by Anna Adams
She was too young to be managing editor except her father owned the show and acted as the magazine’s editor in chief. To get a feel for her work, Zach had read stories from her earlier career, and then he’d scanned several recent issues. Olivia might have gone straight to the masthead because of her connections, but she was a good reporter.
What if she really was after a story? The possibility made him set his drink on the counter so hard the glass clanked. Could her job be the reason she’d come here?
Evan was his son. No doubt about that, but what if Olivia still believed he’d deserted her? What if her whole story was true—except that unlike Helene, she’d put two and two together?
Her flimsy rationale for not telling his family about Evan troubled him, and her father had built an empire breaking secrets wide-open. She might decide he made a good story—failed rescue mission, lost memory, secret son and all.
He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth. He was tired of dreams shot with light like tracer fire from a weapon, tired of waking sweat-covered and panicked as if he’d run through enemy battle lines in his bare feet and still managed to get his friend killed.
Staring at Evan’s photo, aching to see the boy, to hear his voice, Zach ran his finger over the cowlick his son would never be able to tame unless he got himself a military haircut. For Evan’s sake, he wanted to trust Olivia Kendall.
Closing his eyes, he saw her—tall, breezing into his office on the strength of her own self-confidence, her wavy black hair sliding over her shoulders, gray eyes splintered with ice that melted only a little beneath occasional warm concern. She wouldn’t research or write any story that would hurt Evan.
It wasn’t so hard to believe he’d loved her. Inconceivable that he’d forgotten her if he’d cared enough for her to make a child.
Zach glanced at his watch. Why waste any more time? He reached for the phone to call Olivia and tell her he knew exactly what he wanted.
Once she knew where he stood, he’d warn his family they were about to meet his son. He didn’t want Helene or anyone else to find out about Evan from a newspaper or TV.
CHAPTER THREE
“AMNESIA?” James Kendall’s mirthless laugh nearly deafened Olivia through her cell phone’s receiver. “He was never good enough for you, and this lame amnesia excuse just proves my point.”
“Why would he lie, Dad?” Despite her own doubts, she tried to soothe her father’s. At the first sign of weakness in her, he’d try running Zach out of the country. She stayed calm for several reasons. One, she didn’t want him all over Zach. Two, he’d stuck by her through a pregnancy that had shamed him. And three, he loved Evan.
“He dumped you and he doesn’t have the guts to be a man. Why are you willing to let him think about it? Evan deserves a father who simply wants him for a son.”
“I’m not holding a grudge.” Not much of one, and she’d fight every step of the way to make things right for Evan. “He couldn’t help what happened.”
“Why let him jerk you around?”
“I insisted Zach think about the obligations I’m asking him to take on.”
“Did he argue with you?”
“No, but he was stunned, and I don’t want him to do the right thing out of some knee-jerk response. What good would Zach’s sense of duty do my son?”
“I didn’t have to decide whether I wanted to be his grandfather.”
She could have argued. He’d conveniently forgotten the day he’d suggested he could help her “not have” the baby. He’d made up for it too many times to count since. She twitched the curtain away from her window. Dusk hovered over Bardill’s Ridge. In the street below, Victorian lamps glowed orange-yellow.
“You had seven and a half months to get used to the idea of Evan. I’m willing to give Zach a few hours, and I’ll stay with Evan and him when they’re together at first.”
“Thank God you’ve still got some sense. Calvert should have considered his actions back then. When a twenty-six-year-old man knows he can’t even be honest about his job with a twenty-one-year-old woman, the honorable thing is to abstain.”
“You like to forget I was there, too, and you’re still annoyed I didn’t hold out for a wedding ring. You and I aren’t selfless.”
“More so than the man who left you holding the diaper bag.”
“If Zach decides to become part of this family, I expect you to be civil to him.”
“If you hold a single doubt about this man, I say we start the paperwork to sue him for support.”
