One
Meg Masterson Betz couldn’t believe it. The father of her child had dared come to her husband’s funeral.
Jack Tarkenton edged the crowd of mourners, standing a little apart, larger than life, richer than rich, his signature mane of lion-colored hair stirring in the fall breeze. Powerfully built and conservatively dressed, he looked so much like his late, great father, Meg recognized him instantly.
She wasn’t the only one. Near the line of limousines parked along the cemetery road, the paparazzi and media types had mobilized and were madly taking pictures of the latest Tarkenton arrival.
Grateful for the black veil concealing her face, Meg made sure she had a firm grip on her daughter’s hand. Katie was behaving extremely well for a four-year-old, but the last thing she needed was a dozen cameras in her face.
Unfortunately, that was the price of being related to the famous Tarkenton family, even if only by marriage. Like the Kennedys, the Tarkentons attracted attention wherever they went. And Jack, as his late father’s only son, namesake and heir apparent, was the most famous Tarkenton of them all.
Double-breasted Armani boxed his shoulders with the clean and proper lines of the classiest in charcoal wool suits. A pristine shirt and maroon tie echoed this concession to convention.
Really, Meg thought. The briefest in beach attire was more his thing. Apparently, Jack wasn’t slumming today.
A pair of sunglasses cut the bronzed boldness of his well-known face in two. That disturbed her, to have him this close and not be able to see his eyes. The uncompromising set of his jaw, however, made her remember the aggressive self-assurance behind the sunglasses all too well.
Why was he here? He hadn’t known Allen. He certainly didn’t know her. Not really. The only connection she had to John B. Tarkenton Jr. was her brother’s marriage to his sister. That marriage and her child.
His child.
Meg flinched at the thought. Sometimes she hated her penchant for honesty. It cut like a knife to remember how stupid she had been. When Allen offered to marry her and raise the child as his own, holding back the truth was a discipline she had to constantly work at to maintain. Having a kind and decent husband like Allen helped, but Katie was the one who made her strong. That’s what came from having children.
You have a God-given chance to make things right, even when you started wrong.
Meg glanced at her daughter’s dark head. The coffee-brown curls matched her own. Katie’s brown eyes matched her father’s, however, and that was the one truth Meg would carry to her grave as Allen had carried it to his. Steadfast and loyal, he’d been Katie’s father in every way that mattered. Thanks to him, Jack Tarkenton would never know he had even fathered a child. He wasn’t going to get a chance to corrupt her little girl.
Shuddering, Meg turned her attention to the minister as he delivered the final prayer. By prearranged signal, he spread his arms wide and spoke to the entire assemblage. “And now the widow and daughter of Allen Betz would like a private moment. If you would kindly exit to the left, the burial site will be opened to the public in a few minutes’ time.”
Meg squeezed Katie’s hand. “You ready, sweetie? It’s time.”
Katie looked up with her big brown eyes and nodded, her long, dark curls glinting in the late-morning sun. Such a pretty child. Such a solemn child. Allen’s death had hit her hard.
Meg led the way past the mourners spilling out onto the lawn and halted at the casket. Kneeling, she placed her hand on the polished wood surface and bowed her head. Katie imitated every move.
The sight of the small hand on the polished wood brought a lump to Meg’s throat. All her instincts, maternal and otherwise, told her this was the right thing to do. Katie needed to grieve. But that was poor comfort to a mother’s desire to shield her child’s heart.
Meg thought of Allen, gentle Allen, and her sorrow twisted into a strange type of guilt. In the three days since the car accident that took his life, she had yet to shed a tear. All she knew was that she should have loved him better. She should have loved him more.
The click and whir of cameras—present only because of the Tarkentons—made her grief feel less than real, like it was put on for show. Meg put a shielding arm around Katie and pulled her close. Was nothing sacred anymore? The last thing either of them needed was to be the subject of prying eyes.
Upset with the photographers, with Jack, with herself, Meg helped Katie to her feet. Together they walked to the minister, and Meg thanked him for the service. Katie echoed the sentiment by silently offering to shake the elderly man’s hand.
“God bless and keep you, child,” he said.
Katie’s newest aunt, Sarah Masterson, came forward next. Despite her maternity dress and the swell of her belly, she held out her arms, her heartfelt hug steadying Meg. Sarah then knelt and offered her arms to Katie.
Katie walked right into them, taking to her new aunt like a fish to water, much as her Uncle Zach had done. Meg accepted his hug with gratitude, finding solace in his down-to-earth rancher’s strength. “You okay?” he asked, placing his black cowboy hat on his head.
