The town looked like the cover of a greeting card, with its quaint buildings and a church with a soaring white steeple. Nestled in the Berkshires, Cooper’s Corner seemed like the perfect place to get away from the bustle of the big city. It was obviously a popular destination. He’d only been able to reserve a room at Twin Oaks due to a last-minute cancellation.
Slowly he looked around the large great room, impressed by the simple, cozy elegance of the place. A vintage piano stood in one corner, and the scent of cinnamon lingered in the air.
A man appeared in the doorway that led to a dining room, wiping his large hands on a dish towel. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Alan Rand,” he replied, setting down his suitcases. He’d probably overpacked for this trip, but he wasn’t certain how long he’d be staying. If he was lucky, he’d be out of Cooper’s Corner soon. Or maybe he’d stay on for a while and do some skiing, since he’d made arrangements to work out of the office for the next few weeks. His future plans, both short-term and long-term, all hinged on one woman. “I have a reservation.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rand,” the man said, flipping the towel over his shoulder and holding out his hand. “I’m Clint Cooper. My sister, Maureen, and I own Twin Oaks.”
Alan reached out to shake his hand. “Great place you’ve got here.”
“We like it,” Clint said, moving behind the registration desk. He opened the top desk drawer and retrieved a big brass key. “If you’ll sign the guest book, I’ll be happy to show you up to your room.”
After scribbling his signature in the guest book, Alan picked up his suitcases and followed Clint up the staircase. They stopped at the end of the hallway, and Clint pulled the key out of the pocket of his khaki slacks. Then he unlocked the door and swung it open. “This is your room.”
Alan walked inside and looked around. The first thing he noticed was another cheery fire crackling in a corner hearth. A bright blue and white quilt covered the four-poster pine bed. But the most spectacular feature of the room was the view of the Berkshires from the large window. Dazzling, snow-covered hills lined with ski trails were framed against the azure blue sky.
“I just took some cookies out of the oven,” Clint said, removing a small tin from the nightstand. “I’ll fill this up and have my son, Keegan, bring it to you.” One corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile. “If you’re lucky there’ll be a few left by the time he gets here.”
“Sounds good,” Alan replied, shrugging out of his coat. Clint stood a couple inches taller than he did, at least six-three, and looked like he belonged more in a logging camp than a kitchen. Learning to bake was on Alan’s list, but he preferred to handle one challenge at a time.
“There’s a breakfast buffet every morning from seven until nine,” Clint informed him. “And a library downstairs if you like to read.”
Alan had a briefcase full of manuscripts to read for work, mostly nonfiction tomes on various technical subjects. It might be nice to do some pleasure reading while he was here. “Thanks. I’ll check it out.”
“Hope you have a pleasant stay here at Twin Oaks.” Clint moved toward the open door. “And let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“I will.”
By the time Alan had unpacked his suitcases and placed his clothes in the boudoir, a young boy of about twelve appeared in the open doorway with the tin in his hands.
“Here are your cookies.”
“Great. I’m starved.” Alan took the tin from him, the metal warm against his palms. “You must be Keegan.”
The boy nodded as Alan popped the lid off the tin. Despite Clint’s warning, the tin wasn’t empty. It was full of cookies. Their spicy cinnamon aroma teased his nostrils and made his mouth water. “Hey, snickerdoodles are my favorite.”
“Mine, too,” Keegan said, still lingering in the doorway. “They’re even better than the chocolate chip ones Dad usually makes.”
Alan held out the tin. “Want one?”
“Thanks.” Keegan eagerly reached for a cookie, then downed it in two bites. “Are you here by yourself?”
Alan nodded. “Just a short vacation. Actually, I’m looking for somebody who lives around here. A woman named Rowena Dahl. Do you know her?”
“Sure. She cuts my hair. And she wrote the Christmas Festival play. I was a shepherd.”
“She cuts your hair?” Alan asked, a little confused.
“At her barbershop. It’s right on Main Street. You probably saw it when you drove here.”
He gave a slow nod. “So she’s a barber?”
“Yeah. A real good one, too. She even found a way to make Randi and Robin look halfway decent after they cut each other’s hair.”
Alan didn’t know who Randi and Robin were, but at the moment he was too focused on Rowena to ask. The fact that she was a hairdresser set his mind somewhat at ease. His mother and aunt had worked together as hairdressers in Toronto. He found that women who gravitated to that kind of career usually were down-to-earth and warmhearted. Easy to manage. His father had certainly been able to reign over the Rand household with little trouble.
Rowena Dahl was no doubt a simple, unsophisticated countrywoman who would be happy to cooperate with him once she knew all the facts. He was still curious about why she chose to go the route of artificial insemination to conceive a baby. Perhaps Cooper’s Corner lacked an abundance of single men. Or maybe Rowena simply wasn’t the kind of woman to attract their interest.
The reason didn’t really matter. If she was pregnant with his child, then he’d find some way to deal with it that would satisfy them both. Alan was used to handling difficult negotiations with some of the smartest, most sophisticated people in the publishing industry. Rowena Dahl of Cooper’s Corner, Massachusetts, would be no problem.
