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  Michael gasped for air. He clutched his hands behind his head. This moment was as awful as he imagined it would be. And he hadn't yet told Sandy that Claire was his daughter.

  "I've prayed to God to forgive me for my selfishness. "Michael kneeled in front of her in the dirt. "I don't expect you to forgive me right now. But I want you to know that I'm truly sorry."

  Sandy stood over him, silent and still.

  Michael looked up. "I love you, Sandy. With everything I am."

  Sandy's body shook. "Do you mean that?"

  Michael rose. He cupped her face in his hands. "I'd do anything for you." Tears streamed down Sandy's cheeks. He kissed them away.

  Sandy looked into his eyes. "Michael, why are you telling me now? It happened so long ago . . . I wish you had never told me." She sucked in a breath.

  Should he tell her about Claire now or wait until another time? She was already distraught. Needles pricked his eyes.

  "Can we go home now? I'm cold." Sandy made a move toward her Lexus.

  Michael grabbed her arm. "There is one more thing." He questioned his words, as he took off his jacket and draped it around his wife's shoulders.

  Sandy clutched his coat tight with white knuckles. Her body stiffened.

  Michael took a breath and talked on. He couldn't go through this pain all over again. "I recently found out—that Emily had a baby nine months after we were together. Sandy, I don't know how to tell you—except to say it. Claire is my daughter."

  Sandy's knees buckled.

  Michael caught her before she hit the ground.

  38

  Red Apple Café's omelet rivaled Blake's. Claire dug in her purse for tip money. "Oh, no, you don't." Samantha produced a few dollars and laid them on the table. "My treat."

  "But you already paid the bill."

  "It's the least I can do for letting me crash at your house."

  "You're welcome anytime." Claire stood and led her friend out the door. "See you this afternoon. And good luck with your interview." It was so like Samantha to have an interview all lined up the first day in a new town. Claire waved and reached into her purse for her car keys.

  "Claire," Vivian called from the restaurant's doorway. "I'm so glad I caught you." She motioned Claire to come toward her.

  "What's up?" Claire's breath caught in her throat. Vivian's face was ashen next to her burgundy Red Apple Café T-shirt.

  "It's Blake. I overheard a couple police officers. He was stabbed. Blake's at Dominican Hospital."

  Claire's heart pounded. Blake was stabbed. The news didn't compute. She must get to the hospital—and fast. "Vivian, I've got to go." She was on her way to visit Geraldine, but she'd have to check on Blake first.

  "Keep me posted, honey. And drive safe." Vivian's words fell on Claire's retreating back.

  She ran down the cement stairs that led to the parking lot. Claire glanced at her watch. 8:30. When did Blake enter the hospital? He was called in to work last night while they were visiting Geraldine. Claire put her key in the lock and opened her car door. She flung her leftovers and her purse on the passenger seat, her adrenaline shifting into overdrive. Claire couldn't lose him, too. There were already too many losses in her life. She peeled out of the parking lot and into traffic.

  The fifteen-minute drive to the hospital jostled Claire's nerves. The traffic was stop and go. She found herself praying for Blake's injuries, Geraldine's health, and her upcoming talk with Michael. Could she leave them all behind?

  Claire merged off the highway and onto Soquel Drive. The hospital was on her immediate left. She pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine and a few minutes later approached the information desk on shaky legs. "Officer Blake Coombs, please."

  The elderly woman wrote Blake's name on a piece of paper. Then she typed on the computer keyboard.

  Claire drummed her fingertips against the counter. Why was the woman taking so long? She couldn't wait to see Blake. The smell of his cologne from last night's hug lingered in her mind.

  "I'm sorry, but I don't have him listed." The woman looked up from behind the small glasses that pinched her nose, giving her the appearance of an ostrich. "Are you sure he was the patient?"

  Claire let out a breath. "Are you sure you spelled his name right? C-O-O-M-B-S?"

  The woman checked again. "Oh, wait a minute. I see he came in early this morning to the emergency room but was released. Anything else I can help you with?"

