Unbreakable Bond (18 page)

Nina's pulse clamored as they drove to the orphanage in the mountains. Slade had phoned the social worker and asked for all of the records of the little girl to verify that she was Peyton.

So far, the paper trail indicated she was. But DNA would have to be checked to make certain.

The tension that had riddled the air between them ever since they'd made love intensified as they neared the concrete building and parked.

“Nina,” Slade said in a thick voice, “if this—”

“Don't,” she said, cutting him off. “I know this little girl may or may not be mine. And maybe I won't even know, won't recognize her, but I have to do this.”

He stared at her for a heartbeat, then nodded and they climbed out and walked up to the door in silence. Slade knocked, and a plump middle-aged woman with curly hair opened the door.

“I'm Mildred, the house mother,” the woman said with a friendly smile. “Brianna McKinney phoned and explained the circumstances and said that you were coming.”

Nina cleared her throat, willing herself to be strong when her legs felt like rubber. “Where is the little girl?”

“Up in the dorm room,” Mildred said. “Poor little thing has hardly said a word since she arrived. The man and woman who brought her here weren't very nice.”

Anguish squeezed Nina's chest, robbing her of breath.

“Can we talk to her?” Slade said.

“Of course.” Mildred placed a hand on Nina's arm. “But please… She's been shuffled around a lot. Be gentle with her. I'm not sure how much more the little thing can handle.”

Tears threatened to choke Nina, and she couldn't speak. She simply nodded, and she and Slade walked into the office to the right, sat down on the couch and waited while the woman climbed the wooden steps to retrieve the little girl. Anger at the system filled Nina. Her daughter or not, no child should have to suffer and not feel loved or wanted.

Seconds later, the wooden steps creaked, and a tiny girl with sandy-blond pigtails appeared in the doorway, wearing a faded dress that looked two sizes too large for her slender frame. Freckles dotted her nose and she pushed her thick glasses up on her face. She looked timid and scared, and so damn small and unhappy that Nina's heart melted.

“Peyton?”

The child scrunched her nose. “My name is Rebecca.”

“Her papers say Rebecca Davis,” Mildred interjected.

Nina forced herself to breathe. “Hi, Rebecca.” She glanced at Slade, then spoke in a low whisper. “Davis is William's middle name.”

His look hardened. “Then William has more questions to answer.”

Nina spotted the rag doll in Rebecca's arms, and smiled. “I like your doll. What's her name?”

Rebecca chewed her bottom lip for a moment, then lifted her chin bravely. God help her. Nina wanted to sweep her in her arms and hug her.

“Pippi.”

Nina smiled. “After Pippi Longstocking?”

Rebecca slowly nodded. “You know Pippi?”

“She's my favorite.” Nina rose, slowly walked over and stooped down to Rebecca's eye level. “I have all the Pippi Longstocking books. I collected them when I was your age, and I read them to my second-grade class every year.”

Rebecca pushed her glasses up on her nose again. “Really?”

“Really,” Nina said. “When I was little, I used to want to be just like Pippi.”

Rebecca's head bobbed up and down. “Me, too.”

Nina stroked the doll's pigtails. “I like Mary Poppins, too. I always sing along with the songs. Do you like to sing?”

That wary look crossed her face again. “Yes,” she said in a tiny voice. “But the people I stayed with didn't like it.”

Protective instincts surged through Nina. She was almost certain this little girl was her long-lost child. But
even if she wasn't her blood relative, she would take her home and love her anyway. “Come and sit with me and let me tell you a story.”

She reached out her hand and Rebecca slid her small hand inside hers. Trusting but wary.

Nina's chest threatened to explode as she led Rebecca to the sofa. They sat down, her hand still holding Rebecca's.

She felt an instant connection, felt the emptiness inside her bursting with love and happiness. But she didn't want to frighten Rebecca.

Keeping her voice to a soothing pitch, she began, “A long time ago, eight years to be exact, I had a baby girl. But that night there was a terrible fire at the hospital where she was born. I got lost from her, and I've been looking for her ever since.”

“I losted my mommy, too.” Rebecca sighed. “Did you ever find your little girl?”