“Great idea, Dad. Evan will never need a dime from Zach, but he’s gone without a father’s care for five years. A lawsuit should fix all his problems.” She dropped the curtain and opened the nightstand drawer to find a laminated pizza menu. “I don’t think Zach’s going to duck out. Why can’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”
“You are, and that’s more than he deserves.” Her dad went quiet. She hoped he was trying to find some restraint. The family counselor they’d seen when Evan was a baby had taught him to give Olivia room to parent her own child, but her dad was always happiest when he’d worked up a full head of steam. “When are you supposed to see Calvert again?”
“His name is Zach, and I’ll let you know when he calls.”
“Are we supposed to twiddle our thumbs while he decides? I should be there with you. In fact, I’m on my way.”
Olivia laughed to remind her father he was over-reacting. Suddenly, the phone at her bedside jangled. She eyed it with foreboding. “I have to go, Dad. You stay put in Chicago. Is Evan all right?”
“Sound asleep, or I’d let you talk to him.”
He’d already admitted to spoiling her son with dinner and the richest cheesecake in Chicago at Evan’s favorite “grown-up” restaurant. From there, her father swore Evan had hauled him to a batting cage. He’d exhausted the little guy.
The other phone rang for the third time. “I’ll call you,” Olivia said again. “Kiss him for me.”
“Get back here and kiss him yourself, or let me bring him to you.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“I’ll arrange a healthy meal for Evan tomorrow night.”
“I’m glad.” Her father was a man who showed his love through service rather than affectionate words. “Bye.”
She switched off her cell phone and lifted the other receiver. “Olivia Kendall.” Putting this conversation on business terms was like suiting up in her best armor.
“It’s Zach Calvert. I want to come by in the morning.”
“To talk?” Who cared if she sounded eager? “You can come now.”
“I’ll be ready to travel in the morning, but tonight I have to tell my own family.”
Her pulse tripped over a few beats. He was saying yes. He wanted to know Evan.
“Yes” terrified her. For her son—a little for herself. She’d once loved this man, and he was coming back into her life. She remembered desire and trust that had turned on her like Cleopatra’s asp. She couldn’t afford to get confused about long-dead feelings.
“Maybe it would be better if you didn’t mention Evan to your daughter until you meet him.”
“What?” The one word suggested she’d over-stepped.
“Until you make up your mind, why disrupt Evan’s life or Lily’s?”
“You have nothing to do with my daughter, Olivia. I take care of my family.”
His harshness hurt her feelings. She tried not to snap back. His anger might come from problems he’d had with Helene over custody of Lily.
“Bottom line,” she said, pretending to ignore his quick temper, “I don’t want my son hurt.” She threaded her voice with sharp steel, just in case he considered her soft. “If he ever thinks you’re sorry…”
Silence met her half threat. Seeing his expression would have been nice.
“Is eight o’clock too early to leave tomorrow?” he asked.
“Fine.” She probably wouldn’t sleep. “I’ll arrange our flight.”
/>
“Let me.”
“Face it. I have more pull.” Zach could be in charge next time.
SHARING A GLASS of iced tea with her mother-in-law, Greta, Beth Calvert recognized her son’s car down-shifting to start the climb up her hill. Over a pot of chili, the two women had begun planning a party to celebrate Greta and her husband Seth’s fifty-fifth anniversary.
They’d planned very little party and talked more about Seth’s single anniversary request—more time with his wife. He wanted her to retire from her job as director of The Mom’s Place as she neared seventy-six years of age.
Beth smiled. Greta seemed to feel her husband asked too much. Already pregnant with Ned, Zach’s father, when she was in premed, Greta had worked nearly all her life, and pretty much all the time she or Seth could remember. Seventy-six wasn’t too young to retire by any means, but around here country doctors worked a lot longer than that.
