Rachel Laine (The Women of Merryton Book 3)
Read Rachel Laine (The Women of Merryton Book 3) Online
Authors: Jennifer Peel
Rachel
Laine
The
Women of Merryton
–
Book Three
By
Jennifer Peel
©
2016
by Jennifer Peel.
All Rights reserved.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This
eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share
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’
re reading this book and did
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purchase your own copy through Amazon Kindle. Thank you for respecting the hard
work of this author.
To
my father-in-law, the best dad a girl could ask for.
Special
thanks to my aunt Nancy, for her valuable insight into Colorado politics and
for serving the people of my home state so well all these years.
Table of Contents
“Rachel
Laine, Andrew Turner is here to see you,” Liza, our receptionist, informed me
by phone.
“Andrew
Turner?” I wasn’t expecting anyone that afternoon, and the name Andrew Turner
sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“You
know,
the
Andrew Turner?” She whispered, trying to be covert.
I
still wasn’t getting it.
“Andrew
Turner, the all-star pitcher for the Bears.” She made it sound like I was
completely dense. I also detected a hint of excitement in her voice when she
said his name.
I
thought for a moment and remembered—he was the guy Cheyenne was after for
awhile, or maybe still was. It was hard to tell with her. I wondered, though,
why he would be here to see me. Perhaps he’d bought a new home in our lovely
mountain town of Merryton and he needed it insured. Regardless, there wasn’t a
good reason
not
to see him, so I told her to send him back.
Within
a minute, there was a knock on my door. I opened the door to find very familiar
eyes staring at me. So familiar, I almost gasped. There was no mistaking the liquid-gold
amber framed with dark brown eyelashes. Those eyes had gotten Drew his way on
more occasions than one. They were the reason we had a dog, a later bedtime,
and a myriad of other things I’d said we would never have. But at that moment,
they were staring right at me and they were making me feel anything but the
love I normally felt when I saw those eyes.
My
first thought was,
why didn’t Sydney tell me that this was
the
Andrew?
My second thought was to slam the door in his face.
He
cleared his throat as I glared at him, unable to find utterance.
“Sydney—”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I meant Rachel; it’s just, you look so much
alike.”
I
hadn’t been called Sydney in ages and it stung. After eight years, there wasn’t
a day that went by that I didn’t think of her or miss her. Sometimes Drew would
say something or make a face, and I would see her. It made me realize she
hadn’t entirely left me, but sometimes in those moments, I missed her so much I
physically ached.
Him
saying her name, though, made me angry. He had no right to speak her name, like
he had no right to be here.
“Yes,
well that’s what happens when you share a placenta with someone for nine
months.”
He
cracked a smile. I recognized that crooked grin.
“Anyway”
he said, “I’m looking for Sydney. I’m hoping you can help me find her.”
I
began to tremble slightly. I felt my own face become pale. He didn’t know.
He
must have noticed my reaction. “Is there something wrong?”
I
motioned for him to come in. “Have a seat.” I pointed to my couch.
He
sat on one end and I sat as far on the other side as I could. We stared at one
another for a moment. I couldn’t believe my son’s father was Andrew Turner, and
here he was sitting in front of me, clueless that I was raising the son he
never knew or cared to find. He looked confused.
“Mr.
Turner.”
“Andrew,
please.”
I
didn’t want to call him anything but foul names, but I refrained. “Sydney passed
away a little over eight years ago.”
His
tanned faced suddenly drained its color. “I’m sorry, I had no idea. How did she
die? I’m sorry, that's none of my business.”
It
was more his business than he knew. “In childbirth,” I responded coldly, with a
knowing look.
Yes,
I wanted to say.
I know it’s you.
He
gave me a meaningful look as he pulled out a letter and handed it to me.
I
took it carefully and unfolded it. I recognized the handwriting immediately.
Dear
Andrew,
I’m
going back home to Merryton. I know you don’t believe this baby is yours, but
it’s true. Can’t you see by my leaving how much I care about you? I know I said
some things I shouldn’t have, but I never wanted to ruin your career, or like
you said, use you because of your fame. I only wanted you to care about me like
I care about you. More importantly, I wanted you to love our baby.
I’m
not sure where I will go after our baby is born, but if you ever want to know
where we are, contact my sister, Rachel Laine. She always knows where I’m at.
With
Love,
Sydney
I
could barely read the last sentences through my tear-filled eyes. I remembered
how depressed she was before Drew was born. It was so unusual for her, but I
think she really had cared about this man in front of me. Our whole lives, she
had been the life of the party. We may have looked identical, but in
personality we were complete opposites. I followed the rules and she burned the
rule book. I cried when I got a B in school and she rejoiced when she passed
with a D.
I
handed back the letter and stood up to retrieve a tissue from my desk.
“What
happened to the baby?”
I
tried to compose myself. I didn’t want to tell him about Drew. He didn’t
deserve to know, and a sudden thought occurred to me. What if he wanted to take
him away from me? Could he? Legally, Drew was mine, but could a biological
father change that even after all this time? I felt ill at the thought and
grabbed my desk.
“Rachel,
please.”
I
closed my eyes and breathed out. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m
contemplating running for office and I need to make sure there isn’t anything from
my past that could impede my ability to win.”
I
whipped around. “You’re only worried he could be a liability to your campaign?”
“No,
that sounds terrible. I meant …” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he
tried to dig himself out of the huge hole he’d dug, but then I watched as what
I had said dawned on him. “Did you say
he
?”
I
turned and grabbed one of the many framed pictures of Drew off my desk. This particular
one was his latest school photo, his huge grin showcasing his two missing front
teeth. Teeth or no teeth, he was the most handsome boy with his sandy brown
hair and dimples. He had a smile that melted my heart. I looked at the photo
and then at the man in front of me. There was no mistaking it—Andrew Turner was
my son’s father.
