Accidental Family (4 page)

Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

He flipped the envelope around so she could see the Orr Fertility Clinic emblem in the corner. “It seems the clinic has finally decided to respond to my inquiries.”

She held her breath as he reached for the letter opener and neatly slit the envelope open. His gaze quickly scanned the letter, then he handed it to her.

Rowena looked down and saw the name of the sperm donor in black and white—Alan Rand. She fell back against the chair. “So he is the father.”

Bobby leaned forward to take the letter from her hands, then perused it slowly. “According to the Orr Clinic, the sperm donor identity number you selected was transcribed incorrectly. There is supposed to be a method in place to double-check the donor number before the insemination procedure, but apparently somebody screwed up along the way.”

She closed her eyes, remembering her initial relief at discovering the mysterious sperm donor’s identity. Alan Rand fit none of the nightmare scenarios she’d imagined, yet he was creating an entirely new nightmare for her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sue the Orr Clinic?” Bobby asked, his brown eyes lit with indignation.

She shook her head. “I don’t need their money. I’m not interested in child support payments from Alan Rand, either. All I want is for him to leave me and my baby alone.”

He sighed. “I understand. But I think we should prepare for the possibility that Mr. Rand might take you to court to assert his rights as the father.”

“But it’s
my
baby,” she countered, feeling as if everything in her life was slipping out of control. “Alan Rand didn’t even know my name until the truth about the clinic’s error came out.”

“That’s the problem,” Bobby replied, slipping his bifocals into his shirt pocket. “According to what you told me, Mr. Rand never signed away his rights to the disposition of his sperm. That means he may very well have a case for pursuing visitation rights, although it will be up to the courts to decide.”

She clung to that kernel of hope. “So it’s possible a judge might deny Alan those rights and make him leave us alone?”

“Possibly,” Bobby agreed, but looked doubtful. “The outcome of custody cases is always hard to predict, especially with the proliferation of unusual ones involving new technologies like frozen embryos and in-vitro fertilization. The courts are bogged down with them.”

She slumped back in the chair. “This is a nightmare.”

He leaned forward. “Look, Rowena, I’ll be straight with you—this case could be one big mess. But if you’re right about Mr. Rand wanting you to terminate the pregnancy, then he may have no interest in this child. You may never see him again.”

If only she could be so lucky. “And if I’m wrong?”

He sighed. “Then we’ll give him the toughest fight of his life. But let’s just take it one step at a time. You go on home now and try not to worry.”

That was like telling her not to breathe. She stood up. “Thank you, Bobby. I really appreciate you squeezing me in this morning.”

He smiled as he rose to his feet and escorted her to the door. “No problem. I hope we can resolve this situation to your satisfaction.”

Rowena could only nod, her throat tight as she left his office. Her attorney hadn’t given her the reassurances she so desperately wanted. Anything could happen if this case went into the court system.

No matter what she had to do, Rowena couldn’t let that happen. Tears she’d kept at bay since last evening spilled onto her cheeks. She ducked into her car before the tears could freeze on her skin. Then she drove out of New Ashford, skipping her usual stops at her favorite antique shops.

Rowena had never battled with anyone quite like Alan before. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she pulled onto the highway leading to Cooper’s Corner. One thing was certain.

Alan Rand was in for the fight of his life.

CHAPTER FIVE

A
LAN
WALKED
CAREFULLY
down the wide oak staircase Tuesday morning, his head on the verge of exploding. He’d made the mistake of indulging in too many hot buttered rums in his room last night after talking to his lawyer.

The liquor had hit him especially hard since he’d given up drinking after his diagnosis three years ago. He’d given up butter, too.

Adopting a healthy lifestyle had been on his list, and he’d rigorously stuck to a low-cholesterol diet that included almost no alcohol. Some of his friends and colleagues thought Alan had gone a bit overboard on his health kick, but then they hadn’t been blindsided by one of the scariest diseases on the planet.

