Authors: Susan Mallery
“How about my place?” she asked.
Why not? he thought. At least he would be able to see where she lived. There might be some clues as to the kind of person she was. Despite his claims of a single meeting, he knew Laurel wanted more. He could only pray the two of them wouldn’t hit it off.
“That’s fine.” he said.
She scribbled her address on a piece of paper and handed it to him. He took it from her, careful to make sure they didn’t touch. But she didn’t let him escape that easily. She rested her hand on his bare forearm. Hot need bubbled to the surface. He tried to ignore the sensations, tried to step back away from her. He didn’t want this in his life, not from a woman like her.
Her eyes held his, their gazes locked until the entire world faded leaving only the sound of their breathing to fill the silence. Her scent teased him. It was just a popular expensive fragrance. It wasn’t special. But on her the perfume became something different, more tantalizing. He tore his gaze away from hers and studied the pale red of her hair. Strawberry blond? No, that wasn’t right. Definitely red, but a lighter color. The thick blunt cut had begun to curl slightly, spoiling the smooth style. He could see the freckles on her nose and cheeks. He didn’t like freckles. Never had. But he couldn’t help wondering if they stopped at her chin or continued down farther toward her—
He wrenched his arm free of her light touch. Stop! he commanded himself. It had been too long since Ellen passed away. It wasn’t Anne Baker, it was the fact that she was female. Dammit, it couldn’t be her.
“Seven o’clock?”
“Seven o’clock,” he said curtly, and turned to leave.
“Mr. Masters?”
He paused, his hand on the door.
“Do you have a picture?”
A simple request. Reasonable. But his irrational anger returned. He didn’t want her to see what Laurel looked like. It was too much like giving in. That made no sense, he told himself, even as he knew it made perfect sense. He wanted to put off the inevitable as long as possible. Fate, and his teenage daughter, were forcing his hand.
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his wallet. The front slot contained her seventh-grade school photo. Without looking at the sweet smiling face, he extracted the snapshot.
“Here.” He half turned and thrust it out toward her.
Anne stepped forward and took it. He told himself to leave now, while she was occupied. He shouldn’t watch this private moment. But he couldn’t stop himself.
He stared at her small hand. It shook slightly. He raised his gaze. She stared down at the photo. Her lips trembled and her white teeth worried her lower lip.
A single tear fell on the picture. She carefully wiped it away. “She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“She has my mother’s eyes.”
The simple statement caught him like a pistol shot. He grabbed his Stetson, then blindly reached for the door and yanked it open. He heard Anne call his name, but he didn’t stop moving. Past the curious secretary, into the main foyer, then to the elevators. When the bank of doors remained stubbornly closed, he sprinted for the stairs and out toward the street.
Chapter 2
”W
hat does she look like, Daddy?” Laurel practically skipped with impatience as they walked along the street.
Jake brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “You need a haircut.”
“Da-ad!” Laurel shook her head. “You’re avoiding the question. Is she pretty?”
He didn’t want Anne Baker to be anything. Especially not important to his daughter. But it had already happened. Yesterday, Laurel had pounced on him when he’d returned to their hotel suite. He’d told her he’d met with her birth mother and that the three of them would be having dinner tonight. Now, walking along the wide street in front of Anne’s high-rise condo, Laurel continued the barrage of questions that had flowed since the moment he’d announced the meeting.
“Does she look like me?”
He glanced down at his daughter’s upturned face. She’d sprouted in the past couple of years, and almost reached his shoulder. Her hazel eyes, wide and framed with dark lashes, gazed up at him.
She has my mother’s eyes.
Anne’s phrase echoed over and over again in his mind, as it had since he’d escaped from her office. He didn’t want the reminder that Laurel wasn’t completely his. With her medium brown hair, easy smile and tall, lean body, there’d been enough physically to let him and Ellen pretend she was really theirs.
Now, he took his daughter’s arm and tugged her to a stop. He cupped her face in his hands. He studied her wide full mouth and the dusting of freckles on her nose, then the dark hair hanging long and straight down her back.
He wanted to lie and say she and that strange woman had nothing in common. Only he’d never lied to his daughter. He wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, but her determination told him it did.
“Do you look like her? A little I guess,” he said. “Not so much your coloring, but other things. She said you have her mother’s eyes.”
As soon as he spoke the words he wanted to call them back. “You showed her my picture?”
He nodded.
Laurel’s smile faded. “Did she like me?”
“I didn’t discuss that with her. I left right after I gave her the photo.” He bent down and kissed her forehead, then pulled her close for a hug. She was still young enough to allow the embrace, but he knew that in a year or two it wouldn’t be cool to hug her dad in public. “She can’t help but like you, Laurel.”
“Promise?”
Those wide hazel eyes he’d always thought so beautiful stared into his. He watched the shifting colors of blue and green and brown and knew that he would never look at them again without hearing Anne Baker’s words. Another woman had given her those eyes. Another family’s blood coursed through his child’s veins. Another—
He forced the thoughts away. “I promise,” he said, squeezing her briefly, then releasing her. “Everything is going to work out.”
As they approached the high rise, Laurel craned her neck to see to the top. “I wonder which floor she’s on. Do you think she can see us?”
He shrugged and buzzed the button by the glass door.
“Hello?” a soft voice said.
Beside him, Laurel froze. “It’s Jake Masters. I’ve brought—” He had to clear his throat. “My daughter is with me.”
“Come in.”
The door buzzed and he pulled it open. Laurel walked in beside him. When they stood in front of the elevators, she reached for the button and pushed.
