Always and Forever, Cat.
The irony of that phrase haunted Rory Sullivan. Just because you left a place or a person didn’t mean they left you. Some memories were burned too deep to ever depart; they remained in your mind, constant reminders of what was.
What was, what is, what would always be for him—the woman whose memory he’d tried to ignore. A woman he’d tried to erase from the deepest recesses of his mind but had found was unforgettable. The passion he tried so hard to bury was ultimately unquenchable.
Caitlyn Kildare was still there. In his heart. In his mind. In his past.
Was there someone special in her life now? Someone who’d replaced him in her heart, her mind…her bed?
Dear Reader,
Happy anniversary! Twenty years ago, in May, 1980, we launched Silhouette Books. Much has changed since then, but our gratitude to you, our many readers, and our dedication to bringing you the best that romance fiction has to offer, remains as true today as it did in 1980. Thank you for sharing with us the joy of romance, and for looking toward a wonderful future with us. The best is yet to come!
Those winsome mavericks are back with brand-new stories to tell beneath the Big Sky! The Kincaid Bride by Jackie Merritt marks the launch of the MONTANA MAVERICKS: WED IN WHITEHORN series, which focuses on a new generation of Kincaids. This heartwarming marriage-of-convenience tale leads into Silhouette’s exciting twelve-book continuity.
Romance is in the air in The Millionaire She Married, a continuation of the popular CONVENIENTLY YOURS miniseries by reader favorite Christine Rimmer. And searing passion unites a fierce Native American hero with his stunning soul mate in Warrior’s Embrace by Peggy Webb.
If you enjoy romantic odysseys, journey to exotic El Bahar in The Sheik’s Arranged Marriage by Susan Mallery—book two in the sizzling DESERT ROGUES miniseries.
Gail Link pulls heartstrings with her tender tale about a secret child who brings two lovebirds together in Sullivan’s Child. And to cap off the month, you’ll adore Wild Mustang by Jane Toombs—a riveting story about a raven-haired horse wrangler who sweeps a breathtaking beauty off her feet.
It’s a spectacular month of reading in Special Edition. Enjoy!
All the best,
Karen Taylor Richman
Senior Editor
Sullivan’s Child
Gail Link
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To the two Jennifers (Nauss and Walsh) at Silhouette—thanks
for sharing in the creative process
and caring about my work.
To the terrific crew of Barnes & Noble Wilmington—co-workers
extraordinaire!
To Pierce Brosnan—from “Remington” to “Bond,”
you always deliver the goods.
It’s a pleasure (not to mention an inspiration)
to watch you work.
Books by Gail Link
Silhouette Special Edition
Marriage To Be? #1035
Lone Star Lover #1121
Texan’s Bride #1163
Sullivan’s Child #1325
GAIL LINK
A bookseller since 1977, Gail realized her dream of becoming a published author with the release of her first novel, a historical, in 1989.
Gail is a member of the national Romance Writers of America and Novelists, Inc. She has been featured speaker at many writers’ conferences, and several publications have featured her comments on the romance genre, including Publishers Weekly and the RWA Report. In 1993 Gail was nominated for Romantic Times Magazine’s Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Sensual Historical.
In addition to being a voracious reader, Gail is also an avid musical theater and movie fan. She would love to hear from her readers, and you may write to her at P.O. Box 717, Concordville, PA 19331.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
“Mommy, what’s a bastard?”
Coming right after the softly spoken question from her daughter, the sharp sound of the empty, oversize coffee mug that slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor was almost inaudible to Caitlyn Kildare.
A soft gasp of breath caught in her throat.
What couldn’t be heard in the sunny kitchen was the shattering of her world into even smaller fragments than that of the broken piece of crockery.
“Where did you hear that word?” Hadn’t she known that this might happen someday? She’d told herself that she should be prepared, but being prepared and facing the reality were two very different things.
Getting a grip on her stunned emotions, Caitlyn turned around and faced the curious glance of her six-year-old daughter.
The little girl’s eyes were wide. She stared at the mess her mother had made on the floor, her dark blue eyes outlined by a fringe of sooty lashes. Everything, including her stubborn chin, was a softer replica of her father.
Rory’s daughter. A child he knew nothing about.
Cat bent down, picked up the pieces of the broken mug, a souvenir of a touring Broadway show, and threw them into the trash can.
Placing Tara in one of the sturdy maple chairs that flanked the kitchen table, Cat hunkered down on her knees before the child, gently stroking the soft, wavy, long black hair. A sprinkle of fine golden freckles dusted her daughter’s nose, as they did hers.
A faint smile played over Cat’s lips. Tara was not totally her father’s clone. There was a lot of her in her daughter. Cat repeated her question.
The little girl spoke up quickly. “At school today.”
