“You need help?”

Oh, no.

Alyssa stared up into Trent’s face. “No, I’m fine, actually. I was just…” She tried to pull herself up and out of the jungle gym tunnel, but her cuff was caught.

Before Alyssa could protest, Trent caught her arms and pulled.

“I wasn’t really stuck.” She nodded her daughter Cory’s way. “We were playing a game.”

“But you were,” Cory protested. “You wescued her, mister.”

He smiled. “You can call me Trent.”

“And you can call me Cory. And now we can be fwiends.”

A group of small children entered the playground from below. Cory turned, hopeful. Alyssa nodded their way. “Yes, go ahead.”

Trent moved toward the slide. “It seems there’s only one way down. I’ll go first.”

He slid down, then stood grinning from the ground below. “Your turn.”

Was it the thought of her getting caught on the slide that sparked his grin or was he just trying to cajole a laugh out of her?

As he did so long ago…

RUTH LOGAN HERNE

Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, fresh baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders, and the dirt…

Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website at www.ruthloganherne.com.

Reunited Hearts
Ruth Logan Herne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have

no compassion on the child she has borne? Though

she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have

engraved you on the palms of my hands.

—Isaiah 49:15, 16

This book is dedicated to my four boys,

Matthew, Seth, Zach and Luke, four delights in my life

whose antics and humor have kept me laughing, which

is about the only thing that spared their lives some days.

Thanks for the constant kudos, the love,

the support and your belief in me. I’m so grateful.

And to Jon, my erstwhile and kindly son-in-law,

a gentle man in all respects. I love you guys.

Acknowledgments

First to Rene, Patty, Colleen, Rita, Andrea, Fran,

Meaghan and Susan, who’ve steadfastly believed.

To my buddy Kevin, who’s read them all

and makes me feel good about myself. You guys rock!

To the Song-Prayers, who’ve been wonderful supporters,

first readers and have my back in times of trouble.

I love you guys, prayer-warriors all. My day-care moms,

such a great group of women. I love that you

entrust your precious children to Baby: Survivor.

To my family, who juggle their schedules to help mine.

I could not ask for more, except maybe more chocolate.

And a maid. A maid would be really nice.

Thanks to Jason Sweeney for his advice on

military contracts and contacts, and to

Lieutenant Colonel Tim Hall from MIT for his advice

on military education and command. Huge.

Thanks to Cher Neidermeyer and Glenn Pierce of the

Ronald McDonald House in Rochester, and a special

thanks to Dr. Vermilion and Bernadette of the Golisano

Children’s Hospital at Strong. Thank you for your time

and expertise, helping me get it right. I’m very grateful.

To Dave for sitting next to me in church, jumping in all

over the place and pretending to love sandwiches, dust

and clutter. Your gentle support is a true blessing.

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

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Two words jerked Trent Michaels out of his comfort zone, tunneling him back a dozen years, pre-West Point, pre-deployment, a young man searching for answers. For hope.

“Alyssa. Hello.”

Heart pumping from a swift adrenaline punch, Trent stared straight ahead as his high school love leaned down to accept his new boss’s hug, looking…

Amazing. Beautiful. Wonderful.

His heart ground to a stop, unwilling to believe what his eyes held true. Dark brown hair, clipped back, framed a face no less beautiful at thirty. Probably more so, the mature features offering a true version of what girlish looks had only hinted. Dark brows arched over hazel eyes, tiny spikes of gold lighting the color from within, her profile as dear and familiar now as it had been twelve years past.

But what was she doing in Jamison, New York?

He’d checked before accepting Helen Walker’s offer of military liaison with Walker Electronics. A good soldier always appraised his front line, and Trent had a slew of battlefield commendations testifying to his thoroughness. As of last week, Alyssa had been living in a squirrel’s hole-sized town in eastern Montana.

“How’s your father, dear? The surgery went well, I hear?”

Lyssa nodded, her expression warm, a small smile curving soft, sweet lips he remembered like it was yesterday. “Yes, thank you, although he’s already chomping at the bit. My mother has her hands full.”

Helen clucked womanly empathy. “I’ll bet she does, but at least you were able to come back.” She squeezed Lyssa’s hand in a silent message, her look sympathetic. “That’s a big help right there.”

“I hope so.” Lyssa straightened, her gaze traveling the table full of men with a polite smile of welcome, right until she came to him.

She stopped.

Stared.

So did he.

One hand came to her throat in a convulsive movement. She didn’t look happy to see him. Shocked, yes. Surprised, absolutely.

And scared. No, wait. Make that petrified.

Trent had become an expert in tactical assessment during his long stint in the military, but his current appraisal made little sense.

A second ticked by. Then two. And suddenly a voice interrupted the moment, a familiar voice, yet not one he’d heard in a long time. Twenty years, give or take, because it was his voice, his voice as a child, the speaker obscured by a curved oak support draped in grape vine and clear twinkle lights.

“Excuse me, Mom?”

Lyssa turned, her face ashen. Her gaze darted from Trent to the silhouetted boy, her expression mouse-on-the-glue-board trapped. Her lips moved, but nothing came out.

The boy moved closer.

Trent saw his face, his hair, his shoulders as they’d been twenty years before, the boy’s stance, his smile, his look of question totally Trent Michaels.

He froze, tight and taut, his head unwilling to digest what his gaze held true.

“Jim says I’m all set in the kitchen. Can I go back to Grandma’s now? Practice my throws?”

She nodded, still silent, the beat of her heart evident beneath a ribbed knit top, her breathing tight and forced.

“Yes. I’ll see you later.”

The boy escaped through the nearest exit. Once outside, he ran for the hillside, barreling downward, his movements lithe with natural athleticism.

Trent had no idea when he’d stood, but he was standing now, his brain processing the scene. And disbelieving.

Alyssa swiped hands against her pants, then headed for the office, the only private spot in the place, knowing he’d follow. Knowing he had no choice.

He followed her into the room, closed the door with a decided click, then braced himself against the door, shoulders back, chest out, hoping his posture intimidated her and not caring if it did because he was fairly certain that if his stance didn’t worry her, the unveiled anger in his voice would. “Alyssa, what have you done?”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t possibly reason how this happened after all those years of being so careful and cautious, tucked away in an obscure corner of brushland Montana.

And now…

Alyssa tried to draw a breath, but the look on Trent’s face, the pain vying with anger, the hurt…

What she’d seen as good and sacrificial twelve years before seemed completely selfish now.

Dear God, please. Please.

So now you pray, an inner voice scoffed. You might have wanted to think of that somewhere along the way, missy. A little late at this point, don’t you think?

Shame cut deeper.

Trent’s gaze knifed through her, his locked-arm position forbidding. When she stayed silent he strode forward, stopping just short of contact. “Why?”

She shrugged, fighting for words, her closed throat prohibiting speech.

He grabbed her upper arms, anger trumping the sorrow in his face. “I wasn’t good enough, was that it? Did Daddy decide I wasn’t worthy enough to know I had a son? So he sent you away to avoid the embarrassment of knowing I fathered his grandchild?”

“No.”

“And you let him?” Trent railed on, ignoring her protest. “You let him send you away, carrying our child, our son, and never told me, Lyssa? Never gave me the chance to do the right thing? How could you? Did I mean that little to you?”

Pain coursed his features again. His grip tightened and she braced herself, experience telling her what came next, feeling the power and strength magnified by the anger and hurt in his face, his eyes.

Oh, his eyes.

Wet with unshed tears, a glimpse of the boy she’d known and loved shone through, the boy who never cried, never gave up, his stoicism on and off the football field renowned. To see what she’d done to him, what she’d brought him to—

Dear God, please…

Please…

He released his hold, stepping back, his face contorted. “Why?”

The hard edge in his voice straightened her backbone. She drew a breath, squared her shoulders and met his gaze, determined to take her just due. Hadn’t she learned that over the years? That life handed out punishments on a regular basis? With the feel of Trent’s vise-like grip a fresh memory to join a host of older ones, she raised her chin. “I gave you choices you wouldn’t have had otherwise, Trent. And that’s all I have to say right now.”

All she had to say?

He stepped forward again.

She cringed, her expression a mix of fear and dread.

Trent stopped cold.

He’d never scared a woman. Ever. The very thought sickened him, but the look on her face, no, scratch that, the look he put on her face, was mortal fear.

He needed time and space to sort this out, to deal with the anger coursing through him, an anger that seemed quite justified under the circumstances.

He turned, put his forehead to the door and breathed deep, realizing that the CEO of Walker Electronics and her team had witnessed the entire spectacle.

The Army had worked to prepare him for surprise attacks, but nothing in their tactical maneuvers readied him for this.

A boy.

A son.

Hidden. Furtive. Kept secret.

Thoughts of his childhood coursed through him, of how hard he worked to become who he was because of who he’d been, the cast-out four-year-old thrown away by vagrant parents passing by on I-86, saved by a pair of hunters who rescued him on a cold, windy, sleet-filled afternoon, hypothermic, hungry and dazed.

