To Be a Family (Harlequin Superromance)
Read To Be a Family (Harlequin Superromance) Online
Authors: Joan Kilby
The courage to try again
What do you do when your dreams for tomorrow happen today?
John Forster’s plans to eventually be a father hit high gear when he’s granted
custody of his little girl. Although he does his best, it’s soon clear she needs
help adjusting to this small Australian town. Fortunately, there’s one person
with the right skills to assist—Katie Henning. Too bad she’s his ex-fiancée.
Seeing Katie with his daughter resurrects John’s dreams about
having a family
together.
And the simmering
attraction that still sparks when he’s with Katie makes him think,
maybe.
Maybe he can make up for their past. Maybe he
can build on what they share now. And
maybe
they can
have that future he’s always wanted.
“Did I break your heart?”
Katie blurted the words, suddenly desperate to know if the
accusations were true. “Am I the reason you haven’t found someone else and
married?”
John swore under his breath. “Is that what my mother told
you?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t listen to her.” He plastered on a grin. “Do I look
like a guy with a broken heart?”
Taking his question seriously, Katie studied him in the
dappled green light filtering through the oak tree. She saw shallow creases
between his eyebrows and a mouth that used to laugh a lot more than it did now.
She saw that something intangible was missing in his eyes. “You look like a man
who hasn’t found what he’s looking for.”
Dear Reader,
In
To Be a Family
the hero
travels to Bali to claim his six-year-old daughter whose mother has passed away.
Why Bali? This beautiful Indonesian island is a popular holiday destination for
Australians. It’s renowned for its surf beaches, vibrant nightlife and for being
relatively inexpensive.
When I first traveled there twenty-five years ago, what I
loved was the lush scenery, the intricate paintings and carvings, the colorful
local customs and the friendly, gentle people. Oh, and the delicious food! My
husband and I hadn’t been married long at that time and the trip was almost like
a honeymoon.
We returned to Bali last year and stayed in a tiny fishing
village just like the one where the hero’s daughter lives. The day we arrived we
followed a funeral procession similar to the one I’ve described in the book at a
crawl down the winding narrow coastal road.
The village is so small and out of the way there are few
tourists and little in the way of amenities. No TV, no internet, no telephone.
We spent our days snorkeling on the coral reef right offshore and the evenings
relaxing, reading and talking. As I write, we’re planning another trip there
next month. I can’t wait.
I love to hear from readers. Write me at
[email protected]
or c/o Harlequin
Enterprises Ltd, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9. For
more info about me and my books visit my website,
www.joankilby.com
.
Till next time!
Joan Kilby
To Be a Family
Joan Kilby
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When Joan Kilby isn’t writing her next Harlequin
Superromance title, she loves to travel, often to Asia which is right on
Australia’s doorstep, so to speak. Now that her three children are grown, she
and her husband enjoy the role reversal of taking off and leaving the kids to
take care of the house and pets.
Books by Joan Kilby
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
1212—HOMECOMING WIFE
1224—FAMILY
MATTERS
1236—A MOM FOR CHRISTMAS
1324—PARTY OF THREE
1364—BEACH
BABY
1437—NANNY MAKES THREE
1466—HOW TO TRAP A PARENT
1681—HER
GREAT EXPECTATIONS*
1687—IN HIS GOOD HANDS*
1693—TWO AGAINST THE
ODDS*
1772—PROTECTING HER SON
*Summerside Stories
Other titles by this author available in ebook
format.
Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the
following address for information on our newest releases.
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O.
Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A
5X3
To my wonderful editor, Wanda Ottewell.
You bring out the best in my writing and inspire me to stretch
my wings.
Sometimes you even understand my characters better than I
do!
Thank you so much.
CHAPTER ONE
K
ATIE
GAZED
at the children’s book section in Summerside Books, pretending she was just
browsing, drawing out the anticipation of seeing
Lizzy And
Monkey
on the shelf.
