Читать книгу: «Paternity Unknown»
“What are you hiding, Lauren?”
“Nothing. Please, just go.”
She was protecting something inside that bedroom. Or someone. He was certain of it. She was no longer living here alone. Another man? He was gripped by a sudden spasm of jealousy.
When he strode purposefully toward the bedroom door, Lauren tried to cut him off. “You have no right!” she cried in panic.
He opened the door, walked into the room. There was no other man. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except for a crib located near the window.
Ethan was only dimly aware of Lauren behind him, plucking at his sleeve in a futile effort to stop him. He reached the crib, the breath sticking in his throat as he looked down into its shallow depth.
A pair of blue-green eyes—his eyes—gazed back at him innocently.
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
This month you’ll want to have all six of our books to keep you company as you brave those April showers!
Debra Webb kicks off THE ENFORCERS, her exciting new trilogy, with John Doe on Her Doorstep. And for all of you who have been waiting with bated breath for the newest installment in Kelsey Roberts’s THE LANDRY BROTHERS series, we have Chasing Secrets.
Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor join together in Desert Sons. You won’t want to miss this unique three-in-one collection!
Two of your favorite promotions are back. You won’t be able to resist Leona Karr’s ECLIPSE title, Shadows on the Lake. And you’ll be on the edge of your seat while reading Jean Barrett’s Paternity Unknown, the latest installment in TOP SECRET BABIES.
Meet another of THE PRECINCT’s rugged lawmen in Julie Miller’s Police Business.
Every month you can depend on Harlequin Intrigue to deliver an array of thrilling romantic suspense and mystery. Be sure you read each one!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
Paternity Unknown
Jean Barrett
MILLS & BOON
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To my readers
I never forget that you make it all possible
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
If setting has anything to do with it, Jean Barrett claims she has no reason not to be inspired. She and her husband live on Wisconsin’s scenic Door Peninsula in an antique-filled country cottage overlooking Lake Michigan. A teacher for many years, she left the classroom to write full-time. She is the author of a number of romance novels.
Write to Jean at P.O. Box 623, Sister Bay, WI 54234. SASE appreciated.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Lauren McCrea—The frantic mother has no choice but to join forces with the one man she is unable to trust.
Ethan Brand—He has sworn to find his little Sara…and prove his innocence to the woman he never forgot.
Sara—The innocent baby is a pawn in a desperate game.
Hilary Johnson—What terrible secret is the housekeeper concealing?
Sheriff Howell—He resents any interference in his cases.
Marjorie Landry—The FBI agent ends up being a disappointment.
Anthony Johnson—He is the key to everything.
Buddy Foley—The Seattle cop is a friend from the past.
Charlie Heath—The pompous lawyer isn’t all that he seems.
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Prologue
He was in the wilderness, he was lost, and it was snowing.
Okay, so there was still some question about the first two, but there was no mistaking the snow. The skies had been a clear, brittle blue when he’d left the airport near Kalispell. Somewhere along his route, though, a cloud cover had sneaked in over the mountains, obscuring the sun.
He hadn’t been worried when the first white flakes swirled through the air. Hell, it was November, and this was Montana. It was supposed to snow, wasn’t it? The car rental agency hadn’t mentioned anything about the possibility of a storm on the way.
But the snow had thickened and for the better part of an hour now, the stuff had been falling at a serious rate. No weather report on the radio. All he could seem to find was music.
The wilderness part was a matter of definition. He knew there were rugged mountains out there—the Flathead Range, according to the map he’d found in the glove compartment. He just couldn’t see them through this curtain of white.
For that matter, he could barely make out the ranks of evergreens pressing in on him. They crowded both sides of the winding road, a forest unbroken by any clearing or a sign of a building. For a man who had spent most of his life in a large city, that translated into his version of a wilderness.
As for being lost…yeah, it felt like it.
He couldn’t remember when he had last met another vehicle. There was just him and this narrow ribbon climbing through the hills. It seemed more like a back road than a highway. Had he missed a sign, taken a wrong turn? The map was of no use; it wasn’t specific enough.
Nor could his cell phone help him. He’d tried to raise the state highway department to learn about the weather conditions and to ask directions, only he was unable to get a signal. The weather was probably to blame—maybe a tower was down.
As if all that weren’t bad enough, the light was rapidly fading. No surprise at this time of the year when the days were so short, but it made his situation all the more treacherous.