  Blake was released. That was a good sign, wasn't it? "He's all right then?" Claire gripped the counter with both hands.

  "That's all I can tell you." The woman shook her head.

  "Thank you." Claire stepped away and called Blake's cell phone. No answer. She'd try him again after her visit with Geraldine.

  Claire climbed the stairs to the second floor. She walked the hallway and then peeked inside Geraldine's room. The bed was empty. What was going on? Everyone who mattered to her seemed to disappear. She spoke to the nurse sitting in the hallway thumbing through a stack of paperwork. "Excuse me. I'm looking for Geraldine Thompson."

  "They moved her to Dominican Rehabilitation on Frederick Street. She needed physical therapy before she could go home."

  "Where is the rehab center located?" asked Claire.

  "You can head straight down Soquel Drive toward Santa Cruz or take the highway and get off on Morrissey Boulevard."

  "Thank you." Claire bit her lip. Her frustration mounted. Should she call Geraldine first to make sure it was a good time to visit? She searched for her phone.

  A folded piece of paper was inside her right pocket. Claire turned away from the nurse, walked down the hallway toward her car, and pulled out the paper. It was an envelope. The letter. In a way, she wished she'd never pursued the writer of the letter. It had only brought heartache.

  Michael was not someone she could respect as a father. From what she saw of him, he was selfish. Claire wouldn't be surprised if he'd known all along she was his daughter. She was sure he abandoned her mother the minute he found out she was pregnant. Wasn't Julia older than she was? The thought disturbed her. Why would a married man give it all away?

  Claire sat in her VW, her thoughts drifting to her mother. Why would her mother have an affair with a married man? She hit the steering wheel with her fist. Didn't her mother think she deserved better? Haley followed in her mother's footsteps, except she chose a man who drank his troubles away.

  It was time to confront Michael and make a decision whether she should stay in Capitola or return to L.A., but her heart told her to first check on her neighbor.

  Blake's white Ford F-150 sat in his driveway. Claire pulled up next to the curb in front of her house. She slid out of her car, ran up the sidewalk, and knocked on Blake's front door.

  "Coming."

  At the sound of Blake's voice on the other side, Claire sucked in her breath. What was she going to say? Thought I'd check on you. By the way, I may be moving back to L.A. The idea seemed crazy whenever she was near him. Claire could list a dozen characteristics she admired about Blake—his relationship with God, for starters. She'd never met a man who put God before everything else.

  The door swung open. "Claire, what brings you by?" Blake's right forearm was covered in gauze.

  "I heard you were stabbed. I rushed to Dominican Hospital, but you weren't there." Claire hurried to him and threw her arms around his waist, her head resting on his chest. "I was so scared."

  "I should get hurt more often." Blake slipped his left arm around her and squeezed her tight. "I like all this attention."

  Claire stepped back. "What happened?"

  Blake motioned her inside. Claire hadn't been in Blake's house more than a handful of times. She liked what she saw. It needed a feminine touch, but it was comfortable. She sat down on the black leather couch. Blake joined her.

  "Capitola police have been dealing with gang members tagging signs, restaurants, trash bins, anything they can get their hands on." Blake looked down, then back at Cla
ire. "Last night was rough. I thought I had it all under control until the guy pulled out a knife. He sliced my arm pretty good, but I was fortunate. He was aiming for my face."

  "No." Claire was suddenly nervous. "Did you call for backup?"

  "Amber came, but by that time it was too late." Blake's torso deflated. "In self defense, I shot the guy. I'm on a paid leave of absence until they investigate."

  "You could have been seriously hurt." Claire brought her hand up to Blake's cheek.

  "They caught the two other gang members who took off running. All three of them were carrying weapons." Blake held her wrist and kissed the inside of her hand. "Do you know what flashed through my mind?"

  Claire's pulse quickened. She shook her head.

  "I didn't want to die without telling you how I felt about you."

  Was Blake going to kiss her? She wouldn't push him away this time. No, she'd welcome the intimate moment. But would she give him false hope when she could be moving back to L.A.?

