Her Sister's Secret Son

Chapter Two

The trial of the century—Henderson style—was over. Life settled down to normal—whatever that was, Rachel thought a few days later. A morning breeze ruffled her hair, loosening a strand. She brushed it back from her face, glad that she’d gotten to work in her garden early in the morning before the day’s heat intensified.

She heard a dog’s frantic bark, then, “Mom, Mom!”

Hearing the note of panic in Dylan’s voice, Rachel dropped the tray of tulip bulbs, and ran. She didn’t stop to question her response. At first, she’d been Auntie, then Auntie Mom, and finally just plain Mom, which suited both her and Dylan. Although she tried to keep Laurel’s memory alive, Dylan’s childish memories of his mother were vague, colored by her long, frequent absences.

Sometimes, it seemed as if Laurel had never existed—except in Rachel’s memory. Sadly, Laurel had never been able to love her son, or at least she’d rarely shown it. A little boy needed a mom, and Rachel was it in every way that counted—short of giving birth to him. From the moment she set eyes on the squalling red-faced infant, Rachel adored him. A nurse had placed him in her arms. He was hers to love.

“Mom, Mom, come quick.” Dylan’s voice sounded confident that she would come because—well, because she always did.

Rachel arrived breathless. “What’s up?”

“It’s Sunny!” Dylan pulled on the dog’s collar but the yellow Labrador dragged him across the treed yard into the blackberry bushes.

Rachel caught Sunny’s collar. “Stay!”

At the sharp command, the dog stopped abruptly. Tail wagging, Sunny rested back on her heels. She inched forward.

Then, a rustling sound came from the bushes.

“Uh-oh!” Dylan groaned.

With one ferocious bark, Sunny tore loose, landing Dylan and Rachel in the dirt. They looked at each other and laughed as the dog disappeared into the thick bushes.

Dylan’s laughter warmed Rachel’s heart. Forgetting the dog for a moment, she leaned back on her hands. A faint breeze caught in the pine trees and whispered softly. Today was Saturday, the sawmill at this end of town was closed, and blessedly silent.

The dog let out a long series of high-pitched yelps. Rachel could hear her crashing around, but couldn’t see much.

Apparently Dylan could. “Sunny’s got something big!” He clearly hoped it was something huge. He’d been moping around for days—ever since the end of the trial.

Rachel felt the same. A restlessness still gripped her. She felt unsettled and wondered why the memory of a handsome face and a crooked smile should linger more than all the other images. She sighed. They could use a distraction—something pleasant for a change.

She whistled for the dog. “Here, Sunny.”

Dylan tried to whistle, then said, “I think it’s an alligator!” He sounded thrilled at the idea.

“Dylan, this is Maine. Alligators don’t live here.”

“But they could. I heard about people buying them at pet stores, and letting them loose, or flushing them down the toilet. It could be an alligator. Or a crocodile.”

“Mmm,” Rachel murmured with a straight face. She never laughed at his stories—his dreams—no matter how wild. She knew how important dreams were. Hers were so simple, but elusive. She wanted a place where she and Dylan could stay and put down roots—probably a first for a Hale, she thought with a smile as she recalled her parents’ wanderlust.

Tail wagging, Sunny came crashing out of the shrubs with a black plastic trash bag clamped in her mouth. She dragged it across the yard and dumped it at Rachel’s feet.

Obviously expecting praise, the dog sat back on her haunches and grinned. Oh well, at least it wasn’t a dead skunk this time. “All right, girl.”

The plastic bag moved.

Dylan stared at it. “That looks too small for an alligator.” He grinned at Rachel. “Maybe it’s a snake.”

Rachel hated snakes. With a shudder, she gingerly reached for the bag, then opened it. The inside was black, except for a couple of spots of white. Opening the bag wider, she exposed the contents.

Dylan looked over her shoulder.

“Puppies!” he breathed in shocked delight.

Rachel shared his shock. Someone had discarded an unwanted litter. She resisted the urge to cry at the careless cruelty. Weak and half-starved, the puppies were tiny, about the size of tennis balls, matted into smooth balls of fur. Their tiny claws had poked holes in the plastic bag to breathe.

