the baby. The baby needs you. She remembered how hard it had been for her sister and brother when they’d lost their parents. Though she’d had some difficult times supporting and raising them, she’d done her best to hold them together. She’d known that the more love a child had, the better off the child would be. So she gave them all she could. Heather, too, needed that until Kane found Heather’s biological father or became the daddy Heather needed. “I’ll stay until you hire a nanny.”

“Fine.”

There was such a ring of satisfaction in his voice. “You expected me to change my mind, didn’t you?” Rachel challenged.

“You lead with your heart.” He looked down, checked his watch, offered no more explanation. “I have to leave.”

She assumed with the sky more blue and filled now with lighter, fluffier clouds that he had a tour or a fishing trip.

“Here’s a key to the house.” He detached a key from a ring. “We’ll need to get another made.”

Before she changed her mind, Rachel accepted it, but she hadn’t considered that a yes meant living with him.

“If you need help hauling anything in, leave it, and I’ll do it when I get back.”

She didn’t bother to ask where he was going or how long he’d be gone. With the closing of the door, she stretched for a breath, glad to be alone. He’d disturbed her more than a decade ago. And still did.

Get over it, she told herself while scanning the room. She was here to stay for a few days. But never had she expected to live in this house again. Clasping the key, she eyed the blue Early-American-style sofa. The furniture he’d chosen was an eclectic mix of Early American, Cape Cod and thrift store specials, though the blue sofa and a chair worked together, and the seascape over the fireplace was a blend of blues that suited the room.

Looking around, she could almost see her mother standing by the front window with its endless view of the ocean. Sounds of her brother and sister affectionately squabbling hung in the air. Near the fireplace an image came alive of her father petting the family dog, a black lab.

She loved the house, probably because some of the most wonderful days of her life had passed here with her parents and sister and brother. They’d been a family in the true sense, sharing love and laughter.

Family. She’d always wanted that. Other girls talked about careers, not Rachel. She’d always wanted a family of her own—husband, children. By now she’d thought that she’d be married, have that family, but so much of what she’d yearned for had passed her by. She couldn’t have regrets. There was no going back, no chance to recapture those dreams, and dwelling over what would never happen was a waste of time.

Curious to see if the house had changed, she lifted Heather’s infant seat and went into the kitchen. She’d explore the other rooms later. Stark, the room contained a round, dark-wood table and chairs, and a nineteenth-century corner cupboard. She stared at the shelf above French doors. Her mother had displayed her collection of nineteenth-century Staffordshire children’s plates and mugs on it. Now it was bare. There were no frills, no knickknacks, no decorative touches. The house of a no-nonsense man, Rachel gathered.

She placed Heather’s carrier on the floor by the kitchen table, then began opening and closing cabinet doors to locate coffee. Sparse, the cabinets contained only a few dishes and staples, enough food for one person to keep from starving. The refrigerator held eggs, beer, a few cans of soda, a bottle of good wine and cheese.

After finding the coffee, she started the coffee brewer, then reached for the telephone on a wall near the back door. Before she’d left Texas, she’d phoned her brother and sister. They’d both insisted she call collect when she located Kane.

Rachel stalled, waiting until the coffee finished hissing, then poured herself a cup while she prepared for her brother’s arguments. Sean had been concerned about her making the trip, about taking on the responsibility of Heather, but Rachel had assured her brother that everything was temporary. He would not be happy to hear she was staying.

His brother’s brief businesslike greeting preceded a beep. She left a cheery message, including her new phone number on his answering machine, then punched out Gillian’s phone number. The phone rang ten times. Who knew where her footloose sister was? Still Rachel tried again five minutes later while drinking a second cup of coffee.

“Hello,” a bright, happy voice greeted. People claimed Gillian resembled a redheaded Meg Ryan. Rachel didn’t see the physical resemblance. But both women were slim built, bubbly and had a sparkle in their eyes.

“Hello, yourself,” Rachel said.

“Hey, big sister. How are you? I was thinking about calling you. I have a new job, a modeling job in San Francisco.”

“Modeling?”

“For a hairstylist at a convention, so I’ll be leaving Los Angeles this weekend. I’ll let you know if I end up with orange or magenta hair.” She breezed on without taking a breath. “I assume you found Kane.”

