And Then Forever Read online

  Darcy stopped in her tracks, one hand going to the child’s shoulder, in a protective gesture. Kincaid’s senses tingled. He had the feeling he was missing something. Something big.

  Darcy’s face paled. “Kincaid. What are you doing here?”

  “Taking a walk.” He glanced at the little girl, then up at Darcy. Was Darcy her babysitter? Because as far as he knew, Darcy had no children. Of course, it had been a long time, but wouldn’t she have mentioned it by now if she did? He noted how Darcy drew the little girl back a step from him. Weird. “So, you’re Emma, huh?”

  The little girl nodded. She started to speak, but Darcy bent down and grabbed the child’s hand. “Come on, honey, we need to get home.”

  Honey? He glanced again at the child, then at Darcy, and then he saw it. In the curve of her jaw, the high cheekbones. Such a close resemblance to Darcy, if not for the dark hair and eyes. “Is she your daughter?” he asked.

  Darcy didn’t say anything for a moment. She just looked at him, as if begging him not to ask the question. But it was already out there, already in the air.

  And then it hit him. The little girl, about six years old. The dark hair. The hazel eyes, the same color eyes he had stared into for the past twenty-seven years. It couldn’t be.

  He looked again. A third time. And realized yes, indeed, it could be. The math was right, the eyes were a perfect match. The only reason why Darcy would never mention a child to him. Why she would keep this a secret. He swallowed hard and spoke the words before they got lodged in his throat. “Darcy…is she…is that…my…”

  “Come on, Emma, we need to go home.” Darcy spun away, and started walking. The little girl hurried to keep up, the ball secure under her arm.

  “Mommy, that man was nice. He saved my ball.”

  “Yes, yes, he was.” Darcy kept on going, never looking back at Kincaid.

  “He has a cute puppy. Can I play with the puppy?”

  “No, not now.” Darcy increased her pace. As if she couldn’t go fast enough to get away from him, away from the question he hadn’t finished.

  Kincaid stood there for a moment, a total moron waiting for the truth to sink in. A daughter. Darcy had a daughter. A daughter that looked suspiciously like she could be his.

  His daughter? Could it be?

  He broke into a run, and skidded to a stop in front of Darcy. “Talk to me, Darcy.”

  “Not now.” She glanced down at her daughter, then up at him. Once again, begging him without words to not talk about it, to let the subject drop. Then she must have read the determination in his face, and she acquiesced.

  “Okay, but later.” Darcy circumvented him, increasing her pace. Kincaid kept step beside her. Every so often, Emma would look up at him, as if trying to figure out who he was. Then she’d glance at the dog, clearly wanting to play with Mooch.

  Twin beach towels lay on the sand beside a pair of tote bags. One striped and filled with sunscreen and snacks, the other bright pink and stuffed with toys. Emma wriggled out of Darcy’s grasp and started up the hill. “Mommy, I’m gonna go make my Barbies a sand house.”

  “Okay,” Darcy said. “I’ll help you in a minute.”

  After Emma was out of earshot, Kincaid turned to Darcy. She had remained behind, her eyes downcast, her shoulders hunched.

  Kincaid knew the truth before he asked the question. “She’s mine, isn’t she?”

  Darcy raised her gaze to his, opened her mouth like she was going to say no, but then she let out a long breath. “Yes.”

  The truth hung in the air between them for a long time. He had a daughter. A little girl.

  His daughter.

  He glanced up the hill at Emma drawing Barbies out of a bag and marching them across the towel, one by one. Part of his DNA, part of him, was living here on Fortune’s Island, and he had never known.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” He tried to think of a reasonable explanation. Something that would absolve Darcy from keeping his own child a secret for more than six years. But nothing came to mind. He tamped down his anger, tried to keep the feelings of betrayal in check.

  “I wanted to, Kincaid.” Her voice trembled a little. “I really did.”

  “Yet you didn’t. You broke up with me.” He thought of that note. It’s Over, I’m Sorry. I Wish You Well. So cold, so impersonal. So dismissive. “Did you write that note before or after you found out you were pregnant?”

