LITMIR.BIZ

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his eyes, his head congested with old memories. There was a whole lot of stuff that had gone under the bridge, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever put it all behind him. Slipping his right hand into the back pocket of his jeans, he leaned against the wall, his expression turning bleak as more old memories surfaced.

      The secret he harbored had its roots a long time ago—eleven years to be exact. Scotty had been twenty-four and had made it to the “show,” earning more money than was good for him. It had been close to Christmas when he announced out of the blue that he was bringing home the girl he was going to marry.

      No one had known what to expect—not Conner, not his mother, not his father. And when Scotty announced he was bringing Abigail Allistair Arlington home to meet the folks, Conner braced himself. With a name like Abigail Allistair Arlington, she could have come from one of the snooty, upper crust areas of Chicago, or she could have been an exotic dancer in a strip bar. With Scotty, either was a possibility.

      It had been left to Conner to drive into the city, to pick them up at the Calgary Airport and, as if it were yesterday, he still remembered that night with stunning clarity. His brother coming through the frosted doors of Canada Customs, followed by a tall, natural blonde, with cover-girl good looks, sharply styled hair, wide hazel eyes and an air of sophistication about her. She had looked cool, composed and aloof—until she smiled.

      Without even realizing what she had done with that one smile, Abigail Allistair Arlington had altered the course of Conner Calhoun’s life. All it had taken was her greeting of a big, warm hug, and within a space of a few seconds, he knew that his life would never be the same.

      He had known that Doreen, the bank teller, had marriage on her mind, but there had been no way he could ever consider marrying her. Not then. Not ever. She was a sweet girl who deserved a whole lot more than second best.

      It had nearly killed Conner when Scotty and Abby got married, and it was made twice as hard because he had no choice but to stand up for his brother.

      It had been one hell of a ride, all right. Heartache? He could write volumes on it. That constant ache had become part of his life. And that was why sometimes, like tonight, he just could not face an empty house. And it was why he’d spent more nights than he could count out in the barn, fixing tack, mending saddles, braiding new reins. A flicker of grim humor lifted one corner of his mouth. Hell, he had the best tended tack in the entire country.

      Turning from the window, Conner crossed to the highboy, his gaze snagging on a grouping of three framed photographs arranged on top. His expression softening, he picked up one, his chest tightening as he studied the picture. It was a snapshot of Abby, one he had taken years ago on a South Carolina beach. She was wading in the surf, the wet hem of her full, ankle-length dress plastered against her legs, and she was holding her hair back from her face with both hands. She was laughing at him, the wind molding the soft folds of her dress against her protruding belly. When that photograph had been taken, she was pregnant with Cody, and everything that Abby was was captured in that picture.

      Yeah, he could write a book on heartache, all right. And secrets? He had ’em by the truckload. Most of them were stored up in a whole lot of pain. But there was one that gave him comfort. And it was a secret he would take to his grave without ever giving up.

      He touched the face in the snapshot, the hole in his chest getting bigger. No one would ever know that the baby she carried in this picture wasn’t his brother’s.

      It was his.

      Chapter 2

      A gust of wind rattled the shades, sending more drops of rain spattering through the screen of the open window. The framed photo still in his hand, Conner tipped his head back against the wall and clenched his jaw. It was not a good night for memories. Or for remembering. But that didn’t stop the emotions piling up in his chest.

      Forcing himself to let go of the air jammed up in his lungs, Conner turned, his gaze going to the remaining two pictures sitting on top of his bureau. He set the third one beside them, then turned back to the window, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

      It had been one helluvah ride, all right. One that took him places he’d never expected to go. There had been times when his aloneness got so big, he felt buried by it. And he had figured he would go to the grave with that awful hole in his chest. Then something happened to change all that. Something that gave him a place to put everything he felt for his brother’s wife.

      Abby and Scott had been married two years—and Conner had gone out of his way to keep his distance. It had been safer and easier that way. Then they had come home again for Christmas. Which meant that Conner had been pretty well trapped. Because as far as Mary was concerned, there was just no good reason for either of her sons to be away from home at that time of year. So for Mary’s sake, he had stayed.

      There had been something different about Scotty—he was more quiet, always watching Conner, trying his best to be accommodating. Then on Christmas Eve, long after everyone else had gone to bed, Scotty tracked Conner down in the tack room of the barn, where he was restoring an antique saddle. And he had told Conner what was on his mind.

      They had found out that Scotty was sterile, and they wanted to have kids—Abby was desperate for kids. And Scotty made it clear that there was no way he wanted to adopt—to raise some stranger’s kids. After coming at it from the long way around, Scotty got to the point, and dropped a bomb that rocked Conner’s world. He wanted to know if Conner would consider fathering a baby for them. He figured that they looked enough alike that no one would ever know any different, and Conner was the only man alive he would trust with this—the only man he would ever consider as a sperm donor.

      It had knocked Conner for one hell of a loop. And he was never sure how long he’d sat there, staring at his brother, feeling as if solid ground had been blown out from underneath him. It was as if his mind had locked on Scotty’s words, and it had seemed like forever before he’d been able to get his mind in gear, to ask his brother how Abby felt about this. Scotty had assured Conner that Abby was fine with it.

      Feeling as if his whole existence had been turned upside down, Conner had told Scotty he needed some time to think about it. And he had stayed up all that night, thinking what it would be like, knowing she was carrying his child, knowing that a part of him was lodged deep inside of her. It nearly killed him at first.

      Then slowly, so slowly, the possibility of his being able to give her his child began to ease that awful hole in his chest—that hole that had become a part of him. And he had realized that part of the burden of loving her was that he could never do anything to validate it. And now he had been handed his chance. He could give her the baby she wanted so much. And slowly everything changed, and the thought of his child growing inside of her gave him the first peace he’d had in a very long time.

      It had been as if Abby knew he’d spent the night wrestling with the request. Because long before anyone was up, she had come down to the kitchen, where he was hunched over the table, working his way through yet another cup of coffee. Her hair had been wild around her face, and she’d worn a fuzzy blue housecoat with the belt pulled tight around her. She had sat down across from him, and they had talked. And she had told him, with tears in her eyes, how badly she wanted a baby, and why. If he hadn’t already made up his mind, he would have taken one look at the desperate longing in her eyes, and he would have made it up then. With emotion cramping his throat, he told her he’d be honored to do it.

      It had been one hell of an experience—when he flew to Chicago to visit their fertility clinic. And no one would ever know what it had been like, shut in that tiny room, doing what he needed to do, everything he felt for her spilling out in that single donation. He had been such a damned mess afterward, he had gone straight to the airport, phoning Scotty from there. John Calhoun had already been diagnosed with bone cancer, and Conner had used that as a cover, making an excuse that some problems had cropped up at the ranch, and he had to get right home. He hadn’t been able to face his brother. And he sure in hell hadn’t been able to face her.

      Ten months later, Cody John Calhoun was born, and sixteen months after that, Sarah Jane Calhoun had arrived. And it had

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