His Wife

“I want to see you again,” Sawyer said

Sophie expelled a little sigh that seemed to be one of relief. “So you’re not finding it hard to be around me?” she asked.

Sawyer had to repeat that to himself. “Hard?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “If I were any other woman, you could kiss me now and not worry about whether I’d scream or tremble or push you away.”

Her candor made him grin. “Actually, I get a lot of that anyway.”

She elbowed him in the arm. He loved the way she did that. “You do not. I hear that women love you. So do children.”

He pushed at the car door, thinking he couldn’t take too much more of this. She was studying him with a sweet look that was still mildly wary, for all her speculation on how she’d react if he kissed her.

“I have to go,” he said quickly. He got out of her car and walked around to his, only to find her standing in front of his door.

Her mind was replaying bright images of Sawyer holding her in the office, memories of how it felt when a man’s muscles were used to comfort rather than hurt.

“Sophie…” he warned.

Dear Reader,

When I began this book I thought I didn’t understand daredevils, but I created one in Sawyer Abbott anyway because I know readers love them. Life is such a gift that it seems criminal to me to risk it for anything less than saving another life.

And then it occurred to me that’s what we do when we love each other. We save each other. Love is the biggest risk a man or woman can take, and there’s no fire suit, no safety net, no 911 responder to protect you from disaster. Love is an openhearted, pull-out-all-the-stops gamble that whatever draws you to someone will grow into the stuff that lasts a lifetime.

As all writers do, I shape a character and send him or her in a certain direction, but what he or she decides to do is really up to that character. When Sawyer decided to love Sophie despite a dark secret, and to love her three creative children, I realized I knew him pretty well. And I fell in love with him myself. I hope you will, too.

Sincerely,

Muriel Jensen

P.O. Box 1168

Astoria, Oregon 97103

Books by Muriel Jensen

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

866—FATHER FOUND

882—DADDY TO BE DETERMINED

953—JACKPOT BABY*

965—THAT SUMMER IN MAINE

1020—HIS BABY**

His Wife

Muriel Jensen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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THE ABBOTTS—A GENEALOGY

Thomas and Abigail Abbott: arrived on the Mayflower; raised sheep outside Plymouth

William and Deborah Abbott: built a woolen mill in the early nineteenth century

Jacob and Beatrice Abbott: ran the mill and fell behind the competition when they failed to modernize

James and Eliza Abbott: Jacob’s eldest son and grandfather of Killian, Sawyer and Campbell Abbott; married a cotton heiress from Virginia

Nathan Abbott and Susannah Stewart Abbott: parents of Killian and Sawyer; Nathan diversified to boost the business and married Susannah, the daughter of a Texas oilman who owned Bluebonnet Knoll

Nathan Abbott and Chloe Marceau: parents of Campbell and Abigail; renamed Bluebonnet Knoll and made it Shepherd’s Knoll

Killian Abbott: now the CEO of Abbott Mills; married to Cordelia Magnolia Hyatt

Sawyer Abbott: Killian’s brother by blood; a daredevil

Campbell Abbott: half brother to Killian and Sawyer; brother to Abigail; manages the Abbott estate on Long Island

China Grant: thinks she might be the missing Abigail

Sophie Foster: mother of Gracie, Eddie and Emma Foster; the woman with whom Sawyer Abbott falls in love

Brian Girard: half brother to Killian and Sawyer

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

Sawyer Abbott stared into the eyes of the beautiful young woman he’d found peering in the French doors to the library of his home, as he struggled to process what she’d just told him. “I think…” she’d said, “I mean…I believe I could be…your sister, Abigail.”

Sister. For so long the word had signified grief and regret and terrible guilt. But connecting any of those to this vibrant young woman with long dark hair and lively dark eyes was difficult. Although those physical characteristics would qualify her.

“I wasn’t snooping, I swear,” she went on hastily. “I was just hoping for a glimpse of one of you, some sign of a friendly face so that this wouldn’t be so…scary.”

He wanted to reply, but shock held back the words.

