A Father's Fortune Read online




  Get out of here,

  a voice whispered in Digger’s head.

  It had been a long time since he’d been around children. They scared him. Here at the nursery school he could smell their chalk and crayons, hear their voices.

  “Mr. Clayton?”

  Hearing his name stopped his train of thought. He looked in the direction of the voice. It was the teacher, Erin Taylor, with her long legs, ponytail and a soft lipstick that drew his attention to her mouth.

  Digger’s breath all but stopped. After Josh died, after the divorce, he’d never expected to feel that way again. But Erin Taylor had done it with just one look.

  Digger mentally shook himself. He’d been down this road before, knew where it led, how smooth it appeared. But this road led to places no man should have to go, through fiery rivers of pain. You either drowned…or survived—alive but scarred.

  Digger had survived. He had the scars to prove it. But he could not do it again. His trip through hell had been one-way.

  A second time would kill him.

  Dear Reader,

  Love is in the air, but the days will certainly be sweeter if you snuggle up with this month’s Special Edition offerings—and a box of decadent chocolates. First up, award-winning author and this year’s President of Romance Writers of America®, Shirley Hailstock is a fresh new voice for Special Edition, but fans already know what a gifted storyteller she is. With numerous novels and novellas under her belt, Shirley debuts in Special Edition with A Father’s Fortune, which tells the story of a day-care-center owner and her foster child who teach a grumpy carpenter how to face his past and open his heart to love.

  Lindsay McKenna packs a punch in Her Healing Touch, a fast-paced read from beginning to end. The next in her widely acclaimed MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: DESTINY’S WOMEN series, this romance details the trials of a beautiful paramedic who teaches a handsome Special Forces officer the ways of her legendary healing. USA TODAY bestselling author Susan Mallery completely wins us over in Completely Smitten, next up in her beloved series HOMETOWN HEARTBREAKERS. Here, an adventurous preacher’s daughter seeks out a new life, but never expects to find a new love with a sexy U.S. marshal.

  The fourth installment in Crystal Green’s KANE’S CROSSING miniseries, There Goes the Bride oozes excitement when a runaway bride is spirited out of town by a reclusive pilot she once loved in high school. Patricia McLinn delights her readers with Wedding of the Century. Here, a heroine returns to her hometown seven years after running out of her wedding. When she faces her jilted groom, she realizes their feelings are stronger than ever! Finally, in Leigh Greenwood’s Family Merger, sparks fly when a workaholic businessman meets a good-hearted social worker, who teaches him the meaning of love.

  Don’t miss this array of novels that deliver an emotional charge and satisfying finish you’re sure to savor, no matter what the season!

  Happy Valentine’s Day!

  Karen Taylor Richman

  Senior Editor

  A Father’s Fortune

  SHIRLEY HAILSTOCK

  To Allison Kelly of Romance Writers of America,

  because she cried when I told her I sold this book.

  SHIRLEY HAILSTOCK

  is the author of over fourteen books and novellas. She has received numerous awards for her work, including the HOLT Medallion, the Barclay Gold Award and the Golden Quill Award. Romantic Times awarded her a Career Achievement Award and one of her books made the Top 100 Romances of the 20th Century List. This is her first novel for Silhouette Special Edition.

  Shirley loves to sew and bake, but she can’t find the time to sew, and baking is way too fattening. She loves to hear from fans. You can write her at P.O. Box 513, Plainsboro, NJ 08536 or browse her Web site at http://www.geocities.com/shailstock.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoy A Father’s Fortune. It’s my first novel for Silhouette Special Edition, and I was thrilled to join the family of great writers. One of my goals was to see my name on a Silhouette novel. With this book my wish has come true. If you can’t see me smiling, know that I am.

  Speaking of family, last summer I got together with some longtime friends from my high school and college days. After all these years and the advent of e-mail, we keep in touch but don’t often get to see each other. Though distance separates us, we’re still a family. We share our pains and joys. We fight and make up. And we travel across the country to be present at the milestones in each other’s lives. We’re always there for each other. We’re family.

  Writing this book reminded me so much of the ties around us—extended family and blood relations. I have six sisters and a brother. Digger’s sisters and brothers came together by circumstance, but they formed a unit as tight as those who can trace their roots to the shores of America. Meeting Erin and precious little Sam showed Digger there was enough love in him for another family.

  Thank you for making A Father’s Fortune part of your family.

  Sincerely yours,

  Shirley Hailstock

  Contents

  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

  Chapter One

  What was he doing here?

  James “Digger” Clayton climbed down from the cab of his truck and stared at the building and yard. There had to be a mistake. A white picket fence, gleaming so brightly it rivaled the sunny afternoon, stood in front of him. Pushing the gate open, he clenched his teeth as he verified the number on the note in his hand against the scripted numbers on the Mexican tiles hanging above the center porch.