When one shivered, she said, “Let’s get them inside.”

Dylan followed her into the house and watched as she fetched a wicker basket. “Are they going to be okay?”

Rachel lined the basket with a towel. “I hope so.” She hoped this wouldn’t lead to another disappointment for him. When she transferred the puppies to the basket, she noted how frail they were. One just lay there, its breathing shallow. If it didn’t survive, Dylan would be heartbroken.

Dylan still looked expectant. “Can we keep them?”

“Honey, they’re very young. We need to take them to the animal shelter. They’re going to need special care.”

The telephone book failed to yield an animal shelter, but there was an animal clinic. Rachel needed directions.

“We’re located about five miles out of town,” she was told by the woman who answered the phone. “Take a left at the end of Main Street, then a right, another left.” This was getting more complicated by the minute.

Although confusing on paper, the directions were easy to follow. Getting lost in Henderson was probably impossible, Rachel thought as she negotiated the one thoroughfare.

Until recently, she’d lived in Stillwater fifty miles away, not far in terms of miles, but each town had its own character. Henderson was isolated and rural, a farming and logging town. Stillwater catered to tourists; the population swelled each summer when families occupied the lakeside cottages. Sportsmen came the remainder of the year.

While Rachel drove, Dylan kept up a running commentary about the puppies. “They sure are small. What if no one else wants to take them?”

Rachel answered firmly, “I’m sure they have a list of people waiting for puppies.” She hoped.

The animal clinic was a surprisingly long drive out of town—uphill all the way. By the time Rachel got there, her small car was choking a bit, with that insistent knock in the four-cylinder engine that had her losing sleep at night. She could have used Drew’s car, but pride prevented her from accepting any form of charity, however well-intentioned.

Stones End, the signpost read.

Very apt, Rachel thought as she turned at the sign. Stone fences lined both sides of the farm road, then rambled into the fields, framing straight lush cultivated rows of deep-green potato plants stretching into the far distance. One nearby field had gone to seed, adrift in a gaudy sea of wildflowers, as if someone had thrown caution to the wind and let nature take over.

While admiring the view, Rachel almost missed the animal clinic, which blended into the scenery. She parked the car, and they got out. Dylan carried the basket of puppies as if they were breakable. They climbed the porch steps.

Obviously new, the scent of cedar shakes clung to the building—a long low structure set against the shelter of tall flaring pine trees. In the distance, a collection of farm buildings topped the hill. The place was oddly silent, peaceful. The stillness was broken by a baby’s cry.

The human sound startled Rachel. She opened the screen door and entered a reception area.

A bell stood on the receptionist’s desk. One ring brought someone rushing into the room. With a baby thrown over her shoulder, the young woman smiled. “Hello, I believe we spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, that’s right.” At the sound of Rachel’s voice, the baby turned to look, and grinned a toothless smile.

His mother chuckled. “This is Nathaniel. He’s not usually cranky, but he’s teething.”

“He’s lovely,” Rachel said. And he was—robust and rosy-cheeked, with dark hair. His mother had fair hair; but the infant had her soft rainwater-gray eyes.

The woman smiled. “We like him.” She transferred his weight to her hip. “I’m Jessie Harding by the way. You’re new in town. Welcome to Henderson. I hope you’ll be happy here. Where are you from?”

Liking the woman’s directness, Rachel introduced herself and Dylan. “My aunt and uncle ran the Stillwater Inn until they retired recently.”

“I know the place. Isn’t it closed for repairs?”

“Yes, indefinitely.” Rachel didn’t add any details about her move. Explanations were awkward.

When Jessie laid the baby down in a playpen, he fussed for a minute until she gave him a rattle. “You said you found puppies along the road? I don’t know how anyone could throw them away, do you?”

“Well, no.” Now Rachel felt guilty because she didn’t want them either.

“If you’ll come with me, I’m sure the doctor will see you right away.” Jessie turned toward a closed door, knocked once, then opened it, pushing it wide.

Rachel was still struggling to explain, “I thought I could just drop them—” Stopping in midsentence, she stared at the man’s identity, frowning at his fair hair. Several days had passed and he hadn’t had it cut.

Openly familiar, Jessie teased, “Are we interrupting anything important?”