“I’m…China Grant, by the way. I mean…that’s been my name. But…maybe not who I really am.”

She shifted her weight and smiled a little nervously, pointing to a square box on the ground. It was the utilitarian kind, intended to hold office documents or personal papers for storage. “I, ah…there are some things in my box,” she said rapidly, “that make me think it could be me. I was adopted as a toddler and I always knew that, but I was told I came to my family through my mother’s doctor. They adopted my sister the same way. When our father died just a month ago, we were cleaning out the house and found these boxes with our names on them, and the things that must have belonged to us when we moved in. I know that probably sounds suspicious…”

She kept talking, and he finally raised a hand to stop her. She sighed, as though grateful. “Sorry,” she went on. “There’s just so much to say.”

His brain a muddle of confusion, his emotions taking him places he wasn’t sure he had the courage to explore, he nodded in agreement. If she was Abby, there was twenty-five years’ worth of things to say.

He pushed the French doors open. “Let’s go inside. Our company’s yearly staff meeting is under way here right now, but this room’s pretty quiet.”

She walked in, holding on to her box, and stopped in the middle of the room. “My goodness,” she whispered. He was used to the room, but the dark wood and leather and floor-to-ceiling shelves of books did have an awesome elegance.

He pointed her to the leather sofa and noticed a mild tremor in his hand. That tremor was beginning to take over his body.

“Wait right here,” he said. “I’ll get my brothers.”

She put the box down on the coffee table and asked hopefully, “Is my mother at home?” Then she added with a little apologetic inclination of her head, “I mean, if she is my mother.”

Her mother. That possibility was mind-bending after all these years. Chloe would be beside herself with shock and excitement. It was probably a good thing she wasn’t here until they could conclude whether or not this woman was Abby.

“She’s in Paris at the moment,” Sawyer replied. “Her aunt is very ill and she’s caring for her.”

“I see.” Clearly disappointed, she sat.

“Can I get you something?” he asked, touched by her quiet grace. “Coffee? Soft drink?”

“No, thank you.” She wore a white sweater and joined her hands on the knees of her white slacks. “I don’t think I could swallow. I’ll just sit right here and wait for you.”

Sawyer hurried down the hallway and through the quiet kitchen. Catering staff were handling this last day of the meeting. Through the window he could see them setting up under one of several pavilions on the lawn.

His breath came quickly as he ran upstairs, the expansion of his lungs making his broken ribs hurt. Imagining now that his near-fatal waterskiing accident had occurred less than twenty-four hours ago was hard. He should slow down, but he couldn’t. Abigail was home—maybe.

He rapped on his elder brother’s bedroom door. Killian opened it, a shushing finger to his lips. “Cordie’s still asleep.” He pulled on a blue cotton sweater, then took a good look into Sawyer’s eyes. Killian’s were blue under dark blond hair slightly disheveled by the sweater. “What?” he asked anxiously.

Sawyer pointed downstairs. “There’s a young woman in the library.” He was breathless.

“Yeah?”

“She says she thinks she’s Abby.”

“What?” Killian demanded.

Sawyer told him about the box.

“What’s in it?”

“I don’t know. I thought the three of us should talk to her together.”

Killian went into CEO mode. He lived his life with the same methodical organization he used to lead the Abbott Mills Corporation. Sawyer headed up the family’s charitable foundation, and Campbell, their younger brother, managed the estate. “Is Campbell downstairs?” Killian tugged his sweater into place over stone-colored slacks.

“He was still sleeping when I left the boathouse.” Sawyer and his younger brother had slept there because of the crowd at the house. “I’m going for him right now.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you in the library in ten minutes.”

Sawyer rushed down the stairs and toward the back door, a hand to his screaming ribs. He was halfway across the back lawn when Campbell appeared on the trail, walking toward the house in jeans and a black Abbott Mills T-shirt. He ran a hand through his dark hair, yawning.

“Hi,” he said when he spotted Sawyer. “I heard you get up and leave, and thought that meant you were coming back with doughnuts. Where are—?” He stopped when his dark eyes settled on Sawyer’s face. “What happened?” he asked urgently.