“Yes. I’ll be staying in Hubbard Bay a little longer. What about Hawaii?” Since getting her small-plane pilot’s license nearly two years ago, Gillian had been looking for the “perfect job.” It had come last week. A charter plane company needed another pilot.

“I don’t go for another three months,” she answered. “So why are you staying?”

Rachel explained the situation with Kane.

“You’re living with him?”

“He’s gone most of the day,” Rachel was quick to remind her. Don’t ask what I’m doing. It sounded insane, she knew. She was living with a man she didn’t know, for an indefinite amount of time, to protect a baby she didn’t want to get too close to. The situation was ludicrous.

“Sean was worried you’d get attached. Did you call him?”

“I left a message.”

“He won’t be pleased.”

No, he wouldn’t be, Rachel knew. Even though he was three years younger than her, he’d become as protective as a big brother since he’d become an adult. “I’m not attached. I could hardly leave Heather with a man who knows absolutely nothing about babies.”

“So you’ll stay there until he does?”

Rachel shared with her Kane’s plan to find Heather’s father. “I’ll be here until he hires a nanny or finds the right man. I’m not certain that he’d be best for Heather.”

“You think she should stay with Kane?”

Now there was a question. “I don’t know.”

“Such indecisiveness is so unlike you, Rachel. You usually know what you’re doing at every moment.”

“This is a different situation.”

A smile sprang into her voice. “I’m glad you’re not being too logical.”

“I’m being logical,” Rachel countered but didn’t feel defensive, aware her sister, who was a relentless tease, was having fun at her expense. “The baby needs someone with experience to care for her.”

“You know, it’s all right if you don’t act sensible all the time. For too many years, you had to think about the consequences of everything for you, Sean and me. You need to enjoy. Wing it.”

Rachel laughed. “Wing it?”

“Do something adventurous.”

“And you should show some caution,” Rachel returned.

Another bubbly laugh came through the phone. “Got to go now, sis.”

Rachel shook her head, aware Gillian lacked even a smidgen of caution. Lovable and unpredictable, she lived for the moment. Rachel rattled off Kane’s phone number to her sister and elicited Gillian’s promise to call when she reached San Francisco. Do something adventurous, she’d said. Wasn’t staying with a stranger adventurous enough for a woman who lived an orderly, well-thought-out life?

Chapter Three

A t thirty-one, Rachel would admit that she had fallen into a rut before all this had happened. While her brother worked for a prestigious Boston law firm, and Gillian was still finding herself but was happy with a lifestyle that included traveling, Rachel had settled for what she had, a home in Texas, a job at the bank. She wasn’t unhappy. She had friends, a satisfying job, but there would always be an emptiness in her life. Always.

While Heather finished her nap, Rachel opened the front door to cart in the portable crib and clothes, but the rain had started again. She saw no point in getting soaked. Deciding to wait until the rain eased, she gave in to her curiosity about the house, wanting to see all the rooms, see if they looked the same, sparked memories.

At the end of the short hall was a sparsely decorated, masculine room. On the bed was a homemade dark-blue-and-white patchwork quilt. Had his mother or some other relative made it? On top of a small, round, mahogany table near the window was a photograph. Even from a distance Rachel recognized Marnie’s school photo. In a corner of the room was a three-shelf mahogany bookcase filled mostly with paperbacks. She’d have liked to step in, but felt she’d be invading his privacy.

Instead she crossed into the room that used to be her brother’s. On a clear day its window offered a view of a distant lighthouse, of the endless water. Rachel circled the empty room. In the closet was a pull-down ladder for the attic. Of all the rooms, this one was the most perfect for a nursery. She could imagine Kane’s expression if she hauled all of Heather’s belongings into it. No, for now she would keep Heather in the room near her.

She returned to the kitchen and groped in her shoulder bag for a paperback to read while she waited for the rain to end. The plan had made sense then, but by late afternoon a downpour had begun.

With little choice Rachel placed Heather in the middle of the bed, comforted that a newborn stayed still, and after fishing her van keys from her shoulder bag, she slipped on her rain slicker and headed for the door. Though she loved walking in the rain, she didn’t like storms. She was still wishing that she could avoid going out when she opened the door.

