She had to go now, before he was on a plane, then two continents and an ocean away. She had to find him. But who would know where he was?
Her father.
The thought of calling Robert Van Amsted stopped Emmy cold. She couldn’t do that.
She owed it to Aidan, to herself, to get over the bitterness at her father at least long enough to pick up the phone and call.
Before she could change her mind, Emmy rose and hurried to her house. In her office, she dug around in her desk until she found her address book, and she looked up her father’s number, which she called so rarely she didn’t know it by heart.
Then she picked up her phone and dialed. When her father answered, his voice resonated deep in her belly, in places where she’d learned to respond to him as a child, when he was the most important man in her world and could do anything, when she’d viewed him with adoration and awe.
She squeezed her eyes tight, then forced herself to say, “Hi Dad. It’s me, Emmy.”
“Emmy, my girl. What a nice surprise. How’s life out there at Promise Lake?”
It was just like her father to pretend it was totally normal for her to be calling, to start talking to her as if there were no bad feelings and it was perfectly normal for a father and daughter to exchange only small-talk conversations on major holidays. Maybe for him, it was normal. And at that moment, Emmy was grateful for his inability to understand the depths of her feelings.
“It’s good,” she said. “I’ve got my house nearly finished, and we’re happy here.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You owe me some pictures of that boy of yours. I’m tired of getting them only whenever your mother remembers to send them to me.”
“Sorry, Dad,” she said. “Maybe you could come out for a visit soon. Max would like to see you,” she said before she could change her mind.
It wasn’t until that moment that she understood how selfish and unfair she was being to keep Max from having a relationship with his grandfather. No matter what Emmy felt about her father’s indiscretions, it shouldn’t prevent Max from knowing him, or vice versa.
And maybe it shouldn’t have prevented Emmy from knowing her father either. She didn’t really know him anymore. Maybe he’d changed in the years they’d been apart. And maybe he hadn’t, but she was ready to find out. Maybe even ready not to let his flaws bother her—at least not so much that she had to shut him out of her life.
“I’ve been thinking that myself now that the cabin’s empty again. You sure you won’t mind me being there?”
“It’s fine. We’d like to see you.”
“I’d like to see you, too.”
“I’m calling because I was wondering if you know when or where Aidan’s flying back to Africa.”
She heard papers shuffling in the background on her dad’s end. “I do, actually.”
She braced herself for him to ask why she wanted to know. She didn’t want to have to explain to her father her reasons for wanting to find Aidan now.
But he didn’t ask, thank goodness. “I’ve got his flight information right here,” he said finally.
He read the flight number and airline, leaving San Francisco International at 1:15 p.m. Emmy glanced at the clock. If she left now, and didn’t hit any traffic, she might be able to make it to the airport before his flight took off.
“Does he have a cell phone number?” she asked.
“Nope, not that I know of.”
She had to try to catch him at the airport.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said. “I’ve got to run, but I hope you do make it out here soon.”
When she hung up, Emmy sprang into action, grabbing her shoes and purse and hurrying out the door. She’d have to call around on the way to find someone who could pick Max up from school and keep him for the evening.
It was only when she’d climbed into the car that she noticed she was still wearing her old, stained yoga pants and T-shirt that she’d put on intending to paint the walls today, but there wasn’t time to change clothes now, so she started the car and pulled out of the driveway.
And as she headed toward San Francisco, she felt as if she were leaving her old self behind on the way to becoming someone new, shrugging off the ties that bound her to the past, headed toward the woman she was meant to be and the life she was meant to live.
AIDAN HATED airport lines as much as anyone, but the one he was standing in now felt especially torturous. Thanks to traffic in the Marina district where he’d left his motorcycle in a friend’s garage, he was late for his flight, which was leaving in exactly twenty-five minutes. But this was of no concern to the airport security personnel whose job it was to make sure he didn’t smuggle any six-ounce tubes of toothpaste onto the plane.
And thanks to a suspicious-looking bottle of liquid he had in his overnight bag that was just mouthwash, he was now stuck standing in the line of people who were waiting to be given the extra-thorough checking out.
“Excuse me,” he said to the large, surly-looking man who was doing an item-by-item inspection of the overnight pack of the woman standing in front of him. “I’m late for my flight. Is there any way you could hurry me through here?”
“I’ll be right with you,” the man, whose nametag read Sonny, said in the most leisurely tone Aidan had ever heard spoken aloud.
His temper flared, but he said nothing. He had a feeling pissing off Sonny was only going to make him move even more slowly. The guard sorted through the woman’s clothes, shoes and toiletries, checked all the pockets of the bag, and then—finally—gave her the go-ahead to move on.
