Nathan's Child - By Anne McAllister Page 0,14

she needed them now. Apparently, one look at her face and Lacey must have figured that out. Heaving a theatrical sigh and grumbling under her breath, her daughter went up the stairs.

Carin sank onto the sofa, stared at the slowly whirling ceiling fan, drew a deep breath and felt the adrenaline fade. She was spent, frazzled, completely shot.

Was this what having Nathan back in her life was going to do?

Dear God, she hoped not.

She’d thought she was ready to deal with him. But she hadn’t expected this.

The Nathan she’d expected would have railed at her about not telling him about Lacey, but would actually have been relieved that she hadn’t. He would have gruffly offered her financial assistance, would have complimented her on how well she had raised their daughter, and would, after a few hours—or at the most, a few days—have taken off for parts unknown.

That Nathan she could have dealt with.

This Nathan made her nervous.

This Nathan seemed both implacable and reasonable. She’d expected Lacey to be charmed by him. What woman between the ages of three and ninety-three wasn’t?

But she hadn’t expected him to plan to take their daughter fishing!

Of course she was sure it had been Lacey’s idea. But Nathan would enjoy it. They would bond.

Hadn’t she herself bonded with him under similar circumstances? Carin remembered well the times he had taken her fishing. His quiet competence and serene enjoyment out on the water had put her at her ease, and his patience as he taught her everything she needed to know had calmed her at the same time it had caused her to fall even deeper under his spell.

It was his patience that worried her now.

What if he really did intend to stick around? What if she had to see him day after day, week after week?

Dear God. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Lacey finished brushing her teeth, and Carin heard the floorboards squeak as her daughter crossed the hall to her bedroom, so she climbed the stairs to act sane and sensible and calm and maternal—and hope she convinced Lacey even if she didn’t convince herself.

Lacey was in bed, covers tucked up to her chin. Carin hoped she wasn’t going to start in again on how wonderful Nathan was.

She didn’t. She said instead, “I was afraid he wasn’t going to come.”

All the bounce was gone now. This was the reflective Lacey. Usually her daughter was eager, cheerful and fearless—much more outgoing than Carin, so that sometimes she forgot that Lacey had insecurities, too. Sometimes it seemed as if she didn’t.

Now she realized that Lacey might just be better at masking them. Lacey wasn’t one to talk about her fears, and she’d certainly never before confided this concern about her father. She’d asked lots of questions about Nathan—especially since Dominic had appeared last year—but she’d never seemed to fret about him.

Carin had been apprehensive, of course, when she’d had to introduce Lacey to Dominic. But the two of them had hit it off quite well. And while Lacey had asked questions about her father and his family after meeting Dominic and Sierra and, later, Douglas, she’d never asked, “When’s my father coming to see me?”

Carin had been pleased and relieved, convinced that Lacey simply hadn’t cared enough to ask. Now she realized that the really important questions might be the ones Lacey didn’t ask. Her heart squeezed just a little.

“Would it have mattered so much?”

Lacey levered herself up on her elbows. “Of course it would matter! He’s my father! I want to know him. I’ve always wanted to know him!”

The ferocity of her tone cut Carin to the bone. It challenged the most basic decision she’d made—not to tell Nathan about their child.

And yet she knew, given the same circumstances, she would do the same thing again. Given who Nathan was and what he wanted to do with his life, she’d had no choice.

He might think differently now. He might blame her now. But thirteen years ago, keeping her pregnancy a secret had been the right thing to do. If she’d told him, she’d have effectively tied him down to a life she knew he’d hate, to obligations he hadn’t chosen. If she’d told him, he might have married her.

But he would never have loved her.

He hadn’t loved her, even when they’d made love.

She made herself reflect on that for a long moment because that had been the other fact on which she’d based her decision. Even when she’d found out she was pregnant, she knew she