A host of emotions wrestled for his heart, his soul. Breathing deep, he opened the door without a backward glance or another word. He headed for the exit looking neither left nor right.

Helen Walker might rethink her offer, and with good reason. Most CEOs deplored scandal and he couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t big on drama himself, and small-town drama to boot? Magnified by a power of ten, minimum.

But there was no way he could face that table of well-dressed executives right now, not with any semblance of self-control. Better he go, get hold of himself, deal with the new hand just given to him in the game of life.

He was a father. Had been one for some time, it seemed.

A boy. His boy. He pinched the bridge of his nose as realization spiked deeper. Their boy.

Trent shook his head, gripped the nape of his neck to thwart the crushing headache, then climbed into his car, a different man than the one who had arrived short minutes before.

Very different.

Chapter Two

As mundane tasks vied for Alyssa’s attention, her thoughts kept slipping to Trent, stymieing her productivity. By ten o’clock she had no idea how she made it through the night.

What was he doing? Thinking? Was he hunting up a lawyer, wanting what had been denied him for so long? A chance to know his son, the child who grew to look more like him every day?

Fear dogged her steps. She avoided Helen Walker’s table by staying holed up in the office until Helen’s group left. What must they think of her? Of him? Of Jaden?

Regret spasmed her midsection. Her gut had clenched tight upon seeing Trent and hadn’t relaxed yet.

Dear God… Dear God…

The lament sounded lame, even to her. She’d wandered away from faith a long time ago and had much to regret in the ensuing years. No way, no how was God breathlessly waiting for her wake-up call. And now that it had come…

“Lyssa.” Cat Morrow touched her arm. The concern in the older waitress’s voice mirrored her expression. “He didn’t know?”

Lyssa leaned her head back, eyed the pressed tin ceiling tiles, bit her lip and shook her head, one tear snaking its way along her cheek. “No. You did?”

Cat sent her a look of disbelief. “Oh, honey, it only takes one look for anyone who knew Trent as a boy. He’s the spitting image of his father. Why didn’t you tell him?” Cat pulled her into a hug, her embrace unleashing the floodgates Alyssa held in check all night. “Anyone who was around you two knew what was going on. It was written all over your faces. There, there…” Cat crooned, patting her back, much as Alyssa would have done to Cory, her three-year-old daughter. “It’s all right.”

Alyssa pulled back, grabbed a handful of tissues from the box alongside the register, blew her nose and shook her head. “It’s not. I know that. And I know it never will be.”

“That’s not true—” Cat protested, but Alyssa knew better.

“Trent’s an upright guy. Always was. Always will be. He’ll never understand what I did.”

Cat tipped her head, puzzled. “I’m having a hard time myself,” she admitted.

“He couldn’t have accepted the appointment to West Point if he knew, not with their rules.” Alyssa met Cat’s gaze and drew a deep breath, half remorse, half resignation. “Cadets can’t be married or responsible for a child. And if Trent knew, he’d have insisted on marrying me, taking responsibility for us.” Visions of Trent’s hopeful excitement, the goals of a little boy lost finally attainable, danced in her brain as she remembered his joy at receiving the invitation to attend the esteemed military academy. “I couldn’t let him do that.”

“It was his job to do that,” Cat reminded her. “As the father, he had a duty to his child, his son. And for a guy like Trent, whose parents didn’t want him, fatherhood’s got to be a pretty big deal. He’s not like other guys.”

Alyssa had discovered that firsthand in Montana. Thoughts of Vaughn Maxwell’s temper taught her that all men weren’t created equal. And she was grateful to have kept Vaughn’s inner nature from Jaden during the short years they were together. Why hadn’t she seen through Vaughn’s facade sooner? What was she thinking? If she’d been honest with herself, she could have left before the unthinkable happened. But she’d stayed, leaving no one but herself to blame for the consequences.

Shame coursed through her again. “I don’t know how to make this right.”

Cat’s look said that wasn’t possible.

Alyssa turned and stared out the window. “What will I tell Jaden?”

“The truth?”

“How?” She faced Cat again and lifted her shoulders. “He’ll never trust me again.”

“Never’s a long time,” Cat advised. She shouldered her bag and arched a brow. “The truth shall set you free,” she paraphrased. “John’s gospel. Smart dude. He was pretty tight with Christ, remember?”

Alyssa couldn’t meet her eye. It had been easy to fall away from faith, from God in Montana. Aunt Gee was a free spirit who lived for the moment, and she’d taken Alyssa in when she needed a home. Alyssa had followed suit, for a while at least.

Shame knifed again.

Sure, she’d straightened up after a couple of years. And Gee had actually matured as well, but nothing made up for the choices Alyssa made those first years away. Foolish. Sinful. Self-indulgent.

God? You there? Can we talk?

Cat reached out and gave her a brisk hug, a hug that said she’d somehow find a way. “I’m off tomorrow, but back on Wednesday. I’ll see you then, all right?” Alyssa nodded.

“And if you need me, need a shoulder, need a pal, need more tissues…” Cat’s gaze encompassed the dwindling supply on the counter alongside them “…give me a shout. I’m not far away.”

“Thanks, Cat.”

The older woman shrugged and nodded, knowing. “You’re welcome, kid. And pray. Nothing’s so bad that God doesn’t want us. Hear us. Care for us.”

“Right.”

Alyssa wasn’t about to buy into that line of reasoning, not when she knew better. No one had pushed her to foolish relationships when she’d left. She’d managed that one on her own. And yes, she’d turned it around, had changed things before she met Vaughn, and then…

And then married a guy who hid his angry side until the chips were down and whiskey took the place of sweet tea on the side porch.

She should have seen it coming. There were signs.

She’d ignored them.

Foolish, foolish girl.

And now?

Cat said she should pray. Cat didn’t know, didn’t understand that there were some things that were unforgivable. Even by God.

Trent went round the whole thing in his head, trudging the sidewalks deep into the night, and still came up with nothing.

He’d loved her. He thought she’d loved him. When she broke things off and headed out west for college, he’d been devastated but man enough to realize he’d broken trust with her by giving in to temptation. Even at eighteen, he was supposed to be the God-sworn guardian, the protector.

He’d failed miserably, then lost the girl besides. His fault, he knew, for not respecting her enough to wait. But obviously he wasn’t the only one lacking honor. The thought of the boy rocked Trent back on his heels.

That Alyssa could do such a thing angered him enough to keep him walking the streets, until he was tired enough to fall into the motel room bed hours later, the pain in his head no match for the one in his heart.

A sharp knock woke Trent with a start the next morning.

At least he thought it was morning. He’d drawn the heavy curtains when he’d finally crashed, shrouding the room from light. Noise. People. Life.

Obviously life found him. Housekeeping, maybe?

“Go away. Do not disturb. Clean tomorrow.” He growled the words into his pillow, his temples reverberating like a drill unit on parade: Left. Left. Left, right, left.

“Trent? It’s Helen. May I come in?”

Helen?

What was his boss doing here on a Tuesday morning? A frightfully early Tuesday morning?

To fire him.

Of course. Totally understandable. Scandal equates loss of job.

Trent sighed, stood, tossed a pillow back to the top of the bed, ran a hand through his hair and pulled open the door. “I’ll save you the trouble and the embarrassment of firing me and verbally refuse the offer of employment you extended yesterday, okay?”

Intense morning sun blinded him, the sharp angle piercing the V-angled crack. Helen stepped in, gave him a once-over, tsk-tsked, pulled out the desk chair and sat down. “I never saw you as a quitter, Trent.”

“Beats getting axed.”

Did a tiny smile soften her gaze? No. Had to be a quirk of the sun. Trent hesitated, unsure of what to do next.

“You’ve had better days.”

Talk about an understatement. “Yeah.”

He shut the door, drew open the curtains and let sunlight soften the room. He drew a breath, waved to his slept-in clothes and offered an apology. “I know I look awful…”

She nodded.

“And that scene at The Edge was at best disconcerting.”

“Agreed.”

“And it’s understandable that you don’t want or need an executive who comes with scandal preattached.”

“And there’s where we differ.”

“Huh?” Part of Trent’s bemused brain kicked into gear, reminding him that former army captains and executives don’t say “huh.” He cleared his throat, sat on the lower edge of the bed, leaned forward and asked, “Excuse me? I don’t understand.”

Helen regarded him with something akin to affection. “Trent, I watched you grow up.”

“You and everybody else in town.”

“True enough. You were an anomaly, a boy set apart by circumstance, but it wasn’t your situation that drew attention.”

“No?” Trent scowled. “Could’ve fooled me.” Heaven knows he felt like a circus monkey more than once, his tragic family situation touted in local media.

“It was how you handled those conditions,” Helen went on. “The grace under pressure, the time you put in studying, learning, practicing, working. We marveled at you and there was many a prayer offered in thanksgiving that we found you in time. That you survived.”

