his father and uncle and brothers and cousins crying had left an indelible mark on an impressionable four-year-old. Until then, he’d believed that men never cried, especially not his big, gruff daddy. Kieran had been confused, and fearful, and so desperate to make everything better.
The day of the funeral he pretended to take a nap while the adults were gone. While the nanny was on the phone with her boyfriend, Kieran slipped into his mother’s bedroom and ransacked the large walk-in closet that housed her clothes. He tugged at the hems of blouses and dresses and evening gowns, ripping them from the hangers and piling them up haphazardly until he had a small mountain.
The fabrics smelled like her. With tears streaming down his face, he climbed atop his makeshift bed, curled into a ball of misery and fell asleep, his thumb tucked in his mouth.
Kieran inhaled sharply, realizing that he had allowed himself the bittersweet, two-edged sword of memory. That’s why he came home so seldom. In another hemisphere he could pretend that his life was normal. That it had always been normal.
Returning to Wolff Mountain always pulled the Band-Aid off a wound that had never healed cleanly. He remembered being discovered on that terrible funeral day and escorted out of his parents’ bedroom. No one chastised him. No one took him to task for what he had done. But three days later when he worked up the courage to once again sneak into his mother’s closet, every trace of her was gone… as if she had never existed. Even the hangers had been removed.
That day he’d cried again, huddled in a ball in the corner of the bare closet. And this time, there was no comfort to be found. His world had shredded around him, leaving nothing but uncertainty and bleakness. He hated the stomach-hollowing feelings and the sensation of doom.
No child should ever have to feel abandoned, and sadly, Kieran and his brothers had been emotional orphans when their father fell apart in the wake of Laura Wolff’s death. It took Victor Wolff literally years to recover, and by then, the damage was done. The boys loved their father, but they had become closed off to softer emotions.
Kieran cursed and kicked at a pile of loose gravel in the driveway. Was Cammie his daughter? A tiny shred of doubt remained. He found it almost impossible to believe that Olivia had gone from his bed to another man’s so quickly. But he had hurt her badly… and she might have done it out of spite.
The girl in the photograph at Olivia’s house looked like a Wolff, though that might be wishful thinking on Kieran’s part. And as for the Kevin Wade on the birth certificate, well… Olivia might have done that to preserve her privacy. Using the name of a man who didn’t exist to protect her rights as a mother.
But God help him, if Olivia had lied… if she had kept him from his own flesh and blood, there was going to be hell to pay.
His cell phone beeped with a text from the front gate guard at the foot of the mountain. Olivia’s car had arrived.
She had flatly refused Wolff transportation, either the private jet or a ride from the airport. Her independence made a statement that said Kieran was unnecessary. It would be his pleasure to show her how wrong she was.
When a modest rental vehicle pulled into sight, he felt his heart race, not only at the prospect of seeing Olivia, but at the realization that he might be, for the first time, coming face-to-face with his progeny.
The car slid to a halt and Olivia stepped out. Before she could come around and help with the passenger door, it was flung open from the inside, and a small, slender girl hopped into view. She had brown hair pulled back into pigtails and wore a wary expression as she surveyed her surroundings. Though Kieran didn’t move, she spotted him immediately. Try as he might, Kieran could see no hint that she resembled his family. She looked like a kid. That’s all. A little kid.
She slipped her hand into Olivia’s. “It’s like Cinderella’s castle. Do we get to sleep here?”
“For a few nights.”
Kieran wondered if Olivia was intimidated by the size and scope of the house. She had grown up as the only child of famous, wealthy parents, but this structure—part fortress, part fairy tale—was beyond imagination for most people. All it was missing was gargoyles on the parapets. With turrets and battlements and thick, gray stone walls, it should have looked unwelcoming, but somehow, it suited this wild mountaintop.
“Who’s that, Mommy?”
Kieran stepped forward, but before he could speak, Olivia gave Kieran a warning look. “His name is Kieran. He’s a friend of mine. But you can call him Mr. Wolff.”
“She’d better call me Kieran to avoid confusion, because she’s going to be meeting a lot of Mr. Wolffs.”
Olivia’s lips tightened, but she didn’t argue.
Kieran knelt beside Cammie. “We’re glad to have you and your mommy here for a visit. Would you like to see the horses?” He took a punch to the chest when he realized the child’s eyes were the same color as his own, dark amber with flecks of gold and brown.
He glanced up at Olivia, his heart in his throat. Tell me, his gaze signaled furiously.
Olivia didn’t give an inch. “I think it would be best if Cammie and I rested for a while. It was a long, tiring flight and we’re beat.”
“But, Mommy,” Cammie wailed. “I love horses.”
Kieran straightened. “Surely a quick trip to the stables wouldn’t hurt. And after that you’ll nap with no argument, right, Cammie?”
The child was smart enough to know when a deal was worth taking. “Okay,” she said, the resignation in her voice oddly adult. She slipped her hand into Kieran’s. “C’mon, before she changes her mind.”
Olivia followed behind the pair of them, realizing with chagrin that she would have been better served letting Kieran stay with them in California. On his turf, already Olivia felt at a disadvantage. And she hadn’t missed Kieran’s poleaxed look when he saw her daughter’s eye color. It was unusual to say the least. And a dead giveaway when it came to parentage.
Behind the massive house stood an immaculate barn with adjoining stables. Inside the latter, the smell of hay mingled not unpleasantly with the odor of warm horseflesh.
Kieran led Cammie past the stalls of mighty stallions to an enclosure where a pretty brown-and-white pony stood contentedly munching hay. He handed Cammie a few apple chunks from a nearby bin. “Hold out your hand with the fingers flat, like this.”
She obeyed instantly, her small face alight with glee as the pony approached cautiously and scooped up the food with a delicate swipe of its lips. “Mommy, look,” she cried. “It likes me.”
Kieran put a hand on her shoulder. “Her name is Sunshine, and you can ride her as long as you’re here.”
“Now?” Cammie asked, practically bouncing on her feet. “Please, Mommy.”
Over her head, the two adults’ gazes met, Olivia’s filled with frustration, Kieran’s bland. “Later,” Olivia said firmly. “We have plenty of time.”
She had been afraid that she would have to meet a phalanx of Kieran’s relatives while she was still rumpled and road weary, but he led them to a quiet, peaceful wing of the house where the windows were thrown open to embrace the warm, early summer breezes.
“This will be your room, Olivia.” Kieran paused to indicate a lovely suite decorated in shades of celadon and pale buttercup. “And through here…” He passed through a connecting door to another room clearly meant for a child. “This is yours, Cammie.”
Olivia saw her daughter’s eyes grow wide. The furnishings had been made to resemble a tree house, with the sleep space atop a small pedestal accessed by rope netting, which coincidentally made any possibility of falling out of bed harmless.
Cammie kicked off her shoes and scampered up the rope apron like the monkey she was. “Look at me,” she cried. “This is awesome. Thank you, Kieran.”