His-and-Hers Family

He knew he had to see Fiona again. He had to make her listen.

His cell rang and he picked up on the third ring. “Wyatt Harper.”

“I’ll meet you in half an hour.”

Her husky voice was unmistakable. She’d called. Maybe he hadn’t screwed up after all? “Great. Shall I come to you?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll come to you.”

Wyatt gave her the name of the hotel.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the foyer at five o’clock.” Then she hung up.

Fiona’s drive into Bellandale took twenty minutes. The town was four hours north of Brisbane and had a population of sixty thousand. The streets were typically quiet for a Sunday afternoon, and she scored a parking spot outside the hotel. With her nerves severely stretched, she walked through the front doors and into the lobby.

There was no sign of him. She checked her watch. Three minutes to five.

Fiona ignored the concierge and headed for the lounge area in the centre of the lobby. There was a bar close by, and a waiter immediately approached to take her order. She declined and sank into one of the leather sofas. The foyer was eerily quiet, except for the faint sound of piped music and the occasion click of heels over the polished floor.

“Hello, Fiona.”

She snapped her neck around. Wyatt Harper had approached and stood only feet away. Fiona did her best to overlook the way her traitorous belly flipped over. Okay … so he was good-looking and possessed the kind of body that was hard to ignore in his dark chinos and a white polo shirt. And he had great hair and glittering blue eyes. Big deal. The world was full of gorgeous men. And because this one had just dropped a bombshell into her organized little life, Fiona had every intention of ignoring the way her blood heated when he was within a six-foot radius.

“Hello.”

He looked at her oddly and the heat intensified. Fiona pushed her hair back with shaking fingers, suddenly nervous of his scrutiny. Something flashed in his eyes. Approval? Disapproval? Did she look as if she was trying too hard with her sensible denim skirt, modest print blouse and even more sensible sandals? Maybe she should have put her hair up instead of letting it curl madly around her head? She bit at her lower lip to get rid of the lipstick she’d dabbed on.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

Fiona noticed the narrow black folder he carried. “I don’t see the point in hiding from the truth.”

He nodded, sat down opposite her and placed the folder on the low table between them. “So you acknowledge that you’re Cecily’s birth mother?”

Fiona inhaled. “I admit that I had a child fourteen years ago.” She pointed to the folder. “You seem to have all the evidence that she’s the baby I gave up for adoption.”

“I do have proof,” he said quietly. “Although one look at Cecily would be enough to convince you.” He pushed himself back in the lounge. “She looks just like you. Same hair. Same chin. Same …” He looked at her mouth for a moment and Fiona’s skin warmed. “Same color eyes.”

She managed a brittle smile and twirled a lock of hair between her fingertips. “Poor kid got stuck with this color.”

He watched her actions with blistering intensity. “She’s very pretty.”

Fiona’s heart began to beat a little faster. She drew in a breath and asked the question that burned on the end of her tongue. “What does she know about me?”

Wyatt Harper’s eyes darkened fractionally. “She knows you were young when you had her. Cecily has always known she was adopted. My sister Karen and her husband, Jim, were open with her from an early age and supported her decision to find her birth mother when she was ready.”

“And she’s ready now—is that what you’re saying?”

He nodded. “She began talking about finding you nearly two years ago. Karen and Jim planned to start searching but …” He stopped and took a moment. When he spoke again, Fiona heard rawness in his voice. “They were killed eighteen months ago.”

Emotion she didn’t understand clutched her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “How did it happen?”

“They were rock fishing,” he replied. “They got swept off a rock shelf. It was a crazy accident. They were mad for a dangerous sport and paid the price. When they died, that left Cecily—”

“Alone,” Fiona said quickly and covered her mouth when she realized how it sounded.

“No, not alone,” Wyatt told her pointedly. “She has her family. I was going to say that it left her with a lot to deal with. She handled it pretty well, considering. A few months ago, she announced she was ready to find you.”

“She really wants to meet me?”

He nodded. “Yes, she does.”

Her breath caught again. My daughter wants to meet me. Fiona got goose bumps. This was what she wanted … right? To know the child she’d given up. She had everything to gain from such a meeting. Everything. Then why does the thought of it make me want to run?

“When?” she asked and pulled herself forward.

“It’s not that simple,” he said quietly.

Fiona twisted her hands in her lap. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Cecily has been through a lot, and as her legal guardian, I am going to make sure she is protected.”

“From me?” she whispered and fought the rising annoyance. His responses were vague at best, and it irritated her no end. Fiona pulled her fractured nerves together. “I would never hurt her.”

“Perhaps not intentionally. But I have to be sure about you. I need to be certain you won’t do anything to jeopardize Cecily’s emotional state.”

Dumbstruck, Fiona glared at him with a mixture of disbelief and slowly gathering rage. His inference was insulting. But she quickly bit back her infamous redheaded temper. Getting mad with him wouldn’t serve her. He held all the cards. And he knew it. “So what do I have to say to prove that I wouldn’t do anything to upset her?”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “How about you start by telling me why you gave your baby away?”

Chapter Two

Wyatt knew he was out of line. She looked as if she wanted to slap his face. But he had to know what kind of person Fiona Walsh was before he’d let her into Cecily’s life, no matter how much his niece wanted to know her.

It didn’t help that she was so incredibly pretty his mind kept wandering.

“Isn’t it in the file?” Her eyes darkened as she pointed to the folder between them. “I’m assuming that’s some sort of report about me, about my life? If you’ve done your homework, you’d know that I was fifteen when I had Cecily and not in a position to care for a child.”

“And your parents?”

“My mother’s dead,” she supplied. “But I guess you already knew that.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know your mother was killed in a train-crossing accident with her boyfriend.”

“And you know the man she claimed was my father died when I was three years old.”

“Claimed?” he asked.

She shrugged. “She married Eddie Walsh and I was born six months later. They only lived together for two years. I was told he disappeared and then died in a rodeo accident, although I’m not actually sure that’s true. He could have skipped to avoid paying child support for all I know. What else do you want to know?”