by Willa Blair
He looked at Caitlin, working away at her desk by the window, pausing to flip pages in her notes, then tap-tap-tapping some more, oblivious to the disquiet she’d created in him. He didn’t know what to do about Ms. Caitlin Paterson, but despite all of it, the one thing he didn’t want to do was to go back to living without her. She irritated him. Challenged him. Questioned everything about him, his very parentage included. He should want her gone. Now. Today. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. It made no sense. She’d added to the confusion in his life. Confusion he didn’t need amplified. His great-aunt had turned his life on its head years ago, before it was barely started, and again with her damned bequest. And then Caitlin with her curiosity and her Scottish myths and legends. His curse. Seriously? In this day and age, what was he supposed to do with that? But the carving. The stereographs. His mother’s beliefs.
Caitlin thought the solution was simple. Send one old cabinet back to Scotland and voilà, centuries of misery would end, just like that. And he’d live happily ever after. With someone.
Sure.
But what if she was right? What if the curse was real? Could he end it? And by doing so, could he have her and keep her safe, keep her in his life? Talk about a Christmas miracle.
He cleared his throat, and Caitlin looked up. She smiled at him. Then her gaze returned to her work.
Holt’s chest squeezed at that smile. So like her to forget she should be furious with him. For a moment, at least.
Chapter Eleven
Caitlin didn’t want to, but she forgave Holt. He looked so pensive sitting at the other desk, staring at the screen but doing nothing. She’d caught him looking at her and had no choice but to give him a polite smile, then go back to her work while the storm still raged outside.
Thinking back over their interactions since he’d arrived, she could see how their attachment had grown. She wondered if she was being irrational to let herself go warm and breathless at the sound of his voice? Or with a glance from his moody gray eyes? He was way out of her league, rich and handsome, and sadly, tortured by his family history. If he genuinely was interested in her, she didn’t know how she would fit into his lifestyle. His life. But truth be told, she would like to try. He needed someone. Not that the someone had to be her, but he needed a family of his own. He’d been without anyone since his mother’s death.
She wrinkled her nose, knowing such imaginings were futile. She’d be leaving as soon as the storm broke. The rough catalog was nearly done. A few more hours to finish it, and a few more after that to make sure she polished it to its preliminary shine, and she’d have no reason to stay. She could do the rest of her research at home and finish there, then email it to Holt so he could have it printed here.
She would have no reason to stay except the mystery of Holt’s parentage. She really wanted to know if, as she suspected, he and Doc Coats were father and son. But Holt had been so angry at her suggestion that she dared not bring a paternity test up again. She’d also suggested the yearbooks since she didn’t dare suggest he go directly to Doc Coats. Maybe he’d start to open up to the idea if he saw his mother’s and Doc’s pictures side-by-side in their old school album. If there were a way to salvage anything out of the pain she’d caused him, that would be a start.
Holt’s sigh brought her attention back to him.
“We need to talk,” he said.
Caitlin’s stomach clenched. He meant about the arrangements for her departure, no doubt. “Aye?”
“I’ve thought it over. You’re right. I…there’s no harm in doing the paternity test. DNA. Whatever. If he’s my father, both of us—all of us—should know it.”
Did he mean it? Caitlin’s heart warmed to hear he wanted to include her in finding out. She wanted to jump up and hug him for coming to his senses but restrained her impulse. “You pick the lab, so you’re comfortable with the result. Or labs. Send samples to several…”
“No, one will do. More than that might attract attention I don’t want.”
“Oh, of course.” She could see the headline now—Who’s Your Daddy? Billionaire Ridley Tests DNA. He’d be mortified. Though likely many people knew he’d been raised by a single mother. Still he wouldn’t want his family history dragged into the spotlight. Or worse, have people think he was challenging some woman’s paternity claim for her child.
“And I’ll fly the cabinet to Scotland. Just tell me where to send it.” He stood and moved toward her. “But I want you to stay.”