Any fool would have turned back long ago, but he didn’t consider it. He couldn’t. Whatever the risk, the urgency of his mission forced him to go on. He had to reach the woman whose knowledge meant his survival.
No time to lose, either. They must be searching for you by now, and if you don’t get to her before they find you…
Forget about that. Take it one step at a time.
At this moment, that meant concentrating on the road. It wasn’t good. The snow was piling up. How much longer would the route remain passable?
Whether it was the instinct that had served him so well in the past or merely blind luck that enabled him to glimpse the sign at the side of the road a moment later, he couldn’t say. The point was, he saw it, and he could have easily missed it in the driving snow.
Easing the car to a halt, he peered through the windshield where the wipers swished across the glass. The beams of his headlights penetrated the snow and gathering darkness just enough for him to make out the old, faded sign.
It wasn’t a directional sign. It was a small billboard. Straining, he could see that it advertised vacation cabins for rent. The cabins were of no interest to him. Their location was. Elkton, Five Miles Ahead, the sign read. His destination. He was on the right road.
Relieved, he moved on. The conditions worsened with each bend in the road as the snowfall accelerated to a furious blizzard. It was full night now. He could barely see the route. Feeling his way, he crested a rise and almost missed a sharp curve. He swung the wheel in time and rounded the turn.
Though alert for trouble, he wasn’t prepared for the cow that loomed directly in front of him. Or maybe it was a moose. It didn’t matter. Whatever the animal was, it was a large threat frozen in the glare of his headlights that sliced through the screen of snow.
He cursed as he hit the brake to avoid a collision. Mistake. There was ice under the snow. The vehicle went into a skid, its nose spinning to the right. Before he could correct it, the car leaped the shoulder and plunged down a long, steep embankment.
Pine boughs slashed the sides of the rental sedan, failing to slow its descent. In the end, the car slammed against the trunk of a tree. Bouncing off, it lurched over onto its side.
He felt a sharp jolt as his head struck the doorframe. A second later, his pain was obliterated by the blackness that swallowed him.
Chapter One
Somebody had gone and changed the rules, Lauren thought. Either the power could be out or the phone could be out, but never both at the same time. That the two of them were just that on this occasion was an indication of how major the storm was.
Has to be the ice, she decided, replacing the receiver in its cradle after testing her phone and finding it dead. There had been a lot of it in the area in the form of frozen rain before it turned to snow. It must have brought down lines everywhere, which meant it was anyone’s guess when her services would be restored.
Lauren wasn’t worried. This wouldn’t be the first time she had been without either a phone or electricity. Hey, you had to expect such inconveniences when you lived in a place this remote.
Anyway, she knew the drill and had already fired up the gas-powered generator out back. Although it was small, it would keep the water pump and the refrigerator going. Nothing else that depended on electricity was essential.
She had also lit the oil lamps and placed them in strategic positions around the combination living room–kitchen that overlooked the frozen lake. The doors to the two bedrooms were closed to conserve heat. Without the electric furnace, she would have to rely on the fireplace at this end of the living room and the old cookstove on the kitchen side. Both were cheerfully blazing.
Needing to make sure there was plenty of firewood inside, Lauren eyed the split logs heaped beside the hearth. They seemed to be a generous supply. They weren’t. She knew how fast the pile could sink when you had to feed both the fireplace and the stove.
Snagging her coat from a peg beside the door, she bundled into it, seized the log carrier, and left the cabin.
The wind was howling off the lake, the snow was flying and it was brutally cold. Definitely a night to stay indoors. But since the covered porch that stretched across the front of the cabin was as far as she had to go, she didn’t complain. Firewood was stacked along its entire length against the log wall.
Lauren was filling the carrier when she noticed it. A strange glow off the far end of the porch.
What in the world—
Leaving the carrier, she moved toward the light. When she reached the corner of the building, she leaned out over the rail for a better look. Whatever its source, the glow was some distance off. It came from the direction of the road up along the ridge above her cabin.
Puzzled, Lauren went on gazing into the night, trying to figure it out. The obstruction of the trees and the falling snow made it impossible to identify. It wasn’t until there was a brief lull in the snowfall that she realized what she was seeing.
