Adam Collins: One of Mission Creek’s bravest firefighters, he risks his life for a living. But saving little Jake Anderson from the blazing country club touches him to the very core. Does Adam dare lose his heart to both the little boy and his beautiful, vivacious doctor?
Dr. Tracy Walker: The dedicated pediatric burn specialist works her magic to ease Jake’s pain. Unable to have children of her own, she yearns for a little boy like Jake. Can she find room in her life for a certain strong but silent firefighter, as well?
Jake Anderson: The five-year-old boy knows who’s responsible for the Lone Star Country Club bombing but is mute from the shock of losing his parents in the blast. Will Tracy and Adam be able to keep him safe till he’s able to reveal the truth?
Police Chief Benjamin Stone: Horrified to discover that bombers have attacked his town, he’s put the Mission Creek police on full alert. Will he uncover the identity of the attackers and bring them to justice before it’s too late?
Once a Father
MARIE FERRARELLA
Books by Marie Ferrarella in Miniseries
ChildFinders, Inc.
A Hero for All Seasons IM #932
A Forever Kind of Hero IM #943
Hero in the Nick of Time IM #956
Hero for Hire IM #1042
An Uncommon Hero Silhouette Books
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Heart of a Hero IM #1105
Baby’s Choice
Caution: Baby Ahead SR #1007
Mother on the Wing SR #1026
Baby Times Two SR #1037
Baby of the Month Club
Baby’s First Christmas SE #997
Happy New Year Baby! IM #686
The 7lb., 2oz. Valentine Yours Truly
Husband: Optional SD #988
Do You Take This Child? SR #1145
Detective Dad World’s Most Eligible Bachelors
The Once and Future Father IM #1017
In the Family Way Silhouette Books
Baby Talk Silhouette Books
An Abundance of Babies SE #1422
Like Mother, Like Daughter
One Plus One Makes Marriage SR #1328
Never Too Late for Love SR #1351
*The Pendletons
Baby in the Middle SE #892
Husband, Some Assembly Required SE #931
Those Sinclairs
Holding Out for a Hero IM #496
Heroes Great and Small IM #501
Christmas Every Day IM #538
Caitlin’s Guardian Angel IM #661
Two Halves of a Whole
The Baby Came C.O.D. SR #1264
Desperately Seeking Twin Yours Truly
The Cutlers of the Shady Lady Ranch
(Yours Truly titles)
Fiona and the Sexy Stranger
Cowboys Are for Loving
Will and the Headstrong Female
The Law and Ginny Marlow
A Match for Morgan
A Triple Threat to Bachelorhood SR #1564
*The Reeds
Callaghan’s Way IM #601
Serena McKee’s Back in Town IM #808
*McClellans & Marinos
Man Trouble SR #815
The Taming of the Teen SR #839
Babies on His Mind SR #920
The Baby Beneath the Mistletoe SR #1408
*The Alaskans
Wife in the Mail SE #1217
Stand-In Mom SE #1294
Found: His Perfect Wife SE #1310
The M.D. Meets His Match SE #1401
MARIE FERRARELLA
earned a master’s degree in Shakespearean comedy and, perhaps as a result, her writing is distinguished by humor and natural dialogue. This RITA Award-winning author’s goal is to entertain and to make people laugh and feel good. She has written over one hundred books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide and have been translated into Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Polish, Japanese and Korean.
To
Maggie Price
&
Beverly Bird,
who brought new meaning to the word precision.
My hat is off to you both.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Prologue
Mulrooney was droning on endlessly. It was obvious that the newly hired policeman had absolutely no idea what the word succinct meant. But for once, Chief Ben Stone of the Mission Creek police department didn’t mind being subjected to the endless rhetoric as the much younger man was describing a recent, utterly trivial incident that had occurred in town.
He wasn’t listening anyway.
The late morning Texas sun filled the office, highlighting the dust and cobwebs that the night janitorial staff had missed. Ben’s dark blue eyes stealthily shifted to the watch on his wrist just beneath the cuff of his navy blue uniform. A vague hint of a smile teased the corners of his ordinarily downturned mouth as he noted the hour.
Almost time.
“Can’t understand why a man who can look death in the face and spit in its eye would want to waste his time knocking around a little white ball along some stubby green grass.”
Completely mystified by the attraction of the game, Luke Callaghan shook his dark head as he watched the tall, rangy silver-haired man who he respected more than any living being on the face of the earth take careful measure before making his shot. Though it was the game of choice for the people who populated the upper-crust world he lived in, Luke only played because his best friends found the game so intriguing. As for him, he could abandon the game in a heartbeat. His score reflected as much.
Leaning on his club in what could only be termed an indolent pose, Spence Harrison, the local district attorney, teased, his tongue in his cheek. “No mystery, Luke. Comes a time when a man just has to lay down the saber and do what he can to occupy his mind.”
