Her Scoundrel

by Geralyn Dawson

  “What in the world?” Emma said.

  “That’s just your father,” Jenny reassured them. “Don’t worry about him. He always throws things at this stage of the proceedings.”

  Panting for breath in the fleeting seconds of ease, Kat envied her papa. She’d like to throw things, too. Instead, she reached for the necklace she’d left lying beside the bed. The necklace had become her talisman in recent months, a symbol of hope and promise. A symbol of love.

  Her fingers felt around the night table as her womb began to tighten once again. It tightened…tightened…she forgot all about the necklace. Oh, let it stop.

  This frightened her. She had no control over her body. Over her life. “Oh,” she groaned as the pain intensified. “Stop…make it stop…damn you, Rory Callahan!”

  As she screamed the name, Kat felt a sense of pressure like she’d never known before. Instinctively, she rose onto her elbows and began to push.

  “Thatta girl,” said the midwife. “You listen to your body. Jenny, you might want to send the other girls away now.”

  Kat couldn’t talk with her teeth clenched so hard, but she gave her head a definite, negative shake. She needed her sisters.

  Time passed, Kat didn’t know how much as she remained only vaguely aware of the world around her. Her focus remained on the work of giving birth. And it was work. Hard, physical, sweaty work, and Kat truly didn’t think she could make it without her family’s help. Her mother held her hand, never once letting go, not even when Kat squeezed hard enough to bruise. Her sisters took her back, holding and supporting her as she pushed with the pains. They cajoled her when she whined and encouraged her when she lost heart. Then, when the miracle occurred and the wrinkled, wriggling infant slid from her body, the McBride women cried together—all five of them.

  “A girl!” Mari exclaimed in delight, wiping tears from her cheek with the back of her hand as the midwife placed the squalling infant in Kat’s arms.

  Love, warm and sweet and enormous, flowed from Kat’s heart as she gazed down at her newborn daughter.

  “She’s beautiful, Kat,” Emma said, sniffing daintily. She reached out and touched the infant’s tiny hand. “Just beautiful. Look at all that hair. And it’s blond as her mama’s!”

  Jenny let her tears flow freely. “My first granddaughter. Another little girl for Trace to spoil.”

  “Another McBride Menace,” Mari offered with a grin.

  Jenny laughed, then smiled warmly at Kat. “Shall we get you and our little love presentable so that you can introduce her to your father? You know he’s downstairs chomping at the bit. Or would you rather sleep a little first?”

  Though Kat could feel exhaustion tugging at her limbs, a strange sense of energy continued to course through her body. She knew she couldn’t sleep. “I want Papa.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jenny McBride opened the bedroom door and called, “Trace?”

  Kat heard her father’s footsteps pound upstairs. He burst into the bedroom, his eyes wide and bright with panic, his hair mussed. His shirt had a whisky stain on the front. Probably his reaction to one of her screams, Kat thought.

  “Katie-cat?” he asked, stepping toward the bed, his stare sweeping his youngest daughter up, then down. “You all right, baby?”

  “I’m fine,” Kat replied past the lump of emotion clogging her throat. She shifted the receiving blanket and added, “Papa, I’d like you to meet your granddaughter, Suzanne Elizabeth.”

  Kat saw her sisters exchange a look of surprised delight as a smile as big as Texas split their father’s face. “After your sisters,” he said. “You used their middle names! Ah, look at her.”

  Trace rubbed the infant’s tiny hand, then murmured with delight as she curled her fist around his finger. “She’s gorgeous, honey. Pretty as you were.”

  “I thought I’d call her Susie.”

  Trace nodded. “Susie Beth. I like it. Rolls right off the tongue.”

  Kat, her sisters and their mother shared an indulgent smile. They all knew that no matter a child’s given name, Trace McBride would invariably convert it to one of his own.

  Kat gazed down at the infant sleeping in her arms, then up at her sisters and mother. “Would y’all mind if I spoke with Papa alone for a few minutes?”

  Jenny kissed Kat’s cheek, then asked, “How about I take Susie and introduce her to her uncles? I’ll bring her right back. I know your arms will feel empty without her.”

