The Good Daughter (10 page)

He was the one who needed shelter now. Ignoring her resolve, she blurted out her intention. “Daddy, I’m going to get tested for bone-marrow compatibility. I want to help you.”

Chloe wasn’t sure what she’d expected—anger that she’d disobeyed, gratitude that she would help him? She saw neither. Instead, her father looked, if possible, even older. A glance at her mother revealed the same thing.

“Chloe, come sit by me. We have to talk.” In her father’s tone was not his usual order but, rather, a plea.

“Why?” A visceral dread settled inside her.

“Please.” He held out the big hand that had, for so many years, steadied her in a hundred different ways.

She took it, surprised to feel a tremor in him. “What is it?” She halted, almost sure now that she didn’t want to hear whatever was making both of them behave so oddly.

“Sit down, darling,” her mother said softly. “Your father tires easily these days.”

So Chloe did, gripping her father’s hand while
wishing she could turn back time and feel reassured instead of threatened.

“You aren’t necessarily a viable bone-marrow donor, Chloe.”

“What?” She frowned. “Why not? I’m your only living blood relative.”

His eyes were sad and old. “Please…don’t blame your mother for this. She was trying to protect me.”

“By not telling me that you’re sick?”

“No.” His shoulders sagged. “By not telling you that you’re adopted.”

His words echoed around her, but she couldn’t make sense of them at first. Then the air in the room splintered into crystals. Icy needles of shock rained down so thick she was blinded.

“What?” She hadn’t heard right. Couldn’t have. “What did you say?”

“It doesn’t mean anything, sweetheart. Nothing has changed—”

“But you—” She blinked. “No—” A crushing weight squeezed her chest.

“I’m sorry. We never wanted you to find out this way.”

She saw his mouth move. Saw her mother step toward her, but she couldn’t hear a word they were saying for the cacophony of her own shattered thoughts.

“I can’t be—why would you—” But even as she denied it, something in her knew. A whole life fell into place, all the reasons that fitting into this world had sometimes been so hard. Why the expectations of her had been so stringent.

Not because she was theirs—

But because she wasn’t.

She tugged away, but her father’s hand tightened. “Chloe, we love you so much—”

“How can you say that?” Chloe leaped to her feet, swiveling her gaze between them. “You lied to me.” She couldn’t breathe as the enormity of the fact sank in. “All my life…everything about me…is a lie.”

“It’s not, darling. Our love for you has never been false. You’ve been the sun and the moon to us—”

But Chloe couldn’t hear past a horrible thought beginning to dawn on her. “You were ashamed of me. That’s why you never told anyone. Why—what was wrong with my past?”

Her mother’s head shook in denial, but guilt swept over her father’s face.

“You were,” she insisted, her heart breaking. “But I tried so hard—” Chloe turned to run—only, she didn’t know where to go.

“It wasn’t like that,” her father protested. “We were never ashamed of who you were, Chloe. You can’t believe that.”

“Darling—” Her mother’s hand clasped her arm.

Chloe jerked away. “What’s my name? My real name?”

Her mother looked stricken. “You’re Chloe St. Claire. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Shock gave way to fury. “I doubt everything right now.” She tore her gaze from her mother and pinned her father. “What’s my name? What happened to my real family?”

All the remaining color fled from his face, and Chloe knew an instant’s shame. He was a very ill man. “Tell me,” she insisted. “Then I’ll leave you alone. I don’t want to hurt you—” Her voice broke on a sob. She didn’t want to harm either of them, but she felt as though they’d gutted her.

“Chloe—” He started to rise.

“Don’t,” she ordered. She looked down and fought for composure. “Please. Don’t get up, Daddy. Despite what you’ve done, I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Sit down, darling,” her mother said. “Let us explain.”

But Chloe knew she’d fly apart if she lingered. Start screaming or, worse, devastate them the way they were killing her. “Give me the truth,” she demanded in a voice she didn’t recognize.

Her father—but he wasn’t her father, was he? The magnitude of the betrayal rolled over Chloe in a pounding, punishing wave. It was all she could do to stand there, fingernails digging into her palms.

“We didn’t change anything but your last name. You were almost four years old, and we didn’t want to confuse you.”

One thing about her wasn’t a lie. She wanted to sink to the floor, but she had to hold on. “What was it?”

His jaw worked. “Malone. Chloe Elizabeth Malone.”

She’d try to think later if the name fit better somehow. “What do you know about my family?”

He settled heavily on the sofa. “Your birth parents are dead, but—”

Even as her stomach clenched at the loss of people she couldn’t remember, she seized on the last. “But what? Who else is there?” And how could she not remember, if she’d been four years old? She was so busy trying to figure out the youngest age she could remember that she almost missed his next words.

