Полная версия
Gavin's Child
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Caroline Cross
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Preview
Copyright
“Mama! You’re Squishing Me!”
Mama? Gavin frowned, a V forming between his brows. His gaze skated over Annie, stopping at her slender hands, which were clasped together to support the child’s weight. A chased silver-on-gold wedding band stood out starkly on one slim finger.
A ring he himself had slipped on.
His gaze shot back to her pale face, to the stark panic she couldn’t disguise.
And suddenly it all fit.
The ring, her distress, the little boy’s bright blue eyes and familiar grin…
Familiar because it was the spitting image of his, seen captured in photos and reflected in mirrors for his entire thirty-four years.
Dear Reader,
Cowboys and cops…sexy men with a swagger…just the kind of guys to make your head turn. That’s what we’ve got for you this month in Silhouette Desire.
The romance begins when Taggart Jones meets his match in Anne McAllister’s wonderful MAN OF THE MONTH, The Cowboy and the Kid. This is the latest in her captivating CODE OF THE WEST miniseries. And the fun continues with Mitch Harper in A Gift for Baby, the next book in Raye Morgan’s THE BABY SHOWER series.
Cindy Gerard has created a dynamic hero in the very masculine form of J. D. Hazzard in The Bride Wore Blue, book #1 in the NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series. And if rugged rascals are your favorite, don’t miss Jake Spencer in Dixie Browning’s The Baby Notion, which is book #1 of DADDY KNOWS LAST, Silhouette’s new cross-line continuity. (Next month, look for Helen R. Myers’s Baby in a Basket as DADDY KNOWS LAST continues in Silhouette Romance!)
Gavin Cantrell is sure to weaken your knees in Gavin’s Child by Caroline Cross, part of the delightful BACHELORS AND BABIES promotion. And Jackie Merritt—along with hero Duke Sheridan—kicks off her MADE IN MONTANA series with Montana Fever.
Heroes to fall in love with—and love scenes that will make your toes curl. That’s what Silhouette Desire is all about. Until next month—enjoy!
All the best.
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Gavin’s Child
Caroline
Cross
CAROLINE CROSS
grew up in eastern Washington State, where she acquired a love of books and horses, long summer days and wide-open spaces. Although she was an inveterate reader, it wasn’t until after the birth of her second child that she discovered the magic of contemporary romance fiction. Fascinated by the opportunity to write about what interests her most—people, and why they behave as they do—she began her first book and has been writing ever since. She now lives outside Seattle with her husband, two daughters and an everexpanding collection of pets.
To Pat Teal—savvy friend and wise counselor
And to Melinda, Susan and Sandi—three of the
brightest, nicest—most irreverent—friends anyone could have. Thanks guys.
Prologue
Someone was watching him.
Gavin Cantrell paused as he reached for the six-pack of beer. A prickle of primitive awareness crept up his broad, powerful back. It was so strong that he had to fight an uneasy urge to roll his shoulders.
Instead, he stood as still as a statue and tried to pinpoint the source of the feeling. First he narrowed his eyes against the artificial brightness of the fluorescent lights overhead. Next he blocked out the insistent voice on the grocery store’s PA system, which was requesting that shoppers be on the lookout for a missing toddler.
He eased back, two hundred and ten pounds of muscled aggression, and took a long look around.
The aisle was deserted.
Well, hell. There’s nobody here but you, Rambo.
The tension slowly drained out of him, and a wash of heat worked its way up his neck. He shook his head. How much longer was it going to take for the overactive defense mechanisms he’d learned at Colson to fade? How long before he stopped seeing enemies in every shadow and threats around every bend? Another month? A year? Ten?
He raked a hand through his dark hair and let loose a sigh of disgust. All right, so he’d overreacted. It was no big deal. He was just tired—and hot, sweaty and hungry after thirteen hours working full-out on the Ebersoles’ new house. His foot ached from the beam an apprentice carpenter had inadvertently dropped on it. And his shoulders stung because he’d foolishly worked barechested under the hot June sun.
All he needed was a cold drink, a long shower and a hot meal, then he’d feel more like himself.
None of which he was likely to get standing around here, he reminded himself. Any more than the twenty-mile drive north to the furnished room he called home was going to get shorter. Sighing, he reached once more for the beer—only to be brought up short as the sensation of being watched skated along his spine again.
Disgusted, he started to grab the six-pack anyway, determined not to be drawn into whatever crude game his psyche was playing. Suddenly a slight movement at the end of the aisle caught his eye. He dropped his hand—vaguely aware that the voice on the PA system was now droning something about blue rompers and red sneakers—and waited.
Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. He’d just about decided he really was imagining things when a child peeked around the corner. The little boy, barely bigger than a minute, had an angel’s face beneath a mop of silky, moonbeam-colored hair.