“Where are you going?”

She jumped, then laughed at herself as Kane stood before her. “Out there.” She gestured with her hand at the air and in the direction behind him. “You scared me silly,” she said on a laugh.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He stood so near that she smelled the rain on him. She never lied to herself and wouldn’t start now. The quickening of her pulse had as much to do with a sensual reaction as it had to do with skittishness because he’d appeared so suddenly before her. “I need to get Heather’s portable crib,” she said loudly to be heard over the hammering rain.

“Give me your keys.” The wind ruffled his hair, flapped at the hem of his yellow slicker. “I’ll get it.”

“That’s very nice of—” She didn’t bother to finish as he curled his fingers around the keys dangling from her hand and thrust a pizza carton at her. For only a moment she peered through the sheet of slanting rain and watched him sprint to the van.

This stay was not going to be easy, she decided as she shut the door. He was fascinating and annoying. One moment he came across as thoughtful and considerate, the next he bordered on brusque, almost unpleasant. He’d always been mysterious to her. He’d been a brooding, quiet boy who’d smiled rarely and usually only at his sister. But he’d warmed Rachel all the way down to her toes with that smile.

Grinning over her own thought, she set the pizza on the counter. Unable to resist, she peeked at it with a deep inhalation. It smelled heavenly. She swiped a piece of sausage from one slice, reclosed the box, then made her way to the bedroom to check on Heather.

Fortunately she snoozed, undisturbed by the weather and her surroundings. Shadows danced on the walls. The wind whistled through the old house, wiggled doors, banged shutters. Rachel decided that only an ungrateful fool wouldn’t appreciate what Kane was doing.

While waiting for him, she moved the infant seat and oversize diaper bag to make a spot for the crib. A soft bang, a muttered oath made her look up. Rain plastered his hair. Glossy, dark strands flared out in unruly curls below his ears. Raindrops beaded his face. “I appreciate your help.” She noticed that he’d shrugged out of his rain gear somewhere on his way to her.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me.” He snapped open a side of the collapsed crib, then un-clipped the other side of the bed. “Hell, you’re the one who’s been put out.” He pressed on the rail of the crib as if testing its steadiness. “I’ll get you sheets for your bed.”

He was acting more pleasant. Rachel hoped this was a new phase, one that would last for a while. While he was gone, she dug a crib sheet for the crib out of a suitcase and made up a bed for Heather. Though sleeping, her mouth puckered, made sucking noises as Rachel shifted her from the big bed to the smaller one. “You’re getting hungry, aren’t you?” she cooed. Peripherally she caught movement and looked up to see Kane set snow-white sheets on the top of a badly scratched walnut dresser.

“Does she ever answer?”

Had that actually been humor? “No, but eventually she will.”

His eyes strayed to the crib. He looked baffled. “She’s sleeping again?”

Rachel veiled a smile. Until that moment she hadn’t thought he’d looked at Heather. That he was showing some interest in his niece meant progress. “Infants do a lot of that. That and eating.” She thought better about mentioning the dozens of diaper changes.

“If you say so.”

The sudden coolness surprised her. Had he drummed it up because he thought he was showing too much interest in Heather? Who knew what he was thinking. He wasn’t an easy man to understand. She usually preferred men who willingly carried on conversations, showed some sensitivity, weren’t so difficult to read. He really wasn’t her type, she acknowledged. Of course he wasn’t, but that didn’t stop her from staring at how his jeans snugly hugged his tight backside.

“If you’re hungry, there’s pizza.”

Fortunately she managed to stop staring before he turned around. “I’m starving. I didn’t have much breakfast before coming here.” Her stomach churning in anticipation now, she followed him to the kitchen. While he opened the refrigerator, she moved the carton to the center of the table. “I’m glad you thought of this.”

“I knew there wasn’t anything in the house.”

She’d nearly said the same thing but thought he might believe she was insulting him.

With the refrigerator door open, he held out a can of soda. “This or beer or—”

“This is fine.” Rachel took the can of soda. “I thought everything would look different here, but not much has changed,” she said to encourage him to talk.

He swung toward her, shutting the refrigerator door with his forearm. “People like it that way.”