“We have a visitor,” Sawyer replied, taking Campbell’s arm and hurrying him toward the house, “who thinks she’s Abby.”

Campbell froze in the middle of the trail, though the late-June Long Island morning was already growing warm. “What? What makes you think she’s telling the truth?”

“I have no idea if she is or not,” Sawyer admitted, drawing him forcefully along. “I just thought we should all talk to her. I left her in the library and Killian’s going to meet us there.”

“All right, all right. I’m coming.” Campbell yanked free of him. “She’s probably pocketing our first editions as we speak. Why on earth would Abby just show up after all this time? She’s got to be some larcenous babe after part of the Abbott fortune.”

Somehow, Sawyer didn’t think so. “Don’t make judgments before you meet her.”

“And don’t start calling her ‘sis’ before we know the truth.”

Killian was filling the coffeemaker when Sawyer and Campbell arrived. A long granite-topped counter served as a work area for Killian, who used the library as an office. In a corner was a small wet bar and a coffeepot.

“Ah. Here they are.” Killian pulled cups out from under the counter as China Grant stood uncertainly at their arrival. Killian had apparently already introduced himself, and Sawyer could only guess from the hospitable act of coffee-making that his brother had decided she was worth listening to.

Sawyer introduced Campbell. “He’s the youngest brother. Killian and I are Abigail’s half brothers, from our father’s first wife, but Campbell is her full sibling. Still, we’re all very close and none of us notices that we aren’t all full-blooded relations.” He sent Campbell a look that told him to keep his personal confusion about his place in the family to himself.

She offered her hand. “Hello,” she said in a warm, quiet voice. “I’m China Grant. That is, that’s who I’ve been for twenty-five years. I’m not sure who I was for the fourteen months before that.”

Campbell shook her hand politely, but didn’t bother to hide his skepticism. “What makes you think you’re our sister?”

“I found these things….” She pointed to the box she’d carried in. The name China was printed on the lid in broad-tipped black pen. “I did a little research about your family and thought…I might be related.”

“Why?”

Killian encouraged China to sit on the sofa and took the other end of it. Sawyer saw him send Campbell a look that told him to show a little courtesy.

Campbell held his stare without flinching as he sat in a chair opposite the sofa. Sawyer sat in the matching chair.

China removed the lid from the box, pulled out several yellowed newspaper clippings and handed them to Killian. She folded her hands as she watched him scan them.

“They’re all stories of your sister’s kidnapping,” she said. “I can’t imagine why my parents would have saved them in my box if they didn’t relate to me.”

Killian’s expression grew grim as he passed one clipping to Sawyer and perused another.

“Then,” China went on, pulling a pair of light blue corduroy rompers out of the box, “there’re these.” She exposed the label sewn into the back of them. It was the same label Abbott Mills’s children’s wear division used today. Abbott Mills Baby, with a lamb curled atop the double L. In the logo for the company’s other products, a sheep stood on the double L.

“We sold millions of those,” Campbell challenged. “Anybody could…”

But Sawyer had a nebulous memory of a favorite pair of rompers the nanny always put on Abby because of their durability and the baby’s high-speed crawl. The knees were reinforced with star-shaped patches.

China held the garment up by the straps, the patches worn, two corners of one star unraveled.

Sawyer’s heart slammed against his aching ribs.

Killian took the rompers from her and studied them, frowning with concentration.

“I remember them,” Sawyer said softly.

Killian nodded. “I think I do, too.” He ran a hand over the knee patches. “She used to crawl everywhere,” he said, lost in his thoughts. “None of our stuff was safe from her.” He passed the garment to Sawyer.

“I repeat,” Campbell said firmly, “that Abbott Mills made thousands of grosses of those.”

“I’ll bet,” China said, lifting something else out of the box, “that there aren’t thousands of grosses of these.” She drew out a rag doll wearing a miniature pair of the same rompers, with the same star patches. The doll had obviously been specially made, with style and skill. It had painted eyes, cheeks and lips, and elegantly embroidered eyelashes. Brown yarn hair was woven into long braids.

