Chapter Two

The moment the words were out Maggie regretted them. Dylan’s jaw dropped open, and he stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted horns.

“Are you serious?” Dylan asked in disbelief, and for the second time in as many minutes, Maggie wished she hadn’t spoken.

But as she’d listened to Dylan talk about having no family, of being alone in the world, she’d simply responded to his soulful cry without a thought to the consequences.

Biting back a sigh, Maggie felt the undulating movement as the baby shifted positions, gently prodding her low in her abdomen.

“I’m serious,” she assured him softly. Easing herself out of the chair, she crossed to the window, all the while gently massaging the area where she could feel one tiny foot or elbow poking her.

“But how?” With a perplexed look Dylan sank back against the upholstery.

Maggie glanced at him, and seeing the expression on his handsome face, knew he had doubts about her declaration. She couldn’t really blame him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You obviously have enough to contend with at the moment.”

Dylan studied his hands for a time. “I... well... it is quite a shock,” he said at last. “Uh...when is the baby due?”

“June twenty-second,” she responded. “At least that’s what my doctor tells me.” She started to walk the length of the room to where a stone fireplace filled the far wall.

Dylan followed her progress, slowly surveying the rounded contours of her body, from the fullness of her breasts to the voluptuous mound of fertility beneath the pink and white cotton maternity dress she wore.

There was something innately beautiful, as well as indefinably sensual, about a woman carrying a child... any child. But if he was to believe her...this child was his.

He drew a shaky breath and felt his heart shudder inside his chest as the enormity of the situation gripped him.

But surely he wouldn’t have forgotten making love with her? Or forgotten how her body felt beneath his, their mouths fused, their limbs entwined in passion, a passion that had resulted in the creation of another human being.

Dylan squeezed his eyes tight and willed himself to remember. But there was nothing, only a black empty void that was his past, that was his life.

But he couldn’t, in good conscience, ignore or dismiss what she’d just told him, and there had been an unmistakable ring of truth in her voice.

Suddenly Dylan recalled the warmth he’d seen in her eyes when they’d collided in the street, a warmth quickly replaced with a look of pain and wariness.

But if what she said was true, if he was the father of her child, then it was both reasonable and logical to assume a relationship had existed between them prior to his accident.

After his recent release from the hospital, he’d returned to his quarters at the base, but he’d found nothing that would indicate any such relationship existed.

Something was definitely amiss.

Dylan sighed and covered his face with his hands. The puzzle that was his past had taken a new and astonishing twist.

Gut instinct, combined with the letters he had found in his desk had brought him to Grace Harbor. Following through on his instincts had already paid off. He’d only been in town a few hours and he’d already made several new discoveries, but none more remarkable than her stunning declaration.

“You really don’t remember...anything?” Her voice cut into the lengthy silence.

The hint of a smile tugged at his mouth as Dylan shook his head. “I wish I did,” he said, and Maggie heard the frustration in his voice.

She watched as he rose from the chair and paced the length of the room.

“What’s strange about all this,” Dylan said, ignoring the pain in his left leg, “is that when I awoke from the coma I knew how to do simple, everyday tasks, all the things a person learns throughout the natural process of growing up.

“It’s the personal memories, anything that would reveal something about my past, about relationships in my life, about who I am...all that has been wiped out.” He came to a halt in front of her.

“I feel lost...as if I’ve been cast out into the sea without a life preserver, and I’m struggling to keep my head above the water.”

The pain vibrating through his voice tore at Maggie’s heart, and not for the first time she felt the urge to reach out and offer comfort.

“It must be very difficult for you,” she said, keeping her tone even. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Dylan’s sigh was heartfelt. “I don’t remember you... or your name—and you’re telling me you’re having my baby—” He broke off, and Maggie caught the ripple of movement at his throat as he swallowed convulsively. “I defy anyone not to feel a little overwhelmed,” he challenged.

Maggie met his silver gaze and suddenly the air between them crackled with tension. Every nerve in her body throbbed with anticipation, crying out to feel his arms around her, to experience again the magic of his mouth on hers.

“What is your name?” Dylan asked, effectively breaking the spell.

“Maggie,” she told him huskily. “Maggie Fairchild.”