Rachel looked down and yanked the tab on the can of soda. “I know.” When he straddled a chair, she joined him at the table. “It was always such a wonderful town. I’m glad it hasn’t changed.” Rachel glanced toward the window as lightning flashed again and brightened the darkness outside. She drew in one of those long breaths that was meant to calm a person.

Across the table from her, he gave her a long, searching look. “The storm bothers you.”

She hated to make the admittance. She was a grown-up, not six years old. “Sometimes. You must be busy as captain of two boats,” she said, searching for something that would keep conversation flowing. “Do you have a crew?”

“A small one. Lonnie Culhern’s my first mate.”

“I know who that is,” Rachel said as she recalled Lonnie, a blond Adonis type. Good-looking and muscular, he attracted women with little effort. “The girls liked him.”

Balancing a slice of pizza on his fingertips, he took a bite before answering. “Skirt chasing only ranks second behind fishing in his life.”

Rachel smiled. Despite the quip, his voice had carried a note of fondness. “You like him a lot.”

“He’s been around a long while,” he said, instead of commenting about what she’d said.

Did that mean he was close with him or not? Puzzled, Rachel concentrated on the pizza. Was there no bond between them, or was he one of those people who never allowed himself to admit that he cared about someone? Worry for Heather skittered through her. How would she fare with a man who so tightly guarded his emotions?

The scrape of chair legs on the linoleum made her look up. From a kitchen drawer he removed a candle and matches.

“Do you expect the power to go off?”

He didn’t need to answer. Lights flickered once more. The room went black. She heard the strike of a match then. When he turned with a candle in his hand, it cast an eerie glow over his face.

“Sit still,” he said, setting the candle in the middle of the table.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Unaccustomed to where furniture was in the house, she thought it would be dumb to move around and bump into things.

The beam of a flashlight suddenly swept the room. “Here.” He offered one to her.

As Rachel reached for it, his fingers lightly brushed hers. The contact was nothing, but unexpected warmth shot through her. She pulled back her hand. “Thank you.” The reaction seemed silly, but, a little space from him, a little time to think clearly wouldn’t do any harm. “I’d better check on Heather before I go to bed.”

Aiming the flashlight, she ventured down the dark hallway to the bathroom. It had been so long since she’d thought about any man in any way except as a friend. Perhaps that’s why she’d felt something. She’d probably overreacted.

In the darkness she bent over Heather and gathered her in her arms. Listening to the raging storm, she perched on the edge of the bed, and soothingly skimmed a hand over Heather’s soft, dark hair until her eyes closed. Possibly what she’d felt with Kane had been about old feelings.

Though she was tempted to keep holding Heather, she lowered her to her crib. Every time she cuddled the baby, her defenses weakened. Wasn’t this what worried her brother most? He knew her soft heart. He knew how easily she could let Heather into her heart if she wasn’t careful. But she was careful now. During one year of her life she’d endured a lifetime of pain and losses. She’d vowed then—never again.

For a moment Rachel peered out the window at the branches swaying beneath a violent wind. Before she spooked herself, she made up the bed, then changed into a pale-peach, silky nightshirt and climbed beneath the sheet. She didn’t need to keep herself awake all night with imaginary fear. She had plenty of real problems to face tomorrow, like how to make a home here for Heather.

Crazy. His whole world had tipped and gone crazy, Kane decided the next morning as he stood on the deck of the Maggie Lee. In one day his solitary existence had been swept away. He tried to assure himself that it was temporary. But already his sleep had been interrupted by the baby’s lusty wail in the middle of the night. Briefly he’d worried something was wrong with her, then as she quickly quieted, he’d assumed Rachel had control of the moment. He was glad someone did, because it sure as hell wasn’t him.

They’d taken over his life in less than twenty-four hours. Cans of baby formula lined a shelf in his refrigerator, the sweet smell of some kind of baby powder hung in the air of the bedroom they occupied.

Then there was Rachel. She pulled at him with those soft-green eyes, with that smile, with that gentle, smooth voice.

“See you, Captain,” a voice called out.

