I didn’t get this place from a man, Mr. Hamilton,” she answered tersely. “I’ve made my own way through a lot of hard work and a bit of luck. Did you achieve whatever you’ve got through a woman?”
In a way he had, his sister protecting him from even knowing about a responsibility he had incurred. He’d been left free to prosper in his chosen career instead of being saddled with a young wife and baby. Denise Graham had not only ensured he had every chance to succeed, she’d kept his child for him, too.
He looked abashed. “I didn’t mean to suggest...”
Resentment over his intrusion in her life now—far too late—brought a surge of impatience with his purpose. “Just why are you checking me out?” she demanded bluntly. “What answers are you looking for?”
He grimaced at her directness. “I guess you could say we’re both faced with a highly delicate situation. I’m trying to ascertain what your attitude might be toward a meeting with Kimberly. Whether it would intrude negatively on the life you have now.”
Her mind reeled at the incredible import of what he was saying. A meeting with her daughter? She’d barely dared to hope for it some time in the future when Kimberly was old enough to be her own person. How could this be when she was only twelve?
“Your sister will allow it?” Her throat had gone so dry her voice was a raw croak. Her eyes clung to his in a torment of doubt.
“My sister and her husband were killed in a car accident a year ago. Just before Christmas,” he stated quietly. “Kimberly has been in my care ever since.”
Shock rolled through her in mind-blowing, heart-wrenching waves. Denise and Colin Graham dead. Since before Christmas last year. And all this time she’d been thinking of them, picturing them going about their lives in their family unit, enjoying all she couldn’t enjoy with their daughter. A year! Her daughter had been without a mother, without her adoptive parents, for a whole year!
“I was appointed her legal guardian,” Nick Hamilton went on, apparently still unaware he was Kimberly’s natural father. His gaze seemed to tunnel into her mind as he added, “I didn’t know about you. Didn’t know there was any contact between you and my sister.”
Meredith closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear his non-knowledge of her. And death could have sealed those secret, intimate links forever. It made her sick to think of it.
“Only today did I get your address from the solicitor.” His voice strained now, strained with all he didn’t know and the fear of the unknown. “He didn’t want to give it to me. He argued that Denise’s death closed the personal connection between the two of you. He advised against my picking it up.”
Fear of the consequences...dear God! The roads that had been travelled to this point! And he was afraid of letting her in to their lives!
“Why did you?” she asked faintly, trying to suppress the bitterness of having no legal rights. Even when the adoptive parents were dead, she couldn’t make a claim on her own child.
“For Kimberly. She wants...”
Meredith lifted her lashes enough to see his grimace. He didn’t like this. Didn’t want it. He’d come against the solicitor’s advice, against his own better judgment. His chest rose and felt as he expelled a long, ragged sigh.
“She wants...her real mother...for Christmas,” he finished flatly.
For Christmas.
Only for Christmas.
A limited encounter... just like with her father. Limited...time out of time to cherish...treasure... haunt. The pain of the limitation sucked the blood from her brain. She clutched at the kitchen counter but couldn’t summon the strength to hold on as she slid into dark oblivion.
CHAPTER THREE
NICK picked her up from the kitchen floor and cradled her against his chest. A pins and needles sensation attacked his whole body. It wasn’t the effort of carrying her weight. She was not a big woman despite her above-average height. It was the way she seemed to nestle in his arms, her head dropping onto his shoulder as though it belonged there, her long hair flowing across his throat, skeins of silk somehow entangling him with feelings his brain couldn’t compute at all. They didn’t make sense. At least... not a sense he was ready to acknowledge.
It was too crazy... too beyond rational explanation. He hadn’t met her before. He knew he hadn’t. Her eyes being the same as Kimberly’s was not the answer, either. Kimberly was a child. Meredith Palmer was a woman. How did a woman he didn’t know get to walk through his dreams? And to have her materialise in front of him...real flesh and blood...every line of her hauntingly familiar to him... Nick was hopelessly distracted from establishing what he’d come here to do.
He should have approached the salient facts more obliquely, been more sensitive to their impact on her. It was obvious she’d been stressed at not receiving the packet from Denise and his appearance on the scene must have agitated her further despite the reassurance he’d tried to give. Here she was in a dead faint, all because he’d responded without giving enough thought to how it would affect her, and he was still caught up in how she affected him!
Instead of standing in her kitchen like a dumb ox, holding her in his own personal daze, he should be doing something constructive about bringing her back to consciousness. He forced his mind to focus on practicalities.
The sofa in her living room was only a two-seater, not large enough to lay her out comfortably. Bedroom and bathroom had to be nearby. A door stood slightly ajar near one of the bookcases. He carried her to it and manoeuvred her into what proved to be her bedroom.
She was beginning to stir as he lowered her onto the bed, her head rolling restlessly, as though in blind search of something lost. A low moan of longing or some deep inner torment issued from her throat and tugged at his heart. He grasped her hand, his fingers curling tightly around hers, pressing his warmth and strength, wanting to impart she was not alone.
Thinking he should probably get her a glass of water, he glanced around, looking for a door into an ensuite bathroom. And shock hit him again.
The walls were covered with photographs of Kimberly!
Montages of each year of his niece’s life hung in frames, interspersed with blow-ups of what were particularly good shots of her, capturing a highly expressive look that seemed to bring her personality stunningly, vibrantly alive in this room.
It was eerie, seeing Kimberly in such close focus from babyhood onward. Nick had seen most of the photographs before at various times, but never in this kind of concentration. The collection, so overwhelmingly displayed, suddenly seemed to smack of unhealthy obsessiveness.
Kimberly’s plea...if my real mother wants me... became an absurd understatement in the face of so much visual evidence of wanting. Nick’s head buzzed with a confusion of moral and legal rights. Kimberly was family to him, yet how much more was she to this woman who had given her birth? What if Kimberly’s desire to meet her was capricious? What was he setting in motion here?
The warning given by Hector Burnside, Denise’s old solicitor, started ringing in Nick’s ears. Leave well enough alone. You don’t know what you might be walking into. It could be dangerous ground.
Maybe he should have heeded the advice of a man who had seen
