face was receiving a barrage of sloppy puppy kisses, he wasn’t sure.
“I’m sorry,” Blake said, only slightly out of breath as he stopped beside the little girl. And then his gaze moved to the two adults who’d been sitting in the sand with the child.
“Oh my God.” Juliet McNeil jumped up, her face completely horror-stricken.
“I hardly think being caught in a very attractive pair of shorts and equally nice bikini top is reason for such horror,” he said to her, pleased beyond reason to have run into her. Even if she was taking a little longer than he was to appreciate the chance to have their completely necessary professional distance breached for just a moment or two.
He hadn’t looked for her. And here she was anyway, on the beach with a neighbor’s child. And…
His eyes moved to the woman who was still sitting in the sand, staring at him with eyes that, while different in color, wore the same confusing expression of dread as they assessed him.
“You must be Marcie,” he guessed, holding out a sweaty palm to take the sand-covered hand she offered almost as an afterthought.
The woman dropped his hand, nodded, stood. Juliet had not exaggerated when she’d said she and her twin had the same build. It was uncanny, looking at the two of them. One blond and blue-eyed. The other earth and fire.
“What’s his name?” The little girl’s question reminded Blake that it wasn’t polite to stare.
“Freedom,” he said. “Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Something about the child reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place who it might be. Her curly brown hair and chubby cheeks made her seem almost cherubic. The assessing look in those eyes could have been intimidating.
Blake smiled at her. “What’s your name?”
“Mary Jane. What’s yours?”
“Blake Ramsden.”
The change in the little girl was instantaneous. Her face bright red, she spun in the sand to face Juliet. “You promised!”
“Mary Jane, I didn’t tell him. Not anything.”
Juliet’s tone of voice was completely different, filled with a combination of authority and love that struck Blake.
“He knows where I live.” The little girl’s accusatory tone was unmistakable.
Confused, feeling as though he’d stumbled into some kind of inexplicable fantasy with nightmare overtones, Blake glanced over to see what Juliet would say.
Nothing shocked him more than his defense attorney’s speechless—and helpless—stare as she faced the livid child.
“No, I don’t,” he offered, hoping it would help. “I don’t know where you live.” And then as more occurred to him, he added, “I guess Ms. McNeil told you the name of her newest client, but you don’t have to be frightened. I’m not a criminal.”
“You lied to me!” the little girl screamed, seeming not to have heard him at all. She didn’t turn. Didn’t spare him another glance. “I hate you,” she spit at Juliet. “I hate you. And I’ll hate you forever!” Without a look at anyone, including the pup who’d been trying to get her attention, she ran for one of the cottages in the distance.
“I’ll go after her.” Marcie spoke for the first time. At Juliet’s nod, she ran after the little girl, catching up with her before they’d made it halfway to the house. Marcie’s presence at her side didn’t slow Mary Jane down at all.
“Pretty little girl,” Blake said, floundering for conversation while he made sense out of what had just happened. He must have run farther than he’d thought, or it was hotter than he thought. He didn’t usually feel so slow-witted.
“Yeah.” Juliet wrapped her arms around her bare middle, her forehead creased as she glanced back toward the cottage. Marcie and Mary Jane disappeared inside what looked to be the largest dwelling in the row.
“Is she a neighbor?”
“No.” Lips pinched, Juliet looked up at him. The expression in her eyes was strange. Hooded and yet full of something he wasn’t getting.
“She’s visiting you?”
“No.”
Why did she look so hunted? And hurt?
And terrified?
“She’s not Marcie’s, is she? I assumed this was your sister’s first pregnancy.”
“It is.”
He nodded then. Okay, so he was on solid ground there.
Freedom ran down to the water, plodding along the shore, pouncing on the waves.
“She’s mine, Blake.”
The sky was bluer than blue today. Clear and beautiful. Blake slid his hands into the pockets of his shorts, his fingers wrapping around the single car key he carried when he ran.
“You have a child,” he said, nodding.
It didn’t matter that Juliet had a child. He liked children.
Though perhaps, after all the time he’d spent with her these past weeks, he should have known something so important. They’d talked about being friends.
“Why didn’t you ever mention her?”
He should probably wonder about her father. What part he played in Juliet’s life. And the little girl’s.
“I couldn’t.” Juliet’s eyes were moist, as if she might cry. And they were pleading with him.
In some way, Blake realized something horrible was about to happen. He couldn’t leave until it had played out.
Somehow, his life depended on it.
His neck was stiff. So was his chin. And lips. “How old is she?” It wasn’t a question he’d have any reason to ask. The words came anyway.
“Eight.” She held his gaze; he gave her that much. And really, based on how difficult this appeared to be for her, he supposed it was a lot.
“Born when?”
“December.”
Eyes never leaving hers, Blake did the math. And fought a swirl of emotion that threatened to consume him. His arms ached with it. His stomach knotted against it. Pain stabbed at his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.
“She’s mine.”
Juliet slowly nodded.
And tears pricked at the back of his eyes. All those years lost.
Blake glanced back up at the cottage door through which his daughter had passed.
His daughter.
He had a child.
A girl.
Family of his very own.
And this woman who he’d thought was connected to him in some elemental way was a woman he didn’t know at all.
He’d believed that she brought him peace. Instead, she’d robbed him of the first eight years of his little girl’s life. Never mind that he hadn’t been at all prepared for fatherhood back then. That seemed irrelevant now.
Blake rocked back, trying to stay on his feet as another onslaught of raw pain hit his chest. Mary Jane. He hadn’t even had a chance to give her a name.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I HAVE TO GO to her.” Juliet’s voice was the barest thread of sound.
He couldn’t allow it. Too many opportunities had already been lost to him. “I’ll do it.”
“Blake,