Irene Hannon - A Family to Call Her Own

Although his color was ashen, his clothes stained and rumpled, she could tell that he was handsome in a rugged sort of way. His strong profile and jaw seemed to speak of character and integrity. Yet there was a worn look about his face—a sort of deep weariness that had nothing to do with his injuries. For some reason Rebecca had the impression that he was a man who had seen it all and now viewed the world with cynicism.

Rebecca’s gaze snapped back to the road. She was letting herself get way too fanciful. Looks could be deceiving. She knew that from experience. In a few minutes she’d leave him at the hospital and probably never see this man again.

But oddly enough, the thought didn’t give her much comfort….

is an award-winning author who has been a writer for as long as she can remember. She “officially” launched her career at the age of ten, when she was one of the winners in a “complete-the-story” contest conducted by a national children’s magazine. More recently, Irene won the coveted RITA ®Award for her 2002 Love Inspired book, Never Say Goodbye. Irene, who spent many years in an executive corporate communications position with a Fortune 500 company, now devotes herself full-time to her writing career. In her “spare” time, she enjoys performing in community musical theater productions, singing in the church choir, gardening, cooking and spending time with family and friends. She and her husband, Tom—whom she describes as “my own romantic hero”—make their home in Missouri.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Anyone who welcomes one little child like this in my name welcomes me.

—Matthew 18:5

To Dorothy Hannon,

my wonderful mother and cherished friend, who gave me Isabel.

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

“That’s a lie!” Zach Wright shot to his feet and glared at the managing editor, bristling with rage. He leaned on the desk that separated them, palms flat, eyes flashing. “That’s a lie!” he repeated furiously.

“I’m sure it is,” Ted Larsen replied calmly, not at all intimidated by Zach’s threatening posture. “But are you willing to reveal your sources to prove it isn’t?”

“You know I can’t do that!”

Ted shrugged. “Then we’ve got to play it their way. For now.”

“Why?” Zach demanded hotly. “I’m telling you, this information is solid. I wouldn’t use it if it wasn’t.”

“I know that,” Ted conceded. “But Simmons is getting pressure on this—big-time. They’re threatening to sue.”

“It’s just a scare tactic,” Zach retorted scornfully, waving the excuse aside dismissively with an impatient gesture. “My information is good.”

“You’re probably right about the scare tactic. But it worked. For the moment, anyway. It’s not easy being a lucrative publisher in this day and age, Zach. You know that. Simmons is just being cautious.”

Zach gave a snort of disgust. “I can think of a better word for it.”

“Look, we’ll work this out. I know your information isn’t falsified. We just have to prove it.” Ted paused, as if carefully weighing his next words, anticipating the reaction. “And until we do, we’re going to kill the series.”

With a muttered oath, Zach turned away in frustration, jamming his hands into his pockets as he strode over to the window and stared out at the city streets. St. Louis could be a beautiful city, he thought. But on this dreary February day it was just plain ugly—the same as his mood. This whole experience was leaving a decidedly bad taste in his mouth. “Whatever happened to printing the truth?” he asked bitterly. “I thought that was our job.”

“It is,” Ted acknowledged. “But Simmons’s job is to keep the paper solvent. He’s not willing to risk a lawsuit.”

“So we just let them get away with it?” He turned back to face the editor, his eyes still blazing. “Ted, the corruption in that office is rampant—misuse of public funds, a rigged bidding process based on nepotism instead of price, blatant bribery—what am I supposed to do, forget about it?”

“No. Just lie low for a while. In fact, why don’t you take some time off? How many weeks have you accumulated, anyway? Five, six?”

“Eight.”

“When was the last time you took a real vacation?”

Zach shook his head impatiently. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe you’re due.”

“I don’t want to take a vacation!” Zach snapped. “I’m not running away from this story, Ted! I’ll stand behind my coverage even if the paper won’t!”

“We’re not asking you to run away,” Ted replied evenly. “Just give it a little time. If you don’t want to take some time off, we can assign you to another story while we straighten out this mess.”

“Like what?”

Ted pulled a file toward him. “Looks like the St. Genevieve area is going to get hit with another flood. I need somebody down there to cover it.”

Zach stared at the editor as if he’d gone crazy. “You’re kidding, right?”

Ted adjusted his glasses and looked across the desk at the younger man, the sudden glint of steel in his eyes making Zach wary. Ted had come up through the ranks, done a stint as an investigative reporter himself before taking over the editor job, and his staff respected his skill and integrity. But they also knew that his usual affable, easygoing manner was quite deceptive. He could be unrelenting and as tough as nails when he had to be. And now, as he fixed his razor-sharp eyes on Zach, it was clear that the conversation was over.

“No, Zach, I’m not,” he said, his tone edged with iron.

“You’re overreacting to this situation, whether you realize it or not. You need some time to decompress. Nobody can maintain the intensity, keep up the pace you set, month after month, year after year, without wearing down. You need a change of scene, a different focus, a fresh perspective. You can do that by taking the flood coverage assignment—or by taking a vacation. It’s your choice. But those are the only options.”

Zach frowned and took one hand off the wheel to flip on the overhead light, then glanced down at the map lying on the seat next to him. His city beat rarely took him more than a few miles south of town, and this part of the state was totally unfamiliar to him. St. Genevieve must be the next exit, he decided, though it was hard to tell in the dense fog that had reduced visibility to practically zero and obscured most of the highway signs.

Zach tugged at the knot of silk constricting his throat and drew in a relieved breath as the fabric gave way slightly. He didn’t like ties. Never had. But dinner with the publisher was definitely a “tie” occasion. Even though dinner had ended late, he’d wanted to get settled in and start his interviews for the flood piece first thing in the morning.

At least Simmons had had the guts to discuss the situation with him face-to-face, he thought grudgingly. The publisher had assured him that the paper stood behind him, that they had confidence in his reporting. But they’d still pulled the series. And as far as Zach was concerned, actions spoke louder than words.