  At Kat’s nod, Jenny lifted the baby and cuddled her close. As Mari and Emma followed their mother, Mari said, “Don’t let the boys hold her, Mama. They seem to have been awfully clumsy of late, and I don’t trust them. In fact, I’m not even sure Luke should hold her.”

  “Luke needs to hold Susie,” Kat called out. “He needs the practice.”

  Mari grinned and gave her still-flat stomach a maternal pat as she trailed Emma from the room. When the door shut behind the women, Trace moved the desk chair beside Kat’s bed, straddled it and sighed. “I’m glad this is over. Having a baby is just about the hardest thing I do. It was a trial with your mother, but now with you and before long, Mari…I don’t know if I’ll live through it. You did a fine job, though. She’s a peach. I think…wait a minute.”

  He reached out and used the pad of his thumb to brush away the tear that had escaped her eyes to trickle down her cheek. “What’s this?”

  “Nothing.”

  He studied her, frowned. “That’s not a happy tear. What’s wrong, baby? Talk to me.”

  Concern softened her father’s blue eyes and brought tears to Kat’s. “I’m frightened, Papa.”

  “What about, Katie-cat?”

  “What if I prove to be a bad mother?”

  Trace shook his head. “Now, don’t be silly.”

  “I’m not being silly.”

  “Sure you are,” he replied in a placating tone as he tucked in the bed sheet, then fluffed her pillow. “It’s to be expected, though. I’ve had plenty of experience with this. Trust me. Giving birth to your child is one of the most emotional events in life, and it’ll take you a few days to find your feet. But you’ll be fine. You’ll be a fine mother.”

  Emotion rolled through Kat and tears swelled, then spilled. “I can’t be sure. What if I’m like my mother, my blood mother? She was a terrible mother and I have her blood. What if it’s cursed?”

  Trace set his teeth. “Katie, Katie, Katie. You need to let this curse business go. That’s all a bunch of nonsense.”

  “I’ve seen my mother’s portrait. I look like her.” Kat pulled at a loose thread on her blanket. “I’ve been wicked like her.”

  “Dammit, Katrina!”

  It was a sign of the extent of her father’s distress that he used salty language in front of Kat, but she refused to let it deter her. This was important to her. Something she’d pondered for weeks. “It’s the truth, Papa. History is repeating itself. I had relations with a man out of wedlock. A con man! A criminal. That’s who fathered my child. How can you even stand the sight of me? I must remind you of—”

  “Stop that!” Trace shoved to his feet and began to pace the room. “Today should be the happiest day of your life and I’ll not have you waste a minute of thought about that sorry sonofabitch two-timing liar Rory Callahan.”

  “But he’s my baby’s father.”

  “He donated the seed. That doesn’t make a father. Believe me, I know. Even when I thought you weren’t my daughter by blood, I always knew I was your father. And as for your mother…”

  He sighed heavily, then sat back down. His brow wrinkled in thought for a long moment, before he said, “That was a long time ago and entirely different. Constance chose to betray her wedding vows. She chose to betray me and her children. You would never do that, Katrina. Never! You’re going to be such a good mother.”

  “How can you be so certain, Papa?”

  “There’s not a single doubt in my mind about that.” Watching her, his smile turned bittersweet. In a wistful voi
ce he said, “Let me tell you something else about your mother. Yes, you remind me of her, Katrina. You’re beautiful, full of life and have a laugh that touches my soul. Today I can look back and remember only that Constance gave me my three beautiful girls. She gave me you, Katie-cat. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

  Kat closed her eyes. Time and Jenny and his children’s love had healed her papa. Maybe there was a chance that she could heal, too. She wanted to believe that, more than anything else.

  “I’m trying,” she said softly. “If only I can convince Jake Kimball to…”

  “No,” Trace interrupted. “Kat, I’ve heard enough about this supposed Curse of Clan McBride. I know you girls are convinced there’s something to it, and I’ll admit that those necklaces of yours seem to have a special…well…something, but this fixation you have on pirate treasure has got to stop. You’ve barraged the poor man with letters the last month, and it’s just a waste of postage.”

