Baby Blues and Wedding Bells Read online

  “What are the chances she’ll want to talk to me?” Zach asked.

  “One hundred percent.” Fran was sure about that.

  That stopped him again. “You think she’ll have questions?”

  “I know she has questions. She’s had them about her uncle Zach for a long time. Being told you’re her biological father raised more. And now that you’ve shown up, there will be even more questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “You’ll see.” And she smiled.

  “That’s not reassuring, Fran.”

  Her smile deepened. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  Dear Reader,

  June, the ideal month for weddings, is the perfect time to celebrate true love. And we are doing it in style here at Silhouette Special Edition as we celebrate the conclusion of several wonderful series. With For the Love of Pete, Sherryl Woods happily marries off the last of her ROSE COTTAGE SISTERS. It’s Jo’s turn this time—and she’d thought she’d gotten Pete Catlett out of her system for good. But at her childhood haven, anything can happen! Next, MONTANA MAVERICKS: GOLD RUSH GROOMS concludes with Cheryl St. John’s Million-Dollar Makeover. We finally learn the identity of the true heir to the Queen of Hearts Mine—and no one is more shocked than the owner herself, the plain-Jane town…dog walker. When she finds herself in need of financial advice, she consults devastatingly handsome Riley Douglas—but she soon finds his influence exceeds the business sphere….

  And speaking of conclusions, Judy Duarte finishes off her BAYSIDE BACHELORS miniseries with The Matchmakers’ Daddy, in which a wrongly imprisoned ex-con finds all kinds of second chances with a beautiful single mother and her adorable little girls. Next up in GOING HOME, Christine Flynn’s heartwarming miniseries, is The Sugar House, in which a man who comes home to right a wrong finds himself falling for the woman who’s always seen him as her adversary. Patricia McLinn’s next book in her SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW…miniseries, Baby Blues and Wedding Bells, tells the story of a man who suddenly learns that his niece is really…his daughter. And in The Secrets Between Them by Nikki Benjamin, a divorced woman who’s falling hard for her gardener learns that he is in reality an investigator hired by her ex-father-in-law to try to prove her an unfit mother.

  So enjoy all those beautiful weddings, and be sure to come back next month! Here’s hoping you catch the bouquet….

  Gail Chasan

  Senior Editor

  BABY BLUES AND WEDDING BELLS

  PATRICIA MCLINN

  With much appreciation to:

  Michael T. Stieber of the Morton Arboretum in Lisle, Illinois, and Wendy Steers of Heritage Hill in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

  The staff at McLean (Virginia) Animal Hospital and Kathy Neil of Rose Haven Collies.

  And, especially, medical specialist Ron Sacra and Lieutenant Mark D. Stone of Virginia Task Force One, the International Urban Search and Rescue team of Fairfax County, Virginia.

  Books by Patricia McLinn

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Hoops #587

  A New World #641

  *Prelude to a Wedding #712

  *Wedding Party #718

  *Grady’s Wedding #813

  Not a Family Man #864

  Rodeo Nights #904

  A Stranger in the Family #959

  A Stranger to Love #1098

  The Rancher Meets His Match #1164

  †Lost-and-Found Groom #1344

  †At the Heart’s Command #1350

  †Hidden in a Heartbeat #1355

  **Almost a Bride #1404

  **Match Made in Wyoming #1409

  **My Heart Remembers #1439

  The Runaway Bride #1469

  ††Wedding of the Century #1523

  ††The Unexpected Wedding Guest #1541

  ††Least Likely Wedding? #1679

  ††Baby Blues and Wedding Bells #1691

  Harlequin Historicals

  Widow Woman #417

  PATRICIA MCLINN

  finds great satisfaction in transferring the characters crowded in her head onto paper to be enjoyed by readers. “Writing,” she says, “is the hardest work I’d never give up.” Writing has brought her new experiences, places and friends—especially friends. After degrees from Northwestern University, newspaper jobs have taken her from Illinois to North Carolina to Washington, D.C. Patricia now lives in Virginia, in a house that grows piles of paper, books and dog hair at an alarming rate. The paper and books are her own fault, but the dog hair comes from a charismatic collie, who helps put things in perspective when neighborhood kids refer to Patricia as “the lady who lives in Riley’s house.” She would love to hear from readers at P.O. Box 7052, Arlington, VA 22207 or you can check out her Web site at www.PatriciaMcLinn.com.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  Nothing had changed in the past eight and half years. Not here on Lakeview Street.

  The house rose like a secular cathedral from the highest point in town, looking down on Lake Tobias. The grounds were precise and polished…and nowhere near as inviting as the Daltons’ homey yard next door.

  No, nothing had changed at Corbett House.

  Zach Corbett found that oddly reassuring.

  Reassuring because so much else had changed. What he’d seen of the rest of Tobias, Wisconsin, had included fresh buildings, unfamiliar roads and new businesses. And he’d changed, that was for damn sure.

