Peyton finding them and reporting them to Fletch.
But he had come back. All through that winter, when the roads were frozen and treacherous, and anyone with a lick of sense would have stayed home in New Jersey, he’d made the trek to Blackwater Fork. Luckily, he’d been able to strike some deal with Abe Henry out at the lumber yard, giving him a legitimate excuse to stay around. And if Ben had had his suspicions, he wasn’t saying anything to Fletch. He’d heard that old story about the king shooting the messenger.
Alice supposed she had been naíve thinking she could get away with it. But the times she was with Jacob were the best times of her life. Fletch had never made her feel like Jacob made her feel. She’d wanted him with an urgency that had defied all reason.
She didn’t know what she’d expected would come of it. She never asked Jacob about himself, about his life away from Blackwater Fork, and he never volunteered it. It was as if they were both fooling themselves that this was the only life they knew.
Finding herself pregnant had not been part of the equation. She’d had a coil fitted after Joanne was born, and Jacob always used a rubber. She’d thought she was safe—from that eventuality at least. But accidents happened, and she’d found herself just another victim….
“You knew I’d come,” he said now, aware of the wounded censure in her eyes. “I want to help you, Alice. That’s why I’m here. I heard Fletch was away and we need to talk.”
“Won’t your wife wonder where you are?” Alice inquired acidly, the resentment jelling into anger and expelling the initial weakness she had felt upon seeing him again. But God, she hadn’t even known he had a wife until she’d told him she was expecting his baby. Then, he’d confessed the truth fast enough, before abandoning her to face her shame alone.
“Iris has nothing to do with us,” he told her now, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “And before you berate me for leaving you alone all these months, think what would have happened if I’d stayed.”
Alice swallowed the bile in her throat. “Don’t tell me you stayed away for my sake!”
“No.” His eyes darkened. “I admit, I had my reasons. But don’t envy Iris, for Christ’s sake. I never loved her, and you know it.”
“Liar!”
Alice turned her face away from him, but he caught her chin and turned it back. “I mean it,” he said. “But I’ll never leave her. She gave me what I wanted, and I owe her for that.”
“A sawmill,” said Alice scathingly, tears stinging her eyes as she remembered at least part of what he’d told her six months ago. He’d married Iris to gain control of her late father’s sawmill. However successful he said he’d been, she could despise him for that.
“That was part of it,” he agreed. “I’m not proud of it, but I’ve made her a rich woman. It’s a shame we’ve got no son of our own to leave it to.” He looked at the cribs. “Whereas you’ve got two—” he looked at her again “—that you don’t want.”
Alice’s eyes widened in horror. “No!”
“Why not?” Jacob was gaining confidence now. “You’ve no money. You can’t afford two more mouths to feed. Talk is, Fletch beat the living daylights out of you when he found you were pregnant.” His fingers dug into her jaw suddenly. “If I’d been here, I’d have killed him for that.”
“But you weren’t here, were you?” Alice snatched her chin away and rubbed the mark his fingers had made with the back of one shaking hand. “How dare you come here now and suggest I hand my babies over to you?” She took a breath, and then went on defiantly. “They’re not your babies anyway. They’re mine—mine and Fletch’s, do you hear? And there’s nothing—nothing—you can do about it.”
“Hey, calm down.” Alice’s voice had risen as she spoke, and for the first time Jacob seemed to become aware that there were other people in the ward. “I’m not suggesting you hand both babies over. For God’s sake, Alice, what kind of a brute do you think I am?”
Alice sniffed. “But you said—”
“Whatever it was, I said it badly,” declared Jacob tersely, realising he was in danger of alienating her altogether. “I just thought we might come to some agreement. It’s in everyone’s interest to do the best we can.”
Alice regarded him suspiciously. “So what do you want?”
Jacob hesitated only briefly. “I think you know.”
Alice gasped. “You’re mad!”
“They’re my sons, Alice.” Jacob looked at her unblinkingly. “You know it, and I know it. Why shouldn’t I want to help them?”
“Help them?” Alice almost choked on the words. “Like you helped me, you mean?” Her face contorted. “Get out of here, Jacob, before I call a nurse and have you thrown out!”
Jacob didn’t move. “Go ahead,” he said. “Call a nurse. Call the administrator if you want to. But don’t forget, I have some influence around here, too. One word to Abe Henry about that quart of moonshine Fletch keeps in his cab, and he’d be out of a job.”
Alice’s jaw sagged. “You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t want to,” said Jacob, which wasn’t quite the same thing. “For Christ’s sake, Alice, I care about you. D’you think I want to make life difficult for you with that big ape?”
“Fletch would kill you,” said Alice suddenly. “If he ever found out about you and me, he’d kill you.” Her lips twisted. “Then he’d kill me.”
Jacob sighed. “He’s not going to find out about you and me,” he assured her. “If you show a little sense.”
“And give you one of my babies? What d’you think Fletch is going to think about that?”
“Not—give—me one of the babies,” amended Jacob steadily. “Let me adopt one.” He paused. “Iris—Iris can’t have children. We tried—everything we could, but it was just no good. And—adoption isn’t easy, even for people like us. We’re too old now. We waited too long.” He lifted his shoulders dismissively. “I’d make it worth your while.”
Alice’s mouth curled. “You want to—buy—your own son.”
“If that’s what it takes.”
Alice held up her head. “Fletch won’t let you do it,” she said bravely, but she suspected he would. Jacob had fastened onto the one aspect of Fletch’s character she couldn’t change. For years, she’d been telling herself he loved his daughters, and perhaps he did, in his own way. But she’d always known, deep down inside her, that he’d marry them off to the devil himself if he made it sufficiently worth his while. And as for these two…
“I’ll have to ask him, won’t I?” Jacob remarked now, getting up to circle the bed and look down at the twins in their cribs. “My God, they are alike, aren’t they? My mother once told me my brother and I were identical when we were born, too.”
“Then it’s a pity it wasn’t you who died instead of your brother,” exclaimed
