Unexpected Father

Unexpected Father Kelly Jamison HE HAD A SON?Jordan McClennon never expected that his short, passionate affair with Hannah Brewster seven years ago had produced a child. But he just knew that six-year-old Kevin was living proof! True, Hannah had never told Jordan he was a father, but he was prepared to give her time to accept that he was back in her life for good.Until then, he was taking control of the minor details - reigniting the passion with Hannah, building a bond with Kevin, and planning the perfect wedding… . But then Hannah discovered what Jordan suspected! And told him the truth about Kevin… . “Kevin Isn’t Your Son?” (#udd7c8ed1-e1f0-59dc-a53d-8e54a6517cf7)Letter to Reader (#uee262f9c-2bc2-5c3e-bfe9-0a671bcf91f7)Title Page (#u4c7b287b-bf50-55ef-83c9-537732ffdc81)About the Author (#u5e44cc13-fe24-5561-af00-c34c749ca953)Chapter One (#u652a8cca-141b-592a-97d6-2874dccb80b5)Chapter Two (#uc573a6be-9ac5-5a32-8fed-2a147565a072)Chapter Three (#ue259103d-83f5-5f73-842c-eedbcd1e055d)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) “Kevin Isn’t Your Son?” Hannah shook her head at Jordan’s question. “I assumed everyone knew. My sister, Marybeth, died shortly after he was born.” She watched Jordan’s face with growing alarm. Something was obviously wrong. “Why is it so surprising to you that Kevin is my sister’s child? Did you think he was biologically mine?” If he thought Kevin was hers, why had he never asked about Kevin’s father? “Oh...” she said softly. “Oh. You thought...” “How could I not think that? The timing was right, and you seemed so...angry to see me again. And so protective of Kevin.” It all made sense to her now. Horrible, painful sense. Jordan had wanted to be with his son. Not her. But the son he thought he had fathered. And now that he knew the truth... Dear Reader, This month we have some special treats in store for you, beginning with Nobody’s Princess, another terrific MAN OF THE MONTH from award-winning writer Jennifer Greene. Our heroine believes she’s just another run-of-the-mill kind of gal...but naturally our hero knows better. And he sets out to prove to her that he is her handsome prince...and she is his princess! Joan Elliott Pickart’s irresistible Bishop brothers are back in Texas Glory, the next installment of her FAMILY MEN series. And Amy Fetzer brings us her first contemporary romance, a romantic romp concerning parenthood—with a twist—in Anybody’s Dad. Peggy Moreland’s heroes are always something special, as you’ll see in A Little Texas Two-Step, the latest in her TROUBLE IN TEXAS series. And if you’re looking for fun and frolic—and a high dose of sensuality—don’t nuss Patty Salier’s latest, The Honeymoon House. If emotional and dramatic is more your cup of tea, then you’ll love Kelly Jamison’s Unexpected Father. As always, there is something for everyone here at Silhouette Desire, where you’ll find the very best contemporary romance. Enjoy! Senior Editor Please address questions and book requests to: Silhouette Reader Service U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3 Kelly Jamison Unexpected Father www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) KELLY JAMISON began her writing career in sixth grade when she discovered that the weekly spelling assignment—to write a story using all the words on that week’s list—was more fun than recess. It continued to be fun, and hard work, from then on...from the humorous greeting cards she wrote on a freelance basis to the confession stories that scandalized her mother-in-law to the romances she first published under the pen name Kelly Adams. Along the way she wrote for two newspapers—one so strapped for cash that reporters also had to borrow a camera from the woman next door for news photos. Kelly says she has all the ingredients for a happy life—her husband, a word processor, a nearby bookstore and a good supply of chocolate. She is always glad to hear from readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 5223, Quincy, Illinois 62305. One Hannah Brewster sat on the grass scowling at the two pickup trucks pulling into the driveway, her hands clenched on the shortened two-by-four lying across her lap. Just the name McClennon was enough to make her blood boil, and here came two of them now. But these were the two older brothers, John and Jake, not Jordan McClennon, whose memory was still an aching bruise to her pride. Hannah wouldn’t have come all the way from St. Louis today if she’d known any McClennons would be here, as well, but Ronnie Wardlow had neglected to mention that little detail until a few minutes ago. On purpose, she suspected. Ronnie had invited her to help him and some friends build a new house for his mother, Esther. Hannah liked Ronnie and his mother, and she had jumped at the chance to get out of St. Louis and into the country air at Sandford, Illinois, on a sunny, early-May weekend. The whole plan had sounded fine until now. The trucks drew to a stop beside Ronnie’s battered pickup, and two tall, dark men got out of the vehicle. McClennons, she was sure. They were certainly a good-looking family. The second truck had a camper top on the back, and the driver stood behind it for a couple of minutes, adjusting something with the help of the McClennon brothers. When he stepped around the pickup into Hannah’s view, her heart leapt to her throat. Jordan McClennon. She started to stand up, then abruptly sat down again. She looked around in agitation, finally focusing on Ronnie. He gave her a helpless shrug. Ronnie knew that she didn’t like Jordan, but he didn’t know the whole story. It wouldn’t have mattered much to any other woman, she supposed—a man dumping a girl after two dates was hardly headline news—but she had been young and in love. For months that love had been secret—and totally one-sided—but then one red-letter day Jordan McClennon, founder and owner of McClennon Industries in St. Louis and Hannah’s employer, had bumped into her in the employees’ lounge and invited her to dinner. Hannah had never considered herself attractive; at the time she’d been too thin and gangly, wore thick glasses and pulled her hair back in a drab ponytail for convenience. But she had bought a new dress for her first dinner with Jordan. He’d been polite and charming, and she’d returned home more in love than ever. There was a second date. Hannah had found a reservoir of self-confidence in the wine, and when Jordan had suggested they stop at his apartment to pick up some papers before dropping her at her place, she’d agreed. He gave her a tour of the apartment, and at the bedroom she found herself looping her arms around his neck and smiling up at him. Jordan took it from there. If there was a seduction, she had been a more than willing participant, if not the instigator. But that didn’t assuage her anger with Jordan. He was handsome, he was articulate, he was intelligent, he was the walking embodiment of charm. And he’d never called her again after they’d made love. Her grandmother was right, she decided. Men only wanted one thing. And when they got it, they moved on to the next conquest. Her pride stung, even more so when she’d passed Jordan’s office two days later and had seen him in conference with a buxom blonde. Some conference. Her bosom was thrust into his face as she leaned over the desk next to him, and one hand with its manicured, fire-engine red press-on nails was draped teasingly over his. Hannah would have continued working at McClennon Industries, would have continued with her dateless, colorless existence, because she was a Brewster, and that was what she had been taught. But circumstances intervened. Her sister, Marybeth, the wild one in the family, had become pregnant out of wedlock, and Hannah had quit her job to help her out. When Hannah finally returned to St. Louis, it was with her sister’s child and to a different job. Until this day she had not seen Jordan McClennon again. She nearly groaned at the sight of him. She might not be in love any longer, but her libido hadn’t forgotten him. He had the same chiseled features and black hair as his brothers. His eyes were blue, so light and yet intense, like the center of a flame. And he was looking right at her. With interest. Immediately her surprise turned to irritation. He hadn’t changed. He was always on the lookout for a conquest. Obviously he didn’t recognize her yet, or he would know that he’d made this particular conquest seven years ago. Hannah kept her expression carefully neutral as a chattering Ronnie led the men toward her. To her dismay, she found that she couldn’t quite make herself look away from Jordan. Her pride, like an irate security guard, willed her eyes to move along and stop dawdling where they didn’t belong. But her eyes were focused only on doing an inventory of Jordan McClennon’s features. His black hair, thick and gleaming like ebony in the sun, was flawless, just unruly enough to move in the breeze