“I’ve asked Sophie to join me,” Greta said. “At least to discuss it while she’s here for our anniversary, but she swears she’s happy delivering babies for those rich women in D.C. They have more OB/GYNs than they can choose from. I need her. My clients need her if Seth’s going to make me step down. We have plenty of time—you know my parents both lived until well into their nineties—but Seth refuses to discuss my work anymore.”
Watching for Zach’s car, Beth nodded in sympathy. “You started the clinic. You’ve helped a lot of young girls in these mountains.” Greta’s paying customers, women who craved some pampered time before their babies came, provided funding for young women who found themselves “in trouble” in Bardill’s Ridge and the surrounding towns. “You own the baby farm and you want to put it in hands you trust.”
Greta expressed disapproval with a tart look. “I hate when y’all call it the baby farm.”
“Sorry.” Beth knew that, but this late, unannounced visit from Zach had sidetracked her.
“I don’t believe Sophie’s happy. She and Molly and Zach were like siblings when they were kids, and she’s a Calvert just like the rest of us. She’ll be happier among family.”
“Maybe you should advertise for another physician just in case.” Beth craned her neck, waiting for Zach’s headlights to sweep the dusk-shadowed turn in her drive. Something had troubled him since that bank robbery. Who wouldn’t be upset to discover such violence in himself? “Sophie will come home when she’s ready. You can’t push children.” At last bright light feathered through the shrubbery that lined the gravel driveway. “Even when they’re grown up.”
“I’d expect Sophie to remember her loyalty to this side of her family as well as to that rogue mother of hers.”
“I don’t think she sees Nita too often.” Beth pointed to the car nosing around the bend. “Look—there’s Zach. Wonder what he’s after so late?”
Greta looked concerned. “Something wrong? Seth will be calling any second if I don’t start home, but I can stay and help you—”
“I’m sure Zach’s fine.” She wasn’t sure at all, but Greta had enough on her mind. The family had all assumed she’d work at the baby farm till she couldn’t work anymore. Seth must have been insistent if Greta was considering retirement. “Would you like more tea?”
“No.” Her mother-in-law stood, flexing her back. “I left my glasses at the office. Better get moving. Seth’s also nagging me to stop driving after dark.” She leaned down and aimed a swift kiss Beth’s way. “Now, if he asks, we talked about the party, not work, right?”
“He must be really upset this time.” Seth had retired from his seat on the county circuit court over ten years ago, and he’d expected his wife to join him in taking leisure.
“He’s serious.” Greta patted her hair. “So I’m paying attention. Good night, honey. I’m just going to wait by my car to speak to Zach.”
“’Night, Greta.”
The older woman floated down the stairs, reaching her car as Zach parked his. They spoke between their doors for a moment, and then Greta waved goodbye and drove off.
Zach headed toward the house, but trouble climbed the wooden porch steps with him. Beth stood, sniffing wood smoke on the crisp air.
“Smell that, son? Fall’s got us in its grip.”
“It’s your favorite time of year, isn’t it, Mom?” He turned at the top step and joined her in appreciation of the darkening ridge that rolled from beneath her house. Out here the rising moon provided scarce light. Beth’s nearest neighbor lived a stiff hike down the road.
Zach lived on his father’s farm now, in the house she’d loved during her marriage. But she’d hated the place after Ned died. A tree had fallen on him as he’d cleared a field during a storm’s early gusts. She and Zach, only eight at the time, had taken refuge from their loss on this lonely, untamable patch of ground that had once belonged to her family. She’d wanted no more farms.
“Tell me what’s wrong, son.”
He grinned. “How’d you know?” A little tired, a lot cagey, still wearing the uniform he usually took off the second he left the sheriff’s office behind, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Never mind. You just know.”
“Better come inside. Want some coffee?”
She always had a pot on the warmer. Mr. Coffee had become her best friend the first day he’d shown up at the hardware store in town.
Her son towered over her as he ducked to cross the threshold into the small living room. Her grandfather had built this house, and every room formed a perfect square. Zach used to say the squares made him feel claustrophobic. He worked at the knot in his tie as she patted his shoulder.