“Maggie. Maggie,” he repeated softly, closing his eyes.

The sound of her name on his lips was like a lover’s tender caress, and a shudder of longing sprinted through her. She held her breath and sent up a silent prayer for herself and her unborn baby.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.” Dylan’s words squashed the tiny seed of hope lingering in her heart, and when she looked into his eyes once more, it was to see both sorrow and despair in their stormy depths.

“But... if you really don’t remember anything, why did you come to Grace Harbor?” Maggie asked.

“Because it was the first and only link I had to my past,” Dylan replied.

“I don’t understand.”

“Two weeks ago, after I was released from the hospital, I was going through a pile of mail, mail that had accumulated in my quarters since the accident,” he explained.

“Among the flyers and junk mail were two letters from a lawyer here in Grace Harbor...his name is Jared something.” He frowned and fumbled in the pocket of his jeans for the letters.

“McAndrew,” Maggie supplied.

“That’s right.” Dylan abandoned his search. “In the first letter he mentioned he was the executor for the estate of Rosemary and William Fairchild, and I was a beneficiary and would I please contact him as soon as possible. The second letter was a repeat of the first.”

Dylan glanced at Maggie. “You must be a beneficiary, too.”

“Yes, I am,” Maggie replied.

“Then you know the contents of the will,” he said.

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “But I think you should talk to Jared,” she said in a hurry, seeing the questions in his eyes.

“I was on my way to his office when I bumped into you,” Dylan told her. “I suppose it’s too late now, to drop in on him.”

A wave of tiredness washed over Maggie. She glanced at the clock on the oak mantelpiece above the fireplace noting it was only a little past five.

She felt physically as well as emotionally drained. During her checkup earlier, Dr. Whitney had asked how well she was sleeping, and she’d reported that of late she’d suffered a few sleepless nights. The doctor had recommended she rest or take a nap whenever the need arose, and the urge to do just that was on her now.

“Actually, it isn’t too late,” Maggie heard herself say. “Jared has a reputation around town for being something of a workaholic. I’m sure he’ll still be in his office.”

Dylan noted the look of weariness in Maggie’s eyes and realized that their encounter had taken its toll on her, too.

“I’ll head there now and see if I can catch him,” Dylan said. “But, there’s still a lot we have to...ah...discuss. Perhaps I can come back tomorrow?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Maggie said, feeling sure he’d be back right after he talked to Jared.

Dylan withdrew, and when she heard the front door close behind him, Maggie crossed to the window, watching until he was out of sight.

Beneath her heart the baby began a series of kicks, as if trying to attract her attention. Maggie smiled, and with a circling motion she began to massage her abdomen as she made her way from the living room.

As she was wont to do these days, she headed straight for the baby’s room where a few months ago, using paint and a box of decals depicting jungle animals, she’d transformed the small bedroom into a bright and colorful nursery.

She’d bought a changing table with a bath, as well as a dresser that she’d already half filled with tiny sleepers and blankets and a variety of necessary items.

She’d unearthed the old rocking chair her father had stored in the garage, and she’d stripped it and refinished it herself. Now it sat on the oval rug that covered the polished hardwood floor.

All that was missing was the crib, which had been delivered a few days ago and was leaning against the wall, still unassembled.

Maggie lowered herself into the rocker, and gazed up at the mobile of jungle animals she’d suspended from the light fixture. The soft summer breeze drifting in through the open window made the animals dance.

Reaching over, she pulled open a dresser drawer. Her fingers closed around a tiny knitted sweater. Her mother had died when Maggie was five, but her father had often spoken about his wife’s talent for knitting.

Maggie had rummaged through some old boxes in the garage and unearthed some of her mother’s old knitting patterns. She’d bought wool at the local craft store and with a little help from the woman who ran the store, Maggie had followed a simple pattern and knitted a plain white shawl as well as several baby sweaters.

As Maggie hugged the tiny sweater, her thoughts shifted to those moments when she’d told Dylan he was the baby’s father. She doubted she’d ever forget the look of disbelief on his face or the way his eyes had turned a steely gray.

Seven months ago when Dr. Whitney had told her the nausea and sickness she’d been experiencing wasn’t a bout of flu after all, she’d reacted in much the same way.