Unlike Clay, his little brother, a good little fellow who drowned when he stumbled into a water-filled ditch three counties east. Why couldn’t their parents have dumped them together? Then, at least, Clay might have stood a chance. The hollow spot dwelling just beneath Trent’s breastbone nudged an arrow of pain.

“So now, you’re under pressure again.” Helen rose and shrugged. “And I have no doubts that you’ll handle it just fine. In fact, this new twist compels you to stay here, help my company compete successfully for those military contracts. You’ve got a whole new reason to be in Jamison as of yesterday.”

He stared at her. “You still want me?”

She held up her wrist, the unadorned watch a quiet message. “I expect you to be setting up your office in an hour. And I’m hoping you brought another suit.”

Several, in fact. “Yes.”

“Then I suggest a shower, shave, coffee and ibuprofen for that headache you’re trying to hide.”

A hint of warmth stole over him. “I’m not a big pill popper. I don’t have any.”

Helen opened her purse, withdrew a small bottle and shook two tablets into her hand. “They’re generic, but they do the trick.”

Trent clenched his fist around the pills. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. Clock’s ticking.”

It was. Trent gave a brisk nod to the door and headed for the bathroom to get cleaned up. “I’ll see you at nine.”

Once again a hint of a smile softened her firm jaw. This time he was certain. She headed out, her footfall firm against the utilitarian carpet. “Good.”

As her footsteps faded along the concrete walk, Trent caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Bad. Really bad. With morning breath, besides.

And yet Helen still wanted him. Saw promise in his ideas, his work ethic. Last night’s startling revelation put his other ethics into question, but she was willing to give him a shot. See if he could help the struggling local economy by procuring defense contracts. Bigger and better military contracts meant more jobs. Heightened production. A trickle-down effect that would help across the board.

Determined, he intended to do just that. She’d bought him time. Time to get to know his son.

His son.

He growled, realizing he didn’t even know the boy’s name. But he would, he promised himself as he went through his morning ablutions. He’d been raised without a mother or father to call his own, a public spectacle.

His son would have a father who loved him. Cherished him. He knew he couldn’t make up for the years lost. He recognized that. But he could do his best to be a good, strong God-fearing father for the years to come. And Trent had every intention of doing just that.

Chapter Three

“Jaden Michael Langley, what are you doing out there with no coat? Your mother will skin you alive if she sees that,” Susan Langley scolded from her back door. “Grab a jacket and put a hat on, for pity’s sake. At least until the thermometer hits fifty.”

“Grandma, I’m fine,” he insisted. “Too many layers mess up my throw.”

“And if you catch a cold like your little sister, it messes up my schedule and your grandfather’s recovery,” Susan retorted in a tone that meant business. “Jacket. Now.”

Huffing with impatience, Jaden dipped his chin in silent agreement, accepted the jacket she suspended from two fingers, tugged it into place without zipping and raced right back to the old shed where circled numbers marked spots for intended receivers.

“You got him to put a coat on?” Alyssa came down the back stairs, sent her mother a look of appreciation as she overheard the exchange and inclined her head toward the sloping backyard. “I’m amazed.”

Susan toyed with her coffee mug, her gaze outward, eyes thoughtful. “He doesn’t know me well enough to know I won’t go ballistic if he stands his ground. And Jaden’s eager to please, he likes making people happy. He’s got a lot of his father in him, Lyssa.”

“That’s for sure.”

Her tone drew her mother’s attention. Susan turned, questioning. Seeing Alyssa’s face, she stepped forward, concern deepening her features. “What’s happened?”

Alyssa’s heart clenched, the knot of anger and fear tightening. “Trent saw him.”

“What?” Susan’s face paled. She set her mug down hard, sloshing coffee onto the familiar oak surface, disbelief drawing her brow. “How?”

Alyssa hesitated, grimaced and sighed. “He came into the restaurant last night. With Helen Walker and a bunch of her executives.” She shook her head, wishing she’d never approached the table, wishing she could reverse time for those short seconds, wishing…

“Alyssa.” Susan braced her hands on Alyssa’s shoulders. Her fingers shook, reminding Alyssa she wasn’t in this alone. “He saw Jaden?”

Alyssa sent up a silent prayer, a plea, hoping and praying she’d wake up and this would all be a bad dream.

No.

“Do you think he—”

“He knows.”

“No.”

“Oh, yes.” Alyssa walked to the window, tipped the curtain aside with one finger and studied her son, a beautiful boy who grew to look more like his father with each passing day.

A father she’d cheated out of his son.

Trent’s words swept through her, the anger and recrimination emanating from him as he faced her in the small, cluttered office. So different from the boy she’d known, the look of hope and promise he wore when he’d received his congressional appointment, knowing he had a chance to do something, be someone, change the world.

She felt sacrificial then.

She felt traitorous now.

“You talked to him?”

“Yes.” She leaned her forehead against the cool spring glass, then sighed, sniffed, and shook her head, watching Jaden loft the ball from various angles. The boy’s pinpoint accuracy went beyond his years, reflecting his natural ability to weave a pattern and pick a receiver. Of course his height helped, a combined parental gift. Trent’s height had made Alyssa feel less freakish in high school. At five foot nine she’d towered over half the boys until growth spurts pushed them to equal or surpass her.

Susan stepped closer and tucked an arm around her shoulders, the show of support inspiring more tears. “You talked with Trent?”

“He talked. I cringed.”

“Cringed?” The leap in her mother’s voice made Alyssa regret her choice of words. “Did he touch you?”

“No. Yes. I—”

“It’s either yes or no.” Grim-faced, Susan studied Alyssa, her voice defensive and sharp. “Did Trent Michaels lay a hand on you?”

“Trent Michaels?” Gary Langley’s voice cut in, surprise and disparagement weighting his tone. “You saw him? Here?”

“At The Edge last night,” Susan confirmed, shifting her look to Alyssa’s dad as he labored his way into the kitchen. Discomfort ruddied Gary’s features and accelerated his breathing, his post-op condition aggravated by forty extra pounds. Susan shook her head, scolding. “But don’t go getting yourself all worked up. You’re just out of surgery and need to rest.”

Alyssa’s internal guilt-o-meter cranked into high gear. She’d already disappointed her father in every way, shape and form. She had no desire to add another heart attack to the list. “Dad, sit down.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, waving off their hands. “The doc said I need to walk, need to move around. Stop fussing. So…” He turned his attention back to Alyssa, his gaze taut, his color high. “He’s back?”

Forget turning the clock back minutes or hours. Right now Alyssa wished she could spiral the hands back to her senior year, erase Trent Michaels from the picture once and for all, and see what her life would have been like if she hadn’t fallen head over heels in love at seventeen. She sighed. “Working for Walker Electronics it seems.”

“And he knows about Jaden,” added Susan.

Her father scowled, eyes narrowed. “Good. High time he started paying his share.”

“Trent would have helped all along. You know that, Dad.”

“I know he didn’t.” Gary lowered himself into a chair, his face a study of pain until he’d settled into position. The chair support allowed him to breathe easier. “Now’s as good a time as any to prove he would.”

A typical Gary response.

True to form, her father jumped to what had always been the number-one priority in his life.

Money.

“Gary.” Susan sat in a chair opposite him and surprised Alyssa with her next words. “You can’t blame a man for not taking care of something he didn’t know existed. Trent wasn’t a bad kid at all. I expect he’s turned into a good man.”

“Right. A guy who slept with the boss’s daughter and got her pregnant. I have a hard time finding the good in that.”

“Really?” Susan’s arched-brow look deepened his scowl. “Shall we discuss our courtship in front of our daughter?” Please don’t. Alyssa hid a cringe at the thought of her parents being teenagers in love. Some things a girl just didn’t need to know.

Gary’s frown deepened. “Of course not.”

“Then I suggest a little humility,” Susan told him. She lowered her chin but held his gaze. “There are a multitude of tender hearts in this house right now, Gary. Not just yours.”

Susan’s reference to the kids softened Gary’s features as she rose to get him a cup of coffee. “Does Jaden know?”

Alyssa shook her head. “No. And he’s not going to either. Not till he’s ready.”

“The size of Jamison?” Gary’s expression underscored the unlikelihood of that. Worse, he was right.

“I’ll talk to Trent,” Alyssa continued. “Explain that Jaden needs time…”

“Or you do.”

Alyssa fought the surge of guilt. What would Jaden think of her, to suddenly find out he had a father who had no knowledge of his existence. What kind of liar did that make her? And why did something that seemed noble and necessary twelve years before become such a dark smudge on her soul now?

Trent’s face came back to her, that look of betrayal. The shock. The pain. The anger.

But he hadn’t tried to hurt her, and that put him one up on Vaughn.

“Mommy?”

Cory’s sweet preschool voice squelched the discussion. Alyssa scooped the little girl into her arms, planting kisses along her face and neck.

Cory giggled. “That tickles.”

“I know.” Alyssa touched her forehead to Cory’s. “Your fever’s gone.”

“Can I still have medicine?”