and yet provide the perfect frame for his striking face. No flaws in his bone structure, either; the hard, square chin and high cheekbones would have done a Viking proud. Eyes so light blue that they seemed preternatural were still fixed unwaveringly on her The straight, aristocratic nose, the full, firm mouth that quirked up on one side in an assured, sardonic half smile.... Stop! she ordered herself. But still, her shameless eyes took in his hard, lean chest and thighs and the tight jeans that made all kinds of promises. There was still no wedding ring on his finger. Her face was growing warm. She made herself smile as Ronnie introduced the brothers to her. “Hannah Brewster?” Jordan repeated as if Ronnie’s introduction had come as a complete surprise. “The Hannah Brewster who used to work at my company?” Hannah felt a prick of irritation that he chose that particular description—employee—instead of something more familiar. Still, she forced herself to nod coolly. Jordan surveyed her with obvious interest. “You cut your hair. And got rid of the glasses.” Her irritation grew. He was looking at her as if she were a new chair he was considering buying for his patio. “Actually, I kind of liked the glasses,” he said, smiling. Hannah was determined not to let that charming smile do her in this time. “I gave the glasses to charity when I got contacts,” she said dryly. “I didn’t keep the hair, either, or you’d be welcome to it.” Jordan laughed, and she felt a pang, remembering how much she had liked his laugh once upon a time. It was like the sound of a river rolling over sun-warmed stones. It was the kind of laugh a woman liked to hear on a Saturday night while the radio played love songs and her lover slowly undressed her. It was a laugh—and a voice—that could warm the coldest night. His eyes were studying her again. “No,” he said softly. “I take it back about the glasses. Your eyes are too pretty to hide behind glasses.” From the corners of those eyes she could see his brothers exchanging glances. Apparently they were all too familiar with his routine. “You must have a subscription to the Guide for the Single Male,” she said sharply. “That’s about the tenth time I’ve heard that line.” She was making no concessions to his studied charm. Jordan’s smile widened, and she noticed that his brothers had raised their eyebrows in surprise. “Pardon me, ma’am,” the brother introduced as Jake said. “But could I take a picture of this? The great Jordan McClennon striking out with a woman?” He and his other brother, John, laughed and punched a put-upon Jordan in the shoulder, grinning at Hannah as they turned to leave. “It was nice meeting you, Hannah,” John, the middle McClennon brother, said. “Very nice. Come on, Ronnie. Let’s get to work.” Hannah scrambled to her feet, picked up the board and cradled it in her arms. When she felt Jordan encroaching too closely on her heels, she turned suddenly, nearly catching him in the stomach with the board’s end. “Hannah, I—” he began, the laughter gone from his face. “Excuse me, Jordan,” she interrupted crisply. “I’m here to help Ronnie build a house, and that’s all. Don’t waste your energy on me.” With that, she turned with as much dignity as she could muster, the board still in her arms like a soldier’s musket, and trooped toward the cement foundation. Hannah leaned on the board and carefully avoided looking at Jordan as she watched Jake gather tools from the back of the pickup. A long strip of metal lay half-coiled on the ground by her feet. Glancing down, she caught a distorted reflection of herself, and studied it impassively. She supposed she did look quite different from the way Jordan had remembered. Her short haircut with its pixie bangs and tousled shape gave her fine brown hair more character and suited her face. She used mascara now that her brown eyes were actually visible without glasses, and it had seemed a natural progression to wear a light shade of lipstick as well. She had always tended to be on the thin side, but over the past few years she had gained enough weight to add some curves. She was wearing an old pair of jeans that clung to her rounded hips, and a pink cotton T-shirt with a picture of a hot-fudge sundae on the front above the words Breakfast Of Champions. She was all too aware that the T-shirt stretched tightly over her breasts. Thinking back, she had never known what it was that prompted Jordan McClennon to ask her out in the first place. At the time it had seemed a miracle that someone like Jordan would notice mousy little Hannah Brewster, much less take her to dinner. Her affair with Jordan had been the only one in her life, and it had taught her a valuable lesson about herself. She was not the promiscuous type, and she was not about to let anything like that happen again. Her sister, rest her soul, had occupied enough beds to fill a motel directory, but that life-style was not for Hannah. She would rather remain celibate than repeat the humiliation of making love with a man she cared for, only to have him waltz away with not so much as a backward glance. Jake returned with a power saw and hammers and began explaining the framing of a house, as John helped him set up the saw. Hannah began to get cold feet about the whole project as Jake talked about how they were going to build the sill. She didn’t belong here at all, she assured herself. She had some skill with a hammer and saw only because she had helped her father—if helped was the right word—when he remodeled their house. She had done it because she’d wanted to be with him, and she had treasured those times together. But she was here now simply because she was Ronnie’s friend. And he was the only reason she hadn’t headed back to St. Louis already. Ronnie had been an electronically precocious but socially oblivious teenager when he’d begun working at McClennon Industries as a summer intern. Hannah had been a few years older, but she had befriended him when she’d seen him eating his lunch alone, a stoic look on his face. She’d lost touch with him when she left McClennon Industries, but when she returned to St. Louis, she ran into him again at the library where she worked. She had visited him in Sandford a couple of times, and she was fond of his mother, Esther. Jake and John were laying the metal strip over the foundation rim now, and Jake called to Jordan to get the sill boards ready. Hannah met Jordan’s eyes briefly before he moved toward the tarp-covered pile of lumber. She felt her pulse quicken. “I’m sorry,” Ronnie said lamely beside her. “I didn’t know that Jake had told Jordan about the house. I didn’t have any idea he’d be here.” Hannah ended Ronnie’s misery with a gentle touch on his arm. “It’s okay. There’s no reason to feel awkward. It’s been a long time since I last saw Jordan, and, believe me, there’s no spark there anymore.” The last part wasn’t entirely true, but Ronnie seemed satisfied. He moved off to help Jake and John, and Hannah studied Jordan covertly. How had she forgotten how physically compelling he was? Maybe it was a case of not wanting to remember. It all seemed like a dream now. That she had once been intimate with this man made the blood collect in places that hadn’t felt a man’s touch since Jordan. What he had done to her, she thought in wonder, was to seduce her with the expertise of long practice. No, that wasn’t quite fair. She’d been more than willing to be seduced. And it had been an exquisite experience. But a man like Jordan McClennon knew how good he was with women. And Hannah realized with certainty that he would seduce her all over again if he could. For him it would be just another game. “Hannah!” Jordan called sharply, startling her and making her blush as if he had read her thoughts. “Help me with these boards.” She was tempted to tell him to do it himself, but she realized that both Jake and John were watching, though they tried not to be obvious about it. She decided it was less trying to help with the boards than to be the continuing source of the McClennon brothers’ amusement. “Well?” she said, frowning, as Jordan continued to watch her, his eyes narrowed. “You’re standing on the board, Hannah,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “That makes it a little tough for me to pick it up. Not that you’re not light as a feather, sweetheart, but I haven’t had my Wheaties today.” “You mean there’s something you can’t do?” she shot back. She had never been particularly defensive before now, but this was the man who had seen her naked, who had made love to her, then left her. His eyes met hers and held. “Shall I come over there and move you?” he asked quietly. His voice was too low for anyone else to hear, but the heat climbed her face, anyway. The arrogant egotist would probably love an excuse to touch her. No doubt he thought she would fall all over him again. Lifting her chin, Hannah stepped to the side, then bent and grasped the end of the board. With one