Kane yanked himself back to his surroundings. He nodded in response to the man passing by. A corporate-type in his white baseball cap, polo shirt and Bermuda shorts, he shared a fishing story with his friend while they sauntered toward their luxury cars. They’d spent early-morning hours on the water for the thrill of catching a big one.

Lonnie Culhern, his first mate, stood on the pier. He’d dropped out of college years ago to the dismay of his family who’d perceived their son as a Harvard graduate. After moving around like a rolling stone, he’d settled again in Hubbard Bay and had taken a job with Kane. Though comfortable with Lonnie’s company, Kane had doubted his deckhand’s staying power and kept a check on any real friendship developing between them.

“Heard a woman, new in town, was asking about you.” A mixture of curiosity and speculation had entered Lonnie’s voice. “According to Ephraim,” he said about the owner of the town’s oldest gas station, “she’s a Quinn. Rachel Quinn. And a looker.” An interested look spread over Lonnie’s face. “Who is she? An old girlfriend?”

Kane squinted against a bright morning sun. “Never dated her.”

“Ephraim said she’s really something. Before I could ask more, Phil showed up and said we needed rain,” he said with the annoyance he’d felt then. “That set off Ephraim who said sunshine was good for tourists, and Phil crabbed about us needing less instead of more of them. You know how they go on.”

Kane nodded distractedly, figured they’d spent enough time talking about Rachel. She wasn’t one of them anymore.

“Someone said she took care of her brother and sister after her parents died.”

Kane continued to hose down the deck. “You turning into one of the town’s gossips?”

Lonnie scowled as if he’d been insulted. “Just telling you what I heard.”

“She has a kid.” Purposely he led Lonnie astray.

As expected that news backed Lonnie up. Any hint of commitment scared the daylights out of him. “Whoa. Bad news.” Completing his chore, he dropped a bag of trash, mostly beer cans into a nearby receptacle. “No wonder you’re keeping your distance,” he said before sauntering away from Kane.

Keeping his distance? Hardly.

Rachel had spent the morning playing catch up on sleep. She’d felt more rested than she’d expected, and except for Heather’s usual 2 a.m. feeding, she’d slept through the night, able to ignore the storm.

She bathed Heather, emptied her suitcase and hung the clothes in the closet, but whiled away the rest of the day. By three o’clock she hadn’t accomplished anything else. The mistake she made was digging into her shoulder bag for a piece of peppermint candy. Once her fingers curled over the paperback in her purse, she hadn’t budged from the chair until after the author had her protagonist discover the first murder.

A touch annoyed with herself, Rachel grabbed her keys and made her way to the front door, intending on bringing Heather’s things in from the van, then going to the store for formula. She took only one step onto the porch.

At some time earlier Kane had taken her keys from the kitchen counter where she’d dropped them. Before leaving for the boat, he must have brought to the porch the bouncing exerciser that resembled a car, an infant swing, and several boxes filled with baby clothing and blankets.

Rachel left all of it there, certain no one would take anything. The late-afternoon air carried a pleasant warmth. Hours ago the sun had burned away the mist off the Atlantic Ocean.

She pushed Heather’s navy-colored stroller with its blue-and-white-striped canopy across the street and strolled along the cliff walk that traveled parallel with the water. She took in the rocky cliffs, the water crowded with boats sparkling beneath the sunlight. Everything from the smell of the salt-scented breeze to the sight of the deserted, weathered wood shacks made her feel at home. A gentle breeze whipped through her hair. Several gulls trailed a boat, skimmed the water for food.

Little had changed in the sixteen years since she’d left Hubbard Bay. It had maintained its small-town appearance. Generations of families lived in the town. Store owners passed businesses on to their children. Progress and expensive condos for summer tourists sprang up at more picturesque towns.

Hubbard Bay beckoned the tourist who wanted to see authentic New England, yearned for the feel of the ocean on the skin, viewed the weathered clapboard houses as quaint, instead of shabby. She’d spent years in Texas, longing for the smell of the ocean and wondered now how she would ever leave it again.

For the next hour she browsed along the part of Main Street’s string of cottages that were used for businesses, mostly antique shops, though intermingled between them stood an insurance company, a baby store, a clothing boutique and several souvenir shops.