Cory loved the grape-flavored fever reducer, enough so that Alyssa kept it high and out of sight. “If the fever comes back. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

Alyssa tipped her head. “Not at all?”

Cory shrugged. “Maybe for ice cream. ’Cause I’m sick,” she added with a solemn nod to her grandmother.

Susan melted on the spot. “Ice cream helps sore throats. I think it’s a good choice this morning. But not every morning,” she added.

Her attempt to be stern came up short. Cory’s smile had a way of negating the firmest intentions. “Thank you, Grammy. I love you. Can I sit with you, Grampa?”

Gary’s stoicism couldn’t resist the three-year-old’s charms either. “Soon,” he promised. “But I bet Mommy can pull up a chair and have you sit right next to me, okay?”

“Okay.” She beamed at his suggestion, always ready to compromise, a Pollyanna child seeking good in all things. Thinking of herself and Vaughn, Alyssa had no idea where the sweet, gentle nature sprang from, but Cory’s good behavior had been a blessing in an otherwise-tumultuous life.

Alyssa drew a chair alongside Gary’s. Her father’s size dwarfed Cory, but he grinned at the petite girl and graced Alyssa with a genuine smile for the first time in over a decade. “She’s a special little thing.”

Alyssa met his smile and matched it. “She is. And smart as a whip.”

“She looks like you, Susan.”

Susan nodded as she scooped ice cream into a princess-decorated bowl. “I think so, too. I look at Cory and I see the face I saw in the mirror when I was a little girl.”

Alyssa smiled at the thought. “I wondered. It’s clear she doesn’t look like me, and I don’t see an ounce of Vaughn in her.”

“Was he a good man, Alyssa?”

The unexpected question choked her. Her parents had met Vaughn once when they’d traveled west after she’d announced her marriage. They’d stayed at a local motel for three days, got acquainted with Jaden and met Vaughn during his best-behavior stint.

“Alyssa? Was he?”

Oops. Waited too long. Susan Langley had a way of reading between the lines and timing was everything. “Good points and bad points, Mom. Like most.”

Her father shrugged acceptance, but her mother’s look said too much. But then, she’d never been able to hide things from her mother. That was part of the reason she stayed away so long. Her mother’s warmth and strong Christian spirit were a lot to live up to when you know you’ve messed up repeatedly.

She faked a smile and nodded toward Cory. “And she got your eyes.”

Susan’s look of appraisal said the discussion wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but she let the change of subject slide. “A gift from my mother. And since she got my name as a middle name, I may just start calling her Cory Sue.”

Alyssa laughed. “I think that’s darling. Sounds like a Cabbage Patch name.”

“It does.” Susan laid her hand against Cory’s forehead, looked comforted by the lack of heat, and jutted her chin toward Jaden. “He’s practicing with Coach Russo tonight, right?”

“Yes.” Alyssa took the calendar off the wall and noted a few dates in pencil. “Tonight, tomorrow night and then Saturday. Chris said he’d like to get time in with Jaden before the July football camp at Baileview.”

Chris Russo was a local businessman who coached football for a travel team and the high school. His strong coaching was a big part of the local teams’ success. Chris and his staff knew how to draw the best out of kids.

“Have you signed him up?” Gary’s appraising look said more than his words.

“Soon.” No way was Alyssa going to confess her complete lack of funds. Her father had put her on the payroll and refused to charge her rent for the garage apartment she’d be using once she finished repainting the walls. She’d found several half gallons of paint in the basement and used those to freshen the kitchen and living room area.

Susan carefully kept her gaze on Cory. “I’ll write the check so you can get him registered. The football camp fills up quickly and I’d hate to see Jaden miss this chance.”

“But—”

“Your mother’s right.” Gary opened the folded newspaper, scanned the headlines, muttered something derogatory about politicians and sighed. “You can pay us back later. Or get the money from Trent. He’d probably be happy to shell out for anything to do with football.”

“I’m not after Trent’s money.”

“Well if he’s wearing a suit and working for Helen, money won’t be a problem,” Gary noted. “And a man pays for his mistakes in this world.”

“Jaden isn’t a mistake.”

“He’s a brother,” Cory announced, her expression proud, her lilting voice sincere. Jaden had proven to be a wonderful big brother, gentle and protective of Cory since her birth.

Cory’s assertion reminded them of her presence. Alyssa nodded her way, ending the discussion. “Yes, he is, honey.” Straightening, she switched her gaze to Susan. “Are you okay with her while I finish up the painting out back? I should be able to move in soon.”

“Glad to. And I’m doing the evening shift tonight so you can get things done.”

“Mom—”

Susan’s look said arguing was pointless. Alyssa nodded, reading between the lines. She’d seek Trent out tonight, discern his intentions. Her father’s observation had raised a scary but valid point. Trent appeared well-set financially.

He could bankroll an attorney as a means to an end.

Destitute, living on the kindness of her parents, Alyssa couldn’t bankroll lunch. And coming off a rough winter with diminished business in their economically challenged county, she knew her parents’ funds were thin. A busy summer season would help, but Alyssa had been raised in the restaurant trade and she understood the debit and credits of a successful business. The Edge needed to bring in either more business annually or pump up their summer trade. But how?

And what on earth was she going to do about Trent?

Fear knotted again, mixed with regret. Why hadn’t she taken care of this sooner? Come forward and confessed what she’d done? If she’d met with Trent openly and honestly once he’d graduated from the academy, he’d have been upset but might have understood. At least understood better.

She’d been such a coward….

The prayer resurfaced. Dear God… Please… Please.

Lame, Alyssa. And late, besides. Good try, though. She bit her lip, grabbed an old stained sweatshirt that wouldn’t be wrecked by daubs of paint, kissed Cory’s cheek and headed out the door. “I’ve got my cell phone.”

Susan’s look encompassed the short distance from the house to the two-story carriage barn at the end of the drive. “Seriously? If I need you, I’ll walk over.”

That made Alyssa smile. “Good point.” She swept the phone a look as she tucked it into her pocket. “These things get addictive.”

“Only if you let them.” Susan’s wisdom followed her out the door.

Alyssa had missed her mother’s gentle, commonsense directives. Her humor, her steadfast belief in right and wrong, good and evil. Somewhere along the way Alyssa had blurred those borders. She’d made mistakes and made excuses.

Was it too late to begin anew? She hoped not.

Did that scare her to death?

Absolutely.

Chapter Four

Trent pounded up O’Rourke’s Hill, pushing more than usual, the thick grass beneath his feet God’s carpet, nature’s bounty.

But no matter how fast or far he ran, thoughts of Alyssa and the boy refused to be laid to rest.

His son. Half-grown. Looking more like him than he’d have thought humanly possible.

His heart clenched, or maybe it was his gut. At this pace it was hard to tell, but as he rounded the curve leading down to the motel, he saw Lyssa standing there, the evening breeze pushing her hair back, away from a face he knew as well as he knew his own.

What a pity that knowledge hadn’t gone more than skin deep.

Another clench hit, mid-stride. Stronger. Tighter. This time there was no doubt his heart was involved. He slowed his pace as she watched him approach, using the time to rein in his emotions.

She studied him, eyes narrowed, jaw tight, worry drawing her brow.

He studied her right back, masking his turmoil. The Army had trained him to show nerves of steel, flat-faced, taciturn. He had no problem employing those tactics now. Drawing near, he noticed little things without shifting his gaze.

Her hands clutched a worn purse held by a frayed strap across her shoulder. Her shoes matched the purse’s condition, a coat of polish not enough to mask the dull scuffs beneath. She wore thin blue jeans that fit loosely, not as a fashion statement, more like they were the wrong size. Her short-sleeved top wasn’t quite enough for the dropping temperatures, especially in the shadowed overhang. Goose pimples dotted her arms from the elbows down. Right now, after an eight-mile run through the hills, the shadowed cement terrace felt real good to him. He stopped just short of her, eyes locked, noting her rise of apprehension as they came face to face.

At the last minute she shifted her gaze, avoiding the intensity, a quick breath telegraphing her uneasiness.

Or guilt.

Or both.

She had good reason to feel both and he was disinclined to lighten the moment. “What do you want?”

She inhaled deeply, then brought her eyes back to his. A fresh round of goose pimples rose on her forearms, a chill coursing her.

He refused to care. He stood firm, feet braced, shoulders back, chest out. “Well?”

She mulled him a moment, her expression unreadable, her eyes pensive. “I need to know what you’re going to do.”

Trent snorted disgust and started to turn. She put a hand to his arm, her fingers soft, the grip tight. “Trent. Please.”

“Don’t ‘please’ me, Lyssa.” He swung back, shrugged her hand away and leaned forward. “You ran off twelve years ago carrying my child, then hid my son from me for over a decade. There is no excuse for what you’ve done.” He enunciated the last words slowly, pumping their intensity with pointed deliberation, then ran a hand through his hair and tried to rationalize her choices. But he couldn’t. Nothing excused that behavior. Nothing.

“I know.”

