what had been the most magical night of his life, he’d come crashing back to reality. Virginity inherently meant some kind of deep commitment and he was lousy at deep and commitment. Too much like his father they all said. He’d been told so by enough women, his mother included, and it had finally sunk in.
He’d calmed things down quickly then, and he and Melissa returned to the party, which by that time had been breaking up. Troubled, he’d slept little that night. No woman had ever made him feel the way she had, and he’d been afraid he wouldn’t be able to resist her again. Since Brett knew he’d eventually hurt Melissa terribly once she understood the kind of man he was, it was a given that their inevitable breakup would harm his relationship with Gary or at the very least, complicate Gary’s life.
So Brett had decided to be charming and friendly to Melissa at the wedding but to make himself scarce around her. That plan had gone by the boards when she’d walked down the aisle ahead of her sister. He’d nearly been knocked flat by the uncontrollable yearning to hold her again.
Still hurting over his epiphany the night before and the vision of the lonely future it had given him, he’d doubted his self-control around Melissa even more. Determined to thwart his own runaway emotions, Brett decided to enlist the help of an old family friend to use as a buffer between him and Melissa. He hadn’t counted on Melissa being hurt and angry so early in their non-relationship when she’d seen him with someone else, but he’d decided the damage was done and had let things stand—not trusting himself to go to her and explain.
Now, five years later, because she’d practically fled the city two months ago after the funeral service, he had to meet with her in private without the protection of fellow mourners as he’d planned. The prospect had his heart pounding as he drew closer to her home.
He was afraid—very much afraid—he was just as attracted to the pretty, sweet look of her now as he had been to her glamorous alter ego five long years ago. And he didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
Brett spotted his next turn and was soon flying along a winding road into the middle of nowhere. He passed one Amish farm after another, and several other properties in much poorer condition than their non-electrified Amish neighbors.
He had to go around several slow-moving horse-drawn buggies driven by bearded men in flat-crowned hats. For some odd reason the children peering out of the back windows took great pleasure in waving to him. It was just too hard to ignore their shining faces. He didn’t have a great deal of experience where children were concerned, but it felt wrong not to smile just as broadly and wave back.
Several miles farther along, when his frustration level reached a new high and his annoyance at his own trepidation over this meeting was right up there with it, he saw a listing, rusted mailbox. He brought the car to a screeching halt, kicking up a storm of dust in the gravel at the end of a long crushed-stone drive. Ancient, faded letters on the side of the box spelled out Abell.
He looked up the drive through the dark tunnel of trees and saw nothing but shadows. But she was there. He knew it. His search was over. He’d found her. And his brother’s child.
Trying to bury his feelings and hang on to the anger over all the trouble she’d put him through, Brett headed his sturdy little sports car into the rutted stone drive. After a sharp bend in the road, the tunnel of trees surrounding the vehicle abruptly ended.
Several smallish, broken-down barns and a clapboard farmhouse that had seen better days sat in the middle of the clearing. In the background were acres of grass and weeds bisected with weathered whitewashed fencing. The house and farm buildings were screened from the road by the thick trees and scrub that had been flying by his window minutes before.
He turned his attention back to the house and frowned. More than half of the white paint had peeled to bare, weathered wood and several of its forest-green shutters were missing. On the front porch, two wicker chairs rocked languidly in the warm early-summer breeze. A rainbow of flowers blooming along the foundation of the porch brightened the dismal setting, but only a little.
Brett pushed open his door and climbed to his feet. He looked around, unable to connect this place with the woman he’d been tracking. Or at least his image of her. Had everything she said been a lie? This did not look like the house of a decorator.
Now that he thought about it, if, indeed, she’d been an interior designer with a business of her own and plans for an antique shop, as she’d said at the wedding, how could she have left all that behind five years later to stay with Gary and Leigh in their spare room until the baby was born? That kind of absence would be death to a business.
And if all that was a lie too, how did she expect to support a child? The detective’s report had said the place was run-down, but that it would be worth good money to a developer. It also said she had made no move to sell so that clearly wasn’t part of her plan. What the report or his detective hadn’t warned him of was that she was impoverished.
Brett stood there appalled, his anger growing. This was where Melissa planned to raise Gary’s baby? He pictured a barefoot child who looked like Gary, wearing tattered clothes, crouched by the side of the road watching the world go by without him. And shuddered.
What advantage would the child have living in poverty in the back of beyond? Even having him as a guardian would be better than this! He could hire a nanny to provide the everyday security a child needed and he’d make sure to be there for the big moments whenever possible.
Straightening his shoulders, Brett walked forward, prepared to do battle for his brother’s son. He’d just put his foot on the bottom step when Melissa spoke through the sagging screen door. “What do you want?” she demanded, her tone hostile.
He took a deep breath. “You skipped lunch,” he quipped, striving to keep this meeting as friendly as possible. He was a man on a mission with a child’s well-being at stake and alienating the child’s mother wouldn’t help matters. And he couldn’t let his brother’s child be brought up this way.
“I had nothing more to say to you or your family,” she answered. Her expression was calm. Almost serene. “‘Doing lunch’ would have been overkill.”
Brett arched an eyebrow. “Is that why you ran? Because you had nothing to say?”
“I didn’t run. I drove home. It’s a free country,” she said, still annoyingly composed though no less unfriendly.
He took another calming breath. “We need to talk,” he reiterated.
“Oh? What could we possibly have to talk about?” She pushed open the rickety screen door and stepped onto the porch.
She was still delicate and thin, the pregnancy not showing at all. Her blue-green eyes flashed with anger. He fought a smile that tugged at his lips. She might be angry and sound tough, but with her blond hair curling loosely about her lovely heart-shaped face and the soft material of her light-blue dress fluttering around her calves she looked sweet and innocent. And seductive as hell.
What the hell’s the matter with you?
“Look, what I have to say won’t take long,” he said, forcing his thoughts back on track. “Gary’s baby is all I have left of my brother. I have a proposition. Come back to Pennsylvania and live in the carriage house on the estate. It’s an attractive little place. Warm. Clean. After the baby’s born, if you sign over custody, I’ll set you up in business in any city of your choice. You could even have standard visitation rights. It’s your smartest way out of the jam Gary and Leigh’s deaths have