She had finished having a coffee and a chat with Josie, the
owner of the shop. Now she couldn’t wait any longer. The bright red cover was in
her peripheral vision. Slowly, slowly, she let her gaze alight. Her breath
caught.
Lizzy And Monkey
by Katie
Henning.
With the cover facing out.
Thanks,
Josie
.
She took out her cell phone, glanced around to make sure no one
was watching and snapped a photo.
“Katie, hi.” John Forster appeared from around the corner of a
bookshelf. Six foot four, he had the broad shoulders of a swimmer, the lean
build and sun-streaked blond hair of a surfer. With a wink he presented her with
his profile, a strong nose and chiseled jaw. “Did you get my good side?”
“Hey, John.” She stuffed her phone in her purse.
Of all the people who could have caught her gloating over her
book—it had to be her ex-fiancé. If he could still be called that after seven
years apart. There must be a statute of limitations on how long someone could be
referred to as an ex. Ex-fiancé, ex-lover, ex-friend. Now he was the chief of
police in Summerside and her brother Riley’s best mate. Someone she didn’t avoid
exactly, but neither did she spend a moment longer in his company than was
necessary for small-town politeness.
His intense blue gaze swept over her from head to toe then
returned to linger on her face. “You look great. I like your hair like that.
What are you up to?”
Self-consciously she tucked a dark strand of shoulder-length
hair behind her ear. He always did this, acted as if he didn’t remember they’d
broken up. Even though she never gave him the slightest encouragement.
She moved away, pretending to look at other books. “I’m looking
for new titles for my classroom.”
The long dimples in his cheeks deepened. He pulled
Lizzy And Monkey
off the shelf. “This looks
interesting.”
She reached out to stop him from handling her book. Grinning,
he backed up, daring her to come after him. She snatched her hand away. “You
know about this. How?”
“Riley, who else?” John flipped through the colorful pages.
“Congratulations, by the way. I remember you talking about wanting to write,
years ago. It’s a big achievement.”
“Thanks.” She made a mental note to kill her brother the next
time she saw him. Or at least seriously maim him.
“Why so secretive? You’re a published author now. You’ll have
to get used to publicity. You should have a launch party and sign copies.”
Somehow he’d edged close enough to nudge her.
His bare arm heated her skin below the cap sleeve of her
cherry-red dress. He smelled like bracing ocean winds, sea minerals and
memories. Although he didn’t surf professionally anymore she knew he still swam
in the bay every morning.
Casually she stepped away. His touch didn’t affect her one way
or another. And they were no longer on flirting terms.
A burst of laughter from a group of teenage girls heading to
the in-store café reminded her where she ought be. “I’ve got to get back to
school.” She tried to ease past him to get to the central aisle. “Excuse
me.”
“Katie, wait.” He deliberately blocked the narrow space between
bookshelves.
“The lunch bell is going to ring soon.” Coolly she gazed into
his Paul Newman eyes. He didn’t bother her. She didn’t care. She’d gotten over
him long ago. She refused to make herself late because of him. There was nothing
he could say that would detain her another second—
“Do you think a six-year-old girl would enjoy your book?”
Except that. Damn it, with a few words she was hooked.
“I wrote it for that age group.” Was he teasing her again? On
the whole she thought not. The eye glint and the dimples were not in evidence.
“Are you asking for one of your nieces?”
“Er…something like that.”
It wasn’t like John to be evasive. If she wasn’t one of his
nieces then his current girlfriend must have a daughter. According to her
brother, John had broken up with Trudy, his previous squeeze, a few weeks ago.
His girlfriends never lasted longer than six months. Whoever she was would be
another in a long and endless line of John’s women. Katie was inured to that
now. She wasn’t really interested but writers were curious types.
“New woman in your life, one with a kid?”
Instead of replying he flipped through the book, turning his
attention to the colorful illustrations. “Nice pictures. Riley said you did
those, too.”