Her soft voice paused him. His heart clenched again, this time a combination of feelings and memories waging war for top billing.

He’d loved that voice once. Soft and deep, a little breathless, the raspiness making it stand out. How many times over the years had he turned, hearing a similar voice, his ears drawn to that unique combination of sweet and sensual, memories spiked by the sound of that voice? It was never her.

Now it was, but the anger and disappointment inside him made the old longing a mockery. He’d loved Lyssa, the sweet-faced, gentle girl who always listened, always smiled, always made time for the lost boy within him.

The woman standing behind him might have Lyssa’s looks and Lyssa’s voice, but the girl he knew would never have done what this one did. And that only meant one thing.

He’d never really known her at all.

He swallowed a sigh, scrubbed a hand to his face and turned back. The cool shade had offered initial respite from his run, but now his sweaty T-shirt chilled him. Or maybe it wasn’t the physical conditions making him colder. He’d been a strong-but-gentle young man, a boy who worked hard but made mistakes. He knew that. For a short while after graduating the academy, he’d made a host of them until his conscience smacked him upside the head. He’d tried to own that over the years.

Seeing Alyssa, knowing what one night had done, nipped at the heels of the man he’d become. Older. Wiser. Stronger. Right now that strength felt more like hardness.

God, I have no idea what to say, what to do right now. Anger consumes me, the thought that I gave my heart and soul years ago only to be deceived. My son, my child…

The thought of those missing years bit deeply.

Alyssa was the one person who understood the burden he’d carried, the hole in his heart over Clay’s death. She alone knew of the nightmares he had, images of Clay calling for help while Trent tried in vain to reach him. She knew what fatherhood would mean to him. While he loved and appreciated Jamison’s investment in him, their pride in his accomplishments, inwardly he longed to be just another normal kid with a mom and a dad.

She’d pushed all that aside and fled with his son. It was an unforgivable act, unbelievable in its audacity. And now she wanted to talk?

“Trent. Please.”

Again the hand. The voice.

He shrugged her off and paced away, ignoring the cold bathing his damp skin.

Suddenly he turned, realization pushing him to face her. “What’s his name?”

She looked startled, then ashamed. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d know, that you’d have checked things out today.”

He arched a brow, waiting.

“Jaden. His name is Jaden. Jaden Michael Langley.”

Jaden Michael.

Warmth curled in his belly, somewhere beneath the cold exterior.

“He’s like you, Trent. Sensitive. Good. Kind. If we don’t handle this with care, we could ruin him.”

“If by ‘we’ you mean ‘me’, then take a walk, Lyss.” Trent shook his head, meeting her gaze, keeping his expression stern. “Despite any guilt-laying trip you might want to put on me, I’m the wronged party here. Now, anyway.”

She angled her head, studying him, her appraisal disconcerting. “What would have happened if I told you, Trent? What would you have done?”

“The right thing.” He shifted forward, encroaching on her space. “Married you. Supported you. Loved you and him.”

His words pained her, he saw that right off, the shadow of sorrow making him wonder what her choices had cost. But he was too angry to delve into that. Didn’t know, didn’t care.

But you do, the inner voice chided, unbidden.

He shut it down with a quick rebuttal. Trust me. I don’t.

“And missed the academy?”

“It was a school. Nothing more. Nothing less. There are schools everywhere.”

She faced him straight now, chin raised, her gaze steady. “It was your dream, Trent. And you and I both know that cadets can’t be married or have a child. I knew you well enough to know you’d never turn your back on your baby.”

“And so you chose to keep him from me. Convenient reasoning, Lyss.”

A bitter smile twisted her mouth, pained her eyes. “I was wrong, Trent. I see that now. And saying I’m sorry can’t fix it.”

“You’ve got that right.”

“But what’s done is done.” She drew herself straighter, taller, meeting him eye to eye. “Right now we need to focus on Jaden. What’s best for him.”

“What’s best for him is a chance to know his father. His real father,” Trent ground out, unyielding. “You’ve cheated me out of eleven years. I refuse to let you get another day.”

“Trent.” She moved forward, beseeching. “I can’t begin to imagine how angry you are…and I realize you have every right to be.”

He met her gaze, expressionless, refusing to be drawn into her mollifying tactics. She’d cheated him, she needed to pay. Easy concept.

“But we can’t destroy him with this. We have to think first and go slowly. Step by step.”

“You’re worried what he’ll think of you,” Trent observed, standing firm. “Honey, that’s the least of my worries right now. Best-case scenario? He realizes his mother is a liar and asks to stay with me. At his age judges are willing to consider the child’s wishes.”

His words hurt her. He saw that and didn’t care. No, scratch that, he tried not to care, but her look of pain hit him hard and low.

Because that’s how you attacked, his conscience prodded. And that whole thing about judges? Not very Solomonesque. Try Kings, chapter three, verse one. Solomon offered to divide the child to appease the quarreling women. The true mother stood back, refusing her rights to save the child’s life. You might want to rethink your options.

He didn’t want to.

But the inner voice cast doubt on his absolutism. He stared into space, seconds ticking like minutes, until he finally shifted his gaze back to hers. “What’s he doing right now?”

She hesitated. “Practicing football. With Chris Russo.”

“He likes it?” Thinking of that, a tiny piece of Trent’s heart went out to the boy, a speck of realization that a part of him lived on in someone else. A hint of hope stretched upward.

Lyssa’s expression softened, a ghost of the girl coming through the woman. “He loves it.”

“Where are they practicing?”

“Behind the middle school. Chris saw his talent right off and asked if he could work with him before the season gets under way.”

“I’ll work with him.”

She looked startled, then frowned. “But—”

“No buts.” He leaned in again, refusing to notice the pale points of light in her hazel eyes, how the hint of green to gray sparked amber fire when she laughed. The memory stabbed. He ignored it. “When are they practicing again?”

“Tomorrow, but…”

He shook his head and moved toward his motel room door. “I’ll be there. Evening?”

Lyssa stared, gnawed her lip, then nodded. “Yes.” She stepped forward, her expression pleading. “You won’t tell him, right? Not yet?”

Like he was about to make a promise like that. He’d already been cheated out of a dozen years, give or take. She had no right to set the rules, none at all.

She’s his mother, his conscience tweaked once more. You’d have given anything to have a mother who loved you, remember?

Oh, he remembered. Too well. A kid doesn’t forget when his very own mother equated him with disposable trash, something to cast out, toss by the wayside. Eyeing Lyssa, he saw the difference and wanted to ignore it. Needed to ignore it.

But something in the winsome look of her gaze, a mother pleading for her child, touched him, despite his disdain. He hesitated, worked his jaw and gave a curt nod. “I won’t tell him. Yet.”

Her look of gratitude evoked guilt within him, and that just made him angry. Why should he feel guilty about anything?

But when she nodded and whispered, “Thank you,” it was all he could do to keep from stepping toward her, the voice and expression recapturing times long past, memories of the girl he loved.

Instead he moved backward, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. “Good night.”

Chapter Five

“You’ve looked better.” Cat made the observation as she walked into work Wednesday afternoon, her glance skimming Alyssa’s face. “Did you catch Cory’s cold or have you spent the last forty-eight hours in tears?”

“Most of ’em.” Alyssa checked the preset front dining room for table alignment and seating, then turned Cat’s way.

“Have they met yet?”

Alyssa hauled in a breath. “Tonight.” She tweaked a floral arrangement that didn’t need it and sighed. “Trent’s going over to the middle school where Chris and Jaden practice. He wants to help.”

“Awkward.”

“Tell me about it. I told Chris he was coming and he looked at me like I had two heads.”

“Chris was a little older, but he knew Trent,” Cat reminded her. “Putting two and two together is fairly easy in this case.”

“So it would seem.”

“And you’re worried about what might happen?” Cat mused.

“If by worried you mean scared to death, then yes.”

Cat smiled in sympathy and hugged her shoulders. “You can’t stop time from moving forward, Lyss. Let go and let God.”

“I’m fairly certain God gave up on me somewhere around Jaden’s second birthday.” Memories swept her. At the time she considered her options free and unfettered. Now she realized they were just outright selfish. And stupid.

“Honey, we all make mistakes at nineteen. Eventually we get a clue and grow up. You think God holds that against you?”

“Reasonably certain.”

“Nonsense.” Something in Cat’s certainty snared Alyssa’s attention. She turned and met her gaze. “Lucky for us, God’s better than that. ‘As far as the east is from the west I have removed your transgressions from you,’” she quoted. “He’s not out to punish us but to embrace us. Sunday school 101.” She grabbed Alyssa into a big sister–type hug. “Kiddo, if I thought God turned his back on me, I’d have headed for the hills long ago. He’s there. He knows. He loves.”

Did he?

Cat’s hug felt good. Real good. Alyssa knew enough of the waitress’s history to know she’d raised three kids on her own after divorcing an abusive husband, a man who’d used every means in his disposal to keep his wife and kids under his thumb.

