“Jillian?” Chase asked, coming up behind her.
As she blinked hard and fast, he laid a hand on her shoulder and his voice went low. “I know what this is doing to you.”
Pulling herself together, she realized, yes, he probably did know, because he was going through it, too. She couldn’t face the compassion in his voice…not if she wanted to stay strong for her daughter. For Abby.
“I’ll be okay,” she finally murmured. “Just give me a minute.”
She felt him back away. She heard him cross to her daughter and ask her if Bow-Wow was her best friend.
Abby answered immediately. “Uh-uh. Mommy’s my bestest fwiend.”
After Chase stepped away, Jillian didn’t feel quite as shaky. She grabbed the orange juice, a container of chicken salad and a cucumber. In a matter of minutes she had put together Abby’s lunch and had forgotten about theirs.
As Abby ate her little sandwich with the crust trimmed away, Jillian asked Chase, “What can I get for you? We have ham, cheese…”
“I’m not hungry,” he said, mirroring her feelings exactly. “You go ahead and get something for yourself.”
Now Jillian’s eyes met his. “I can’t eat.”
“Then let me tell you why I’m here and what I’d like to do.”
If she sat down and listened, this whole thing would become more real. However, she saw the determination in Chase Remmington’s eyes and knew she had no choice. While Abby poked a slice of cucumber into her mouth, Chase waited for Jillian to be seated. Then he sat at the table across from her.
Jillian watched her daughter eat for a moment, then said, “I don’t know if we should talk in front of her.”
“I’ll tell you my part of this, then maybe you can distract her with a coloring book and crayons while we discuss the rest.”
He obviously knew three-year-olds, which meant he was a hands-on dad.
“Abby likes to color,” Jillian admitted. “Does your daughter?”
“As much as she likes to paste stickers.”
Jillian hadn’t bought Abby any stickers yet, but often her daughter played with sticky notes.
When Chase shifted in his chair, he glanced at Abby, then back at Jillian. “My wife and I were living in the D.C. area when she got pregnant. I’m a biochemist and Fran was one of my techs when I met her. We’d been married a year, and as we were both thirty-five, we didn’t want to wait to have kids.”
Subconsciously, Jillian had catalogued Chase in his late thirties. She’d been right. “You said you live in Pennsylvania now?”
“Yes. On a vineyard near Lancaster. I became a biochemist because of the winery where I grew up. But after college I only returned for short visits. Until nine months ago. My father died of a sudden heart attack, and I took over managing the vineyard.”
“So you and your daughter live on this Willow Creek Estates?”
“Yes. With my mother. She’s been a big help with Marianne since—” He stopped for a moment. “That’s why I’m here.” Arms crossed on the table, he leaned forward now.
His focus was intense. She could see he was that kind of man. Nothing stood in his way. He seemed to know where he was going, and how to get there. So unlike Eric. In that way, at least. But Eric had taught her a man couldn’t be trusted. A man could take advantage of any situation for his own benefit. When Eric had died, she’d made a vow to put Abby first…always to live her life whatever way would benefit her daughter the most. Her daughter.
Jillian swallowed hard again.
Looking over at Abby, Jillian could see she’d finished her sandwich and cucumbers and was moving on to the animal crackers on her plate. The only time she was quiet these days was when she was eating. Was Chase Remmington’s daughter as bubbly, vivacious and energetic as hers?
How could Abby possibly be his daughter?
Chase Remmington’s deep voice brought her attention back to him. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “When I look at Marianne, I can’t imagine she belongs to someone else.”
Jillian’s gaze collided with his. The force of the impact shook her, and she knew with certainty that whatever happened, from this moment on, her life would never be the same.
“Tell me the rest,” she requested.
Leaning away slightly he went on, “Fran had a difficult pregnancy, but she took it in stride. We both wanted a baby. Her morning sickness lasted the whole nine months. But she was a trouper. When she went into labor, we thought we had the world and our whole lives in front of us.”