“Is this little girl from around here?” Not in her class, she
hoped, her mind skipping ahead to John arriving at school to pick up some other
woman’s child. Well, it had to happen someday. She was surprised he’d remained
single this long. He’d been in a hurry to marry when they’d been going
together—maybe he’d finally met another woman who had been able to convince him
to drop his role as the town playboy.
“What’s the story about?” he asked, still ignoring her
questions.
“A little girl and her pet monkey. Sort of
Curious George
meets
Madeleine
.”
“I always had a soft spot for monkeys.”
She knew that, of course. John was the inspiration for Monkey
in the story. Bold, clever, brave. “The monkey and the girl go on adventures
together. It’s going to be a series.” If her latest book proposal was picked up
by her publisher. Big if, but she was counting on it.
He closed the book and smiled at her. “Your hair looks really
pretty today.”
“You said that.” She felt nothing, she really didn’t.
“Do you have time for a coffee?” he went on. “It’s been ages
since we’ve had a chat.”
“I can’t. I told you. I have to get back to school.” She wished
he would stop. He never gave up asking her out even though she’d replied with a
firm no about a billion times.
“No worries. Another time.” He said it as if it mattered not a
whit to him, as if all his flirtation was just hot air. It probably was. John
didn’t seem to know any other way to relate to women.
He held the book out to her, open at the title page. “Will you
sign it?”
Katie dug in her purse for a pen. “Who should I make it out
to?”
“Tuti.
T-u-t-i.
”
“That’s unusual,” she said, but didn’t make much of it. As a
teacher she’d learned not to bat an eye at the odd names parents came up with
these days. She propped the book on her knee and wrote:
To Tuti,
I hope you enjoy my book.
Warmest wishes, Katie Henning.
Katie couldn’t help smiling as she handed the book back. She’d
just signed her very first book. “Do you think the girl you’re buying this for
will like a story about a monkey?”
He didn’t answer for a moment while he read her inscription.
Then he looked up at her. His smile had the power to melt hearts. But not hers.
“Monkeys are perfect. They live in the jungle near her village.”
Katie blinked. “Seriously? She lives near a jungle?”
“Yep.” That was it, no elaboration.
Not the offspring of the girlfriend of the moment. Who, then?
No, no, no. She was not going to ask about the mysterious Tuti. Writer or not,
she didn’t care enough about John to be
that
interested.
He tucked the book under his arm and gave her a last lingering
look. “I’ll see you around.”
No, he wouldn’t unless it was by accident. Katie made sure she
was never at the same social gatherings, despite their mutual friends. The
statute of limitations would never be up on his violation after he’d abandoned
her when she’d needed him most.
But then curiosity got the better of her after all. As he
turned to go, she asked, “Who is Tuti?”
His smile was bland and fixed. But a shadow passed across his
eyes. She couldn’t read his expression.
“Just a girl I know in Bali,” he said.
* * *
J
OHN
TIED
A
traditional Balinese
brown cotton band around his head. He
didn’t
know
Tuti, his six-year-old daughter. He was about to meet her for the first time at
the funeral of her mother, Nena. He was mixed-up and confused, not sure how he
was supposed to feel. This meeting was never supposed to happen. What would he
say? What should he do? What was going to happen to Tuti now?
Incense wafted over the high stone walls of the family
compound. Drumming and chanting floated on the sea breeze. Wearing a borrowed
batik sarong beneath his short-sleeved shirt John went through the gates to join
the dozens of family and friends behind the funeral tower, a thirty-foot-high
golden pagoda-like structure built of wood and bamboo that transported Nena’s
body.
Women dressed in silk batik sarongs and lace blouses carried
offerings of flowers and fruit on their heads. The men wore cotton headdresses
and sarongs. The funeral procession slowly wound through the tiny fishing
village. There was no crying, no sadness, even though Nena had died prematurely
in a motorcycle accident. In Bali, death wasn’t a cause for grief but a
celebration of a life that had moved to a higher plane.