“I think so,” Nina said softly. “I used to hear her sing to me at night. Do you know what song she would sing?”

Hope lit up the little girl's big blue eyes. “Mary Poppins—”

“Just a spoonful of sugar,” Nina said, her throat thickening.

Rebecca gasped. “You heard me?”

Nina nodded, and tears filled her eyes. “Oh, honey, yes, I heard you.” She raked a strand of Rebecca's hair from her forehead. “And I want you to come home and live with me forever.”

Rebecca's lower lip quivered. “But everybody says I'm too much trouble.” Her sweet voice cracked. “I have to have special help in school…and I take medicine for seizures.”

Nina wanted to scream and shout and cry against all the injustice her daughter had suffered. “You are the most beautiful little girl I've ever seen,” Nina whispered. “And I want to be your mommy forever.”

Then she did what she'd wanted to do for years. She pulled her daughter into her arms and hugged her.

 

E
MOTIONS CHOKED
S
LADE
every time he replayed the reunion between Nina and her daughter in his head. Finally Nina had her child, and they could make a family.

A family he would not be a part of.

He clenched his jaw, reminding himself that he didn't want to be part of it. That he liked being alone.

But at night in his big, empty house the past two days, he found himself imagining the pitter-patter of little feet racing across the floor in the morning. Imagined Rebecca running into the bedroom where he and Nina lay cuddling.

Imagined Nina pregnant, her belly swollen with his own child. A brother or sister for Rebecca.

Dammit, he missed Nina. He even missed the little girl and he barely knew her.

Shoving those foolish images out of his mind, he headed toward the sheriff's office.

He'd finally convinced Driscill to bring William Hood and his mother in for questioning on kidnapping charges. He'd also requested Nina's father be present.

Any one of them could have grabbed Rebecca that night—or collaborated together.

But he hadn't told Nina about the meeting. He wanted to spare her.

He entered the sheriff's office, prepared to pound the truth out of the Hoods or Nash, but Nina's father looked distraught already.

“You're telling me that Nina's child did survive the fire?” Nash asked.

Slade nodded. “DNA confirmed she's Nina's daughter.”

“My God…” Nash collapsed into one of the wooden chairs. “Nina was right all along…and all this time I didn't believe her.” His voice choked. “I thought she just couldn't handle the grief.”

“Someone very cruel kidnapped the child, then taunted her by leaving gifts and children's things in her house to drive her over the edge,” Slade said stonily.

Nash buried his face in his hands. “Oh, my God, Nina tried to tell me… She must hate me…”

William's face paled. “Where has the child been all this time?”

Slade glared at him and his mother. “Don't pretend like you don't know. One or both of you arranged to have her kidnapped from the hospital. Either that or when the fire broke out, you saw the perfect opportunity.”

William shot up. “Look, I admit that I didn't want the baby, but I didn't kidnap her. I honestly thought she died in that fire.”

Mrs. Hood fumbled with her hands, and Slade angled himself to her. “But you did know, didn't you?”

“That girl and her illegitimate child were going to ruin our family!” she shrieked.

William suddenly turned on his mother with a shocked look. “Mother, what did you do?”

“I didn't do anything,” Mrs. Hood cried. “Except to think of you.”

“Mother,” William spat out, “what happened?”

Mrs. Hood raked a strand of silver hair from her cheek, her diamonds glittering. “Nothing that was so horrible, so don't look at me like that. I simply paid Stanford Mansfield to arrange an adoption. The baby was supposed to go to a nice young couple who could raise her, one with two parents.”

“The Waldorps,” Slade filled in. “But when they realized the little girl was handicapped, they decided they didn't want her either.”

Mr. Nash jerked his head up. “Then what happened to her?”

“They put her in foster care,” Slade said, rage eating at him. “She's been shuffled from one place to another all these years, while you all ignored Nina and her.”

Nash paced across the room, his expression miserable. Slade was glad to see that he did care about his daughter. Maybe they could reconcile.

But Mrs. Hood showed no regrets.

Slade turned on her. “Did you steal the baby or did you hire someone?”

