The Baby Gift

“I’m not like the others.”

“True. But you’d begun to change. You were learning. The weeks you spent with Meg opened you up. It was quite amazing to watch. Maybe if you’d stayed longer in North Carolina, the changes would have taken.” She caught her lip between her teeth. “Maybe Meg would have made more of an impact.”

“Don’t count on it.”

She held up her hands in casual surrender, though he could tell his words had impacted harder than he’d intended. He’d have to be more cautious in the future. There was a difference between disengaging his emotions and acting like a coldhearted bastard. “All right, fine. If you’d rather keep your distance from your—” She broke off with a rueful shrug. “From Nick? Feel free. He’s young enough that it won’t do him any lasting harm, especially so long as I’m here to give him as much love and attention as he could want. The one you’ll be hurtin’ most is yourself.”

“Another of your Southern homilies?” No doubt they were as much a part of her as her pride and the mountain spirit that imbued her with its essence. “Just what I need. A pint-size sprite without funds or a roof over her head landing on my doorstep and taking it upon herself to lecture me about my familial obligations and emotional welfare.”

“Oh, I don’t think the South has exclusive claim on that particular homily.” She poked her index finger in his direction. “And I may be a pint-size woman without kith or kin, other than Nick, but at least I have my priorities straight—family first, last and in between. And at least I’m not hiding here when I should be with my relatives. Nor am I withholding my emotions from an innocent child.”

“A child who might not be my son.”

Her eyes flashed from a soft, powder-blue to an electric color that blazed with incandescent heat. “Why should that even matter? Do you only parcel out your affection to those you deem worthy? It can’t possibly be because you’re not sure whether or not he’s true family. Family doesn’t matter to you all that much, or you’d be with them, especially at this time of year.”

An unaccustomed anger ripped through him. “Drop it, Lauren. It’s none of your business.”

“It is when it affects Nick. He deserves better than what you have to offer.” Her voice softened and she held out a hand in appeal. “Where’s your heart, Alessandro? What happened to the man I knew in North Carolina? How could you have forgotten your weeks there? It meant something to you. I know it did.”

He refused to explain, refused to believe the man she described even existed. “Assuming you’re telling me the truth, that Alessandro is lost. He has been for a long time.”

She flinched from his words, rejecting them with a quick, adamant shake of her head. “I can’t accept that.”

“You’re going to have to.”

She fought an internal battle, one he’d have given a hefty share of his bank balance to have listened in on. Was she going to call an end to this game? Or was she trying to determine her next line of attack? Once she realized emotional blackmail didn’t work, perhaps she’d employ logic. Or maybe she’d wrap her arms around him and slip her wide, generous mouth over his. He closed his eyes. Oh, man. He definitely needed that coffee.

Finally, she gave a brisk nod. “I guess that’s that. If you can’t—or won’t—remember, I have no choice.”

He’d regret asking this next question, but he asked anyway. “No choice about what?”

“I’m gonna find what you lost. I’m going to dig around until I uncover that other Alessandro.”

Aw, hell. “No, Lauren. You’re not.”

“Oh, it’s not for your sake.” Determination settled over her. “Nick needs a daddy who can love him. He deserves to have the man I met in North Carolina. And I’m not leaving here until that’s what he gets.”

CHAPTER THREE

Six days before Christmas…

SHE came to him again, all silk and sweetness and heady feminine perfume. They were outside in the snow, playing in the drifts like children. He could hear his own laughter, deep and clear, ringing through the crisp mountain air. She’d done that for him, he realized in amazement. She’d returned to him the joy of laughter. It had been a long time since he’d taken pleasure in the sheer simplicity of such a fundamental act.

She peeked at him from behind the trunk of an ancient oak, its mighty limbs bearing the hint of newborn leaves through the dusting of winter’s last snow. She called to him. And finally, finally, he could hear her lilting voice. It joined them on some level, resonated straight through to the core of him, softening the hardness within and connecting with the most elemental part of his spirit. It was the voice of the mountains, rolling and proud and solid, and silvered with a generous helping of humor.

“Time’s a’wastin’, boy. Catch me if you can.”

“Who are you calling boy?” he demanded, charging after her.

Her bright laughter snagged at a place that had once held his heart, filling it, expanding it, inflaming it. The chase didn’t last long. He captured her in his arms and they tumbled into a bed of powder-soft snow. Her long, cornsilk hair spread around her in a halo of rosy-gold, framing Rhonda’s bold, handsome features and distinctive hazel eyes.

“Home is where your heart is, darlin’,” she whispered. “Where do you keep your heart?”

“You’ll always have it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“And you’ll always have mine.”

She lifted her mouth to his and he was helpless to resist. He wanted her. Needed her.

Took her.

Alessandro awoke with a start, the fragments of his dream clinging with relentless determination. He groaned. Rhonda again. It defied understanding—not just because he continued to dream about a woman he hadn’t loved in years, but also because the events in his dreams had never happened. It took a full minute to separate fantasy from reality and realize what had disturbed his sleep.