brother’s denseness eased some of the other feelings. “That isn’t why she came here, and I haven’t asked her yet.”
“But you think she’ll agree?”
“She’s the mother of my child.”
For the first time that night, there was a hint of humor in Duncan’s voice. “She might not see the two as being equivalent.”
“That’s why we’ll have a lot to work out.”
Duncan looked as if he might say something more, then shook his head and headed for the hall to hang up his jacket.
Ben was starting to feel better. They’d gotten through some of the worst of it. He remembered the drink he’d poured earlier and went to get it. The liquor tasted warm and mellow, but there was a bite beneath the smoothness. Tonight he needed that bite. When Duncan came back into the room, Ben swirled the amber liquid in his glass without looking up. “So, are you going back to the base, or are you going to stay here where you belong?”
“Do you need me to stay?”
Ben almost snapped out something about wanting and needing being different, but stopped himself in time. Duncan was the one who needed help, not him. But he was too stubborn for his own good. He’d hang around if he thought Ben needed him, though. “Yeah,” he said, though it wasn’t easy.
“All right. Ben…” Duncan seemed to struggle for words. “For God’s sake, think about this. You spent a couple days with her five years ago. You didn’t even recognize her.”
“She looks different now. Her hair was long then.”
“You didn’t know her,” Duncan repeated. “And now you want to marry her.”
“She’s got my son.”
Duncan turned away. “How old is she?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Do you even know?”
Ben searched his memory. “I think…probably close to thirty now. Maybe.”
“At least you didn’t rob the cradle,” Duncan muttered. He still wouldn’t look at Ben. “You have feelings for her, or do you just plan on using her to get custody of your son?”
It was strain Ben heard in his brother’s voice, not anger. He reined in his own temper as firmly as he could. “I don’t use women.”
Duncan turned slowly to face him. His eyes were winter-gray and unreadable. “If you didn’t want her enough to hang around five years ago, what kind of marriage can you have?”
“Things have changed. She didn’t need me then. She does now.”
“Because of the boy.”
“That’s part of it.” Ben took a deep breath, let it out and got the rest of it said. “Twenty months ago she was diagnosed with breast cancer.”
Chapter 3
Andrews, Florida, three days later
Gwen tucked the letter neatly back in its envelope. She took a deep breath, striving for calm.
The moist air carried the taste of home into her lungs—Florida air, flavored with hibiscus and jasmine. Outside a mockingbird welcomed the evening. The orange-gold rays of sunset streamed at a familiar slant through the windows of the porch. An easy profusion of light filtered through the leaves of the big bay tree to dapple the wooden floor, the glass table where she sat and the long white envelope with the Colorado return address.
Ben had booked and paid for the flight for her and Zach. He’d sent a terse little note to let her know, sent it overnight mail. Dammit. She pushed to her feet and started pacing.
She’d agreed to come to Highpoint with Zach. She’d agreed to stay in Ben’s house so he and Zach could spend normal, everyday time together. But she hadn’t agreed to letting him pay for their airfare.
He’d done it anyway.
Well, he was a proud man. A proud, stubborn jackass of a man. She rubbed her temple. This probably wouldn’t be the only time they butted heads over money. Benjamin McClain had a real problem with the fact that she had more of it than he did. She’d known that.
She hadn’t known she was still so angry with him about it, though.
At the other end of the house, the front door slammed. “Mom! Mom! Guess what! Where are you, Mom?”
She stopped moving, a smile easing the tight muscles of her face. “In the Florida room, honey.”
Feet pattered, light and swift, down the uncarpeted hall toward the sun porch where Gwen waited. “We went to see the seals, Mom, and I fed one!” Three feet, one inch of towheaded tornado whirled into the room, legs pumping.
“You did?” She hunkered down and held out her arms. Her son hurled himself into them. “All by yourself?”
“Mostly.” Zachary was ever judicious in his assessment of truth. “I got to hold the fish myself, and the man held me. I told him he didn’t have to ’cause I’m four now, but he did, anyway. And their teeth are really big, Mom. Did you know that?”
“Big teeth, huh? Bigger than mine?” She made chomping noises and pretended to bite him. He giggled, and her arms tightened.
Oh, God. She wanted so much for him, so much….
“You’re squishing me, Mom.” He wriggled.
“Sorry, light-of-my-life. Tell me about the seals.”
“The man said they’re called seal-ions, not just seals. And they bark like dogs. Like this.” He demonstrated.
Her mother spoke from the French doors, her voice dry. “He did that all the way home.”
The muscles across Gwen’s shoulders tightened. “The condition of his clothes tells me he had a good time.”
“We both did.” Her mother gave Zach the soft, faintly surprised smile that only her grandson seemed able to elicit.
All her life, Gwen had heard how much she resembled her mother. It was true. Her nose lacked the symmetry of her mother’s, due to the time she’d fallen out of a tree when she was seven. Otherwise, looking at Deirdre Van Allen’s face was too much like peering into her own physical future—the same eyes, mouth, chin, even the same small ears tucked flat to their heads. The same wheat-pale hair and easily burned skin. Aside from age, there was only one obvious difference between the two women: their height. The fine bones and flat chest that made Gwen look like an undernourished child were transformed on Deirdre Van Allen’s taller frame into a model’s willowy elegance.
Sometimes Gwen had rebelled against the resemblance, sometimes she’d taken comfort from it. These days she mostly just hoped she’d be around to find out how accurate that genetic mirror turned out to be.
Two sticky hands seized her face and turned it
