From Here To Paternity. Christine Rimmer

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      She could have hated him just for that alone. For looking like everything she wanted and needed in a man—when he wasn’t. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why in the world would you want to come over here?”

      He stuck his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks and lifted one fine, hard shoulder in a shrug. “It’s not right you should have to take care of that baby on your own. Let me…help out.”

      Okay, now. That was a stunner. “Let you what?”

      “I want to help out.”

      “What did I tell you about helping? I believe it was ‘don’t.’”

      He frowned. “But you need help. You shouldn’t have to do this on your own.”

      “So you’re admitting it, then? Mia is yours.”

      “Charlene. How many times do I have to say it? I never slept with your sister, so that baby can’t be mine.”

      There was no point in arguing with him. No point in even talking with him. “Brand. Go away. Just, please, leave me alone.” She swung the door shut. But it wouldn’t go. Because his foot was in it. She glared at him through the narrow space that remained between the door and the door frame. “Move your foot.”

      “Let me in.”

      She looked down at that foot of his and then back up at him. “I ought to call the sheriff on you.”

      Brand said nothing, though one golden-brown eyebrow sort of inched toward his hairline. And his foot? It stayed right where he’d put it a few seconds ago. Stuck firmly between her door and the door frame.

      It was either start screaming at him—or let him in where she could yell at him in the privacy of her own home. “Fine,” she said between clenched teeth.

      She turned from him and marched into the living room—past the playpen and around the coffee table. Brand came in behind her and quietly shut the door as she dropped to the sofa. She could see him in her side vision, though she refused to look directly at him. Instead she focused on Mia, who continued to make those happy little baby noises and stare up at the butterfly mobile as if it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

      He came and stood above Charlene. She kept her gaze on the baby.

      “You’re not even going to look at me?”

      She was not. “If you’ve got something to say, get it over with.”

      From the corner of her eye she could see his hands hanging at his sides. They tightened. And then he must have caught himself because they visibly relaxed.

      Those hands…

      Sometimes she could still remember the way they felt, touching her—and why, oh, why did she have to think about him touching her right now, when he was standing six inches away, waiting for her to give up and face him?

      “I’m sorry,” he said.

      Surely she’d heard wrong. She raised her head and met his waiting eyes; though, only a second before, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. “What?”

      “I said, I’m sorry for ten years ago. I shouldn’t have walked away from you. I didn’t know what the hell else to do. I was twenty years old and incapable of being the kind of man that you needed then. I knew I’d make one lousy husband. I was certain it would be a disaster—not only the marriage part but also trying to be an instant dad to a nine-year-old kid. I couldn’t deal. So I broke it off.”

      She stared up at him. “You couldn’t deal…”

      “That’s right. I was a coward and I ran. I left you to fight for your sister on your own.”

      “And now you want, what? My forgiveness? For me to tell you it’s okay and I’m over it? Well, Brand, I know I should be over it. I should be…a bigger person than I am. But I’m not a bigger person and I’m not over it.”

      “I know you’re not.”

      “I don’t even want to talk about it.”

      “Fine.”

      She wanted to…oh, she didn’t know what she wanted to do. But it included violence. And even blood. “Fine?” she demanded.

      “That’s what I said.”

      “No, Brand. It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all.”

      He kept his mouth shut, probably because he knew that whatever he said at that moment would only cause her to start shrieking. He stared down at her, waiting—for what, she had no idea.

      The awful question, the one she couldn’t stop asking herself—and him—rose in her mind again, Had he slept with Sissy?

      Did she actually believe he could do such a low, rotten thing? Beyond not being the kind of man she could count on, was he also a liar and a cheat, a guy who’d have sex with her own little sister and then deny that her sister’s baby might be his…?

      Her stomach was clenched so tight, she feared she might be sick. With a soft cry of misery and frustration, she put her head in her hands.

      “Damn it, Charlene…”

      She heard his voice above her, sounding every bit as miserable and frustrated as she was—and right then, she knew.

      She was certain. He couldn’t have done it, couldn’t have slept with Sissy. He just…well, he wouldn’t, that was all.

      So while she would continue to judge him and find him guilty when it came to what had happened ten years ago, she had a gut-deep, undeniable surety that he was innocent of seducing Sissy. No matter how hard and loud she insisted otherwise, she believed him when he said he hadn’t laid a hand on her sister.

      Which meant either she was ten kinds of hopeless, gullible fool when it came to him—or Sissy had lied outright about something really important. Lied with breathtaking cruelty, choosing to accuse the one man she knew Charlene couldn’t bear to deal with, the only man Charlene had ever loved….

      It was all just too ugly.

      Too sad.

      Too wrong.

      And Charlene was tired. She was bone-deep weary of being furious at Brand, of denying her real and growing anger at her sister.

      She lowered her hands and folded them in her lap and drew her shoulders back. “All right,” she said. “I’ve heard your apology. Are you finished?”

      “No.”

      “What else?”

      “I just want to help, that’s all. Maybe make up a little for what I didn’t do back then.”

      Surely this wasn’t really happening. Brand in her house, saying he was sorry, telling her he wanted to make up for the past. “You want to help…”

      “Yeah.”

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