Kate Kelly - A Deliberate Father

He could barely handle the thought that anyone, but especially their father, would hurt Jacob and Lacey. That the man would actually threaten their aunt Nell, the woman who was taking such good care of those kids.

Jordan took a minute before he spoke; the last thing Nell needed was another angry guy. “So you’re going to adopt them,” he said in a mild voice.

“Yeah. But I love them, too. I want to adopt them.”

How could he possibly sell the house where they lived until the adoption went through, and Nell and the kids were safe? Jordan closed his eyes, hoping the whole situation would magically disappear. But a minute later, when he opened his eyes, Nell still looked as if she was expecting her world to bottom out. Damn it. There had to be another way out of this mess.

Dear Reader,

Many of us live on a plateau for years, raising children, working, playing. But sometimes life takes a sudden turn, and we have to come out of that stasis and deal with mercurial situations. Not many people embrace change when it’s thrust upon them. Nell Hart and Jordan Tanner are no exception. They’re both so focused on their individual goals, when circumstances draw them into each other’s orbit, neither is prepared for the impact that has on their lives.

I love writing stories about ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. Although it’s a stretch to say Nell Hart is ordinary. She’s kind and compassionate and fierce in her loyalty to those she loves. She does, indeed, have heart. Jordan Tanner does, too, he just doesn’t know it. His fast track to success gets derailed when Nell and her soon-to-be-adopted niece and nephew become part of his daily life. It doesn’t take him long to realize money can’t compare to the richness of family and community.

I had fun writing about the people who live at 879 Dunstan Lane. Nell stole my heart—there’s that word again!—from day one. And who doesn’t love a man who is kind and gentle with children? I hope you enjoy their story.

I’d love to hear from you. You can email me at kate@katekelly.ca or visit my website www.katekelly.ca.

Sincerely,

Kate Kelly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Growing up in New Brunswick, Canada, Kate Kelly had long red braids and freckles. Ah, you say, Anne of Green Gables. Not quite. Sunday mornings, outside the church they both attended, Mary Grannan, the author of the Maggie Muggins series, would greet Kate with, “Good morning, Maggie Muggins. How are you today?” Kate doesn’t remember what she replied on those occasions, bedazzled by the wonderful, outlandish hats Mary Grannan wore. Kate has had a lifelong love affair with books, but writing came in fits and starts. She didn’t take it seriously until her forties. Now she can’t get along without it. She has the good fortune to still live on the east coast of Canada with her husband (the children have flown away). She writes, grow herbs and perennials and sails when the wind blows her way.

To June Kelly.

Wish you were here.

Many thanks to Lina Gardiner, the best critique partner ever!

To Norah Wilson, what a ride it’s been!

To the Domino Divas, my gang!

And, of course, to my guys, Adrian, Reed and Rei.

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JORDAN TANNER PULLED UP across the street from the faded purple monstrosity and uttered a dozen different curses, each one ending with Great-aunt Beulah. Not that he wasn’t grateful to have inherited the house—mausoleum, whatever—but he harbored no illusions. As the last Tanner standing, this legacy had come to him through default.

Rain beat against the windshield of his Lexus as the wind tore down the deserted street. The oak he’d parked under groaned from the assault. He should move his car away from the trees. But Dunstan Lane was entirely lined with the old giants, and he knew a stall tactic when he saw one.

Jordan climbed out, unfurled his umbrella and studied his new home through the pelting rain. Not home. Residence. Home was his I-can’t-believe-I-finally-made-it condo forty minutes down the highway. All he had to do was ride out the next few months in the butt-ugly Victorian until the place sold. Then he would return to his real life.

A movement on the roof three stories up caught his attention. Curious, he crossed the street and peered upward. A small woman, maybe a girl, scampered over a dormer, stopped near the edge above him and raised her arms to the sky. You didn’t have to be Einstein to know that was a curse ripping out of her mouth.

He tossed the umbrella aside and broke into a full out run. How long would it take him to get to the top floor? And then? Then he’d figure it out. Talk her down. Break into the third-floor apartment if he had to and find a way onto the roof. No one was going to kill themselves today. Not on his property.

He pounded up the fire escape, stopping only to sight the woman. She was squatting now, even closer to the edge, and swinging something in her hand. He pulled his head down and pushed on, his breath searing his lungs. Waste of energy to shout. Probably some crack crazed teenager. Probably one of his tenants. He hit the landing outside the top-floor apartment. Nailed to the side of the house was a ladder that went the rest of the way up. Thank God.

He grabbed the bottom rung as he spared a quick check on the crazy lady. Yup, still there, but she had turned away from the edge, her attention focused on the shingles.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, mister.” A thin voice wafted out from a window that opened onto the fire escape.

Jordan shot a look behind him but the curtains obscured whoever had spoken. Another nutcase, no doubt.

“There’s a woman on the roof,” he hollered over his shoulder as he hoisted himself up the first rung. “I think she’s going to jump.”

A small boy poked his head out the open window. “She’s fixing the roof. You better wait until she comes down.” The anemic-looking child pushed his heavy framed glasses farther up his nose and looked him over. “You got a cold beer?”

“Excuse me?”

“She thinks cold beer is yummy. If you give her one, she might not yell at you.”

Jordan stepped back onto the landing and leaned over the railing until he caught sight of the woman. Now that he was taking time to notice, yeah, that was a hammer in her hand. The soft thump of hammer meeting nail reached him as he watched her duckwalk away from the edge.

He hunched his shoulders against the relentless rain. “Does she always work on the roof during a storm?”

“Not always.” The kid looked like he was having a midlife crisis at the age of, well, whatever age he was. Somewhere between eight and twelve. His thick black glasses swallowed his face, giving him a pinched look, as if he spent a lot of time scraping the bottom of the peanut butter jar. He started to shut the window.

“Hang on a sec. What’s your name?”

“Jacob.” He banged the lower edge of the window with his fist. It slid down another two inches.

“Jacob, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Like how rotten the old house was, and exactly who lived in it. Beulah’s solicitor hadn’t mentioned children. And where was the caretaker? Could it possibly be the tiny woman repairing the roof?