He hadn’t been worried about his diet last night, though. The only thing he could think about was Rowena Dahl. It had been a very long time since he’d found a woman so stubborn. So intriguing. So damn frustrating. He still couldn’t believe the way she’d kicked him out of her shop—or that he’d let her do it.

So why was he the one who felt guilty this morning?

Of course, that guilt was overshadowed by a pounding head, a desert-dry mouth and a queasy stomach. When he first woke up, he’d been tempted to pull the pillow over his head and die in peace. Then Alan remembered the baby and knew he had to live through this hangover from hell. Even more important, he needed to find some way to deal with Rowena Dahl.

As he entered the dining room, the savory aromas emanating from the serving bar almost made him turn right around and head to his room. Steeling himself against a tidal wave of nausea, he walked into the room and surveyed the wide variety of dishes lined up on the buffet. Steam rose from the platters of ham, bacon and sausage—all foods guaranteed to upset his sensitive stomach. At last he helped himself to a small glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a toasted English muffin.

“Good morning, Mr. Rand,” Keegan said, seated in front of a plate piled high with walnut griddle cakes, scrambled eggs and several links of sausages. The boy ate with a gusto that was at odds with his lanky body.

“Morning,” Alan mumbled, averting his gaze from Keegan’s plate. There were several empty chairs around the enormous mahogany table. He took the one farthest from the sight of those sausages.

“My dad’s in the kitchen making some more griddle cakes,” Keegan said, reaching for the container of maple syrup and slathering the thick, amber syrup over everything on his plate. Then he looked at Alan’s plate with a puzzled frown. “Did someone forget to tell you the breakfast buffet is all you can eat?”

“This is all I can manage today,” Alan replied, reaching for the orange juice. He took a tentative sip, pleasantly surprised when it went down smoothly. It revived him enough to spread some honey on his toasted English muffin before he took a bite.

“Okay,” the boy replied. “But you can go back for seconds and thirds if you want.”

“Thanks.”

The door between the kitchen and dining room swung open, and Clint walked out carrying a platter of steaming griddle cakes. Alan looked between father and son, noting they shared the same dark hair and green eyes. And obviously the same love for walnut griddle cakes.

An older man followed Clint, slightly stooped and rawboned, with gray peppering his black hair. He wore faded denim overalls and a worn, long-sleeved cotton shirt, both of which hung on his thin frame.

“Go ahead and help yourself, Ed,” Clint said to the man as he added the griddle cakes to the buffet. “And take that last raspberry muffin if you’d like. I’ve got more baking in the oven.”

Ed slowly shuffled toward the buffet and picked up a plate. “You sure you have enough food, Clint? I’d hate for your guests to go hungry.”

“We’ve always got more than enough,” Clint assured him. “In fact, you’ll be doing us a favor by helping us get rid of some of this food.” He indicated all the empty chairs in the dining room. “We’re full up with couples through Valentine’s Day. Seems most of them are finding a reason to skip breakfast.”

“That’s so dumb,” Keegan said, digging into his waffle cakes. “Why would they want to stay in bed and miss breakfast?”

The three men looked at one another, but didn’t say anything.

Ed sat down next to Alan, then frowned at Alan’s plate. “Don’t you like eggs, son?”

Clint grinned as he took the chair beside his son. “Ed Taylor raises chickens and supplies us with fresh eggs every week. He’s an expert on the subject of poultry.”

Alan’s stomach rebelled at the thought of ingesting any of the fluffy scrambled eggs on the buffet. “I’m not a big breakfast eater.”

Ed shook his head, then turned into his own breakfast. “Eggs are nature’s perfect food. Did you know they provide all the essential vitamins and minerals we need?”

Keegan brightened. “So that means I can eat eggs instead of vegetables?”

“Good try,” Clint said with a smile. “But I think you can handle both.”

Ed nodded. “Your father’s right, Keegan. Moderation in all things is best. Of course, all that cholesterol malarkey in the news scared a bunch of people off eggs. But I’ve been eating them for over five decades, and there’s nothing much wrong with me.”

Alan smiled to himself, deciding it probably wasn’t a good idea to share the low-cholesterol diet tips he’d learned with Ed.

