The waitress nodded. “Yeah, she’s sitting at that empty booth. I think she went to the bathroom. Take a seat, she shouldn’t be long.”
Tate thanked her and walked toward the empty booth, her attention caught by a beautiful biracial baby fast asleep in a stroller parked between the booth and the table next to her, where a couple sat. The baby, Tate decided, had hit the genetic jackpot by inheriting the best of her stunning African American dad’s and Nordic mom’s genes.
Sitting down, she nodded at the offer of coffee. Hell, yes, she wanted coffee. She wanted to wrap her freezing hands around a warm mug and gaze out the window, happy to be out of the bitter wind and snow-tinged rain. It had been years since she’d been in the city in the middle of winter, and she’d forgotten how miserable it could get.
Next to her, chairs scraped, and Tate turned to watch as the gorgeous man and his blonde partner stood up, gathering their coats and shopping bags. From their intimate smiles and heated looks, Tate realized that they shared a deep connection. Electricity buzzed between them, and she wrinkled her nose as jealously pricked her soul.
She’d never had a man look at her like she was the reason the earth spun on its axis, the pull of the moon on the tides, the strength of the sun.
You’ve got to be in the game to play it, Harper, Tate quickly reminded herself. But you chose independence, freedom and to live on your isolated island. The consequence of that choice was emotional safety.
And, sadly, the sex life of a nun.
But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t admire a masculine butt in well-fitting jeans. Because he had an A-grade ass, it took Tate a while to realize that they were leaving. Her eyes dropped to the baby still asleep in the stroller, and she shot to her feet. “Hey, wait!”
The couple turned around and they both raised their eyebrows.
Tate gestured to the stroller. “Your baby. You’re leaving without her.”
They responded with frowns and matching is-she-crazy expressions. “That’s not our baby. The lady who was sitting there came in with that baby,” Sexy Guy told her.
Wait! What?
Tate caught the eye of the waitress as ice flooded her veins. “Who came in with this baby?”
Tate was subjected to another she’s-a-nut look. “The woman you asked about, the one who looks like you, she came in with this cutie.”
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Tate fought for air and managed to compose herself long enough to ask the waitress if she’d, please, check the bathroom to see whether Kari was in a stall. Tate’s eyes bounced between the sleeping baby and the small hallway leading to the restrooms, and when the waitress reappeared, biting her lip and shaking her head, Tate started to tremble.
Déjà vu, she thought. She knew, without a fraction of doubt, that Kari had slipped out the door when her back was turned. God, Kari, don’t... Please don’t abandon another of your children. Breeze back through that door, toss me a weak explanation, and we’ll pretend this never happened. Just don’t walk away; please don’t confirm my worst beliefs about you.
Tate turned around to look at the door to the diner and waited for it to open, waited for the world to stop tilting. When a minute passed and then two, she sighed and turned around again. Feeling moisture on her cheeks, she wiped away her tears and blinked furiously. She wouldn’t cry, she wouldn’t fall apart. Taking a deep, calming breath, Tate sent another anxious look to the door, hoping for a miracle.
After ten minutes passed with zero miracles occurring, her shock receded, and air rushed into her lungs, clearing the fog from her brain. Think, dammit. Think. Legally, this child was her niece, and she was responsible for her. As much as she wished she could run away, her mother had already bolted from the diner, and leaving her alone wasn’t an option.
Kari was in the wind... So, what now? Looking down, she saw a diaper bag in the storage area under the stroller, and Tate pulled the heavy sack onto her lap. Resting her arms on the diaper bag, and trying to keep the panic at bay, Tate stared down at the sleeping child.
Angelic, she thought wistfully, because that was the only word that made sense. Her skin was the color of lightly burnt sugar, wispy espresso curls covered her head and her rounded cheeks were pure perfection. The little girl had the wide Harper mouth and pointed chin.
Tate unzipped the diaper bag and peered inside. Seeing a brown envelope flat against the side, Tate pulled it out, her heart hammering. She opened it with shaking fingers, yanked out the papers and slowly flipped through them. There wasn’t much besides inoculation certificates and medical cards and a birth certificate stating that the baby was Ellie Harper, the mother, Kari Harper, and father unknown.
God, Kari. How could you not know who the father was? Or did she know and just decided not to inform the state? The last piece of paper was a letter scrawled in Kari’s handwriting.
Tate,
I know what you are thinking and I don’t blame you. This looks bad; it is bad. I need you to take Ellie. Something has come up and I can’t keep her. You’ll figure out what to do with her.
If you’re freaking out—and you probably are—call Linc Ballantyne, your nephew’s dad. His number is below. Ellie is Shaw’s half sister and he’ll help you out.
I know that you won’t believe this but I do love her.
K.
Her eyes still glued to the letter, Tate shoved her hand into her bag and pulled out her smartphone. Feeling like she had a sumo wrestler sitting on her chest, she entered the phone number and held her breath as she stared down at the small screen.
What was she doing? Linc Ballantyne’s connection to Ellie was tenuous at best—he was Kari’s ex-fiancé and, yes, the father of the now-four-year-old son she’d abandoned. Linc had lived Tate’s current reality four years ago, and maybe he could help her make sense of Kari’s crazy. It wasn’t in her nature to ask for help, but desperate times trumped pride.
Tate lifted the phone and held it to her ear and listened to it ringing. She was transferred from one efficient Ballantyne employee to another before a deep male voice muttered a harsh greeting in her ear. As Linc Ballantyne’s sexy voice rumbled through her, Ellie opened her eyes, and Tate was struck by the burst of bright, cobalt blue.
Kari’s eyes...
“This is Tate Harper, Kari’s sister, and I have a massive problem. Can we meet?”
* * *
Some days, running a multibillion-dollar company gave Linc Ballantyne a splitting headache. Hell, make that most days lately. Needing an aspirin, Linc walked into the middle office separating his and his brother Beck’s office, and, ignoring Amy’s concerned expression, he pulled out a bottle of aspirin from the top drawer of her desk. He tossed two into his mouth and dry swallowed, very used to the bitter taste.
Amy, the executive assistant he and Beck shared, tucked her phone between her neck and ear and reached across her desk to throw Linc an unopened water bottle. He caught it, cracked the lid and looked through the glass walls to see his still-slim, still-pretty mother walking down the hallway and, as he always did, said a quick, silent thank-you to whatever force that had driven her into the arms of Connor Ballantyne.
Well, not his arms—as far as he knew Connor and his mom were never romantically involved—but into his house, at least. Moving into the brownstone known as The Den and meeting the kids who would become his siblings was the best day of his life; losing Connor, the worst.
Linc hurried across the office to open the door to her and bent down to kiss Jo’s cheek.
“Hi.”
“Hello, darling,” Jo replied. Her eyes were gray, like his, but hers were the color of gentle rain while his were a darker, edgier granite. “I’m sorry to drop in on you without warning.”