last look at her, Jordan did the same. “Is it too heavy?” he asked solicitously, and she grunted negatively, determined not to give him any more response than absolutely necessary. When they had deposited the last of the boards on the ground by the foundation, Hannah put her hands on her lower back and stretched. She wasn’t badly out of shape, but it had been a long time since Kevin had been light enough for her to lift him with any frequency. That was the trouble with babies; they eventually grew up. It seemed that every day they presented their mothers with a new set of problems and a new set of delights. She gently touched the locket at her neck. It still saddened Hannah that Marybeth never got to see her son turn into such a wonderful kid. “Are you all right?” Jordan asked carefully, and Hannah focused on him, realizing that she had been staring off into the distance. “Yes,” she said with resignation. She had learned how to be all nght no matter what happened. She supposed she had inherited from her father the ability to put one foot in front of the other and soldier on despite any difficulty. Not that it was always easy; there were more than enough times when she nearly wondered aloud why she was bothering. But a Brewster didn’t stop to ask pointless questions when there was work to be done. Jake had finished attaching the metal strip to the foundation and was moving the first sill board into place. Ronnie appeared by Hannah’s side and with an encouraging smile handed her a hammer. Jordan didn’t miss the fact that Ronnie’s fingers brushed Hannah’s Turning her back on Jordan, Hannah bent to pick up some nails. Jordan studied her while his brothers drilled holes for the anchor bolts. He vaguely remembered the restaurant where he’d taken her to dinner a long time ago. What he remembered vividly was the sensation of her, of Hannah Brewster. There was a vitality in her, a warmth that made a man feel good all over just looking at her or listening to her talk. He marveled that he could remember that evening so clearly. He had tugged her toward his bedroom when they had reached his apartment, and she had gone willingly. He could still see the smile on her face as she put her arms around his neck. He had taken her glasses off for her and then unfastened her hair, letting it fan out across the pillow. She had been nervous, fumbling with his buttons until he had to undo his shirt himself. But she had been so sweet in his bed. He still hadn’t quite figured out the parameters of her relationship with Ronnie, but maybe it was one of those steadfast, quiet love affairs devoid of overt displays of affection. He couldn’t imagine why else she would be here—carpentry skills or not—unless there was something between her and the red-haired electronics prodigy. Jordan realized that he was thinking. at least on a subconscious level, of taking her to bed again. She had grown into a beautiful woman since he had last seen her. Not that she hadn’t been attractive before—she just hadn’t known it then. She had a quiet confidence about her now. Still, something was missing. Her smile—that was it. It was what had first drawn him to her. And he had yet to see it today. He supposed she smiled for Ronnie. Resolutely he sat down on the ground by the pile of tools, rummaging for another hammer. He told himself to stop thinking about Hannah Brewster. She was treating him with all the welcome of a spitting cat. It was plain that she didn’t want anything to do with him. Which made her all the more intriguing. “I need the nails,” she said stoically, and he glanced up to see her silhouetted in the sun, her hands on her hips. “What nails?” he asked stupidly, so lost in thinking about her that he was unsure for a moment if he was looking at her or a memory. “The nine-gauge,” she said in the calm, efficient tone she’d apparently adopted just for him. “You’re sitting on them,” she added pointedly. Jordan frowned, looking around the grass where he was sitting. “I think I’d know if I was sitting on nails,” he assured her. “Maybe your jeans have cut off the circulation to your brain,” she suggested with a slight curve of her mouth, letting him know just where she thought he kept his brain. “Hannah,” he began impatiently, wondering just what it was he wanted to say to her now that he’d started. “Ah!” she said suddenly, diving down and scooping up a paper bag. “See, I told you,” she said, straightening with the bag of nails. She was giving him back as good as he’d given her when she had been standing on the board, and it took him by surprise. Few women argued with him, much less provoked him. “I wasn’t sitting on them,” he insisted. He shifted his weight forward, intent on standing so he could have this argument face-to-face, when his thigh came down on something sharp. “Ow,” he muttered, reaching down and closing his hand around metal. He held up a hasp. “That’s what I was sitting on,” he said. For a moment she almost smiled, but in the next instant the smile was gone before it really materialized, leaving him bereft. He wondered why it mattered so much to him that she wouldn’t smile for him. And why it aggravated him so. Hannah knew she was getting on his nerves. She could see it in his puzzled frown and in the set of his mouth. She found that she rather liked getting on his nerves. It was something that she would never have thought to do seven years ago. “Carpenters!” Jake called out. “We need some carpenters with hammers over here!” Hannah and Jordan both turned at once, Hannah scrambling toward Jake and John, unable to stop herself from watching from the corner of her eye as Jordan hefted a hammer before he followed. How old was he now? she wondered. Thirty-two. In his prime. A walking, talking, thirty-two-year-old specimen of temptation. She was only three years younger, but she often had the feeling that she had missed out on some part of her twenties that was important. She didn’t know how to flirt, and she didn’t know how to tell men things they wanted to hear. Jordan knelt beside her, swiftly hammering in a nail at the joint next to the one she had just finished. His thigh was so close to her that the denim lightly brushed her hip, making her fingers shake as she searched in the bag for another nail. Unwillingly she remembered how that thigh had felt naked, hard and muscular along the length of her own leg. She stared down at the board in front of her. She could feel him watching her, and she was sure he knew what effect he was having on her. She was almost positive that he was provoking this physical contact deliberately to pay her back for her cool treatment of him. Either that or he was intent on luring her into his bed again—and that was never going to happen. He reached across her for another nail, and his firm hand brushed her bare arm, the contact, brief as it was, igniting heat that flared across her skin. She was trembling inside, hoping it didn’t show. She wouldn’t let him see how addled he was making her. Her flash point reaction to his casual touch could be easily explained by her long celibacy, she rationalized. “So, what accounts for your expertise?” he asked suddenly, throwing her off guard. “What?” She forgot about her rehearsed indifference and looked into his eyes. A mistake. They were far too probing, and she hastily looked away. “The hammering,” he said. “Where did you learn carpentry?” “From my father,” she said shortly. “I helped when he remodeled our house about twelve years ago. He taught me a lot. Sometimes I helped him when he accepted outside carpentry work.” “Did we talk about that when we went out?” he asked, surprised. This time she looked at him deliberately, meeting his eyes and making sure he saw her coolness. “Frankly, Jordan, I doubt that you’d remember much of anything I told you then,” she said. “I don’t think conversation was your prime objective.” She wanted to make sure he understood that she hadn’t mistaken their pnor involvement for anything more than it was—an office affair, short and meaningless. It had been so much more to her. She could remember almost every word of their conversations, even if Jordan couldn’t. Abruptly she stood and moved to another corner of the foundation, deftly hammering in two nails where the sill boards joined. Jordan followed her, squatting beside her, far too close for her comfort. “That house your father remodeled,” he said. “Does he still live there?” “He died a few years ago,” she said flatly, reaching for another nail even though two were sufficient. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you?” she asked sharply, looking into his face. “Or is it just the polite thing to say?” She was aware that she’d spoken a little too loudly, and now Ronme and Jordan’s brothers were staring at her, the sounds of hammers and drills having ceased for the moment. “I don’t know what’s wrong here,” Jordan said carefully. “What have I done, Hannah?” “Nothing,” she said, lying, but still managing to sound tired and aggrieved, something she hated when other women did it. If something was wrong, a person should just come out and say it. At least that was what she believed. But this wasn’t the time or the place to get specific, not when half of Jordan’s family was listening with intense interest. “Hey!” a commanding woman’s voice called over the whine of a car engine. “Who wants something to eat?” Hannah turned as a battered, fluorescent orange Volkswagen churned the driveway’s gravel amid the grinding of gears. The car overshot the end of the driveway by a good five feet, coming to rest just inches from a scarred oak tree that looked like it had had more than its share of close encounters with the VW if the flecks of orange paint on the bark were any indication. Ronnie’s sigh was audible. “Hi, Ma. How come you’re here so early?” “Early, schmearly. I figured you wouldn’t think to feed these folks. Now was I right or was I right?” “Yeah, Ma, you’re right,” Ronnie agreed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The portly woman in the green waitress uniform arched an eyebrow at him as she passed, trailing the scent of hamburgers in her wake. She smiled at Hannah as she set a large white bag on the foundation. “Now, Hannah, these boys haven’t been working you too hard, have they?” she asked. “Not even hard enough to earn a meal, Esther,” Hannah said, smiling despite her recent bitter exchange with Jordan. Esther turned toward the car. “Kevin, if you want a hamburger, you’d better get over here.” She winked at Hannah. “He’s been busing and setting up tables for me all morning.” “He hasn’t gotten in your way, has he?” Hannah asked. “I could watch him here.” “The time a little boy gets in my way, honey,” Esther told her, “is the day that Esther Wardlow retires. He’s been an angel. Best bus boy we ever had,” she added in a loud voice as Kevin hopped from the car and trooped over to her, grinning at his mother. “Look, Mom!” he called excitedly, holding out one small hand with four quarters on his palm. “I got tips. See? I’m rich. I done good, huh?” Hannah couldn’t help smiling and gave him a short hug. He was such a good boy, always cheerful, always excited about something. He had her brown hair and eyes, but her sister’s short nose and bow-shaped mouth. “Very good,” she said, tousling his hair. “I might even let you spend your fortune on some bubble gum since you worked so hard.” “Really?” “Really. I’m feeling generous. Are you hungry?” Kevin shook his head. “I ate pancakes for breakfast and some toast and some bacon and some—” he wrinkled his nose, trying to think “—some sausages,” he concluded with satisfaction. And this was the child who claimed he was never hungry in the morning, she thought, giving a mental sigh. “I think you’re going to have to bus some more tables to pay for all that food,” she informed him. “Someday you’ll eat me out of house and home.” Kevin laughed and danced up and down, clearly delighted with his mother’s familiar but good-natured complaint. The men had gathered around the bag to get a hamburger, and Hannah glanced up to find Jordan still squatting by the foundation, his pensive eyes on her. Good, she thought. Let him catch sight of a kid, and Mr. I’m-So-Irresistible will turn tail and run. And leave me alone. “All right, sport,” Esther said to Kevin. “Let’s get going before the lunch crowd pours in.” “I got work to do,” Kevin informed the group importantly, jabbing his thumb toward his chest and walking cockily to the car. “Make sure you do a good job,” Hannah called after him. “Remember what I told you.” “A Brewster always does his best,” he parroted as if he’d said the words a hundred times. But he smiled at her and waved as Esther backed the car erratically out of the driveway. Hannah could feel Jordan watching her, but she carefully plucked a hamburger from the bag and sat on the ground a cautious distance away. She found it hard to eat when Jordan sat down right next to her. The other three men settled a few feet away, obviously interested in whatever was going on between Jordan and Hannah. So, Jordan thought, Ronnie wasn’t sitting next to her. Maybe he’d misunderstood the situation. “Nice kid,” Jordan said, clearing his throat. It hadn’t escaped him that Kevin’s last name was apparently Brewster. So Hannah hadn’t married the kid’s father. “They don’t come any better,” she agreed, her eyes on her food, her knees bent and pulled defensively to her chest. “I’d walk through fire for that child.” He knew that she meant it. And he knew that somewhere in her words there was a warning aimed at him. He just didn’t know what to make of it. Hannah was obviously self-sufficient and strong, far more sure of herself now than she’d been when he first knew her. “So,” he said, swallowing a bite and leaning back against the pile of lumber, “do you come up here to Sandford often?” Hannah turned to look at him, frowning. If this was another of his pick-up lines, it wasn’t going to work. “I’ve been here a few times,” she offered, going back to her hamburger. “Ronnie asked me to plan a birthday party for his mother last winter. And Esther, the incurable matchmaker, has invited me here several times on one pretext or another to meet the latest eligible bachelor truck driver who stops at the diner.” “She keeps fixing you up, huh?” Jordan asked, perking up. “She tries, bless her,” Hannah said. “If she’s not working on me, she’s digging up girls for Ronnie.” A very satisfied smile crossed Jordan’s face. Hannah couldn’t seem to avoid Jordan the rest of the day, not when he followed her and worked right next to her during the entire framing process. But she did manage to keep her mind off him by dint of the hard physical labor that went into building a house. By nightfall her back ached and her hands burned, but her mind was too peacefully exhausted to dwell on the dark-haired man who had shadowed her steps all day. It was late when Esther fed them all spaghetti and insisted on cleaning up the dishes herself. Hannah heard the McClennons and Ronnie leave, the low hum of the truck motors fading into the twilight. Hannah took Kevin to the spare bedroom in Esther’s trailer and read to him from one of his favorite books, the story of two misbehaving insects. Then she tucked Kevin in bed and kissed his forehead as he smiled sleepily. “Close your eyes,” she said, beginning the ritual that ended each night for mother and son. “Sweet sleep,” he responded. “Dream a dream...” “For me to keep.” He was tired from the excitement of helping Esther all day in the restaurant, and she smiled as she watched his breathing soften almost as soon as his eyes closed. Dream a dream for me to keep, she repeated in her head as she stepped into the dark hallway. Kevin was her dream now, though he had been thrust upon her before she had time to realize what was happening. Marybeth, she whispered under her breath, you don’t know how much I love him. Hannah had helped her sister financially and emotionally all through her pregnancy, but Marybeth had never been interested in motherhood. She’d been enamored of rock musicians and lived the uncertain, hazardous life of a groupie. The boy who fathered Kevin—though determining exactly which boy was impossible—had no interest in parenthood, either, Hannah had taken in the baby each time Marybeth went off on one of her road trips with her latest heavy metal band of the hour. Hannah knew that Marybeth was no saint on those trips, and she had strongly resisted hearing any of the details. But, nevertheless, it was a shock the day a young policeman came to her door to tell her that her only living relative had died of a drug overdose in a motel room three hundred miles away. Hannah had gone to court to gain formal custody of Kevin, and it was granted. She had inherited her parents’ house when they died, and she had let Marybeth live there rent free. After her sister was gone, Hannah had sold the house and invested the proceeds in a mutual fund, using the dividends to help defray the costs of raising a child. She was frugal, and when she returned to St. Louis she got a job at a branch library that paid enough to provide a reasonable life-style for a young mother and child. Day care was trickier, but she had managed through careful budgeting to put Kevin in a cheerful, responsible center when he was younger. And once he started school she arranged her work schedule so that she could get home most days before he did. When she had to work weekends or the evening shift, she paid a mature, neighborhood teen to baby-sit. She had planned carefully, and she had worked to give Kevin a good life. The only thing she hadn’t been prepared for was the fierce love she felt for the boy she considered her son. She had never known an emotion like it, and she found it humbling. She reached up now to touch the locket with the picture of her and Marybeth and Kevin when he was a baby. Her fingers