The woman's hawklike eyes gleamed. “I refuse to say another word until I have an attorney.”

 

N
INA HUNG UP THE PHONE
, her emotions on a roller coaster. Getting to know her daughter, shopping for furniture and bedding to decorate her room, laughing and watching movies and cuddling at night had been
pure bliss. She couldn't wait until the four-poster white bed she'd ordered arrived and saw Rebecca snuggled up, sleeping under the lacy canopy.

Although occasionally her anger and sadness over the years they'd lost surfaced, she refused to dwell on it. They'd finally found each other and she would never be separated from her daughter again.

She scraped her hand through her hair, staring at the phone in dismay. And now her father had called. He'd apologized for not believing her before, for letting her down, and wanted to make it up to her and her daughter. She'd declined his offer of money, but was overjoyed to know that he wanted to be a grandfather, that he would be a part of her family.

The only thing missing was Slade.

He thought she'd mistaken gratitude for love, but he was wrong. She loved him deeply.

Enough to let him go.

Not every man wanted a ready-made family, especially one with challenges to face.

Rebecca suddenly appeared at the bottom of the steps in her new pink pajamas. “Tuck me in, Mommy.”

Nina smiled and took Rebecca's small hand in hers, and they walked to her bedroom. Rebecca climbed in bed and hugged her rag doll, and Nina crawled in bed beside her, then sang to her until Rebecca's eyelids drooped and she drifted asleep. Even then, she lay and watched her daughter for a while, soaking in the fact that she finally had her home.

Finally she fell into a deep sleep, content and dreaming of her first Christmas to come with her daughter home.

But sometime later, she woke to the acrid scent of smoke wafting toward her. A second later, the fire alarm downstairs blared.

Panic assaulted her, and she jumped up and ran to the steps. Dear heavens, the foyer was on fire.

The flames were spreading quickly, eating up the living room and front of the house, completely blocking her path to the door. Smoke clogged her lungs as she raced up the steps.

She had to get Rebecca out.

With one hand, she grabbed the phone and punched 9-1-1. With the other she gently shook her daughter. Smoke was rising and seeping into the hallway, wood crackling downstairs.

The 9-1-1 operator answered. “My house is on fire,” Nina said, then recited her address and dropped the phone, pulling Rebecca into her arms. “Wake up, sweetie. We have to get out of here.”

Rebecca stirred and rubbed her eyes. “Mommy?”

“Honey, there's a fire downstairs. We have to get out.”

Her mind raced for an escape route. The only way out was downstairs, but they couldn't make it through the blaze. They'd have to climb through a window.

Rebecca coughed. “Mommy, I'm scared…”

“I know, sugar.” Nina stroked her hair. “But I'll take care of you, I promise.” She had to. She couldn't lose her little girl again.

She glanced out the window in her room, but there was nothing to hold on to outside the window, no ledge, no tree, nothing. Pulse pounding, she buried Re
becca's head against her chest to keep her from inhaling smoke and ran to the room she planned to paint for her daughter.

A huge oak tree stood beside the house, its branches massive, one limb touching the glass pane. She and Rebecca had talked about building a tree house in it.

“I'm going to sit you down, honey, and open the window,” Nina said. “Then we're going to crawl into the tree. When the firemen arrive, they'll rescue us.”

Rebecca's eyes widened. “I can't climb a tree, Mommy.”

Nina hated the sound of her daughter's fear and uncertainty, but smoke was beginning to curl into the room, and glass downstairs shattered as the fire spread.

She stooped down and stroked her arms. “Rebecca, remember the story we read last night about the little engine that could?”

Rebecca's head bobbed up and down. “The little engine didn't think he could make it—”

“But he said, ‘I think I can, I think I can,' and he did,” Nina whispered. “That's what we have to do now.”

“All right.” Rebecca's chin lifted again, and Nina's heart swelled. Her child wasn't handicapped. She was the bravest, most special little girl in the world.

“Ready?” Nina asked.

Rebecca nodded, and Nina pushed open the window and lifted her in her arms. “Just grab that branch, sweetie, wrap your arms around it and hang on.”