Here she was, standing in his brother’s wife’s old house.
Why? Had she sought him out? Come to finish what had been left undone between them? And why did that thought both terrify and unnerve him?
For a moment, he pictured finishing what they’d started back in California. But one glance at his daughter, sitting sullenly in a kitchen chair, drumming her fingers on the table, reminded him where his priorities lay.
“Lemonade? Or iced tea?” Anita gestured toward a cooler.
Her chocolate eyes met his, and the spark of electricity jolted through him again. “Uh…we need to get home. Thanks, but…we need to get home.”
She smiled. “You said that already.”
He couldn’t have acted more like a blubbering idiot if he’d tried. For once, he longed to have just a pinch of the charm his twin had. A few suave words that could get him out of Anita’s house with his ego intact.
Instead, he mumbled something about it being late, grabbed a protesting Emily by the hand and left by the back door before he humiliated himself further.
“How does house arrest until you’re eighteen sound?” Luke asked Emily. His anger at her disappearance, and his pan bashing, returned full force.
It was also far easier to focus on lecturing Emily than to think about why Anita was here. And why her presence had upset his life’s applecart with the force of a small tidal wave.
“We could get you one of those electronic monitors on your ankle so you can’t stray more than fifty yards from the front porch. Because that’s as far as you’re going for the next week. If I ever let you out of your room again.”
No answer. Emily crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared out the window of the car, practicing for Statue of the Year.
His daughter hadn’t said more than three words to him in so long, he’d begun to wonder if she was working toward a career in mime.
“I talked to the principal at school today.” No response. “The school year started a week ago and already you’re on out-of-school suspension until Friday for breaking the dress-code rules. Again. You knew this would happen. What were you thinking when you put that stuff in your hair?”
He glanced to his right and saw Emily’s profile, so like her mother’s. Underneath the neon pink, she had Mary’s hair color and eyes, the same classic blond and blue-eyed beauty. Despite all that had gone wrong—and all the mistakes he had made and could not undo—Luke loved Emily. He had never doubted his feelings for her. Some days, that was all that kept him at it, a miner trying like hell to break down the wall that stood between him and his daughter.
He reached out a hand to touch her, then withdrew, knowing she’d only pull further away.
They reached the driveway of his parents’ house. Before he could bring the sedan to a halt, Emily threw open her door and dashed into the house. Luke sighed, put the car in Park and followed after her, feeling one hundred, not thirty.
When had his daughter become this angry preteen who had about as much fondness for her father as she did for an extra helping of turnips?
What happened to the kid who used to climb all over him, begging Daddy to play one more game before bed? The same little girl who’d ended each night with butterfly kisses against his cheek and bear-tight hugs that made her squeak?
Where was his life? Not the one he used to have, but the one he’d dreamed of having when Emily had been born?
Luke shook his head, forcing himself to stop dwelling on the past. There was a future for him, and for Emily, he knew it.
He just didn’t know where it was…or how to reach it.
On Monday morning, Anita was sitting at her kitchen table, spreading bitter orange marmalade on the bread from the Welcoming Committee basket.
Mental note—never eat anything cooked by Colleen Tanner again. Either the woman had the cooking skills of a chimpanzee or she’d underdone the sugar measurement. The marmalade tasted like orange peel mixed with cement dust.
Anita pinched her nose and choked down another bite. Besides the canned ham, she didn’t have much else to eat, at least not until her paycheck came in the mail. She’d used up most of her savings to move here, pay for first, last and security and keep her gas tank filled for the cross-country drive with the rented U-Haul carrying all her furniture attached to the back.
The Honda had needed a lot of coaxing to make it the last couple hundred miles. Anita had begged the little car not to give up the ghost until she reached Mercy, throwing in a promise of a thorough tune-up and lube job as soon as she got paid again.
Any day now, though, the freelance writing job she’d started right before she left would kick in, with payment for all the articles she’d written prior to moving. It was a hefty check, enough to pay her bills, fill the refrigerator—should the electricity ever start working—and give her money to expand her maternity wardrobe.
And, she couldn’t forget the booties.
Anita’s friend Gena had raved about the first two pairs Anita had made and she’d insisted on trying them in her L.A. boutique. When the crocheted baby socks sold out in a single day, Gena had ordered another fifty pairs, as fast as Anita’s crochet hook could create them. Between moving and unpacking, she hadn’t had much time. Next week, she’d be able to complete a few pairs and get them out to Gena. Who would have thought a hobby taught to her by her mother could have the potential for becoming a nice side business?
Despite the fact that she had no running water and a rodent in residence, Anita remained optimistic. The glass was half full, and the baby was on his or her way. Plenty to be excited about, even more to look forward to.
The weather report called for a cooling rain. The landlord had promised to send over an electrician first thing. The phone company had assured her there’d be a working line connected to the house sometime between the hours of eight and five. By the end of today, she’d have almost everything she needed.
Anita pressed a hand to her belly. Things are looking up, kiddo.
Ever since she’d walked into the Do-It-Yourself-Babies Sperm Bank in L.A., she’d known she was on the right course. All her life, Anita had wanted only one thing—a family. She wasn’t going to wait around for true love, if it even existed, to fall into her life and give her the family she wanted. Especially not once Nicholas made it clear that he had no interest in children, despite the diamond he had placed on her finger. Their brief, tempestuous relationship had begun at the end of last summer and been over before winter’s gray days left. She’d given the ring back and decided this was one thing she could do on her own. No man necessary.
After the test came back positive, she’d given her notice at the marketing company and at her apartment building, then set out to build a new life for herself and her child. When she was little, her mother had spoken fondly of some small town in Indiana where she’d grown up. In the years since her mother had died she’d forgotten the name, but the flavor of the memory had stayed.
Her mother’s stories made the town sound like the perfect place to settle down when she had a child of her own. Mercy, Indiana, was the closest thing Anita knew of to the town her mother had described. After so many years of feeling disconnected, Anita hoped Mercy would provide the answer she was seeking.
The mail truck pulled up in front of her house and slid a pile of letters into the battered aluminum box. Anita crossed into the family room, reached for the front door handle, realized it was still missing in action, and opted for the window.
From the thickness of the stack in the box, Anita figured her mail from L.A. had finally managed to catch up with her. She flipped through