“Come into the kitchen. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten.”
“Try not to mother me, Mom.”
“It’s still my job.”
He never gave her credit for the times she tried to let him alone. But she was a Southern woman—when she sensed a heavy load of dread on her son’s shoulders, she got the urge to throw something in a casserole. Feeding him was her only refuge when Zach turned as standoffish as the bushy gray cat that sprawled in front of her fireplace.
Spike and Zach shared the same views on comfort. They wanted to be in the room, but they preferred a minimum of human affection.
Zach followed her. “I have to tell you something.”
“How bad is it?” Since that day Seth had come up from the field to tell her about Ned, she tended to expect the worst. She tried not to, but she had to pray nothing worse than losing Ned ever happened to her while she had a son and a family who depended on her to be sane.
“It’s good in a way. In a lot of ways.” Zach opened the refrigerator and popped the top on a pale blue plastic bowl. “Chili? Smells great.”
Elbowing him aside, she took the bowl and dished a couple of Zach-sized servings into a saucepan. No microwaves in her house. She cooked the old-fashioned way. “I’m waiting.”
“I’m trying to think of a way to say it.” He opened the door to the back porch. “Let me bring in some wood for you. The weather forecast says we might have a freeze tonight.”
“Okay.” She plucked a sweet onion from the wire basket that hung above her counter. If he had to belly up to telling her, it couldn’t be that good.
While the screen door banged open and then shut each time Zach carried a load of wood from the pile out back, Beth peeled the onion.
Spike slinked in to investigate the racket. He hunkered down at her feet while she diced onion the way Zach liked, in small chunks. With the cat twining around her ankles, she cut a hunk of corn bread and set it on a bread plate at the table. She was stirring the steaming chili as Zach got his fill of loading the bin.
He came back in, sniffing the chili’s aroma. Again, like Spike. “I didn’t even know I was hungry.” He slapped on the faucet to wash his hands at the sink. “Aren’t you eating?”
“I ate with Gran, but I might have a bite of corn bread.”
“I hate to eat alone.”
He never admitted that to anyone else, but she knew. It pr
icked at her during the long two-week periods when Lily stayed at Helene’s. Zach’s discomfort with being alone had started after the accident, too.
He needed a family. Helene hadn’t been a good wife for him, but someday a woman would arrive sporting sense enough to value a guy who always did the right thing—even when it came to letting his wife go. Beth often wondered how much of Zach’s pain came from a suspicion that, as Helene alleged, he hadn’t been good enough for her.
“Mom, do you remember I was in Chicago before I took that last flight?”
It was an odd beginning, but she went with him. “How could I forget?” She could have bitten her tongue off.
With a look of forebearance, Zach went to the counter where she’d set out a bowl. He ladled chili from the saucepan and sprinkled onions over the top.
“I knew someone in Chicago—a woman named Olivia Kendall.”
“Olivia Kendall? I’ve heard that name.”
He lifted his head so sharply chili spilled over the edge of the ladle to splatter the stove. “How? Did she write me here?”
“Huh?” Beth circled the counter to the family room and plucked a magazine from the stack beside her favorite chair. “No one wrote to you here. I always wondered why. I thought you surely had friends.” She showed him last month’s issue of Relevance. “I know her from this. How did you meet a woman like her?” All he needed was another Helene type.
“I’m not sure.” He shook his head and then lifted his spoon for a bite. Normally, chili was the next best thing to nectar for Zach. He savored it like those folks on the food channel swilled choice wine. This bite, he swallowed almost without chewing, but then cringed and ran for the sink where he splashed water into his burned mouth.
“I’m sorry, son.” She got him a beer, twisted the top and put the bottle on the counter. “Now, tell me about Olivia Kendall. What does she want from you?”
His still-wary gaze reminded her of the little boy who’d once thought she knew everything. After all these years, some of that child’s vulnerability remained in Zach’s eyes. He’d hate it if he knew.