With an uneasy feeling that didn’t make sense, Rachel wondered at their relationship. Was he married to Jessie, the father of her child?

Caught in the act of aiming a dart at a gameboard on the opposite wall, he grinned. “Not at all.”

However, at the sight of Rachel, his smile fled. When his gaze wandered over her before finally leveling on her face, the corn flakes topped with strawberries and cream she’d eaten for breakfast curdled in her stomach. Conscious of her less-than-flattering attire—denim cutoffs and a blue cotton T-shirt—she tugged at the ragged edge of her shorts.

When a plump owl on a wooden perch behind the desk winked, Rachel jumped. She’d assumed it was stuffed.

“We’re repairing a broken wing,” he explained with a crooked smile. He rose and came around the desk. It was made out of oak—old, but not antique. “Hello, we meet again.” His gaze fixed on her hair.

Rachel resisted the urge to smooth it back. “You’re a vet!” She couldn’t hide her surprise. This man didn’t fit her mental image of a vet.

Folding his arms, he leaned against the corner of the desk. “It’s a legitimate way to make a living.”

“I only meant…” She glanced at his credentials on the wall, proof of his veterinary qualifications—even if they were fairly new. “It’s such a surprise.”

By now, Jessie couldn’t hide her curiosity. “I didn’t realize you knew each other.”

“We don’t,” Rachel said hastily.

He corrected her. “We’ve met.”

“I see,” Jessie said with a chuckle. “Well, while you two are deciding, Dylan can help me clean the pups and set up the examining room. Shout if you need us.”

Rachel hastily said, “Dylan can’t stay. We have to go.”

Dylan looked back. “Just a few minutes, okay?”

With a resigned sigh, Rachel agreed, fully aware of the matchmaking gleam in Jessie’s eyes. It didn’t match the annoyed gleam in his eyes when he said dryly, “My sister isn’t long on ceremony.” He held out his hand to Rachel. “I think we just got off on the wrong foot. Can we start over? I’m Jared Carlisle.”

The name suited him, both gentle and hard. Of course, he would have to be both in his line of work. But what about his personal life? Rachel placed her hand in his. She didn’t want an introduction, didn’t want to know this man who looked at her with eyes that saw a reflection of her twin sister.

On that note of caution, she murmured, “Dr. Carlisle.”

He winced at her formality. “If you insist. But I prefer Jared. And you’re Rachel.”

“Mmm.” So, he hadn’t forgotten her name. She tugged her hand free. She felt awkward, yet unable to define why.

“I need to explain about the other day.” His gray gaze confronted hers.

Preferring to forget that first disturbing meeting, she shifted under that unwavering look. “There’s no need.”

“I think there is.” His eyes clouded. Apparently intent on dredging up the past, he continued, “What I said that day was uncalled for. I didn’t know about your sister.”

Rachel took a fortifying breath. “You and Laurel were acquainted?” Obviously, they weren’t friends.

He hesitated before saying, “I hardly knew her.”

“I see,” Rachel murmured, when she didn’t see at all. Nevertheless, she accepted his condolences without further comment. Her thoughts were private, too personal to share with a stranger who obviously had his own memories of Laurel.

“Your son resembles you,” he said.

“Dylan?” she said in confusion.

He smiled a polite sort of smile that meant less than nothing. “How many children do you have?”

“None.” She had the pleasure of wiping the smile off his face. “Dylan is my nephew.”

He recovered from his surprise. “Let me get this straight. Dylan is Laurel’s son, not yours.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I thought…”

Rachel wondered why a searing glance from this man should hurt so much. “I know what you thought.” An awkward silence hung between them. He’d obviously assumed she was Drew’s mistress. She didn’t know how to stop the gossip, short of painting a sign and wearing it around her neck.

“He called you Mom.” Jared’s voice sounded almost accusing—as if he couldn’t bear to be wrong about her.

“I’ve taken care of him since the day he was born.”

“I owe you another apology.” His gaze flickered over her. He didn’t apologize, she noted.

“Apology accepted,” Rachel snapped, making a valiant effort to contain her temper. Her head was beginning to ache from the effort. “I don’t have to explain Dylan’s existence to you or anyone else.”