So different from her own labor, Jillian thought. She’d been trying to absorb Eric’s betrayal, trying to absorb her decision to forgive him, to go on with their marriage. And it had all been so uncertain.
“Did your wife have a long labor?” Jillian asked gently.
“Terribly long. Twelve hours. She was exhausted by the time they moved her to the delivery suite. You were already there.”
Jillian had been fully dilated when they’d moved her into the delivery suite. Even so, she’d noticed the women in the hall who weren’t as far along with their labor and realized O.B. was overcrowded that night. Then she’d become involved in pushing Abby into the world. That had become her entire focus. After they’d brought Fran Remmington into the room, the nurse had pulled the curtain. Jillian now remembered a quick glance at Chase, remembered the look of absolute adoration on his face for his wife, and she’d wondered how a woman could find that. At that moment she’d never felt more alone. On the night Abby was born, Eric had been out of town again. Even in the throes of labor pain, she’d wondered who he was with and what he was doing—and if she could ever trust him again.
“We delivered minutes apart,” she remembered.
“The doctor was coaching the nurse tending to you. Both of the babies were on the cart afterward.”
“Then the lights went out,” Jillian murmured.
“Yes, the lights went out. I heard the cart get bumped. It was on wheels.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My private investigator found the nurse. She admitted that ever since that night she’d been afraid she’d put the wrong bracelets on the babies.”
“Why didn’t she come forward? Why didn’t she say something?”
“She’s a single mother. She was then, too. She didn’t want to take the chance of losing her job.”
“So how did you find out about this? What made you suspect the babies were switched?”
At that moment, Abby kicked her feet and announced, “All done, Mommy. Can I watch Elmo?”
Usually Jillian only let Abby watch TV or a DVD twice a day. She knew some mothers used both of these things as baby-sitters, but she liked interacting with her daughter whenever she could. She loved playing with and holding her and watching her learn, watching her giggle and seeing her eyes light up with surprise at each adventure. While Abby was occupied playing or napping, Jillian made phone calls and worked on lists and preparations for her events. But most days she could spend a good chunk of her time with Abby.
However, right now an Elmo DVD sounded like a good idea.
Out of her seat in an instant, Jillian took a paper towel from the holder, dampened it and wiped Abby’s hands and face. “Okay, Bitsy-bug. Elmo it is.”
Abby squirmed and babbled as Jillian lifted her from the booster seat. Sometimes she talked so fast it was hard for Jillian to switch into Abby-speak.
After Chase Remmington stood, he pushed his chair in. He seemed to take up all the space in her small kitchen. She could smell a trace scent of woodsy cologne underlaid by pure male, and her stomach somersaulted.
She set Abby on the floor, frustrated by her own reaction to the man. She hadn’t dated since Eric died. Dating didn’t even make the list of the things she wanted to do in the next five years. So why was she so aware of the potent virility of Chase Remmington?
Five minutes later, Abby was settled on the sofa with three dolls. Bow-Wow sat on her lap, happily engrossed in the Elmo DVD, also. Jillian knew it wou
ld keep her daughter’s attention for fifteen or twenty minutes.
Crossing to the other side of the room, she took a seat in a chair by the window. A small, cherrywood table separated her from another Queen Anne chair. Chase Remmington sank into it, looking totally out of place. He was too masculine for the chair…too big…too everything.
Concentrating on the reason he was here in her living room, she asked, “So, how did you find out about…the mistake?” If there had been a mistake.
“When Fran was rushed to the operating room, Marianne was taken to the nursery. The doctors couldn’t save Fran.” He paused as if the memories were still vivid for him.
Clearing his throat, he went on. “Afterward, when I was still trying to absorb what had happened, Marianne’s pediatrician came to me and told me he had diagnosed my little girl with ASD—atrial septal defect—a hole in the septum or wall that divides the left and right atrium. He told me most holes close within a year on their own, though if it was still present at two to three years of age, or if she had symptoms, then she’d have to have surgery. Fran’s death hit me hard. Thank goodness I had Marianne to concentrate on. I focused on work and her.”