Meg nodded to relieve the worry in his sky blue eyes. “Thank you for flying all the way to New Jersey from Wyoming, Zach. It means more than I can say. And to have Sarah here, too. I’ve never seen Katie accept anybody so readily.”
“Sarah and I thought we’d take Katie off your hands for a while. There’s a duck pond over yonder, in the middle of the cemetery grounds.”
“Yes, by all means. Please make sure she stays away from the photographers.”
“Will do.” He touched the brim of his hat, then knelt next to his wife and tweaked Katie’s nose. “Hey, bright eyes. Your Aunt Sarah and I are going to check out the ducks. Want to come?”
Katie nodded with her usual gravity. Zach scooped her up, setting her burgundy dress swinging like a bell. Meg mouthed a thank-you to Sarah and the three of them set off together, creating a picture of what was to come in a few months’ time when Zach and Sarah had a child of their own.
Allen had wanted a child of his own, too.
Meg hid her distress at the thought and turned to greet the other mourners. She pressed their hands in sincerity, moved to speak personally to the many who had come. She even managed a smile when her oldest brother, Bram, slipped a strong and supportive arm around her waist. “You holding up?”
“I’m fine.”
“Now, Meg, tell the truth.” Amanda, Bram’s blond wife, touched Meg’s hand. “This is your big brother, remember? The Master of all Mastersons. You can tell him anything.”
Hesitating, Meg sighed. “The truth is, I am a little worn. But that’s to be expected, isn’t it?”
Amanda murmured in sympathy and pressed Meg’s hand. The circle of family widened as Meg was embraced by her other brother, Joe, and her sister, Elizabeth. Last came her mother, Mary Masterson, who pressed fresh tissues into Meg’s hands. “Can I do anything else for you, honey?”
“You’re doing it, Mama.” Meg reached to bring the entire family into a shared embrace. “You’re all doing it.”
Elizabeth smiled through her freely flowing tears. “Hey, I’m the big sister here. I’m the one who is supposed to be bucking you up.”
“But you are.” Meg gave Elizabeth a squeeze. But Meg’s gaze inevitably strayed to Katie, safe with Sarah and Zach at the pond.
“Hard to believe our baby brother is going to be a father soon,” Bram commented.
“I know,” Meg replied, relieved at the change of subject. “I thought he would be the last to settle down. But once I met Sarah and saw how special she is, I began to understand.”
“I hear she’s been his saving grace.”
Meg startled at the distinctive, deep voice of Jack Tarkenton. To her dismay, he joined the family throng as though he belonged. To see him casually appraising her, sans sunglasses, caused Meg to shrink inside.
The personal nature of his comment startled everyone else as well. Even his sister Amanda appeared taken aback. “Jack, I didn’t realize you even knew who Sarah and Zach were.”
“It would be difficult to miss the newest member of the Masterson family. Zach ought to be congratulated on his good taste.”
“I wouldn’t congratulate him too much if I were you, Jack,” Bram warned. “He knows your reputation with the ladies.”
“Speaking of ladies...” Jack offered a handshake to Meg. “I wanted to express my sincere sympathy for your loss. I know it’s a cliché, but if there is anything I can do to help you or your daughter, please don’t hesitate to call.”
Aware of the clicking cameras, Meg steeled herself and took the hand. He pressed a card into her palm, a business card, of all things. As though he had a real business.
Meg knew she was supposed to politely nod and thank him. Instead, she crumpled the card in her fist and reached for Bram’s arm, leaning on his big build and brawn. “I think it’s time for Katie and I to go home.”
Jack Tarkenton was easy to avoid after that. The limousine was reserved for immediate family only. When he showed up at her house later that afternoon after she started receiving guests, Meg announced she and Katie needed to go upstairs and rest for a while. Even someone as callous as Jack Tarkenton couldn’t argue with that.
She figured wrong, however. He intercepted her at the base of the stairs. “When you’re free, I’d like a moment with you—alone.”
Speechless at his gall, she fled up the stairs with Katie in her arms. When Meg gained the landing, she stared down at him, letting her disapproval show. But he continued to follow her with those eyes, gleaming brown as the finest dark chocolate.
Katie’s eyes.
Hugging her daughter close, Meg hurried into Katie’s room and locked the door behind them. “It’s nap time, sweetheart.”
“But I don’t want to take a nap.”
“Of course you don’t,” Meg soothed, setting her down on the edge of her pink ruffled bed. “But we’ll change your clothes, anyway. You don’t want to get wrinkles all over your pretty dress.”
“It’s Daddy’s favorite.”
