Somebody's Baby Read online

  “John, I’m pregnant.”

  He sat back and looked at the bare wall opposite him. He was mistakenly caught in someone else’s life. He had to be.

  “Did you hear me?” Caroline Prater’s voice, though soft, seemed to grate.

  “I’m sorry.” He turned to look at her. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m pregnant.”

  Uh-huh. Well. What did he do now? “I, uh, I’m sorry,” he told her. “I don’t really know what to say.”

  “I had to tell you. You have a right to know.”

  This was a right?

  “Aren’t you going to ask if it’s yours?”

  His eyes met hers. Their brown depths were as luminous as he remembered them. Her slim, strong, perfectly curved body was pretty impressive, but it was those eyes that had captivated him that cold December night in Kentucky. What, six weeks ago?

  “I’m assuming you wouldn't be here if it wasn’t.”

  Dear Reader,

  Whether you’ve been to Shelter Valley before or find yourself here for a first visit—welcome! It’s never too late to join us in this town—a home away from home for many readers around the world. Shelter Valley has become a place of refuge, of hope and happiness, of new beginnings, of strength through adversity, of life.

  If you’re here for the first time, don’t worry. So is Caroline Prater. Join this intelligent but uneducated farm girl as she comes to town with a big heart…and some shocking secrets. You’ll travel with her from her home in Kentucky, find a boardinghouse, meet the residents of Caroline’s new town. And if you’ve been here before, I think you’ll enjoy seeing the world of Shelter Valley through her eyes. You’ll meet old friends and find out what they’re up to, how they’ve fared since you saw them last. Pretty much everyone you’ve met in Shelter Valley appears in Somebody’s Baby.

  Don’t let me give you the impression that this is going to be a lighthearted romp through town. It’s not. Caroline and John and the rest of the Shelter Valley residents are living life—real life—with its ups and downs, its fears and hardships. They ask questions of themselves and each other, the same questions we all ask. Hard questions that don’t always have answers. Certainly not easy answers…

  So come to Shelter Valley! We’re waiting. With refuge and hope, the promise of happiness, the possibility of new beginnings and—most of all—with the belief that love truly is the greatest thing of all.

  Tara Taylor Quinn

  I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me at P.O. Box 13584, Mesa, Arizona 85216 or through my Web site at www.tarataylorquinn.com.

  TARA TAYLOR QUINN

  SOMEBODY’S BABY

  For all the members of my family, blood and otherwise, who manage to hang on through all my life’s changes and love me, regardless. Who accept my love for them, regardless. You’ve shown me the real life strength of love—a knowledge I now share with the world.

  Books by Tara Taylor Quinn

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  567—YESTERDAY’S SECRETS

  584—MCGILLUS V. WRIGHT

  600—DARE TO LOVE

  624—NO CURE FOR LOVE

  661—JACOB’S GIRLS

  696—THE BIRTH MOTHER

  729—ANOTHER MAN’S CHILD

  750—SHOTGUN BABY

  784—FATHER: UNKNOWN

  817—THE HEART OF CHRISTMAS

  836—HER SECRET, HIS CHILD

  864—MY BABIES AND ME

  943—BECCA’S BABY*

  949—MY SISTER, MYSELF*

  954—WHITE PICKET FENCES*

  1027—JUST AROUND THE CORNER*

  1057—THE SECRET SON

  1087—THE SHERIFF OF SHELTER VALLEY*

  1135—BORN IN THE VALLEY*

  1171—FOR THE CHILDREN

  1189—NOTHING SACRED*

  1225—WHAT DADDY DOESN’T KNOW

  HARLEQUIN SINGLE TITLE

  SHELTERED IN HIS ARMS*

  MIRA BOOKS

  WHERE THE ROAD ENDS

  STREET SMART

  HIDDEN

  THE RESIDENTS OF SHELTER VALLEY

  Will Parsons: Dean of Montford University.

  Becca Parsons: Mayor of Shelter Valley, wife of Will.

  Bethany Parsons: Daughter of Becca and Will.

  Ben Sanders: Husband of Tory, cousin of Sam Montford.

  Tory Sanders: Wife of Ben.

  Alex Sanders: Daughter of Ben, stepdaughter of Tory.

  Phyllis Christine Sanders: Daughter of Ben and Tory.

  Randi Foster: Sister of Will Parsons, married to Zack Foster. Manages women’s athletic department at Montford.

  Zack Foster: Veterinarian. Husband of Randi.

  Cassie Montford: Veterinarian. Married to Sam Montford.

  Sam Montford: Descended from the founder of the town. Married to Cassie.

  James Montford: Father of Sam, married to Carol.

  Mariah Montford: Adopted daughter of Sam and Cassie.

  Phyllis Sheffield: Psychologist. Prominent in psychology department at Montford. Married to Matt Sheffield.

  Matt Sheffield: Married to Phyllis. Works in theater at Montford University.

  Calvin and Clarissa Sheffield: Twin children of Phyllis and Matt.