Feeling more content, more at peace than she had in ages, she strolled into the grocery store for formula. Though groceries were needed, she wanted to talk to Kane first about his food preferences. That Velma wasn’t working made her feel as if she’d gotten a reprieve from the woman’s interrogation.

In a good mood, she took a different route back to the house. She’d breathed a sigh of relief too soon, she realized. She was almost at the walkway of the house when she spotted Velma. Politeness forced Rachel to stop, but she eyed the house, wondering how to make a quick escape.

“Nice to see you again, Rachel. Did you get settled in?”

“Yes, I—”

“Guess you found Kane Riley since you’re staying there,” she said with a backhand wave at the house.

“Guess so,” Rachel responded, not surprised that where she was staying was public knowledge.

Bending slightly forward, Velma scrutinized Heather’s carriage with the removable infant seat. “Newfangled-type thing.” The lines in the woman’s face deepened. “Will your husband be coming?”

Rachel knew her answer, an honest one, would travel over the gossip grapevine faster than the speed of light. “I’m not married.” She should have clarified everything, told Velma that the baby was Marnie’s, but she wasn’t in a mood for explanations.

“I see,” was all the woman said.

Rachel took a step toward the house. She could make a mad dash for it, but that seemed silly. “I need to go in now, Velma. It’s almost time for Heather’s bottle.”

“He got that house, got everything of Charlie Greer’s after the old man died, you know,” Velma said before she’d taken another step. “Of course, that was Kane Riley’s fault.” Rachel didn’t miss the slight shift in the woman’s mouth as if she’d just sniffed something disdainful. “What’s that thing on the porch? One of those things the baby bounces in?”

Frowning at her words, Rachel traced the woman’s stare to the bright-yellow car on the porch. “Yes.”

Velma’s scowl deepened. “Little young for that, isn’t she?”

“It was given as a shower gift for later.” Rachel couldn’t stop herself. “What’s his fault?” she asked in regard to Velma’s previous quip about Kane.

“Old Charlie’s death. Shouldn’t have happened.”

Rachel checked herself from delving deeper. Was the woman really talking about something that had happened years ago? Anything Velma said might be only gossip, old gossip, she decided.

“You should know the truth. People hold Charlie’s death against him. They—” Velma’s voice died as she looked past her.

With an askance glance, Rachel saw Kane’s truck. She swung back to tell Velma that she’d talk with her tomorrow. The woman was gone, scurrying down the path toward the town square.

Rachel wished she could ignore the woman’s words, but they bothered her. She waited on the porch for Kane while he parked. Loyalty to Marnie had made her want to defend him even though she didn’t know the facts.

“Were you warned to keep your distance?” he asked, with his approach up the walk, as if he could tell they’d been talking about him. Gossiping, actually. The stubble of an evening beard toughened his looks. What appeared to be motor oil stained the right side of his navy T-shirt near its hem.

“I told you that I’m not concerned.” As a young girl when she’d visited Marnie, she had never shied from Kane because of what others thought about him. She’d kept her distance for fear she would act like a blubbering idiot if he talked to her. Back then, sullen and distant, he’d never bothered with her. If given a choice, he’d probably do that now, too, Rachel thought.

“You’re too nice, Rachel.” Smoky-gray eyes locked on hers while he climbed the stairs. She felt herself being baited and didn’t bite. “You’d say anything to keep from repeating some dire message about the evil Kane Riley.”

“Are you boasting?”

The firm line of his mouth twitched as if he was truly tempted to smile. He didn’t, and she wondered why he held himself so aloof that he wouldn’t give in to such a simple response. “Pick up the baby, and I’ll carry that in for you,” he said, gesturing toward the carriage.

Rachel was determined to make some headway at a friendlier relationship. “Thank you for emptying the van for me,” she said to get the conversation going.

“No problem.”

She stayed near, waiting for him to collapse the buggy. “I’ll start dinner in a few minutes,” she said, though she wasn’t sure what they’d eat beyond soup and crackers.

“Not for me.”

Rachel stared at his bent head, made a face. She had to get rid of the strain between them. Even a day here with him could seem like an eternity if she didn’t. “Let’s have coffee, then.” She really did have something she needed to say. “We have to talk.”

Bent over the carriage, he didn’t look up as he collapsed it. “About a salary?”