The men all looked up as a tall woman with long chestnut hair entered the dining room. Two little girls followed her, both slightly chubby with identical faces and hair the same color as their mother’s. One of the little girls looked at Alan and whispered something to her sister. Then they both stared at him with big blue-green eyes.

“Good morning, everyone,” the woman said brightly.

“You three came just in the nick of time,” Clint said. “Keegan was about to finish off the last of the griddle cakes.”

“The girls and I decided to sleep late this morning,” she explained, pulling out chairs for her daughters.

Clint stood up to make the introductions. “Alan, this is my sister, Maureen, and her daughters, Randi and Robin. Maureen, this is the guest I was telling you about—Alan Rand from Toronto.”

“Nice to meet you,” Maureen said, reaching out to shake his hand. To Alan’s surprise, her grip was almost as firm as her brother’s.

Then she turned to Ed, placing a hand on his thin shoulder. “This is such a nice surprise. I’m so glad you could join us for breakfast today, Ed.”

“Clint wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Ed replied, looking a little sheepish.

“Good for him. I hope you know you’re welcome here anytime.” Then Maureen turned to bestow a teasing smile on Keegan. “And I hope
you
saved some griddle cakes for your cousins.”

“Just make sure they save some for me,” Keegan replied, casting a worried glance at the buffet as Maureen began to fill the twins’ plates.

Alan watched the little girls, wondering what it would be like if he had a daughter. Would she be a blonde like Rowena or have his dark hair? He hoped she inherited Rowena’s unusual amethyst eyes. Then again, Rowena might be carrying his son. A boy he could teach to camp and fish, just as Mr. Haley had taught him.

Maureen sat next to Ed. “I can’t believe you passed up Clint’s cinnamon rolls, Ed Taylor. What happened to your sweet tooth?”

“Oh, now don’t you worry, Maureen. I’ve still got it,” Ed replied with a chuckle. “I’ll be having a couple of those cinnamon rolls for dessert.”

Randi Cooper giggled behind her hand. “You can’t have dessert at breakfast!”

“You certainly can, young lady,” Ed countered, a twinkle in his warm brown eyes. “Why, I used to make dessert for my little girl, Jennifer, every morning when she was growing up.” He shook a bony finger in the air. “But only if she ate all her eggs.”

“Why?” Robin asked.

“Because eggs are the very best way to start the day,” Ed replied.

Randi pointed one tiny finger toward Alan’s plate. “But he’s not eating eggs.”

Maureen gently pulled her daughter’s hand back. “You just pay attention to your own plate, young lady.”

“Okay, Mom,” Randi said with a shy smile as she picked up her fork.

“Mr. Rand knows Rowena.” Keegan piped up as if trying to distract attention from his cousin. It worked. Everyone at the table turned to stare at Alan.

“You do?” Clint asked.

“Well, not really.” He hedged, wondering how he could possibly explain the situation. “We only actually met in person yesterday.”

“Oh,” Maureen replied. “Then how do you know her? Are you an old fan of
Another Dawn
?”

He blinked, thoroughly confused by her question.
Another Dawn
was the long-running soap opera his mother had watched religiously every day while he was growing up. “I’ve seen it a few times.”

“What’s
Another Dawn
?” Ed asked as he picked up a knife to cut his sausages.

“It’s one of those soap operas that’s on in the afternoon,” Clint replied, scooping up a forkful of scrambled eggs. “Rowena Dahl used to play one of the lead characters. She was a big star on the show until about six years ago when they killed off her character.”

Alan’s mouth fell open. He quickly closed it again, then he looked at his plate. Rowena was a soap opera star? His Rowena? But why was he surprised? She had the face and body to be a star. He wondered if his mother had seen Rowena on the show. And if she had liked her. Part of him really hoped she had.

“They killed her?” Randi echoed, a worried frown creasing her forehead.

“It’s just pretend,” Keegan reassured her. “Rowena’s okay.”

“That’s right, honey,” Maureen said, leaning over to give her daughter a reassuring hug.

