Lisette Belisle - Her Sister's Secret Son

Jared had once owned a dog named Sunny.

And Laurel had known about it.

In a daze, Jared stared down at Dylan’s unruly red hair, freckles and wide hazel eyes. Of all places to find out—in the middle of the street on a busy afternoon.

Jared shook his head, feeling as if his world had tilted and remained permanently askew. Dylan’s hair color matched Rachel’s; the boy’s eyes were an indefinite hazel; but there was that dimpled chin, and nose—so similar to Jessie’s baby.

But the resemblance was indecisive. Dylan didn’t look like Drew or Jared; he looked like himself—like a Hale.

But what about Sunny?

The dog’s name could be a coincidence, Jared reasoned, trying to maintain calm. Surely, if there was a blood tie, he’d feel some emotional connection to the boy.

But he felt nothing; in fact, he felt numb.

Cars swept past them, reminding him that this wasn’t the time, nor the place, to get the answers he needed.

Help came from an unexpected source. At some point—Jared wasn’t sure exactly when—his father and Fred had joined them. When Jared introduced Rachel and her nephew, Fred merely looked curious, while Ira looked disapproving.

“Fool chance you took,” Ira said, with a disparaging glance at the dog. “And all over a dumb animal.”

Dylan frowned. “That’s my dog, and she’s not dumb!”

Ira issued an unrepentant “Humph.”

If his father ever knew what a special dog could mean to a little boy, he’d obviously forgotten, Jared thought. No one could accuse Ira Carlisle of having a soft heart, least of all his son.

With Dylan visibly upset, Jared caught a glimpse of Rachel frowning at Ira, who was frowning back at her. It was a clear-cut case of instant dislike on all sides. Jared might have laughed at the situation if it wasn’t such a damn mess! The moment was surreal. They could all be related.

When Rachel felt Dylan lean against her hip, she placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Carlisle,” she said, before adding, “Dylan, that was rude. Please apologize.”

Dylan looked up at her in angry appeal. “But, he…”

Her mouth tightened. “Dylan,” she said, deliberately using her “no opposition” voice, which generally got a response.

Dylan hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Better keep a closer eye on that dog,” Ira returned.

When Jared said nothing, Rachel drew back in confusion. She and Dylan hadn’t made a hit with Ira Carlisle, but why was Jared openly distancing himself? She couldn’t deny her disappointment. Had she begun to hope for something more?

Every feminine instinct screamed a warning that he was all wrong for her. He could be kind—if and when it suited him; but then, he could turn it off without notice.

Only moments ago, Jared had been lying in the gutter, flirting with her; now he looked tense and edgy. His hot-and-cold attitude was beginning to annoy her.

Had she misread more than friendship in his warm gaze? Obviously, she had. Dylan was vulnerable; and she wasn’t prepared to risk her heart. Jared was definitely a risk.

She sighed.

Even surrounded by a pair of grumpy old men, he looked gorgeous. They were all three frowning at her!

Suddenly, Rachel needed to get away from Jared’s stare. Something in his eyes confused her. He’d saved Dylan’s dog. She’d stood frozen and watched it happen—terrified for Jared’s safety and the dog’s. She owed Jared her heartfelt thanks, but couldn’t quite put her heart into it. “I’m very grateful.”

His eyes flickered over her, but didn’t meet hers. “I’m glad I was on hand,” he said, equally stiff.

Rachel lifted her chin. “Excuse me, I have to go.”

She felt ridiculously let down by Jared’s coolness. It must be the heat, she argued with herself as she shoved the dog into the car. She refused to admit it could be anything else.

To her dismay, Jared gave her a hand. His arm brushed against hers. She felt a trembling heat, then cold. She climbed into the car. She turned the key in the ignition.

Jared gently closed her door. “Drive safe.” There, he’d done it again. Of all the miserable, phony, low-down…

How dare he be kind! She gave him a pasty smile. She was not attracted to Jared. She didn’t need an added complication in her life, particularly a six-foot-two, gray-eyed wolf in sheep’s clothing! She had Dylan. Love was highly overrated anyway.

Hadn’t it—or its facsimile—destroyed Laurel?

Hadn’t it eluded Rachel all her life?

The car started on the third try.

Rachel took a deep breath, then calmly bid Jared a cool farewell. She took pride in maintaining an even temper. Heaven knew she worked at it! The habit was ingrained. As a child she’d heard it often enough…Laurel was the extrovert; Rachel was more shy, more reflective. People always compared them. Even her mother always said, Laurel followed her heart, while Rachel used her head. Mama always laughed when she said it. But somehow, that had excused Laurel’s excesses and made Rachel feel less loveable. After all these years, why did it still have the power to wound?

Dylan had the last word. He attached his seat belt, then muttered under his breath, “I don’t like that man.”

Which one?

Jared watched Rachel and her nephew drive away; he felt a strong urge to follow and get some answers, but knew he couldn’t act rashly. He had to think.

After lunch at the diner, he drove home and wrestled with his conscience. Whether intentional or not, there was a real possibility that he’d abandoned Laurel when she was pregnant. Youth was no excuse. The years slid away…and he was eighteen again, and his dog had been fatally wounded in a hunting accident involving Drew and his friends. Jared went looking for Drew at the Stillwater Inn. Drew wasn’t there, but Laurel was. She served him drinks and flirted openly. She’d listened to his anger about Sunny and offered sympathy. When her shift ended, they went down to the lake and found an empty tourist cabin. He didn’t need to coax her onto the bed. She was more than willing. With her red hair spread against the pillow, Jared paused. He’d never been with a girl before, but clearly it wasn’t the first time for Laurel. She’d laughed at his clumsiness.

When it was all over, he tried to do the gentlemanly thing and asked to see her again. She laughed. Why would she choose a poor farmer? He was shocked to learn she was dating Drew Pierce. She only went with Jared to get even with Drew for taking a college girl home for the weekend. Apparently, Drew’s parents didn’t approve of Laurel. She started to cry—hot, angry tears. At that point, Jared’s fury and hurt male pride met a hollow death when he realized she was just a crazy, mixed-up kid.

He got dressed and went home, where he got into a flaming argument with his father for staying out all night. The exchange had opened old wounds and left the family in shambles. The following day, Jared left town, humiliated over Laurel, and bitter over his father’s betrayal. He never saw Laurel again. At eighteen, Jared lost his innocence. He’d never quite believed in anything since….

The truck hit a bump.

Jared glanced at his father’s slumped shoulders. Ira had been silent at lunch. Fred hadn’t said much, and neither had Jared, who couldn’t recall what he’d eaten. Whatever it was, he had a bad case of heartburn.

They dropped off Fred, then reached the turn to Stones End. At the house, Jared swung into the driveway. The motor died, and the silence of the hills closed in around him. He looked at the old farmhouse. It needed a coat of paint and a new roof. The front porch sagged. There was work to be done. The question was, where to start?

With a mental reminder to pick up some house paint, he climbed out of the truck.