The Baby Bet: His Secret Son. Joan Elliott Pickart
mission, his purpose, on this night was to bring the past into the present. Events that had taken place forty years before were going to be brought into the now, and the piper paid.
Things were going to be set to rights at long last, the final chapter written for a story that had begun during a summer four decades ago. Before this night was over he would collect on a debt owed to a woman who was dead and gone, unable to receive what was undeniably hers to have.
Andrew glanced quickly at the piece of paper next to him on the seat, scanning the map he’d sketched showing the directions to his destination.
Two more blocks, he thought. The supper club in the large hotel he was seeking was just ahead, and inside that building was the man he sought, the one who was going to pay for what he had done. A man who had no right to raise his glass in a toast to the future until he had acknowledged his actions of the past and the woman who had suffered immeasurable heartache because of them.
“Final chapter and verse,” Andrew said, a steely edge to his voice. “Tonight.”
After what seemed an eternity, Andrew pulled into the parking lot of the hotel and drove to the far edge, ignoring the valet attendant by the front door of the large, brightly lit structure.
He locked his vehicle, smoothed the lapels of the dark suit he wore, then ran his hand down his tie. The knot in his gut twisted painfully, and he drew a steadying breath before squaring his shoulders and striding toward the entrance to the hotel.
The noise in the ballroom was nearly deafening as a multitude of guests talked and laughed while a band played on the opposite side of the crowded dance floor.
Tables stretched along one wall, displaying a vast array of food. Tables covered in linen cloths were set up in the area between the double doors leading into the room and the dance floor.
Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the people, who were dressed in their very best for this special occasion.
Kara MacAllister looked up from where she sat at one of the tables when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.
“Is it my turn already, Richard?” she said, smiling at the man who had gained her attention.
“Yep, little sister, you’re up. I’ve done my meet-and-greet bit at the door. According to the schedule, you’re next. I swear, I didn’t know anyone who came in during my stint.”
Kara got to her feet, her full-length, mauve-colored dress falling in soft folds over her slender figure as she rose.
“Well, that makes sense,” she said. “We each had a certain number of people we could invite to the party, so none of us could possibly know everyone.” She laughed. “We could have gotten some of those sticky-paper name tags for the guests to fill out. You know, the ones that say ‘Hi, I’m…,’ and you write your name with a magic marker.”
Richard matched her smile. “Oh, hey, that would be classy.” He flapped his hands at her. “So, go, go. Tend to the door. I’m going to get myself some of that food before it’s all gone. I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Kara said, then looked at the woman she had been sitting next to at the table. “Mother, I don’t know how you managed to keep anything in the cupboards while Richard and Jack were growing up. They both still eat like there’s no tomorrow.”
“I was very well-known at several grocery stores,” her mother said, smiling. “But as I recall, there was a certain young lady who held her own at the dinner table when she was a teenager.”
“Gotcha, Kara,” Richard said. “That’s how I remember it, too.”
“I’m outnumbered here,” Kara said, laughing. “I’m off to do my smiling duty at the door.”
Kara wove her way through the tables, smiling and waving at those who greeted her. She stopped at the closed double doors and realized instantly that she felt like some sort of security guard.
She clasped her hands loosely in front of her and tapped one foot in time to the peppy music floating through the air above the noise of the chattering, laughing people.
Ten long minutes passed and the doors didn’t open.
Maybe everyone who had been invited had already arrived, Kara thought, glancing over the crowded room. It certainly appeared as though there were a hundred people here, which was the number that had been agreed upon.
She was beginning to feel rather silly standing there like a dressed-up soldier at the ready. Well, so be it. This meet-and-greet plan had been very important to her aunt Margaret, and everyone was being a good sport about it. She was the last one on the schedule to perform this duty, then a good time could be had by all.
Kara swayed slightly in tune to a waltz the band was playing and hummed along with the lovely music. She jerked in surprise as one of the doors opened, snapping her out of her dreamy state.
My stars, she thought, as a frisson of heat rushed through her. What an incredibly handsome man had just walked into the ballroom.
Whose guest was he?
He was the epitome of the clichéd tall, dark and devastating. Wide shoulders, broad chest, long muscular legs, and rough-hewn features.
His hair was black and thick and fell just over the edge of his collar in the back. His skin was tanned by the sun, not by a booth in a salon, as evidenced by the crinkling squint lines beside his dark-brown eyes. He was, oh, maybe thirty-seven or thirty-eight.
Gorgeous. The man was drop-dead gorgeous.
And he was so intent on his scrutiny of the people in the room that he hadn’t even noticed her standing there auditioning for the meet-and-greeter-of-the-year award. Chalk up one severe blow to her feminine ego. This would never do.
Kara cleared her throat.
The man continued his perusal of the room.
“Happy New Year,” she said brightly and fairly loudly, “and welcome to the party.”
The man’s head snapped around and he frowned as he stared at her. She extended her right hand.
“I’m Kara MacAllister,” she said, “and I’m the welcoming committee at the moment. May I ask your name and inquire as to whose guest you are?”
The man ignored Kara’s outstretched hand, and she let it drop back to her side.
“I’m here to see…” he started, then cleared his throat. “Here to see…Robert MacAllister.”
“Uncle Robert?” Kara said, smiling. “Why don’t I take you to his table? I could be wrong, but I believe you’re the last guest to arrive. I’m just standing here looking ridiculous.”
No, she was looking beautiful, Andrew thought. Absolutely lovely. Her short curly black hair framed a face of exquisite features, including a smile that made her dark eyes sparkle.
She was fairly tall but small-boned, delicate, making him very aware of how big and bulky he was compared to her. And her lips. Man, there was a whole new meaning to the phrase “kissable lips” as of that very moment. She was—
Damn it, Malone, he thought, putting a halt to his rambling thoughts. Wake up. Did you catch the lady’s name? MacAllister. She was Kara MacAllister.
She’d probably been in that group photograph he’d seen in the newspaper, but he’d zeroed in on another face, another person. The man he’d driven a hundred miles to confront.
“Where’s Robert MacAllister?” Andrew said gruffly.
Kara frowned. “You don’t exactly seem in a party mood, Mr…. I don’t believe you mentioned your name.”
“It’s Malone. Andrew Malone.”
“Well, Mr. Malone, please allow me to welcome you to the final event of the week-long MacAllister reunion,” Kara said, smiling