  “The same day. I found out that morning and…” She shrugged, her eyes hidden by her sunglasses. “I’m sorry, Kincaid. I was scared and I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You could have given me a chance.” His anger yielded to hurt for a moment. “I thought you knew me. I thought you…loved me.”

  And if she loved their daughter, like she clearly did, why would she keep that child a secret from him? Of all the people in the world, Darcy knew how much he had wanted a relationship with his father, yet Darcy had denied their own child that very same thing. Why would she do that?

  “I did. That’s why I didn’t tell you.” She shook her head. “I knew how you’d react. You’d want to do the right thing. But you could have ruined your life. You had college, a law career ahead of you. If you’d been saddled with a child at nineteen, you would have had to give all that up and spend your days waiting tables.”

  “And what, that’s okay for you, but not for me? I could have done it—and would have, if that was what it took.”

  “I know that. And that’s why I made the decision for you and wrote that note.”

  He snorted. “That’s not love, Darcy. That’s control. I grew up with enough of someone else making my decisions for me and telling me what to do. I didn’t need you to do it.” This was a whole other side of Darcy, one he never would have predicted or expected. How could she have done this?

  “I didn’t have any choice, Kincaid.”

  “There’s always a choice.” He glanced again at the little girl on top of the small sandy hill. She was scooping sand into a bucket, then patting it down and turning the bucket over to make a castle. He remembered doing that when he was a kid, except the nanny had taught him how to do it, instead of his own father. A nanny had taught him to ride a bike, how to read, and how to tie a bow tie. His father had been absent for every milestone in Kincaid’s life, making appearances as rare as a harvest moon. How dare Darcy put their child in that same position, on purpose? She had known how he felt about his absent parents, the hurtful detachment of people hired to raise him. She should have known he would never have wanted the same thing for a child of his own.

  He refused to let that happen now. Somehow, he would be a parent. Starting immediately.

  “I am going to be a part of Emma’s life, Darcy, whether you like it or not,” he said. “If I have to go to court, I will. But I will not abandon my own child. I’m not going to be like my father.”

  “Court? Really, Kincaid? Why am I surprised that court is the first thing you throw between us?” She shook her head and when she spoke again, her voice was bitter. “You already are like your father. You’re telling me how it’s going to be instead of working with me. She’s my daughter, and I have done just fine on my own all these years. We don’t need you to pop over on the ferry every other weekend in the summer so you can work on your tan and maybe take her for an ice cream. Emma doesn’t need part-time people in her life.”

  Her words were so cold and acidic. Had he really come across that way? He’d thought Darcy knew him better than that, knew he had hated that vacuous world in which he’d grown up. The parents who were nothing more than figureheads. “Is that what you think I’d be? A part-time father, one who only saw his child when it worked out with his vacation schedule?”

  “She lives here, Kincaid. You work in New York.” Darcy waved north, then south. “That automatically places you out of her life most of the time. It’d be easier for her if you just…”

  “Just didn’t exist,” he finished. The words hurt going past his throat.
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br />   “Yes.” Darcy looked away.

  All these years, he’d thought he knew Darcy. He still couldn’t believe someone he had once loved could do something like this. “Where…uh, where does she think her father is?”

  “She…hasn’t asked.”

  He got the feeling Darcy was lying. Did she really think he’d be that bad of a father that she would do anything to keep him away? Say anything? “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Darcy drew herself up. “I don’t need you or the Foster family having any input into my life, or Emma’s. We make our own decisions. We don’t need you to be a part of that. Just go back to your life and forget about this whole thing.”

  The words sounded so foreign, and not at all like the Darcy he used to know, the one he thought he still knew. She hadn’t liked his father, that Kincaid knew, but she’d never said anything about how his money or his last name made them different. That was part of what he had loved about her. She saw him only as Kincaid, not as Edgar’s son. Not as an heir apparent, or a spoiled brat with a silver spoon.