fumbled when they didn’t find it. Hannah went into the bathroom, turned on the light and searched the mirror, even shook out her T-shirt. But it was gone. “Oh, damn,” she whispered under her breath. She must have lost it while she was working outside. It could be anywhere in the grass. She knew she should just go to bed and worry about it in the morning, but the locket was important to her. It was virtually all she had left of her sister, all Kevin had left. It was the only photograph she had found when she’d sold the house. A single lamp burned in the living room, and Hannah surmised from the flickering bluish light under the door of the main bedroom that Esther had retired to watch the old movies that were her addiction. Hannah had insisted she could sleep on the convertible couch, and Esther had reluctantly given in. Hannah went about quietly rummaging for a flashlight, finally coming across one under the sink. Slipping out the door, she closed it softly behind her and switched on the flashlight. It flickered errantly but steadied when she shook it. Good, she thought. It was especially bright, just what she needed. She could smell the herbs that Esther had planted near the door as she stepped off the concrete block onto the ground. She stood quietly a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. She walked a few more steps into the yard, pausing to look up at the sky. The stars seemed unnaturally bright to her after years of living in the city where streetlights muted the sky. But she wasn’t here to stargaze. The most likely place for her locket was around the foundation where she’d been hammering most of the day. In the starlight she could see the section of house frame in place over the subflooring, like a skeleton against the sky. It gave her a strong sense of satisfaction to know she had helped put it there. She was on her knees a moment later, crawling along the foundation, feeling in the grass with her hands while she shone the light on the ground. “It’s a bit dark to hunt mushrooms, you know.” She was so startled that she jumped, banging her head against one of the cross braces. “Ow!” she cried out, losing her balance and ending up sitting on the grass, her back against the foundation. She rubbed her head where it hurt and glared up at Jordan, who looked like a giant silhouetted against the starry sky “Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling in front of her. He put his hand on her shoulder as if to check “I’m. .fine,” she managed to snap. “What are you doing out here?” “That’s what I was asking you,” he said. “You didn’t ask,” she corrected him indignantly. “You just made some nitwit remark about mushrooms.” “Nitwit,” Jordan muttered under his breath, and even in the dark she could see his frown. “Speaking of nitwits, I’m not the one skulking around in the middle of the night.” “And just what would you call what you’re doing?” she demanded. “I was sleeping—at least until you started shining that damn beacon all over the place.” “Sleeping?” she repeated in disbelief. “Where?” “In my camper,” he said irritably, and she squinted at the driveway, barely able to make out the shape of his truck. Hannah realized she was still clutching the flashlight in her right hand, and she pointed it at Jordan’s face, still confused as to why he was here. “Will you cut that out?” he complained. “You’re going to blind me in a minute.” The hand on her shoulder had tightened, infuriating her all the more. “You’re the one who scared me half to death,” she said, pointedly aiming the light at his face again. “What were you doing creeping up on me if you were sleeping?” “I told you,” he said, his voice rising. “The light woke me up. You were shining it around the yard like some halogen come-on at a car lot.” “‘Come-on!’” She was truly furious now, and she moved to get to her feet, succeeding in nearly blinding him with the light once more. “You certainly have a big ego if you think I’m coming on to you, buster!” she informed him, waving the light about in her agitation. Jordan took hold of the flashlight, but Hannah held on obstinately. “I didn’t say you were coming on to me,” he argued. “Well, I certainly was not,” she insisted. “Hannah!” he said between clenched teeth. “Will you kindly let go of the flashlight!” But she wasn’t about to do anything he wanted, kindly or otherwise. She jerked back on the flashlight and felt her sneakers slip on the wet grass. The next thing she knew she was on her back with Jordan hovering over her. One of his hands was braced beside her head while the other held the flashlight. She was still so angry with him that she pushed against his chest to put some distance between them. Instantly she was aware of the hardness and warmth beneath her hands, and she froze. The expression on Jordan’s face changed, as well. He had been irritated with her before, she knew, but now there was something akin to confusion sweeping his features. He stared at her a long moment in the dark, his hand curled around the flashlight so tightly that his knuckles stood out in stark relief. His face was only inches from hers. An old memory came rushing back of this same face so close to hers as he made love to her. He was the man who had tutored her in the art of lovemaking, and even though it had been one time only, she had never forgotten it. Hannah had to bite back a groan as her fingers lessened their pressure to fan out over his chest. She couldn’t look away from his face. He was even more mesmerizing now than he’d been seven years ago. Slowly his mouth lowered to hers as if he wanted to stop himself but couldn’t. Hannah felt her breath release on a sigh as his lips finally touched hers. Her hands curled around the fabric of his shirt. She could feel him start to draw away, but then he gave in to the need that they both felt and deepened the kiss. Hannah responded, her hands moving to the back of his neck, touching his hair and letting her fingers luxunate in the silkiness of it. She was kissing him back with all the need of a woman who had not felt the touch of a man for too long. When Jordan raised his head, she saw something new in his eyes, something that made her wary. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he told her, his breathing not quite slowed to normal. “And there are a million other things I’ve been wanting to do, too.” The blood rushed to her face as the full impact of what she’d just done hit her. He had been toying with her, luring her into his bed again, and he was sure he had made her compliant. She was so mortified that she abruptly dropped her hands from his neck and tried to stand up. But he was ahead of her, standing and pulling her to her feet by her shoulders. She felt a rush of cool air across the dew-dampened back of her clothes. “You can forget about those other things you’re wanting to do,” she said, trying to will her voice to coolness when she still felt out of breath. “I’m not interested.” “No?” he said, investing the word with both skepticism and amusement. He caught her arm, pulling her to him, and for one breathless moment she thought he was going to kiss her again. But he made no move toward her. “There’s no sin in wanting someone, Hannah. And we’re hardly strangers.” “We’re strangers as far as I’m concerned,” she told him, standing stiffly in his grip. “I made a mistake a long time ago, and I don’t intend to repeat it.” He abruptly let her go, and Hannah turned, hugging her arms to herself as she hurried toward the trailer. She thought he said something softly, something she couldn’t quite make out, but she went on without missing a step. It sounded like “We’ll see.” Once inside, she ran a weary hand through her hair. She had left the flashlight with him, and she hadn’t looked for her locket, but right now she was glad just to have escaped without humiliating herself any more than she had. She stood at the side of the window, looking out into the dark and letting her heartbeat slow to normal. He was far too attractive and far too sure of himself. And she was... Just what was she? she wondered. Lonely. Despite her son and her job, she was lonely, and that made her all too vulnerable. “I thought I heard something.” Esther said from behind her, and Hannah jumped, spinning around. “Your back is wet,” Esther said with concern. The next instant they both heard the truck tailgate slam with unnecessary force. Hannah felt her face turn red. She knew her hair was disheveled, as well, and she didn’t have a ready explanation. “Jordan and I were talking,” she said awkwardly. “Honey,” Esther said with a significant glance at the window, “you was doing more than talking unless that man spit all over your back. And that’s all I got to say on the matter.” She turned and went back to her bedroom, her floral nightgown billowing in her wake. Hannah stifled a groan of frustration. She knew she wasn’t going to sleep well that night. Two Hannah awoke to the sound of nearby