  Beth Richards: Found refuge for herself and her son after escaping abusive ex-husband. Married to Greg Richards.

  Greg Richards: Sheriff of Shelter Valley. Married to Beth.

  Bonnie Neilson: Sister of Greg. Runs local day care. Married to Keith Neilson.

  Katie Neilson: Daughter of Bonnie and Keith.

  Martha Moore: Friend of Becca Parsons. Married to David Cole Marks, minister.

  Ellen Moore Hanaran: Martha’s daughter, married to Aaron.

  John Strickland: Architect. Widower. Originally from Chicago.

  Caroline Prater: New to Shelter Valley…

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  “ARE YOU CRAZY, Ma? You’ve lived in Grainville your whole life!” Caroline Prater could hear her son clearly, even with the phone held at arm’s length. “You can’t just pack up and move across the country all by yourself! And where is Shelter Valley, anyway? I’ve never even heard of the place. This is nuts! I knew I should never have left home….”

  “It’s in Arizona, Jess.” She moved the phone close enough to speak into the mouthpiece, but kept the earpiece as far from her head as she could.

  Sitting on the front porch of the little white farmhouse she’d lived in for almost eighteen years, Caroline snuggled more deeply into her old winter coat and pushed gently against the ground with one booted foot, setting the aged rocker in motion—and waited for Jesse to slow down enough to be able to listen to her. At not quite thirty-five, she was far too young to have a son who was a freshman at Harvard.

  And way too old to be in her current predicament.

  “What about Gram and Papa? And Grandma and Grandpa? You can’t just leave them….” Her parents. And Randy’s. She shored up her defenses against the twinge of guilt as Jesse’s words hit their mark. Randy’s parents had taken his death hard. He’d been their only son. Seeing her seemed to make things worse. And they had four daughters in
Grainville—four sons-in-law. They’d be fine.

  But her parents… Caroline looked out over the slush-covered two-acre yard in front of the house. She was going to have to get out the plow to smooth the potholes in the two dirt paths that served as a driveway or she’d never get her little and embarrassingly old pickup out of the gate.

  She was going to miss her parents terribly, especially her mother, but there were things about her parents—about her father—that Jesse didn’t know. And something about her that no one knew.

  “Why didn’t you say anything when I was home at Christmas, Ma?”

  “Because I hadn’t made up my mind then.”

  “It was only a week ago!”

  Their first Christmas without Randy had been hard on all of them. It was harder on Caroline than anyone knew. Not only had she just lost the man she’d loved since childhood, but she’d suddenly become far too aware that, other than Jesse, none of the family with whom she’d been surrounded all her life were actually related to her. That had never been an issue before.

  Jesse went on for another five minutes, reminding her about her responsibilities to the small cattle farm she and Randy had worked for the nearly eighteen years they’d been married.

  He was right about that.

  And he talked about her friends. All women who were resigned, most of them happily, to living out the lives that had been mapped for them in Grainville since the day they were born. The girls she’d gone to school with who’d stayed in town after graduation were married, with high-school-aged children.

  Her son reminded her how unsafe it was for a woman to travel alone these days. Since Randy was killed when the tractor he was riding had exploded last summer, Jesse had taken to warning her about everything. Mostly she only half listened—just in case he said something she needed to hear, although that wasn’t usually the case. Who did he think had been taking care of her—and him—all his life?

  “I can’t believe you aren’t listening to me!”

  Taking off a mitten, she glanced at her nails. They’d need to be fixed before she dared leave this town. “I’m listening, Jess.”

  “No, you aren’t.” His tone was filled with disgust. “I’m just gonna have to come home.”

  “No, you aren’t.” She didn’t raise her voice as she repeated his words back to him. She didn’t need to; Jesse knew the tone.

  At seventeen, Jesse Randall Prater, one of the youngest freshmen at Harvard, was intelligent beyond his years, and also emotionally young. She’d been living with his outbursts of frustration most of his life. And giving them the credibility they deserved—which was none.

  He huffed. And then again.

  As she stared down at the peeling wood floor of the porch, a strand of auburn hair fell forward over her shoulder. It was clean. And that was about all she could say for it. Panic filtered down from her throat to her stomach. She couldn’t afford some fancy hair salon.

  And she was never going to pass for anything other than what she was—an uneducated country bumpkin—if she showed up in Shelter Valley looking like this. Her clothes were all wrong. Old jeans. Homemade shirts. Her makeup, which she’d worn maybe three times in the past year, had come from the grocery store in town. And she didn’t own a single pair of shoes that hadn’t, at some time or other, been in contact with cow manure.

  “I don’t get it, Ma. There’s something you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”

  Caroline tensed. Her smart boy was back. It was the moment she’d been waiting for. And dreading.

  I’m prepared, she reminded herself. Just do it like you practiced it last night. And the night before that. And the night before…

  “Yes, my new cell number, for one.” She rattled it off. “If you need me for anything in the next week, until I get settled and perhaps have a more permanent number, you can reach me on that.”