  Yet, he had gone and proven the opposite by leaping immediately to the legal option. Wasn’t that what his father had done with anyone who wronged him? Maybe that was why she got so distant so fast.

  He took a step closer, tugged the sunglasses off Darcy’s face. “What aren’t you telling me?” he said again.

  “Nothing.”

  But Darcy shook as she said the word, and he got the feeling she was scared. Of him? That was impossible. “Darcy, what is going on?”

  “Just leave us alone, Kincaid. Please. Just leave us alone.” Then she broke away from him, leaving the sunglasses behind. She headed up the hill and settled in beside their daughter to build a sandcastle. Darcy kept her back to him. He waited a long time, watching his daughter laugh and mold the sand into a house for her dolls. Then, when it became clear that Darcy was never going to widen the circle to include him, too, Kincaid turned around and left.

  Two pints of Ben and Jerry’s and an entire package of Oreo cookies hadn’t helped anything, Jillian decided. She’d stayed in her pajamas most of the morning, consuming anything in her kitchen with a first-listed ingredient of sugar. She kept waiting for Zach to call, but her phone stayed annoyingly silent, except for several texts from Darcy asking if she was okay, if she wanted to come to the beach with her and Emma. Her parents texted, too, asking her if she wanted them to come by and visit, whether she wanted to join them for lunch. Jillian kept replying she was fine and keeping busy, using lots of bright and happy emoticons to punctuate her messages.

  Despite what the smiley faces said, Jillian was miserable. Maybe she had expected some kind of Hollywood ending. She would plop the ring on the amp, Zach would realize what an idiot he had been, and he would rush over to tell her he was sorry for not making their relationship a priority. He’d vow to change, and whisk her off on a romantic trip to Vegas to get married right then and there.

  Clearly, she’d been watching too many late-night movies. And reading way too many romance novels.

  So she sat on her sofa, watching reruns of crime shows and crying into her ice cream bowl. At three, she got ready for work, half glad and half sad that it was Darcy’s day off. That meant Jillian’s brother Carter, who lived on the mainland, would be there tonight. He filled in from time to time, both for extra cash and to enjoy his weekends on the island. It was nice when the whole family was together. Jillian missed her brother during the week and was always glad to see him. Maybe being together with her family would help her stop thinking about Zach.

  After a liberal application of concealer and blush, Jillian headed into The Love Shack. It was Friday night, which meant Zach’s band would be back again tonight. Just the thought of seeing him, especially after he hadn’t called, made her heart ache. She would have called in sick, but if she had, that meant Darcy would have to cover, and take away the rare evening Darcy had with her daughter. So Jillian vowed to suck it up and pretend she wasn’t at all affected by the end of her engagement.

  As soon as she walked in, Carter grabbed her in a tight hug. He was taller than her, and a damned good hugger. They might tease each other all the time, but Carter knew when to just be there for his sister. “There’s the troublemaker of the family.”

  She laughed. Her older brother was the kind of sandy-haired, blue-eyed charmer that had managed to get out of every detention in high school, to talk his teachers into boosting his grades when he forgot to turn in his homework, and who’d had nearly every girl in school panting in his presence. But to her, he’d always be the goofball who once fingerpainted his name on their mother’s hutch. And damn, it was nice to see him, especially today.

  “I’m the favorite. The goody-two-shoes,” she said. “You’re the troublemaker.”

  Carter stepped back and put a hand on his chest. He feigned affront at her comments. “Not me. I’m reformed, Jill.”

  Jillian snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  “I am. I’m here to be the supportive, awesome older brother.” He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “One who will pummel that idiot Zach into the ground.”

  A watery smile filled Jillian’s face. Yet another reason why she loved her family. They surrounded her like a protective wall whenever something went wrong in her life. “Darcy told you?”

  “Yup. And if you ask me, you’re better off without him. Zach wouldn’t know a good thing if it stood on top of his precious guitar.”

  That made Jillian laugh and cry all at the same time. She swatted at Carter. “You’re not supposed to make me cry. I have to work.”

