She’d been more than hurt and confused. She’d been stunned. She and her parents had all donated blood while Heather was having her emergency appendectomy. Afterward, the lab technician had made an innocent comment about adoption being a wonderful thing. Monica thought she meant Heather and had corrected her. But the technician had meant Monica and had told her that her blood type didn’t match either of her parents; therefore, she had to be adopted.
The discovery had left Monica reeling.
She took a deep breath and continued, “Mom, I know you acted out of love for me…and maybe out of fear, too. I’ve come to realize the nature of my birth, why I was given up for adoption and who my birth parents were, isn’t as important to me as it is to some. You and Dad are my parents, and I love you.” She looked out the windows at the mountains. “But what I did to Daniel wasn’t the same thing. I should have told him about Heather from the start. Even if he didn’t want to marry me, it was what I should have done. I had no right to keep this a secret from him.”
“Monica… You don’t still care for Daniel, do you?” The question was asked in a tense whisper.
She didn’t know what to say. Seeing Daniel again after all these years had confused her. The best she could do was shrug, nod, then shake her head slowly, a gesture as confused as her emotions.
“I never should have interfered,” Ellen said, more to herself than to her daughter. Her complexion seemed somewhat grayish.
Monica reached for her purse, suddenly more concerned for her mother than for herself. “Come on.” She stood. “Let’s go have our lunch. This will all sort itself out, Mom. You’ll see. It’ll be okay.”
Daniel pulled the rental car over to the curb in front of the small, white house on Eighth Street. Remnants of anger made his chest tight, but who he was the most angry with he couldn’t decide.
He got out of the car and walked around to the sidewalk. There, he paused and stared at the house. Huge, ancient maples and oaks, their trunks gnarled and misshapen, stretched their leafy branches over the house and yard. The sidewalk was rippled and cracked by tree roots butting up against its underside. Grass grew sparsely, like a balding man’s hair, because the trees obscured the sunlight.
This had been Monica’s dream house. She’d found it quite by accident, the year they were sophomores at Boise State. Countless times after that, they had walked past it, strolling hand in hand in the cool of an evening. Monica had always stopped and looked at it and then talked about how fun it would be to live in an “adorable” little house like that, children playing in the fenced backyard.
The idea had scared him to death.
He’d wanted so much more than domesticity. He’d wanted more than what Boise could offer him.
And he’d found it, too. He’d lived an exciting life since graduating and moving away. He had a spacious corner apartment in an exclusive high-rise building on the north-side of Chicago with views of both Lake Michigan and the city. He had a job where he was respected. He made more money than he’d ever expected to be making at the age of thirty-three. One might even say he was famous. Why, even young receptionists in Boise, Idaho, knew who Daniel Rourke was. At least by name.
He stared at the little white house with its peeling paint on the eaves, its uneven, patchy lawn and its cracked sidewalks, and he wondered why fame and fortune didn’t seem to be enough anymore, why he felt strangely empty.
Monica had done well, too. Yet he had a sneaky feeling her happiness didn’t have much to do with her nice office on the ninth floor of a ritzy office complex or her attractive home in an upscale neighborhood. He suspected she would have been just as happy living in this small house in the north end.
For some reason, it irritated him, knowing she was content while he was still searching.
Daniel yanked his mobile phone out of its holster and flipped it open. He jabbed the fluorescent green numbers, then pressed Send and listened to the ensuing ring.
“Good afternoon. Solutions.”
He recognized the voice of the receptionist. “This is Daniel Rourke. I need to speak to Monica.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rourke. Ms. Fletcher hasn’t returned from lunch. May I give her a—”
“Tell her to call me.” He recited his number.
The receptionist repeated it, then said, “I’ll give her the message.”
“Thanks.” He flipped the phone closed.
Monica had a raging headache by the time she returned to the office. It didn’t improve when she saw the name and phone number on the message slip.
Monica… You don’t still care for Daniel, do you?
“Of course not,” she muttered as she lifted the receiver and dialed. “But he is Heather’s father.”
He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Daniel, it’s Monica. You left a message to call?”
“Yeah, I was hoping I could take Heather on a picnic this weekend. Maybe go up to the hot springs in Idaho City.”
Her pulse quickened, along with her anxiety level. “Just the two of you?”
Silence. Then, “No, I don’t suppose that would be a good idea. She’d wonder why. I’m still somewhat of a stranger to her. It probably isn’t time to tell her the truth yet.”
Her headache worsened. She massaged her right temple with her index and middle fingers. “Not yet,” she said in a strained voice.
She was afraid, and it had a lot to do with her mother. At lunch, Ellen had asked if Monica wasn’t worried he might try to get custody. The thought hadn’t occurred to her before. But now…
“Okay, how about I pick you both up on Saturday at ten in the morning? Does that work for you?”
She tightened her grip on the receiver. She had set her course, now she had to see it through. “Yes. We’ll be ready.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. The silence seemed deafening. She wondered what he was thinking, what he wanted to say to her. Years ago, she would have known what to expect. But Daniel wasn’t the same man any more than she was the same woman. Years of experiences, disappointments, successes and day-to-day life had changed them both. Now she didn’t have any idea what was running through his head.
