Anne Winston - The Danforths - Toby, Lea and Adam

Toby reached across the seat to take Heather’s hand into his own, sending an all-too-familiar frisson vibrating through her body. The goose bumps Miss Carlisle raised along her arms a moment ago disappeared as warmth washed over her in an equally disconcerting fashion. Heather took a moment to study the hand that enveloped hers. Strong yet gentle and marked by manual labor, Toby’s hands did not look like those of a gentleman rancher whom her father might possibly approve. James Burroughs could probably forgive her daughter’s employer his rough hands and individualistic mind- set in exchange for a taste of Danforth name recognition and social prominence.

As much as Heather wanted children someday, she was grateful that Josef had not left her with a baby to raise alone—like Abraham Danforth apparently had done to some poor woman half a world away. Heather would have had little choice but to remain dependent upon her parents’ charity to make ends meet. And such charity on their behalf would undoubtedly come with shackles, rather than strings attached.

She looked up into a pair of eyes as blue as the sky that was to carry them home. Unspoken promise glittered in the depth of those eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Was it possible that not all men were like Josef or her father?

“We should talk,” Toby said.

Heather wondered how he had read her mind. His voice was a caress. It may as well have been her heart and not her hand that Toby squeezed so reassuringly. The very tenderness of his demeanor was her undoing. She hadn’t slept the night of the fund- raiser, wondering if he would ask her to resign her position. Now, remembering how she had responded so wantonly to his advances, she wondered if he might propose a more carnal relationship that had nothing to do with her job at all.

Heather reminded herself to proceed with caution. Experience taught her that one’s personal dignity is a precious commodity. As such, it shouldn’t be gambled away recklessly. The repercussions were often more insidious than one might first imagine.

She was curious to see how Toby’s uncle Abraham was going to handle the scandal to which she was privy. As with the question of where her relationship with Toby was headed, she knew it was only a matter of time before things came to a head.

“Talk?” she repeated dully. “About what?” Her voice sounded scratchy. Raw.

“About us.”

As much as Heather appreciated Toby’s candor, she was surprisingly grateful to see the airfield come into view. It was an unusual way to cure her fear of flying.

“Couldn’t it wait until we’re on board and Dylan’s asleep?”

“I suppose that would be wise,” Toby conceded with a sigh.

Heather couldn’t know that he was thinking back to all the discussions that Sheila postponed, always promising that things would get better without ever really hashing through the tough issues. She heard only the resignation in Toby’s voice and assumed that the conversation he wanted to broach was not going to be pleasant. If it would make things easier on him, she could always quit.

Even if it meant giving up a job and a family she was coming to love.

Farewells in Heather’s family were brief and dispassionate. The contrast between what she was used to and the tearful goodbyes Toby’s relatives exchanged before they were allowed to board Abraham Danforth’s private jet were startling. Ever vigilant about not intruding upon Toby and Dylan’s private lives, Heather hastened to board in advance lest she be in anyone’s way.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Miranda asked.

The hurt in her voice stunned Heather.

“I thought I’d give you some space to yourself,” she explained. Her own tone was conciliatory.

“I thought you understood that we consider you part of the family now.” That said, Miranda took Heather by the elbow and guided her into the circle of Danforths.

Genie piped up with characteristic optimism. “I hope my brother has enough sense to make it official before your next visit to Savannah.”

Presuming that “it” referred to a most unlikely wedding, Heather blushed so furiously that she would not have been surprised had her blond hair turned the color of strawberry wine. She did not miss the killing glance that Toby leveled at his sister. Shrugging it off with typical aplomb, Genie whispered something confidential in his ear.

“Don’t hold your breath, little sister,” Toby muttered.

The smile on Heather’s face faded. Although she could only imagine what transpired between them, she assumed herself to be the butt of an unflattering remark. Miranda patted her on the arm.

“Don’t mind them, dear. No matter how many times their mother has told them that it’s impolite to whisper in front of others, they persist in misbehaving. You can imagine how I earned all this gray hair raising such headstrong children.”

Heather could see little gray in Miranda Danforth’s hair. She was truly a beautiful woman. Both inside and out. Indeed, her own mother made her feel more an outsider in her own home than Miranda had a guest—and a servant at that.

“I’m sorry,” Genie said, looking truly apologetic. But then she took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I know it’s way too early to start foisting anyone as ornery as Toby on someone as sweet as you, and he seems to think you have better taste than to ever hook up with someone as ill mannered as he is. But as someone just recently married to a man who not so long ago referred to marriage as the worm that hides the hook, I feel I’m in a unique position to point out what a mistake my thickheaded brother would be making if he let you get away.”

“Genie!”

Howard Danforth seemed to be the only one able to control his daughter, with nothing more than a firm parental look. Though she ceased her teasing immediately, her eyes still twinkled mischievously. Heather wasn’t sure how to react to earning the Danforth Family Seal of Approval.

Again Howard stepped forward to intervene. “We are very grateful to you,” he said, looking at Heather directly and making her wish that her own father approved of her half as much as this veritable stranger. “What you are doing for Dylan—as well as for my son—is beyond price. We will be forever in your debt. Please come back and visit us again soon.”

Surprised how much the invitation meant to her, Heather was at a loss for words. Then a little voice said, “Bye-bye.”

The Danforths all gasped and looked at Dylan, who’d wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.

“What did you say?” Toby said, stunned.

Dylan responded with a giggle.

“He said ‘bye-bye,”’ Peter repeated, shaking his head in disbelief that all the adults gathered about had simultaneously gone deaf.

Since Peter appeared to be the only one not taken aback by Dylan’s words, Heather wondered if it was possible that the two boys had been conversing behind their backs for the past few days. Intermittent tears of joy and laughter surrounded the little imp’s accomplishment. Though Toby claimed it was all Heather’s doing, she was more inclined to think a combination of solid parenting and the unconditional support of an extended family was what prompted the child to speak up. That and an apparent eagerness to put his relatives’ mushy goodbyes behind him.

“I told you he’d talk when he was ready. And without having to be bribed with cookies, either,” Heather told Toby a tad too smugly a short while later as she cinched the seat belt around her.

She prepared for takeoff by staring straight ahead and doing her best not to hyperventilate. Dylan was still enthusiastically waving out the window to his family as their plane began to taxi down the runway.

“Give me your hand,” Toby commanded, peeling Heather’s fingers off the armrest.