Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set (78 page)

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“What? No. Of course not. I—” He seemed to be trying to unscramble his thoughts. “I'm sorry. When you mentioned your sister's kitchen, I flashbacked to Eric. He was never that handy around the house, but I remember him telling me about the kitchen reno. He'd finally figured one end of the hammer from the other. It's hard to believe he's gone.”

He watched her closely. She felt a sharp tug of emotion as she always did when she was unexpectedly reminded of her family's loss.

“I know. Some days it's impossible to believe. When I go out to the farm, I still expect to see him with Isaac, showing him how to shoot hoops, or playing a game of cribbage with my dad, or going on about some amazing meal Annie was making. I don't know how my sister does it, how she gets through each day.”

“One day at a time, I guess. And she has Isaac.”

Emily nodded. “She does. He's a great kid. And she's an amazing mother. I don't know how she learned to be that way, since we grew up without one.”

Jack's scrutiny was intense, but he didn't respond. Instead, he flipped the conversation back to what they'd been talking about. “So now I know you have more than one favorite color. What about the other two things?”

“Very few people know my middle name.”

“And now I'll be one of them.”

She sighed. “This goes in the vault, okay?”

He nodded.

“You have to agree, or I'm not telling you.”

“In the vault,” he said. “I swear. But seriously, how bad can it be?”

“It's—” she lowered her voice “—Esmeralda.”

The corners of Jack's mouth twitched, and she could tell it was a struggle for him to smile.

“Seriously,” she said. “Who does that to a child?”

“I...I don't know.”

“It's a good name for a witch. Or a flamenco dancer. But it's not a normal person's name. I would never do that to a child.”

Jack reached across the table again, covered her hand with his and held it there this time. “Agreed. Especially not this one.”

Emily swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. He was still being so okay with this, but what would happen when the shock wore off and reality finally hit him? Which would most likely happen the instant he returned to Chicago to his life and his job and his friends. It had happened the last time he'd left, and she had no reason to believe this time would be any different.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before he withdrew his. “You still need to give me one more piece of information.”

“Right. My birthday's on August first.” She selected another slice of bread from the basket, dipped it and bit into it.

Jack took his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen. “It's in my calendar. What about the baby?”

“December thirtieth. Annie looked it up this morning.”

Jack tapped that information into his phone and tucked it away as the waiter arrived with their salads. Emily drizzled a citrus vinaigrette over hers, and Jack spooned ranch dressing onto his.

They took their first bites in silence. As Jack stabbed a cherry tomato with his fork, his next question caught her off guard. “You've never mentioned your mother before now. She's not in Riverton, is she?”

“No. To be honest, I have no idea where she is. She left when I was four, and I don't remember much about what happened. Our dad was in the military in those days and he'd been deployed to Iraq during Desert Storm. He left the three of us girls and our mom at the farm with his parents, my grandparents.”

“I've heard about your dad's military service. He's always been something of a legend around Riverton.”

Emily smiled at that. “To us, he's always just been Dad, but as I got older, I realized he is pretty amazing. He came back from that tour of duty in a wheelchair, raised a family, ran the farm. That wheelchair has never stopped him from doing anything he wanted to do. I don't have any memories of him without it, so for me, that chair is as much a part of him as his big heart and quirky sense of humor.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully. “I remember him at Annie and Eric's wedding, accompanying her down the aisle, making the toast to the bride.”

“There wasn't a dry eye in the room.” She remembered sitting next to Jack at the reception—the maid of honor and the best man—and fantasizing about her wedding someday. An adult woman having silly, schoolgirl thoughts.

“After he came back from Iraq, did all of you stay on at the farm?”

“We did. Grandpa Finn had a stroke just before my dad returned and our grandma needed help running the place.”

“And your mom?”

“She stuck around for a couple of months. Annie's two years older than I am, so she remembers more about what happened. She says our mom didn't like being in a small town and hated living on the farm even more. Plus, she didn't get along with my grandparents.”

“Rural living isn't for everyone.”

Emily shrugged. “I guess not. I can't imagine growing up anywhere else, though. I didn't mind being away when I went to college, but after I graduated and worked as a copy editor for the
Star Tribune
, I realized I wasn't cut out for life in the city. I need to be close to my family.”