But Cat had gotten out. Moved on. With her kids nearly grown and doing well, she’d changed a made-for-TV drama into a success story.

Cat would understand what she’d gone through with Vaughn, how he deliberately robbed her of something precious and pure. For just a moment Alyssa was tempted to tell her, but the phone rang, interrupting them.

Cat sent her a look that offered understanding, then answered the phone. “Good afternoon, you’ve reached The Edge, Jamison’s place for fine dining. How can I help you?”

She raised a brow, nodded toward Alyssa and said, “She’s right here, Trent. Just a moment.”

Fear gripped Alyssa. Had he changed his mind? Was he calling to let her know he’d decided to tell the boy everything?

Reaching out, Alyssa accepted the phone. “Yes, Trent?”

“I didn’t ask what time they were meeting tonight.”

“Six-thirty.”

“Do you want to pick him up or have me bring him to your parents’ place? That’s where you’re staying, right?” His crisp, clear voice stayed businesslike while hers fought emotion and lost.

“I’ll pick him up.”

“See you then,” he said.

Click.

Dread flooded through her. In two short hours Jaden would come face to face with his father. Would he know right off? Sense the similarities? See the resemblance?

Alyssa had no idea.

Cat read her mind, not that it was all that difficult if the fear claiming her heart was reflected in her face.

“It’s not like he’s wearing a T-shirt that says, ‘Luke, I am your father,’” Cat quoted in a really bad Darth Vader–like voice. “Jaden will see what an eleven-year-old boy should see. A great football player showing him the tricks of the trade. He’s looking for a coach. Not a father.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Cat shrugged. “I know I’m right. We see Trent in Jaden because we knew Trent at that age. Jaden will see a cool guy who loves football like he does, a guy who wants to teach him stuff. Give him a leg up. Until someone tips him off, my guess is that’s all he’ll see.”

“Really?” Alyssa wanted to cling to that commonsense hope. Cory’s coughing had kept her up half the night, breaking sleep into minute stretches of time and she felt like the fragile threads of her life were at snapping point.

She needed coffee and she needed it now.

“Really,” Cat affirmed. She raised her chin as a small group of people walked in the door. “Time to get to work. It’s hard to worry when your mind’s filled with salad dressing choices and the evening specials.”

“Thanks, Cat.”

“Don’t mention it. And think about what I said. Let go and let God.”

Cat’s commonsense directive seemed too easy. Her trusted confidante wasn’t stymied with layers of guilt on top of a generous serving of self-loathing. On top of that, Alyssa had been raised in a strong, caring family. Sure her dad was tough, but never mean or deliberately hurtful. He was just a dad with high expectations, a goal setter who’d taken a hillside hamburger joint and turned it into one of the area’s most sought-out dining spots.

She’d let him down, and instead of learning from her mistakes, she’d repeated them until they cost her more than she cared to admit.

Shame slashed deep.

She believed in God. Always had. But it was hard to imagine the wealth of grace and forgiveness Cat alluded to when Alyssa recognized her role in a host of bad choices.

He’s there. He knows. He loves.

Cat’s words swirled within her and for just a moment Alyssa wondered if it could really be that sweet, that attainable. Then the image of Trent’s face reappeared, lined with anger and disappointment, her betrayal darkening his features. That thought laid to rest any notion of slates swept clean. Penance was part and parcel to life and she obviously hadn’t paid up quite yet.

Trent thought it would be simple to walk up to the kid and the coach, reach out a hand and say, “Hey. My name’s Trent and I’m here to help.”

But to do that he’d have to be able to move his feet forward and for the life of him, Trent stood trapped alongside his car, watching his son dodge and move under Chris Russo’s guidance.

The boy’s grace was notable. Sure his height added advantage for a junior high player, but more than that Jaden had an inner ability that shone through. Shoulders back, head high, the boy was clearly invested in the coach’s advice, nodding agreement all the while.

Trent hesitated.

Should he interrupt this?

He’d been so sure of himself last night, so downright eager to push his presence on the boy, but now he second-guessed himself.

Was he pushing in to punish Lyssa or build rapport with his son?

Jaden.

The name slipped off his tongue like butter on warm bread.

Chris turned, noted him and waved. “Trent. I heard you were stopping by. Come and meet my friend Jaden.”

No backing out now. Trent eased forward, keeping his pace even and his face neutral, not an easy task when what he wanted to do was examine everything about the boy, top to bottom. Talk to him, get to know him.

Give him time.

Lyssa’s breathy voice came back to him, a woman pleading for her son.

He shoved that aside as he drew near and stuck out his hand. “Jaden, hey. I’m Trent.”

The boy nodded amiably. “Good to meet you, sir.”

Polite. Straightforward. Nice, good qualities. Lyssa had done well.

“Trent, Jaden and I were just working on the three Ps,” Chris offered.

Trent ticked off his fingers, remembering. “Pressure, push, pull.”

“Yeah.” The boy’s smile stabbed through him, because part of Trent wanted the smile to be aimed just at him. Deep down, he hated that he was standing alongside his son, his boy, and the kid had no clue he was shoulder-to-shoulder with his very own father.

But the smile soothed as well, the boy’s obvious well-being and good adjustment a huge balm to Trent’s tattered soul.

“I’ll take center,” he offered. Trent exchanged a look with Chris. “I’ll snap to Jaden and then you can give him the lowdown on what to do next. What to watch for.”

“Good deal,” Chris said.

“Hey, guys! Can we work with you?”

Two boys roughly Jaden’s age straddled worn bicycles at the field’s edge, their looks hopeful. Chris arched an eyebrow toward Trent. “You mind?”

“The more the merrier.”

A smile eased the tension he’d noted in Chris’s jaw, just enough to tell Trent the other man knew the score, and that raised a question in his mind. Did Chris know because it was that obvious or had Alyssa told him?

The former, Trent decided. He was pretty sure that Alyssa would keep this under wraps as long as she could, but with the striking resemblance between father and son, people would know. That thought was confirmed the first time he saw Jaden lob a spiral that hit his targeted receiver dead-center, the ball’s spin textbook-perfect.

“You played before moving here?”

Jaden shrugged. “Not like on a team or anything.”

“No?” The boy’s reluctant admission raised Trent’s ire. “Really?”

“I just practiced a lot.”

“Well.” Trent mentally chalked the boy’s response on his check-this-out-later list and nodded. “It worked. You’re solid. Try this, though, when you fade right.” Easing back, scanning down field, Trent appeared to be heading right but ended up to the left.

Jaden laughed appreciation for the move. “Do it again. I was too busy watching you to see what your feet were doing.”

Trent demonstrated again, noting how Jaden studied his foot moves as if committing them to memory. “That totally jukes the other team.”

“Until they figure it out,” Trent admitted. “But it’s a good move to have in your arsenal.”

Jaden nodded. “I’ll practice it at home. I like learning new things.”

That statement said a lot about the boy’s nature. Open. Eager. So much like him. Another knife stabbed Trent, regret twisting within. How he would have loved to guide the boy’s first step, his first pass, his first no-training-wheels two-wheeler ride.

But it hadn’t happened, and there was no recouping time. Trent’s childhood made him understand that better than most.

Three more middle school boys came along and joined the impromptu drills. Studying Jaden’s moves, seeing his easy leadership among the other boys, Trent shoved regret aside more than once. Chris left the group with a quick nod of understanding to Trent about an hour later, just minutes before Alyssa pulled to the curb. She stood alongside her car watching, not interrupting Jaden’s session, the cool evening breeze making her draw her yellow hoodie tighter.

Trent left the boys to their own devices and trotted her way, pretending not to notice how his approach hiked her anxiety. But her body language spoke volumes. She tightened her stance, shifted her gaze and nervously bit her lip. He couldn’t read her full expression because her eyes were shaded by inexpensive sunglasses, the setting sun blinding the east side of the field.

“How did it go?”

“He’s amazing.”

A tiny smile of agreement softened her clenched mouth. “He is.”

“He says he never played formally. Is that right?”

A frown replaced the smile. “That’s right.”

“Who taught him?”

“He’s self-taught mostly. I had a DVD of old Super Bowl games and he’d watch that thing again and again, studying the moves of the players, the teams. And then he’d practice in the backyard, or in his bedroom. He’s been running plays since he could walk. So much like you.”

Her last words were spoken on a breath of wind, light and soft, wafting away, almost as if she didn’t want him to hear them.

But he did.

“Does your husband work with him?”

Her jaw tightened before she shrugged. “He did. Some.”

Anger mixed with envy shimmied upward, grabbing Trent somewhere around his throat. He couldn’t imagine having a kid as smart, bright and capable as Jaden and not working with him, not coaching him, not spending every moment he could to help the boy develop skills that opened doors of opportunity. What kind of man shrugged off a kid with Jaden’s capabilities? Was it because he was the boy’s stepfather?

Trent’s defense mechanism clicked into high gear just as Alyssa tried and failed to stifle a yawn. She shook her head. “Sorry.”