“I know.” Meg undid the buckles on Katie’s patent leather shoes and slipped them off. “I’m sure he was glad to see you wear it today.”
“Mommy, when can I go to heaven to see Daddy?”
Meg drew Katie’s dress off, feeling how hard this was going to be on both her and her daughter. “You miss him already, don’t you?”
She nodded, and her large eyes pooled with tears. “I want my daddy.”
“Oh, baby, I know.” Meg kissed the top of Katie’s head and helped her change into her pajamas. “I wish he was here, too.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yes. He was a wonderful daddy, a wonderful daddy to us both.”
“When can I see him?”
Meg gave her the plush toy rabbit she always slept with. and picked up Allen’s framed photograph on the nightstand. “Remember what I told you this morning? Daddy’s picture will stay right beside your bed. Then you can see him whenever you want.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
Meg helped Katie set the picture safely on the nightstand. Clutching her rabbit, she lay down and stared at Allen’s picture with such studious concentration, it broke Meg’s heart. “Mommy, can I have the light on? I want Daddy to see me.”
“I’ll leave the light on, and the light in the bathroom, too. If you get scared or need anything, you call me, okay?”
“Okay.” Katie opened her arms for a hug. “I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart. Daddy does, too.”
Meg tucked the covers around Katie and kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight.”
“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Exiting swiftly, Meg drew the door closed to the point where she could still hear any sounds in the room, if need be. Standing in the hall, she wiped her eyes and listened the way all mothers listened, to make sure her child was settling down.
How many times had she done this? How many times had she kissed Katie good-night? Hundreds of times. And how many times had she kissed Allen good-night?
Hardly ever.
“Is she asleep?”
Jumping, Meg spotted Jack Tarkenton’s broad-shouldered silhouette standing in the shadows at the end of the hall. “I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice hushed. “Now.”
She advanced on him, using her most forceful whisper. “I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I have no desire whatsoever to talk with you.” She stabbed a finger at the stairs. “Please leave.”
“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Meg. I only want a few minutes of your time.”
“How dare you,” she whispered furiously. “How dare you come to my husband’s funeral. How dare you come to my house. How dare you come anywhere near me.”
“Katie’s mine, Meg. I know it and you know it, so stop the righteous-sounding speech and take me to someplace private where we can talk.”
Meg stared at him, seeing his coldness while feeling her own anger drain into the well of her deepest fear. No, this could not be happening. He could not have said—
“You heard me. I know I’m Katie’s father.”
“No,” she breathed. “You’re not.”
“I was there when she was conceived, remember?”
She pushed past him. “ ‘Remember’ is the last thing I want to do, especially with my husband barely cold in his grave. He’s Katie’s father. Not you.”
Jack caught her arm. “I’m warning you, Meg. There are plenty of people downstairs. We can do this in private or we can do this in public. It makes no difference to me.”
She wrenched her arm from him. “Get away from me.”
“Not until you hear me out.”
“No.” She ducked to make her voice heard on the level below. “Bram?”
“Yeah?”
“I need you upstairs.”
“I’ll be right there, Meg.”
Triumphant, she turned to find Jack leaning against the wall, hands slung in the trouser pockets of his impeccable suit. “Big brother doesn’t know about us, does he? If he knew, my sister would know, and she would have come straight to me. I wonder how Bram and Amanda will feel when the two of them find out precisely what we were doing on the sacred occasion of their wedding day.”
“Amanda’s your sister. You wouldn’t do that to her.”
“Try me.”
Meg heard Bram’s tread on the stairs. “Meg?”
“Here,” she called, wishing she could rip the smugness off Jack’s face. Or have Bram rip it off.
“Hey, Jack,” he greeted. “I didn’t know you were up here, too.” Bram turned to her. “Meg, what can I do for you?”
Jack’s challenging look of inquiry told Meg he wasn’t about to retrieve the gauntlet he’d thrown down. She checked her brother’s strong, familiar face. All she had to do was tell him the truth. He would forgive her. So would the rest of her family.
The truth shall set you free.
Except where Jack Tarkenton was involved. With his wealth and name, the only thing the truth would set free was a battalion of lawyers. She wasn’t ready to have that happen, not yet. Not unless it was the only way to protect Katie.
“I’m sorry, Bram,” she. said. “Jack heard me call and came up himself.”
“Katie just needed an extra good-night kiss,” Jack explained, straightening, rising to the occasion with impressive ease. “I’m not her uncle like you, Bram, but considering the circumstances, I thought it was a good sign that Katie was willing to accept one from me.”
