Lana’s pulse jumped. She studied his eyes, saw the affection in their depths and marveled. “No,” she answered. “I don’t think we do.”
At moments like this, Lana wanted to pinch herself. Davis Turner, the nicest guy on the planet, wanted to be with her. Plenty of men had been attracted to her, but not like this. When Davis touched or kissed her, she felt clean, unused. She felt new again.
He draped a length of tinsel around her neck and slowly drew her to him. When she laughed, he rubbed her nose with his and laughed, too.
From her peripheral vision, she saw the children approach and tried to pull away. But Davis held her fast.
“Too late,” he said. “You can’t escape the inevitable.”
She glanced around, not understanding. The three matchmakers grinned from ear to ear as Paige stretched tall to hold a branch of plastic mistletoe over their heads.
“You’re right,” she answered, moving back into his space. “Far too late.”
* * *
Davis was standing at his kitchen sink scrubbing paint from beneath his fingernails when his front door burst open. Expecting Jenny with his kids, he didn’t bother to turn around until Paige rushed to his side and burst into great heaving sobs.
“Oh, Daddy!”
Davis jerked his hands from beneath the flow of warm water, splashing the cabinets and floor. “Hey! What’s going on here?”
Paige was not one to wail and cry, but before she could pull herself together, an agitated Jenny plowed through the doorway with Nathan and Kent in tow, their eyes wide and worried. Charlie was nowhere to be seen.
The noise in the room was worse than a jackhammer on concrete. Paige crying. Jenny talking. Davis asking what was going on. Nathan grabbed onto his daddy’s leg and clung like a spider monkey.
Fear snaked up Davis’s spine.
“What’s wrong? Where’s Charlie? Has something happened?”
The noise grew louder as everyone started talking at once. Finally, he stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled like a referee. The noise ceased.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on before I call 9-1-1?”
“That woman is a kidnapper.”
This statement from Jenny started the sobs in Paige again.
“I didn’t mean to tell, Daddy. Sydney made me promise. It was an accident.”
“Who’s a kidnapper? You didn’t mean to tell what?” The hysteria was starting to scare him.
Jenny put a hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Honey, you did the right thing. Now, go wash your face and calm down while I speak to your daddy. None of this is your fault.”
Paige looked from Jenny to Davis. When Davis nodded reassuringly, she trudged out of the kitchen, shoulders drooping.
“You boys go in the living room and watch TV while Aunt Jenny and I talk,” Davis said. Hands still dripping on the floor, he grabbed a dish towel. Whatever was going on, he didn’t need crying, clinging children involved.
Once the boys were dispatched, he wiped his hands and said, “All right. What’s going on? Is Charlie all right?”
“He’s in the car. No worse than usual. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“Not physically.” When he hitched a hip in a get-on-with-it stance, his sister said, “Paige told me something about Sydney and Lana today that I think you should know before you get any more involved with them.”
He straightened, suddenly wary. Any more involved and they’d be standing before a preacher.
A bad feeling snaked up the back of his neck. “I won’t listen to gossip about her, Jenny. She’s changed.”
“I’m not repeating gossip. Paige let something slip today that Sydney wasn’t supposed to tell. It’s crucial you know or I wouldn’t be here.” She looked toward the ceiling and back as if searching for the right words. “I’m your sister. I want what’s best for you. I know things about Lana Ross that I won’t bring up because as you said, they happened in high school. But this is happening now, and it’s too important to brush aside just because you have the hots for her.”
He clenched his fists, mouth going from dry to tight. “I think I resent your implication.”
“If I’m speaking out of turn, I’m sorry. Nathan told me about all the kissing and snuggling that’s been going on lately.”
“Which does not translate to anything inappropriate, if that’s what you’re implying. You’ve nagged me for a year about dating. I like Lana. A lot.” He sucked in a breath. “I might even be in love with her.”
That silenced her for all of five seconds.
