Chapter One

Desiree Prescott heard the phone ringing even as she tried to twist the key in the lock of her sixth-floor apartment on Manhattan’s West Side. Dropping her purse on the foyer table, she sprinted to the kitchen and caught the phone on the fifth ring. It must be Paul, her fiancé, making sure she’d cleared her schedule that weekend for his mother’s visit.

She didn’t believe that every mother-in-law was the devil incarnate, but Paul’s mother was the exception to the rule. Mrs. Tremain wanted her stamp on every part of the wedding, as if it were her wedding, and that just didn’t sit well with Desiree.

“I’ve been dialing this phone all night trying to reach you. It’s a work night. What you doing out so late?” It was her aunt Nadine Smith from Macon, and dreaded anguish soared through Desiree.

“Had a late dinner meeting, and then I stopped by Paul’s place.” Aunt Nadine didn’t call unless there was a problem.

“It’s nearly about midnight.”

“I know. The city never sleeps, Aunt Nadine.” There was no need to check the answering machine. Her aunt never left messages.

“Well, we got trouble.”

“Daddy’s off his medication?”

“Stopped that couple of weeks ago. But he got this call today. At least I took the call. He won’t talk on the phone when he’s in one of his moods.”

“What call?” Desiree asked. Her aunt could go off on a tangent for an hour of complaints before she got to the subject.

“This lawyer fellow in Atlanta called. Said your daddy had a son by some woman when he was in Vietnam. Name’s Jordan Payne.”

Desiree stumbled into a chair. “What?”

“Yeah. Your daddy’s name is on the birth certificate. Can you believe it? He grew up no more than an hour and a half drive from here.”

“Is it true? Is Daddy his father?”

“Levi said it could be true. He met the woman while he was there. Timing’s right. Got pictures and stuff stored in his trunk. He pulled that stuff out. Every five minutes he came running over here to show me a picture of the woman or something from that time. You know how sentimental he gets.”

“I know.” His sentimental outbreaks had been commonplace when she was growing up. Especially when he wasn’t on his meds. He liked to talk about the good days, before the war.

“Problem is, the boy and his wife died four months back. Bless their souls.”

“Oh no. . . . ”

“Yes, Lord. What a crying shame. They left three youngins behind. The wife was an orphan, so she’s got no family except for some distant relative who took the kids in. But they were strung out on something. The baby was crying one night and the wife went crazy and hurt him.”

“Oh my gosh. How bad?”

“Broken arm. Can you believe someone would hurt a defenseless baby? I don’t know what this world is coming to. Social Services took ’em away, and a good thing, too.

But I don’t know about having ballplayers keeping them.”

“Ballplayers?”

“They’re looking after ’em till the lawyer hunted up family.”

It was too late at night for Desiree to absorb all this. “How is the baby?”

“Out of the hospital, thank the Lord. I guess he isn’t in any worse shape than he was before, but I don’t like it. I tell you, folks need to get into the church. That’s where your salvation is. All this mess in the streets isn’t good.”

Desiree’s head swam with the information thrust at her. Maybe the sports players were married. She cut into her aunt’s sermon.

“What’s the lawyer’s name? Did he leave a phone number where I can reach him?” Desiree searched for a pen and pad.

“Honey, since your daddy’s been off his medicine, he can’t go. And you know he can’t keep those children anyway. I got my hands full with keeping an eye on him.”

“I know.”

“Let me get my glasses so I can read the number to you. Be right back.”

Desiree heard her aunt mumbling in the background while she searched for the eyeglasses. She imagined her in her gown and housecoat, a satin cap covering little pink rollers in her hair.

“They were right on top of my head,” she said when she finally returned. “If it had been a snake it would’ve bit me.” She read off the information, including the address of the lawyer’s office.

“How is Daddy taking the news?” Just one more thing to send him into depression.

“He’s holding on. Clammed up. Never know what he’s thinking. Especially since he’s off his medicine. I tried to get him to take a pill, even got the pastor to come out and talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He pushed the man right out of his house and shut the door in our faces. Told us not to come back. I’m his sister. How could he say such a thing to me? I told him he had the pure devil riding in him. Embarrassed me so bad I can barely hold my head up in church.”

“I don’t know why you did that.” Aunt Nadine should have known better. Desiree had been embarrassed plenty of times when her father was off his meds.

“He won’t do a thing till he’s good and ready. You know how he is. Stubborn. But I pray for him anyway.”

Desiree’s heart sank. Her father had fought in Vietnam. He came home with PTSD. After more than thirty years, her father was still going through his episodes. Post-traumatic stress disorder wasn’t something you got over. As a child she’d wished for miracles. Every time her father had an episode—and it seemed she’d lived through a million of them—she wished there was something she could do to fix him, and she prayed that he would improve, that he would be made whole again. As an adult she learned there weren’t little magic formulas that fixed the ailments of the world.

Yes, Desiree knew. She’d lived a lifetime with her father’s illness. But Aunt Nadine would deal with him. He would recover. Eventually, he’d apologize and get on her right side. Right now she focused on the children.

An aunt. Desiree was an aunt. She didn’t know how she felt about that. As an only child, she’d never even considered it.

