At Home in Stone Creek (Silhouette Special Edition) by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

hospital tomorrow, when Livie…?”
    Brad tugged lightly at her braid, the way he’d always done. “We’ll be hanging out by the telephone,” he said. “Livie swears it’s a normal procedure, and she doesn’t want everyone fussing ‘as if it were a heart transplant,’ as she put it.”
    Ashley bit down on her lower lip and nodded. She already had a nephew—Mac—and two nieces, Carly and Sophie, although technically Carly, Meg’s half sister, whom her dying father had asked her to raise, wasn’t really a niece. Tomorrow, another little one would join the family. Instead of being a nervous wreck, she ought to be celebrating.
    She wasn’t, she decided, so different from Sophie. Having effectively lost Delia when she was so young, she’d turned to Olivia as a substitute mother, as had Melissa. Had their devotion been a burden to their sister, only a few years older than they were, and grappling with her own sense of loss?
    She stood on tiptoe and kissed Brad’s cheek. “Thanks,” she said again. “Call if you hear anything.”
    Brad gave her braid another tug, turned and left the house.
    Ashley felt profoundly alone.
    Â 
    Jack had nearly flung himself at the singing cowboy standing at the foot of his bed, before recognizing him as Ashley’s famous brother, Brad. Even though the room had been dark, the other man must have seen him tense.
    â€œI know you’re awake, McCall,” he’d said.
    Jack had yawned. “O’Ballivan?”
    â€œLive and in person,” came the not-so-friendly reply.
    â€œAnd you’re sneaking around my room because…?”
    O’Ballivan had chuckled at that. Hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “Because Ashley’s worried about you. And what worries my baby sister worries me , James Bond.”
    Ashley was worried about him? Something like elation flooded Jack. “Not for the same reasons, I suspect,” he said.
    Mr. Country Music had gripped the high, spooled rail at the foot of the bed and leaned forward a little to make his point. “Damned if I can figure out why you’d come back here, especially in the shape you’re in, after what happened last summer, except to take up where you left off.” He paused, gripped the rail hard enough that his knuckles showed white even in the gloom. “You hurt her again, McCall, and you have my solemn word—I’m gonna turn right around and hurt you . Are we clear on that?”
    Jack had smiled, not because he was amused, but because he liked knowing Ashley had folks to look after her when he wasn’t around—and when he was. “Oh, yeah,” Jack had replied. “We’re clear.”
    Obviously a man of few words, O’Ballivan had simply nodded, turned and walked out of the room.
    Remembering, Jack raised himself as high on the pillows as he could, strained to reach the lamp switch.The efforts, simple as they were, made him break out in a cold sweat, but at the same time, he felt his strength returning.
    He looked around the room, noting the flowered wallpaper, the pale rose carpeting, the intricate woodwork on the mantelpiece. Two girly chairs flanked the cold fireplace, and fat flakes of January snow drifted past the two sets of bay windows, both sporting seats beneath, covered by cheery cushions.
    It was a far cry from Walter Reed, he thought.
    An even further cry from the jungle hut where he’d hidden out for nearly three months, awaiting his chance to grab little Rachel Stockard, hustle her out of the country by boat and then a seaplane, and return her to her frantic mother.
    He’d been well paid for the job, but it was the memory of the mother-daughter reunion, after he’d surrendered the child to a pair of FBI agents and a Customs official in Atlanta, that made his throat catch more than two weeks after the fact.
    Through an observation window, he’d watched