After he checked to see if Abby was still engrossed watching the TV, he continued, “A year ago, my dad died. A few months later Marianne and I moved to Willow Creek so I could help my mother. I found a pediatric cardiologist right away. Marianne was doing fine until three weeks ago when a heart murmur developed into a more serious condition. The cardiologist said the right side of her heart is enlarged and surgery is indicated within the next few weeks. I gave blood in case she would need it, and that’s when we discovered what happened. There’s a discrepancy in our blood types. No one ever noticed it before. She can’t be my daughter. After I found that out, I remembered the chaos that night in the delivery room in D.C. The blackout. You delivering at the same time as Fran. I hired a private investigator to track you down.”
Jillian’s mind raced with all of the information—Marianne’s condition, the repercussions that went with it. But then she realized there was another possibility for this whole scenario, one that wouldn’t change anything about her life and Abby’s.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Chase said bluntly, reading her mind. “The private investigator suggested immediately that Fran might have had an affair. But she wasn’t that type of woman. Nothing in her life or her activities even suggested the possibility. We worked together and spent our free time together. We were hardly ever apart. On the other hand, the nurse admitted she might have made a mistake. That’s how we knew which direction to go. There’s only one way we’ll know for certain—DNA testing.”
“Before Marianne’s surgery?” Jillian asked.
“No. She might not be able to wait. I went to a judge and requested a temporary guardianship order so I could make decisions about her health in case I couldn’t find you.”
Fear rushed through Jillian along with uncertainty and confusion. Chase Remmington had legal custody of Marianne. If he was truly Abby’s father, he would have claim to both girls.
“Mr. Remmington,” she began, needing to put some distance between them.
“It’s Chase.”
Ignoring that she went on, “You’ve barged into my life expecting me to believe all of this.”
He pulled a sheaf of papers from his inside jacket pocket. “I’ve barged into your life, but I do have documentation for everything I’ve told you. I have the cardiologist’s report of Marianne’s condition. I have a transcript of the P.I.’s conversation with the nurse. I also have my driver’s license, social security card and professional affiliation ID if you need to see those, too.”
Jillian’s cheeks felt hot and she realized he was one step ahead of her all the way. She had to catch up. He had legal claim to Marianne now and if Abby was his daughter…
He held out the papers to her and she took them.
Then he stood, towering over her, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. She was no shrinking violet. She was five foot eight and had never considered herself fragile. But sitting before Chase Remmington she felt much too…feminine…much too overpowered.
She was trying to absorb the words on the first sheet of paper when he held out his driver’s license and social security card. Her fingertips brushed his palm when she took them. The electric charge was so cogent her startled gaze lifted to his. His expression was blank, his eyes unreadable. There was no indication he’d felt anything.
That’s the way it should be. That’s the way it had to be.
Chase didn’t seat himself again, just stood there as she read everything.
After she finished the doctor’s report, he asked, “Do you have any questions?”
“Is Marianne in danger while she waits for surgery?”
The shuttered expression in Chase’s eyes became filled with pain. “The doctor doesn’t believe so. That’s why the surgery is scheduled for next week instead of tomorrow. But that could change at any moment, and we all know that. My mother’s watching over her closely. If there’s any indication her condition’s worse, she’ll call an ambulance and have her rushed to the hospital. I wanted to find you, if I could, before her operation.”
“Because there’s a chance,” Jillian’s voice caught, “she might not make it?”
“There’s risk attached to any surgery,” Chase stated matter-of-factly.
“Thank you for finding me. If she’s my daughter…”
“What’s your blood type?” he asked.
“AB. Eric’s was B.”
“And what’s Abby’s?”
“A.”
“Marianne’s blood type is AB,” Chase said. “Mine is O. Fran was A. So Abby could belong to you and Eric or to me and Fran. But Marianne only matches you.”