“So how do you know her?” Keegan asked, breaking Alan’s reverie.
He blinked. “Who?”
“Rowena.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “It’s...a long story.”
Keegan opened his mouth to say something when Clint Cooper’s deep voice echoed up the stairway. “Keegan? You up there?”
“Gotta go.” The boy turned and headed for the door, grabbing another cookie on his way out. “Do you need anything else, Mr. Rand?”
Alan reached up to run a hand through his short, dark hair. “As a matter of fact, I think I could use a haircut.”
CHAPTER THREE
AN HOUR LATER, Alan found himself standing outside the barbershop on Main Street, staring at the closed sign in the leaded glass window of the scarred oak door. The setting sun cast long shadows over the sidewalk as he debated whether to come back tomorrow. The barbershop stood nestled between Tubb’s Café and an antique store. The neat brick facade fit nicely among the picturesque storefronts lining both sides of the street. A large, decorative sign that read A Cut Above in bold blue letters hung just under the eaves.
He’d come to Cooper’s Corner for the express purpose of discovering whether this Rowena Dahl woman was pregnant with his child. But as he stood here, part of him didn’t want to know the answer. He couldn’t deny the sudden temptation to turn around and walk away.
But something made him stay.
Alan tugged his overcoat more tightly around him as a gust of bitter wind blew through the street. How had he ever ended up in this mess? It was as if he’d been entered in some kind of bizarre baby lottery. The mother of his child could be anyone. An immature girl of twenty or an older, hardened woman who could hear the incessant ticking of her biological clock. She could be an ex-convict or some kind of religious fanatic. Someone with beliefs and values diametrically opposed to his.
Could Rowena Dahl afford to bring a baby into this world on the salary of a barber? What about her background? Her family? Her love life? The answer to that last question seemed o
bvious, given her visit to the Orr Fertility Clinic. Or was there another reason?
Ever since he’d discovered a stranger might be carrying his child, his imagination had gone into overdrive. But Alan knew it was time to face reality now—whatever the outcome. A shadow of movement through the glass on the door made his heartbeat quicken. Was it her? Squaring his shoulders, he raised his hand to knock on the door, preparing himself for the worst. But his knuckles rapped only once against the glass before the door opened.
He blinked at the vision standing before him.
The top of her head reached above his chin, which made her at least five foot seven. Her long blond hair hung in silky ringlets almost to her waist. A loose raspberry sweater concealed the upper part of her body, but the black stretch pants she wore revealed a pair of endless legs that made him swallow hard as his gaze slowly moved down the length of her. “Are you Rowena Dahl?”
She smiled and nodded. “You must be from Twin Oaks. Clint called a few minutes ago and told me one of his guests might be stopping by for a haircut.”
Her voice carried a hint of smoke that made his gaze travel once again the endless miles of her slender legs, all the way up her luscious body until he met her eyes. They were the color of amethysts, glittering with a warmth that made him feel both hot and cold.
This woman had to go all the way to Toronto for a sperm donor? He was surprised the men of Massachusetts weren’t lining up at her door!
He kept staring at her until he saw a tiny wrinkle form on her delicate brow. Then he finally came to his senses and cleared his throat. “I heard you’re the best barber in town.”
She laughed. “Could it be because I’m the only barber in town? Or hairdresser, for that matter. I bill myself as both, since some of the men around here are more comfortable sitting in a barbershop than a beauty shop.”
“I practically grew up in my mother’s beauty shop, so that’s not a problem for me.” Then he pointed to the closed sign hanging on the door. “But it looks like I’m a little late.”
She opened the door wider, waving him in. “Not at all. My last appointment of the day just left a little while ago, but I’m always happy to take guests from Twin Oaks.”
He stepped inside her shop and was met by the warmth from the radiator against one wall as well as the bright cheeriness of the room. Soft white walls served as the backdrop for a retro decor that featured a checkered blue and white tile floor, two drier chairs upholstered in red and blue gingham fabric and a vintage red Formica counter filled with bottles of shampoo, mousse and styling gel. The shop looked like something he might find in a trendy city salon, not tucked away in a small town like Cooper’s Corner.
“I’m Alan,” he said, suddenly wondering if the Orr Clinic had released his name to her. “Alan Rand.”
But there was no spark of recognition in those unusual eyes. She swiveled the red leather barber chair toward him. “Are you in town for business or pleasure, Mr. Rand?”
“Business,” he said curtly, as if he needed to remind himself of that fact. “And please call me Alan.”
He shrugged out of his coat and leather gloves, suddenly finding the room almost unbearably hot. He wanted to blame it on the space heater sitting on the floor next to the chair, but he feared the explanation wasn’t that simple. He could feel his pulse pick up as he watched her bend over to sweep some hair clippings on the floor into a dustpan.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” she said, her back to him. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Alan settled into the barber chair, wondering why he was letting her affect him this way. He’d formed an image of Rowena in his mind—a simple countrywoman who might be a little plain, a little shy, perhaps even somewhat repressed.