Something in the way she said that, the way she tried to cover her move, tugged Trent forward. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

She wasn’t. He could see it. Feel it. But, hey, not his business, right?

She yawned again, then looked downright aggravated beneath the dark lenses. Surprising both of them, Trent reached out and tipped her shades up.

“Hey.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Guilt edged away a corner of anger. “Is worrying about me keeping you from sleeping?”

The look she slanted him had “duh” written all over it.

Growling, he strode two steps away, ran a hand through his hair, turned and came back. “Listen, I—”

She forestalled whatever he said with a shake of her head. “The last thing I want or deserve is your sympathy. Or your apology.”

Her choice of words tweaked the protector within him. Deserve?

Jaden’s voice interrupted them. “Hey, Mom. How’s Cory?”

“All right. No fever right now.”

The boy moved closer, his demeanor reflecting the struggle of leaving a great evening with new friends. Football-loving friends at that. “Do you want me to stop now so you can get home to her or can we stay a few minutes more?”

Trent added considerate to the list of Jaden’s qualities.

“Grandma said she’s sound asleep, so we’re fine, honey. Keep playing.”

Despite her weariness, she was willing to let him have time with new friends, learn new skills. Trent tried to find fault with that and couldn’t, then put two and two together. “Somebody’s sick? Besides your dad?”

“My little girl. She’s three and I think the move wore her out. She caught back-to-back colds and it’s taking a toll.”

“On her and you.”

Lyssa shrugged.

“Will she sleep tonight?”

“Who knows? Coughing kept her up last night. Hopefully tonight will be better.”

“What’s the doctor say?” he pressed.

Alyssa’s hesitation said more than her easy words. “It’s just a cold. Runny noses and coughs are part of childhood.”

She didn’t quite pull off the matter-of-fact attitude, but Trent left it alone. Not his problem. Still, he knew it couldn’t be easy to come back east, move in with her parents, step into Gary’s shoes at The Edge and deal with a sick kid.

And him.

But that was her fault for keeping him out of the picture for so long. He refused to feel sorry for that. So why did her next yawn punch a sympathy button he thought long-since buried?

It didn’t, he assured himself. No more than it would for anyone else.

Darkness pushed the kids toward home a short while later. Trent met Jaden’s look as the boy trotted their way, his easy lope inherent. “Tomorrow night?”

Jaden shook his head. “I work with Mom on Thursdays at the restaurant. Fridays, too. But I’m practicing with Coach Russo on Saturday afternoon. Can you come?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” His words hurt Alyssa. He saw that and did nothing to soften their blow. He’d already missed nearly a dozen years, time gone, irretrievable. Even if he’d planned something for Saturday, he’d forgo it to spend time with Jaden.

“Ready?” Addressing the question to Jaden, Alyssa ignored Trent.

So be it.

He nodded Jaden’s way, headed to his car parked just in front of hers and shrugged off guilt that his words had been hurtful. After all, Trent figured it didn’t even come close to evening the score in the retribution column. He started his sporty black coupe and headed away, trying to push the image of her tired eyes from his mind. The fact that he couldn’t just intensified his anger.

Chapter Six

Dead.

Trent scowled at the Internet posting, sat back, then hunched forward again, his brain not comprehending what his eyes read in the two-year-old web clip from a southeast Montana newspaper.

A one-car crash on Mueller Road claimed the life of an East Brogan man early Sunday morning. Vaughn Maxwell, 33, of Cuylerville was found dead in his vehicle during a routine patrol by the Cuyler County sheriff’s office. Maxwell’s car appeared to have veered off the road at high speed, hit a tree, rolled over and came to a sudden stop against another tree. Attempts to resuscitate the driver were unsuccessful. The Cuyler County coroner’s office will conduct tests to see if alcohol use contributed to the crash.

Maxwell is survived by his wife, Alyssa, stepson Jaden, and infant daughter Cory.

Shame coursed through him. He’d never checked Lyssa’s status before coming back to Jamison, just a cursory look to make sure she was still in Montana. And she had been, at that time. Obviously Gary’s health concerns brought her east at the very same time he’d returned to help jump-start the job market.

But he’d stopped his query there, not wanting to be intrusive. Reading this Internet excerpt, he realized not only had she been alone for years, but she’d also been alone with two kids and not much family to speak of. He’d met Aunt Gee a long time ago. A sweet lady, lots of fun, but not big on family values. Although that may have changed, too, for all he knew. Obviously he was out of the loop where Alyssa’s life was concerned.

Another thought occurred to him. Alyssa had no health insurance. That explained her hesitation the night before, the look of resignation when he questioned her about a doctor.

Would she be eligible for Social Security? Survivor benefits? And this Maxwell guy was old enough to be worth something before he died, wasn’t he?

A series of government reclaim notices in the Cuyler County files told a different story. Vaughn Maxwell’s property had been seized months after his death for failure to pay taxes and water rights violations. The official county claim gave no details about his displaced family, but from the figures he found on eastern Montana, hard times had fallen worse than they had in Jamison.

I’m glad she’s here.

The thought both startled and comforted him. Better she be here among family and friends than so far away with no money, no home and no good prospects for employment.

Despite their history and her choices, he’d never wish her harm. Couldn’t wish her harm. And the thought of how tired she looked bothered him.

But it shouldn’t. She had her family now, her parents, their friends. A home. A place of her own.

Not exactly, his conscience prodded. Living with Mom and Dad at age thirty probably isn’t a cakewalk.

Because Trent hadn’t had the opportunity to live with a mother or father in nearly thirty years, the concept was lost on him. He’d never experienced that dream, to be part of a loving family he was actually related to.

He loved his foster parents, a kind family who’d relocated to North Carolina years ago. Their two children, both older than him. But despite their kindness and goodness, it wasn’t the same. He knew that. Felt it. Always a tad different, set apart.

But now he had Jaden. For the first time in nearly three decades Trent had a living, breathing, bona fide member of his family nearby, a dream come true.

He stared at the online image of Vaughn Maxwell, trying to determine the kind of man he’d been. High speed, possible alcohol use…

That combination said a lot about a man in his thirties with a wife and two kids.

He hoped he was kind. Nice. The thought of this guy barreling down a country road under the influence made that seem unlikely. Either way, the man was dead and buried, leaving Alyssa and two kids with a pile of bills that couldn’t be paid. She lost her husband and had her house taken from her in the space of a few short months. Rough time line.

She could have come back. Her parents would have helped.

Trent paused.

He knew Gary. Lyssa’s father might resemble a teddy bear, but his grizzled manner soon set a person straight. Pragmatic, tough and focused, he took a bulldog stance when approaching a problem. Effective in business, not so much in family. Was that reason enough to stay away?

The phone rang. He answered it, one eye on the screen. “Trent Michaels.”

“Tom Dewey here, Trent. How soon can I expect your bid?”

The phone call he’d been prepping for. Tom Dewey was NWAC, Naval Warfare Air Command, a military man and commander who fully appreciated Trent’s upgraded magnetron design for this radar system. A good man who wasn’t afraid to go out on a limb.

“I’m finishing up the specs and overnighting it to you first thing in the morning. Soon enough?”

“Perfect. We just got a bid in from Davison in Maryland and while they’re good, I’d like to see some of these bids go to areas with more economic challenge going on. With Walker’s strong track record on small contracts, Helen’s already got a foot in the door.”

“That explains your encouragement when the economic preference bill went up before Congress,” Trent noted.

“Exactly. I’ll be watching for the bid. And don’t be afraid to follow it up with others if Walker can handle the workload. We’re not in a hurry, but we’re not good at waiting games either.”

Trent knew that firsthand. Military wheels dragged in some cases, but when push came to shove, things could happen in an instant. “We’ll be ready for whatever comes our way, Tom. You have my word.”

“Well, good. Nice talking to you.”

“And you.”

Trent hung up the phone, closed the web page concerning Vaughn Maxwell and refocused his attentions on the bid. He was here to do a job, to meet his goal of procuring new and long-lasting employment for the community. He needed to be at the top of his game, unfettered by past or present.

He refilled his coffee mug and settled into his chair, reconfiguring estimates and numbers until he was satisfied long hours later. The bid was tight, accurate and hard-hitting where it needed to be. Once they had a successful track record with various military units, he could afford to be less stringent. But not now when being passed over could spell the downfall of a grassroots company refitting their manufacturing to meet the needs of a contract that might not come.

Trent refused to let that happen.

“Mommy, can I come, too?” Cory’s plaintive voice trailed as Alyssa loaded the back of the car with her mother’s strudels on Saturday morning. An Edge mainstay, the cheese, apple and triple-berry melt-in-your-mouth texture of the fresh pastries provided a sweet touch to end a meal or as the base layer of an Edge favorite, super strudel sundaes.

Alyssa nodded toward the backseat. “Sure you can. Hop in. Do you need help with your buckles?”

“I’m fwee,” Cory reminded her, her right hand displaying three tiny fingers that looked suspiciously sticky. “I’m big.”