Alan didn’t say anything, still trying to absorb the full impact of what he’d just heard. The mother of his baby was a former television star. Every time he thought he had Rowena figured out, something about her surprised him. Now he had more questions than ever. Why was a former actress working as a barber? How long had Rowena been in show business? And why had she left?

“I can’t believe I never heard this before,” Ed said, shaking his head in wonder. “Has she been trying to keep it a secret?”

“I don’t think so,” Clint replied. “I first heard about it when I moved to town. Anyone who watched the show would know about it.”

“Her character’s name was Savannah Corrington,” Maureen added, helping one of the twins butter a piece of toast. “I heard they revived the role recently with a new actress. One of those miracle resurrections that are so popular on soap operas.”

It was Keegan’s turn to look puzzled. “Why didn’t they use Rowena for the part? She starred in the Christmas Festival play this year and she was really good.”

Maureen shrugged. “I don’t know the particulars, but I’m not really surprised she’s staying in Cooper’s Corner. She likes it here so much that I don’t think she’ll ever want to leave.”

“Lucky for us,” Clint added, ruffling one of the twins’ hair, “since she gives the best haircut around.”

“I sure wish I could have seen her on that show,” Ed said, leaning back in his chair. “Afraid the chicken ranch keeps me too busy to watch much television.”

“Well, it’s not too late, Ed.” Maureen reached over to cut one of the twins’ griddle cakes into small pieces. “The library’s got the full archives of videotapes from the years Rowena was on
Another Dawn,
as well as several old copies of
Soap Opera Digest
with articles about her.”

Ed nodded. “I may have to check those out. Clint’s right. She sure gives a darn good haircut.”

Alan intended to do the same. Even though he knew those soap opera magazines were usually full of gossip, maybe he could learn something valuable about Rowena. He was more curious about her than ever.

Then again, he had people at this table who knew Rowena personally. Maybe they could give him some insight into the mother of his baby. Something he could use to his advantage so she wouldn’t view him as the enemy.

When Maureen and Clint began discussing Twin Oaks business, Alan turned to the man beside him. “So is Rowena your regular barber, Ed?”

The older man nodded. “The heck of it is that I’m paying more money for a haircut now than I did ten years ago and I have less hair!”

“That hardly seems fair.”

He sighed. “Well, that seems to be the way with everything these days. I went grocery shopping last week, and a pound of bananas cost me over two dollars. And don’t even get me started on the price of automobiles.”

“The price of cars has skyrocketed since I was a kid,” Alan agreed.

“It’s outrageous what some folks charge,” Ed said indignantly. “Pure and simple greed. The price of eggs hasn’t gone up in years. That’s why I’m still driving a twenty-five-year-old pickup truck.”

“I wonder why she gave up acting,” Alan said, steering the conversation to Rowena. “It must be hard to leave the limelight.”

“Maybe so.” Ed shrugged his thin shoulders. “I can’t say I blame her for wanting to leave New York, though. Big cities have never appealed to me.”

“Does she have any family around here?”

Ed paused to think a moment, his fork poised in midair. “I don’t think so. Never heard her mention anybody. How about you, Alan? Cooper’s Corner is a long way from Toronto. Are you visiting family or friends around here?”

“No.” He didn’t bother to mention that his father lived in Albany, only a couple of hours away. But given their almost nonexistent relationship, George Rand might as well live half a world away. “I’m here on vacation.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stop by the chicken ranch. ‘Course, it’s nothing fancy, but we’ve got plenty of good sight-seeing around here. Smith’s Maple Sugar Bush is close by and has a one-hundred-year-old working sugarhouse. I’d be glad to show you if you’d like to take a tour.”

The only sight he wanted to see was Rowena. But what could it hurt to tour the area? Especially if his child might grow up here. “Thanks, Ed. I think I’ll take you up on it.”

“Good enough,” Ed said, visibly pleased. “Lots of antique shops around here, too, if you’re interested.”

Alan shook his head. “I’m not a collector.”