For a span of seconds he watched Gavin warily out of large, mischievous blue eyes, the color as clear and deep as Gavin’s own. And then he hooked his thumbs behind his ears, made a comically ferocious face and waggled his fingers.
The last of the tension seeped out of Gavin’s big frame. I’ll be damned. He looked around, confident that any second now some chiding mama or disgruntled sibling would appear and put an end to the kid’s horseplay.
And then he glanced down and registered the crimson color of the boy’s itty-bitty sneakers.
Well, hell. The good news, obviously, was that the PA system’s missing toddler hadn’t been abducted.
The bad news was that only he and the kid appeared to know it.
He considered his options. The most logical course of action would be to grab the little fugitive and haul him up to the manager’s counter. Yet as big as Gavin was—and, at the moment, as dirty and disheveled—such a move would probably scare the starch right out of the little guy. Gavin didn’t want any trouble—particularly not the sort he’d get if the kid kicked up a fuss at being manhandled and somebody got the wrong idea.
Gavin’s expression darkened. He knew all about wrong ideas. He should; he’d spent thirty-four months at the state correctional facility at Colson, courtesy of the State of Colorado, because the Pueblo County prosecutor had had one about him.
He could just imagine what the reaction would be in this situation if somebody found out he was an ex-con. Not to mention what might happen to his current freedom if he were accused of child abduction.
The thought of being locked up again made his stomach roll.
If he had a brain in his head, he would grab the beer and get the hell out of here. Except…what if the kid wandered off and ran into real trouble? Even though it wasn’t Gavin’s concern, and even though it’d serve whoever was accountable right to get a royal fright, he couldn’t very well let the kid pay the price for some adult’s lack of responsibility.
Besides, he thought gruffly, slanting the child an exasperated glance, he really was a cute little guy…
He sighed as a possible solution struck him. It wasn’t much, and, God knew, just the idea made him feel like four kinds of fool.
On the other hand, if it kept the kid from wandering off until some good, respectable, law-abiding citizen showed up to rescue him, he supposed it was worth a try.
Which wasn’t a hell of a lot of comfort for how ridiculous he felt as he turned his head and stuck out his tongue.
The child’s hands stilled. His eyes opened wide with surprise. Then he hastily ducked back around the corner.
Gavin slammed his mouth shut, nearly swallowing his tongue. Terrific. He’d scared the kid off and now—
The boy popped back around the corner. A devilish gleam in his bright blue eyes, he screwed up his little face in concentration and stuck out his tongue.
Relief flooded Gavin. He matched the boy’s action—and crossed his eyes, as well.
Again, the child looked startled. Then his entire face lit up in a shy, lopsided grin, and he laughed.
The high, bright sound was irresistible. So was that smile. Yet Gavin frowned, swept by a sudden, inexplicable sense of recognition. Puzzled, he studied the boy, taking in the sturdy little body, the pink and cream complexion, the winged brows, the button nose, the rosebud mouth. The kid was a charmer, no doubt about it, but Gavin was sure he’d never seen him before. Still, there was something about that smile, about the way it crooked up at one corner that—
“Sam!”
The frantic feminine voice at his back blew his train of thought right off the rails. In the next instant a woman rushed past, leaving the faint scent of white lilacs in her path.
Gavin watched, transfixed, as she slid to her knees and scooped the child into her slender arms.
“Oh, Sam!” She gathered the toddler close and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her hair, the same thick, silver gilt as the child’s, was caught up in a high ponytail that spilled down her back like a cascade of silk. It exposed the creamy, vulnerable curve of her nape and the slim, delicate line of her back. “You scared me half to death, sweetie.” A tremor went through her as she fought for composure. “You know you’re not to ever, ever go where I can’t see you. And—” she lifted her head, setting the child away just enough so they could see each other “—you’re not supposed to talk to strangers. Remember?”
Eyes huge, the little boy nodded. “‘Kay.”
“Good.” She immediately gave him another fierce hug, then turned her head slightly, for the first time acknowledging Gavin’s presence. “I’m sorry if he was bothering you,” she said, struggling a little as she got her legs beneath her and hefted the child up. “I only looked away for a moment, and the next thing I knew, I couldn’t find him. He’s so fast, like quicksilver—” She stopped and swallowed. Hard. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him…”
Gavin knew what she’d look like before she turned. He knew her nose would be small and straight, her cheekbones elegant, her mouth lush, her eyes big, dark and mysterious. He knew she would have the sort of cool, quiet beauty that made a man burn, that haunted his days and bedeviled his nights, that ruined him for anyone else.
She gave a shaky, self-conscious laugh. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. It’s just—” she twisted around, a tremulous, apologetic smile on her full mouth as she finally raised her eyes to him “—he’s all I—oh!” Her face drained of color, leaving her skin sickly pale beneath her smooth golden tan. “Oh…no.”