“Oh, Davis. It breaks my heart to see you hurt again. Lana has misled you. She’s lied to you. She’s used you to get her house remodeled.”
“Gee, thanks, sis.” He laid on the sarcasm. “A man likes to know what his sister thinks about his ability to attract women.”
“I didn’t mean that. You could have had a nice woman in Tara, but you’re like a moth to the flame.”
“I’m not a moth. I’m a man. Now, either spit it out or go home. Paige needs me.”
Jenny brushed a tired hand over her forehead. “Lana Ross may be a criminal.”
His brow lowered in disbelief. Lana, a criminal? Not a chance. “What did she do, forget to return a library book? Double-park on Easy Street?”
As if she truly did not want to tell him, Jenny swallowed and looked away, shaking her head in regret. “Oh, Davis. Oh, my brother. Sydney is not Lana’s child. She brought her here under false pretenses.”
The revelation was like being hit in the face with a bucket of ice water. He went cold all over.
“What are you talking about? Of course, Sydney’s her child. Why would Lana lie about a thing like that?” Particularly since he’d asked about Sydney’s father and she’d told him an uncomfortable truth.
“I don’t know, Davis. Perhaps you should ask Lana outright. Or better yet, call the authorities in Nashville.”
His head buzzed with the information. It couldn’t be true. Could it? “Paige told you this?”
“Don’t blame the child. She didn’t mean to let the cat out of the bag. She was devastated, as you could see, to have betrayed a confidence.” Jenny reached in the pocket of her slacks and withdrew a tissue. “Apparently, child welfare was threatening to put Sydney into foster care because of her mother’s lifestyle so Lana ran away with her. Drugs, I gather.”
“Lana? Drugs?” He dropped his chin and wagged his head back and forth. “Not even close to being true.” He was sure, wasn’t he?
“No, Lana wasn’t the one doing drugs. It was Sydney’s real mother.”
“Sydney’s real mother?” He grabbed the back of his head with one hand, his nerves fraying. “Who is Sydney’s real mother? And what does Lana have to do with any of it?”
“She brought Sydney here to escape the authorities. That’s all I know. Paige was fuzzy on the particulars. I suggest you speak to Lana, although if she lied once, she’ll lie again.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Davis. You and the kids have been through so much. I didn’t want you to be hurt by that woman. Please don’t be angry at me for telling you. You have a right to know.”
Yes, he did. He had a right to honesty.
Jenny was his sister, a good woman with a lot on her plate. He trusted her. She wouldn’t tell him something unless she believed it was true. She might not like Lana but she cared about him and his kids.
He tossed the dishtowel on the counter. His whole body trembled. His heart raced like a juiced thoroughbred’s. He didn’t know what was going on up the street, but he intended to find out. Now.
* * *
Lana strummed her guitar, softly singing the newly composed tune. Funny how the house she’d hated had become a house of hope. When her work was done for the day, she loved sitting on the wide hearth with the fire at her back as she wrote articles or music or prayed, full of gratitude for the changes in her life.
With joy blooming inside, the music flo
oded out, filling an unexplainable void. Haley was right. Creativity flowed when an artist was happy. Because of Davis and his two adorable children, Lana was happy for the first time in years. She felt accepted, cared for, appreciated for who she was now instead of being despised for who she used to be.
Above the melody, she heard footsteps on the wooden porch and stopped playing.
The door burst open and there was her heart’s desire.
“Davis,” she said, elated, leaning her guitar against the hearth as she stood to greet him.
He stalked toward her, his normal smile hidden behind a serious face. “We need to talk.”
“Something is wrong.” Her good mood disappeared faster than dandelion dust. “What’s happened?”
He paced to the hearth, back turned.
“Davis? Tell me. What’s wrong? What is it?” She could hear the rising panic in her voice. A few days ago, before she’d let down her guard, she couldn’t imagine being this vulnerable. But now, Davis Turner had the power to shatter her into pieces.