Andrew
took the photo and studied it. I saw the spark of recognition in his eyes. He
had to know it was his son.
“
My
son,
Drew, is in third grade and he is the best kid to ever walk the
face of this earth.”
Andrew
looked up at me and slowly handed back the picture. “He looks happy.”
“He
is.”
“I
need to know if he’s really mine.”
“Why?
Are you planning on being part of his life now?”
“No.”
He shook his head. “I mean, I don’t know. It’s just important I know.”
I
narrowed my eyes at him and he squirmed. “If you’re worried about whether or
not Drew and I will adversely affect your precious campaign, let me put your
mind at ease. Drew has no idea who you are. He doesn’t even know your name. I
didn’t even know your full name until today. So you can walk out that door now
and keep pretending like Drew never existed. I promise we will do the same for
you.”
If
I could have clawed his eyes out, I would have. How dare he come in here after
all these years, and how dare he only be worried about himself. Part of me was
relieved that he seemed to want nothing to do with my son, but what kind of man
waits eight years to find out if he really fathered a child? From the looks of
it, a selfish man.
He
stood up and I wasn’t sure what the look on his face meant. Relief, perhaps?
“Would
you allow a paternity test?”
The
audacity.
“I don’t see why that’s necessary.”
Again
with the neck rubbing. “If he’s mine, I want to fulfill my financial
obligation.”
“Your
financial obligation?” I scoffed. “Don’t you think you should have thought
about that when my twenty-one-year-old sister told you she was pregnant?”
“Look,”
he raised his voice, “I know I’ve made some mistakes here, but I’m trying to
right them.”
“No,
what you’re trying to do is cover them up by writing a check. You can keep your
money; we don’t want it or need it. Drew has always been well taken care of.”
“Rachel,
I didn’t mean to imply that he wasn’t, I just want to …”
“Cover
your tracks.” I finished for him.
He
hung his head down.
“Don’t
worry, Mr. Turner, your secret won’t leave this room, so feel free to announce
your candidacy for whatever it is you are running for. From what I can tell,
you already have the makings of a fine politician.”
He
stared hard at me with those eyes of his. I wished he wouldn’t. I could read
them well, and right now they were pleading for understanding. But I couldn’t
understand a father not wanting to know his son, especially Drew. My Drew.
He
didn’t respond.
“Excuse
me, I need to leave. It’s time for me to pick up
my
son from school.” I
pushed my way past him and left him in my office.
I
seethed all the way over to Mountain Brook Elementary, but once in the car line,
I began to worry. All of the what if’s began to accumulate. I didn’t like the
fact he knew about Drew and where to find us. I also could no longer tell Drew
that I had no idea who his father was. From time to time, he would ask, and I
knew it was natural for him to want to know—even part of me was curious. I
would have never guessed in a million years that Sydney had a famous secret. No
wonder she never wanted to say. If I told Drew who he was, would he want to
meet him?
Call
me selfish, but I didn’t want to share Drew, especially with someone that
obviously cared only about himself. Part of me had always felt like an impostor
since I didn’t give birth to him. I knew it was dumb, but I couldn’t help it.
Drew knew I wasn’t his biological mother. He knew I was really his aunt, but he
had always called me Mommy or Mom. Since Sydney and I were genetically
identical, he did look like my son, but he looked more like Andrew Turner’s
son.
Andrew
Turner looked a lot like I had pictured Drew’s father to be. He was tall and
handsome with those unusual amber eyes. He wasn’t an unapproachable handsome.
You know, the kind of man that was way too good looking and every woman was attracted
to. No, he was only nice looking, but I bet his profession had women throwing
themselves at him. Women like my sister and Cheyenne. I probably shouldn’t have
been surprised Sydney chose someone like him. She loved the limelight, but she
also loved the ridiculously attractive men, too. Andrew didn’t really look like
her type. Truth be told, he was more my type, minus the self-centeredness. That
is, if I had a type or the time.
I
tried to forget about him, but seeing my little guy—who wasn’t so little
anymore—was a glaring reminder. I didn’t need a paternity test to tell me that
Andrew Turner was his father, my eyes and heart could do that.
I
smiled at my son when he climbed into our Grand Cherokee. “Hey, big guy.”
“Hi,
Mom.”
I
loved that title more than any other, and today in particular it made my heart
melt.
I
watched and waited for him to buckle himself in the backseat. “What was your
favorite part of school today, besides recess and lunch?” I could see him grin
in the rearview mirror. I asked the same thing every day.
He
thought for a moment before his eyes lit up. “Andy laughed so hard that milk
came out of his nose.” The thought made him laugh. His laughter was contagious,
so I had no choice but to laugh as well.
After
we calmed down and were back on the road to the office, I asked my other usual,
“Did you learn anything interesting today?”
“Nope,”
he responded.
“Nothing
at all?”
“Mom,
I told you school is soooo boring. I already know everything.”
“That’s
great, because I was hoping you could take over my job.”
“Mom
…”
“Well,
since you know everything.”
“Okay,
maybe not everything.”
“Then
I guess I’ll keep my job and you can keep going to school.”
He
rolled his eyes at me. I knew he really liked school, especially the social
part, but he was too smart for us both at times. The school had talked to me
about moving him up a grade, but he was already one of the youngest in his
class with a July birthday, so I declined. My only concession was to let him go
to fourth grade for math.
I
noticed my dad’s old truck in the parking lot when we pulled up. Drew did, too,
and wasted no time in unbuckling himself as soon as I stopped. He was out the
door and running into the office before I could make it to the curb. I credited
him for my still slim figure—who needed diet and exercise when you had an
energetic boy to chase after?