“Does Mama know?” she asked quietly. Her mother had suffered most of all. Years of being both father and mother to Desiree. While she lived with her husband, she never knew what each day would bring. Until finally one morning, he just walked out. A few days later, he turned up in Macon. Aunt Nadine called to let them know. He carved out a place in the shabby home, a house a stiff wind could blow down. Room by room, board by board, he began to fix it up.

A month later a lawyer contacted her mother telling her Levi Prescott had filed for a divorce.

Although her father had never completely dissociated himself from her mother’s life, he left no room for her to seek a relationship with another man. Every couple of months he came back for a week or two.

Jacqueline Prescott’s love story had been brief, but she’d loved someone who’d loved her for a lifetime. Yet after the war, he returned home a changed man. And as much as he loved her, he couldn’t live with her. And now, Desiree wondered how her mother was going to digest this news—another kick in the teeth.

“I was going to let you call her,” her aunt was saying. “She’s out of town at a convention anyway.”

Desiree’s mother still kept in contact with Aunt Nadine and Levi.

“The last thing she needs is more pain,” Desiree said.

“She’s sacrificed her life for you and your dad. She deserves some good now. At least he didn’t betray her. The boy was born before they met. He was thirty-seven when he died. Well, I don’t usually stay up this late. I’ve got to get up early to try to get Levi to take his medicine.” They both knew he wasn’t.

“Get some sleep, Aunt Nadine. Thanks for calling.”

“You take care of that mess in Atlanta and I’ll hold the fort here.”

As soon as Desiree hung up, she made a to-do list. By rote, she made reservations to Atlanta, called a car service to take her to the airport, and reserved a car at the airport in Atlanta. She got directions to the lawyer’s office off the Internet and left a message on her supervisor’s answering machine. Then she called the lawyer’s office and left him a message, giving him the flight information and approximate time she’d make it to his office.

A thought suddenly struck her. How old were the children? She forgot to ask. They could all be under five.

They could be two-year-old triplets for all she knew. She shuddered at the thought.

In the bedroom she tossed clothes into a suitcase and thought of three frightened children struggling to deal with their grief for the only two people who loved them and with what must be unbearable fear for their future.

Moving quickly between the bed and the dresser, she bumped her toe on the dresser and hopped around like a rabbit, rubbing it until the throbbing lessened.

She could barely move in her closet-sized bedroom. Her only bedroom. The bed took up most of the available space. To accommodate three children, she’d have to find another apartment or buy a house farther out.

But first she had to get to Atlanta.

“You’re never going to marry me, are you, Gerard Kingsley?” Andrea Warner, his girlfriend of the moment, asked with her hands on her hips. She was dressed in jeans and a pretty green top. Her short black hair was done in a feathery do. And she was steaming.

Gerard stifled a sigh. “Give me a minute,” he said, easing up from the couch, careful not to jostle the baby.

Andrea had hunted him down at the Paynes’ residence. Gerard had collected Christopher Payne from the hospital that morning, and the eight-month-old had clung to him like a tick ever since. The boy was irritable and probably in pain with the broken arm, and Gerard had the devil of a time getting him to sleep. Dogged if he was going to let Andrea’s snit wake the boy.

Although Gerard’s grandmother had moved in with the children until other arrangements could be made, she’d gone to bed hours ago, leaving Gerard to settle the child. Chris finally fell asleep on Gerard’s chest. He eased the child to his shoulder, careful not to disturb the injured arm, and caught a whiff of baby powder and lotion. He was a soft little bundle, and if Gerard had kids of his own, he’d want one exactly like Chris.

Gerard pressed a hand against the boy’s back for support and carried him upstairs. Gently he laid him in the crib, praying he wouldn’t awaken. The little tyke continued to sleep when he spread a light blanket over him.

Gerard made sure the baby monitor was on before he tiptoed out of the room.

The doors to the other bedrooms were closed, and darkness emerged from beneath. It had taken some time getting the kids to settle in for the night. There was homework to be done and the boys wanted to play catch.

Gerard made it back to the family room to confront Andrea. He already felt like he’d pitched eight innings. Andrea made him feel like he had yet to field a press interview.

Andrea straightened up as he came into the room. Gerard sat on the couch across from her as she glared at him.

“I’m not ready for marriage, Andrea. Why would you want to marry a man who’s away ninety percent of the time? My first game is tomorrow night. I won’t get more than a few days off until late October. Why would you want to be tied to that kind of life?”

The stubborn tilt to her chin was certain indication she wasn’t going to settle for his explanation. “Because I want some stability. I want children. I want to know this relationship is going somewhere.”

Gerard scrubbed a hand down his face. “Children need a father who’s going to be around, not one who’s away nine months of the year.”

“They need a father, period. You aren’t going to play ball forever.”

“I’m playing now. And if my health holds up I’ll be playing for the next five years. What kind of life is that for you or kids?”

She crossed her arms beneath her pert breasts. They could be snuggling on the couch. But no. She had to debate a subject that should already be clear.

“Tony’s married. He and Pat are doing great,” she said. Anthony Parker was Gerard’s best friend and catcher for the Atlanta Eclipses baseball team. Anthony was a lovesick fool. A newlywed, the man still had stars in his eyes.

“They don’t have children and Pat isn’t trying to get pregnant right away.”