It had been a very long time since anyone on earth had believed in Cord Branson.
Before he could get lost in the wonder of that, a heavy thump against the back door startled them both. Sharon Lynn whirled in that direction, but Cord was faster. “You stay put. I’ll check it out. Where’s the door? Through there?”
Sharon Lynn nodded, and he began twisting locks. When he’d unlatched the last one, he slowly turned the knob and advanced cautiously. He was expecting perhaps a thief.
What he found surprised him even more.
“Holy Mother of God,” Cord murmured.
“What is it?” Sharon Lynn asked, nudging against him.
“A baby. Some damned fool left a baby out here.”
SHERRYL WOODS
Whether she’s living in Florida or Virginia, Sherryl Woods always makes her home by the sea. A walk on the beach, the sound of the waves, the smell of the salt air, all provide inspiration for this writer of more than sixty romance and mystery novels. Sherryl hopes you’re enjoying The Unclaimed Baby, which offers you an expanded story in the And Baby Makes Three: The Next Generation series for Silhouette. You can write to Sherryl at P.O. Box 490326, Key Biscayne, FL 33149, or—from April through December—stop by and meet her at her bookstore, Potomoc Sunrise, 308 Washington Avenue, Colonial Beach, VA 22443. Watch for Sherryl’s first mainstream book for MIRA Books, AFTER TEX, coming in October 1999.
The Unclaimed Baby
Sherryl Woods
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
Sleet slashed through the bitter cold February night. A few hours from now it was expected to turn to snow, layering over ice in a way that would leave the roads treacherous. Sharon Lynn stood in the doorway at Dolan’s Drugstore and shivered, even though it was plenty warm inside. It was Friday night at eight, an hour when the store should have been closed, but she’d taken to keeping it open later and later. It meant she didn’t have to go home to an empty house, didn’t have to go to sleep and face the nightmares.
Even though months had passed, the images came back whenever she closed her eyes. The bright head lights glaring into her eyes, weaving across the center line of the quiet country road. The screaming crunch of metal against metal, then just the screaming. Her own and Kyle’s.
And then just her own.
That summer night had been clear, with a vibrant sprinkling of stars and a glorious full moon. No danger on the road then, except for a man who’d had too much to drink.
She had been married for little more than a split second when the tragedy struck. It had been their wedding night, a night she had been anticipating and dreaming about for years, it seemed. She was finally Mrs. Kyle Mason and the rest of their lives was spread out ahead of them, a storybook future with a houseful of kids and her wonderful family nearby. In the Adams clan, family meant everything and she’d been waiting a long time to start her own.
Then, in the blink of an eye, her marriage was over and she was alone again. Worse, she had been driving the car, and even though the accident was another driver’s fault, Sharon Lynn had been consumed with guilt and grief ever since, wondering if there hadn’t been something—anything—she could have done to prevent it. For weeks it had taken every bit of strength she had just to propel herself out of bed.
Buying Dolan’s, where she had worked for years and where her mother had worked during her tumultuous relationship with Sharon Lynn’s daddy before their wedding, had given her a reason for getting up in the morning, but it had done nothing to heal her broken heart.
She had been in love with Kyle Mason forever. An honest, decent man, he had bought a ranch that neighbored the family spread at White Pines. Then he had quietly and persistently courted Sharon Lynn, consuming enough milk shakes at Dolan’s that it was a wonder he’d been able to stand the sight of them. Once he’d caught her attention, there had been no turning back.
But when it came to getting to the altar, one thing after another had delayed their vows until that fateful night.
After waiting patiently for marriage, only to have it snatched away from her in a heartbeat, Sharon Lynn had finally concluded that she was not destined for either romance or the family she had always dreamed of. She had resigned herself to a quiet, lonely existence—if it was possible to be lonely with an entire clan of Adamses on her doorstep daily with one feeble excuse or another. Cheering up grief-stricken Sharon Lynn had become the family’s mission. All the attention was wearing her out.
She wasn’t the one deserving of pity, though. It was Kyle, barely thirty when he’d been killed. She shuddered and forced the memory of that night aside. The guilt, however, wouldn’t budge, despite what everyone had said. The official sheriff’s report had exonerated her completely. Her cousin Justin, who’d been on the scene in the horrible aftermath of the collision, was a by-the-book kind of deputy. If there’d been any question of her guilt, though he would have hated laying the blame on her doorstep, he would have done it. Knowing that, she should have been able to rest easy, but she couldn’t.
Even all these long months later and despite her best intentions, the images crowded back, refusing to be ignored. She’d still been wearing her wedding dress, her beautiful silk-and-lace gown, but by then it had been torn and spattered with blood. Her husband’s blood. When her cousins had wanted to get rid of it, she’d refused to let them. It was packed away in the attic as a grim reminder of what might have been. Someday she would have to let it—and the memories—go.
“Oh, God,” she murmured as tears streaked down her cheeks. When were the memories going to blur? When would this unbearable, soul-sick pain stop?
Blinded to everything except her own internal misery, it took a blast of icy air from the unexpected opening of the door to snap her out of it. She hadn’t even seen the man approaching, hadn’t expected anyone to be out on such a cold and furious night. She glanced up to meet worried brown eyes flecked with gold.
“What’s a pretty lady like you doing all alone on a Friday night?” he asked in the easy way of a man to whom flirting was second nature. The words were barely out of his mouth when the crooked smile faded from his lips and worry creased his brow. He stepped closer and skimmed a knuckle down her cheek. “Tears? Darlin’, are you okay?”
There was a gentleness to his voice that soothed, even as alarm flared at the startling way that touch awakened her senses. She looked him over—from the curling black hair damp with rain to the soaked sheepskin jacket, rain-streaked jeans and well-worn boots. Despite the kindness in his voice, there was a hardness to him, not just to his lean body, but in his eyes. It was an intriguing combination, a dangerous one. That must be why her pulse was ricocheting all over the place.
Was