  Odd, because Corbett House—the upright, pristine architectural embodiment of the Corbett Ideal as expounded and practiced by his mother, Lana Corbett—represented the reason he’d left. So how could he feel reassured that it hadn’t changed?

  Maybe because it meant this might actually be a routine run, like Doc had talked about.

  Yeah, right.

  Standing in front of the Daltons’ home, he stared across the wide lawns to the house where he’d grown up. No, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t grown up in that house at all. He’d stayed a child there. He hadn’t grown up until he’d left.

  So why did he even need to be here? He had a life, far from Tobias in more ways than geography. He didn’t have anything to prove. Not anymore. If it hadn’t been for the old man Miguel—

  “Go ahead. Someone will answer if you knock.”

  Zach remained still, not jolting or overreacting at the unexpectedness of the calm voice. Not reacting at all, except to listen more closely. To try to pinpoint where the voice had come from. The faintest sound could make all the difference. That had been drummed into him by training and experience.

  But it took little of either—training or experience—to determine the source of this sound. All he had to do was move his eyes.

  She must have been there all along. A compact female figure in tan and green, who blended in with a corner bed of bushes and flowers where the Daltons’ property met the Corbetts’ and the front sidewalk. She was crouched down, a trowel in one gloved hand and a clump of weeds in the other.

  He’d have spotted her long before she spoke if she’d moved. She must have seen him coming and chosen not to give herself away. Because she hadn’t recognized him? Or because she had?

  “Or is that the problem—that someone will answer if you knock?”

  As she spoke the second time, she straightened. The leaves of the biggest bush, losing their full summer green, rested on the crown of her shini
ng hair.

  Fran Dalton hadn’t grown very tall, he decided as he surveyed the figure beneath the green shirt and tan jeans, but she had grown up. When he’d left she’d been the quiet, plump girl who’d lived next door all his life. She was no longer plump, though nicely rounded where a woman should be. Her wavy hair, a lighter brown where a summer’s worth of sun had reached it, was drawn back in a short, loose braid.

  One thing hadn’t changed—the way she looked at him. Neither glaring, as most of Tobias’s adults used to, nor batting her eyelashes at him and blushing—or not blushing, but instead blatantly inviting—like his female contemporaries had. Fran Dalton still looked him straight in the eyes with no bull.

  She was a year younger than him, two years younger than their older brothers, who’d been best friends.

  Steve. That was one good thing about getting this over with. Once Zach had faced down Lana, he’d go looking for his older brother.

  Zach grinned, a warmth spreading through his chest. “Hi, Franny.”

  “Hello, Zachary.”

  His grin widened. “Still don’t like that nickname, huh?”

  “Still don’t like your given name?”

  He dropped the grin, and the teasing. “How are you, Fran?” He really wanted to know.

  “I’m very well, thank you. You look…” Her gaze skimmed his face, no doubt seeing the hardening of the years and life, then came back to his eyes and stayed there a long moment before she completed her assessment. “Good.”

  “So do you. Real good.” That cut no ice with her, he saw—either she didn’t believe it or she wasn’t interested. “You back here visiting your family? How are they?”

  She shook her head. “I live here. Dad got sick, and I moved back. I never left after he died.” She continued quickly, “So the family’s just me and Rob.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “But no nieces and nephews? I thought Rob was going to marry that girl from college. Jan? Janet?”

  Rob was her older brother, Steve’s best friend. Asking about her family, not his—oh, yeah, he was definitely procrastinating. But he was the only one who knew, so what could a few more minutes hurt.

  “Janice. They did get married. No kids and they divorced. But he’s found the right one now.”

  Her mouth lifted and her eyes glinted—there was more to her brother’s story than those bare facts, and it pleased her. He’d like to find out more about that later…if there was a later.

  “How’s…” He tipped his head toward Corbett House.

  Amusement fled from her expression. “You’ll have to find that out for yourself, Zach. They’ve been so worried about you. Steve still puts ads—”

  “Steve’s in Tobias?”

  Damn, he’d hoped his older brother had escaped, too. But Steve always had thought he could be his own kind of Corbett, even in Tobias. He’d wanted a life outside Lana’s social and political ambitions, starting with going against her wishes by planning to marry his hometown sweetheart. Zach had left months before the wedding date; not standing up as his brother’s best man when—if—he married Annette Trevetti was his one regret.

  “Yes, he and Annette live—”

  “He and Annette?” So, Steve had withstood Lana’s disapproval of what she considered a misalliance with a girl from the wrong side of town. “I didn’t know if he could pull it off, but he married her, huh? Good for him.”

  “Yes, they’re married. Now. But…” A frown pulled the smooth arch of her brows into a straight line and worry swirled in her eyes.

  “What is it, Fran? Steve’s not— Is he okay?”

  “I can’t… You can’t expect me—anyone—to fill in the years between you and your family, Zach.” She shook her head, as if the firm determination of her words hadn’t been enough. “You have to do this yourself.”

  And that brought them back to what she’d first said to him: Someone will answer if you knock…. Or is that the problem?

  Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d known he was procrastinating.