giggling and the smell of bacon frying. The curtains were drawn, leaving her disoriented in the dim light. The giggling came again, and she recognized Kevin’s voice. She must have overslept. She sat up in consternation, searching with her feet for her slippers. Something was going on behind her, but the couch where she’d slept was nght up against the partition that separated it from the kitchen, so all she was getting through the wall were those giggles and muffled talking. She glanced at her portable alarm clock and saw that it was seven. Apparently, she hadn’t heard Esther leave for work. Hannah shuffled around the partition, stopping short when she saw that Jordan was there with Kevin. And Jordan was cooking? Her disbelief must have registered on her face, because Jordan laughed when he saw her and motioned her to come closer. She didn’t miss the fact that his eyes traveled down her length appreciatively before he carefully looked at her face. “We’re working on masterpieces,” he informed her. “Come here and see!” Kevin called, impatiently waving his arm to get her to come to the stove. Still bemused by the sight of Jordan in a domestic setting, Hannah went to the stove and peered over Kevin’s head. They were cooking pancakes. Or doing something indefinable with pancakes, she decided. Four of them sat on the griddle, two with strange marks on them, which, on closer inspection, she realized were faces. Kevin was in the process of drawing on the third with a small paintbrush and...chocolate syrup? Hannah looked at the open can of chocolate syrup on the counter and then back at the pancakes. “What are you doing?” she asked, totally at a loss. “Making faces,” Kevin informed her as if she were the densest mother in the world. “See?” “I see. I just don’t believe.” She glanced at Jordan, finding him watching her with an expression she could only describe as interested. “Do you have any idea what Esther used those brushes for?” she demanded of Jordan. He shrugged, his eyes full of mischief. “Oh, I’m sure she doesn’t need them. They were just lying under the sink in an old can with—” He broke off and laughed at her horrified expression. “Actually, they were brand new, still in their wrappers,” he told her. “But...chocolate,” she said, knowing that she should be aghast at something, but just not quite sure what it was. “You were extolling the virtues of chocolate on your shirt yesterday,” he reminded her. “Don’t you ever do something just because it’s fun?” he demanded suddenly. “I can’t afford fun,” she told him with absolute honesty. “Are you financially or emotionally bankrupt?” he asked quietly, turning back to the stove to lift the pancakes onto a plate. She would have taken offense at his question, but she knew that he was nght. She was very close to being emotionally bankrupt. And he was partially to blame for that. “Don’t you think you should let me clean this up a little?” she suggested, eyeing the kitchen counter awash in their used cooking utensils and spilled ingredients. “Don’t you think you should put on a robe?” he countered, his eyes taking in her length again, this time lingering on her breasts. Belatedly she realized she was standing near a window, her body all too visible through the thin cotton fabric of her nightgown. Flushing, she turned and left the room. From the other side of the partition, she heard her son say, “Mom’s not a morning person.” Just great, she thought. As if succumbing to Jordan McClennon’s charms wasn’t enough, now she had a family member making excuses for her behavior. Hannah gathered up clean clothes from the small suitcase she’d left on the floor and carried them to the bathroom. She definitely looked like a woman who’d had a near sleepless night because of the man in Esther’s kitchen. Hannah sighed. It wouldn’t do to look this tired when Ronnie and Jordan’s brothers arrived. They seemed all too adept at sizing up the situation. And far too interested in what was going on between her and Jordan. She still couldn’t believe she’d actually seen him painting chocolate faces on pancakes. “No end to his talents,” she muttered to herself, but that made her blush again as she thought of his lusty lovemaking so long ago. And no doubt he’d had the opportunity to practice it many times since, on one besotted female after another. She came into the kitchen dressed in her jeans and a clean T-shirt, this one a plain black. “No message this time, I see,” Jordan said, looking up from the table where he was eating and grinning at her T-shirt’s simplicity. “I don’t want to be the instigator of any more dietary disasters,” she said. But she nearly smiled back at him. It was almost impossible not to be taken in by him. Until she realized what it was that her son was crunching. “Potato chips?” she said in disbelief. “You’re eating potato chips for breakfast?” “Esther doesn’t have any hash browns, Mom,” Kevin explained earnestly. A strong lecture on fat and sodium was in order, but glancing at Jordan’s sheepish face sapped her determination. She had lost control long before she got out of bed, and she might as well acknowledge that fact. “Here,” Jordan said, standing and holding a chair for her. “I’ll get you some breakfast.” “No chocolate pancakes or potato chips, please,” she said, sighing. “Bacon sandwich then,” he said, popping two slices of bread into the toaster and slipping the leftover bacon into the microwave. “And coffee.” She really wasn’t a morning person, he thought, smiling to himself as he listened to her talk to Kevin about the importance of him staying out of the way today. “We brought your books, and the TV’s right here,” she told him. “Can’t I hammer just one nail?” he begged. Hannah shook her head. “I don’t want you to hit someone’s thumb instead,” she said, reaching out to tousle his hair. “Especially mine.” She made a face at him, and Kevin laughed. Kevin reminded Jordan of Jake’s daughter, Molly. Molly was a little older. He didn’t remember anyone saying how old Kevin was, but the boy had told him something this morning about a picnic coming up soon to celebrate the end of first grade. That was a big milestone in a kid’s life. He carried a cup of coffee to the table for Hannah, distracted from his thoughts when she smiled at him. How he liked her smile! He could imagine a man doing all sorts of things just to earn one. He glanced at Kevin again and wondered why the boy’s father hadn’t stayed around for those smiles. But he had no time to dwell on that He heard the truck pulling up outside and started carrying dishes to the sink. He would have plenty of time to ponder the intricacies of Hannah Brewster’s life while he pounded nails today. They had worked on the frame most of the morning, stopping only when Esther showed up again with hamburgers shortly before noon. Hannah had kept one eye on the grass while she worked, looking for her locket, but to no avail. Now they sat on the ground, resting their backs against the pile of lumber, and ate. Esther sat on the cement block that served as a step at her trailer door, her knees spread wide, her uniform skirt sagging between her legs. She was lecturing Ronnie on his lack of a love life despite her best efforts, and he was turning scarlet from his ears to the patch of pale chest that showed above his V-neck shirt. Kevin was listening with avid interest. Jordan grinned, amused by the whole idea of Esther orchestrating a romance. “It’s time you thought about settling down,” Esther told him. “And Lord knows I’ve broken my neck checking out possibilities for you. Don’t you grin at me, Jake McClennon,” she said ominously, catching him before he ducked his head to his burger. “I got you married now, didn’t I?” “Yes, Esther,” Jake said dutifully, still trying to hide his grin. “Though I can’t quite recall exactly how you got Laura and me together.” Esther harrumphed. “Of course not. I ain’t obvious when it comes to affairs of the heart, so to speak. I took your problem to St. Jude, and he took care of the details.” “St. Jude?” Hannah asked, realizing she’d opened a whole new can of worms when the men around her groaned. “The patron saint of hopeless causes,” Esther informed her, shooting a dark look at each man in turn. “And, believe me, those McClennon boys were certainly hopeless causes when it came to marriage.” She brushed crumbs from her skirt like a duchess smoothing a fine swath of silk. “But I got my St. Jude statue, and he’s done come through for me many a time.” “It’s more like a concrete elf she keeps behind the diner,” Jordan informed her in a low voice. “I heard that!” Esther snorted. “And I don’t care what he looks like, he’s my St. Jude and he knows me!” Her eyes took in each member of the group, stopping on Jordan. “I surrender,” Jordan said immediately, throwing his hands into the air as his brothers and Ronnie laughed. “When is St. Jude’s next miracle?” Esther narrowed her eyes, looking from Jordan to Hannah until Hannah