“You had two sisters.”

Sisters.
She’d prayed at night for a sister. “Had?”

“They were much older. Teenagers.”

“Why was I separated from them?”

“They were too young, darling.” Her mother’s voice wavered, then gained strength. “They couldn’t have taken care of you.”

“How did my parents die?” She had to know, even though she was terrified of what she’d find.

“Your mother apparently died of natural causes. Your father had abandoned all of you years before, then died, as well.”

Abandoned. He hadn’t loved them, then. But maybe her mother had. Maybe her sisters— “Didn’t they want me?” If they’d cared, why wouldn’t they have stayed in touch?

Then she knew. “You bought me, didn’t you? Somehow you used your money to make them go away.”

Neither would look at her at first. Then her father raised tormented eyes to hers. “Your adoption was private, and the records were sealed. We didn’t want anyone to know you weren’t ours. We moved to Austin
and started over.” His voice turned fierce. “You were ours, Chloe. You still are.”

“No—” Desperation and rage and heartache kept her strong even when she wanted to fold. “I want everything you have on this. I’m going to find them.” Chloe held her father’s gaze, daring him to deny her. Beside her, her mother sobbed.

Some of her father’s old steel returned. “Chloe, no one could love you more than we have.”

Even as she recognized that there was truth in his words, bitterness for all the times she’d felt so alone and out of place shoved that truth away. “We’ll never know, will we?”

His shoulders slumped. Her mother gripped her arm again. “Chloe—”

She couldn’t stand here one more minute. She had to have some time to absorb everything. Time to figure out—

“I have to go.” She jerked her arm from her mother’s grasp. On shaky legs, she crossed the floor, trying to imagine the little girl she’d been, the sisters she’d lost…

“Darling—”

She held up one hand without turning. Gasping for one solid breath, she managed to speak. “Not now. I’ll—I promise I’ll come back when I can—” Her voice cracked. “I have to go.”

She ran out the door.

S
ATURDAY MORNING
traffic wasn’t half-bad, Vince thought as he drove north on Lamar Boulevard. Usually, he would have been out late on Friday night, trailing his suspects through an endless selection of dingy bars or topless joints. Soon, he’d be back at it; he was almost certain.

He stopped to pick up cinnamon rolls and coffee, having to guess at how she liked hers. There was a lot he didn’t know about Chloe St. Claire yet, but he would find out. After that kiss, nothing else would do.

They had unfinished business between them. Lots of it.

Didn’t matter that they were opposites in breeding and experiences and much more—she was a hell of a darts player and she loved old houses. She’d finished her own wood floors, though imagining it was still a stretch.

They’d start with wallpapering and work up to another kiss. He’d take it slow if it killed him.

It probably would. But you only won the game if you got out on the field. He’d had a taste of her, and he wanted more. She wanted more, too; he’d bet everything he owned on that.

Who the hell was he kidding? He was the son of a whore. Her father would probably put out a contract on him before he’d allow Vince’s hands on his lily-white daughter.

Roger Barnes already wanted to take away his job.

Vince caught the name on the street sign ahead and realized he had only two blocks to change his mind.

Just as he was about to whip a U-turn and get the hell back on his side of the river, he remembered caramel-brown eyes full of mischief as Chloe pointed out a bull’s-eye shot. Thought about a woman who’d trembled in his arms under the oaks.

Recalled the whipsaw of craving when her mouth softened under his.

Saw again the loneliness she worked so hard to hide.

Vince smiled and shook his head. Of course it made sense to turn around before he escalated foolishness to downright stupidity. But as Chloe had so accurately pointed out—

He didn’t choose safety.

Just then he noticed the fire-engine-red door on the otherwise sedate and traditional house. Maybe there was a risk taker inside the good doctor, too. With a grin, he emerged from his T-bird and strode up her walk.

Two minutes later, he’d rung the bell, knocked and rung again. Her car was there—he saw it through the side window of the one-car garage. Didn’t mean she was around, though. She might have spent the night with Barnes, her claim that they weren’t sleeping together notwithstanding.

Disappointment rode him harder than it should have. Sure, he’d tossed off a promise to pick her up this morning, but she hadn’t actually said yes, had she? He was about to leave, when the door opened.

“Vince? What are you—”

He got one glimpse of her and grasped the edge of the door to open it wider. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She averted her face.

He was having none of it. “You look like hell.”

“I don’t— Go away, Vince.” She shoved the door toward him.

He blocked it with his shoulder. “Not until I know what happened to you.”

“Please.” Her voice was barely a whisper, her eyes downcast, her hair a snarled mess. She had on a thick robe far too warm for this weather, but her body shook as though gripped by fever. “Just leave. I can’t—”

Her grasp faltered, and he pressed through the opening. She backed away, still not meeting his gaze.