  This was the right place, at least the place his dispatcher, Sarah, had sent him. And she knew better. Swinging his gaze up and down the street, he looked for another address. There were no other structures on this side of the street. The other side backed up against a development of contemporary cookie cutter houses, molded out of sand-colored stucco. This building at least had character. It was a big Victorian mansion with turret rooms. Cornflower blue with white gingerbread trim, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see Hansel and Gretel running about the front yard.

  Digger looked down at his dusty work boots then across the crowded yard. Sarah had screwed up royally. She knew better than to send him to a place like this. Squeals rang out in the clear warm air, the sound wracking through his insides like a rusty knife ripping raw flesh. He froze, unable to move. Pain’s hand swelled around his heart—squeezing memory through his veins. His breath all but stopped. Sweat popped out on his neck, and his arms were suddenly leaden and heavy.

  The yard was full of them—laughing, running, zigzagging in unpredictable patterns, spinning around like tops of boundless energy. Digger had to dodge as they scurried around him. He moved from side to side, trying to keep his balance as they rushed around without order or purpose.

  His brain told him to run, get away from here, but his feet felt as if they were lodged in cement. He couldn’t budge. He should never have gotten out of the truck, driven away the moment he saw them. He could have Sarah call and apologize for him. There was no way he could work here. He tried to force his legs to move, but they were weighted. Digger looked down. There was a weight holding him back—about forty pounds of brown eyes, braids and small even teeth.

  A child, a little girl, clasped her arms around his right leg. Both her feet stood on one of his. She held onto him like a detachable doll. She smiled up at him, her eyes bright an
d happy in a face that would be hard not to love.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Digger’s heart accelerated. He closed his eyes and clamped his teeth down hard, forcing back the memories that tried to seep through. Shock waves rocketed through him. He locked his knees, his hands balling into fists. He hoped the tension in his body would stem the horror inside him. He stared down at the little girl. She smiled at him. He didn’t return it, yet he was unable to take his eyes off her. If it weren’t for the child, if it weren’t for forty pounds of innocence clinging to his trouser leg, her eyes trusting him, her smile as big as the sky, he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own.

  “Sam, come here.” Someone called to her. Digger shifted his gaze. The child’s teacher pulled the small hands from his dusty, jean-clad leg. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “She’s very friendly. She meant no harm.”

  “I’m Sam,” the little girl said. “What’s your name?”

  Digger swung his attention between the child and the teacher. He wondered if the perceptive young woman saw his discomfort. She had blond hair and light brown eyes. He guessed she was about eighteen, and she looked like the poster-child for the clean cut American teenager.

  “May I help you?” she asked, lifting the girl in her arms. Her action was obviously protective. She turned slightly away as if he might be a possible criminal and she was checking her escape routes.

  “I’m Digger Clayton. I have an appointment with Erin Taylor.”

  “Digger?”

  “James Clayton, Clayton Construction.” Most people knew him as Digger. He often forgot to use his given name.

  “Oh.” She smiled, a little embarrassed. He could see relief in her eyes. She’d obviously decided he wasn’t there to do harm to her or any of the children. “That’s Ms. Taylor over there.” She pointed to a door at the far end of the building. A woman wearing navy blue Bermuda shorts and a yellow T-shirt walked toward the door. She didn’t just walk. She seemed to glide, her pace unhurried and graceful. Her hair was held in a ponytail, which she pulled free as she walked. The shirt stretched across her back as graceful arms moved right and her head moved left. Digger was reminded of a ballet. He hated ballet, but something stirred inside him. He liked what he was looking at. And that was a surprise.

  “I believe she’s expecting you,” the young woman’s voice pulled him out of his dream.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She brushed the little girl’s hair and walked back toward a group of kids standing inside a circle and playing with a ball.

  “Bye,” the little girl said. She waved her fingers. Digger’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  He started to move toward the door where Erin Taylor had disappeared, but kids suddenly burst around him, through his legs, in front and behind him, hampering his movement. Digger jumped out of the way as they screamed with laughter. He waited a moment, more to compose himself than to allow the children to disperse. He hadn’t been here five minutes and already he wanted to leave. He should head for his truck, he told himself. He should call Sarah on his cell phone from the comfortable security of the Bronco’s cab. And after he reamed her out for sending him here, she could call the long-legged Erin Taylor and make his apologies. He wasn’t interested, not in her job and not in her.

  Her, he thought. He hadn’t even seen her face. How could he be interested in a body wearing shorts and a tight T-shirt? Yet he didn’t go to the Bronco. One unencumbered step followed the other on the path that led where he didn’t want to go, shouldn’t go.

  Inside, it wasn’t as bright as the yard had been. Digger stopped a moment to let his eyes adjust. The noise level inside was so different from outside that he shook his head to make sure there was nothing in his ears. He stood on a polished brown floor. Scuff marks were evidence of running, skidding children. Bins had been built into the walls. Most were closed, but a few stood open revealing redheaded dolls, tubs of Lego, board games, plastic bats and toys of all varieties. Small colorful chairs and tables were grouped on carpet circles, books lay askew in movable racks near the windows.