Sensing he would only join her if he felt an obligation to, she nodded. “Yes, that and something else. Just give me a minute, though.” She hurried to the bedroom to change Heather’s diaper. She really hadn’t given money much thought, but this was a man, like his sister, full of pride, someone who’d insist on taking nothing from anyone. Maybe that was her real goal here. The better she understood him, the easier it would be for her to get through to him about Heather.

Rachel stared down at the little one. Her hair was as dark as her uncle’s. “Hello, sweetheart,” she murmured while she finished diapering her. Lightly she kissed the sole of one tiny foot before slipping it back into the leg of the pink-and-white sleeper. She was so precious, so special. She’s not yours, she reminded herself. That was something she couldn’t afford to forget. Neither was the promise she’d made to Marnie to keep her baby happy and safe.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted to her by the time she approached the kitchen. She’d thought she would make the coffee. She should have known a loner, a solitary man used to fulfilling his own needs, wouldn’t wait for someone else to do something.

“Coffee’s poured,” he said, though his back was to her.

Rachel waited for him to face her. “How did you know I was near?”

“Lemon.” His gaze traveled from her mouth to her hair. “What is it? Your shampoo?”

“My—” Rachel touched her hair. No man had ever noticed something like that about her. “Yes, it is,” she said with a calm she didn’t feel.

“Nice.”

Her legs nearly buckled from shock. Had he actually said something pleasant to her?

He set the cup on the table, crossed to the window, stared up at the sky as if judging the weather. “I’m not rich. But I could come up with a sensible amount for a salary.”

Somewhat recovered, Rachel listened as he offered an amount she viewed as more than generous. “That’s fine.” Aware that he’d probably resist what she had to say, she brought up her brightest smile. “But there’s something else we need to discuss.”

When he turned back, she saw that wariness had returned to his eyes. He probably felt deluged by problems.

Rachel knew she was going to give him another one. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to search for Heather’s father.” To avoid the darkening of his stare, she moved to the counter and scooped formula into two of Heather’s bottles. He was silent for so long that she felt compelled to look at him.

“That’s not the first time I got the impression you were against looking for him.” Surprising her, he moved near her, lounged against the counter. “Why do you say that?”

“Marnie might not have wanted it.” That’s what bothered her most about his idea. She believed her friend hadn’t thought the father was best for Heather. “She told me to find you, to give Heather to you.”

“The baby is the father’s responsibility.”

He’s like a brick wall, Rachel decided. She fitted the nipple over the neck of the bottle. Was his resistance personal? When he’d said that, had he been thinking about his own father? According to gossip, Ian Riley had cared more about his next drink than his children. If Kane was letting the past influence him, she’d have a difficult time shaking his belief. “That may be true,” she said, hoping to reason with him. “But right now you’re the only family Heather has. And why would he be better than you?” She looked away in response to Heather’s cry. “I need to get her,” she said, already on her way to the doorway.

“Rachel—”

She paused and looked back at him.

“He would be better.”

A world of pain came through clearly with those four words. Did he really believe that? Why was he so hard on himself? In the bedroom, she lifted Heather into her arms, then rushed back to the kitchen for the bottle. His mistake was still being there. Rachel persisted. “You think a man who used Marnie and left her would be a better father for Heather?”

A hint of challenge skimmed his voice. “You know that for sure?”

“Well, no, but—” She cupped a hand around Heather’s bottle. “Marnie could have revealed the name of her baby’s father, but she never had, never indicated she wanted Heather anywhere except with you.” Greedily Heather sucked on the nipple. “Marnie had thought you’d be best for Heather.”

Under his breath, he muttered something earthy. “That’s what you think. You don’t know that for sure.”

Protectively Rachel brought Heather a little closer to her breast. Why was life so complicated for her? “You’ve never looked at her,” she said as he started to step away.

Stilling, he half turned toward her. “What?”

“The baby. You’ve never really looked at Heather.” Rachel removed the bottle and lowered the blanket that curtained Heather’s tiny face. Eyes squeezed tight, she pursed her lips in a sucking motion. “She’s dark-haired like Marnie.” Rachel raised her gaze. “Like you.”

He was staring. Just staring.

“She really looks like Marnie. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

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