Vince closed the door and crossed to her. “Are you sick? Have you called a doctor?”

She shook her head. “I don’t need a doctor.” But she looked as though she’d collapse in the faintest breeze.

“You should lie down.” He clasped her arm, almost afraid that touching her would shatter her. He felt her tremble. “Chloe, talk to me. Do you have a fever?” With his other hand, he checked her forehead, but it was cool to the touch.

He smoothed her tangled hair away from her face; with a sob, she sagged against him. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged as he folded her into his embrace.

She came undone then. Heartrending sobs shook her whole frame. Hot tears soaked into his T-shirt. Her legs gave way.

Vince swept her up into his arms and moved to a wicker rocking chair filled with plump cushions. He sat down with her across his lap and, feeling absolutely helpless, didn’t know what to do but hold her close while she cried.

As the woman he’d once thought too controlled sobbed against his chest, Vince rocked her and stroked her hair, awkward with words of comfort, since he had no idea what was going on. But even baffled as he was, something about this felt…right. As if a key had turned in a lock and opened a new place inside Vince with a smooth, well-oiled click.

There were only about a million reasons he should be scared half to death or on his feet running, but instead, Vince Coronado, the hard-ass who needed action and lots of it, who’d rather take a bullet than see a woman’s tears, felt peace settle over him like the welcome weight of a blanket on a cold night.

He didn’t know why she was crying or when she would stop, but somehow it didn’t matter. He would stay with her, and her tears would eventually cease. When she was ready to talk, he’d listen and try to help. But in the meantime, he’d relish the feel of her against him and welcome the trust she’d placed by settling into his arms. He, who’d been careful never to let himself be vulnerable again, had other priorities, other ideas about how his life would play out.

But somewhere along the way, a not-so-cool brown-eyed blonde had blown the hell out of his plans.

C
HLOE AWOKE
with a raging thirst and a curious lightness.

And heard the strong, slow thump of a heart against her ear just as warm, firm flesh registered. Along with a definite bulge beneath her right hip. Oh, God. She wanted to look, but she was terrified of what she’d see.

“You can open your eyes, Doc,” a deep voice rumbled with amusement. “I can’t help how my body reacts, but I’m not one to take advantage of a woman who’s cried her heart out in my arms.”

She peered through her lashes and saw exactly what she’d feared: Vince Coronado’s electric-blue gaze. But it wasn’t laughing at her; instead, his look held a tenderness that would, if she wasn’t careful, undo her again. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to figure out how to disappear.

A chuckle shook his chest. “Come on, Chloe. I won’t bite. And my leg’s fallen asleep.”

Mortified, she scrambled from his lap and would have wound up on the floor if he hadn’t caught her. “What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded as if she’d swallowed sandpaper.

“Hey, easy…” Vince steadied her.

She couldn’t stand the pity in his eyes. Then everything came crashing back in.

She couldn’t think about it just yet. If she didn’t get
a drink of water, she’d die. Turning too fast toward the kitchen, she tripped on the hem of her robe.

“Whoa,” Vince said, grasping her by the elbow. “Wait a minute until you get your balance.”

Chloe ducked her head, but he put one finger beneath her chin and forced it upward.

“I’m not the enemy, Chloe,” he said softly. Then something oddly shy filled his eyes. “I never thought I’d say this to a woman, but I’m glad to be the one who held you while you cried.”

And she, who thought she’d been drained of every last tear, felt a new rush of them stinging. “I—” Again her throat refused to work.

“Why don’t I get you a glass of water.” His voice was so gentle. “Sit down, and I’ll bring it in here.”

Nature made its needs known, though she’d have sworn not an ounce of fluid remained inside her whole body. “I have to—” She fell silent.

Vince smiled. “Want me to walk you down the hall?”

Chloe stifled a yelp. Shaking her head, she escaped, knocking one knee against a table and careening off the adjacent wall as she stumbled her way out of the room.

She expected to hear him laugh, but instead, his voice came to her, comforting and low. “Don’t assume you’re going to hide in the bathroom. I’m not leaving until we talk.”

She closed the door and sank against it, eyes darting wildly as she tried to figure out some way to sneak out of the tiny window in her oldest robe.

Then she remembered all that had happened in the space of one night and knew embarrassment was the least of her problems.

Chloe braced her hands on the edge of the pedestal sink and stared at her face in the mirror. No wonder she’d never been able to find a resemblance to her parents.