He was about to check Aidan’s backpack when a familiar voice called out from the other side of the security barrier.
“Aidan!”
He looked over to see Emmy standing there, and for a moment he couldn’t make sense of it. How had Emmy gotten here? She was supposed to be at Promise Lake. She couldn’t be here right now.
But she was.
“Okay, sir, you can move on through,” the security guard said to him.
His plane was leaving in twenty minutes.
“I need to talk to that lady over there. Could she come through for just a minute?”
“Only passengers are allowed on this side,” the guard said as if he was repeating a refrain he’d already stated a thousand times that day.
Aidan glanced toward the gate where his plane was boarding, then he looked back toward Emmy.
“I need to talk to you. Please!” she called out.
Her tone told him everything he needed to know about whether he should risk missing his flight. He muttered a curse, slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the exit of the security area.
Screw it. Emmy was looking at him so desperately, his stomach was coiling tight with fear that something bad had happened. What if Max was hurt? The thought made him pick up his pace until he was nearly running by the time he reached her.
“What is it? What are you doing here?” he asked, his mind still trying to wrap around the simple fact that she was there at the airport.
Emmy looked as if she was about to burst into tears. She squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment, then opened them and took a deep breath.
“Oh my God, I made it. I—I thought I’d miss you.”
“You almost did. I’m about to miss my flight.”
“I’m sorry. I just…Aidan, I was so wrong. I was wrong.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You. And me. I was wrong about us. I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of being with you.”
“Oh.”
“But I do want to be with you.”
“You drove all this way to tell me that?”
He looked her up and down for the first time and saw that she was wearing her old painting clothes. Like she’d dropped what she was doing and come here in a big hurry. She would have had to, to make it here before his flight left.
None of it was making any sense.
“No,” she said, shaking her head hard. “I drove all this way to tell you I love you and I want to do whatever it takes to have you in my life.”
“What?”
Her words didn’t register at first.
She…loved…him? “I love you, Aidan. I do. And I want you in my life, not in Africa. Please, if there’s any way you can not go, if there’s any way you can stay—please don’t go.”
Nothing she was saying made any damn sense. Except, the look in Emmy’s eyes told him she was distraught. She really didn’t want him to leave. That much was clear. But driving all this way and keeping him from his flight to tell him she loved him…
It couldn’t mean what he hoped it meant. He didn’t dare let his heart hope.
“I—I have to go,” he said, shaking his head.
She looked stricken. “Please, Aidan. I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but I realized something today. I can’t let you walk out of my life again without at least letting you know how I feel. So hear me, and if you still want to leave, I’ll understand. I love you, and I want us to be together. Really together. I want you to be a part of my life, and Max’s life, and—”
He got it now. He didn’t need her to keep explaining. Aidan dropped his bag on the floor and closed the distance between them. He took her in his arms and kissed her then, letting his whole self relax into the idea that she really meant what she said.
She was his, if he wanted her to be. And he did.
“Let’s go home,” he said against her mouth as they broke the kiss.
Emmy smiled. “But, what about your flight?”
He laughed. “I love you, too, Emmy. I don’t give a damn about the flight. My friend will understand that I can’t come to Africa after all.”
“You can’t?”
“No, not now.”
“What will you do then?”
Aidan shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about writing another book, actually. A novel this time. I’m done with nonfiction.”
“What kind of novel?”
“An epic love story, perhaps,” he said, only halfjoking.
“I know a great cabin where you could work,” she said as they began walking toward the airport exit.
“I think I’m going to need a lot of inspiration in the form of, you know, romance.”
“Oh, right. I think I can help you out with that,” she said.
He knew she would. She’d already taught him everything he needed to know about love.
Mills & Boon® Special Moments™
brings you a sneak preview.
In Their Second-Chance Child Tony Herrera must have
been crazy to hire his ex-wife Rebecca to oversee his
vocational bakery for foster kids! But Becca was best
for the job…and his four-year-old daughter fell for
Becca instantly. Were Tony and Becca heading down
the road to renewed heartache or was this the
second chance they never dreamed possible?
Turn the page for a peek at this fantastic new story
from Karen Sandler, available next month in
Mills & Boon® Special Moments™!
Don’t forget you can still find all your favourite
Superromance and Special Edition stories
every month in Special Moments™!
Their Second-Chance Child
by Karen Sandler
Rebecca had anticipated a difficult reunion with Tony. She’d expected that storm cloud of anger in his face, the hardness in his usually soft brown eyes. As much as she wished otherwise, she’d come here knowing she might be escorted from the property the moment Tony realized that Rebecca Tipton was actually Becca Stiles.
