Emily's Daughter. Linda Warren

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      “Delivery, ma’am,” he joked.

      He was dressed in khaki pants and a green plaid shirt that emphasized his beautiful eyes. That old familiar ache circulated through her stomach and she quickly curbed it. She couldn’t let sexual feelings sway her thinking.

      She stepped aside and he entered her home. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m late getting in.”

      “I know, I saw you drive up,” he said as he set the bag on the kitchen table. He turned to gaze at her. Her hair was clipped at the nape of her neck, and she wore a brown suit with a cream silk blouse. Her dark eyes were enormous and fatigued, but held a sultry welcome he remembered well. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He’d felt that about her years ago and that hadn’t changed.

      She ran a hand nervously over her hair and he could tell she was tired—that was obvious. “If you’d like to freshen up, go ahead,” he offered. “I’m in no hurry.”

      “Thanks, I will,” she said, and started up the stairs. She was grateful for this reprieve. She desperately needed some time to collect herself and to bolster her courage.

      When she’d left, Jackson glanced around the condo. There were hardwood floors throughout and the living area was done in creams and greens with touches of mauve. Everything was orderly, elegant—perfect. Just like Emily.

      He removed the food from the bag and arranged it on the table, then searched for plates, forks and knives, an easy task since Emily was so organized. He found wineglasses, too, and uncorked the Chardonnay he’d brought. As he poured it, he had no idea what the evening would bring but felt it could only be good. They’d both matured and could now enjoy the fruits of that process.

      He only hoped she understood about the past and had forgiven him for his selfish behavior. He couldn’t believe he’d let someone as rare as Emily slip away, but then at twenty-one he hadn’t been thinking too clearly. If she let him, he planned to make it up to her. Oh, yes, he planned to do just that.

      EMILY RUSHED INTO HER ROOM and stripped out of her business clothes. She grabbed a pair of ivory lounge pants and a tank top and put them on. She intended to be comfortable. After unfastening the clip, she brushed her hair vigorously and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were troubled. She could see that. Could Jackson? She carefully laid the brush on the vanity. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She had to tell him. She had to say the words she’d never said to another person. She had to say them out loud.

      I was pregnant. I gave our daughter away.

      A lump formed in her throat as the impact of those callous words tore and gnawed at her heart. She’d lived with that feeling for so long and now…

      Turning toward the door, she forced herself to stop thinking about the revelation she had to make. She actually wanted to talk about their daughter with Jackson, but once she did, he might not want to see her again. That was a risk she had to take.

      As she entered the kitchen, she stopped short. The table was set with candles and wine and she stared openmouthed at the poached salmon, angel hair pasta and spinach salad.

      “Jackson! How did you manage this?”

      Jackson was busy taking in her new appearance. Her breasts were pressed invitingly against her sleeveless top and her hips were slim and… Her figure hadn’t changed in all these years, except that her breasts seemed fuller, and he ached for her with an intensity that astonished him.

      “Jackson,” she said again to get his attention.

      He shook his head to clear it of pleasant memories. “I’m very creative.” He said the first thing that came into his mind. “After your long day, you need more than fast food.”

      If she knew all the trouble he’d gone to, she’d probably laugh. He wanted tonight to be special and he’d spent most of the afternoon making sure it would be just that. He’d found a restaurant and a chef who agreed to do everything he’d asked. He’d even bought serving dishes because he didn’t want the food in plastic or paper.

      “That’s so thoughtful.” She couldn’t squelch the joy that rose inside her. This was something she hadn’t expected.

      “I’m a thoughtful guy. Don’t you remember?” he asked teasingly as he held out a chair for her.

      She did. He was kind and caring, too. When he’d learned she was a virgin, he hadn’t wanted to make love to her, but she had pressured him, convinced him otherwise. At seventeen, she’d enjoyed the power she had over him. Those feelings—the passion, the companionship, the excitement—had made her forget the bitter things about her life, but they’d created so many more problems.

      They ate in silence, simply savoring the delicious food. Finally Jackson asked, “Is your father still a fishing guide?”

      “Oh, yes. If he can’t be on the water several times a week, he goes a little crazy.”

      “And your mother—how is she?”

      “Having Rebecca weakened her heart, and she has a lot of bad days. Of course, at her age, having to deal with a seventeen-year-old stresses her out and she loses her patience, which triggers other problems.”

      “I don’t think age has anything to do with it,” he remarked. “She didn’t have much patience with you, either.”

      “No, she didn’t.” Emily ran her finger along the rim of her wineglass. “But as I told you in my office, Becca’s very outspoken and that causes a lot of heated arguments.”

      “Whereas the only time you rebelled was with me,” he said, and saw the conflicting emotions shift across her face.

      “Yes.” Her eyes caught his with a fierceness he didn’t understand.

      He reached over and took her hand, wanting to reassure her about their time together. “You didn’t do anything bad, Emily. What we shared was something rare and special. That doesn’t happen too often.”

      She freed her hand slowly, his touch stirring emotions she couldn’t face at this moment. He was being so compassionate, so gentle…everything she remembered him to be. She couldn’t face that, either. She had to tell him, had to see this through. And when he knew, those recaptured emotions would crumble into nothingness. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. This was harder than she’d ever imagined.

      Suddenly, she got to her feet. “I’d better clean up,” she said nervously, and began to carry dishes to the sink.

      Jackson watched her with a puzzled expression, then stood to help her. They cleaned up the dishes without saying a word and carried their wineglasses into the living room. Jackson sat on the sofa; she sat beside him, twisting her glass with such force that he feared she was in danger of breaking it. Uneasiness darted along his spine.

      “I need to talk to you,” she said quietly, still working the glass.

      “I can see that.”

      “This isn’t easy.”

      “I can see that, too,” he answered. He placed his hand over hers to stop the agitated movement.

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