The Child She Always Wanted. Jennifer Mikels
chill gave her goose bumps, she contemplated what was the best way to get Heather into the warm house. “Do you remember me?”
He bore a five-o’clock shadow. It darkened his jaw, emphasized the shiny blackness of his hair, those pale-gray eyes. “I remember you.” No friendliness entered those eyes, even when they slanted toward the pink bundle cradled in her arms. Had he trained himself to keep his face so expressionless, his emotions so unreadable? “If you’re looking for my sister, I can’t help you.”
“This is kind of complicated. May we come in?” Rachel had been so anxious to see him that she’d never considered he might not be receptive to her. Had he always been so unfriendly? Years ago, blinded by infatuation, she’d never noticed anything except his muscles, those gray eyes and the sensation that quivered within her whenever he’d been near. “I really need to talk to you.”
“About what?” Despite the question, he opened the screen door.
Edgy, Rachel gripped the straps of the diaper bag that she’d slung over her shoulder before leaving the van and scooted past him into the house. Behind her, she heard the click of the front door closing. Tension crept up again as she faced him. She couldn’t blurt out words. Now because he acted so displeased with their intrusion, she felt stymied how to proceed. She could hardly thrust Heather at him with her news. This baby is yours. Take her.
With Heather’s squeak, Rachel mentally returned to a more immediate concern. “I’m sorry, but I’ll need to change and feed her, or in a minute she’ll demonstrate her lung power.”
He pointed to his left. “You can take her in there.”
She knew what room he meant. It used to be her bedroom. An enormous room, she’d shared it with her younger sister, Gillian. She paused at the doorway. Her posters of rock stars, the collection of stuffed animals, the lovely, ruffled shams, the laced curtain and the patchwork quilt were gone. The room contained a bed with a bare mattress, a small chest of drawers and a rocking chair.
Bending over the bed, she unwrapped the pink blanket, then the pale-aqua lightweight one from Heather. “This was my room, mine and my sister’s,” she said, aware he’d followed and was standing in the doorway. It felt so strange to be in the room she’d called her own as a child. She’d never insisted on privacy from Gillian. She’d liked being in a room with her sister, especially on stormy days and nights. Rachel had hated to be alone. Her sister, daring and bolder even at a young age, had loved to sit with her nose pressed to the window and watch the sky explode with lightning.
“Are you almost done?” he asked, as if she’d said nothing.
It was best Heather was too young to understand any of this. Rachel removed the soiled diaper, then fastened a clean one. “Yes, I’m done,” she replied while she maneuvered Heather’s tiny feet into the fleece, peach-colored sleeper and zipped it. She dumped the soiled diaper into a plastic bag that she’d removed from the diaper bag and wiped her hands with a moist towelette.
Only once had he glanced at Heather. She remembered his father had been like this, curt and remote. An angry, morose man, he’d made Marnie cry with his harsh words. What if Kane had become his father? Would Marnie have wanted Heather to be with a man like that?
Kane eyed the baby in her arms, had already noted no wedding band. A baby and no husband. He’d never figured this kind of future for Rachel Quinn, then he’d never really known her. “There’s coffee if you want a cup,” he said, and walked out. He viewed her last few moments as a stall tactic. Whatever her problem was, she was struggling to spit it out. What bothered him most was why she was involving him.
“The coffee smells wonderful.”
He looked back over his shoulder, made eye contact with her. He wondered where she’d left the baby. With a hand he motioned toward the coffee brewer. “There.” He had no intention of waiting on her, making her feel welcomed. He caught a whiff of some light and lemony fragrance as she passed by to reach the coffeepot.
“That room is the one that I—”
“Grew up in,” he finished for her. Turning, he braced his backside against the kitchen counter. “I know.”
From across the table she stared quizzically at him. He couldn’t blame her. He was being more curt than he intended. But annoyance had inched under his skin. Annoyance with himself for letting her into the house.
“When did Charlie die?” she asked between sips of coffee.
“It’s been a while.” Because he lived alone, he paid little attention to the house. With her there, scanning the room, he noticed the refrigerator needed wiping. Unlike Charlie, he had no housekeeper, wanted no one snooping around. “Why don’t we cut to the chase. What do you want from me?”
“This is difficult.”
“If this is about my sister, I haven’t seen her in years.” He wondered if Marnie had found all she’d wanted. Wherever she’d gone and whatever she’d done, she had to have found something better than they’d had here.
“I know.”
“You know?” That caught his attention. “Does that mean you’ve seen her recently?”
Though Rachel remained unsure what to do about Heather, she had to tell him about his sister. Being the bearer of bad news was never easy. “Marnie was in Texas.”
“In Texas?” He set down his cup and gave her his full attention. “How do you know that?”
“I was there.” Rachel wanted to stop, plead a headache, illness—escape. How would she tell him?
“I worked in a bank, and she came in for a job.”
“She has a good job.”
“She was a bank teller.”
“She—” His face tensed.
She guessed her hesitation was irritating him, but how could she blurt out what needed to be said?
“Why do you keep saying…was?”
She could have told him that Marnie had chosen not to contact him. One night over dishes of rocky road ice cream, Marnie had cried and explained that she’d never wanted to burden her brother with her problems. “Kane, I’m sorry—”
“Sorry. What the hell are you sorry about?”
“Marnie died a week and a half ago.” Rachel gave him a moment while the words registered. She prayed her voice didn’t break, and she didn’t cry. “I tried to contact you.” She hurried an explanation. “I knew from Lori—Lori Wolken—that you were still living here. I tried to reach you.” She withdrew two papers she’d slipped earlier into her jeans pocket. “When I couldn’t, I called Lori with the news about Marnie. She told me that you weren’t in town.”
Expressionless, he kept staring at her.
Rachel wished someone who knew him was here. “I learned you returned from a two-week fishing trip yesterday.”
“How?” A demand edged his voice. She could hear a silent message. Explain this to me. Tell me this isn’t real. “How did she die?”
Rachel set the folded death certificate for Marnie and a birth certificate for Heather on the table. “Your sister was proud, really proud.” Would he blame Rachel? She’d always felt as if she hadn’t done enough, hadn’t come up with good enough arguments to convince Marnie that she shouldn’t have the baby at home, hadn’t tried hard enough. If only she’d convinced Marnie to accept help, how different everything might be now.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
The harsh command forced her head up. Such pain clouded his eyes. She wanted to touch him. “I was her friend, but she wouldn’t let me help. She always said she wouldn’t take charity. I tried.” Rachel felt the knot forming in her throat. “I really did. But she wouldn’t go to the hospital, wouldn’t