But she hadn’t been prepared for the heat that sizzled inside her, the throbbing low in her body. It had been more than eleven years since they’d last made love, since they’d been man and wife, but her body remembered his touch, his scent, every intimate word whispered in her ear.
His dark brown hair was shorter, but just as thick. His shoulders were broader, almost too wide for the Hawaiian shirt he wore, his arms more muscular. His hands were the same, blunt-fingered and strong, but like everything else about him, they spoke of power and competence. During their marriage, their lives had been filled with unknowns. Now it looked as if he’d found some answers.
As she gazed up at him, he leaned toward her, still angry but maybe pulled by the same memories. He almost reached for her; she could see his fingertips stretching toward her. Then he strode past her and put his desk between them.
“Sit,” he said sharply, then bit out, “please.”
Was he going to give her a hearing after all? Rebecca lowered herself back into the secondhand office chair.
“You remarried,” he said.
“I hear you did as well.”
Something dark flickered in his face. “I can’t possibly offer you this position.”
Rebecca dug in. “You know as well as I do that I’m perfect for the job.”
“You’re married. This is a live-in position, and I don’t have accommodations for a couple.”
“I’m divorced.”
A long, silent beat as he took that in. Then his gaze narrowed on her. “Estelle didn’t say a word when she recommended you.”
“You wouldn’t have even considered me if you knew. Even if no one else with my qualifications has applied.”
“I may have named the program after Estelle, but she isn’t the one that hires and fires here. I am.” His gaze fixed on her, his dark eyes opaque.
She shivered, blaming the chill fingering down her spine on the gust of cool air spit out by the window air conditioner. Wrapping her arms around herself in self-defense, she considered the arguments she’d prepared, knowing in advance she’d have to fight for this job.
But did she really want to? Maybe he was right—she ought to return to her car. Head back down Highway 50, don those same imaginary blinders she’d worn on her way here as she passed the off-ramp to West Hills Cemetery. Take Interstate 5 south and drive back down to L.A.
Except what waited for her there was just more despair. In the two months since Rebecca’s foster daughter, Vanessa, had been returned to her mother, Rebecca had been hollowed out with grief. One moment social services was dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s on Rebecca’s adoption of Vanessa, the next they were calling to notify her that Vanessa’s mother had regained custody. Now the five-year-old girl was lost to Rebecca forever. Just as her son was.
She had to at least plead her case with Tony. Hands linked in her lap, she tipped up her chin in challenge.
“You won’t find anyone to match what I can offer. You know from my résumé I have impeccable credentials as a baker. I’ve volunteered teaching cooking classes for two years at a local Boys and Girls Club. And you know as well as I do that my understanding of what these kids have been through in the foster system isn’t just academic.”
She’d spent a year in foster care when her parents were badly injured in a freak accident and required extensive rehab to get back on their feet. Estelle had lavished loving care on the frightened nine-year-old that Rebecca had been, becoming a second mother to her in that short time.
Tony’s hands curled around the arms of his chair, the skin over his knuckles taut. “You’d be living here full-time. We’d be in each other’s faces practically twenty-four/seven.”
“It’s been eleven years. We can put the past behind us.”
“Some pasts shouldn’t be forgotten.”
That stung, although she probably deserved it. “I know I’d do a good job.”
He almost seemed to consider it, then shook his head. “I have to think of the kids. They’ve all just been emancipated from foster care, and they’re anxious enough about their futures. I can’t increase their tension by adding you into the mix.”
“Don’t you think I deserve a chance?”
He shoved his chair back and pushed to his f
eet. “Damn it, Becca, these kids need some constancy in their lives. They need someone who will commit their heart and soul to them for the entire five months of the session. I can’t let you get involved with them and then have you leave them in the lurch if the going gets tough.”
He might as well have punched her in the gut. “I was nineteen years old, Tony. Young and confused. I’m not about to walk out on these kids the way I…”
The way I walked out on you. The silent words seemed to echo in the small space. On their heels came the harsher indictment—The way I walked away from our lost son.
He started past her, moving toward the door. Rising, she put her hand on his arm to stop him.
A mistake. Her palm fell on his biceps, just below where the wildly colored sleeve of his shirt ended. His skin was hot, the musculature under it rock hard. She yearned to move her hand along the length of his arm, from biceps to forearm to wrist, then lock her fingers in his.
His dark gaze burned into her, the visual connection sending a honeyed warmth through her. Her heart thundered in her ears, so loud she thought he must hear it, would know her self-control was slipping away.
Then he covered her hand with his. To break the contact, she thought, to get free of her. But his fingers lingered, his thumb stroking lightly across the back of her hand.
He pulled his hand back with a jolt, putting space between them at the same time. “You should go.” His voice scraped across her nerves like rough silk.
© Karen Sandler 2009
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
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