“Do I look all right?” she asked, glancing down at her dress, then up at him.
It had taken her the better part of the day to choose her outfit. Last night, after he’d told her about meeting Anne, Laurel had insisted on going shopping to find something to wear. The huge Galleria was just off their hotel. She’d tried on dozens of outfits, only to reject them all and decide on something she’d brought with her.
He’d hated to see her so frantic to please, but told himself she was only a little girl. Her desire to make a good impression was natural under the circumstances. Yet it didn’t feel natural, he thought as he gave her a quick smile.
“You look terrific.”
“Thanks.” She smoothed the skirt of her green dress. The drop waist made her look taller. There weren’t any sleeves, but a ruffle began on each side, above her waist, and went up over her shoulders and down the back. A matching headband held her hair away from her face. Small gold earrings glittered from her ears. They’d had an on-going fight about makeup; he wanted her to wait until she was twenty-five and she wanted to wear it all today. Their compromise showed in the pale gloss on her lips.
When the elevator doors opened, he stepped inside. Laurel hesitated. He had to push the button to hold the doors open.
“Laurel?”
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Her mobile mouth straightened, then one side tilted down.
“I’m scared.”
“We can leave, if you’d like.” Oh, God, had he sounded too eager?
She didn’t notice. “No. I want to meet her. It’s just—” She shrugged and stepped inside.
As the elevator began to rise, Laurel slipped her hand in his. The warmth of her small hand and the trust behind the gesture eased the knot in his chest.
She watched the flashing numbers above the door. When the light reached fifteen, the elevator stopped. They walked out into a long hallway.
Anne’s door was on the end. It would have a perfect view of the city, he thought as he reached up to push the bell. It sounded loud in the silence.
Laurel squeezed his hand tightly, as if she’d never let go. “I love you, Daddy.”
“And I love you.”
The door opened.
Anne stared at the tall man and the young woman beside him. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Nerves had kept her stomach jumping all day and she hadn’t been able to form a coherent thought since noon. She offered Jake a quick smile and wasn’t surprised when he didn’t return it. The man didn’t like her, but that was the least of her problems. She drew in a breath and turned to the teenager.
“Hello, Laurel.”
Even prettier in person, she thought with pleased surprise. A couple of inches shorter than her own five foot four, her daughter stood stiffly at her father’s side, her hand holding on to his. Anne could see the white around her knuckles and the worry in her hazel eyes. Her mother’s eyes.
She’d studied the picture for hours last night, searching for something of herself in the snapshot. She had found it in the way Laurel held her head as she looked at the camera.
Laurel gave her a smile that faded quickly. “Hi.”
Anne fought the urge to pull her close and hug her. Laurel was obviously nervous. They all were. But none of that mattered. Her child, her beautiful child. The thought echoed over and over until she was afraid she would say it aloud. After all this time, she could see her and speak to her. It was more than she’d dared to dream.
“Come in, please.” Anne stepped back and searched her mind for small talk. “Did you find the building easily?”
“Yes,” Jake said curtly. He held on to his daughter’s hand as if he had no intention of letting go.
The trio paused awkwardly in the foyer of the two-bedroom condo, then Anne ushered them toward the living room. At 7:00 p.m. in August, the sun was just beginning to slip below the horizon. Heat and haze created a shimmering blanket that separated the light into all the colors of a kaleidoscope. She’d opened the blinds, but left the sheers closed to diffuse the glare.
She glanced around her decorated living room and wondered how it looked to Jake Masters and Laurel. As she waved them toward the overstuffed white sofa, Laurel at last released her father’s hand and stepped past him to one end of the sofa. She perched on the edge of a cushion. Jake walked over to the window and stood in front of it, a trick he’d used on their previous meeting to hide his expression from view. Anne hovered uncertainly, wondering what she was supposed to say. Part of her had foolishly hoped to be welcomed with open arms. She held in a sigh. It was too soon.
“Would anyone—”
“This is—”
Anne and Laurel spoke at the same time. Awkward silence followed.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Anne asked.
“A soda, please.”
Anne looked at Jake. He shook his head. She walked toward the wet bar in the corner of the living room. After filling a glass with ice, she opened the small refrigerator. “What kind?”
Laurel glanced at her father. When he didn’t say or do anything, she rose slowly and approached the wet bar. She offered Anne a shy smile and pointed at the red-and-white can. “That one, please.”
“Sure.” Anne poured the drink and handed her a glass. “You’re very polite.”
“Thank you. My mom—” Laurel stopped talking and took a sip of her drink.
Anne felt the flash of pain deep inside, then told herself she was being foolish. Laurel was right. The other woman—Ellen Masters—
had
been her mother. Ellen might not have given birth to the girl, but in every other way, she’d been her mother.
“Yes,” Anne encouraged. “Your mother what?”
Laurel shrugged. “She always made me say things like please and thank you. You know, dumb stuff like that.”
Anne studied the teenager. In her green dress with her dark hair swirling around her face, she looked more like a changeling than a young lady. All long legs and big eyes. She would grow to be a beauty. And she was
here.
Close enough to see and hear and touch.
Laurel looked around the living room. “This is nice,” she said. “I like the white. Do you like it, Dad?”
“It’s very nice.”
He sounded thrilled, Anne thought sarcastically, then glanced at the bleached wood floor and white overstuffed furniture. “I had a decorator do it. I was so busy at work that I never got around to unpacking boxes after I moved. As much as I love decorating, I never found the time. Finally I gave up and called someone to get the place together for me.”