Loree Lough - Raising Connor

Before those punishing meetings at the bank and funeral parlor, he might have disagreed, based solely on what her brother-in-law had told him. But he knew better now.

“All I meant,” he said in his defense, “is that I’ll make sure Connor gets to know his dad.”

“You’ll make sure?”

“I’ll help, I mean. If it’s okay with you.”

Brooke looked up at him through her thick lashes. “Why wouldn’t that be okay with me?”

Oh, I don’t know…maybe because you believe I killed your mother?

She avoided his gaze. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m in no position to turn down any help that’s offered.”

She’d easily convinced both bank managers that Connor would soon become her son, legally. If Hunter didn’t have that DVD from her brother-in-law to suggest otherwise, she might have convinced him, too.

Dear Reader,

Tragedy. Sooner or later, we collide with it, head-on. It tests our mettle, and whether we pass or fail that test depends on what we do when the dust settles. Dust ourselves off and plow forward…or let it hover over our lives like a dark cloud?

Secrets. We all have a few. Some (kept to surprise a bride- or mom-to-be, or the child who finds a cuddly puppy under the Christmas tree) are good. Others are harmless, like our little trick for housebreaking that puppy, or the secret ingredient in our spaghetti sauce. Still others (that exam we cheated on in college, the time we fudged on our taxes, finding out that our best friend is cheating on her husband), not so good.

Though we go to extreme measures to guard those not-so-good secrets, life goes on. We find innovative ways of coping, so we can pretend, for a few moments at a time, anyway, that the dark cloud doesn’t exist. And we’ll do just about anything to take those ugly secrets to the grave.

But imagine how it might feel if the person you most admire already knows your darkest secret, like Hunter Stone, who thinks he’s responsible for a young mother’s death, or Brooke Wright, who agrees with him?

That question is the cornerstone of Raising Connor .

The dilemma reminds me of a line from an old song that goes something like “…into each life a little rain must fall.” When tragedy blows into Hunter’s and Brooke’s lives, they’re forced to choose: set aside more than a decade of resentment to care for an innocent, orphaned baby boy? Or allow misunderstandings to brew into a fierce storm that will destroy them all?

It’s my hope, dear reader, that you’ll never face a life storm like that, but if you do, I pray you’ll look for the rainbow overhead that will lead you from the darkness and into the soft, warm light of enduring love.

All my very best to you,

Loree

Raising Connor

Loree Lough

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LOREE LOUGHWith more than four million books in circulation, bestselling author Loree Lough’s titles have earned five movie options, hundreds of four- and five-star reviews, and industry awards. She splits her time between her home in Baltimore and a cabin in the Allegheny Mountains, where she loves to show off her “Identify the Animal Tracks” skills. Loree has one hundred books in print, including reader-favorite series such as the First Responders, Lone Star Legends, Accidental, Suddenly and Turning Points. She loves to hear from readers and answers every letter, personally. Visit her at Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and www.loreelough.com!

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Raising Connor is dedicated to Larry, the real-life hero who makes it easy to write about men who make their women feel loved and respected. To my beautiful daughters, who grew up and became my dearest friends, and blessed me with loveable “gran-dorables.” To my dedicated agent Steve Laube, and my astute editor, Victoria Curran; their guidance is priceless. Last (but certainly not least), I dedicate this story to my readers, whose letters and emails inspire me to continue writing…no matter what.

Acknowledgments

Heartfelt thanks to all the helpful individuals and agency personnel who helped make Raising Connor a more realistic and believable story: Howard County Department of Social Services, attorney Harry B. Siegel, the courageous crew of the Key West Coast Guard Station and dear friend Pam Jansen, author of How I Became a Fearless Woman .

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

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER ONE

JACK STEERED THE squad car into the convenience store parking lot. “Okay, probie, fess up. How long without sleep now? A week?”

“More like three days.” Hunter frowned, wishing he hadn’t taken that extra shift so his buddy could be with his wife in the delivery room. “And I slept. Some.”

“Uh-huh.” Jack shifted into Park. “If you say so.” He turned off the motor. “I have a hankering for one of those any-way-you-want-it sandwiches.”

Hunter groaned. “You stood in line fifteen minutes last time you ordered one of those artery cloggers.”

Jack sang a verse of “If You’ve Got the Money I’ve Got the Time” as he got out of the cruiser, then leaned back in long enough to say, “You coming?”

“Better not. I have some stuff to enter into the computer.” They sure loaded down the new guys on the force with the grunt work. He only hoped he could find enough hours in the day to do everything he had to, plus sleep and survive probation.

“Coffee?”

“Nah. I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay, later,” the older man said as he ambled away.

The store’s ceiling-to-floor windows allowed Hunter to track Jack up and down the aisles, stacking junk food and Mountain Dew in his arms. If his partner wasn’t more health conscious, he’d die of a heart attack long before he reached retirement. When Jack stood under the Order Here sign, Hunter swiveled the keyboard closer and fired up the reports software. How much junk had his own grandfather and father—not to mention his uncles and brothers—choked down during their years in uniform, he wondered.

Yawning, he made note of the time...two minutes after three...then leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes. Jack didn’t know it yet, he thought, grinning, but when he returned, he’d be on the receiving end of some ribbing for a change.

Frantic shouting and gunfire startled Hunter awake. The dashboard clock was the last thing he saw as he bolted out of the car: four minutes after three. He’d fallen dead asleep in just two minutes?