the images from his mind, Wyatt turned left at the intersection and followed the detour signs back to the main road. His father had taken the money that night. And while his mother rubbed salve on his welts, he’d vowed to her that he would change their lives. One day he’d be rich enough to buy her all the things she didn’t have now. And she would never have to change another bed or scrub another toilet again.
He’d accomplished his goals and more. But his mother hadn’t lived to see his Olympic triumph or the successes that followed. She’d died of cancer while he was still in high school.
His father had gone to prison for killing a man in a bar fight. Years later, still behind bars, he’d dropped dead from a heart attack.
Wyatt had not attended the burial service.
He’d put that whole life behind him—had made himself into a new man who was nothing at all like his dad.
So why did he feel so lost when it came to dealing with his daughter?
Not that he didn’t love Chloe. He’d never denied the girl anything that might make her happy. He’d been the best provider a man could be and not once—not ever—had he raised a hand against her. But now it slammed home that in spite of all the work he’d done and the things he’d bought, he still didn’t know the first thing about being a father.
Three
Turning onto the unmarked side road, Leigh switched her headlights on high beam. Until now, she hadn’t been worried about finding Wyatt’s house. But the moonless night was pitch-black, the thick-growing pines a solid wall that shut off the view on both sides.
She hadn’t planned on arriving so late. But everything back in town had taken longer than she’d expected. When the clerk at Baby Mart had helped her make a list of furniture and supplies, Leigh had been staggered at how much it took to keep one little baby in comfort—and how long it took to choose each item. By the time she’d left the store her head was pounding, her feet throbbing in her high-heeled pumps.
She’d stopped at the paper to tell her boss she was quitting, then headed home. Kevin and her mother had hovered around her bed as she threw clothes and toiletries into her suitcase. They’d demanded to know what was going on. Leigh had mumbled something about a secret assignment, assuring them that she’d be fine, she’d keep in touch, and they could always reach her on her cell phone. They probably suspected she’d gone to work for the CIA, or maybe that she was running from the Mafia.
She hated keeping secrets from her family. But there was no other way to make this work. Kevin’s baby son needed her help; whatever it took, she would be there for little Mikey.
A large, pale shape bounded into her headlights. Her foot slammed the brake. The station wagon squealed to a stop, just missing the deer that zigzagged across the road and vanished into the trees.
Shaken, she sagged over the steering wheel. What was she doing, driving up a dark mountain road to move in with a man she barely knew—a man who made her pulse race every time his riveting indigo eyes looked her way?
The memory of that afternoon’s encounter, when she’d tumbled out of the SUV and into his arms, was still simmering. The clumsy accident must have been no more than a simple embarrassment for Wyatt. But the brief intimate contact had flamed through her like fire through spilled gasoline. Wyatt Richardson was a good fifteen years her senior. But never mind that—the man exuded an aura that charged the air around him like summer lightning. How was she going to keep her mind on work if her pulse ratcheted up every time he came within ten feet of her?
Right now Wyatt should be the least of her worries. Tucked into her purse was the one item she’d bought with her own cash at Baby Mart—a thick paperback on infant care. Truth be told, her experience with babies consisted of a few bottles and diaper changes. What she didn’t know about umbilical cords, fontanels, bathing and burping would fill...a book.
Once the nursery was set up, she planned to spend the rest of the night reading. She’d always been a quick study. This time she would have to be. She couldn’t fake it with a baby—it was become an expert before tomorrow or risk doing something wrong and possibly harming the child.
Braking for the deer had killed the engine and left her badly spooked. Starting the car again, she drove at a cautious pace up the winding road. An eternity seemed to pass before the trees parted and she found herself looking up a rocky slope. From its top, light shone through towering windows.
Minutes later she pulled up in front of the house. She stepped out of the car to see Wyatt standing on the broad stone porch, his arms folded across his chest.
“What kept you? I was about to send out a search party. Why didn’t you call?” He sounded like the parent of a teen who’d missed curfew.
“Sorry. My phone died. And everything took longer than I’d expected. I didn’t even take time to change.” She glanced down at her rumpled suit, then down further to where her feet had swollen to the shape of her pumps. Opening the back of the station wagon, she reached for her suitcase, but Wyatt was there ahead of her. He snatched up the heavy bag and carried it into the front hall.
“Did the order from Baby Mart get here?” she asked.
“It arrived a couple of hours ago. I had the delivery man put the crib together, but everything else is still in boxes. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”
“There’s no one here to help?” She’d expected to see a servant or two but there wasn’t another soul in sight.
His eyebrow quirked upward. “Just you—and me. Dinner’s warming in the oven if you’re hungry.”
“I’m starved.” And she was, even though she hadn’t given food a thought until now. “Don’t tell me you cook,” she said.
“Lord, no. I keep snacks and breakfast food in the kitchen, but when I want a real meal, I have it delivered from the restaurant at the lodge. Tonight it’s lasagna.” He lowered the suitcase to the floor. “You can leave your things here till we’ve eaten.”
He ushered her into the great room, its cathedral roof shored by massive, rough-hewn beams. The north wall, overlooking the resort, was floor-to-ceiling glass. No blinds were needed. Seeing inside from below would be next to impossible.
The logs in the huge stone fireplace had burned down to coals, leaving the space pleasantly warm. After kicking her shoes off her swollen feet, Leigh slipped off her jacket, tossed it back over her suitcase and followed Wyatt. Off to her right she glimpsed a formal dining area, but it appeared they’d be eating in the brightly lit kitchen, where the steel-topped table had been set for two.
Wyatt seated her and used a padded glove to lift the foil-wrapped pan out of the oven. There was a fresh salad on the table, along with a baguette, a bottle of vintage claret and two glasses.
“I’ll pour and you dish.” He handed her a spatula. “It might be overcooked.”
“My fault for being late. Sorry.” Leigh scooped two squares of lasagna onto the plates. It didn’t look overcooked, and it smelled heavenly.
“Eat hearty. We’ve got plenty work ahead of us, getting that nursery set up.”
“You said we. Does that mean you’re planning to help?”
“With