Instead, he’d found a fantasy woman who could easily grace the cover of the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated magazine. She wasn’t some young bimbette, though. A keen intelligence glittered in her eyes, and he’d guess her age to be close to his—mid-thirties.
Her beauty wasn’t artificial, either. She looked as if she didn’t have on a trace of makeup. Not that she needed it. Nature had given her long dark lashes and roses in her sculptured cheeks. A perfect nose and lips that were full, pink and inviting.
Alan finally forced himself to look away from her. He couldn’t let her distract him like this. The fact that Rowena Dahl was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met shouldn’t make a bit of difference. He was here for one reason and one reason only—to find out if she was pregnant with his baby.
“So what would you like?” she asked, wrapping a blue nylon drape around him and securing the Velcro tab in the back. Then she rested her hands lightly on his shoulders, and he became aware of the subtle scent of gardenias now that she stood close behind him.
He hesitated, suddenly wishing he’d formed some kind of plan before he’d come barging into her shop. He could hardly come right out and ask her if she was pregnant. Better to make small talk and put her at ease. Perhaps she’d even volunteer the information.
“Just a trim,” he replied at last, settling back against the chair. She began lightly ruffling his hair with her fingers, and he closed his eyes at the exquisite sensation.
“Do you want to keep the sideburns?”
His eyes flew open. “Yes. No.” He sounded like an idiot. “What do you think?”
“I like them,” she replied, spritzing his hair with a water bottle. “But since you’re a new customer, I want to make sure you’re satisfied. You’ve got nice, thick hair with a slight wave to it.”
“That’s why I like to keep it short,” he confided. “If I let it go too long, it starts to curl.”
He sensed rather than saw her smile. “Most people would consider that a blessing,” she said. “At least most of my female customers.”
“I’m not a curls kind of guy.”
“I can see that,” she said, her voice a little huskier. Then she cleared her throat. “How about if I take half an inch off the top and back?”
“Sounds good.” Alan shifted slightly in the chair, reminding himself not to get too comfortable. The haircut wouldn’t take long, so he didn’t have much time to find out the information he needed.
“So how do you like Twin Oaks?” she asked, pumping the metal pedal on the chair to raise it.
“Great.” Alan clenched his jaw in frustration, realizing he should be the one asking the questions.
“Where are you from?”
“Toronto.” He waited, wondering if that might elicit a reaction. But she just picked up a comb and scissors off the tray in front of her. He ran a finger around the neck edge of the drape. “Have you been there?”
“Once.” She ran the comb through his hair, then he heard the crisp clip-clip of the scissors.
“Business or pleasure?” he asked, repeating her earlier question.
She hesitated. “I visited a couple of salons while I was there, so I guess you could say a little bit of both.”
His body relaxed under her capable hands. “Your shop must keep you pretty busy. I bet it’s difficult to get away.”
“Yes, but I love being my own boss.”
This obviously wasn’t getting him anywhere. How could he ask Rowena what he really wanted to know. Are you pregnant with my baby?
“So how long do you plan to stay in Cooper’s Corner?” she asked, bending nearer to carefully cut around his ear.
“I’m not sure. I need a break from the office, but I brought some work along with me.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m in publishing.” Alan shifted in his chair with impatience. Why were they talking about him?
“Really? I love to read. What kind of books do you publish?”
He realized small talk was one of the tools of her trade, but maybe he could t
wist the subject to his advantage.
“Nonfiction, mostly,” he replied, hastily improvising. “I’m excited about a new book for expectant mothers we’re putting out next month. It’s from the baby’s perspective in the womb. I think it will be a big hit.”
“I collect cookbooks,” she said without missing a beat. “The oldest one is from eighteen ninety-five. There are some interesting recipes in there, along with remedies for everything from drunkenness to getting struck by lightning.” She laughed. “Although, I have to confess I spend more time reading the recipes than actually cooking. I used to live in Manhattan and I’m afraid I got spoiled by take-out dinners.”
He wondered if she’d changed the subject from babies to cookbooks on purpose. His comment about expectant mothers hadn’t rattled her. On the other hand, why would Rowena share her personal life with a total stranger? Playing games wasn’t his style. He’d circled around the subject long enough.
“There you go,” she said several minutes later, spinning the chair around so he could see his reflection in the big mirror on the wall. “What do you think?”
He met her gaze in the mirror. “I think it’s time for the truth to come out.”
Her brow furrowed. “The truth?”
Alan took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you why I’m really here if you tell me whether or not you’re pregnant with my baby.”
* * *
A CHILL WASHED over Rowena as she stared into toffee brown eyes that just a scant moment ago she’d found undeniably sexy. “What?”
He kept his gaze locked on hers in the mirror. “The Orr Fertility Clinic contacted you about their mistake, didn’t they? How they inadvertently switched the identification numbers on two of the sperm deposits?”
She didn’t answer him, but one hand curled around the comb in her hand until the plastic teeth dug into her palm. Her other hand still held the scissors.
“Unfortunately, my sperm was involved in the mix-up.” Alan leaned forward. “So I came to Cooper’s Corner to find out if you’re pregnant with my baby.”
Accidental Family Page 2