Not one light. Two lights. She was seeing the twin beams of a car’s headlights. Only there was something wrong with them. They weren’t horizontal. They were turned upward, like a pair of fixed lamps searching the night sky through the tall spires of the trees.
And that’s when Lauren realized what must have happened. A car had run off the road and landed at such an angle that—
Dear God, an accident! Maybe a serious one, with people injured. There would be no help from a passing vehicle, either. With the new highway to Elkton, this was no longer the main route. The road up there was rarely traveled now, and in weather like this it could be forever before someone came along. Probably not until after the plow came through, and who knew when that would be.
That leaves you as the only available help.
As much as she disliked the thought of going out into the storm, Lauren didn’t hesitate. She was already forming her plan as she left the railing and sped back into the cabin.
Blankets. She would need blankets. She pulled three of them off the shelf of the closet next to the bathroom. Throwing them down on the floor beside the front door, she traded her coat for her snowmobile suit, boots and helmet.
She would have to take the snowmobile. Her car would be useless in this stuff, her driveway already blocked. And she would need the toboggan. She used it when the snow was deep to haul supplies from her car to the cabin or to replenish the wood on the porch from the shed out back.
The toboggan was leaning against the porch. When she came away from the cabin, she lowered it and piled the blankets on it. Then she drew the load around the corner of the building to where her snowmobile was parked. Removing the protective cover from the machine, she roped the toboggan to its rear bumper.
The engine kicked in with a roar on her first try with the pull start. Straddling the saddle, she wove a trail up through the snow-laden firs and pines. The headlights of the helpless car guided her like a beacon.
Their glow seemed to grow weaker the closer she got, which had to mean the car’s engine wasn’t running and that the headlights were operating on a battery whose power was dwindling.
Topping the last rise, she arrived at the scene of the accident. A silver sedan lay half on its side, with its back end buried down in a drift and its hood pointed upward.
Braking her snowmobile and leaving the engine idling, Lauren trudged through the snow, fearing what she would find as she approached the vehicle.
She had a flashlight with her, and when she reached the car, she directed its beam through one of the windows. The driver was still inside, sprawled behind the wheel. He was either unconscious or—
But Lauren refused to consider the worst.
She played the flashlight around the interior. No other occupants. That meant she had only the one victim to rescue. And, providing it wasn’t already too late, she could lose him if she didn’t hurry.
With the car’s motor stalled, he couldn’t have had the heater to keep him warm. There was no telling how long he had been out here in the cold. Certainly he would never have survived the night if, by pure chance, she hadn’t spotted his headlights.
Lauren didn’t stop to question the risk. Stranger or not, she had to transport him to the warmth of her cabin. There was no other option.
It was a decision easier made than executed. Just getting at him was a challenge in itself. The driver’s side was jammed down into the snow, which left that door inaccessible. The passenger door was her only entry, and a difficult one when it was at an angle and several feet off the ground. Lauren somehow fought it open and lifted herself inside, noticing the air bag hadn’t deployed. Well, technology wasn’t infallible.
The driver never stirred. Removing her glove, she groped inside the collar of his expensive-looking leather coat. Her fingers pressed against his strongly corded throat, feeling for a pulse. She got one, slow though it was. He was still alive.
But her relief was dampened when she encountered a trickle of blood. The flashlight revealed its source as a wound on the side of his head. Just how serious it was she would need to try to determine when she moved him into the cabin.
The easy part was clambering out of the car, releasing the toboggan from the snowmobile, and positioning it below the open door.
The tough part was placing him on the toboggan. From what she could judge, he had to be all of a solid six feet in length. And a deadweight. But with a combination of tugging, dragging and sheer stubbornness, Lauren managed to wrestle him out of the car and lower him onto the toboggan. What damage she might be inflicting on him in the process she didn’t dare to think about. It couldn’t be helped.
After trussing him up in the blankets and hitching the toboggan to the bumper of the snowmobile again, she went back to the car to switch off its headlights and remove the keys from the ignition.
Pocketing them, she had a last look around the interior. Her flashlight disclosed a small travel bag on the backseat. She took it and placed it on the toboggan with her unconscious passenger.
It was time for her sled to go into action again.
ONCE SHE’D RECOVERED enough wind to do more than wheeze, Lauren addressed her patient.
“A few words of congratulation would be nice.”
He didn’t answer her plea. He remained inert.
“Please.”
No response. Not so much as a flutter of his eyelids.
