she didn’t answer. Instead she stared after Jack and vowed that somehow, some way, she would make it up to him. Even if it took forever.
Chapter One
Nineteen years later
Jack Darby rounded the corner in time to see four large boys go after a small skinny kid. The little guy—pale, in glasses and throwing punches like a girl—stood about as much chance against his assailants as a kitten did against a wolf pack.
Some things never change, Jack thought, remembering all the fights he’d gotten in when he’d been a kid. Even so, the little guy was outnumbered and ill-equipped. Jack hurried toward the huddle.
“That’s enough,” he yelled, just as the little guy dropped to one knee.
The four bullies glanced up, saw him, then took off for the main street. Jack reached the kid still crouched on the sidewalk.
“You okay?” he asked the boy. He bent over, half-expecting blood and tears. What he got instead was a big grin.
“Did you see?” the skinny boy asked with obvious pride. “I got two of ’em. I hit one in the face.”
The boy stood and pushed his glasses up on his nose. Blood dripped from a cut on his lip, but the kid didn’t seem to notice.
Jack knew that any blows the boy had landed had been glancing, at best, but decided not to say that. No point in spoiling the moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “Here.”
The boy stared at it. “I’m bleeding?” His voice sounded both delighted and hopeful.
“You cut your lip.”
“Wow. Just like in the movies.” The boy took the cloth and pressed it to his mouth, then gazed at the blood. “Cool.”
“You’re pretty happy for someone who nearly got the snot kicked out of him.”
The boy nodded. “Sometimes it’s important to act like a man, even if that means taking on a losing fight.”
Jack looked at the kid. He was skinny and kind of short. He would have guessed he was maybe seven or eight, but he sounded older. Or maybe he was just an old soul, as his mother liked to say.
“You’ve learned a good lesson early,” Jack said. “But next time, try taking on less than four bigger boys. At least then you’d have a chance.”
The boy handed him back his handkerchief. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.” He grinned, then winced when the movement pulled his lip. “I’m Shane Fitzgerald.”
“Jack Darby,” Jack said automatically. The boy said something else, but Jack didn’t hear it. He didn’t hear anything but the name.
Shane Fitzgerald. Katie’s son. Jack studied his blond hair and blue eyes. All the Fitzgeralds were fair-skinned and light-haired. He should have recognized him at once.
Katie’s child. Eleven years ago—the summer she’d graduated from high school—Katie had promised to love Jack forever. The nine-year-old boy in front of him was living proof that her promise had meant less than nothing.
“I guess I’d better go find my mom,” Shane was saying. “She worries about me.”
“Mothers do that,” Jack said. “Tell you what. I’ll come with you. Just in case she needs more details about the fight.”
Some of Shane’s pride disappeared. He touched his lower lip and sighed. “Moms don’t like fighting,” he confided as he turned toward Second Avenue.
“I know. I had more than my share of lectures when I was your age.”
Shane looked at him worshipfully. “Did you fight a lot?”
“Too much.”
“Did you win?”
Jack thought of the first time he’d met Katie Fitzgerald. They’d known each other on sight from school, but they’d never talked. Not until that summer afternoon when he’d taught her to ride a bike, and her brother and his friends had kicked his butt. “Most of the time.”
Shane led the way to the offices of Dr. Stephen Remington, then pushed his way through the glass door. Jack followed, only to find Katie Fitzgerald in conversation with Lone Star Canyon’s new physician.
Neither of them noticed the new arrivals, and Shane didn’t seem to be in a hurry to announce their presence. Which was fine with Jack. He wanted the chance to study Katie, to see how she’d changed since she left town eleven years ago.
He remembered that night as if it had happened the previous week. She’d been eighteen and ready to head off to college. Even then he’d known that he was going to spend the rest of his life in Lone Star Canyon. She’d wanted him to go away with her—she’d begged him, telling him that she would love him forever, no matter what. Then she’d peeled off her shirt and pleaded with him to take her.
They’d come close a few times, but they’d never gone all the way. And even though it had taken every bit of strength he’d possessed, he’d turned her down. Because it had been the right thing to do. Because he’d known that at least one of them had to get away, and it couldn’t be him.
Now, all these years later, he looked at the woman who had once been that teenage girl. She was still petite, all of five foot three. Sometime in the past few years, she’d cut her long hair. Short curls danced around her face. Her coloring was the same—light blond hair, blue eyes. She still had high cheeks and a smile that could light up a room…and she was still a Fitzgerald. There were dozens of reasons a relationship between them wouldn’t have worked when they were kids, and even more reasons now.
As he looked at her, Jack waited to feel something, a sense of regret or loss, but there wasn’t anything—for which he breathed a brief prayer of thanks. He’d learned his lesson. He wanted nothing to do with women in general and Katie Fitzgerald in particular.
Something tickled at the back of Katie’s neck. She shivered slightly, then felt a knot form in her stomach. Her chest tightened. Despite Stephen Remington’s detailed conversation about a patient, Katie turned and saw two people had entered the reception area. A boy and a man.
Her son—dirty and bleeding—accompanied by Jack Darby.
“Hello, Katie,” the ghost from her past said.
She gasped. She didn’t know which sight shocked her the most. Fortunately Stephen heard Jack’s greeting and glanced toward the door.
“Hey, Jack! What happened here?” he asked, walking toward Shane, then tilting the boy’s face so the overhead light fell on his swollen lip.
“I was in a fight,” Shane said defiantly, with a quick look at his mother. “It wasn’t my fault,” he added quickly. “They started it.”
“But you finished it,” Stephen said, leading the boy toward an examining room. “Very impressive. Now I just want to take a quick look at your lip. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