“That you are, sugarplum. All right, have at it and then you and I will take these up the hill.”

Cory’s endearing smile sent a pang of regret through Alyssa. The past two weeks had been incredibly hectic, and Cory’s bright acceptance of a little time with Mommy cut deep.

“Alyssa, can you take these up as well?” Susan came across the yard with a large box of silk florals, the bright summer tones magnified by the morning sun, birdsong and the sheen of dew dampening her sneakers.

“Sure. We’ll put them back here.” Alyssa opened the wide tailgate of her mother’s SUV and whistled appreciation. “I love driving this thing. Total power rush.”

Susan laughed. “While I prefer your little car. Except on snowy winter days. Then this four-wheel-drive monster becomes my new best friend.”

“I can imagine. I’m taking Cory with me.”

“Shopping?”

Alyssa shook her head. Cory needed new summer clothes but they weren’t in the budget yet. Alyssa kept her gaze averted. “Next week. Today we’re just dropping this off at the restaurant and maybe a trip to the playground if Cory’s super-duper good.”

“I will be, Mommy. I pwomise this much.” Cory spread her arms wide, her sincere look matching her tone.

“Prrrrrrromise,” Alyssa corrected, stressing the R sound.

Cory nodded. “Pwwwwwwwwwwwomise!”

“Good girl.”

Susan exchanged a grin with Alyssa. “She sounds just like you did at the same age. A little trouble with R’s and L’s.”

“Really?” Her mother’s assertion pleased Alyssa. She had a hard time seeing much of herself in either child and that just seemed wrong after nine months of pregnancy. On the other hand, considering the way she’d mucked up her life, maybe taking after others was a good thing. “I’ll be back later then. Rocco’s doing afternoon/evening like always and I’m closing.”

Rocco was the head cook at The Edge, a tough-as-nails, my-way-or-the-highway–type guy. Her mother moved forward, her voice soft. “Is he still giving you a hard time?”

If by hard time her mother meant was Rocco an overbearing chauvinist jerk, then the answer would be an overwhelming yes. Still the cook knew his stuff and Alyssa couldn’t afford histrionics in the kitchen. Rocco’s fits were renowned and Alyssa didn’t have the time to mollify him like her father would.

Or the guts, but that was a different story. “Rocco’s Rocco. I just stay out of his way.”

Guilt stuck in her craw.

Wasn’t that exactly what she’d tried to do with Vaughn? Mollify things once they’d gone bad and stay out of his way? Self-recriminating memories churned inside her. If she’d stood her ground and left Vaughn when she should have…

She felt gutless for good reason. Standing her ground didn’t come naturally. She’d been a mouse, quiet and cowering long past the time when she should have made a stand. If she had, things might be different now.

Shame cut again.

She’d done everything she could to make sure Jaden didn’t suspect his stepfather’s temper. That meant no crying, no begging, but it was a small price to pay to protect Jaden’s formative years. And Vaughn had changed after Cory’s birth, her sweet, baby face giving him something to work for, to build for until another financial bad turn brought him down shortly after her first birthday.

She caught her breath, refusing to revisit those months, hindsight clarifying what seemed so muddled then.

Get out. Save your children.

If she’d only had the courage to do that sooner…

But she didn’t and there would always be a gap in her heart, a chasm, a small yawning space that could never quite be filled.

She’d made up her mind she’d never be fooled again, that she’d never be the object of another man’s anger. Vaughn’s crash put an end to that bout of craziness, but financial ruin brought its own share of troubles.

She was stronger now. She knew that. Made sure of it.

And right now Rocco’s finesse in the kitchen was important to the well-being of her family, her father’s health and their restaurant. She wasn’t about to do anything to mess with that, not after a long, tough winter.

“I’ll be back later. Jaden’s practicing this afternoon.”

“With Chris and Trent. I remember.”

Susan’s upthrust brow showed her concern, but she said nothing more. “Bye, Gwammy!”

“Goodbye, sugarplum. I’ll see you in a little while, okay?”

“’Kay.”

Susan sent Alyssa a sideways glance and kept her voice low. “She’s wide awake now.”

“And then some. The cold and the move must have really tuckered her out.”

“I’ll say.”

They’d had to wake Cory up the last several mornings, long after her normal greet-the-sun rising. And her afternoon naps were elongated as well, but Alyssa knew illness and change taxed little ones. Now that they were here and almost settled, Cory would have time to relax, be the preschooler she was meant to be.

Chapter Seven

Alyssa dropped off the boxed strudels, double checked the staff to make sure the luncheon shift was well-covered for a gorgeous spring Saturday, then headed down to the village where a castle playground anchored the southwest corner of their town park. She grabbed a water bottle, opened Cory’s door and nodded encouragement as Cory’s little fingers finagled the release tab. When Alyssa reached in to help, Cory shook her head, chin thrust out, brow tight. “I can do it.”

“Okay.”

Alyssa drew back, patient. Cory was such an easygoing child that quests for independence were broadly encouraged. Long moments later, a tiny click spelled success. “I did it!”

“You did, clever girl. Good job.” Alyssa closed the door and motioned toward the playground with her head. “Ready?”

“Oh, yes.”

Excitement tremored her tone. In the bright sun, the shadows beneath Cory’s eyes seemed deeper, more pronounced, violet smudges against porcelain skin. But her nose wasn’t running any longer, and the cough had gone from chronic to occasional. Day-by-day she was regaining her normal strength and tone.

Cory dashed across the crushed gravel, pigtails flying, her eyes on the tall, spiraling castle tower.

Of course.

Alyssa moved at a slower pace, watching Cory’s progress until the little girl’s saucy grin peered down from the wooden rail. “Look, Mommy! I’m way up here!”

“You are. Good job, sugarplum. Now how do you plan to get down?”

“Over the bwidge.”

“Ooooo…” Alyssa nodded to show she was impressed. “The very wiggly, rickety bridge?”

“Yes.”

“Good luck.”

“Fank you.”

Alyssa grinned. Obviously the th sound needed tweaking as well. She watched as Cory tested the wood with one foot, the suspension bridge designed to wiggle and jiggle beneath busy feet. Gripping the handrails, Cory put foot after foot until she swung up into a turret on the opposite end. “I did it!”

“Wonderful.”

“Can you play wif me, Mommy?”

“Sure.” Alyssa set the water bottle down, crawled through a space that obviously wasn’t designed for a woman’s build, and worked her way to the upper level through a series of tunnels. Just before the top, she called Cory’s name, teasing her.

“Where are you, Mommy?”

“I’m stuck.”

Cory giggled.

“I need help,” Alyssa continued, pumping desperation into her tone.

Cory giggled again. “I fink you’re kidding me.”

“Help.” Alyssa stuck a hand up through the tunnel, waving it wildly.

Cory laughed out loud. “I will help you.” She scampered back across the bridge, grabbed Alyssa’s fingers and pulled. “Come on, Mommy.”

Alyssa pretended to try. “Not working. I appear to be too big.”

“Reawwy?” Cory tugged again, then approached the problem with all the innocence of a small child. “Mister Man? Can you help get my mommy out? She’s stuck.”

Mister Man?

Cory was calling a stranger for help.

Alyssa wriggled through the last stretch of tunnel, but her capri pocket snagged a post. She had to wiggle back down to free the fold of material, then back up, thoughts of Cory calling out to a perfect stranger spurring her to fumble. “Cory.”

“You need help?”

No.

Oh, no.

She stared up into Trent’s face, a hint of humor softening the glare that had marked their initial meetings. “No, I’m fine, actually. I was just…” She tried to pull herself up and out of the tunnel, but the cuff caught once more. Biting her lip she wriggled down, undid the cuff again and shifted back up.

Yup. Trent was still there, Cory alongside him. Her little girl tapped his arm. “Mister Man can help you.”

Before Alyssa could protest, Trent caught her beneath the arms and pulled.

The fact that she slid forward easily made him frown. She stood, shook her clothes into place, decided she’d never wear anything with cuffs again and faced him. “I wasn’t really stuck.” She nodded Cory’s way. “We were playing a game.”

“But you were,” Cory protested. She grabbed Trent’s arm and stared up into his face, imploring. “I pulled and pulled, but I couldn’t get her out. You wescued her.”

“Glad to be of service,” Trent murmured wryly. His glance scanned the tunnel and her hips. His lips twitched. “And it appears you may have been stuck for some time if I hadn’t answered the young lady’s call for help.”

Great. Add fat to her list of daily problems because her girth was too wide to make it through a playground tunnel. “My cuff caught the edge,” she told him, not ready to concede a width problem. “And I was teasing her. I could have gotten out anytime.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wight, Mommy.” Cory’s look of disbelief joined Trent’s. She stepped forward, her little face sincere. “It’s okay to ask for help when you need it, wight?”

Wonderful. The kid was throwing her words back at her. Alyssa decided the high road offered a better tactical choice for the moment. “Right. And you did help me, but you’re not supposed to talk to strangers without Mommy, are you?”

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