His mouth twisted at her reaction. “Hello, Annie.”
“Gavin.” She stumbled back a pace.
The child, clutched tightly in her arms, squirmed restlessly. “Mama!” he complained. “You’re squishing me!”
Mama? Gavin frowned, a V forming between his brows. His gaze skated over her, snagging on her slender hands, which were clasped together to support the child’s weight. An embossed silver-on-gold wedding band stood out starkly on one slim finger.
A ring he himself had slipped on her finger.
His gaze shot back to her pale face, to the stark panic she couldn’t disguise.
And suddenly it all fit.
The ring, her distress, the little boy’s bright blue eyes and familiar grinFamiliar because it was the spitting image of his, seen captured in photos and reflected in mirrors for his entire thirty-four years.
Stunned, he stared at his wife, whom he’d last seen through the Plexiglas barrier in the penitentiary visiting room. The woman who’d sat, her expression a blank mask, and never said a word when he’d set her free to live her life without a felon for a husband. Even though, judging from the boy’s size, she must have known, even then, that she was carrying his son.
“Down, Mama.” Sam’s impatient voice hung in the air. “Down, down, down.”
Awareness flooded Gavin, first in a trickle, then in a gush, as the full extent of her betrayal crashed through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, rocked by wave after wave of fury, pain and disbelief.
A mistake, he realized too late. Because when he opened his eyes, she and the boy were gone.
One
The storm broke as Annie started for work.
Car keys in hand, she stood on her small covered porch and watched as the wind sighed through the gnarled trees that lined the dusty street. A faint drumroll of thunder echoed through the artificially early twilight, only to fade away as the first raindrops began to fall, rich with the scent of sun-baked evergreen.
She lifted her face to the breeze. It had been unseasonably hot all week. She let her eyes drift closed, the better to savor the cool wash of air that ruffled her hair and tugged at her clothes. While she no longer minded working nights, had even convinced her body it was okay to sleep from first light to mid-morning, she didn’t think she’d ever get accustomed to life without air-conditioning.
A rueful smile lit her face. Watch out, Annelise. Your silver spoon is showing.
She sighed. Time and past, to get going. Clia would no doubt have her head if she were late.
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the truck.
Big and black, its headlights gleamed in the murky light as it rolled down the street, slowing and speeding up in a way that suggested its driver was reading house numbers as he drove.
As simply as that—with an instinct she didn’t question—she knew.
Gavin.
Annie had been expecting him for more than a week, ever since their disastrous encounter in the grocery store. In some ways his arrival was a relief. At least now the waiting would be over. She would see him again, and the confrontation she’d dreaded for three long years would become a thing of the past. No longer would she struggle with the guilt, the regret, the host of what-might-havebeens.
No longer would she have to look into Sam’s precious little face and wonder if she’d compromised his future to survive her past.
At least now, she would know.
In the street, the pickup stopped altogether, then slid in against the curb with a throaty rumble. The headlights winked out; the engine fell silent. Raindrops spattered, sizzling as they struck the hood.
Oddly calm, Annie watched as the door swung open and Gavin climbed out. He hadn’t changed, she thought with that strange sense of detachment. Last week in the store she’d been so overwhelmed at the sight of him she hadn’t really seen him.
But now…Dressed in boots, jeans and a navy T-shirt, he was all man, from his hard thighs and narrow hips to his wide shoulders and strong, chiseled features. The wind snatched at his hair, tumbling the thick, inky strands across his forehead. Even from where she stood, the blue of his eyes was startling.
He started up the slight slope of her ragged lawn. His long legs made short shrift of the distance, and it was only a handful of seconds before he halted at the foot of the stairs. His gaze was shuttered as he looked up at her, taking in her work uniform of black slacks, white blouse and braided hair.
“Annie.” He inclined his head a scant quarter inch.
Pain shot through her hand. She glanced down, bemused to see she had a stranglehold on her keys. Perhaps she wasn’t so calm, after all. “Hello, Gavin.” She forced her fingers to relax.
A faint smile twisted across the achingly beautiful curve of his mouth. “You don’t look very surprised to see me.” His eyes were as hard as ice chips.
Her courage almost deserted her then. “Liam Corson called me. He said you’d been making inquiries.” Corson had been her father’s attorney. “I—I thought you might come.”
He raised one straight black brow. “And?”
“And I guess you’d better come in.” She crossed the few feet to the door, opened the screen and got her key in the lock, only to falter as she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs.
Goose bumps prickled across her arms. To her horror, her hand began to shake, and the lock, always temperamental, refused to budge.
“Here.” His voice sounded in her ear. She froze as he moved up behind her, unknowingly sheltering her from the wind. He reached for the key, so close she could feel the heat from his skin and taste his scent on her tongue.