  "Claire, I know you're scared of a relationship. I can see it in your eyes. But I want you to know—"

  Oh, no. He's not going there. "Your kitchen is amazing!" Claire bolted off the couch. She rubbed her hand over the granite countertop. "When was this installed?"

  Blake stood next to her, his nearness making her regret her actions.

  "Claire, you sure you want to talk about my kitchen now?" Blake's husky voice moaned in her ear.

  "It's perfect. And these cabinets are beautiful. I love maple. "Claire fingered a handle and opened the door.

  Blake blinked hard. "Okay, Claire. I get the message. You're not ready."

  Oh, yes, I am! Claire knew the real reason she held back. Fear.

  "Kristy knew of wholesalers trying to get rid of their extra granite. I got a deal."

  "You have great taste." She knew she was being overly dramatic. Why couldn't she allow Blake to open up to her?

  Because of Michael. If her father didn't want her around, she'd hit the road. Whether back to L.A. or another California town, she'd leave. Every other man who mattered to her had rejected her. Why would Michael, or Blake for that matter, be any different?

  One look into Blake's eyes told her the truth. He would never hurt her. She longed to love him with her whole heart. "Blake, I've got to run." She needed to talk with Michael. Her future depended on it. "I'll talk with you tonight, okay?" Claire stood on her toes and kissed Blake's cheek. It was rough from stubble, but she didn't mind. To be near Blake sent a rush of emotions through her.

  "Why don't we drive to New Brighton Beach in my truck?"

  "Are you sure you feel up to it?"

  Blake walked Claire to the door. "Definitely. Any time with you is worth it. But you'll need to drive, okay? I'm on pain meds."

  "Harry and Pearl can't wait to meet you." She took a few steps, then looked back. "Oh, and by the way, my friend Samantha will be joining us. She's in town. We'll knock on your door at a quarter till six."

  "You can get me anytime." He leaned against the doorframe, a silly grin on his face. "I love you, Claire."

  He loved her? Her hands grew clammy. She didn't know what to do with those words. Did she love him too? She opened her mouth to speak. "See you tonight."

  Was Blake's love enough to keep her in Capitola?

  The scribbled note hung haphazardly on the front door.

  Samantha,

  I'll be back soon. There's something important

  I need to do. It couldn't wait.

  Claire

  With white knuckles, Claire gripped her steering wheel and drove to Michael's house. Would he be home? Surely he didn't work every day of the week. Maybe that's what it took to drive the kind of cars he and Sandy drove. And who'd want to clean such a big house? People with money hired help. She'd take her small house by the beach, with tons of character, any day.

  Claire stopped on the street in front of Michael's house. What if Sandy was home? Claire definitely didn't want to hurt Michael's wife as she had at the picnic. Sandy was a nice woman. She could tell Sandy she wanted to speak to Michael privately about Geraldine. In a way, it was true.

  If Claire were honest with herself, she was surprised Michael hadn't made any effort to contact her since Haley had given him the note from her mother. Of course, he had a family to consider. Were they begging him to go on with their lives as if nothing had happened? Claire looked up. The sloped driveway and trees blocked her view. She let out a nervous breath. Michael is my father!

  Dear God, give me strength. The only other time she'd been at Michael's house was when she was hired to take care of Geraldine. Blake had prayed for her before they went in. And now she was praying to God all on her own.

  Claire hit the gas pedal and drove up the driveway. She didn't see Michael's BMW. Was it in the garage? Claire's stomach tied in knots, and her pulse raced. She second-guessed herself. Her car idled while she sat staring at the flagstone steps that led to the front door.

  With a surge of courage, Claire turned off the engine and stepped out of the comforts of her VW. She gently shut the door and walked up the steps. Her hands shook. She balled them into fists, then relaxed. She'd watched her mother die of cancer, lived with her sister and her sister's alcoholic husband, and moved to a new town. Claire could face Michael and find out if he wanted a relationship with her. She brought her hand up to knock. But before she did, the door swung open.

