haven’t established that they are my family,” she reminded him. He wasn’t convinced. Apparently the very fact that she worked in the diner was a strike against her.
“Well, your coloring is right.”
“Only five million people in New York have brown hair and brown eyes.”
He shook his head. “It’s different. Both William and Joseph have that same shade. Almost but not quite black.”
“How lucky for them,” she said drily.
“Not really. Judging by Richard, you’ll all go completely gray relatively early.”
“Are you going to clue me in as to who William and Joseph are, or do you assume I already know?”
His gaze remained on the long road ahead. She noticed a hint of a smirk. “Don’t tell me you can’t remember your beloved cousins.”
Her patience snapped. “I’m not sure which bothers you more—the fact that I might be Richard Hawthorne’s daughter or the thought that I’m not. Either way, I’m getting damned tired of your insinuations.”
Clayton groaned. She was so close to the truth, he marveled at her perception. He wasn’t sure which outcome he wanted more. As a child, he had witnessed the kidnapping of Megan Hawthorne. The memory still haunted him. Twenty years of false leads and outright cons had killed any hope he’d had for a favorable outcome. But twenty years of silently blaming himself had never allowed him to stop trying.
Every detail about Mikki fit. A little too well. Why had some anonymous person come forward now? Granted, anyone who had followed the case could have pieced together enough information to get his attention. That same person had to know that a DNA test would reveal a phony. So, why hadn’t he insisted that Mikki submit to one before bringing her to meet Richard?
“Stop,” Mikki shouted.
Instinctively he slammed the antilock brakes. His heart hammered in his chest. He scanned the area, expecting to find something in the road. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to stretch my legs.” She slipped out of the car before he could stop her.
Mikki sprinted across a baseball field with the exuberance of a child. Although numerous benches lined the local park’s trails, she plopped herself down in the middle of center field and turned her face up to the sun.
Once his pulse rate slowed, he stepped outside, too. How odd, he thought. He traveled this road every day and had never noticed the small park before.
He glanced at his watch, then shrugged. What difference would a few more minutes make? He closed the distance between them.
As he drew alongside of Mikki, she cupped her fingers around his ankle, halting his last step. For one moment he was reminded of the way Megan, the toddler, used to latch on to him when he had tried to leave a room. That little imp had been the only member of the Hawthorne family besides Richard who hadn’t treated him like a poor, orphaned charity case, and he’d failed them both when it counted.
“Be careful. You almost stepped on a flower,” she said.
He shook off the faded memory. Back in the present, the feel of her firm grip on his leg brought another image to mind. More sensual, but equally as disturbing. He willed his body to remain rigid. “What flower? That’s a common weed.”
She let go of his leg and plucked the yellow cap from the grass, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s a dandelion, but then anything common would probably be a weed to you—myself included.”
Common? No, Mikki was unique. She was three miles away from a meeting that might change her life forever, and she preferred to roll around in a field of grass.
“Take a load off your feet, Clayton. Or are you afraid of getting grass stains on your rear end?”
“We’re almost there.”
“Am I throwing you off schedule?”
He wouldn’t admit now that he had indeed made a schedule. His trip to New York had been treated like any other business trip. Only Mikki wasn’t a client or an employee, and he couldn’t make her conform to the strict timetable he had set for himself. “We have a few minutes, I suppose.”
Amusement flickered in her dark eyes. “Is there too much starch in your collar, or are you always this stuffy?”
He grinned and dropped down on the plush grass next to her. “It comes naturally.”
“I’ll bet it does.” A soft giggle bubbled over her full lips.
“I guess you’re nervous.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Is there a reason I should be?”
“I don’t know. There’s a chance that you are Richard’s daughter. How do you feel about that?”
A warm breeze rustled the leaves. She pushed back a strand of hair from her cheek and sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t met the man yet.”
“But the idea of being rich must be appealing.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Is that a question or an accusation?”
“Question.”
“Are you rich?”
He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “I do all right.”
“And is your happiness based on your money?”
“This isn’t about me.”
“Isn’t it?” She wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “Funny. I got the impression that this has everything to do with you. Otherwise, you would have sent a lawyer or private detective to find me instead of coming in person.”
Again, he was amazed by her insight. Yes, he had a vested interest in finding Megan Hawthorne and a hell of a lot to lose if she turned out to be a brilliant con artist. Other than Richard, no member of the Hawthorne clan believed Megan was still alive.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.
“I thought it was rhetorical. Anybody who says they’ve never dreamed of being rich is already nch or a liar. I’m also realistic enough to know that dreams don’t come true and I had better not give up my day job.”
“And a gem of a job it is.” He cursed the thoughtless comment the second the words were out.
“It’s honest and I eat for free. And most customers leave tips for the service.”
Clayton bowed his head. “I guess that was directed at me.”
“You bought me a plane ticket. Put in perspective, it’s the biggest tip I ever got for a cup of coffee. However, I wasn’t your waitress. Annie was.”
He didn’t know what to make of her. In the world in which he had grown up, her work would seem a drudgery, yet she had no complaints. “You’re a