Commander Phil Westin grinned at the men he’d both led and saved when they had been part of his Marine platoon in the Gulf War. The expression softened a face that was all planes and angles, ordinarily arousing fear in the hearts of his enemies.
Lack of activity had never been a problem for Westin and he ignored Spence’s good-natured jibe. “I already told you, Luke, golf relaxes me.”
Keenly aware of his score and not one who enjoyed not excelling at everything he tried, Luke frowned. “Well, it frustrates the hell out of me.”
Spence glanced over his friend’s shoulder at the scorecard. “I can see why.”
“That’s because your hand-eye coordination is shot to hell,” Flynt Carson kidded Luke. The country club where they were playing had originally been co-founded by his great-grandfather Jace in 1923, on land he had carved out of his ranch and donated. The other half had come from the Wainwrights, who the Carsons no longer had any dealings with for what all felt were excellent reasons. “Thank God you did better with a rifle in your hands than you do with a golf club.”
Tyler Murdoch, the fifth man on the team, raised his club like a sword. Taking his cue, Luke raised his and crossed it over Tyler’s. The latter gave a few thrusts and parries, which Tyler countered.
“Anything can be a weapon,” Luke quipped to Tyler, “in the right person’s hands.”
“Boys, boys, play nice,” Westin laughed. The serious nature behind the impromptu gathering blen
ded into the laughter, making it fade. It was time he told them why he’d asked for this get-together. “Besides, this is probably the last time I’m going to be seeing you for a while and I’d like to take away an image of you overgrown Boy Scouts doing something other than clowning around.”
There was a great deal of affection between them that went beyond their time together in the war. They, along with the one missing, estranged member of their former group, had all attended Virginia Military Institute, then joined the 14th Marines after graduation. The Gulf War had seen them taken prisoner and required them to demonstrate exemplary bravery under fire and extreme conditions. Though none talked about it, each man would have gone to hell and back for the others in the group.
Some of them felt they had.
“Okay, I’ve had it with this country club facade.” Unlike Luke and Flynt, an endless supply of money had never been Tyler’s problem while he was growing up. He turned to Westin. “C’mon, Commander, straight out, tell us. Why’d you call us together? What’s this big mystery you’re keeping from us?”
Phil slid his club into his bag and debated over which club to use for the shot. He appeared unruffled, but his mind wasn’t on anything so trivial as the right club to use. “No big mystery, just don’t want it advertised just yet.” Taking a club out, he turned to look at the others. He needed them to know this. In case there came a time when he had to call upon them for help. “I’m being sent to Central America to see if maybe I can get a handle on how to bring down that new drug czar. Calls himself El Jefe.” He smiled thinly. “No ego problem there.”
Though their lives had taken them in different directions since the time they served together, the men were all up on the rumors that the newest drug route bringing illegal fare into the U.S. was passing directly through their part of the country. Maybe even through Mission Creek itself, though none of them liked to think that.
“Why you?” Luke wondered if Westin, like himself, was a secret agent. Wouldn’t that have been a hoot? Two of them in one small, tight circle, each not knowing about the other.
A steely grin curved Westin’s strong mouth. “Haven’t you heard? They always pick the best man for the job.” The hell with the game, he decided. He wanted to sit and hoist a few beers with these men before he disappeared into the jungle for who knew how long. “I’ve got reservations for us at the Men’s Grill.” He glanced at his watch. The reservation was for eleven. It was five minutes past that now. “It’s already getting late. Let’s go there and I’ll tell you all about it. Might be something to pass along to your grandkids if you boys can ever find yourself four good women whose standards aren’t too high.”
Luke gladly tossed his golf club into his bag. “I’m ready to call it a game.”
Eschewing carts and caddies, each man carried his own bag, just as they had once carried their own fifty-pound backpacks through a foreign land.
But as they turned toward the sprawling four-story brick complex known as the Lone Star Country Club where the Men’s Grill was housed, an explosion suddenly resounded, shattering the calm of a perfect morning.
Flames belched out, infecting the horizon with smoke as the men were sent tumbling pell-mell to the ground, their golf clubs scattered all around them like so many sticks emptied out of one giant bag.
Chapter 1
“I’m not a baby, Mom. I’m old enough to go to the bathroom myself,” Jake Anderson insisted. Rocking on the toes of the brand-new pair of shoes his mother had made him wear today, the boy who was five, hovering anxiously on the cusp of being six, looked to his father for backup. “Right, Dad?”
Daniel Anderson smiled affectionately at his only son. With his blond hair and fair coloring, the boy was the spitting image of his mother. The thought crossed Daniel’s mind that his own mother had been right. They did grow up so fast.
“He is five, you know, Meg.”
“Almost six,” Jake piped up.
Margaret Anderson sighed, knowing she was being overly protective. But it was still difficult for her not to think of Jake as her little boy and as such, she didn’t really want him to go wandering off on his own, even though this was the Lone Star Country Club, where only the best people came to pass the time.
As if reading her mind, her husband added, “And after all, this is the Lone Star Country Club, Meg. Nothing bad ever happens here. Best place in the world to start letting Jake be his own person.”