She wished she did.
“I’ll bring the food and drinks,” he finally said, still giving her no clue to his thoughts, “if you’ll bring the plates and utensils.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t forget your swimming suits.”
“We won’t.”
“See you Saturday.”
She waited until the other end of the line went dead, then placed the receiver in its cradle.
For a moment, she simply stared at the phone, watching as the lights for the various lines flickered on and off as others in the office conducted their business. Then she turned and walked to the large window facing the mountains. She stared upward, toward Schaefer Butte, the wheels in her head churning.
What had she to fear? Daniel was only here for a few months. That’s what he had told her on Saturday. Just until September. He wasn’t going to make a drastic change in his life—and having a daughter living with him would be a drastic change. If he didn’t know that now, she would make certain he knew it before he left Boise.
No, Daniel would go back to his life in Chicago at the end of summer, and Monica’s life would return to normal.
Well, almost normal.
Daniel did seem interested in Heather. He would probably write to her or call her on the telephone. Maybe he would come to Boise to see Heather on occasion. He might even want her to visit him in Chicago for a week or two every summer. That’s the way divorced parents handled such things. She and Daniel could make it work for Heather, too.
She thought of her mother again, of the strained expression on her face, of the way she’d said, “I never should have interfered.”
Monica hadn’t given those words much thought at the time, but suddenly she realized it had been an odd thing to say. She couldn’t recall a time when Ellen Fletcher
had interfered with Monica’s relationship with Daniel. Even after he’d moved out and the engagement had been broken, Ellen never said a negative word about him. She’d kept her thoughts private when Monica announced she was pregnant. In fact, her mother had been a rock, completely supportive.
In what way, she wondered, did her mother think she’d interfered?
Chapter Four
Monica was awake before six on Saturday morning, her nerves screeching. She told herself she was being ridiculous, she had no cause to be nervous, but it didn’t help. She’d done nothing but think about Daniel all week long. Her thoughts had thrust her backward in time, and she’d relived many moments—too many moments—when they had been together. She’d remembered both the good and the not so good times.
As for Heather, she was delighted to be going to the hot springs. It sure beat what was too often their Saturday morning routine of housecleaning and other chores. And she seemed equally delighted to see Daniel again.
That was a good thing, Monica reminded herself as she placed plastic plates and other picnic ware into a wicker basket on the kitchen counter. If Daniel was going to be a permanent part of Heather’s life, it was important her daughter—their daughter—be fond of him.
She cast an anxious glance at the clock on the wall. Nine forty-five. He would be here soon.
She stepped from the kitchen into the hallway. “Heather,” she called up the stairs. “Are you ready?”
“I’m looking for my nose plugs. Have you seen them?”
“Not since last summer.”
Heather appeared at the top of the stairs. “Well, I can’t go swimming without them,” she said, a panicked look in her eyes, her voice rising. “Getting water up my nose makes me sick. You know that!”
“Did you check the bottom drawer in your bathroom?”
“No.” Her face brightened instantly. Then she disappeared into her bathroom. A moment later, she hollered, “They’re here. I found ’em.”
Another crisis averted in the life of a ten-year-old. Monica couldn’t help but smile.
The doorbell rang, and her smile vanished.
Help me get through this day, she prayed silently, then walked to the door and opened it.
If Daniel had been a male model, he could have sold a gazillion pairs of faded jeans, the way he looked in them. He wore a dark teal T-shirt that nicely revealed the form of his chest muscles and biceps. His short black hair was stylishly spiky. His smile was straight out of Hollywood—white teeth in a handsome, tanned face.
“Hi,” he said. “You two ready?”
Monica couldn’t remember the last time she’d been left breathless at the sight of a man.
His brows drew together in a slight frown. “I’m not too early, am I?”
Get a grip! she silently commanded herself as she opened the door wider, offering a quick smile. “Of course not. Come in. I’ll get our things.” She turned her back to him. “Heather? Mr. Rourke is here. Let’s go.”
Monica hurried to the kitchen, still mentally scolding herself. What was the matter? This wasn’t at all like her.
Her mind never used to wander down dangerous pathways. She was a very controlled and focused individual. She didn’t care how handsome Daniel looked in his jeans and T-shirt. It had nothing to do with her.
And, she added as she leaned against the kitchen counter and closed her eyes, she hadn’t wanted to risk her heart again after Daniel.
“Need help?”
She jumped and gasped at the sound of his voice, spinning around to face him.
“Sorry.” He didn’t look the least bit sorry. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me.” She sounded waspish. She felt waspish.
He stepped into the kitchen. His voice lowered. “Have I done something to upset you, Monica?” His gray eyes looked deep into hers.
Her mouth was dry. Her throat ached. She shook her head but knew the response was a lie. He had done something to upset her. He’d made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, and she resented him for doing so.
Still meeting her gaze, he reached out with his right hand for the picnic basket. Then with his left hand, he took hold of her right arm at the elbow. “Come on. Let’s have a good day, the three of us.” His voice lowered another notch. “We can make this work, Monica, if we just try.”