“Is it true?” His voice was low, urgent, wounded. “Sydney is not your child?”
The world fell out from under her. She stared at his broad, anvil-shaped back, his sandy hair, the twisted collar of his plaid work shirt and knew in that moment that the dream had ended before it really ever started. She should have told him. She should never have waited.
“Is it?” He spoke softly, still not facing her. The notion hurt like a cinder in the eye. Davis couldn’t stand to look at her now.
“I planned to tell you. I wanted to. A thousand times I tried.”
He whirled then, the suppressed anger rising to the surface. More devastating than the anger, she saw the hurt. “When? When were you going to tell me that you stole someone else’s child and brought her to Whisper Falls where you convinced everyone she was your daughter?”
“I didn’t steal her. Sydney is my niece.”
That stopped him for several painful heartbeats. “Tess’s?”
“Yes.” Her insides quivered. Davis knew she’d lied to him, to everyone, and he was furious. “How did you find out?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, no, I suppose it doesn’t.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Yes, it does. No one can know. Please, don’t say a word to anyone. I don’t want Sydney hurt. She’s safe here.”
“Haven’t you already hurt her by taking her away from her mother, from her home?”
She almost laughed, though nothing was funny. They’d had no home.
“I’m protecting her. You have no right to judge my actions when you know nothing about the situation.”
“I know you lied to me. You had every chance to tell me about Sydney, but you didn’t.” He barked a bitter laugh. “You even made up some story about not knowing who the father is. You let me think the worst.”
“I told the truth.”
“Yeah? Then why not tell me the whole truth? That’s what I don’t get.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“Soon. When I was sure—”
“Of what? That your house repairs were finished? That I wouldn’t turn you in to the police?”
The remark about the house jabbed but she was accustomed to dealing with personal attacks. It was Sydney she worried about.
She held out her hands, pleading. Her fingers shook. “Please, Davis, promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. Sydney belongs with me. They’ll put her in foster care. I’m her mother in every way but one.”
“What about Tess? Doesn’t she deserve a say in her daughter’s life?”
“She can’t take care of Sydney. Never could. Sydney has been with me for years.” Even through the ugly times, Sydney had been better off with Lana than Tess. But not a lot.
“Does Tess even know where her daughter is?”
Lana shook her head, knowing how this looked. Her chest tightened, mouth drier than sand. “Telling Tess was too risky.”
His mouth twisted sadly. “I can only imagine.”
“Tess wasn’t a good mother. She had—” She swallowed, ashamed of outing her sister. “Tess has a drug problem.”
He didn’t seem surprised. “Why not tell the authorities the situation? Why leave Nashville? Why not tell the truth? They’d much rather give custody to a family member than to put in a child in foster care with strangers.”
“It wasn’t that simple. They would never have let me have custody.”
“Why not?”
Lana opened her mouth to admit the ugly reality, but the words wouldn’t come. It was bad enough that he believed her a liar and a law-breaker. “I just couldn’t risk it.”
His jaw tightened. A muscle flexed. Mild-mannered Davis spoke between clenched teeth. “In other words, you won’t tell me the truth even now when you have a chance to come clean. What’s wrong with you that you can’t be honest?”
She gestured absently at the couch, buying time, praying wild prayers for a miracle. “Sit down, Davis. Please. Let’s talk.”
But he was past listening.
“Talk? So you can tell more lies? So I can be an even bigger fool? What else have you lied about, Lana? Do I dare ask?”
She turned away, afraid. The lid was open to her Pandora’s box and she was terribly aware of what could spew forth.
Davis spun her around, holding her by the shoulders. “What are you hiding, Lana? What other things have you kept from me?”
Lana wrapped her arms around her waist and held on tight, shivering. “I don’t want you to know. You’ll be...disgusted.”
He stared down at her, looking her over as if he saw what she was, what she’d been, what she’d always be. His beloved face was close enough to touch and oh, how she wanted to touch him, to plead with him not to hate her. She dropped her head, too ashamed to meet his stormy eyes.