Caitlin was on her feet before she realized she’d moved. Holt met her in the middle of the office. He didn’t embrace her. She didn’t expect him to. Instead he reached out and brushed her hair behind her ear. “The catalog is nearly done,” she felt honor-bound to tell him. “I could go with the cabinet—if you still want to get rid of me.”
“Don’t make this hard on me, Caitlin. I know you’re only trying to help. To make my life better. I can’t help thinking you’re being overly superstitious, but send the cabinet to Scotland, to a museum, or to hell. I don’t care. We’ll do what you think best. As long as you stay.”
“I planned to be home for Hogmanay.” Why was she arguing with him?
The crease between Holt’s brows deepened. “If that’s what you really want—it’s your decision. But I won’t send you away. As soon as the weather clears, the cabinet can go to its new—or old—home without you.”
She wanted to stay, too. “Send it. I’ll think about the rest.”
“That should be time enough to answer some questions—and to change your mind about leaving.”
****
The next day, after the storm broke, Holt took Caitlin to the village. Memories came flooding back the moment Holt stepped into the village library he’d driven by a few days ago and opted not to enter. The smells were the same. Books. Musty, dusty books by the thousands. The metal carts his mother used to push around while she re-shelved books were still there. Only she was missing. He took a breath, willing away the melancholy that washed through him. She was gone. This wasn’t their place any longer. It was just a library.
At the desk, Caitlin asked the librarian about yearbooks. Something seemed wrong until he realized the scent of old Mrs. Dunmore’s flowery perfume was missing. As a child, every time he approached this desk, the heavy sweetness surrounding her made him sneeze. And yet today, he missed it.
The only smell he detected now was the warm one that always said Caitlin to him. He took a deep breath.
The current librarian appeared to be only a few years older than he was. He was dimly aware of the woman pointing them to a set of stacks on the far side of the room.
“We can find it,” Caitlin assured the woman. “Thanks.”
Holt followed her past the scarred wooden study tables and a new-looking row of workstations and flat-panel monitors.
“All the latest gear,” Caitlin commented as they passed.
“The library certainly had nothing like those when I was a kid,” Holt said in agreement.
“Times change,” Caitlin responded and led him into the stacks. Soon she paused before one of a long row of wooden shelves bowed by the weight of the tomes they carried. Yearbooks. “Look familiar?”
Not really. Here was something else that brought home how little he knew about his mother’s past. He ran a finger across the spines, studying the dates, heart sinking. “I don’t see the volume for the year she graduated.”
“What about the year before?”
Holt traced a finger across the volumes until he found the right one. He pulled it from the shelf and flipped pages. “Senior class…ah, Junior class…”
“Let me see, too.”
In another circumstance, Caitlin’s demand might have amused him, but he was suddenly awash with tension. What would they find? It was just a book, but it might hold a clue to his past. His father. His mother’s friends. He stepped to a mostly empty shelf and laid the book open on it. Caitlin crowded close as he turned pages. Then he was there. His mother’s picture
all but leapt from the page. Jennifer Cooper, in a black portrait neckline top, long blonde hair covering her shoulders. And right before her on the same row, James Coats, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, in a shirt collar a size too small, tie and suit jacket.
Caitlin pointed. “They did know each other. He told me,” she reminded him. “They were in the same class.”
“Apparently.” Holt’s eyes suddenly brimmed with moisture, and he looked away, determined to keep Caitlin from noticing how seeing his mother and the boy who would honorably serve his country, then become a veterinarian—after possibly becoming his father—affected him. “But it proves nothing.”
“Keep going. If they include class activities or clubs, there might be pictures of them together with other friends.”
He paged past the younger classes to the clubs and athletic team photos, but found nothing, then closed the book with a dull thud and took it back to the shelf where it belonged. He didn’t know what he’d expected to find, so he couldn’t put a finger on why he felt so disappointed, but he did. “We need to talk to Doc Coats.”