It really wasn’t his approval she needed, only some form of reassurance from him that he wasn’t going to expire on her. Though, considering what she had undergone to get him here, she was entitled to that congratulation.
The trip itself back to the cabin hadn’t been eventful. It was what Lauren had achieved after the snowmobile delivered them to the cabin that deserved recognition. Since she’d had to get him inside, and since he was clearly far too heavy for her to carry, she’d used the only means she could think of.
Filling the steps and the floor of the porch with snow, huffing and straining, she had hauled the toboggan and its load up onto the porch. Dragged it across the porch, over the threshold of the front door, and somehow arrived with her burden in front of the hearth.
Only then had Lauren permitted herself to collapse on the floor of the living room. It was where she huddled now beside the toboggan. And where, exhausted, she longed to go on huddling. But, whoever he was, the man she had rescued demanded immediate attention.
The fire first. It had shrunk to embers in her absence. Heaving herself to her feet, she placed fresh logs on the grate, made sure they caught and then went off to the bathroom.
When she returned, first aid kit in hand, the fire was blazing again, radiating a welcome warmth. She started to crouch down beside the toboggan and then stopped.
This is no good. You can’t just let him go on lying there on that hard thing.
Yes, but there was no way she could manage to get him up onto one of the beds. Besides, the bedrooms had to be like freezers now.
All right, if she couldn’t take him to a bed, then she’d bring the bed to him. Or the part that mattered, anyway.
Lauren felt like a player in a comic performance as she tussled a mattress off one of the twin beds in the spare bedroom, squeezed it through the doorway, and stumbled over it twice before she was able to deposit it on the floor between the sofa and the toboggan.
Stripping off her boots and snowmobile suit, she knelt beside the sled and unwrapped the blankets from the figure stretched on it. Then, sliding her hands under his back, she heaved him up and over onto the mattress. It took another effort before she was able to roll him over onto his back again.
There. Much better.
Or maybe not. There was still the matter of his head wound. And who knew what other internal injuries he might have sustained. If he had, there was nothing she could do about them.
Leaning over him, she turned his head toward the light of the oil lamp on the table above her. The wound on his temple had stopped bleeding, but it was a nasty-looking gash. She cleaned it with antiseptic from the first aid kit, applied an antibiotic ointment for good measure and decided not to try to dress it with a bandage.
Lauren was no nurse, but his color looked all right, and when she checked his pulse again, it seemed steady enough.
But he never stirred, and that continued to worry her.
His coat. He’d probably be more comfortable if she could get him out of that coat. Lifting his head and shoulders, she set to work peeling away the leather coat. It was another struggle, but she succeeded in removing the garment.
Two items stuck in one of the coat’s pockets landed on the floor. A map and a newspaper clipping. She set them aside with the jacket.
Sinking back on her heels, Lauren considered her patient. She knew he ought to have a doctor, maybe be admitted to a hospital. But there was nothing she could do about that. If he didn’t come around by morning, she would have to think about going to Elkton for help. Providing, that is, she could get that far, even on the snowmobile. With the weather worsening, it was doubtful.
For the moment, though, she had done all she could.
You don’t think you’re finished here, do you? There’s the little matter of his wallet.
Lauren had noticed the bulge in his back pants pocket when she had turned him over on the mattress. A wallet would provide her with identification, and she was entitled to know who he was.
Right.
But she hesitated. Her contact with him until now had been necessary and strictly impersonal. However, groping around that particular area of his body seemed…well, somehow too familiar.
Just get on with it.
She did, squeezing her hand under his backside and working the wallet out of his pocket. There was fabric between her fingers and his firm flesh, but it didn’t matter. The sensation of heat and intimacy had her gulping like a teenager.
The wallet in her hand, she scooted away from him.
Idiot.
Drawing a safe breath, she opened the wallet. She found a driver’s license inside with a Seattle, Washington, address. It was issued in the name of Ethan Brand. She looked down at him.
Well, you have an identity now, Ethan Brand. I know who you are, but I don’t know what you are.
For one thing, he was twenty-seven, according to the birth date on his license. He also didn’t have to worry about his looks, Lauren decided.
Until this moment, she had been far too busy saving him to acquire more than a brief impression of his face and form. But now she had the opportunity to gaze at him in earnest. She liked what she saw.