  “But, Papa, if I can fulfill the destiny of the cross, then Susie has the chance to have a good life, a wonderful life. Papa, I want her to have a father like you! What if I never meet anyone that wants us?”

  “Oh, baby. You break my heart. You truly do.” Trace again took his seat beside the bed and clasped Kat’s hand in both of his. “One of the things I’ve always loved about you is the way you take on the world with such drama and flair. Such enthusiasm. What I haven’t liked is your stubbornness. I want you to put that aside for a moment and open your mind and listen to your old papa. Can you do that?”

  Emotion clogged Kat’s throat, so she simply nodded.

  “I know you’ve done a lot of growing up in the past year, but you’re still only nineteen years old. You haven’t lived long enough, haven’t lived hard enough, to see that there’s light beyond the dark days.”

  “I think I’m living pretty hard, Papa. I just gave birth to an illegitimate child whose father died as a result of breaking out of jail the man who swore to kill my sister.”

  Trace’s jaw hardened and cold, icy anger frosted his eyes. “If Callahan wasn’t already dead, I swear I’d kill him.”

  “Papa,” Kat chastised.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I got off track. This isn’t about him, it’s about you.” Trace reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind Kat’s ear. “The point I’m trying to make, Katie-cat, is that I think it’s time you sat back and let life happen for a time instead of always trying to take it by the horns. This whole bad luck business, the stuff about the curse—if there’s anything to it, then I suspect it’ll work itself out in time for you, just like it did for Mari. You’ll meet someone. Someone who will be damn lucky to have you.

  “What you need to do now is to concentrate on loving little Susie Beth. That’s what’ll make you a good mother, Katrina. You love her and let her know she’s loved and you’ll do just fine at motherhood. And let me tell you one more thing. You need to treasure these days with Suzanne Elizabeth. Little ones grow up awfully fast. You don’t want to look up one day and realize you’ve missed the best parts because you were too busy running to the post office to mail letters.”

  Kat took her father’s words to heart. He was right. But then, he was always right when it came to the important things. And yet, a tiny flicker of fear still existed within her. Part of her wanted to crawl into his lap and tell him to make it all go away.

  Still another tear slipped from her eyes to slide slowly down her cheek. “I’m afraid I’ll mess motherhood up, too, Papa. Just like I’ve messed up everything else.”

  “Hmm? And that little angel downstairs? Is she lumped in with all your mistakes?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  “See there?” Trace wiped the wetness away with the pad of his thumb. “Susie born less than an hour ago and already you’re a mama bear. You see what I mean, baby? You’ll do fine. Beyond that, any questions you have about motherhood, any doubts you have, you look toward Jenny. There’s no woman in the world who is a better mother than my Treasure. You agree?”

  “I do.”

  “Good.” He leaned over and kissed her brow. “Now, I’m gonna go see what’s keeping your mama and Miss Susie Beth. I hardly got a chance to count the little one’s toes. She did have ten of them, I trust?”

  “Yes,” Kat replied. She waited until he’d taken three steps toward the door, then added, ‘Ten perfect toes and eleven perfect fingers.”

  Trace whipped his head around, his eyes wide. Kat laughed. “I’m kidding, Papa. Now, why don’t you go get her and bring her to me, and let’s count them together, shall we?”

  “Such a Menace,” Trace muttered as he proceeded to the doorway. There he paused and added, “Katrina? I meant every word I said. I think you’re gonna be a terrific mother.”

  In the days and months that followed, Trace’s words proved prophetic. Kat had her daughter christened Suzanne Elizabeth McBride when the baby was ten days old, and the only cloud in her personal sky was the fact that her necklace had gone missing in the hours following Susie’s birth.

  Though Kat and her family had searched high and low for the necklace, they’d concluded it must have fallen to the floor and been accidentally discarded with gift wrappings or other trash. Kat still felt awful about the loss, though Mari still believed it would turn up. Mari believed in the magic. Kat didn’t have time to worry about it.

