Jill Limber - Secrets Of An Old Flame

Could Joe be right? She lifted Michael to her shoulder and absently patted his back. Had her father decided the money was more important than her, his only child?

She wasn’t sure she could handle that truth.

Tension bunched the muscles between her shoulder blades into a hard knot.

“Nikki, dear, are you all right?” Carey was on his feet, coming around the desk.

“Yes. You took me by surprise.” Nikki waved him back to his chair.

“I’m sorry. I thought you had entertained the possibility…” The attorney’s voice trailed away.

His words mingled with the strains of classical music that drifted quietly out of hidden speakers.

She’d denied the possibility her father was anything but a victim from the beginning. The alternative hurt too much. She wanted to keep on denying, but now it sat like a rock on her chest, making breathing difficult.

Had he murdered his secretary and taken millions from his company, then run off without a word to her?

Carey’s voice droned on and she fought to pay attention.

“It is only a chance. After all, there’s bound to be a false sighting or two after all the publicity. I’m checking it out.”

She grasped at his explanation like a drowning woman would grab a life ring. It hadn’t been her father in Martinique. It must have been someone who resembled her father. He couldn’t steal and murder. And he loved her too much to abandon her.

As much as she wanted to leave and not face the possibility Mr. Carey had just raised, she didn’t have that luxury. She had to think of Michael now.

“Is there a chance we can get the court to separate the house from the Fortuna bankruptcy?” Her great-grandfather had built the home and it had always been in the family, but she’d have to sell it. There was no way she could afford to live there.

“It’s possible, I suppose, but what would be the point?” Carey asked.

Nikki was surprised at his response. “I need to sell it.”

He shot her a sympathetic look. “Nikki. I thought you knew.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, bracing herself. “Knew what?”

“It’s mortgaged to the hilt. If it wasn’t for the Federal seizure the bank would have sold it months ago. No payment has been made on any of the loans for a year.”

Nikki felt as if she’d taken a blow to her midsection. She managed to get through the rest of the appointment and ask the questions she needed answered about selling off her personal belongings before Michael began whimpering from hunger.

She stood and picked up her bag. “I want to thank you, Mr. Carey. I appreciate all your help.”

Always the gentleman, Carey came to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.”

His phone began to ring. She gestured for him to stay where he was. “I know the way. I’ll be in touch.”

She walked to the reception area and was wrestling with the stroller when the main door to the offices opened and Don Carey, Fielder Carey’s nephew and junior partner, came through the door.

He looked startled to see her, and a strange look passed over his face when he spotted Michael in her arms.

“Nikki, hello!” He recovered his composure and took the stroller from her, snapping it open.

“Hello, Don. How have you been?” A few years ago her father and Fielder had tried very hard to play matchmaker for herself and Don, but there hadn’t been any chemistry between them and the relationship had ended badly when she had refused to date him any longer. Don didn’t take rejection very well.

“Just great. And you? Is this your baby?”

“Yes. This is Michael.”

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments until an unsmiling young woman in a business suit came through the doors after Don and handed him a file, then pointed at her watch as she walked by.

“Well,” he said shifting his weight from one foot to another, “I have a meeting.”

“It was good to see you.” It wasn’t, but Nikki knew she was expected to say something polite, even though she still remembered the ugly things he had said to her at their last meeting. He nodded and held the door for her.

She felt him staring at her as she left the law offices, but she didn’t turn around.

She walked to a nearby bus stop. After she climbed on the bus for the ride home, she settled the baby under a blanket so she could feed him. As he ate she forced herself to think about what she needed to do next. Her situation was even worse than she had thought.

She would have to find a place to live and get a job. According to Carey, she could only sell the things out of the house that had come directly to her from her mother’s estate.

The antiques and sterling should bring in enough to give her a start, but the thought of losing what little she had of her mother made her want to weep.

Nikki felt so torn about her father. She wanted to hope he was alive and well, and at the same time she was hurt beyond telling that he could leave her behind with no word.

Could he have done all the things he was accused of and turned his back on his only child? The possibility was like a deep cut. She knew it would hurt but she kept poking at it anyway.

She stared down at her son, trying to imagine leaving him, knowing she couldn’t, for any reason.

Exhausted by the stressful morning, Nikki struggled down the steps of the city bus at the stop closest to home. Michael in one arm, and the bulky stroller in the other, she ignored the grumbling of the bus driver because she was taking too long to exit.

The lighthearted little jingle played constantly on local radio and television urging everyone to take the bus had failed to mention cranky bus drivers, other passengers who brought imaginary friends with them and patrons who failed to bathe regularly, if at all. She missed her car desperately, but she’d sold it months ago to help pay for Michael’s delivery.

She whacked her elbow on the metal handhold as she lurched off the last step. The bus pulled away from the curb, belching noxious exhaust that enveloped her in an eye-stinging cloud.

She sighed, trying not to feel sorry for herself. She’d better get used to public transportation. After what her father’s attorney had just told her, it would be a long time before she would be able to afford a car. Any car.

Apparently the ride had not bothered Michael at all. He was sound asleep. She clutched him against her shoulder with one hand and struggled to unfold the unruly stroller with the other. Whoever had invented the contraption must have had a sadistic streak.

She finally got the stroller open, settled the baby and started the three block walk home. She blinked and recognized the changes in her vision as the beginning of one of her killer headaches.

Great, she thought as she squinted against the sun. Just what she needed to round out a wonderful morning.

As she pushed the stroller down the quiet residential street she concentrated on her sleeping son through a kaleidoscope of colored lights that always signaled the start of a migraine.

If she hurried home, took her medication and got herself into a dark quiet room quickly enough, she might be able to stop the pain before it blossomed into a full-blown headache.

She’d started having the headaches after she’d arrived in Canada. A doctor had told her they could be stress-related. Alone, pregnant and her father missing, she hadn’t needed an M.D. to figure that out.

Michael sucked contentedly on his fist as he slept. He usually napped during this part of the day, and that would give her a chance to lie down.

The wickedly beautiful colors that had fringed her vision disappeared and the throbbing started across her forehead. One and a half blocks, she chanted to herself. She would be home in one and a half blocks. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.