Jillian murmured, “Unless your wife had an affair with a man who had a B blood type.” She lowered the cardiologist’s report to her lap. “What do you want me to do? Set up an appointment with Abby’s doctor for DNA testing?”
“No. I want you and Abby to return to Pennsylvania with me, today if possible. Just say the word and I’ll book our flights.”
Jillian had a business to run and obligations that went with it. But she had a partner, too, and Kara could handle everything if she had to. She might have to hire extra help…
If Marianne was her daughter, nothing would keep Jillian from her. She had to fly to Pennsylvania. She had no choice.
“I’m an event planner. I’ll have to call my partner and figure out how she’ll handle the details of this weekend’s parties. But one way or another, Mr. Remmington, we’ll work it out.” Collecting the papers in her lap, Jillian stood, his driver’s license and social security card still in her right hand.
“The name is Chase,” he said again. “You’re making the right decision.”
His voice was low and sure and trembled through her, as intensely as her fear of what would happen next.
She looked down at his driver’s license and then up into his eyes. She had to keep her equilibrium. She’d get through this just as she’d gotten through everything else. “All right…Chase.”
Handing him his papers and ID cards, she went to the phone to call Kara, hoping her best friend would give her words of wisdom to hold on to.
Chapter Two
As Chase lowered himself into the aisle seat of the jetliner, Jillian sat in the seat next to him, then belted in Abby at the window. The three-year-old had a thousand questions. Her eyes were bright, and her mouth rounded as she looked out the window, intent on all the activity below.
Chase thought about earlier in the afternoon when Jillian had called her partner, made a few other calls, then quickly packed for her and Abby, telling her daughter they were flying to Chase’s home to visit his family. She was a single mom with lots of responsibility. She seemed to be a good mother, though he didn’t quite understand the ins and outs of her life yet, or how she managed the business and a child without letting either suffer
. If he needed it, he did have the name and address of a woman who supposedly cared for Abby when Jillian worked. The P.I. had gotten him a lot of information in a short amount of time.
He and Jillian didn’t speak as the other passengers loaded. After the flight attendant went through the emergency procedures, Jillian held Abby’s hand and bent her head close to her daughter’s while the plane took off.
“Have you flown much?” Chase asked her.
She shook her head. “No. Not much. I took a couple of business trips with my husband before Abby was born. But we drove to Florida when we moved from D.C.”
“The three of you?”
Her face became shadowed, and she shook her head. “No. We moved after Eric died.”
Maybe he felt a bond with Jillian because they’d both lost a spouse. “Loss is something you never get over.” He still felt as if Fran held a piece of his heart.
“Loss, in any form, is hard to handle,” Jillian said quietly.
He would have asked her what she meant, but she leaned toward Abby then, lowering the serving tray so the little girl could color.
They’d been flying only a short time it seemed when the flight attendant served beverages and a small snack. Abby chewed the little pretzels. Pictures of Marianne filled Chase’s head, and he hoped she didn’t miss him too much. He hoped his mother was occupying Marianne with quiet activities. Worry had gnawed at Chase ever since the doctor had told him about Marianne’s defect. Maybe finally after she had corrective surgery, that worry would go away.
Offering his bag of open pretzels to Jillian, he asked, “Sure you don’t want any?”
Jillian had refused a drink and snack of her own, and although she’d made an omelette for Abby and him earlier, Jillian hadn’t eaten then, either. He was tied up in knots, too. Yet he knew for Marianne’s sake he had to take care of himself. He wished Jillian would do the same but knew he couldn’t force her.
After a brief smile she shook her head and her wavy hair fell enticingly over her shoulders. She was wearing a green cotton blouse and slacks. She’d tucked flannel jackets for her and Abby into the overhead compartment, and he realized now they wouldn’t be warm enough in Pennsylvania. But clothing was the least of their problems.
Their Child? Page 20