The Real Father (Twins) (Harlequin Superromance No. 927) by Kathleen O'Brien

Author:Kathleen O'Brien
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Single mothers, Contemporary, Fiction, Romance, Unmarried mothers, Twins, Mothers and daughters, General, Identity (Psychology)
ISBN: 9780373709274
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2000-03-15T13:36:27+00:00

JACKSON KNEW Molly had heard him come up behind her. He’d deliberately made plenty of noise as he descended the verandah steps, hoping to give her time to collect herself. But she didn’t turn around. She just kept staring down the terraced lawn, down past the landscaping lights, down into the darkness.

“I’ve been sent to bring you in,” he said with a studied levity. “There’s good news. Lavinia and Liza have finally managed to console Consuelo, whose sweet potato casserole sank or burned or grew lumps, or some such tragedy. She has found the courage to go on, and apparently there will be a dinner tonight after all.”

Still Molly didn’t turn around. He saw a tremor pass through her shoulders, and he wondered if she had been crying. Hell. He put his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and gathering her into his arms. They could be seen from the dining room, and he’d be damned if he’d give Grace Pickens anything else to gossip about.

“Don’t let the old witch get to you, M.” He tried to communicate comfort through his tone instead. “She’s fifty percent sloshed, seventy-five percent senile and a hundred percent shameless.”

“Maybe,” Molly answered without turning. Her voice was throaty and strangely rough. Her shoulders rose as she took a deep breath. “But is she wrong?”

He shouldn’t have needed to hesitate, to buy time before he answered. He had known she’d ask this question. He had seen the way she had looked at Grace Pickens, full of disbelief, rejection and a slowly dawning dread. But he did need time. Though he’d been debating with himself for the past twenty minutes, he still hadn’t decided how much to tell her.

Hesitation would eventually become an answer of its own, though, so he forced himself to speak.

“Grace Pickens is the lewdest old busybody south of the North Pole, Molly—you know that. She scoops up every morsel of gossip she finds lying in the gutter. And if that’s not repulsive enough to please her, she makes up some more.”

Finally Molly turned around. She tried to smile, but, as he had feared, her eyes were bright, shining wetly in the rising moonlight.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Jackson. What she said just now about Beau, about my father. Was any of that true?”

He mentally consigned Grace Pickens to hell. “Who knows, Molly? It was what…twelve years ago? I remember Lavinia being suspicious at the time—something about finding cash Beau couldn’t explain. But Beau never admitted anything.”

“Not even to you?”

“Not even to me. I never even heard about it until months later. I was up at school most of that summer, remember?” But she wouldn’t remember, of course. It hadn’t ever mattered much to Molly where he was, as long as Beau was close enough to touch. “By the time I got home, it had all died down. Your father had a new job—”

“Which Beau found for him,” Molly interjected. “Did you know that? Beau helped him get another job.”

“Yes,” Jackson said slowly.

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