The Other Twin. Nan Dixon

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      Her eyes filled with fire. She jabbed him in the chest. “I know who my daughter’s father is.”

      “I don’t. I need a...a paternity test.” The words exploded out of him.

      Heather waved her hand in a come-here motion.

      No. Fucking. Way. She’d brought the kid here? Each breath he took seared his lungs like a welding torch.

      “Nathan, turn around,” Heather said.

      If he turned around, it would be real. This child would be real. “I can’t.”

      “You have to.” Heather tugged on his hand. “Bella has no one else.”

      He took in a deep breath, turned and looked down.

      The kid had ratty blond hair. Her shirt was streaked with stains and was too small, showing a thin belly. Her shorts were grayish white. Wrapped around her shoulders was a blanket that might once have been pink.

      Brown eyes looked into his. Brown eyes just like his. Like Daniel’s. Shit. It was like looking at a picture of himself as a child.

      Heather knelt. “Bella, this is Nathan.”

      The kid didn’t say a word.

      He swore. “I can’t...” He waved his hand, words tangling and looping in his head. “Don’t...”

      “You have to.” A metal chair screeched across the stone over by the fountain and Heather jumped. “A little on-the-job training won’t hurt.” She rattled the words out like a nail gun.

      It might hurt the kid. What was her name? It wouldn’t work its way through the maze in his mind.

      Heather stroked the kid’s hair. “You’ll stay with Nathan. He’s your daddy.”

      Tears trickled down the kid’s face.

      Heather grabbed two grocery bags and shoved them at him. “Here’s her stuff.”

      “You can’t do this.”

      “I don’t have a choice,” she hissed.

      “But...” Nothing came out past the lump in his throat. Nothing.

      “Remember what I told you.” Heather knelt in front of the crying girl, pressed a finger to her lips and kissed her forehead. “Be good for your daddy.”

      This couldn’t be happening. His life couldn’t be...this screwed up. “Don’t.”

      She pointed at the bags in his arms. “Her birth certificate is in there.”

      He shook his head. “I can’t.” He turned to set the bags on the bench.

      Scuffling noises sounded behind him. When he spun around, Heather was sprinting to the side gate.

      “Stop!” He started to move, almost knocking the kid down. Setting her on the bench next to the bags, he stuck a finger in her face. “Stay.”

      Nathan dashed along the courtyard paths. Where was Heather?

      Tires squealed on the street. He headed for the noise. She couldn’t leave...the kid with him. No way. Hell, he couldn’t even remember her name.

      A truck with blackened windows raced past him. He caught a glimpse of Heather through the cracked windshield just before she turned the corner.

      “Wait! Stop! How do I reach you? What’s your phone number?”

      His boots pounded on the sidewalk, echoing the hammering of his heart. His lungs burned, his legs ached. She couldn’t do this.

      She turned the corner. By the time he got there, she’d vanished.

      He swore. If words could form clouds, they’d have been black and thundering above his head.

      He trudged back to the courtyard. Each foot weighed a ton. What the hell was he supposed to do with a kid?

      The girl sat where he’d left her, staring at him with eerily familiar brown eyes. Tears washed her cheeks, but she didn’t make a sound.

      “Kid.” Damn it. What was her name? He dug through the first bag and pulled out a packet of papers. Flipping through them, he found what he assumed was a birth certificate.

      His name was in the middle of the page, next to what looked like the word father. What the hell?

      He scanned the jumble of letters. Belisala. No. He exhaled and tried again. Isabella. That rang a bell.

      He looked at the girl. He couldn’t take care of a kid. Kids were smarter than he was. He shoved his hat off his head. What about work? He needed every hour to make sure he didn’t screw up Abby’s restaurant.

      He was too stupid to be a dad.

      Mom. Mom would know what to do. Mom could take care of...Isabella.

       CHAPTER THREE

      CHERYL SMILED AS Josh laughed at something one of the workers said. His belly laugh warmed everything inside her. The Fitzgerald sisters joined in.

      She inhaled. With Nathan gone, she could take full breaths again. She didn’t like being near big men. But the other crew members were almost as large and didn’t make her belly quiver like Nathan did.

      “Time to let the crew get back to work,” she called to Josh.

      “Mom.” Exasperation laced his words.

      “Miss Abby wants her restaurant built,” she said.

      Abby nodded. “But thanks for drawing that wonderful picture in the cement.”

      “I’ll grab the table,” Cheryl said.

      “Thanks.” Abby picked up the tray and the three sisters headed out.

      “Come on, Josh,” Cheryl said.

      “Mr. Jed said I could pour concrete.”

      She looked at Jed. “I don’t know.”

      “Couple of minutes?” Jed asked.

      “I guess.” She folded up the table.

      Nathan entered the carriage house and she swore the temperature shot up. Where was the woman who’d come looking for him?

      The men started to pour, letting Josh push the cement down the chute. Nathan headed to Jed and they talked in hushed voices.

      “I need to get back to work,” Cheryl called to Josh after a few minutes.

      “They need my help,” Josh insisted. “It’s summer vacation, Mom.”

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