Chills raced down Meg’s spine. She had forgotten how well he lied. She’d also forgotten how incredibly breathless she got when he flashed that celebrated smile of his.
Bram responded to it, too. “It’s good to see you here, Jack. It meant a lot to Amanda to have you at the burial service. Meg, too, I’m sure. The more a family comes together in times of crisis, the stronger it will be.”
Sickened by the irony in that little speech, Meg plunged down the stairs between them. What family? With Allen dead at the hands of a drunk driver, hers was destroyed. Now she had to deal with Jack Tarkenton. How in the world had he found out the truth? Other than to Allen, she had never breathed her secret to anyone.
Thankfully, the only mourners who lingered downstairs were members of her own family. Gathered on the backyard patio, they were enjoying the warmth of the dying sun while Bram and Amanda’s three-year-old son, J.J., played on the swing set.
Meg decided if she was going to have a showdown with Jack, the kitchen was the place to do it. The heart of her house was cozy and filled with the many small touches that made it her own. Herbs grew on the windowsill and copper-bottomed pots hung from a rack above the stove, matching the warm tones of terra cotta and eggnog. More important to Meg, the kitchen overlooked the backyard, within calling distance of her family.
At the approach of male voices, she hid her serious attack of nerves by starting a new pot of coffee and busily laying out fresh cookies on a plate. She addressed her brother when he and Jack entered. “Bram, would you let everyone know out back there’s more coffee on the way?”
“Sure. I wanted to check on Amanda and J.J., anyway.” Bram pecked her cheek and stole one of the cookies as he headed for the door. “Keep Meg company, will you, Jack?”
“What’s a brother-in-law for?”
The moment the door closed, Meg folded her arms and turned on him. “I want to know why you think you’re Katie’s father.”
“I don’t think—I know. I had you followed.”
“Followed! When?”
“After our passionate weekend,” he replied, helping himself to coffee. “All the women I sleep with have to pass muster, you see. I use the services of a private investigator, an extremely discreet one, I might add. Saves me from some nasty surprises. Like yours, for example.”
“Katie was not a nasty surprise.”
“Your marriage was.” He sipped from his mug, inspecting her with interest as he lounged against the counter, completely relaxed in his thousand dollar suit and hundred dollar tie.
Meg hid the tremor of her hands by wrapping them around her mug. “You must have heard about it. I asked Amanda to tell your side of the family.”
“She did, a week or so after the fact. Amanda also mentioned it wasn’t like you to be so secretive, Meg. All of a sudden you up and eloped, without one word to anybody. It created quite a stir, even in my family.”
“It shouldn’t have. Allen and I had known each other since childhood.”
“Yes, I understand he lived in the same neighborhood when you were kids. My investigator informed me, however, that the two of you lost touch with each other soon after you won that scholarship to the Sorbonne and moved away. Any truth to the rumor that good old Allen showed up on your doorstep at the precise moment you most needed a man to marry?”
“How can you say that? He was my husband. I loved him.”
“The question is, did you love him before you found out you were pregnant or after? My sources tell me he came into the picture after your positive pregnancy test. Several weeks after, in fact.”
He did know everything. Stunned, Meg braced herself against the kitchen counter. Through the window above the sink, she saw the tree Allen had planted in the backyard the day Katie was born. “What do you want?”
“Katie.”
Meg stared at him. “You must be out of your mind.”
“I don’t think a judge will think so, not in this day and age. Not when the rights of both biological parents are considered more or less equally. And since my daughter has been deliberately kept from me by her mother for almost five years, the judge may give my custody petition special consideration. Who knows what might happen?”
“If you wanted Katie so much, you should have come forward long before now.”
“And break up your little family? I’m much too noble for that. But now that Allen is gone...” Jack let the sentence hang, then smiled in cynical fashion. “Everybody in the country knows I lost my father at an early age. How can I allow my own flesh and blood to grow up without a father, too? What do you think, Meg? Will the tabloids buy it?”
“You’re despicable.”
He chuckled. “I think it makes pretty good copy myself. Might even score a special on TV. You know how famous we Tarkentons are.”
“You think this is funny? You think you can come in here and destroy my daughter’s life?”
“I’m not here to destroy anything. I want to be a father to Katie.”
“Over my dead body.”
He eyed her over the rim of his mug, amused. “Meg, I’d forgotten your flair for the dramatic.”
“I am not being dramatic. Unlike you, I mean what I say.”
“Oh, I get it. The woman scorned. You believed me when I said I’d call you.”
Meg pointed at the door. “Get out. Get out of my house.”
