him since birth. Two brothers, a mother, father, numerous aunts and uncles and cousins, a whole army of family at every holiday and gathering. Peyton had always been part of the little Reynolds crew of three, and now two of those three were gone.
Except for Madelyne, her niece. Susannah’s daughter. His daughter. A connection between two families, one big and boisterous, one so tiny it almost didn’t exist.
He parked, got out of the car and headed up to the front desk. The blonde behind the desk smiled when he entered the air-conditioned office. Karen Fleming had been a year behind Luke in high school and had dated half the football team—but not Luke. Something Karen tried to rectify every time she saw him.
“Why, if it isn’t Luke Barlow here to brighten my day.” She flashed him a broad smile and leaned over the counter, a move which brought the tops of her breasts into view. Any other day, Luke might have flirted back, but not today.
“Is Peyton staying here?” he asked.
Karen pouted. “And I thought you were here to see me.”
“Peyton?” Luke prompted again.
Karen sighed. “Room ten. Down the hall and on the right. What’s she doing back in town anyway?”
Luke was already heading away from the front desk. The maroon-and-gold-carpeted hall muffled his footsteps as he passed the other faux oak doors and stopped before room ten, his stomach doing backflips.
Sorry, Peyton, I’m not father material.
He shifted his weight. Tried another tack in his head.
Sorry, Peyton, but I can’t do this. I’m...busy.
Oh, yeah, that sounded even better. Just a simple Sorry, Peyton, I can’t was all he should say. Except that sounded empty, too. None of the three options captured what he really wanted to say—
No way, no how, do I want to be responsible for a kid that I didn’t know I had; a kid I have no idea how to connect with; a kid who is a mystery to me.
A kid who has no other living parent but me.
Well, hell. That was the truth, right there. Madelyne had no one but him, and her aunt. If he didn’t step up, then, for all intents and purposes, as Peyton had said, this child would be an orphan.
How could he possibly say no?
He raised his hand, but the door opened before he could knock, and the four-year-old from the photo came barreling out and straight into him. He let out an oomph.
“Sowwy,” she said, backing up and sending Peyton an uncertain glance.
And in that moment, there was no doubt. He could see his eyes, Susannah’s high cheekbones, in Madelyne’s face. She could have been a carbon copy of their baby pictures.
This was his daughter. The thought settled into him, not as foreign now.
“Madelyne, don’t run—” Peyton stopped in the doorway. Her eyes widened. “Luke. What are you doing here?”
“I...uh...” His brain cells misfired when he took in what Peyton was wearing. Earlier today, it had been a soft peach dress that swirled around her legs, with low heels, and her straight blond hair down around her shoulders. But in the interim, she had changed into a dark green two-piece bathing suit and one of those knitted cover-up things that seemed designed to entice a man with flashes of skin and swimsuit. Her hair was swept up into a clip, with a few tendrils tickling against her long, elegant neck. Holy hell, Peyton Reynolds had grown up. And done it well.
He cleared his throat, refocused his mind on why he had come here. “I wanted to talk to you.”
She put a protective hand on her niece. Madelyne stepped back, ducking her head and pressing her body against Peyton’s leg. Madelyne turned big blue eyes—the same eyes Luke saw in the mirror every morning—up toward the stranger at the door.
Her eyes widened and she shrank farther behind Peyton. Damn. The kid was scared of him. She didn’t know him.
And whose fault is that? a little voice whispered in his head.
That was the moment that cemented it for Luke. He might suck at being a father, might have just found out he even was a father, but no way was he going to let another four years go by with his kid thinking he was a scary stranger.
Peyton gave Madelyne a reassuring squeeze. “This is not a good time, Luke. We were just heading for the pool.”
Not that he’d expected some instant bond just because he and the kid shared some DNA. But her wide-eyed trepidation made him feel like an interloper.
If he had a snowball’s chance in hell of changing the look in Madelyne’s eyes, then he better start now. “How about I join you?”
Surprise colored Peyton’s features. “Don’t you have other things on your agenda today?”
The way she said other things almost sounded as if she was jealous. Which was impossible, considering he and Peyton had never been involved, never been anything more than friends.
“Not anymore,” Luke said, though he was pretty sure the party would go on, with or without him. Seeing Peyton now, in that teeny-tiny bikini partially hidden by the knit dress, made whatever was happening back at Luke’s house seem very, very far away. To his recollection he had never seen her wearing a bikini before. And it made him realize that Peyton Reynolds had some very nice curves.
Peyton gave him a dubious glance. “Okay. Let me grab another towel.” Maddy followed her, as close as an extra leg.
“Auntie P, who’s that man?”
Peyton, her hand halfway to the towel, turned and looked at Luke. Her eyes were wide and scared, like Madelyne’s had been a second ago. The look said Don’t upset this little girl’s world. She’s been through enough.
He wanted to tell his daughter the truth, but some instinct deep in his gut said springing the fatherhood connection on a preschooler wasn’t the best choice. What was it that Peyton had said? Maddy had had enough uncertainty for now.
It would upset her world, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He might not be good at being a father, might not have the slightest clue where to start with a child he didn’t even know, but he knew this much—dropping that shocking news into the life of a kid who’d just suffered a major loss would be a stupid move on his part.
She needed get to know him first, and he needed to get comfortable with the idea of being a dad. He thought of his own father, of the impromptu wrestling matches in the living room; the way Bobby Barlow had cheered for each of his boys at every sporting event, all the times he’d taken them fishing or showed them how to fix a broken gate. That was being a dad. Walking into a room and announcing fatherhood was not. Right now, the truth was, he wasn’t a dad at all; he was just the sperm donor.
And as scary as it seemed, a part of him wanted to change that.
“I’m a friend of your mom’s and your aunt’s,” Luke said, taking a step into the room. Relief flooded
