The Biological Bond. Jamie Denton
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Bracing his hands on his hips, he continued to scowl at her. “And just how long do you plan on ‘visiting’?” he asked against his better judgment.
She pulled in a deep breath and stepped away. “I’ve arranged for a month-long leave of absence.”
“A month?” A few days, maybe, if that’s what it took to get what Mel needed. But a month? No way could he have this woman living under the same roof with his daughter. He shook his head.
“Look Mr. Winslow. A month isn’t all that long to ask for. I’ve lost—”
“Don’t tell me what you’ve lost,” he thundered. “You made the decision to give her up for adoption. And believe me, if Mel didn’t need you for physiological reasons, you would have gone blissfully through life without knowing her.”
“Haven’t you ever done something you’ve regretted?” she asked. “She’s your daughter, I just want—”
“A chance to right some cosmic wrong?” he retorted. “Forget it.”
She let out a stream of breath and closed her eyes momentarily. In that instant she reminded him so much of Mel. The way her long, dark lashes fanned her cheeks, the stream of breath that ruffled bangs and spoke loud and clear of dramatic frustration.
She opened her eyes and gave him a direct stare. “Please, Mr. Winslow. There’s no other way I know how to ask.”
The pleading note in her voice ripped through him, and he felt himself begin to soften. He’d have to be pretty convincing where Mel was concerned. How could he just bring a strange woman into their home and pretend they were old friends?
“All I’m asking for is a month to get to know her. I don’t want to upset her. I’m willing for her to never know who I really am. Won’t you agree? Please, Mr. Winslow.”
Sam strode to the window and stared into the horizon. He wanted to tell her to get out—to leave and forget he’d ever contacted her. But he couldn’t. No matter how much he detested her manipulative tactics, for Mel he couldn’t afford the luxury of telling Rebecca Martinson to go straight to hell.
“One month in exchange for bone marrow?”
Rebecca expelled a rush of breath. She was getting through to him. As cold and heartless as he made it sound, that was exactly what she wanted. “Yes,” she said, not bothering to tell him that even if he’d refused she would have checked into the hospital immediately to begin the extraction process.
“One month,” he repeated and turned to face her. He strode across the room until he was towering over her again. “My daughter knows she’s adopted, Ms. Martinson.” His soft voice belied the fury burning in his dark eyes. “God help us both if she finds out who you really are.”
“FLIGHT 473, nonstop to Denver will commence boarding in five minutes.”
Rebecca checked her watch for the fourth time in as many minutes. She opened her shoulder bag and retrieved the airline ticket delivered to her last night. She double-checked the flight number—473. A few hours to Denver, then a commuter to a place called Minot, North Dakota. From what Sam had told her, he lived in a small town with a population of less than five hundred. Her condo complex was more populous.
She looked at the overhead monitor and bit her lip. Their flight was due for take off in less than thirty minutes, and Sam Winslow still hadn’t shown.
Turning to face the electronic doors, she watched as people flooded into the terminal at LAX. Not one of them was Sam. She sighed. How difficult could it be to spot one taller-than-average, better-looking-than-any-man-had-a-right-to-be guy with a permanent frown creasing his brow?
In this crowd, impossible.
She turned and headed toward the bank of phones intending to call his hotel. Maybe he’d overslept. If he wasn’t familiar with the layout of the airport, he could even have gotten lost. She reached for the pay phone when she spotted him, walking toward her at a brisk pace. Her pulse rate picked up speed.
Pulling in a deep breath, she told herself to calm down. Her rocketing heartbeat had nothing to do with the way Sam’s rich sable hair curled just right at his nape or the fact that he had the sexiest bedroom eyes she’d ever seen in her adult life. The purpose of this trip had nothing to do with Sam Winslow and everything to do with her daughter. And besides, more than likely he was a married man!
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, ushering her toward the metal detector without pause. “The rental car had to be dropped off.”
“No need to apologize. I only just arrived myself,” she lied. She’d been waiting, and pacing, for over an hour.
Neither of them spoke, for which Rebecca was thankful. She didn’t know what to say. Better to suffer through the awkward silence than put her foot in her mouth, which she’d undoubtedly do, considering she had a record-setting case of nerves. Facing the toughest judge the family court had to offer never rattled her, but the presence of one tall, drop-dead-gorgeous man she knew nothing about had the ability to make her feel like a complete klutz.
He approached the metal detector and waited for her to set her carry-on and purse on the black conveyor belt. She stepped through the electronic archway toward a security guard who passed a hand-held detector over her body. Nothing beeped or screeched so she moved on to the end of the table to await the arrival of her bags.
Sam wasn’t so lucky. When he stepped through the archway, a high, piercing wail sounded. The security guard pointed him back through again. Rebecca picked up Sam’s carry-all while he removed his belt and a few trinkets from the pockets of his jeans. Finally he strode toward her, took the bag from her and silently guided her toward the loading gate and aboard the plane that would take her to her daughter.
She still couldn’t get over the initial surprise of finally being given the chance to meet the child she’d been forced to give up so long ago. Fate, she knew, played funny tricks on people, and sometimes righted the wrongs. She prayed again, like she had so many times in the past forty-eight hours, that this was her chance.
Once their bags were stored in the overhead compartment and they were comfortably seated, Rebecca turned to Sam. “Not much of a talker are you?”
He looked at her, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. The warmth of his eyes was a direct contrast to the creasing of his brows. She had no idea what went on in his mind. And she didn’t know a thing about him. Well, maybe it was time she found out. Like how his wife was going to feel about her barging into their lives.
She gave him one of her best smiles. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“There isn’t much to know.” He adjusted his seat belt then looked past her, out the window toward the tarmac.
She wasn’t about to be put off by his less-than-friendly attitude. Work. Work was always a good subject. People loved to talk about what they did for a living. “What kind of work do you do in Shelbourne, North Dakota?”
“Farming.”
“You’re a farmer?” She didn’t mean to sound so shocked. She should have guessed him to be an outdoorsy kind of guy who worked with his hands. She remembered those hands, strong, powerful. Yet, she somehow knew they could also be tender and gentle. Tender and gentle enough to bring a woman to a fever pitch.
“Not everyone has had the advantages you’ve had, Ms. Martinson.”
Ouch. Maybe his hands could be tender and gentle, but his attitude was sharper than a switchblade. “Don’t expect me to apologize because I’ve had a good life. I got K through twelve just like everyone else. Just because I—”
“I’m sorry.”
This guy could shift gears faster than a close-ratio Ferrari. “Excuse me?”
He sighed, then looked at her. The frown disappeared and he looked handsome again. “I said I was sorry. This situation