At the wounded tone of her voice, Jared could feel his indifference slipping. He’d insulted her, he’d infuriated her without even trying. Before the situation deteriorated further, he decided to take control.

“Jessie must be waiting,” he said, taking the upper hand. After all, he was a vet, trained to deal with emergencies—the four-legged kind. Women, he’d discovered, were an entirely different species.

Jared opened the door to the examining room and motioned Rachel inside first. She stepped past him then stopped at the sight of some caged ferrets. The antiseptic smell mixed with the odor of animals was familiar to Jared. His lips twitched when Rachel wrinkled her delicate nose.

“Don’t you like ferrets?” he asked, pointing to the playful spine-coiled creatures.

Rachel, on the other hand, had a steel spine. “Not caged ones. Are they yours?”

“We’re boarding them for the owners.” Jared smiled at her nephew. “Hi, Dylan.”

Dylan didn’t waste any more time on pleasantries. “Do you take care of sick dogs?”

Jared reached for a sterile white lab jacket. “Yes, among other things.”

“Like what?” Dylan quizzed.

“Domestic animals—horses, cows, pigs. Then, there are animals who get sick or injured in the wild.”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Dr. Carlisle doesn’t have time for this.”

“That’s quite all right.” Jared folded his arms, amused at her hesitation. Until now, he’d been feeling like the underdog. From her tight-lipped expression, he didn’t think he’d risen very high in her estimation.

Since the trial’s end, he’d tried to get the memory of a woman standing alone in the middle of a dusty road out of his mind. But the image had stuck. And here she was in the flesh. Well, not quite. Her shorts revealed a lot of leg, however. He smiled at the irony of the situation.

Jared was also aware of his sister’s curiosity.

After the first year, the shine hadn’t rubbed off Jessie’s marriage to Ben Harding. While home for the summer, she frequently reminded Jared that he needed to find the right woman, settle down and partake in his share of marital bliss, which he had little or no intention of doing.

If he ever weakened that resolve, and that was a mighty big if, he would never consider a woman like Rachel Hale.

Would he?

“Is this the patient?” Jared eyed the basket on the examining table. Neutering livestock took up more of a country vet’s time than he cared to think about. He was looking forward to a change of pace. And a challenge. Hopefully, Rachel and her nephew would provide both—strictly professional, of course.

Liar.

Jared knew he was lying to himself. Rachel intrigued him, and he was going to get to know her better. He frowned at her red hair, pale skin, and freckles. There was something about her—something innocent. So, who was he trying to convince?

Himself?

No doubt, Rachel was clearly trouble. Maybe he needed a hobby instead of a woman—like lighting firecrackers and watching them go off—hopefully without blowing himself up in the bargain. Jared grinned at the mental image and watched her bristle. He knew she was aware of him. The attraction was mutual.

So much for heeding his father’s sage advice to stay away from “that Hale woman.”

Chapter Three

A muffled sound came from the basket.

Reminded of her reason for being there, Rachel said, “If you could just take the puppies, we’ll be going.”

Jared looked into the round wicker basket. “Puppies?”

He sounded exactly like Dylan, Rachel thought, hiding her amusement. Apparently puppies brought out the kid in grown men as well as children. She stood back and watched as Jared examined a puppy, every move sure and controlled. His hands gently explored the delicate mass of flesh and bone. What had she expected? He was a trained veterinarian after all, which meant he liked animals—perhaps better than humans, she reminded herself.

Rachel cleared her throat. “What kind of breed are they?”

“Do you want a list? Could be collie, maybe setter, or a hound.” He peered into the pup’s eyes and smiled when it blinked and yawned. “They may not have a pedigree, but they are cute.”

Rachel had to agree, but she couldn’t be responsible for them—not if it meant Dylan getting hurt if something went wrong. He’d known too much upheaval in his short life. He’d lost his mother at an early age. And now Drew.

Dylan asked, “Are they going to be okay?”

Jared examined the weakest pup. “This one’s dehydrated. We’ll keep him and try intravenous feeding, but you can take the rest home.” After placing them all back in the basket, he knelt and spoke directly to Dylan. “Without mother’s milk, they don’t have natural immunity, so infection is a risk. Keep them warm. They’ll need a special formula. We can supply that, along with some miniature bottles and soft nipples. They can have puppy food in a couple of weeks, but for now they have to be hand fed on demand.”