Jack either didn't pick up on that or chose to ignore it. “So, you and your sisters don't talk to your mother? See her?”

“No, we don't. And we've never seen her, not even once.” No one had ever asked her so many questions about her mother. At first, she hadn't minded answering them. Now they made her wary. “Like I said, she left a few months after my dad came home. I don't know if he heard from her, either.”

Emily and Jack sat back as the waiter arrived with their main courses. “Oh, my. This sauce smells so good.” She picked up her knife and fork. “Anyway, no one ever specifically told me and my sisters not to ask about our mom, but somehow we knew we shouldn't.”

“So you don't know where she went?” he asked. “Where she is now?” She could see him watching with amusement as she cut into a meatball and ate half of it, then swirled spaghetti onto her fork.

“I have no idea.” She gave him a direct look, searching for clues to where this conversation was going. Instead, she got his poker face. She slid the pasta into her mouth and licked the excess sauce off her lips.

For a few seconds, he seemed to forget what they were talking about, then shook his head and picked up his own fork. “Have you tried looking for her? There's a wealth of information on the internet.”

She laughed. “I'd be a lousy reporter if I hadn't thought of that, so, yeah, I've looked.”

“And?”

“Nothing besides a couple of dead ends, but maybe I didn't look hard enough. I know it sounds crazy, but I've always had this dream she would come home someday, that we'd be a family again.”
Sounds crazy?
she asked herself. What was completely crazy was the fact she had never shared this secret with anyone but Fred, not even her family, although she knew they suspected it. Why had she blurted it out to Jack?

“Nothing crazy about that,” he said. “Wanting your family to be together has to be the most natural thing in the world.”

His understanding was touching, but his questions were stirring up emotions she rarely allowed herself to explore.

“Tell me about your family,” she said, and for the rest of the meal he did. He talked about his older sister, Faith, who lived in a refurbished loft in San Francisco and worked as a travel agent. He told her tales about growing up in his family's home on Second Avenue and how he and his sister had both known from an early age they had wanted to get out of Riverton. And with a sinking heart, Emily realized that baby or no baby, she and Jack didn't just want different things, they
needed
different things.

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
dinner was over and they were back in Riverton, Emily experienced something akin to relief.

When Jack parked in front of her building, he put a hand on her arm. “Let me get the door for you.”

She knew Jack would honor her date-night request and not expect to be invited up, but there was no need for him to walk her to her door. It was right there across the sidewalk. But he would anyway. He was that kind of man.

They had lingered over coffee and dessert—one serving of tiramisu, two forks—just like a real date. And it was going to end like a real date, she thought with trepidation. He was going to walk her to her door and kiss her good-night.

So, she waited as he walked around to her side of the Jeep. The way he looked—the thick, dark hair swept away from his forehead, the stubble on his jaw—literally took her breath away. He opened the door, offered his hand, which she accepted. It took them four steps to reach her apartment door.

“Someone might see us,” she reminded him.

“I'm not worried about that.”

Anticipation heated her belly, setting every nerve ending alight. “I thought that's why we went across to Wabasha to have dinner, so no one would see us together.”

He shook his head. “We went there, so no one would listen in on our conversation. This...”

He lowered his head and brought his mouth to hers, softly and with purpose, gently but with passion. Light-headed, Emily closed her eyes, swayed, secure in knowing the strong arms around her wouldn't let her fall. She lifted one hand and indulged her desire to touch his face.

A few moments passed, and then Jack lifted his head. “I'm okay with the whole world seeing this.”

She let her hand fall away, wishing she felt as easy with this as Jack did, but how could she? He was going back to Chicago tomorrow, and she was staying here. This was her world. They hadn't talked about when he would be back again or if he would be back. They had spent the evening talking about family, friends, the past. There had been no talk about the future.

For anyone who might be watching, she and Jack probably looked like two people who were falling in love, or who were already in love. A real couple who potentially had a future together instead of two impulsive adults who had let their grief over losing a loved one override their common sense. The truth was they lived very separate lives in two very different places. Tomorrow, he would return to a life that, by his own admission, fully consumed him to the point he had no time for anything or anyone.

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Are you okay with us being seen together?”