He became deadly serious, zeroing in on her with an intensity of purpose she recalled all too well. “You’re right. This is neither the time nor place to make a grieving widow relive her past. Believe it or not, I thought long and hard about whether I should force myself on you today. But there may be another Allen waiting in the wings. You surprised me once, Meg. You won’t surprise me again. I want to know my daughter.”
“Do you have any idea what this will do to her?”
“I’m fully aware I don’t know Katie as well as you do. That’s why I need your help.”
“Oh, please. Do you think I’d actually help you? Do you really think I’d let someone like you anywhere near my daughter?”
“Our daughter, Meg,” he said gently.
“No! She’s mine, mine and Allen’s. He’s the only father she has ever known. I won’t let you take her away from me.”
“I don’t want to take her, not from you. You’re all she’s got. I know it and you know it. That’s your ace in the hole and you can bet it’s a winning card. The last thing I would do to her, or to you, too, is take her away from you.”
“I know you, Jack. Everybody does. You use people. I wouldn’t trust you no matter what you said.”
“That’s the beauty of my plan. You don’t have to trust me.”
“If that’s supposed to ease my mind, you’re sadly mistaken. In fact, I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” She headed for the door.
“You’d better be interested.” He blocked her way.
The quickness of his move flashed a memory of his body, lithe and naked, blocking her way. Except she’d liked it then. It meant he hadn’t wanted her to leave, and she’d allowed him to catch her and kiss her and carry her back to his bed. The memory heated her body as surely as it froze her soul. How could she? How could she have done that with him?
“Katie will be protected at all costs,” he said. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t matter to you.”
She backed away from him. “I will not let you use me to get to my daughter.”
“I’ll sweeten the deal. Out of the goodness of my heart, Allen retains his official title as father. You won’t have to break the news to Katie or anyone else that I’m her real father. It can be our little secret.”
Unable to tear herself away from what she saw in his eyes, half promise and half challenge, Meg felt the solidity of the kitchen counter against her spine. “I’m listening.”
“I can see that. But you know me, Meg. I need complete capitulation. I need to hear you tell me you’re ready and willing to hear me out.”
It was so like him to do this, to force her to bend to his will. Meg couldn’t believe she once let this man get close enough to burn her heart. She jerked a chair out from the kitchen table and, seating herself, wrapped her hands protectively around her coffee mug. “Well?”
He chuckled. “Before we start, how about a refill on the coffee? You look like you could use one.”
He refreshed their mugs, and she couldn’t help but notice his hands, long-fingered and well tanned, and the image rose of how dark they had once looked on her skin. Her most intimate skin.
She gulped the coffee, hoping to sear some sense into herself. The steaming liquid burned her tongue, her throat, burned all the way down, and still the mere sight of his hands caused the warmth to spread, the warmth and wetness that kept her immobile and ashamed. How could this be happening? How could she be physically attracted to this morally bankrupt man?
He took the chair opposite her and reached for her hand. She refused to give it, keeping stubborn hold of her mug.
He peeled her fingers away one by one, and she let him, God help her, she let him, for more memories sprang to life, memories of Allen doing the exact same thing once, the day she was at her most desperate, the day he asked her to marry him.
Except Allen’s hands had been stubby, tentative and damp. And she hadn’t been gripping her mug as much as playing with it, using it as ballast, as a focal point, as she spilled her tale of woe to the boy she once knew as Al-the-pal Betz.
And the overeager and earnest sheen of Allen’s eyes. would have been lost on Jack, lost in the darkness of his soul. For he was after her daughter, claiming to care, claiming to know. As he once claimed her.
Allen had not been able to break that claim, despite his kind and generous heart. The only thing Allen claimed was that he wanted to help her, if only she would let him. He claimed she didn’t have to confess the shame of her pregnancy or name the baby’s father to another living soul. He would be the baby’s father. He would raise it as his own. Say yes to his proposal, he told her, and she would make him the happiest of men. That’s when Allen got down on his knees and begged her to marry him.
Jack Tarkenton wasn’t one to beg, however. He had gone on his knees before her, though, the first time they made love. He’d kissed her and stripped her and knelt at her feet, and she was haunted by needs she never knew she had. Jack satisfied every one of them, leaving her lost to Allen, lost to any other man.
Even now, Jack dared her with his wicked smile, the smile that once enticed her to be wicked, too, and guilt billowed inside her. Guilt chased by a terrible drenching of shame.
For if he proposed what Allen had, if Jack asked her to be his wife, Meg wanted, in her heart of hearts, she wanted, to her great and everlasting shame, to say yes.
