“We’re all working so hard at getting my sister back into her house.”
Callie paused, took a deep breath and then said, “I can’t take the time to meet with you and your attorney this week. I hope you understand.”
“Sure I do. I’ll cancel the appointment,” Ethan replied, and added in a low voice, “You can just sign the papers and mail them, Cal. No problem.”
There would be a problem, though—a huge one. With a couple of stamps and a signature or two, she could vastly increase her chance of losing her little boy, Luke.
“I think we probably do need to sit down with an attorney to make sure everything’s in order,” Callie said quickly. “Can it wait awhile, though?”
Until she’d had time to escape to Colorado…and then until she moved, leaving no forwarding address.
Dear Reader,
When I was developing the idea for this story, I figured that my reader letter would include a huge thank-you to the many people who helped south-central Kansans after the November 1998 floods. I still want to thank those people, and I also want to apologize to the fine folks of Augusta. Please note that I haven’t flooded your town again. I simply rewrote history, moving the 1998 flood to the present time.
As my own family sat in our west Augusta home the night the floodwaters rushed in, we had no idea about the magnitude of the struggle we were beginning. But we began to solve problems immediately. With our cars destroyed by the water, we had to find affordable transportation quickly. Several dear friends and family members helped with that. Next we had to find temporary housing. Again, a family member came through for us. Our list of difficulties was long, but we discovered that no problem was unsolvable. Eventually we recovered fully. (Although my husband is still cleaning tools.)
I think any marriage reaches a point where struggles begin to overtake the good times, but if the couple tackles those issues one by one, they can make it through to a stronger relationship. Is a story about a married couple romantic? I think so. What could be more romantic than a couple sharing a kiss at their fiftieth wedding anniversary? You just know that they must have weathered so many storms. My hero, Ethan, is stouthearted and gregarious—a type of person I’ve always enjoyed. And Callie is like so many of us. She recognizes truth deep in her heart, but sometimes she listens harder to those deeply ingrained falsehoods.
Enjoy their happy ending. I’d love to hear from you. Contact me through my Web site at www.kaitlynrice.com.
Kaitlyn Rice
The Late Bloomer’s Baby
Kaitlyn Rice
To my editors, Beverley Sotolov, Paula Eykelhof and Kathleen Scheibling, for your guidance and expert advice.
To Cathy C, for sharing your story about your journey toward motherhood. Especially for helping with details about the IVF process.
And to the many people who helped our family recover from the real Augusta flood in November of 1998: Mom Marianne, Mom Genny, Jamie and Jane, Billy, Jim, Mila, Kim and Lud, Connie, the Wilkersons, the Boyds, Randy’s Linda, the Boeing workers, the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, the National Guard and the folks at the First Baptist Church, the First Methodist Church, Robinson School and the Augusta Animal Clinic.
In memory of Randy Qualls and Donna Foulke.
To anyone who helped in any way, thank you. You helped us make it through.
Books by Kaitlyn Rice
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
972—TEN ACRES AND TWINS
1012—THE RENEGADE
1051—TABLE FOR FIVE
Contents
Prologue
A ringing woke Callie Taylor, and she reached for the alarm switch on her bedside clock. When she realized the sound had come from her phone, she groaned and lifted her head from the pillow to check the time.
Who would be calling at five-twenty in the morning?
It was probably a wrong number. Since she used her machine to screen calls, she’d set it to answer after one ring. She could sleep for a while and check for a message later.
But the timing of the call nagged her until she shoved her covers aside and padded from her bedroom. Pausing at the nursery doorway, she peered inside. Fortunately, the noise hadn’t disturbed Luke. Her eleven-month-old son lay flat on his back with his arms and legs flung across the mattress. Callie grinned as she continued toward the phone. Asleep or awake, her dark-haired sweetheart embraced life vigorously.
He was so much like his father.
Callie lost her smile at that thought, but shrugged off her regret. If anyone could revive the ignorant hopes of a newlywed bride, it wasn’t Callie. She excelled at science, not men.
After entering her great room, she heard her younger sister finishing a message and grabbed the phone. “Hey, Isabel. What’s going on? It’s not even six here in Denver.”
“Sorry about the early call. I…well, I needed to talk to you.”
Her hesitancy alerted Callie to trouble. She sank onto the sofa and tucked her bare legs beneath her nightgown. “What happened, hon?”
“The house flooded, Cal. Pretty bad. I’m calling from a church shelter.”
A sense of powerlessness socked Callie in the gut. Her sister lived five hundred and thirty miles away in Augusta, their south-central Kansas hometown. She might as well be across a sea.
“Lord, Izzy! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. So far, everyone is safe and accounted for.”
“Thank God.”
“I was home in bed when it happened, though.” Isabel’s voice vibrated