felt the heat climbing her neck. “Maybe sooner than you think,” Esther said with satisfaction. “Could be you’re the next one on his list, Jordan. Might want to start pricing fancy suits for your wedding.” “Not Jordan,” John said with conviction. “The day he gets married is the day I’ll dance naked around that St. Jude statue.” Over the laughter Jake said, “And I’ll play the kazoo while he does it.” Esther raised her brows. “Then maybe you’d better go get yourself some lessons at the Arthur Murray Dance Studio,” she told John tartly. When the laughter subsided, they all slowly stretched their muscles and walked back toward the frame. Jordan picked up a hammer and listened idly as Kevin asked Esther more questions about St. Jude. “Do you think he’d help me get something special for my birthday?” he was asking seriously. “I’m gonna be seven. It’s not until October, but I figure a kid has to start planning early.” “Now I don’t know,” Esther said. “Depends on what it is you want.” “Well,” Kevin said as he dug his toe into the ground, obviously reluctant to come right out with it. “Let’s just say it’s something every kid wants.” “Can’t be more specific?” Esther prodded. Kevin’s voice dropped, and Jordan strained to hear. “It’s got legs and a face and hair and all that stuff.” “Hmm,” Esther said. “A pony?” “No, no,” Kevin said plaintively. “A dad. You know, someone I could do stuff with. He doesn’t got to live with my mom. Lots of kids at school got dads who don’t live with their moms. I’m not picky.” He sounded so earnest and wistful that Jordan felt a chord of sympathy for the boy. Why didn’t Hannah have any contact with Kevin’s father? At least then the kid would have a token dad. “Well,” Esther said, “we’ll have to talk to St. Jude about this. I don’t know if he’ll be able to help or not, but we’ll see.” “Can I go back to work with you now so we can talk to him right away?” Kevin asked eagerly. “I don’t see why not,” Esther said. “Let’s go tell your mother.” Jordan glanced over his shoulder and saw that Hannah was working too far away to have heard the exchange. Just as well, he thought. It would be one more thing for her to worry about. Methodically he began driving nails into the cross brace in front of him. So Kevin would be seven this October. That meant he was born in... He mentally made the calculation while continuing to hammer. And Hannah would have conceived him nine months before that, in January of that year. Jordan frowned. Something was there in the back of his memory. Something else that had happened in January of that year. His loan. That was it. He’d received the loan that had enabled him to expand the business that month. He’d gone out to celebrate with... Hannah. He’d taken her out to dinner, and they’d ended up back at his apartment, toasting the growth of McClennon Industries. And then they had made love. About nine months before Kevin Brewster was born. The hammer came down again, but he was in such a state of shock that he paid no attention to his aim. Hannah nearly dropped her own hammer when she heard him howl in pain. John, Jake and Ronnie were already racing toward him, and Esther, about to get into her car with Kevin, bustled back toward the work site as well. Hannah danced around on tiptoe, straining to see over the shoulders of the McClennon brothers, but they were too tall, and with all of her bobbing she was beginning to feel like a kernel of popcorn on a hot skillet. “He’ll live,” Esther pronounced, and Jake and John clapped Jordan on the back. “Getting a little clumsy in our old age, aren’t we, brother?” John asked dryly. “There was a bee,” Jordan said, but his alibi sounded a little weak to Hannah. “It buzzed me, and I missed the nail.” “Hannah!” Esther called. “Take Jordan inside and put some cream on his thumb.” “Me?” Hannah said from the back of the group, trying to think of a way to avoid the assignment. “I don’t know where it is.” “Above the kitchen sink in the left-hand cupboard,” Esther said. “I’d do it myself, but I’m already late getting back to the diner. I’m outta here!” The men drifted back to work, leaving Hannah a clear view of Jordan. He stood by an upright support post, staring morosely at his thumb. “Can I see?” Kevin asked, and Hannah resisted the urge to tell him to leave Jordan alone, because she knew how entertaining something yucky like an injured thumb was to a six-year-old boy. Jordan held out the thumb solemnly, and Kevin leaned forward to inspect it. “Not much blood,” he said in disappointment. “I cut my knee once and, man, I bet there was gallons of blood.” “Look at this,” Jordan told him, pulling up his shirt to display a small scar on his ribs. “I fell off my bike once.” “Heck, I fall off my bike. all the time,” Kevin said with a shrug. “Especially if I’m trying to do wheelies.” “This is a big bike,” Jordan told him. “A motorcycle.” “You got a motorcycle?” Kevin asked, his eyes wide. Esther honked the VW’s horn, and Hannah decided it was time to put an end to the display of machismo on the part of both males. “If you boys are through trading war stories,” she said, “Esther is waiting.” “’Bye, Mom!” Kevin called as he bolted for the car. Hannah carefully tried to keep her eyes away from Jordan’s chest, which was still bared after his little scar display. But she had caught an eyeful of the dark hair and slab of muscles beneath, and she found that her pulse was thumping away in double-time. “Nurse Hannah,” he said with a teasing smile, “I’m ready when you are. What kind of first aid did you have in mind?” “A tourniquet to your neck,” she said dryly, turning and heading for the trailer. But she didn’t dare look at him, because she was feeling far less sure of herself than she’d sounded. She found the cream in the cupboard, then turned abruptly to find him much too close. “Stand in the light where I can see,” she told him, more to put some distance between them than as a visual aid. “It doesn’t look too bad,” she commented as he held up his thumb. “I’m wounded here,” he protested. “I’ll have you know I put considerable force behind my hammer.” “A regular Paul Bunyan,” she muttered. “The women must cluster around you just to sigh while you work.” It was a mean-spirited thing to say, but she couldn’t regret it. Not when she knew she was one of those clustering and sighing women. “I’ve had my share of... admirers,” Jordan admitted. “Don’t you mean lovers?” she retorted. “I didn’t always go to bed with them,” he said quietly, looking into her face until she was forced to look away. “I’m not the playboy you seem to think I am.” Not if you don’t consider dumping one woman when a better one comes along the actions of a playboy, she thought bitterly. But she arched her brows and didn’t comment. She ran the water in the sink until it was warm, then took his hand by the wrist and held his thumb under the running water. She could feel him looking at her, but she stoically ignored him. Instead, she rubbed some soap on two fingers of her free hand and began to lather his thumb. “Ow,” he said softly. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at him. “I need to clean it.” “It didn’t hurt,” he said, and when she continued to stare at him, confused, he added, “I wanted to see your face.” Flushing, Hannah looked away again, abruptly turning off the water and drying his hand on a paper towel. Jordan remembered his brother Jake telling him that he was sure he fell in love with his wife at the moment she took a splinter from his thumb—but he hadn’t recognized it as love at the time. But love was not an entanglement that Jordan McClennon wanted, and he carefully reined in his emotions. It was one thing to build an emotional bond with a son, quite another to fall in love with a woman. A son. It just couldn’t be. He had never imagined himself as a father. It smacked of...too much responsibility. With the blood washed away, Hannah could see that he had scraped the knuckle badly. It would be sore and bruised, but the damage was minimal. “Lucky you,” she said brightly. “It looks like your nail’s going to be okay.” “Lucky me,” he repeated quietly. Something in his tone unsettled her, and she frowned down at his hand as she dabbed on the cream. When she finished, she turned away and capped the cream, reaching into the cupboard to put it away. When she turned back around he was too close to her again. She pressed her back against the sink. “Hannah, you don’t have to act like a scared rabbit,” he teased her, his eyes studying her. “I’m not about to eat you alive.” “Yes, you are,” she told him in all seriousness. “What makes you think that?” “Because you did it before. I was alone in the city in my first job and nervous enough about doing it right, when the great Jordan McClennon decided to have his fun. Oh, you wined and dined me and whispered sweet things in my ear until my head was swimming with the excitement of it all.” She stopped to take a deep breath. “And when you’d had