Assaulted on both sides, Meg had no choice but to relent. “I suppose.” As he was about to run off, she caught her son’s hand. He looked at her, obviously trying to curb his impatience. “Just to the men’s room and back, Jake. Don’t go wandering off and don’t dawdle.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jake mumbled dutifully.
Daniel made a show of checking his pockets. Not finding what he was looking for, he snapped his fingers. “And me without my compass. Think you can get there and back before nightfall, son?”
Jake laughed as his father ruffled his hair.
Meg took the teasing at her expense in stride. “All right, you two.” She looked at Daniel. “He’s still my little boy.” She curbed the impulse to hug Jake, knowing that displays of affection in public embarrassed him. “I’m entitled. Go now, before they bring your dessert and it melts.” She shooed her son off and then raised her coffee cup to her lips.
Trying not to run, Jake quickly made his way through the dining hall, afraid his mother would find some reason to call him back. He felt like one of the big boys now, off on his own.
In the hall, he paused, trying to remember which direction to take to get to the men’s room. He’d been there several times with his father, but he’d never paid much attention. The long hallways all looked alike. Stubbornly, he refused to go back and ask his parents for directions, knowing that his mother would take the opportunity to come with him as she showed him the way.
Hesitating, Jake made his choice and turned to his right. He saw the green-and-white sign all the way at the end of the corridor. It said Rest Rooms. That was grown-up talk for bathrooms.
Hurrying, he passed a partially opened door. The sign across it had words he hadn’t learned how to read yet. The sound of urgent voices aroused his natural curiosity and he peered inside.
What he saw was a partially darkened room filled with what looked to be a hundred television sets, all tuned to boring programs that had nothing but rooms on them. There was a single, sharp beam of light coming in from another opened door. It was on the other end of the room, to the left and the door was opened to the outside.
He thought he saw a truck and two men, each dragging a big, fat sack from the room to the door. They looked like the sack that Santa Claus had brought his toys in just last month, except that these were green. He wondered if there were toys in these sacks and if the men he saw were Santa’s helpers.
One of the men looked sharply at him.
“Hey, you, kid!”
Jake jumped back, afraid that the man would tell his parents that he’d strayed. Or worse, that he’d tell Santa and he wouldn’t get any presents next Christmas.
Spinning on his heel, he ran back toward the Grill, forgetting all about his maiden solo voyage to the bathroom.
Halfway back to the dining area, he heard a big bang coming from that area at almost the same time he went flying off his feet.
His head hit the floor just as bursts of light registered in his brain.
Everything went black.
Bonnie Brannigan wasn’t aware of wringing her hands, even though the action moved the large engagement ring on her hand to and fro and made her overly burdened charm bracelet jingle with each movement.
Nor did she realize that her platinum blond hair, usually so carefully and artfully arranged in a hair-style that had been dear to her heart since her teens some forty years ago, had sunk several degrees south of its rightful position atop her head. She was far too upset to notice anything but the flames shooting out from what had once been the Men’s Grill. I
t was clear that the restaurant and the billiards room next to it were lost. She prayed that the firemen she was watching so intently could contain the fire to this section.
What if they couldn’t? The whole club was in jeopardy.
As manager of the popular Lone Star Country Club these past few years, she’d been inside her office reviewing last month’s profits when the explosion had thrown her from her chair. Momentarily disoriented, the acrid smell of smoke reached her nose just as her ears were clearing of the deafening noise.
Stumbling out into the hallway, she’d been accosted by flames. One of the busboys had grabbed her hand, all but dragging her out of the building. In retrospect, he’d probably saved her life. She wasn’t even sure which young man it had been.
It seemed too incredible for words.
Well clear of the building, she stood shivering beneath a coat someone had thrown on her shoulders, fighting off the tightening grasp of shock. Her eyes stung, whether from smoke or grief she wasn’t altogether sure, and a tear trickled down her sooty cheek as she surveyed the damage that had been done. A panicked feeling was taking over the pit of her stomach.
Dressed in the pink colors she tended to favor, Bonnie stood out like a petite, colorful focal point amid the destruction that came in the wake of the explosion.
Her mind struggled to understand.
Was this some horrible accident, or deliberate? Who could have done this?
Noise, hoses and smoke seemed to be all around her. Right in front of her, yellow-jacketed firefighters were attempting to tame the flames.
“Nothing like this has ever happened here before,” she said more to herself than to the powerfully built man standing beside her.
“Yeah, bet old Peter Wainwright and Jace Carson are spinning in their graves right now. Like as not they’d each blame the other for this.” Ben Stone took a step back from the scene. He’d been the police chief of Mission Creek, the town that had slowly grown up and around the Lone Star Country Club that the once best friends had created, cutting the acreage equally out of both their properties before a blood feud had rent them apart, for more years than he was happy about. Agitated, he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. At 6’2” he all but dwarfed the woman beside him.
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