“I think…Chloe made this,” Killian whispered. “Abby carried it with her all the time.”

Campbell crossed the room to take the doll from him. “How can you be so certain this is the same doll? It was twenty-five years ago.”

“I’m not certain,” Killian said. He looked startled, even a little shaken. “But I think there’s enough here that bears investigating.”

“Okay,” Campbell said. “All we need for proof is a DNA test.”

Killian put a hand to his forehead. “Yeah, but Mom’s worried about Tante Bijou at the moment, and I hate to further upset her with the news that a woman who might be her daughter has come to Shepherd’s Knoll. She won’t want to leave Tante Bijou, but she’ll be frantic—Her aunt raised her,” he explained to China, “and she’s in very poor health. Mom’s very worried about her.”

“Then don’t tell her,” China said in a reasonable tone, packing up her box again. “Wait until she comes home. The last thing I want to do is cause her pain. I’ll leave you my address and phone number in L.A.—”

“No, wait.” Killian stood, looking pensive. He went to the counter to pour coffee. “Let’s think this through.”

“Couldn’t we just do the test with me?” Campbell asked. “If she is my full sibling—”

“No.” Sawyer didn’t like that idea. “Mom should be here before we do anything. She was here when Abby was lost, and she should be in on finding her. If she is Abby.”

“And if she isn’t?” Campbell demanded impatiently. “Mom gets to grieve all over again? Let’s just do it. Then we’ll know and we’ll spare Mom the pain if she’s lying.”

“I’m not lying!” China denied with a glower at Campbell. Then her expression softened as she looked to Killian and Sawyer. “I may be wrong about who I am, but I’m not lying. I’m sorry this is hard on all of you. I don’t mean it to be. I just don’t know how else to learn the truth.” She handed Killian a business card and stood.

Taught Chloe’s European manners very young, all the brothers stood with her.

“You should stay,” Killian said. “We happen to have a houseful at the moment, but they’ll all be gone tomorrow. We’ll find someplace to put you tonight.”

“Killian!” Campbell said in complete exasperation. “What are you talking about? You don’t know any—”

“It’ll be good for her to stay,” Killian repeated. “You’ll get to know each other.”

“I don’t have time to get to know anybody. I have too much to do already.”

“I’d be happy to earn my keep,” China put in quietly.

“There you go, Cam!” Killian was warming to the whole idea. “You’re always telling me that you could use staff to manage the estate. China can help you while she’s here.”

“But—”

“I think it’s a great idea, too,” Sawyer put in.

Campbell groaned, predictably exasperated.

“Are you able to stay?” Killian asked her. He glanced at her business card, then up at her. “You own a shopping service in L.A.?”

“Yes.” Her quiet manner evaporated in her growing excitement. “I have four great employees. I told them I’d be away a couple of weeks.”

Campbell, accustomed to being outvoted on most things since childhood, twirled his index finger in a mockery of delight. “She’s good at shopping. That’ll help me a lot.”

“Do you want to stay?” Sawyer asked her.

She looked right into Campbell’s face and answered sweetly, “I’d love to stay. And shopping is an art, smarty. One should be willing to pay a fair price, but never too much.”

That, Sawyer thought, sounded a lot like his father.

Killian grinned at him. “That’s settled. They’ll be working together until Mom comes home. Did I mention Cordie and I are leaving for Italy on our second honeymoon day after tomorrow? You’re in charge.”

Sawyer closed his eyes, his head now hurting as well as his ribs. If he was going to have to assume Killian’s role as an arbitrator while he was gone, it was a good thing he was used to flirting with danger.

Chapter One

Anchovies, pepper jack cheese, wheat crackers, beef jerky, marinated vegetables, oranges and taco-flavored corn chips. Sawyer Abbott checked the list in his hand against the contents of his cart and decided, as he crossed off the last item, that shopping wasn’t so hard. Kezia Chambers, the Abbott family’s housekeeper at Shepherd’s Knoll, had laughed when he’d told her he was headed for the Losthampton Market.