Dylan nodded. “Got it.”

While admiring Jared’s way of dealing gently with Dylan, Rachel didn’t appreciate having to be the bad guy and letting the boy down. “I’m sorry, but I never said we were taking them.”

Now both Dylan and Jared turned to frown at her.

Dylan pleaded, “Why can’t we take them home?”

“Because we have a dog.” At her response, she could see storm clouds gathering. “Besides, I have to work.”

“Mary Ellen will help.” Dylan was usually cooperative, but he could be stubborn when it mattered.

“I can’t ask the baby-sitter to dog-sit,” Rachel said, trying to find a logical excuse—one that Dylan would accept.

“She likes dogs,” he argued. “She said so.”

Jared stood. His height didn’t intimidate Rachel—nor did his maleness. She had experience dealing with men, and keeping them at arm’s length. In her current job at the sawmill, she dealt with loggers and truckers. Before that, she’d worked at the Inn, which catered to tourists and rugged outdoorsmen. She’d met all types. Men, in general, didn’t affect her. This one in particular did, however.

Well, she wasn’t going to let that stand in the way of her common sense. Was she? No! She was not bringing those puppies home with her—not even one. She’d done her duty, rescued them, brought them to the vet.

No one could ask more of her.

Meanwhile, Jared reeled off a list—as if she’d never raised an objection. “Keep them warm. A hot water bottle should do it. They can be adopted at eight weeks.”

Rachel asked, “How old are they now?”

“Around four weeks—more or less. Is there a problem?”

“What if Dylan gets hopelessly attached?” Rachel knew her response was out of proportion, but some instinct warned her not to get involved. “What if they don’t all make it?”

Jared countered in a reasonable tone, “There’s always a risk, but animals can teach young children about life.”

Life!

What did he know about her life? Dylan was her sole responsibility. She had to deal with the fallout when things went wrong. If anything happened to her, Dylan would be all alone in the world. Rachel’s brief experience with the child care system after her parents died had left her wary.

With a persuasive note, Jared said, “Children often cope better than we think they can.”

Rachel’s glance fell on the puppies. They tumbled over each other, trying to scramble out. She had to admit, they were adorable. They were odd sizes with different coloring—some tan, some black, some mixed with white patches. One pup scrambled atop the others and whined pathetically. Dylan picked it up, cradling it in the palm of his small hand. It fit snugly.

“I won’t get attached,” he promised, his hazel eyes full of puppy love. “Honest!”

Rachel sighed. “Oh, Dylan…I know you. I wish I could say yes, but I can’t.”

Rachel tightened her lips, refusing to belabor the point. After all, this man was a stranger. Easy for him to voice his opinion and claim children should be exposed to some hard knocks in life, but a degree in veterinary medicine didn’t make him an expert on children. Dylan was hers; he’d already “coped” too often and experienced too much loss. She knew all about Dylan’s insecurities, his fear of losing the people he loved. Only time would heal his losses. And hers.

A few days later, Jared was on hand when his father passed his medical physical with flying colors.

“Keep an eye on your blood pressure and watch out for cholesterol,” Dr. Peterson advised, fixing Ira with a stern look. “That’s an order.”

Ira calmly buttoned his shirt. “Thought that little yellow pill was supposed to take care of that.”

“Only if combined with proper diet and exercise.”

“Man don’t need exercise if he does an honest day’s work.” Ira patted his chest. “Besides, this here pacemaker keeps everything ticking. Never thought I’d be wired up like a time bomb, but there you go. You know, Doc, you ought to try it. Might recharge your battery.”

Doc Peterson scowled. “Oh, get out of here. You should have enough pills for a month. Jared can bring you back then.”

Ira frowned. “I can drive myself.”

“No, you can’t! And that’s final! Jared or Jessie can drive you around.”

Jared tried to defuse the situation. “Dad, you’re on the losing end of this argument.” His father had taught him how to drive when he was sixteen. Taking away the car keys was one of the hardest things Jared had ever done.