She nodded, her heart thumping, her skin warm beneath his fingers.
“I’m ready, Mama!” Heather called from the front door.
Her daughter’s voice served to rein in Monica’s careening emotions. She forced a smile. “Yes, let’s go.” She gently pulled free of Daniel’s grasp and led the way out of the house.
The highway climbed its way through the foothills and into the mountains. With the convertible’s top down, Daniel drove at a comfortable speed for the winding road, enjoying the scenery.
Fifteen minutes into the drive, Heather spotted a fox dashing up a hillside. Not long after, they passed a doe and her fawn grazing on a plateau on the far side of a deep ravine. The air was sweetened by the scent of pine trees. The stream running parallel to the road churned and gurgled and bumped over smooth stones, the water high with spring runoff.
Daniel was surprised by the strong sense of rightness that tightened his chest. He hadn’t known he’d missed all this. Extending his sabbatical had been a good thing. He could relax, find out what he needed to do next with his life, do some prioritizing.
Get to know his daughter.
“Look!” Heather exclaimed from the back seat.
After a quick glance over his shoulder, he followed the direction of her outstretched arm and spied the eagle soaring overhead. “That’s something you don’t see in Chicago,” he commented, more to himself than to anyone else.
“I suppose not,” Monica replied.
It was the first time she’d spoken since they left her home. He’d blamed part of that on the open car, the wind in their ears and all. Of course, it hadn’t stopped Heather from talking. She’d filled him in on her best friend’s new mare and how Heather hoped to have a horse of her own one day and the book she’d just read and some of the plans she had for this summer, including two weeks at Girl Scout camp in August.
Daniel hadn’t known kids talked this much. But then, what did he know about kids? He’d rarely been around them.
He glanced sideways at Monica. She used to talk about wanting three kids. From what he’d seen, she was a good mom. A pity she’d never married and had a brother or a sister for Heather.
The image of Monica married to another man didn’t set well with him, but he chose not to analyze why.
It wasn’t too late for her to have more kids. She was only thirty-three. Plenty of women—even career women—were having babies in their thirties. But maybe Monica didn’t want more children now. Maybe she’d found out one was enough.
He cast another glance in her direction. The wind whipped her blond ponytail against the back of her head and neck in a merry mix-up fashion. She didn’t look like a mom and career woman. Right now she looked like a teenager with her whole life ahead of her.
He wondered what she’d want to do with her life if she could start over. Then he wondered if she would want him if she had it to do over.
Almost as if she’d heard his thoughts, she turned her head and met his gaze. Her hair slapped her cheek, and she held it back with her right hand.
She was beautiful. More so than he’d thought possible.
He looked back at the road, his hands tightening on the wheel. He felt as if the car was spinning out of control. Only it wasn’t the car. It was his thoughts that were out of control. Totally out of control.
The day was cool enough to make swimming in the hot springs enjoyable. The warm water didn’t slow Heather down one bit, but it made Monica lethargic. It soothed the rough edges of her emotions.
Lying crosswise on an air mattress, her chin resting on the back of her hands, she lazily moved her feet while watching Daniel b
oost Heather with his cupped hands, sending her flying out of the water into the air. Heather squealed before splashing down into the water again. Daniel grinned the entire time.
Watching the two of them, a stranger might think father and daughter had done this sort of thing many times. A stranger might think the two of them had played together and laughed together often.
There were times, in those first years of Heather’s life, that Monica had allowed herself to dream of moments like this one. She had dreamed of Daniel’s return, of his declaration of his undying love for her. She had imagined them a whole family, loving and laughing and playing together.
Now Daniel was back, yes, but not because he loved Monica, not because he wanted to make her fantasies come true. He was only visiting, not staying.
This isn’t about me anyway, she reminded herself. This was about Heather, about Heather and Daniel, daughter and father. Monica would do well to remember that.
She looked at them again, saw Daniel dunk down in the water, preparing to lift Heather for the countless time. He had great patience, she realized. It was something he’d acquired while he was away from Boise. The Daniel she knew before had been a very impatient sort. She wondered what else about him had changed.
Heather resurfaced after being airborne. This time, instead of swimming back to Daniel, she headed toward Monica. “Hey, Mama, you wanna try it? I bet Mr. Rourke’s strong enough to toss you, too.”
She thought of his biceps, flexed as he propelled Heather upward. Yes, he probably could toss her quite easily. She felt as if he already had.
Suddenly Daniel was there beside her, grinning and golden bronzed and glistening with water droplets. “I’m hungry. Shall we eat?”
She nodded, glad he wasn’t offering to do as Heather suggested.
Half an hour later—all of them changed into dry clothes but with their hair still damp—they spread a blanket in the shade of a tree and set out their picnic things. Daniel had filled a cooler with foods from a deli. There was fried chicken, sliced sandwich meats, two kinds of bread and four salads. He’d chosen several different sodas, not knowing what anyone else liked, and had also brought bottled water, just in case. Monica didn’t even want to think about the yummy-looking desserts she’d spied in the cooler.
Another Chance to Love You Page 4