Parents.
The mother and father she’d always believed were hers. Now she didn’t know what to believe. They’d given her so much. Demanded so much. Been there for every important event of her life, always in the front row, always…there. Maybe not demonstrative, maybe not the mother who baked cookies or the dad who gave piggyback rides, but…

There. Steady and dependable. She recalled the anguish on their faces before she’d run out of the house she’d taken for granted as home. How could they have been so deceitful?

Her bitterness wavered. How could she have been so cruel?

They’d lied, yes, but she hadn’t heard a word of whatever explanations they’d offered. All she could think, all she could see, was that she was a fraud. An illusion.

Who am I?
she wondered as she studied a face she’d glimpsed at thousands of times but never really seen.

Do I resemble my mother or father? My sisters?

What were their names? How could there be two people walking the earth who were part of her, shared her blood and bone, and she didn’t even know their
names?

Once again, anger rose, swift and fierce. Her parents had no right—Dolores and John, that was. She didn’t
know what to call them now, no matter that, deep within, she understood it was wrong to give short shrift to the years they’d spent caring for her, protecting her, guarding her from…what?

Her own nature?
Who was she?
Everything came back to that, a clawing, aching need to
know.
Like waking up with the sun shining and birds singing and stepping out of bed—

And falling into a huge black hole.

She had another life. Another family. A past, however brief, that was who she really was. Yes, barely four was very young, but how could she not remember any of it?

And the prospect of finding out who that Chloe was scared her to death, every bit as much as it lured her the way an oasis lures the weary traveler.

But sometimes an oasis turned out to be a mirage.

I have to know. I have to find them.

She stared at the blond hair and brown eyes and wondered if there were, somewhere on the planet, two women who shared them. She traced her cheekbones and eyebrows. Pressed long fingers against her mouth…

Uncertain if she was brave enough to find out.

“Chloe?” Vince’s voice came through the door. “You okay?”

Chloe looked at her reflection and wondered if she’d ever be able to answer that question honestly again.

The doorknob rattled, and she knew she had to answer him with something. Quickly, she ran the water in the sink and grabbed her toothbrush. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

The face in the mirror that had suddenly become a stranger’s stared back at Chloe, watching her every move.

F
OR A MAN ACCUSTOMED
to action, seldom at a loss to decide where he was going next, Vince found himself hesitating in the hallway of Chloe’s jewel box of a house, having no idea if he should stay or go. Everything about this situation was foreign to him. He didn’t do tears. Didn’t do relationships. Didn’t get involved with personal stuff.

Yet he was about to do all three, if he didn’t find some excuse to get the hell out of here—now. Somehow, though, the litany of reasons that he should be anywhere but with this woman didn’t seem to be penetrating his admittedly thick skull. She got to him, this daughter of privilege, this blueblood who would never consent to getting tangled up with him.

He was not, by the remotest stretch of the imagination, a long-term kind of guy, anyway. Maybe he should see a shrink. He had to be crazy to be here at all.

The bathroom door opened, and Chloe, head downcast, walked out, seeming as though a puff of wind would blow her over.

And Vince forgot everything but the need to make her back into the society girl who’d never take a second glance at him.

“Hey,” he said, and was about to start asking questions, when she looked up, and he saw how close to the edge she was. Didn’t matter that he had no idea what the edge was called or who had pushed her to it. Vince,
whose instincts had saved him more than once, let his gut tell him the next move.

Give it a rest. Give her time to recover.

So Vince grinned past his worry. “I make a pretty mean omelette, if I do say so myself. Want one?”

He could see the refusal forming on her lips. The urge to coddle her all but overwhelmed him, but somehow he knew it was the worst thing he could do. He steered her toward her bedroom. “You go dress, and I’ll get started. Coffee’s brewing.”

She hesitated. “Vince, I can’t—”

“Reneging on me, Doc?” Though he wanted to tuck her into bed and stand guard over her, he thought that being idle might be the worst thing for her right now. “We had a date to wallpaper, and I’m holding you to it.”

When her shoulders sagged, he was on the verge of giving in, never mind his instincts.

But just then, the shadow of Dr. Cool and Elegant made an appearance. Her head rose, and her body straightened. “If you could—” She turned her head halfway, and the anguish he saw in that pure profile was hard to bear.

“Never mind—”

“I’d like a shower,” she interrupted. “But I won’t—” Her voice faltered, and he watched as she grasped at the strands of her former composure. “I won’t be long.”

“Take all the time you need, Doc,” he said, clenching his hands against the need to touch her. Hold her. Keep her safe.

“Thank you,” she whispered, lifting a gaze so
vulnerable it was painful to see. “And thank you for—” she cleared a throat gone husky “—everything.”

He held on to his resolve by a thread, reminding himself that he was in no position to be her knight in shining armor, even if he’d been the type. And forced himself to think of the thousand and one reasons getting any closer to her was a huge mistake—for both of them.