  Get out of here, a voice whispered in his head. It had been a long time since he’d been around children. They scared him. But he knew this room. He could smell the chalk and crayons, almost hear the voices—

  “Mr. Clayton?” Hearing his name stopped his train of thought. “Are you Mr. Clayton?”

  “Digger,” he said without thinking. He looked in the direction of the voice. It was her, long legs and ponytail. She’d put her hair back in the rubber band. It was straight and falling down her back out of sight. In this light it looked black, but he’d seen the reddish highlights in the sun. She wore little makeup, only a soft lipstick that drew his attention to her mouth. Whatever had moved him earlier repeated itself. He took a side step to dispel it. There were no soft curls to frame her face, as they’d done just moments ago. Yet her beauty struck Digger. Her cheekbones were high. His mother had always wanted high cheekbones. She said they added stature to a woman and gave her a timeless, classic appearance as she aged. He could see that in Erin Taylor. Her eyes were brown, darkly highlighted by long lashes, the kind rainwater or happy tears clung to.

  Digger’s breath all but stopped. It had been years since a woman had taken his breath away. Marita, his ex-wife, had done it the day he met her. He’d been surprised to find his reaction unchanged, long after Josh died, long after the divorce. But thankfully a day had come when he didn’t wake reaching for her, thinking of her and hurting for his loss.

  He hadn’t expected to feel it again, would have fought it if he’d known it was a possibility. He hadn’t known. And Erin Taylor—ponytail, Bermuda shorts, long legs and dark eyes—could do it to him with a look.

  Digger cleared his throat and mentally shook himself. He’d been down this road before. He knew where it led, how smooth and wonderfully straight it appeared, how the trees lining the road were green and healthy and the grassy median was rivaled only by the yellow brick road and the Emerald City in the distance. But appearances were deceptive. This road led places no man should have to go, through fiery rivers of pain, across lava rocks of despair, inside vats of gin and Johnny Walker Red. You either crashed and burned, drowned…or survived—alive but scarred.

  Digger survived. He had the scars to prove it. They were deep and heavy. He could not do it again. His trip through hell had been one way. He’d used his one and only ticket. There would be no doing it again. A second time would kill him.

  If he hadn’t already decided to let this job go, Erin Taylor would be enough to cap his decision. Digger hadn’t thought he would ever react to a woman this way again. It surprised him that without a word spoken between them he could…want her. Want, that was the only way he could describe it. But it was a need he would not act upon.

  “I didn’t expect you until six,” she said.

  Her tone told him she liked to run things on schedule. “I finished another job earlier than I thought…” He stopped. He was explaining. Why was he explaining? Why did he feel like he had to? With one sentence he was back in school and she was the teacher scolding him.

  “We’d better talk in my office. The kids will be coming in soon to get ready for their parents to pick them up.”

  She turned and went down a hall that had classrooms on either side. Digger saw brightly colored paper flowers pasted on the windows. On the bottom of one door were photos of smiling children attached to a green felt background. Everywhere he looked there were the echoes of children.

  He followed her into an office. It was child-proofed. The furniture was smooth, unadorned by carved surfaces that small hands and feet could climb on. The desk was free of such things as pencils and scissors. There were a few coloring books and along the side was a bin with more toys. These he could see were broken. Maybe she had someone who would repair them or maybe they were being stored to prevent accidents.

  She took a chair behind the desk, but he remained standing.

  “
I’d like to add the rooms along the back side of this building,” she began.

  “I can’t do it,” he said. “There’s been a mistake.”

  “Excuse me, aren’t you a builder?”

  “I’m a carpenter.” He never pretended to be anymore than he was. He had been a builder once. But that was before time ended.

  “Your office told me you could build anything.”

  “I can, but not here.”

  “Here?” She stood up. He watched her go on the defensive. “What do you mean here?”

  “This is a school.”

  “It’s a nursery school.” She nodded.

  “I don’t work around kids. They’re too unpredictable. No one can determine what they will do next. They get in the way, cause accidents.”

  “I’ll make sure—”

  “You can’t do that.” He stopped her before she could say how she could keep reins on the kids. “No one can. No one knows what they’ll do from one second to the next. I don’t work around them.”

  She dropped her shoulders. “Why did you come here, Mr. Clayton? I told your secretary this was a school. I gave her the name and address.”

  “She didn’t relay that information. She only gave me your name and the address. I thought this was a house that needed another room.”

  “Technically it is. It used to be a house, but we changed a lot of it.”

  “I know,” he said. The outside still looked like a Victorian, or the semblance of one. It was really a puzzle house, having had many additions over the years. The inside had no resemblance to the small, high-ceilinged rooms of the early nineteenth century. Walls had been removed to make a larger space, and desks and chairs took the place of humpback sofas and heavy tables. “There have been several additions put on at different times.” He looked around the room, up at the ceiling, in the corners. He’d noticed the wall joints as he looked over the building from the outside. The roofing had colored differently, forming a demarcation line that any good builder would notice. “This area,” he indicated the space where they now stood. “Wasn’t part of the original building.”