John recognized Tuti among the throng by the pigtails that
stuck out on either side of her head. She also wore traditional clothing and
carried her niece, a toddler almost as big as she was. He hadn’t had a chance to
speak to her yet. He’d arrived late last night and the elaborate funeral
preparations, already two days old, consumed everyone’s time.
Tuti had no idea who he was. Was there any point in telling
her? He’d only come to pay his respects to Nena and to make sure the girl would
be cared for.
There’d never been any question that he and Nena might stay
together long term. They’d both been clear it was a holiday fling. He’d been on
the rebound and Nena, who worked in a souvenir shop in Kuta, a tourist hot spot
and part of the surfing scene, wasn’t looking for a husband. When she found out
she was pregnant, she made her intentions known. She didn’t want to live in
Australia, nor did she want her child to pine for a father who only visited once
a year. It was better to raise the child without John. That had hurt but he’d
sent her money regularly and extra whenever she needed it. He would continue to
help out Nena’s brother and the family.
Being back in Bali, among Nena’s people, brought back memories
and emotions from that turbulent time. What he’d wanted out of life and what
he’d ended up with were, sadly, two different things. He’d wanted a home and
family with Katie but instead she’d gotten cancer and broken their engagement.
Fleeing to Bali, he’d had a fling with Nena and accidentally fathered her
child.
Katie had been near death but she’d survived. Nena, the picture
of health, had died at the age of thirty-three. He and Katie lived in the same
small town and he saw her frequently, but their relationship was strained. After
his affair with Nena, despite telephone and email communication, he’d never seen
her again. It was a tribute to the generosity of her family and community that
he was now welcomed into her world.
When he’d known Nena seven years ago she’d seemed very Western.
Her funeral, and village life on the less-populated side of the island, was
revealing a foreign culture with unfamiliar rituals. He didn’t know whether
nonfamily members were aware he was Tuti’s father, but his presence seemed to be
accepted.
He joined the procession that wound its way to the cremation
grounds next to a temple overlooking the ocean. The coffin was placed in a
ten-foot-high wooden bull painted in black and gold standing atop a funeral
pyre. The white-robed priest said prayers. There was more chanting, more
incense. The dissonant notes of a gamelan orchestra—gongs, bells, xylophones and
drums—filled the air.
Someone doused the bull with petrol and set it alight. Flames
shot skyward. Heat pushed the crowd back. Silently, John said a few words of
remembrance. He hadn’t known Nena long but he’d cared about her. She was gone
far too soon.
He glanced around for Tuti. She stood a little apart, on her
tiptoes, trying to see through the crowd. Her headdress was askew, her pigtails
sagging. Someone must have taken the toddler. In her hands she held an offering
of woven palm frond containing boiled rice and marigold petals.
John nudged through the crowd to get to her. He touched her
shoulder and mimed picking her up so she could see. She nodded shyly. He hoisted
her onto his hip and carried her to the front where he lowered her briefly so
she could place her offering by the fire. He didn’t know if he was breaking any
customs or committing an impropriety but it felt like the right thing to do.
Then her small arm circled his shoulders. He blinked and swallowed around a lump
in his throat. Tuti was too young to be without her mother.
* * *
A
FTER
THE
CEREMONY
,
the feasting began. John set Tuti on the ground and they made their way
to a
bale,
a raised wooden platform where the women
were laying out rice, fruits, vegetables and spicy grilled meats on banana
leaves.
Wayan, Nena’s older brother, was seated cross-legged on the
bale,
his legs tucked beneath his
brown-and-purple sarong. At his invitation John kicked off his sandals and
climbed up, folding his legs into a cross-legged posture. Tuti brought him a
glass of rice liquor.
From previous visits to Bali John knew the Balinese often spent
their life savings on cremation ceremonies. He had ready an envelope containing
several hundred dollars. This he passed to Wayan. “To help with the
funeral.”
