Contents: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 Chapter 1 ^ » Dear J., We're going to have a baby. I know I'm a coward to write, but I'm afraid of what I'll see in your eyes when you hear the news. I know this isn't what you want, and I don't see how we can ever be together. But I believe in my heart that you must know the truth—you're going to be a father. Now, if only I have the courage to send this letter. Katherine Whitfield sat in the front seat of her rental car, tears filling her eyes as she traced the handwritten words with a shaky finger. She'd read the letter a hundred times since she'd discovered it a week ago, hidden away in an old cedar chest in her stepfather's attic. She'd memorized every word, every curve of every line, wondering if it could possibly have been written to her father by her mother. There was no signature, but the writing looked familiar—or did she simply want it to be true? She'd spent years wishing for the tiniest bit of information about her father, but her mother had always said they'd discuss it later. Unfortunately, later had never come. Her mother had died two days before Katherine's twelfth birthday, and she'd been left alone with a stepfather of only nine months and no other blood relatives anywhere in the world. Was it possible her real father had never known about her? Obviously the letter hadn't been sent. And she'd found the letter with other things in the chest as well, matchbooks, cocktail napkins, and a full-sized hand-stitched quilt with dates and words of memory. But whose words? Whose memories? Whose life belonged to the chest? It was a question that had sent her halfway across the country from the urban streets of Los Angeles, California, to the rolling hills of Kentucky. Now she had parked her car in the lot of a Dairy Queen, where she'd stopped for a Diet Coke and a few moments to rethink her plan. Suddenly, a child burst through the doors of the restaurant, holding a large milk shake in her hand. The little girl's small face was covered with an ear-to-ear smile and a matching smear of chocolate. A tall man stepped out of a car. "Over here, sweetheart," he called. "Daddy, Daddy. Look what I got," the child said. The man held out his arms with a wide, beaming grin, and the child ran into his embrace. He kissed the top of the little girl's head, and the small affectionate gesture tore at Katherine's heart. There were no words of reprimand for the messy face, only loving acceptance. A deep ache of longing swept through Katherine. She'd wanted a relationship like that. She'd never had it with her stepfather. Mitchell Whitfield had always treated her more like a responsibility than a daughter. If there was a chance, even a small one, that her real father could be alive, that he could want to know her as much as she wanted to know him—Katherine had to take it. Setting the envelope aside, she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. She barely paused at the entrance to the road. Since she'd left the main highway, traffic had been almost nonexistent. As she headed down the two-lane road, past the rolling green hills, endless white fences, thoroughbred horse farms, and elegant dogwood trees still clinging to a few spring blossoms, she knew she was a long way from home and the only life she knew. But the cocktail napkins, the match covers, all had one thing in common: the name Paradise, Kentucky. Katherine had never acted so impulsively in her life, but with her stepparents out of town, she'd had no one to answer her questions. So she'd arranged to take care of the loose ends in her life and traveled to Kentucky. She flipped on the radio for a distraction. She was just in time to hear a female singer ask, "Where have all the cowboys gone?" A good question, she thought with a wistful sigh. She didn't know if it had to do with wanting a father or wanting a boyfriend or a husband or just wanting someone who really cared about her, but there was a hole inside of her that she couldn't seem to fill. She'd tried to keep busy with work and friends and chocolate—lots and lots of chocolate. Nothing had worked. Jeez, she was a head case, wanting, wanting, wanting, when most everyone would look at her life and say it was good. And it was good. It was also a little lonely. Katherine switched off the radio with a decisive click, knowing it was foolish to yearn for some impossible romance of the century. At twenty-seven, she'd been around enough to know there weren't any more cowboys, no more men who roamed the open plains, who were strong and invincible and protective of their women. Those guys didn't exist anymore. The men she knew were soft in the middle from too many business lunches and too much time spent firing the remote control. They didn't wear holsters, they wore pagers. And a cowboy hat would have messed up the style of their hair. Smiling to herself, Katherine knew she was generalizing, but for the life of her, she couldn't think of one man she'd gone out with in the last year who had made her heart race. Where was the deep, passionate love, the desperate need to be with someone, the feeling of intense and utter connection? She wanted to believe she would feel it all someday, but maybe such a love didn't exist. Maybe her father didn't exist. Maybe she should just turn around and go home and settle for the life she had, the family she had. As her gaze drifted down the highway, a shiver ran down her spine, and she knew she couldn't turn around and go home. The long, empty road beckoned to her in a way she'd never imagined. She'd spent her entire life in big cities, surrounded by skyscrapers and traffic and people. But here, outside of Louisville, Kentucky, there was a quiet that was oddly appealing. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was meant to come here. Call it destiny, call it crazy, but she had to at least see what was at the end of this road. Katherine reached for the map sticking out of her purse, then cursed when her purse tumbled to the floor, spilling out the map, her wallet, cell phone, and a dozen coins. She reached for the map, trying to keep one eye on the highway, which had suddenly decided to curve. She had barely straightened when she saw the silver horse trailer parked on the side of the road. She was going too fast. She hit the brakes in panic, but she was too close, far too close… Twisting the wheel to the right as hard and as fast as it would go, she prayed for a miss. The car spun, kicking up gravel and dust. She hung on, urging the car to go to the side, to miss the trailer. She was almost there. She could see the shoulder of the road in front of her, and the deep drainage ditch. Damn! It was her last thought before the car slid headfirst into the gully off the side of the road. Her head bounced off the steering wheel and she saw a kaleidoscope of colors in front of her eyes. Her ears rang with the sound of bells and horses and swearing. Swearing? Katherine shook her head, trying to figure out where she was and who was yelling at her. There was a man—a tall, dark-haired man with burning black eyes —standing next to her window. He was pulling on the door handle and yelling all sorts of absurdities that seemed to have less to do with her and more to do with a horse. She roused herself enough to unlock the door. She pushed on it as the man pulled on it, sending her stumbling into his arms. He caught her with a sureness, a strength, that made her want to sink into his embrace and rest for a moment. She needed to catch her breath. She needed to feel safe. "You could have killed my horse," he ground out angrily, his rough-edged voice right next to her ear. "Driving like a maniac. What the hell were you thinking about?" Katherine could barely keep up with his surge of angry words. "Let me go." His grip eased slightly, but he didn't let go. They stared at each other, their breaths coming in matching frightened gasps. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the forearms, the man towered over Katherine. His eyes were fierce, and his thick dark hair looked like he'd run his fingers through it all day long. His face was too rugged to be handsome, but it was compelling, strong, stubborn, determined… Good heavens—she had the distinct feeling she'd found herself a cowboy. "Rogue's okay," a man called from the road. Katherine turned in confusion, unaware there was someone else on the earth, much less on the road. The man in front of her seemed to take up so much space. "I'll be there in a second. Keep talking to him," the man called back, his eyes still resting on Katherine's face, his hands still holding her arms. "Are you all right?" It seemed a little late to be asking, and a burst of anger tried to push past her lips, but before she could speak, she realized something wet was dripping down her face. Katherine touched her forehead, drawing away drops of blood. "Oh, my God! I'm bleeding." "It's just a scratch," he replied, studying her face. "The windshield shattered, but most of the glass stayed intact." "And the rest is in my face?" she snapped, looking for somewhere to wipe her fingers. He let go of her long enough to reach into the car and pull out the napkins she'd picked up at the Dairy Queen. Instead of handing them to her, he dabbed at the blood on her face with a surprisingly gentle hand. "I don't see any glass. It's really just a small cut," he said. "How do you feel? Dizzy? Short of breath? Anything else hurt? Do you want Sam to call for an ambulance?" Katherine gave a tentative shake of her head, taking a brief survey of her condition. Aside from a dull ache in her forehead, the rest of her body seemed to be all right. "I think I'm okay. But what were you thinking—parking in the middle of the road like that?" she demanded. "We're well off to the side. My horse was getting restless. I needed to quiet him down. And it was working, until you bore down on us like a bat out of hell. You could have killed us!" "And you could have stopped at a better place." She raised her voice to match his. "Corning around that curve, I couldn't possibly see you until the last minute." "Not when you're doing sixty." "More like forty. And this is a highway, you know, not—not a rest stop for horses." "This is horse country, and around here the horses come first." "Yeah, well, why don't you go back to your horse then?" "I think I'll do that." He strode away, his gait as brisk as his voice, and while she'd wanted him to go, now that he'd gone, she felt strangely lost. Focusing on him had been far easier than looking at the rental car tilted awkwardly into a ditch. She had no idea if it would run, even if she could get it out. Suddenly it was all too much, and Katherine sank down to the ground right where she was. * "She don't look so good, Zach." Sam Jamison pushed back the brim of his Wildcats baseball hat and squinted at the woman sitting on the ground. "She's fine," Zach snapped. Sam didn't look convinced. There was a frown across his normally cheerful square face, and the laugh lines that ran like a map across his weathered brown skin were pulled taut against his cheekbones. "You sure?" Sam asked doubtfully. "She looks shaken up to me." Zach respected Sam's instincts where horses were concerned. Sam could tell when a filly was yanking his chain or a colt was testing his patience, but he was a soft touch where people were concerned, especially women.