“Tell me, Lana. You owe me that much. What are you hiding?”
She swallowed a thick wad of despair. Nothing mattered now. Whether she told him or not, he was gone. She could hear it in his voice. They were over.
She threw her head back and blurted the words to the ceiling. “I’m a drunk, Davis. An alcoholic. I spent time in jail, in back alleys and a lot of other places I can’t remember. I’d do anything to get blitzed. Anything.” She glared at him, sick with fury at having to remember. “Don’t you get it? I couldn’t even sing unless I was stoned out of my mind. Even after I gave my life to Jesus, with a record like that, no one was going to let me raise a child.”
His face had paled as she spoke. He dropped his hands to his sides and stood, like a defeated boxer, spent.
His terrible, dark silence broke her. A tear seeped and slowly slid down her face. Tension vibrated in the room, thick enough to make her shudder.
In a low and wounded voice, Davis said, “You should have told me.”
“Would you have understood if I had?”
“I don’t know. I would have tried. You never gave me the chance.” He paced to the window, a pane he’d put in himself and looked outside on the yard he’d helped her clean. “Tell me this much, Lana.” His voice was soft, wounded. “Were you using me, the way Jenny said, to get your house remodeled?”
“No!” An aching chasm widened in her chest, dark and bottomless. If she fell into that black hole again, she’d be lost forever. “You can’t believe that—”
“People tried to warn me, but you had me fooled. I thought you’d changed. I believed you were the pious woman you claimed to be. I believed you cared about me and my kids.”
“I do. I do.” She moved toward him, hands outstretched.
He backed away, shaking his head. “I cared about you, Lana. For the first time since Cheryl died, I thought I’d found a woman who matched me, someone I could love and build a life with. But you’re not who I thought you were. Not even close.”
With that searing judgment, he spun on the heel of his work boots and stormed out of her house. She followed him to the door, one hand on
her mouth to stop the cries of despair, the other holding her churning stomach.
She watched him jog across the street and down the block. She watched until he disappeared into the pretty, buff brick house. A few hundred feet might as well be a million miles.
* * *
“Lana?”
Lana lay on the couch, one arm thrown across her eyes when she heard Sydney’s footsteps on the stairs.
“What?” she mumbled, wishing she didn’t have to talk to anyone right this minute, not even the child she would sacrifice anything for. As much as Lana anguished over losing Davis, she’d lie again to protect this precious little girl.
“Davis was really mad, wasn’t he?”
Her heart sank. Sydney had been upstairs doing a school project on the laptop. Lana had prayed the child hadn’t heard the argument. Lately, she was batting zero on answered prayers.
“I’m sorry you heard that.”
“Why is he so mad? Is it because of me? He’s mad because I’m not your real daughter.”
Hearing the anxiety and hurt in Sydney’s voice, Lana sat up. “No, sugar. Davis is not mad at you.”
“I thought he liked me.”
“He does. He adores you.” She pulled Sydney onto her lap with a heavy sigh. “What’s not to like? One smart, beautiful, well-behaved girl with the prettiest eyes and the brightest smile in the world. Anyone would love you, Sydney.”
“Not my mom.”
The load was impossible. No one should have to explain to a nine-year-old the facts of a drug-addicted life. “Tess loves you, baby. She’s too sick to take care of you.”
“She’s not sick. She takes drugs. We learned at school about bad drugs, Lana. My mom takes them. The kind with the spoons and the needles. I saw her. And then she’d be all weird and scary.”
“I know. I know.” Lana buried her face in Sydney’s hair. “That’s why she gave you to me. She knew she wasn’t good for you and she loved you enough to let you go. That took courage on her part.” And Lana threatening to turn her in.
“Really?”
“Yes.” She folded Sydney into her lap and rocked, humming softly the way she’d done so many times when the girl was small.
“Lana?”
Lana stopped humming. “What, baby?”
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