Her initial shock had quickly evaporated, replaced by a feeling of intense and irrepressible joy. Learning that the night she’d spent with Dylan had resulted in his seed being planted in her womb, had only confirmed in her heart that what they’d shared had indeed been incredibly special.

Believing he had a right to know, her first instinct had been to call the naval base in San Diego and tell him about the baby. But recalling Dylan’s parting words about not believing in love, after that incredible night of making love, she’d changed her mind.

When she’d learned the contents of her father’s and Rosemary’s will, her hopes had risen again, feeling sure Dylan would return to claim his inheritance.

But five months later, when her pregnancy was no longer a secret and had become the source of gossip in town, Dylan had not responded to Jared’s letters, and the doubts and fears had started to crowd in.

Now Dylan was back, but he wasn’t the same man who’d stolen her heart so long ago. He was a stranger.

 

When Dylan reached the foot of Indigo Street and made the turn onto Grace Harbor’s main thoroughfare, he extracted the lawyer’s letter from the back pocket of his jeans.

Checking the address, he noted that Jared McAndrew’s law office was less than three blocks away.

As he walked along the sidewalk, he found his thoughts drifting back to Maggie and her startling announcement.

Was she telling the truth? Had they been lovers? Was the child she carried really his?

Suddenly Dylan felt his heart begin to race as a feeling of panic, not unlike the emotions he’d experienced after waking up from the coma, assailed him.

He slowed to a halt and leaned on a nearby lamppost waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, wondering if the idea of becoming a father, of being responsible for the care and welfare of a baby had caused his sudden and strange reaction.

The fact that he had no memories of his own childhood, or of his own father, and knew nothing about parenting was no doubt an added factor.

From what little he’d been able to piece together, he’d been fostered out to several families during his early life. It hadn’t been until he was a teenager that his aunt had taken him under her wing. He’d lived with her for several years before enlisting.

Dylan drew a steadying breath and continued on his way. He crossed the intersection and, after reaching the opposite curb, a quick glance at the numbers on the brass plaque on the brick face of the building on his right confirmed he’d found Jared McAndrew’s office.

He stood for a moment enjoying the tangy smell of the ocean as it wafted to him on the soft breeze and mingled with the faint scent of the flowers hanging from baskets on the street lamps.

Before leaving San Diego, he’d paid a visit to one of the therapists who’d been helping him cope with the trauma of losing his memory.

Simon Bradford had been the only doctor who’d encouraged him to make the trip to Grace Harbor, suggesting Dylan might be fortunate enough to experience a situation that would stimulate his senses, evoking a response that would breach the barrier his subconscious mind had erected.

Suddenly Dylan’s thoughts shifted to those moments when he’d dropped to his knees on the front step of Maggie’s house, recalling once again the fragmented images that had flashed in his mind.

The pain in his head had been so intense he’d forgotten all about the images, and now his instincts were telling him that his subconscious had been reacting to something—what, he wasn’t exactly sure—but something had definitely triggered his reaction...a memory perhaps?

A feeling of excitement surged through Dylan, and for the first time since waking from the coma he felt his spirits rise.

With a new eagerness he reached for the brass door handle and entered the offices of Jared McAndrew, Attorney at Law.

Inside, an old oak counter polished to a rich shine brought him to a halt. Behind the counter, nestled near the window, stood a beautiful antique desk complete with a leather desk set, a telephone and two wooden filing trays each overflowing with papers.

The wall at the rear of the office was one enormous bookcase, and a rich smell of wood polish, mingling with the scent of old books and fine leather, permeated the room.

“I thought I heard the door. May I help you?” A man in his mid- to late thirties, dressed in gray slacks, a matching gray silk vest atop a pristine white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, appeared out of the blue and approached the counter.

“I certainly hope so,” Dylan responded. “My name is Dylan O’Connor. I received—”

“Mr. O’Connor! This is a surprise,” the man interjected. “Please, come through,” he invited as he deftly lifted a section of the polished wood counter.

“I’m Jared McAndrew,” he said, extending his hand in welcome when Dylan joined him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Jared McAndrew’s smile was friendly, his handshake firm and strong. “When you didn’t acknowledge my last letter, I was seriously contemplating hiring a private detective to track you down.”