“What?” Cat’s eyes widened in shock. The term was one she’d never expected to hear being bandied about at an elementary-school class, even if it was one for gifted students. “Who said it?”
“Tessa’s mommy.” Tara’s face tightened in concentration before she resumed. “Tessa left her favorite book behind, and I went out to give it to her before she got in the car. I heard her mommy say to Stephen’s mommy that Tessa’s daddy was a ‘real bastard.’ What did she mean?” Tara asked, her eyes wide with inquiry.
Relief eased Cat’s tense muscles. The woman hadn’t been referring to Tara. Mrs. Saunders was obviously going through another rough patch with her ex-husband, and Tara had overheard the tirade.
“Tessa’s mother was angry with Tessa’s father, and she called him a name,” Cat replied, her tone soothing.
Tara, undaunted, wouldn’t allow this to rest until her inquisitiveness was satisfied. “But what does it mean? Should I get my dictionary and look it up?”
The realization that she wasn’t going to escape Tara’s probing forced Cat’s hand. “It’s a grown-up term.” Then, knowing she couldn’t stall any longer, Cat added, “Tessa’s mother used it to mean a not very nice person. Do you understand?”
The little girl nodded her head, the simple explanation accepted. Wrapping her soft arms around her mother’s neck, Tara planted a smacking kiss on Cat’s cheek.
“Can I go and play now?”
Cat returned the kiss, happy that Tara seemed satisfied with the definition she’d given her. “Scoot,” she said, and the little girl eagerly complied.
Cat stood up, watching as Tara dashed out of the room. This was too close a call for her liking. So far Tara hadn’t really asked too many questions about her lack of a father, probably because she had several stable male influences in her life, among them her grandfather and her uncle, who stepped in when needed. And, the world being what it was, there were several other children she knew being raised in single-parent homes.
But still, the day would come when her daughter would demand to know the truth. A truth she had a right to know. Cat only hoped that Tara would understand her reasons for keeping it hidden.
And what would she say to her daughter when that day came? There would never be time or words enough to fully prepare. How could she ever make her child understand her motives? How could she tell her daughter that she’d been a fool for love? Would Tara ever comprehend? Or forgive?
Cat straightened her slim shoulders and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. She sipped it slowly, savoring the warmth of the hot liquid as it flowed through her on this unexpectedly crisp, early-September day.
Restless, she decided to check and see if the mail had come yet, as it usually arrived early on Saturday.
Pulling on a navy cardigan sweater over her long-sleeved white oxford shirt to ward off the chill, Cat walked in silent concentration to the mailbox at the end of her driveway. She paused to watch a pair of scampering red squirrels, who dashed up and down one of the large evergreens, chasing away a twice-as-big gray squirrel in the process. She stood for a minute and observed the songbirds that crowded the hanging bird feeder, all eager to eat.
If only life could be as simple, she thought as she gathered the mail and then reentered the house.
But it wasn’t and never would be.
Cat dropped the pile of mail onto the kitchen table. Among the assorted bills, catalogs and magazines was a formal-looking envelope bearing the imprint of her alma mater, Cedar Hill University.
She put down her coffee cup and grabbed a knife from the nearby drawer, slit open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents. Color drained from her face. Hoping that she had read the invitation wrong, Cat carefully reread it.
No, she hadn’t made a mistake; the invitation was all too clear, all too real. It was a request for her presence at a reception to be given in two weeks to welcome the newest member of the Cedar Hill faculty, who would be heading up the newly created Department of Celtic Studies.
Cat dropped to the kitchen chair, the note clutched in her hand, the impact of the words hitting her like a body blow. He was coming back, back after all these years.
Sweet saints in heaven, she thought, her other hand over her mouth as if to stifle a gasp. Why now?
She forced herself to take a deep breath. Of course she couldn’t go to the welcome party. It was impossible.
Smoothing out the crushed vellum sheet, her index finger traced the fancy calligraphied letters of his name. Suddenly, Cat began to tremble; tears formed in her green eyes.
It was only a name. What harm could come from a name?
But, her heart countered, there was a man behind the name, a man to be reckoned with.
Feelings that were buried under layers of pain and heartache, which she thought she’d put behind her in the past where they belonged, rose unexpectedly to the surface, clogging her memory.
And what about her daughter?
A rising tide of fear shot through Cat. Had he somehow discovered that their brief love affair had produced a child?
So what if he had? she thought, taking a sip of the now-cooling coffee. Tara was her daughter, hers alone. She’d borne her, raised her, loved her—been all the parent the little girl had ever needed. Seen Tara through upset stomachs and scraped knees. Been there for her through bad dreams and rainy afternoons. Read countless stories and answered thousands of “whys.”