His hands still rested on her shoulders. As much as the kiss had set her nerves humming, she wished he would let her go. If anyone saw them like this, if word of this found its way to her sisters before she talked to them...

His hands fell away. “You had to think about that.”

“It's just...my family... They don't know about us yet, and I'd like to be the one to tell them.”

“Of course. I could have gone inside with you, kissed you there, but there would have been a problem with that, too.” He smiled.

“What kind of problem?”

“I wouldn't want to leave.” He touched his lips to her forehead. “Good night, Emily. I'll stop by in the morning before I head back to Chicago.”

He waited until she was inside with the door locked before he climbed into his Jeep and drove away. With the memory of his kiss still tingling on her lips, her skin warm from his touch, she climbed the stairs, dreamily reflecting on what he had said.
I wouldn't want to leave
.

She might not have let him.

CHAPTER TEN

A
FTER
THE
BRIEF
drive to his parents' house, Jack spent an hour in the kitchen with them over coffee and his mother's homemade banana bread. He didn't visit as often as he should, so he owed them that much.

His mother had done most of the talking, bringing him up to date on the local happenings around town, including Sig Sorrenson's upcoming funeral, as well as a rumor that had been circulating about Mayor Bartlett. Supposedly, he was to make a big announcement at the town council meeting on Monday. Jack knew exactly what that was about and kept quiet. His mother could hear about Chief Fenwick's retirement the same time everyone else did.

Jack answered her questions to the best of his ability while hoping she wouldn't think he was being evasive, though he definitely was. Yes, his interview with the witness had gone well that afternoon. No, he hadn't been working undercover; he hadn't found time to get a haircut. No, he hadn't heard about the mysterious disappearances of local garden gnomes. In his opinion, Riverton had far too many of them—garden gnomes, not mysterious disappearances—although he kept that to himself. Yes, the loss of her garden trowel was distressing. On that note, he faked a yawn and explained he'd had a long day, which was true, and excused himself.

She accepted a kiss on the cheek, tutted and waved him out of the kitchen when he tried to load his dishes into the dishwasher. He and his father exchanged a wink, and he finally climbed the stairs to his old room.

His mother hadn't changed a thing, so stepping through the doorway was usually akin to passing through a portal to his past. Tonight was different, though. The posters on the walls, the denim bedspread and the bedside lamp with the wobbly shade had lost the power to pull him back in time. Right now he was completely focused on the future.

He tossed his duffel bag onto the bed, unzipped it and removed his shaving kit. A future that made him feel like the driver of a tractor tailor careening downhill with no brakes. He was going to be a father. A father! The enormity of the situation hadn't really sunk in yet. Maybe that explained why he wasn't in full-blown panic mode. This morning, sitting at his desk in Chicago, he had dallied over the notion he might be halfway in love with Emily Finnegan. Was there even such a thing as halfway in love? It had felt a little more than halfway when he'd seen her at Morris's that afternoon.

He crossed the hall to the bathroom. Unfortunately, according to every woman he'd ever had a relationship with, he was lousy at them. And now Emily had added herself to that list. But Emily wasn't like the others. And while it seemed to him that turning down his proposal was unreasonable, he admired her for having a mind of her own.

He took out his electric razor, faced the mirror and went to work. Emily would come around, though. She would have to. Maybe her sisters could talk some sense into her, make her see that moving to Chicago would be the best and simplest thing for everyone. It wasn't like he was asking her to go to the ends of the earth. Chicago was less than a day's drive from Riverton. She could visit her family as often as she liked.

He hadn't mentioned the job offer to her. Not because he was trying to hide anything, but because he wasn't going to take it. Him, chief of police? Did he have what it would take to head up a police department, even a small one like Riverton's? Gord believed he did. And then there was the matter of returning to Riverton. Could he make this his home? No way.

Then again, what if Emily refused to go to Chicago? He didn't see himself being a satellite parent, only dropping by when it was convenient. Would Emily even tolerate that? Doubtful. She challenged him to look at things in a way he hadn't considered before, the way she talked about her family being a case in point. Maybe it was the journalist in her. Her independence intrigued him. She downplayed her total gorgeousness. Her emotions were carefully controlled, and he suspected if she were to fall in love with someone like him—and baby or no baby, that could be a very big if—she would never wear her heart on her sleeve. She might not take it out of its concrete casing, either, he thought wryly. There was no question she dearly loved her family, but from listening to her tonight, he'd come away with the sense she had never fully recovered from being abandoned by her mother.