Long-limbed and lean, he had a body that she supposed could be defined as athletic. It was his face, though, that she found interesting. And definitely appealing with its square jaw, cleft chin and thatch of dark brown hair.
That strong face also had a wide mouth with a boldly sensual quality. It would probably be wise, though, not to dwell on that.
And, anyway, it didn’t seem fair for her to go on gaping at him when he was lying there unconscious and vulnerable.
Getting to her feet, Lauren placed his wallet and jacket, together with the map and clipping, on a chair. Then, covering him again with a blanket, she put on her coat, returned the toboggan to its spot below the porch, made sure her snowmobile was secure and resumed her interrupted job of bringing in a fresh supply of wood.
It was afterward, seated at the table eating the soup and sandwich she’d fixed for her supper, that she thought again about her silent visitor.
Ethan Brand. She knew his name and looks now. What she didn’t know was his character. And to be honest about it, that concerned her. In his present condition, he certainly posed no threat. Nor had she a reason to think he was anything other than the harmless victim of an accident. Still…
Her gaze strayed in the direction of his travel bag she had dumped on the floor below the sofa. Should she? No, unlike her essential investigation of his wallet, digging through the contents of that bag struck her as a blatant invasion of his privacy.
Then she remembered the clipping and the map. They were there on the chair, out in the open, with no guilt involved and enticing her with the offer of possible clues.
Unable to resist the temptation, Lauren left the table and went to look at them. The clipping was no more than a ragged scrap hastily torn from a newspaper whose identity was missing. Most of the story wasn’t there, either.
There was only one intact, small paragraph. It named a witness who had returned from Seattle to her home in Montana. Hilary Johnson. Lauren didn’t recognize the name. Nor did this portion of the story include just what Hilary Johnson might have witnessed.
Lauren turned to the map. It was a road map of Montana, folded so that only one area was visible. This area. The town of Elkton was circled. Heavily circled, as if there had been a fierce determination in the action.
The clipping and the map smacked of—
Well, Lauren didn’t know what they suggested. Something desperate? A mystery certainly.
And, when you get right down to it, none of your business.
She put the clipping and the map back on the chair. Wishing she hadn’t looked at them, she tried not to let them make her uneasy. In all likelihood, there was an innocent explanation.
She returned to the table and her supper. Afterward, while cleaning up, she turned on the portable radio. Wanting to conserve its batteries, she listened only to the weather report.
It wasn’t encouraging. The storm was expected to last through tomorrow and perhaps on into the next day. But then, she didn’t need the radio to tell her just how bad the conditions were. She could hear the snow hissing at the windows, the wind snarling around the corners of the cabin.
Fortunately, the thick logs of its walls made the cabin snug and warm. As long as she kept the fires going, that is. She added fuel to both of them before deciding to call it an early night. She had earned a long rest after this evening’s ordeal.
Long maybe, but not without interruptions, Lauren reminded herself. She would have to get up periodically to tend to the fires. Otherwise, in these temperatures the water lines would freeze.
Also, she needed to check regularly through the night on her patient. She went now to look at him. There was no change. He continued to lie there without any sign that he was either worse or better. As she crouched beside the mattress looking down at that still face, she was troubled by something that hadn’t occurred to her before.
There are probably people somewhere worried about you, Ethan Brand. Maybe a family waiting for you, wondering where you are and why they haven’t heard from you. If so, they must be frantic.
As disturbing as that possibility was, there was nothing Lauren could do about it. Not until the roads were cleared and she had a working telephone again.
Accepting the inevitability of their plight, Lauren rose to her feet. She fetched a pair of blankets and a pillow for herself, set the alarm clock to wake her in an hour, lowered the wicks on the lamps and stretched out on the sofa where she intended to spend the night.
Her last act before she drifted off was to lean over and murmur in the direction of the mattress, “Lauren McCrea wishes you a good night, Ethan Brand.”
It would have been nice to hear a response, but of course there was none.
THE COLD, GRAY LIGHT of early morning was stealing through the windows of the cabin when Lauren was roused again by the buzz of the alarm clock. Stretching out a hand, she silenced the blasted thing.
She lay there for a moment, reluctant to stir. Then, remembering her patient, she lifted her head from the pillow to look down over the side of the sofa. And was startled out of her lingering drowsiness by a pair of riveting, blue-green eyes gazing back at her from the mattress.
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