  Being a mother took all her energy. She faced the town gossips with her shoulders squared and her head held high, and, challenged by her grace and honesty and her family’s united front, the scandalmongers eventually lost interest in throwing around the “bastard” label. Life settled back to normal, as normal as the McBrides ever managed, anyway. Trace and Jenny stayed busy trying to keep their three young sons out of trouble. Emma’s budding romance with the widowed father of two of her students ended for reasons she wouldn’t share with her sisters. She took a new job as a teacher at a private girls’ school in Dallas, living there during the week but spending her weekends at Willow Hill. Mari and Luke welcomed their firstborn into the world, a little boy they named Drew, after Andrew Kent, hero of the Alamo. The Garretts remained blissfully happy, Luke enjoying his job with the sheriff’s office and Mari splitting her time between child rearing and managing her chocolate shop, Indulgences.

  Kat’s life settled into a rhythm. Immersed in motherhood, she quit writing to Jake Kimball and put all thought of retrieving the Sacred Heart Cross out of her mind. Shortly before Susie’s first birthday, Kat ignored her father’s protests and moved into the McBride family apartment above her aunt Claire’s bakery. Once a day, one of Luke’s deputies, Marcus Wagoner, knocked on her door when he dropped by the bakery, ostensibly to indulge his sweet tooth. Nobody liked cookies that much, and Kat knew someone in her family sent him to check on her. She liked Marcus—he always had a compliment for Susie—so she didn’t protest the supervision. She helped Mari run Indulgences and used her spare time to supplement her income by writing articles for the Fort Worth newspaper, thus providing an outlet for the creative energies that continued to hum inside her. Mostly, though, she devoted herself to her daughter.

  Kat took to motherhood like a cowboy to campfire coffee. She loved everything about it. She loved making a home for Susie, teaching her, playing with her, helping her grow into a happy, well-behaved, well-adjusted young child despite the fact that Susie’s family didn’t include a father. Kat had family and friends who stepped into that role, Luke and Marcus primarily. Marcus was obviously head over heels for Susie, and Emma claimed he was sweet on Kat. Kat didn’t want to explore that possibility. After Rory’s betrayal, she wasn’t ready yet. Besides, she didn’t much miss male companionship. Susie filled up her life.

  That made the events of a beautiful spring afternoon when Susie was four years old all the more tragic.

  It happened so fast. One minute Susie walked beside Kat on the downtown sidewalk, happily munching on an apple and chatting about a friend’s new doll. The next she’d d
ropped her fruit and dashed after a puppy that had streaked from an alley into the street.

  Kat grabbed for her daughter’s skirt, her fingers brushing fabric, but failing to find a grip. The wagon driver didn’t have time to swerve.

  Susie McBride was buried in Pioneer’s Rest Cemetery next to her father’s grave.

  Kat McBride’s shattered heart mourned.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two years later, London

  OVER THE COURSE OF the past two decades, Jake Kimball had swum underground rivers in the Yucatan, scaled snow-covered mountains in the Himalayas and descended ancient trails into subterranean caverns in the wilds of the American West. He’d battled wolves in Canada and a tiger in India, and he’d stared into the soulless eye of an anaconda in Brazil. Yet for all of his adventures, all of his dangerous scrapes, he’d never known sheer terror such as he felt here, now, in the well-appointed drawing room of a London town house.

  Sitting on a sofa sipping tea from a delicate china cup, the woman who’d always owned his heart, the one woman who knew him better than he knew himself, and the one woman who could change the course of his future, waited patiently for Jake to summon up the nerve to address the matter at hand.

  “Darling,” she said, her voice knowing. “Quit resisting. You have no choice but to make the commitment.”

  Commitment. The word made his stomach take a long, slow roll.

  A little voice interrupted, “Uncle Jake?’

  Seizing gratefully upon the delay, Jake turned toward the sound. A mop of yellow curls topped a round face with rosy cheeks, a button nose and a bow-shaped mouth. Big blue eyes framed by impossibly long lashes solemnly held his stare. His niece wore pink and white ruffles and a smear of strawberry jam. She reminded him so much of his sister that his heart gave a violent twist

  His voice gruff, he asked, “Which one are you?”

  “I’m Belle, Uncle Jake.”

  Isabelle. The eight-year-old. How the hell am I going to keep them all straight? He looked for something unique about the girl to help him put face with name. Maybe that dusting of freckles across her nose? “Do your sisters have freckles?”