A mother named Scarlett. The name had hit him like a bolt out of the blue, and for a few seconds, he had replayed his interview with Rose Daniels. Was Emily's mother...? Was Rose's mother...? No. No way. But how weird would that be?

He had nearly given himself away when Emily had said her mother's name. Now he congratulated himself on making the save, letting her think he'd been reacting to memories of Eric.

Jack had no trouble believing in coincidences. He'd experienced one today, coming to town on the very day Emily discovered she was having his baby. But for Rose Daniels, who also had a mother named Scarlett, to appear in Riverton, a town she apparently had no previous ties to, with a plan to stay at a B & B that was the former home of Scarlett Finnegan and now run by the woman's oldest daughter? Coincidences like that were harder to swallow. Make that impossible.

First thing in the morning, he intended to see Emily before he returned to the city, and nothing was going to derail that plan. He needed to reassure her he wouldn't disappear, not this time. Maybe he would take her out for breakfast. Or, better idea, he could take breakfast to her.

He had also agreed to swing by the station and have coffee with Chief Fenwick, who had probably invited him so he could keep urging him to accept the job offer. Then, on his way out of town, he would stop at the Finnegan farm. Dropping in to see his best friend's widow and her son was a perfectly natural thing to do, and the impromptu visit would give him a chance to check up on Rose, remind her he was keeping an eye on her. And if she did have ulterior motives for hanging around the Finnegan family home, well, she would know he'd be keeping tabs on that, too.

Jack angled his head and ran a hand over his face while he checked his reflection in the mirror. Emily didn't seem to mind the scruff, but this should satisfy his mother.

As soon as he was back in Chicago, he'd dig into Scarlett Daniels's past. If Emily's mother and Rose's mother turned out to be the same woman...

He squeezed toothpaste onto his toothbrush.

If it turned out that Emily and Rose had the same mother—and although that was a big if, it was entirely possible—then someone would need to break the news to Emily and the rest of her family. After everything she'd told him today—how she doubted her ability to be a good mother in the absence of a role model, how she secretly dreamed about the day when her mother would come home, that she'd been keeping journals most of her life so she could share them with her mom when that day finally arrived—he worried about her reaction.

Oh, man. He'd sure hate to be the one to burst that bubble. Emily clearly didn't trust him, and he could hardly blame her for that. So far, he hadn't done much to earn that trust. With her here in Riverton and him in Chicago, closing the gap between them would be tough enough. Telling her about her mother—if indeed Scarlett Daniels was her mother—would not endear him to her. It could even widen the rift between them.

He rinsed his toothbrush and then gargled a mouthful of some nasty-tasting mouthwash he found in the medicine cabinet.

“You're getting ahead of yourself.”

For as long as he'd been friends with Annie and Eric, he had known that the Finnegan sisters' mother had left when the girls were young, but that was all he knew. Tomorrow, he could ask his mother about Scarlett Finnegan, find out if she remembered anything about the woman. That would seem kind of random, though. He had promised Emily to keep quiet about the two of them and the baby until she had talked to her sisters. Until she did, it was best not to arouse his mother's suspicion. She would insist on an explanation, and she had a knack for knowing when he was being evasive.

Safer to put those questions on hold till he was back in Chicago and could take a closer look at Scarlett Daniels's file, maybe call social services to see if they could shed more light on her background. Someone would have the answers he was looking for. He just hoped he was going to like what he heard.

* * *

A
LONE
IN
HER
APARTMENT
, Emily slipped off her jacket and tossed it onto the back of a chair, set her purse on her desk next to the box with the new hamster wheel. It was an unusual gift, and yet strangely intimate at the same time. The morning after their one night together, he had commented that for a small animal, the hamster made a lot of racket. She wondered if the new wheel meant to say that if he did spend the night again, he didn't want Tad to keep him awake. Thinking about it meant tonight would be a sleepless night for her.

She prowled around the apartment, unable to settle her nerves. Finally, she decided on a cup of the tea her sister had given her. Chamomile was supposed to have a soporific effect, wasn't it? As she waited for the kettle to boil, her phone buzzed with an incoming text message.