your fun with me, some other girl with long legs and collagen lips crossed your path and swiveled her hips, and you went chasing after her.” He started to say something, but Hannah held up her hand to stop him. “It’s all right. I learned my lesson the hard way, but you’d better believe I learned it, Jordan. I have no use for you or any other man of your kind. You think you’re God’s gift to women, and the sooner they unwrap the package the better.” For all her bravery, Jordan saw that her lower lip was quivering. He wanted to gather her in his arms and tell her he was sorry for whatever had happened then. He truly did not remember another woman, and he certainly had never meant to hurt Hannah. The loan approval had generated a ton of paperwork, and he had spent the next two weeks at either the bank or the office of the economic development agency, filling out a completely new batch of forms in triplicate. And, somewhere in between, he had to meet with lawyers to insure that all of those triplicate forms were in accordance with federal and local business regulations. Just after 7:00 p.m. on the fifteenth day of the process, after he had signed his name for the last time and taken three aspirin for a roaring headache—triplicate had become a habit—he had tried to call Hannah. Her phone had been disconnected. He’d broken one of his cardinal rules and called his personnel manager at home. He found out that Hannah Brewster had resigned and left town. She had left no forwarding address with either the company or her landlady. Jordan had been dumbfounded, and then annoyed. His attentions to the opposite sex had never before had the effect of driving them out of town. Now he thought that perhaps he understood why she’d left. Was it because she’d been pregnant? He could think of no other reason, and yet he couldn’t find the words to come out and ask her. She was too defensive, too determined to keep him away from her, and if he asked now he was sure she would deny it, out of pride if nothing else. But he didn’t get a chance to ask. The door burst open, and Ronnie flew inside, holding his nose. He looked at the two of them. Then, apparently recognizing the tension on their faces, he started to back toward the door. “What is it, Ronnie?” Hannah asked in concern. “A bee stung me,” he muttered through his hand. “My nose feels like a lightbulb.” Hannah was still shaking inside from her speech to Jordan, but she struggled to appear calm. “Come on,” she said, her voice even. “Let’s take a look.” From the corner of her eye she could see Jordan moving toward the door. She refused to look at him. She had said her piece, and she was sure that he understood her position. He would be a fool to pursue her now. As the door closed, Hannah mustered a smile for Ronnie and inspected his nose. “Is Jordan giving you trouble?” he asked hesitantly. Hannah shook her head. “We had an argument over something that happened a long time ago,” she said. “Nothing more.” Ronnie looked unconvinced, but Hannah was determined that this was the end of all speculation about her and Jordan McClennon. “There’s nothing between Jordan and me,” she told him. “And you can tell your mama that, too. St. Jude will have to find another victim.” And that, she hoped, was the end of that. Three Jordan sat back in his office chair and stared out the window. In front of him the computer whirred and clicked as it exited the document he’d been reading, the one that confirmed what he’d remembered. “Personnel.” He’d found Hannah’s name, found the date she’d left the company—with excellent references. And that date had come shortly after official word had been announced on the business loan that had financed the company’s expansion. So almost immediately after he’d wined and dined her, as she put it, and then made love to her, she had left the company. And Jordan had no ready explanation except that she’d been pregnant with his child. You’re in deep beef stew, Jordan, he told himself, echoing the words his mother spoke often enough to one of her three sons. It had been four days since the revelation had hit him at Esther’s house that he might very well be Kevin’s father, and it had taken him all of those four days to get up the nerve to check the computer files. He tugged at his collar nervously. What was he supposed to do now? Hannah didn’t even want to speak to him again, and her son wanted a dad. Not that he was dad material. Quite the contrary. He’d known for a long time that he didn’t care for domestication. He wanted his freedom. He didn’t feel anything like a father. All of his life, he’d hungered for something that would be his alone, and his business filled that need the way no person could. But on the other hand, only a callous jerk would discover he had a son, then do nothing about it. He threw down the pen he’d been tapping on his desk and stood, pulling impatiently at the tie he wore. Suddenly the office felt too confining. He wanted nothing more than to get out of here. But it was only five p.m., and Jordan McClennon never left the office before seven. Maybe it was time to do something different. Jordan parked his car half a block from her apartment, spotting her as soon as he got out of the car. She was kneeling beside a wooden barrel outside the front door of the building, planting marigolds. For a moment he was so bedazzled by her cutoff shorts and the length of leg they showed that he almost forgot the present he’d brought. He reached into the car to retrieve it, his eyes still on Hannah. She saw him coming and slowly stood, her hands on her hips. “How did you find me?” she demanded as soon as he was close. “I...asked Ronnie,” he admitted. “He didn’t want to tell me. He thought we’d had some kind of falling out.” “We did,” she said shortly. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he stood there tugging at his tie. “Is that supposed to be a peace offering?” she asked, nodding toward the package in his hand. He’d almost forgotten he was holding it. “Yes,” he said as he held it out, unable to think of anything clever that might earn him one of her smiles. Hannah stared down at the small, plastic tool box with its toy hammer, screwdriver and saw. “A rubber hammer,” she said without any change in her voice. “I’ll have Esther’s house done in no time with a rubber hammer. Does it come with rubber nails?” “No, it’s for Kevin,” Jordan said before he met her eyes and realized that she was teasing him. She started to smile, then caught herself, and he felt his pulse quicken. “I’ll tell him it’s from you,” she said. “He’s at his guitar lesson.” She started to turn away, and he took a step closer. “May I...come in?” Hannah’s innate Brewster hospitality was suddenly at war with her common sense. Despite his trucelike overture, she was still determined not to let him into her life again. “Hannah,” he said, “for whatever I did when we were together before—and I honestly don’t remember chasing after another woman—I do apologize.” “It was more like another woman dangling her implants in front of you,” Hannah said, feelng jealous and petty. She sighed. “All right. I guess it’s just another episode in the Brewster Sisters ‘Bad-Date-of-the-Month Club.’” She picked up her trowel and the empty plastic flower containers and fished out her key. He followed her into the apartment foyer, assuming he had just been invited in, though he wasn’t perfectly clear on the point. An apartment door opened a crack, and Jordan could see a woman with gray hair and dangling earrings peering out at him. The landlady, he assumed. “You have a sister?” he asked Hannah as he waited for her to unlock her first-floor apartment. “Had,” she corrected him. “Marybeth got mixed up with a fast crowd. She died of a drug overdose.” “I’m sorry.” He didn’t remember her mentioning a sister before, but then he probably hadn’t gotten far enough beyond his raging lust at the time to ask. He started to ask another question, but she was disappearing into a back room. Shifting his weight, he stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, looking around. It was a small apartment, but bright and clean. The kitchen and living room were one big room separated by a breakfast bar. Someone had stenciled a red and blue flower design at the top of the walls. It matched the big braided rug in the center of the living room’s wood floor. A bookcase sat opposite the blue couch, its shelves sagging under the weight of a considerable library. More books sat in piles on the floor nearby. He made a mental note—she read a lot, and for all her skill with a hammer, she hadn’t gotten around to building herself a decent bookcase. She came out of the bedroom, running a comb through her hair, and caught him reading the notes on her refrigerator. She’d changed clothes, and he tried not to stare. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/kelly-jamison/unexpected-father/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.