Besides, Cat was no longer the vulnerable young woman that she had been, easily swept away by the dashing Rory Sullivan’s abundant charm and good looks. It wouldn’t work a second time. Her heart was secure, impervious to its former follies. Time and distance had repaired the cracks, cauterized the wounds.
Or had they?
Rising, she grabbed the wall phone and tapped out the RSVP number, quickly conveying her sincere regrets that she wouldn’t be able to attend.
Cat hung up the phone and leaned against the counter, her head bowed. She remained that way for several minutes before raising her head and wiping away the traces of tears that wet her cheeks. She couldn’t afford to waste time on the past; she had a business to run, a life of her own to lead. And, most importantly, it wouldn’t do for Tara to find her like this. Her daughter came before everything, including regrets.
Sleep was impossible that night.
Cat tossed and turned, unable to find the comfort and peace that she craved. She should be too tired to be awake. It had been a busy day at the bookstore, with a large shipment of inventory to unpack and put away. Her muscles ached, yearning for the restorative power of total rest.
However, her mind had other plans.
Cat turned on the lamp by her bed and sat up, glancing at the clock. She knew what the problem was. Memories. Ever since that fancy envelope ripped open the tenuous hold she maintained over her thoughts on the past, the magnetic pull of recollections gripped her senses, nudging aside her hunger for sleep, for forgetfulness.
It had been almost seven years since she had seen the father of her child. Even though he was no longer a part of her personal life, he was still very much a part of her professional life. Because of the popular history books that he’d written, books that she carried in her store, that fact was inescapable. His sharp black-and-white photograph adorned dust jackets: He was the quintessentially handsome, brilliant college professor, a man of undeniable magnetism and taste who could wear, she recalled, a tuxedo or jeans with equal aplomb. The kind of drop-dead-gorgeous looks that constantly stirred and fluttered female hearts—and would until his dying day.
Frustrated, Cat threw back the fluffy white comforter, leaving the bed that offered her no sanctuary from the seductive rush of memories. Slipping on her comfortable hunter-green chenille robe, she padded barefoot to her cozy kitchen for a soothing cup of hot chocolate.
While waiting for the water to boil, she looked out the window over the sink to the sky, touched by a splattering of diamond-chipped stars.
She had thought that he’d been like them: brilliant, remote, out of her reach.
The kettle’s whistle signaled to her that the water was ready. Cat poured the boiling liquid over the cocoa mix, her free hand automatically reaching for a spoon and stirring the contents of the mug. Her mind dwelled on the fact that the unthinkable had happened, that without her having to reach for them, the dreams, the fantasies, had come to her.
And that’s all they were, she thought as she sipped the rich taste of the chocolate. Fantasies.
Without foundation. Without strength. Nothing to build upon, she sadly acknowledged. First love had swept her away on a tide of rising emotions, breaking through the barriers around her heart. She could see it all so clearly: He was again the instructor, she the willing student.
Her memory slipped back, caught in the seductive web of the past….
Cat was running late, the result of having gotten stuck in traffic. Today of all days, she thought as she pulled her car into the small parking lot that adjoined the reconverted barn that housed her bookstore and gift shop.
She’d been open less than a year, and this was her first really big event, hosting a signing of an important new book. All her hard work lobbying the small-press publisher had paid off. She had the first appearance of a man who was getting extensive, glowing media coverage for his introductory foray into the crowded field of historical writing. After reading an advanced copy of the book, Cat had been determined to get the author in her store, especially since he was teaching a semester at Cedar Hill. So impressed was she by his stirring command of words that she wanted to share her enthusiasm with the public. She and her assistant had sent out invitations to a select mailing list, then crossed their fingers that all the people who had responded affirmatively would show up.
Cat finally relaxed about a half hour later after making sure all the details were taken care of: that she had enough chairs to hold the people rapidly filling the store, that the coffee and tea were ready, and that the small iced cookies and cupcakes her assistant, Mary Alice, had picked up from a local bakery were set out. She checked the small pine table holding the large stack of books, fussing with the display until she had it just right.
She chatted with a few of her regular customers while they waited for the author to show up. Several of them had already purchased the book on her recommendation earlier in the week and were as anxious as she was to meet the writer.
Still, Cat was totally unprepared for the shock that hit her squarely in the chest when the door opened several minutes later, and the author sauntered in.
He was the handsomest man she had ever seen. Photographs, she realized, didn’t completely do him justice. Tall, whipcord lean, he entered the room like a conquering prince of old, pride stamped indelibly on the aristocratic planes of his face. Casually dressed in a pale blue oxford shirt and tight indigo jeans, topped by a black leather jacket, Cat couldn’t take her eyes off him.
She was instantly mesmerized by the brilliant blue of his eyes, deep and dark, as he looked in her direction. Kerry blue to be sure, surrounded by thick dark lashes many women would envy, and curving black eyebrows. Black hair, thick and slightly wavy, fell to his nape. His mouth was wide with a sensually full lower lip.