“Now?”
Caitlin’s voice intruded on his glum mood, and he welcomed the distraction. “Why not?”
She glanced at her phone. “This time of day, he’ll likely be at the practice. If not, they’ll know where to find him.” Caitlin’s eyes sparkled.
With excitement or determination? Or both? Either way, Holt knew neither of them would be satisfied until they solved the riddle of the vet and his mother. “Let’s go.”
****
“He’s on his lunch break,” the receptionist, Rachel, told them when they arrived. “But I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Moments later, she led them back to Doc Coats’s office, along with the swarm of bees buzzing around Holt’s gut. Now that they were in the veterinary practice, with its smells of dogs, cats, and disinfectants, Holt’s belly was less sure this course of action was a wise one. Too late.
The man Caitlin presumed to be his father stood as they entered. A half-eaten sandwich and cup of coffee sat on one side of his desk, paperwork cluttered the center. He smiled at Caitlin, then raised an eyebrow at Holt. “Caitlin. What brings you in today?”
“Sorry to interrupt, Doc. You remember Holt Ridley? We…”
Caitlin trailed off and glanced around at Holt. Taking pity on her, he picked up the conversational thread. “We just came from the library, where we took a look at my mother’s junior year yearbook. You and she were classmates.”
“Oh? Who was she?”
“Jennifer Cooper. Your picture is right next to hers in the book.”
The doc’s gaze dropped to the desk, and his cheeks colored, then he met Holt’s gaze. “I knew her well. We were friends…”
“And more?” Caitlin asked.
Her directness surprised Holt, and apparently the doc as well. He waited a beat before answering.
“Yes, I suppose you could say that. Before I left for the Army, we were pretty tight. She was popular—not that way. She cared about people in general, but she only had a few really close friends. They’re all gone now. I’ve checked.”
Gone now. The phrase resonated with something Mrs. Smith had said. Her son had been killed, and he’d lived right there in the same house as Holt’s mother. What if they were wrong about Doc Coats?
“Did you know she got pregnant?” Caitlin again, bless her, determined as ever to fight his battles for him. Why had he not seen that sooner? Everything she’d done since he met her, she’d done for him.
The doc’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.
Today, it appeared, was a day for Holt’s eyes to open, or for his brain to start exploring alternatives. “Well she did,” Holt told him, his blood suddenly icy in his veins. So much depended on how this went. “My birthday is a little less than nine months after her graduation.”
Doc frowned and lowered himself to his chair, nodding for them to take the visitors’ chairs on the other side of his desk. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He shook his head. “Stupid question. Of course you are.” He studied Holt for a moment. “You look like her, you know.”
“I’ve been told that.”
“A DNA test will prove the connection…or not. I can arrange it.”
“Good,” Caitlin interrupted. “And we’ll do another at a separate lab, just so there’s no question.”
“I think I’ve been insulted.”
“Not really,” Holt interjected. “But there are other factors to consider. For one, I’m wealthy. Very. I have to be sure of the people around me. I’m sorry, but it’s a fact of my life.”
Doc nodded but didn’t say anything. He looked to Holt like someone trying desperately to make sense of the sudden change in his world and not having much luck.
“You never knew?” Holt asked though the answer was obvious from Doc’s demeanor.
“I spent decades away, out of touch with anyone here. But, funny thing, Jenny was what brought me back. Memories of my time in school with her. Being here with her was the happiest I’ve been in my life. Until my father made it impossible.” He shrugged. “Or so I thought. Granted, I expected to find her still in the area, married and with a houseful of kids, so I was shocked and saddened to find her gone. Her aunt told me she’d died.”
“Not then, but six years ago.”
Doc frowned. “She lied. But that’s all I knew. I should have talked to others. Maybe they would have told me she’d had a son. Possibly my son.” He met Holt’s gaze again. “If it’s true you’re mine, we have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I’m sorry to spring this on you so suddenly. This has to be a shock for you,” Caitlin said.