And as quickly as that, she was caught in a flood of memories; of waking to the slow caress of his workroughened fingers; of the melting pleasure she’d found in his powerful arms; of the deep, urgent murmur of his voice filling the night…
Annie. Look at me. Look at me while I love you, baby. See how perfect we fit together—
The door swung open.
Annie fled inside. Pulse racing, cheeks burning, she crossed to the battered old highboy set against the wall to the right. She dropped her car keys and pocketbook next to the diminutive chiming clock that had been her mother’s and switched on a small ginger jar lamp. Then she hurried across the room and turned on the larger lamp that sat on the end table next to her yellow-and-white sofa and the bentwood rocker—as if the light could banish the specters of her past.
All the while she was acutely aware of Gavin, who stood in the shadows inside the entry, silent and watchful.
Panic welled inside her. She couldn’t do this, she thought wildly. She’d been a fool to ever think she could match his calm, his control, his icy lack of emotion—
Stop it. With a slight shudder, she clamped down on the flow of negative thoughts and instinctively fell back on the endless drills in deportment that had filled her teenage years. While the Brook School for Girls hadn’t taught the proper etiquette for dealing with an estranged husband who’d broken one’s heart, Miss Kesson had repeated countless times that good manners were always a lady’s best line of defense.
Annie was no longer certain she qualified as a lady, but the reminder served to steady her. “Why—why don’t you come in and sit down?”
He didn’t move. “You live here?”
The disbelief in his voice puzzled her, and then she understood. The little house was certainly nothing like her father’s sprawling Denver compound, or even the deluxe town house she and Gavin had shared in the ritzy suburb of Bretton Hills. There was just the one room, with a pair of doors on one side that opened into her and Sam’s bedrooms, a bank of windows on the other side, and an archway at the back that led to the kitchen and bathroom.
Still, in many ways it was the first real home she’d ever known. And except for the handful of months that had comprised her marriage, the time she’d lived here since Sam was born had been the happiest period of her life.
She stood a little straighter and retreated further into formality. “Yes, I live here. Please, sit down, Gavin. I need to make a phone call, and then I’ll be right with you.” With that she escaped into the kitchen to call work.
Annie punched in the number she knew by heart, then braced herself.
A woman’s brassy contralto answered at the other end of the line. “Yo?” she said irreverently.
Annie sagged with relief. “Nina? It’s me.”
There was a pregnant silence. “Shoot. Don’t tell me. Your car broke down again. I’m going to personally murder that son of mine—”
“No, no. The car’s fine. Really. It’s just—something’s come up. Can you tell Clia I may be a few minutes late?”
“Well, I can try. But I’ve gotta warn you, she’s on a real tear tonight. Unless you’re being held hostage by terrorists—which, by the way, would be considerably less scary than making her angry—you’d better get your fanny in here ASAP.”
Annie’s stomach sank. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”
“Good. I’ll see you shortly. Oops—gotta run. The Wicked Witch is coming this way.”
The line buzzed in Annie’s ear. She replaced the receiver, trying not to think about how much she needed her job as she walked back into the living room.
There was no relief to be found there. On the contrary; it was like going from the frying pan into the fire. Gavin stood in Sam’s darkened bedroom doorway, a small, slightly shabby teddy bear clutched in his hands. The look on his face stopped her in her tracks.
“The boy—your son…his name is Sam?” he said carefully.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“How old is he?”
“He was two on January the second.” It was a year to the day after they’d been married; less than seven months after the Colson gates had slammed shut, destroying their marriage.
“So…” He glanced down at the stuffed animal. “He is mine, isn’t he, Annie?”
He didn’t mean the teddy bear, and she knew it. Just as she suddenly understood that, despite the stillness of his posture, the blankness of his expression, the lack of inflection in his voice, he wasn’t nearly as indifferent as she’d supposed.
Yet it never occurred to her to lie. Not because she still cared about him, she was quick to reassure herself. Other than a knee-jerk response to his undeniable physical attractiveness, she didn’t have any feelings left for him at all. Not after what he’d done…
No; she was doing this for Sam.
No matter what she felt, her child deserved a chance to know his father.
“Yes, Gavin.” Outside, the breeze had died down; her voice seemed to hang in the sudden silence. “Sam is your son.”
His head jerked up. A tremor went through him. Something flashed in his eyes, something fierce and primitive. In the next instant his control disappeared like smoke in a hurricane. “Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he. demanded harshly. He closed the distance between them in two explosive strides, not stopping until the toes of his boots struck the ends of her tennis shoes. “What were you trying to do—pay me back for calling it quits?”
“No!” He was so close she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “No, of course not!”
“Then what?”
She told him the only part of the truth she could. “You made it clear you didn’t want a wife. I didn’t think you’d want to be bothered with a child!”
