Elizabeth Lane - The Santana Heir

Emilio reread both letters. Arturo had never wanted to father a child out of wedlock. The impulsive Cassidy must have caught him off guard, without protection. But what mattered now was that Arturo had left a son—a boy who, by now, would be almost a year old.

Legitimate or not, there was no way Emilio would turn his back on his own flesh and blood. Especially when that child could be the key to carrying on the Santana legacy. Maybe this Grace Chandler person would be amenable to some kind of arrangement. If not, he had the means to exercise his family’s legal rights.

Writing or calling would only complicate matters. He would leave for Arizona tomorrow.

Tucson, Arizona

“How about some lunch, big boy?” Grace lifted Zac out of the jogging stroller and carried him into the house. At eleven months, he was getting heavy. Soon he’d be walking. Then she’d really have her hands full.

Buckling him into his high chair she washed his hands, gave him some finger food and kept an eye on him as he fed himself. Cassidy’s son was a beautiful child, with ebony curls and heart-melting brown eyes. His coloring would have come from his Peruvian father. But when Grace looked at the little boy, it was Cassidy she saw looking back at her.

Ever since she had found out that Cassidy was pregnant—and that it was unlikely she would live to raise her son herself—it had been Grace’s plan to adopt her stepsister’s baby. The paperwork had taken months, but now the wait was almost over. In a few weeks she would finalize the process that would make Zac her legal son—the only child she could ever have.

Splat! A chunk of cooked, mashed carrot hit her cheek and stuck there. Zac grinned and giggled, showing his new baby teeth. Throwing food was his newest discovery, and he was good at it.

“That’s quite an arm you’ve got, mister. We should think about baseball later on.” Laughing, she boosted him out of the chair and untied his bib. “Time to wash up. Let’s go.”

Zac had managed to get as much lunch on his face and hands as in his mouth. As she passed the hallway mirror, Grace caught a glimpse of herself with the baby in her arms. The two of them looked like they’d been in a food fight. In the few seconds it had taken her to cross the small kitchen, he’d smeared the front of her white T-shirt and coated a lock of her hair. Between her morning run and Zac’s meal, she was a sweaty, sticky mess. As soon as the little mischief-maker was down for his nap, she’d be ready for a shower.

Grace had just stepped into the bathroom with the baby when the front doorbell rang.

Talk about timing... It was most likely a delivery or a salesperson. Maybe if she didn’t answer, the caller would give up and leave.

But the bell rang again, more insistently this time. With a sigh of surrender, Grace switched the baby to her left hip, strode to the front door and opened it.

The tall, dark man on the porch was a stranger. But Grace recognized him from his photos in the supermarket tabloids, usually with some actress or model draped on his arm. The Peruvian Playboy, one scandal sheet had dubbed him.

Arturo Santana’s brother wouldn’t just drop by to say hello. Grace’s stomach knotted as she met his piercing eyes. Emilio Santana, she sensed, had come here for a reason. And that reason must have something to do with Zac.

Clasping the baby, Grace braced herself for trouble.

* * *

Emilio’s gaze took in the woman and child. She was athletically built, her long, tanned legs stretching from white running shoes to black nylon shorts. Strings of dark blond hair had escaped from her sweatband to dangle around her carrot-smudged face. Wide hazel eyes—her most striking feature—blazed defiance. With her golden coloring and challenging manner, she reminded him of a lioness defending her cub.

As for the baby... Something jerked around Emilio’s heart as he studied the boy. The dark Latino coloring was like his own family’s, but he could see traces of Cassidy, as well. Dirty face and all, the child was perfection.

So this was Arturo’s son.

He found his voice. “Grace Chandler? My name is Emilio Santana.”

“I know who you are.” Her arms tightened around the baby. “My question is, what are you doing here?”

“This may take some time. May I come in?”

“Of course.” Despite the courteous words, she was visibly bristling with distrust as she stepped aside for him to enter. The house was small but tastefully furnished and well kept. Emilio saw no sign of a man about the place, and the woman wasn’t wearing a ring. Good—that would make things simpler.

“Please sit down,” she said, nodding toward a leather armchair. “When you rang the doorbell, I was about to clean up this baby and change him. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Take your time. I can wait.”

As she headed down the hall, Emilio settled back in the chair. He was grateful for the chance to compose his thoughts. The impact of seeing his brother’s son had staggered him. He was still grappling with his emotions. But one thing was already certain. Young Zac was his last link to Arturo and the heir to the Santana name. The boy was Emilio’s insurance that, whether he married or not, the family legacy would continue. He would not be going back to Peru without him.

As for the boy’s aunt... He’d managed some online research during his private flight from Lima. Grace Chandler, he’d learned, was an accomplished children’s book illustrator. The website he’d found hadn’t included a photo, so her chiseled, blonde good looks had come as a pleasant surprise—especially those long, golden legs...

But he would tuck that thought away for a more suitable time.

He surveyed the small room—the colorful cushions, the shelves filled with books, the thriving green plants in handmade pots and the guitar propped in one corner. Everything looked comfortable and well cared for, though certainly a far cry from the luxury he was accustomed to.

His wandering gaze found a photograph on a low shelf. It showed Cassidy, leaning over an iron railing with the sky behind her. Her emerald eyes were dancing, her rich auburn hair fluttering in the wind. His throat tightened. How could anyone so full of life be gone?

Those weeks that she’d stayed in their home she’d seemed in perfect health. But now Emilio remembered the headaches that had plagued her every few days. Had Cassidy known, even then, that she was dying?

Was it possible that she’d set out to get pregnant with Arturo’s child?

Emilio burned with questions—and his only hope of answers lay with Grace Chandler.

* * *

Grace’s hands shook as she taped Zac’s diaper in place and fastened the clean blue onesie between his plump little legs. At least now he’d look presentable for...dared she even think the word? His uncle?

How could this have happened? After Arturo’s letter, she’d believed it was safe to go ahead with the adoption. She’d started making a lifetime of plans for her stepsister’s son. Now a dark-eyed stranger who’d appeared out of nowhere could change everything. Had Arturo sent him, or had Emilio Santana come on his own?

More important, what did he want?

Settling Zac in the safety of his crib, she pulled off her soiled shirt and replaced it with a clean, black V-necked top. That done, she yanked off her terry cloth sweatband, splashed her face clean and gave her shoulder-length hair a few licks with the brush—after rinsing away the traces of carrot mush. Even as she tidied up, she knew her appearance didn’t matter. She wasn’t the one her visitor had come to see. Her instincts told her that Emilio Santana had come for Zac.

And she meant to fight him with everything she had.

He rose as she returned to the living room with Zac in her arms. In faded jeans, an open-necked white shirt and casual black jacket he looked as elegant as a movie hero. It occurred to Grace that she could’ve taken the baby, crept out the back door and driven away in her car. But she knew it wouldn’t have made any difference. A man like Emilio Santana would have the means to track her down anywhere.