Doc’s lips pressed together, then he blew out a breath. “If it is true, I’m damn sorry to have missed so much of your life. Not to have been there for you. For Jenny, when she needed me. She took it hard when her parents were killed in that car crash. She wasn’t happy living with her aunt.”
“After she started showing, her aunt kicked her out. She raised me alone, a single mother, denied and disinherited by the only family she had left. She told me my father died. I guess she never knew where you went, why you disappeared so suddenly. You were her friend, and maybe more. But you disappeared.”
Doc rubbed his hands over his face. “My God.” After another moment, he took a breath and spoke. “It’s a long story, but the condensed version is I left after a fight with my father, signed up at the local recruiting center, and shipped out the next day.” His fist clenched. “I could have found a way to tell her I was leaving and why. I should have. But I was so angry with my father, my focus was totally on packing my stuff and getting the hell out of town. I was still a kid. I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself.”
Holt nodded. He had a touch of that temper, too. “Can you take the DNA samples here?”
Doc stood and motioned toward the door. “I’ve got kits in the lab. It’ll take five minutes, and then I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got a surgery scheduled in a few minutes. The usual—a dog hit by a car. I was grabbing lunch while they prepped him.”
“Let’s do the kits and get out of your way,” Caitlin said.
“We can talk more when the results come back,” Holt agreed, hoping after the news they’d just given him, the vet’s hands would be steady enough to do the surgery the dog needed.
True to the doc’s word, in five minutes, they were headed out the door, a set of samples in hand to deliver to a different lab than the vet used. His father. Maybe. Holt found himself hoping it was true.
Chapter Twelve
“You look like you found coal in your stocking.”
Caitlin jumped in surprise at the sound of Holt’s voice as he entered the office the next morning, coffee cup in hand. She inhaled the enticing aroma. “Is that for me? I beat Mrs. Smith to the kitchen this morning. The tea I brewed is hours cold.” She’d forgotten it. She’d been hard at work, putting more finishing
touches on the catalog that would result in the sale of many of the treasures in the estate.
“Take this one, then. I can get another.” Holt set the cup on her worktable and moved around to look over her shoulder.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about the catalog anymore. True, she’d come here to do a job, and she’d done it well, but something in her couldn’t take pride in it. She hated to see the collection scattered to the four winds, the estate sold, and all of Holt’s family history, good and bad, out of his hands. “Thanks for the coffee.” After a sip that warmed her and chased away some of her dismay in pure, caffeinated pleasure, she added, “I don’t have a stocking. None of us do.”
“We need to fix that.”
“What? Celebrate Christmas? In this house? Who are you and what have you done with Holt Ridley?”
“It’s time, don’t you think? Christmas is two days away, and this old place needs some cheering up. We found several boxes of decorations in the attic. Let’s use them.”
Caitlin was on her feet in seconds. She rounded the desk and threw herself into Holt’s arms. “That’s a brilliant idea. Let’s do it.”
“In a moment,” Holt said and dipped his head.
His lips met hers, tasting of coffee and him. Caitlin tightened her hold on his shoulders, her knees too weak to support her weight as his lips moved over hers, teasing, coaxing. His arms wrapped her body like steel bands and held her against his solid strength. She could stay here forever, feeling the tip of his tongue grazing her mouth, his lips on her throat, his teeth nipping her earlobe before his mouth took hers again.
She tunneled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back, heat sizzling through her veins and melting her core. When his tongue breached her lips, she moaned and pulled him closer, sliding her hands down his back to his firm arse.
Holt growled and did the same, pressing her close and making his arousal unmistakable. By the time he broke the kiss, they were both panting and flushed, eyes dark with desire.
Caitlin rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, then pulled away, reminding herself she was leaving for Scotland in a few days and might never see this man again. A few hot kisses were one thing, but getting more involved than that? “We shouldn’t.”