And then he smiled. Caitlyn saw his mouth quirk to one side, a dimple evident in one cheek, the white flash of his teeth glowed against his lightly tanned skin.
She watched as he brushed away a stray lock of hair from his forehead. His fingers were long and slender. A silver Claddagh ring gleamed on his right hand.
Unbidden and quite unexpected came the thought—what would those hands feel like on her body?
Like heaven, she answered her own question, imagining the outcome.
Heat flushed her cheeks as she realized the sensual path her mind was taking.
Apologizing for his tardiness, he quietly introduced himself to Cat, whose heart started to pound deep in her chest. She introduced him to the crowd, then stepped back to let him begin.
She, along with the assembled customers, was enthralled both by the sound of his voice and by the subject matter he discussed. He made history come alive, as if he were relating events that happened just yesterday instead of centuries ago.
With a will of their own, her eyes returned to feast on him. A poet, a warrior-king, a rebel; all these things and more Cat saw mirrored in his compelling face. His was a countenance that personified all that was masculine and beautiful, all that was heroic about the Irish.
The day was a huge success. The cash register hummed with activity as close to a hundred copies of the book were sold. People lined up to chat with the author, some, Cat noted, shamelessly flirting.
He seemed to take it all in stride, staying later, making sure everyone who wanted a signed copy got one.
A few customers still milled about the store, talking and adding items to their planned purchases while Cat straightened up.
“Miss Kildare?”
She almost dropped the empty china plate she was holding when he spoke. “Yes?”
“Any more left?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Of the cookies or the cupcakes?”
“Sorry, no,” she responded. “Looks like the food was as big as hit as you were, Dr. Sullivan.”
He smiled. “Rory, please.”
Her tongue snaked out to wet her suddenly dry lips.
He checked the watch on his right wrist. “It’s well past lunch and a bit early for dinner, but I’m rather hungry. What about you?”
Cat hadn’t eaten since a hastily grabbed breakfast this morning, and while she was indeed hungry, not to mention intrigued at the thought of sharing a meal with this man, she had a business to run. “Thanks for the offer, but I really can’t. There’s too much to do here.”
Mary Alice entered the conversation, not having missed the intense looks her boss had given their guest speaker. “I can close up today, Cat.”
Cat threw her assistant a grateful glance. “You’re sure? You were scheduled to leave in half an hour.”
“No problem. I’ll just make a phone call and let my husband know I’ll be home later.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s settled then,” Rory added, waiting while Cat gathered her purse and gave a few last-minute instructions to her assistant. When Cat joined him, he leaned close to her and whispered, “I know a wonderful place not far from here.”
That was the beginning.
Time flew by with dinners, lunches, or whatever moments could be snatched from both their busy schedules. Cat discovered that unlike her, Rory was an only child, born to older parents who indulged him until their death while he was in his junior year of college. She listened while he outlined his ambitions, his plans for the future, filed away details as she was drawn deeper and deeper into his private circle.
Then, one morning, not many weeks after they first began seeing one another, Cat awoke with the certain knowledge that she was in love with him. She had been from the first day they’d met. It was a fact that she couldn’t deny any longer. His charming good looks and exciting mind had stolen her heart, yet what would come of it? she asked herself. There were far more intriguing women on campus he could have, faculty and students alike. Women more experienced and sophisticated than she, who knew how to play the game of love. Women willing to break the rules for an opportunity to share his bed.
With so many available choices, why would he ever look in her direction?
The amazing fact, to her, was that he had. Or maybe she was reading far too much into their friendship. He had yet to even kiss her.
She had barely arrived at her bookstore one day when there was a knock on the door about an hour before she was due to open. “Hello. Cat?”
It was him. There was no mistaking that voice, his distinctive manner of speaking. Without hesitation, she unlocked the door and let him in.
He was casually dressed, looking absurdly elegant in his relaxed fashion. His short-sleeved blue chambray shirt was open at the neck minus a tie, revealing a sprinkle of black hair, and was tucked into a pair of faded jeans that hugged his slim hips and long legs.
She’d had to fight back the almost overwhelming inclination she had to reach out her hand and open the rest of the buttons to see for herself if that hair covered his entire chest or was just a dusting.
He stood before her, a pleased, triumphant smile on his firm mouth.
“What?” she’d asked in response to that look.
“I needed to do something this morning,” he said, stepping closer to her and closing the door with a firm click. “Something I’ve longed to do for so many weeks that I thought I would explode from the wait.”
Cat was caught by the steely strength of his fingers, which wrapped gently around her upper arms. She was brought quickly into intimate contact with his lean, hard body. His black head dipped and his wickedly beautiful mouth met her own with a searing passion that shook Cat to the core of her being.