  Carter tipped her chin. “And you will. You’ll act like he doesn’t even exist. And he will be kicking himself for letting someone as awesome as you get away.”

  “But what if—”

  “Don’t think about those things right now.” He leaned down until his eyes were locked on hers. “You’re going to be okay, sis. And if you don’t believe it, just pretend you do until it comes true.”

  She wanted to hug Carter, but was afraid if she did, she’d start to cry again. So she slugged him in the shoulder.

  “Ow! What’s that for?”

  “For being the best brother anyone ever had.” She drew in a breath, willed the tears to stay away until she got home. “Now get to work. Those tables won’t set themselves.”

  He saluted her, then gave her that goofy grin the girls always loved, and headed off to finish the prep work. Her dad came over then, just draping an arm over her shoulder and placing a kiss on her temple. “You got this, kiddo.”

  Jillian leaned into Whit’s embrace. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Anytime.”

  Jillian pressed a kiss to her father’s soft cheek, then headed into the kitchen. Her mother’s gaze softened when she saw her daughter. “I left a piece of pie on the counter for you. White chocolate mocha with that caramel drizzle.”

  Jillian knew she’d hit the parent lottery with Whit and Grace. They’d always been the kind of parents who were quiet cheerleaders, imbuing their children with confidence and strength. She was glad they had more or less adopted Darcy, too, when she moved here seven years ago.

  “This is exactly what I needed,” Jillian said. She pulled up a chair to the stainless steel counter and dove into the pie. It tasted like heaven. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “There’s another slice in the fridge if you need it later.” Grace’s hand covered Jillian’s. “You’re doing the right thing, sweetheart. You want a man who will walk through fire to be with you.”

  “I know. It’s just…hard.” Jillian’s throat closed and she pushed the pie to the side.

  “Go out there with your head high, and show him what he’s losing out on. You’re a prize worth working to have.” Grace gave her daughter a tender smile, then picked up the plate and fork.

  Her family was the best. The pie and the warm words renewed Jillian’s spirit, and she got to work readying the Shack for the evening. A few of her friends
stopped in, but no one mentioned Zach, which meant word of Jillian’s decision had already spread far and wide. Just as well, she supposed. It was better than answering questions when people noticed her empty left hand.

  The first three hours of her shift sped by, filled with a number of older couples coming in for the early bird all-you-can-eat fish special. There was a lull after seven-thirty, then the younger crowd started filtering in. As usual, Zach and the band showed up five minutes before their set. Jillian’s heart caught, and she waited for Zach to create that Hollywood ending, but he just walked over to the stage as if this was any other night.

  Carter glanced over at his sister, mouthed, I’ve got this, and walked over to Zach. She half expected Carter to tell him off, but instead, he took the band’s order, and went into the kitchen. Jillian followed behind, glad for the privacy offered by the swinging door, so Zach wouldn’t see the heat in her face or the pain in her eyes.

  “What did you say to him?” she asked Carter.

  “That I hoped he died a horrible and slow death. Then I asked whether he wanted a burger or pizza tonight.”

  That made Jillian laugh. “Did you really?”

  “Yup. He chose the pizza, by the way. I think he knows we don’t make those here ourselves and just reheat frozen ones. He probably figures I’d try to poison him with the burger.”

  “You are awesome.” Jillian grabbed the order for table twelve, then headed out to the dining room. As long as she kept her gaze away from the stage she was fine. She hoped.

  Tonight would be tough, but Carter was right. If she just pretended she was okay, eventually she would be.

  *~*~*

  Darcy read Emma a Junie B. Jones book, then tucked her sleepy daughter in for the night. The day in the sun had worn Emma out, and seconds later, she was asleep. Darcy threw in a load of laundry, grabbed some cheese and crackers and a glass of wine, then headed out to her porch to enjoy the cooler night air.

  She wasn’t surprised when Kincaid emerged into the light from her porch a moment later. She’d just dropped a bombshell into his life, and he would undoubtedly have questions.