  There the house sat, as sure of itself as always. The immaculate landscaping, the broad stairs, the wide porch, and inside, room after frozen room. All designed to impress. Pure Corbett, right to the floor plan.

  He could walk away now and Fran could tell them he was okay. Steve would believe Fran. Zach could go back. Back to where he belonged, back to where he’d made a life. And this would be enough to let him pick up that life again. Surely it would be enough.

  He would write a letter. That would be better, easier, for everyone. That’s what he should have done in the first place, instead of this—what? Pilgrimage? Penance?

  He’d done pretty well for himself far from Tobias. Found a good life. Just because Taz thought he needed a break didn’t mean he had to spend the time here. He could go back, take Verdi up on the offer of his place at the beach. Or help Waco build that cabin in the mountains.

  He had other places to go. Places he knew he’d be welcomed. As he was, not as anyone wanted him to be.

  Yeah, he could turn around and leave. Again.

  The old man. His hold on Zach’s arm so strong. His eyes bright and intense against the gray of his face.

  And Doc’s voice. You need to deal with it, Zach. Now, before it gets worse.

  “You’ve come this far, Zach,” Fran said. “And you must have come for a reason.”

  God, you’d think she and Doc were in cahoots.

  His neck felt stiff as he turned away from Corbett House and looked at her. He manufactured a grin. “Just to let them know I’m alive.”

  “That’s a start,” she said evenly. “So you better go do it.”

  “Yeah.”

  He’d known this wasn’t going to be fun. But the reality had him wishing he could stand here on the sidewalk and talk to Fran awhile longer. Ask what she’d been doing with her life, listen to her smooth voice, maybe even tell her some of what he’d done. Would Fran believe he wasn’t the kid he’d been?

  Not that it mattered. He hadn’t come back for redemption. He’d come back because an old man’s grip hadn’t let go even after three months.

  The past will not stop speaking to you….

  He cleared his throat. “I doubt I’ll be hanging around after…later, so I’ll say goodbye now. It’s good seeing you, Fran.”

  He reached toward her. He’d intended to cup her shoulder, a gesture of longtime neighbors, old friends. Instead, his hand traveled toward her cheek, poised to brush his knuckles slowly down the soft, cream slant.

  He dropped his hand to his side without making contact. That was something else he’d learned—better to make no move rather than the wrong move. And touching Fran like that… Bad move, definitely a bad move.

  A faint voice deep inside asked why it would be such a bad move, but he ignored it.

  “It’s been good seeing you, too, Zach.” Fran regarded him with serious attention, as if reading his history in his face.

  “Take care of yourself.” A platitude, yet something about it ruffled the calm in her eyes.

  “I do,” she said.

  And then she was looking at him again, expecting him to continue his journey to Corbett House, giving no quarter. He pivoted away from her. That was harder to do than he’d expected.

  But in these past years, he’d learned to push on when so much inside him screamed to get out, to get away. He’d done a hell of a lot harder things than advance a few yards along the public sidewalk and turn left up the walk that paralleled Corbett House’s curved drive.

  Hell of a lot harder.

  Halfway up the steps to the house, he paused and looked back.

  Fran wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere in sight.

  She’d meant it when she’d said it was up to him. He could turn and walk away and there would be no one to disapprove or applaud. No one but him.

  He swore under his breath, then climbed the remaining steps to
face the oversize dark wooden door that stood out like the entrance to a cave against the white clapboards at either side.

  As a kid, he’d rarely used the front door. That had been reserved for important people. But he’d gone out the front door when he’d left more than eight years ago and he’d be damned if he would return any other way.

  Ignoring the knocker, he drummed his knuckles against the wood, and waited.

  Instead of thinking about what would happen next, his mind slid to the past few minutes.

  Fran hadn’t asked where he’d been, what he’d done. Probably didn’t care. Most people in this town thought life outside of Tobias was a rumor. She’d come back and settled right in again, so she must have caught the disease, too. The Tobias Syndrome.

  The thought twisted his mouth as the door opened wide.

  Fran allowed herself only a few seconds of watching Zach before she hurried inside.

  Those seconds had been long enough to confirm that she truly had recognized his walk when she’d first seen a man coming up Lakeview Street.

  Hunched down under a yellow lilac to dig out the clover trying to take over, she’d sensed someone approaching. At first, with the afternoon light behind him, she’d seen only a male outline and the motion of his walk. Instantly, she’d known it was Zach Corbett.

  Which made absolutely no sense, because what had been most recognizable about his walk was the slouching swagger. Girls in her class had gushed over it. She’d thought the whole thing rather silly. Couldn’t they see he was pretending to be something he wasn’t?

  And now that slouching swagger was gone. Yet she’d recognized Zach by his walk. After eight and a half years, for heaven’s sake.

  She’d held perfectly still when he’d stopped a yard and a half from her and stared at his family home. She might have stayed hidden if she’d had a good view of his face. But curiosity and the sense that he was about to turn around and leave prompted her to make her presence known.