It simply could not be
Kitt looked down at the four-year-old girl beside her. With fresh eyes, she noted the child’s dark hair lying in a familiar pattern. The perfect little nose with its faint sprinkle of freckles. The full mouth…
No! Kitt pushed the idea away. Mark would surely have told her if he had a daughter, for heaven’s sake. He was the most honest man Kitt knew. So what if this child’s father was also a reporter for the Dallas Morning News? Mark surely wasn’t the only journalist here to cover the Fourth of July celebration on the Mall.
“I want my daddy now,” the child said to her aunt, the young woman standing on her other side.
“I know you do, sweetheart.” The woman bent to kiss her niece, then looked up at Kitt. “I’ve paged my brother twice. Mark should be here soon.”
Mark!
Dear Reader,
When I visited Washington, D.C. (and nearby Alexandria, Virginia) I was enchanted by the magical mix of permanence and dynamic change that I found there. I loved the museums! The art! The historic buildings! But most of all I loved the people. There is something enthralling, electrifying, about a place where movers and shakers converge to shape a nation’s destiny. It seemed the perfect setting for characters as bold and confident as Kitt Stevens and Mark Masters.
But even the boldest and most confident among us occasionally experience the feeling of not measuring up, of being “not good enough.” We all have days when we think we’re not pretty enough, or smart enough, or strong enough. Maybe we disappoint an employer, a friend or a loved one.
But the worst form of unworthiness is the feeling that we’ve failed ourselves.
You hold in your hands the story of one woman’s triumph over that form of unworthiness. Kitt Stevens had to make a hard choice that left her disappointed in herself. And because of that choice, Kitt doesn’t believe in love anymore. She doesn’t think she deserves love. She even believes she’s unworthy to mother a child. But through the steadfast devotion of a very special man named Mark Masters, Kitt learns to believe again—not only in herself, but also in the power of true love. I hope you enjoy Kitt’s journey.
Darlene Graham
Your kind comments about my books are always appreciated. Visit my Web site at http://www.superauthors.com or write to me at P.O. Box 720224, Norman OK 73070.
This Child of Mine
Darlene Graham
Because this is the story that first brought us together,
this book is dedicated with deep appreciation
to my very fine literary agent, Karen Solem.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
KITT STEVENS was looking for a man.
But that wasn’t what brought her up short, thinking, Who is that? as she stood in the enormous Corinthian-style doorway, where she had been halted by an uncharacteristic twinge of self-doubt.
The man who’d caught her eye—handsome, young, virile looking—was definitely not the man she was searching for. For a whole lot of reasons. And as soon as that thought flitted across her mind, the memory of the worst day of her life flashed up right along with it. It always happened like that: handsome man; worst day. Like some Pavlovian response or something.
Kitt reminded herself that she needed to stay focused. Her fiercest opponent was prowling around this room, probably at this very moment undermining all that she had worked toward in the past six months. Even so, her eyes strayed back to the good-looking man hovering around the food tables. He was still watching her.
But the nervousness she felt now wasn’t the result of the intense gaze of an incredibly handsome man—Kitt got looks like that all the time, and dealt with them—and her unease wasn’t because she still felt out of place at these stuffy congressional receptions, even after a year in Washington. It was Marcus Masters—a man she’d never met—who daunted her. His power. His wealth. His influence.
She tossed her silky reddish-blond bangs aside, cranked her confidence up a notch and stubbornly reminded herself that even if she didn’t have the advantages Marcus Masters had, she was a good lawyer, and a good fighter, too. And, furthermore, she reminded herself, the cause she was fighting for was a critical one. Marcus Masters, powerful or not, would simply have to be neutralized.
She stepped inside. People in impeccable business attire, squawking like geese, milled about among the heavy Federalist furniture and plush Oriental rugs. Classical music tinkled down from speakers in the high ceiling, melting into the heated conversation below.
To Kitt’s