“I’m here now,” Dylan replied, offering no explanation for not responding to the letters.

The lawyer held Dylan’s gaze for a long moment as if sizing him up. “Let’s go into my office,” Jared said, pointing to the open door on his left. “Please go right on in. I’ll just lock the front door, that way we won’t be disturbed.”

Dylan did as he was bid. Jared McAndrew’s office was relatively small but it, too, contained a beautiful oak desk, piled high with open files and large law books.

“Won’t you sit down,” Jared McAndrew invited when he reappeared. “I actually have your file right here.” He lifted a bundle of papers and rummaged beneath them. “I was looking at it this morning,” he added. “Ah...here it is.”

Dylan said nothing. He leaned back in the comfortable leather chair across from Jared and waited for the lawyer to continue.

“I had the pleasure of meeting your aunt on several occasions, Mr. O’Connor,” Jared said. “She was a lovely woman. Belated as they are, please accept my condolences on your loss.”

“Thank you,” Dylan responded evenly.

“Bill—ah...that is Mr. Fairchild and your aunt derived a great deal of pleasure from the trips they took together,” Jared continued as he cleared a space on his desk.

Dylan smiled and nodded.

“Hmm...well, Mr. O’Connor. You and Maggie, that is Ms. Margaret Mary Fairchild are joint beneficiaries of the estate of the late Mr. and Mrs. William Fairchild.

“There were a number of small bequests,” he went on as he surveyed the document before him. “As executor of the estate I’ve already taken care of those.”

Dylan watched as Jared McAndrew leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I can read you all the legal jargon, but the long and the short of it, Mr. O’Connor, is that as a joint beneficiary of the estate of William and Rosemary Fairchild, you now own half of the house and business known as Fairwinds, situated at the address on Indigo Street in Grace Harbor.”

“Did you say business?” Dylan asked, frowning now.

“That’s right,” Jared replied. “Fairwinds is a bed-and-breakfast inn.”

“Really?” Dylan said, surprise evident in his voice. The sign outside the house had simply read “Fairwinds” nothing more, and he was almost sure he and Maggie had been alone in the big old house.

Jared McAndrew threw Dylan a puzzled look. “Maggie has been running Fairwinds as a bed-and-breakfast for the past five years,” he explained. “It’s usually open from early spring through to late fall,” the lawyer continued. “But this year...well, she’s postponed the opening, because she’s having a baby.”

“I see,” Dylan commented.

“Have you talked to Maggie?” Jared McAndrew asked.

“Only briefly,” Dylan replied, trying with difficulty to absorb all the lawyer had said.

“Then you’ll know she has some strong ideas about Fairwinds,” Jared McAndrew commented.

“Actually, we didn’t discuss it,” Dylan replied.

Jared McAndrew leaned forward to rest his forearms on the desk. “My advice is to sell and split the proceeds, but Maggie refuses to even consider it. She wants to go ahead and hire someone to take care of general maintenance and repairs.”

“Maintenance and repairs?” Dylan repeated, feeling a little lost.

“Fairwinds is in dire need of a new roof, and the back stairs leading to the porch are hazardous and should be replaced,” Jared informed him.

“I see,” Dylan said.

“It’s only my opinion, mind you,” the lawyer continued, “but I think running a bed-and-breakfast is too much for her on her own, what with the baby due in a few weeks.”

“Doesn’t she have anyone working for her?” Dylan asked.

“She hires a student during the summer, but not this year,” Jared explained. “I know Fairwinds is a popular place with tourists, but those repairs need to be undertaken for fear of accidents and subsequent lawsuits. Unless, of course, you’re willing to do the work yourself. Are you handy with a hammer, Mr. O’Connor?”

“I really don’t—” Dylan ground to a halt. In truth he didn’t know whether or not he was capable of doing the work Jared McAndrew had described.

“You probably don’t have the time,” Jared went on easily. “I’m assuming you’re here on leave.”

“In a fashion,” Dylan said, without elaborating.

“Then I suggest you discuss the matter of what to do with Fairwinds with Maggie as soon as possible,” Jared advised.

“Oh... never fear, Mr. McAndrew, I intend to do just that,” Dylan replied.