  He repeated the number. “I’m glad you got a cell,” he added. “You’re there all by yourself, driving back and forth to town with no one at home to know if you made it okay. You need a cell phone. And with the extra field we planted last year, you can afford it.”

  “Jess, I’m moving.”

  He swore again. And in the space of a second switched from maturing young man to little boy. “You can’t move, Ma! Grainville’s our home!”

  Perhaps, but she couldn’t dwell on that. Not if she was going to be able to leave.

  “It’s a town with a house. A mostly empty house.”

  He was quiet again. Caroline, desperately needing to fill the silence, to tell him the rest of why she’d called, didn’t know what to say. She’d forgotten all her well-rehearsed lines. Her little boy was hurting and she was trapped by life’s circumstances and couldn’t help him.

  More trapped than anyone knew.

  “So, what is it you aren’t telling me?” His words, when they finally came, were soft, compassionate.

  Caroline’s recently rehearsed lines popped into her chaotic brain. “You know I’m adopted.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  The phone wasn’t the right way to do this. It was, however, her best shot at getting through while standing her ground. An uneducated country woman, Caroline understood her role—to be accommodating and obedient. And fell into it all too easily.

  “Jess? Hear me out, okay? Without judgment or commentary?”

  A pause. Then he said, “Sorry—yeah, I’ll listen.”

  “Remember when I told you last fall about going through all the boxes in the cellar?” That first month after he’d left for school she’d thought she was going to die. Had prayed to die. Newly widowed with her only child gone, she’d never felt so alone. Her life seemed pointless, as if it might as well be over. Burying herself in memories, sorting them, preserving them, had been her only way to stay alive.

  “Yeah. You sent me that comic Dad drew in high school.” Randy had only been dead a couple of months before Jesse left for college. But the rift between him and the boy who looked so much like him had been in place long before that. They’d just been so completely different….

  “I took some things to Gram one day, too, some old pictures. And after seeing them, she brought up a box from her cellar and gave it to me.”

  “What was in it?”

  Caroline gave a shove against the ground, scraped the almost threadbare fabric of her jeans with one finger, willing her queasy stomach to calm. “She wouldn’t tell me, wouldn’t let me look until I got home, wouldn’t talk about it at all. It was little—an old stationery box.” It had pink roses all over it. Caroline couldn’t imagine her mother ever having written a letter on a piece of paper covered with pink roses.

  “So what was in it?” Jesse’s voice was quiet now. But it still sounded as though he was waiting to take charge.

  “A letter. And a ring.”

  Glancing at the bare hand growing pink with cold, Caroline studied the ring she’d worn since that day—although normally, when she was with other people, it was on a chain around her neck.

  “It’s the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen,” she told her son. “A sapphire. Set in gold.”

  “Where’d it come from?” Jesse asked. And then, before she could answer, he burst out, “If it’s so great, why did Gram have it stuffed away in some old box in the basement?”

  “The letter—and ring—were from my birth mother.” Caroline blinked as her eyes blurred, still staring at that ring. Jesse was going to think her a fool. Her father—and Randy’s—would surely agree with him. And maybe she was.

  Still…

  “Who was she? Some teenager who got knocked up?”

  “Jesse Randall Prater!” Caroline’s cold cheeks burned, every nerve beneath her skin tensing. Did her son think of her with that same disrespect?

  And if so, God help her, what would he think of her now?

  “Well, isn’t that why you had me, Ma? Because you knew what it felt like to be given away and you couldn’t bear to do that to anyone else?”

/>   She’d forgotten he knew that. It wasn’t a part of her life that she talked about—it wasn’t part of the reason she normally gave. But once, when Jesse had been about fourteen, and his father had taken his own insecurities out on his son, leaving the child feeling insignificant and unwanted, she’d told him her secret. That she hadn’t just kept him because she’d loved his father and wanted to get married. Or because his maternal grandparents, who’d never been able to have children of their own, were fully supportive of their sixteen-year-old pregnant daughter, offering to help wherever they could to make it possible for her to keep her child. She’d kept him because she didn’t ever want him to feel unworthy of life’s basic necessities—food, shelter and unconditional love.

  She’d never, for one second, regretted the decision. But there were times when being Jesse’s mother hurt. A lot.

  “I’m sorry, Ma.” The apology came after only a minute of silence. She’d have waited ten if that was what it took. “You’re just freaking me out with all this going-away stuff.”

  Jesse was scared. So was she. Terrified.

  “My birth mother was well into her forties when she had me. My father was in his early fifties. She’d gone through menopause. They thought pregnancy was impossible.”

  “Wow,” Jesse said softly. “You’d think, being that old, they’d have been able to provide for a kid.”

  Pulling both knees to her chest, Caroline laid her head on them, the worn denim soft against her cheeks as she gazed out at the yard that had barely changed since she’d moved there at seventeen. The old red maple tree was bigger. But it had already been huge. They’d put up a new fence ten years before. And the mailbox had been replaced when the old one was knocked down by a snowplow when Jesse was still a toddler.

  “They did provide for one,” she told her son. “They just couldn’t manage two.”