“You’re going to meet girls, aren’t you?” She was African-American and she and her husband, Daniel, the Abbotts’ chauffeur, had been part of the family for as long as Sawyer could remember. Over the years, she’d alternately scolded him and comforted him and his brother Killian, depending upon the situation. When their mother had left he was three and Killian was five, and she’d helped them accept their stepmother, Chloe, and the two babies she and their father had eventually added to their household. And when their little sister, Abigail, was taken at fourteen months of age, Kezia had been a brick.

“No, I’m not.” He’d pretended to be insulted. “As if I had to arrange to meet single women. They seem to find me.”

She’d rolled her eyes as she stirred the dark contents of a bowl with a wooden spoon. “You’re so spoiled. You were born with those fair good looks and that outrageous charm and you think they’ll never fail you, but someday you’re going to meet someone who’ll resist you. Then what will you do?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “I won’t want anyone who doesn’t want me. Now—do you need anything from the market? I just came to ask you as a courtesy. Don’t try to harass me the way you harass Killian.”

“Really?” She smiled and raised the wooden spoon from the bowl menacingly. A rich chocolate batter ran off the spoon, its sweet aroma wafting toward him. Brownies. “Even if I’m making your favorite treat?”

“Are you putting caramel and pecans in them?” he bargained.

“I might be convinced to do that, but you have to let me pick on you.”

He’d rolled his eyes theatrically. “Oh, all right. But there’d better be lots of caramel.”

“There will be. If you’d remember to give me your list when I go shopping, you wouldn’t have to pick up your own treats. China’s been here only two weeks and she remembers to tell me what she needs.”

“I know. She’s obviously smarter than I am. I’m just laying in a few personal supplies. Brian and I are working on one of his boats tonight, and even though he has that little store now, he has mostly survival stuff for tourists and none of my favorites.”

“Ha!” she teased. “Applaud him for his good taste.”

Brian Girard, a newly discovered half brother, the progeny of Sawyer and Killian’s perfidious mother and the next-door neighbor, had upped the Abbott-sibling count to five. Sawyer, Killian and Campbell—their other half brother and full sibling of Abigail—had been doing their best to make him feel welcome. Brian had refused Killian’s invitation to move into Shepherd’s Knoll, choosing instead to live in an old house his paternal grandmother had left him. He’d recently bought an old general store and boat rental at the edge of Losthampton on Long Island, and was learning about life as a merchant after having spent most of his adulthood in the corporate world with Corbin Girard, his natural father.

The fact that Corbin had hated and competed with the Abbotts and the Abbott Mills Corporation all his life was ignored by the brothers as they determined to make their own way in this new relationship.

And since Brian had literally saved Sawyer’s life when one of Sawyer’s stunts for charity had gone wrong, Sawyer felt obliged to make even more of an effort than the others. Actually, Brian was hardworking and witty, and liking him didn’t require much effort. His father had disowned him for helping the Abbotts, and without the old man’s predatory presence among them, they were getting along very well.

Sawyer suddenly remembered something he’d forgotten to put on the list but had thought about on the drive to town—the current Wall Street Journal. He’d promised Killian he’d keep an eye on their stock while he was gone.

Sawyer pushed his cart through the narrow aisles of the quaint little store that hadn’t changed much in one hundred and fifty years because its nineteenth-century-charm appealed to the tourists. He stopped at the book and magazine rack in back. Someone had apparently just rummaged through the newspapers on the bottom, so the usually orderly stacks were all jumbled. Sawyer squatted behind the rack to look for the Journal.

“Mister!” A high, urgent whisper made him look up into the dark eyes of a boy about eight. He was scrawny and flushed and appeared frightened. With him was a little girl slightly younger, who had the same dark eyes and tumbled dark hair. She, too, looked scared. Their hands and faces were dirty.

“What is it?” Sawyer asked, putting a hand to the boy’s shoulder.