How was your date? FM

Emily rolled her eyes and replied to Fred.

It wasn't a date. Em

He walked you to your door & kissed you g'night.

How on earth did he know that?

Are you spying on me?

Nope. Grabbing a bite to eat at the café.

For heaven's sake. She poured boiling water over the tea bag in her cup.
This
was why she shouldn't have let Jack kiss her in public. What if someone else had seen them?

Who else is there?

No one. Slow night. I'm the only one sitting by the window. :)

She pulled the tea bag out of her mug, dropped it into the sink by its string and stirred in a little sugar. She carried her phone and the steaming mug of disgustingly yellow liquid into the living room and looked out the front window. Fred waved from the window of the Riverton Bar & Grill. She set the mug on the sill.

Good night Fred.

Sweet dreams Em. ;)

The winky face bugged her more than it should have, and she was tempted to try having the last word. Then again, considering the lie she'd told her sisters, she owed it to him to back down gracefully. Besides, he was having far too much fun with this, and he would gleefully persist with this cyber-banter for as long as she let him. So she gave him a casual wave, then used the same hand to give her hair a dramatic flip as she grabbed her mug and twirled away from the window. Fred's wide grin, which she caught out of the corner of her eye, took some of the fun out of her flounce.

She busied herself by replacing the squeaky wheel in the hamster cage with the new one from Jack, laughing at the sleepy-eyed glare she received from Tadpole. The animal didn't enjoy being woken up even though she had no compunction about disturbing the slumbers of others.

Emily eyed her laptop, debated turning it on to check her blog and her email, and decided against it, finding herself drawn to the ancient oak filing cabinet she'd salvaged from the newspaper office after her boss had decided to spruce up the place.

She opened the bottom drawer and surveyed the notebooks filling it. Some were hardbound with pretty pictures on the covers—a field of wildflowers, a cluster of unbearably cute kittens, majestic snow-capped mountains—impractical, but cherished gifts from friends and family. Most, though, were spiral-bound notebooks, which she preferred because they would lie flat when open. Much easier to write in.

She pulled out several books at random and thumbed through them. She had first started keeping a diary when she was eleven. She had graduated to journaling story ideas while in college. She still recorded her private thoughts in a diary and had scribblers filled with rough notes and outlines for her
Gazette
articles. When she'd started keeping diaries, she had played around with the idea of addressing the entries to her mother, only Emily had never been able to figure out what to call her. She was pretty sure that before her mother left she had called her Mommy, although she couldn't be absolutely certain.
Dear Mommy
had sounded hopelessly juvenile to her preteen sensibilities. But
Dear Mom
didn't sound right, either.
Dear Mother
was too formal, and
Dear Scarlett
was too impersonal. In the end, Emily had elected to address the entries to herself. When her mother came back—and in those days, it had still been when and not if—Emily could share the journals with her because, of course, her mother would want to get to know her, to read all the hopes and dreams and secrets Emily would have shared with her mother if she had stayed.

Digging a little deeper into the drawer, she selected one of the fancier notebooks, one that had been a gift for her fourteenth birthday from Annie. That summer, Emily had saved the book and started writing it on the first day of high school. The sepia-tone cover featured a vintage typewriter superimposed over a background of canceled postage stamps from exotic locales. At the time, the image was meant to represent Emily's lofty dream of someday being a foreign correspondent. Now, she flipped it open and was transported back to her first day of high school.

Dear Heart,

High school freaks me out. There's so much stuff going on, so many kids I don't know—and that doesn't really make sense because Riverton's not that big and I thought I knew everyone. But as Fred pointed out (Fred's my best friend, BTW, not my boyfriend), Riverton has two elementary schools, but only one high school. So all those kids from the school on the other side of town who we never got to know are now our classmates.

My sister Annie is a junior this year, and it turns out she's pretty cool and popular at school. I had no idea. She's always just been Annie, the sister who's always looked out for me. Even though she's only two years older, she's been kind of like a surrogate mom, making sure my little sister, CJ, and I brush our teeth before we go to bed and stuff like that. Last year, she took me bra shopping when I finally started to grow what some might say pass for boobs. And she made sure I knew where she kept the pads and tampons when I started my first period.