  39

  Her eyes bore through Claire like daggers. "What are you doing here?" Julia stepped out of the house. "Do you have any idea what you've done to my family? I'm getting married in a couple of months. And you've ruined everything."

  Julia knows the truth. Claire took a step back. She wasn't prepared for such an attack.

  Julia threw up her hands. "Why did you move here?"

  Claire slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket. If Julia read the letter, maybe she'd understand. "I was fired from my job as a server and kicked out of my sister's house. I had to make a life for myself somewhere, so I came here. It made sense at the time." Claire pulled out the envelope and pointed to the upper left corner. "The return address is your father's rental."

  "You mean our father," Julia spat.

  The thought tightened her gut. "Listen, I didn't come here to fight." Claire attempted to keep her voice even.

  "Why show up at all?" Julia folded her arms across her chest. "Do you expect to waltz right in and become part of the family?"

  "No, I—"

  "I've been consoling my mother all night."

  Claire gripped the letter. "I'm sorry. I never meant for anyone to get hurt—"

  "We are hurt." Julia flopped down on the flagstone steps.

  Claire sat down beside her. No words would come.

  "While my mom was delivering me, my father was in L.A. with your mother." Julia lowered her head, her arms resting on her knees.

  Claire pressed her fingertips to her forehead. "At least you still have a mother. My mother's dead."

  Julia turned her head. Her voice softened, "Can I read it?"

  Claire handed Julia the letter. For a split second, Claire changed her mind. "Maybe you shouldn't. It's from—"

  "My dad, I know." Julia's eyes darted from Claire to the letter. Her lips moved as she read silently.

  Dad. The endearment slipped easily from Julia's lips. Would Claire ever call him that? She stared at Julia's face. Their noses were alike—small and slightly upturned, but they were totally different in every other way. Julia's dark features contrasted with her lighter ones. Her half sister was definitely Sandy's daughter.

  Julia handed Claire the piece of paper. "It's a sweet love letter written by a teenager. Why couldn't you leave it at that?"

  "My mom never wanted to tell him I was his daughter because she knew he had a family, but Michael would've found out sooner or later. She wrote him a note when she was dying of cancer."

  "So, you weren't the one who told Dad?" Julia's brows furrowed.

  "No. I
n a way, my mother did." Claire slipped the letter back into her pocket. "My sister Haley was supposed to give the note to Michael at the memorial, but she held on to it. I guess she felt I had a right to know. I wouldn't purposely do anything to spoil your wedding."

  Julia pushed herself to standing and wiped her hands together. "I need time. You're a good companion to my grandmother. She needs you. But don't expect a wedding invitation. Look, I've got to go. David is waiting for me."

  "Is Michael home?" Claire twisted a strand of hair.

  "No, he's not. Neither is my mom." Julia stepped into the house and held on to the doorframe, her knuckles turning white. "On second thought, maybe you should go back to L.A. where you belong." The door closed with a bang.

  With stooped shoulders, Claire walked to her car. "Where do I belong?" she muttered under her breath. Her car crept out of the driveway as her heart sank.

  The note on the door said she'd be right back. Michael raked his hand through his hair as he sat on the porch steps waiting for Claire to return. Where was she? He'd been sitting there for a good half hour contemplating what he'd say.

  Michael never thought he'd have more than one child. For years he and Sandy tried for another baby, with no success. They came close to filing papers to adopt, but life always seemed to get in the way. It was an excuse. Michael didn't know if he could love a child that wasn't his own flesh and blood contrary to what many adoptive couples said. But it was all about him. Always had been.

  And now, he had another daughter. What about Sandy? Where did that put her in all this? Michael's stomach clenched. It didn't seem fair.

  The night before, Sandy had made it clear that she needed time to wrap her mind around all that he had told her. Michael tried to put himself in her shoes. He'd be patient. His mother was right. The hard part was telling Sandy. He needed grit and determination—and humility. Michael's pride had gotten in the way many times in their marriage, but last night he needed to admit his mistakes. And by God's grace, he did. Sandy was the love of his life, and he vowed to prove it to her—whatever she wanted or needed.