Heir To Secret Memories. Mallory Kane
the door.
And found himself staring at the girl who haunted his dreams.
He almost ran; almost slammed the door. He wasn’t ready for this.
He’d let Tante Yvette and Old Mose talk him into putting the sketches out there. He’d been skeptical, torn between a yearning to pull himself out of the dead zone where he’d existed nameless and lost for so long, and the fear of being found. He’d spent the past three years working on the oil rigs, and always, always, looking over his shoulder.
He really hadn’t expected a response. He hadn’t expected to sell a drawing. And he certainly hadn’t expected this.
He stood there clutching the doorknob, staring at her.
Although the resemblance was obvious, she was older than the girl in his dreams. She was a woman. A beautiful woman.
The wheat-colored hair he remembered as short and shaggy was long, smooth, and woven into some kind of intricate braid that hung down her back.
She was smaller than he’d thought she’d be. The top of her head barely reached his chin.
The girl in his dreams was thin. This woman had curves where a woman should have curves. The eyes were the same though. Familiar gold-flecked green eyes that seemed sunken and sad in a face that was no longer round and blushing with youth. It was pale.
He realized it was getting paler.
She whispered a name.
He stiffened. He was being way too careless. The shock of seeing her had caught him off guard. Straightening, he took a step backward and tried to make sense of her words.
“What did you say?” he snapped.
She clutched a small, framed picture to her chest. If possible, her face lost even more color. She looked as if she were seeing a ghost.
“Johnny? What happened to you?”
Johnny? The name meant nothing to him. Did she know him?
Without thinking about the possible consequences he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her inside the room. With a lightning-fast glance into the hall, he pushed the door shut.
She backed away from him, up against the heavy wooden door. “What are you doing?”
Jay studied her. Her pale face showed a strength of character, a wisdom that wasn’t in the young innocent face he’d drawn.
The eyes though, were hauntingly familiar. The only difference was these eyes were filled with terror, and they hadn’t left his face since he’d opened the door.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
Shock darkened her gaze and lifted her delicate brows for an instant. Then she seemed to shrink, and something changed in her. A tension, or anticipation, drained out of her, leaving her seeming even smaller. Her enormous green-and-gold eyes closed and she shook her head slowly, once.
When she looked at him again, her expression was carefully blank, although the rigid set of her spine had not relaxed at all.
“I almost didn’t recognize you either,” she said tightly, “but it’s impossible to forget those sapphire-colored eyes of yours.”
Johnny stared at her, panic shearing his breath as he wondered if he should be relieved or worried that someone had finally recognized him.
Paige swallowed hard, hanging on to control with as much force as she hung on to the picture. He was so different. This was not the boy she had fallen in love with. This wasn’t the frustrated young artist who was so intimidated by his father he couldn’t even bring a girlfriend home to meet him without getting permission first.
This was a man.
A strong, hard-eyed, capable man with calluses on his artist’s fingers and a scar that parted his hair and lent a cynical lift to one dark eyebrow.
Paige’s gaze traveled over shoulders that she was sure had not been this broad, down the front of his T-shirt to the faded jeans that molded over long powerful thighs, then back up to his face.
It could be someone else’s face, harsh, scored by years and darkened by the sun. But there was no mistaking the eyes. They were the same brilliant blue eyes that had regarded her so tenderly as he told her how much he loved her. Now they blazed with startling intensity in his tanned face.
She wasn’t sure what was going on behind those familiar eyes. He watched her warily, all senses alert, like a cat watches an unknown threat. His taut, muscled body was perfectly balanced, his hands loose but open and ready at his sides, his gaze never leaving her face.
“It’s Paige,” she ventured, wanting to cry because she had to remind the only man she’d ever loved of her name. She tried a smile. “Paige Reynolds.”
He frowned. He frightened her, this familiar stranger who stood in a dingy, sordid hotel room and acted like he’d never seen her before today, but whom she knew without a doubt was the father of her daughter.
Katie! Searing loss and chilling fear met with stormy force inside her. Her head reeled and she swayed.
“Are you all right?” Johnny asked, reaching toward her.
She pressed her lips together to gain control of her emotions.
Hold on. This is for Katie’s sake.
She nodded stiffly.
“Good.” His voice was cold. “Now what are you doing here, and what did you call me?”
Paige lifted her chin. “I called you Johnny. Johnny Yarbrough. It’s your name.”
He didn’t move a muscle, but she felt his increased tension like an aura surrounding him. She saw the vein that beat in his temple, saw the infinitesimal tightening of his wide, generous mouth.
“Johnny Yarbrough,” he repeated, his voice no more than a croaking whisper. His lips barely moved. “Yarbrough.” His mouth closed grimly and a muscle jumped in his jaw. He winced, touching the side of his head.
Paige stared at him. He was acting so strange. “Actually,” she said wryly, “I guess that would be John Andrew Yarbrough. You never told me who you really were.”
His eyes never left her face, but she had the sense he wasn’t looking at her at all. His fingers slipped through his sun-kissed brown hair, and then went back to his temple.
“Johnny?”
He shook his head, looking confused.
“I don’t understand. What’s the matter with you? You act like you—”
The truth hit her like a wrecking ball. In one explosive instant, everything Paige had pinned her hopes on crashed down around her.
As unbelievable as it was, it explained everything. Why no one had ever found a body. Why he’d never returned to his rightful place in his father’s business. Why he looked so bewildered.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, stunned.
Her daughter’s life was at stake, and the only man who could save her didn’t know who he was. Telling him he had a daughter would mean nothing to him.
“You don’t remember.” Her numb lips formed the words, hoping he would deny them, but knowing he wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
He sent her a terrible, haunted glance, then turned away.
She stared at his bowed back, watched his bicep flex as he massaged his temple.
Her brain rejected the idea. It couldn’t be true. She couldn’t allow it to be true.
“I need your help.” She took a step toward him. “Look at me,” she pleaded. “Look at this.”
He angled his head, and the muscles in his back rippled the white cotton of his