“Dylan doesn’t bother me, and I didn’t ask you to stay in the car so you could thank me.”

      At last Cade could get his mind back on track to the most important question he’d ever ask.

      “Right.” Brijette brushed a stray wisp of hair off her face. “Which patient did you want to discuss?”

      “I don’t want to talk about a patient. I wanted to speak to you in private.”

      She squirmed in her seat and he imagined she knew what was coming.

      “I want you to tell me who in hell is the father of that child.”

      Dear Reader,

      Sometimes we all have secrets we want to keep and preconceived ideas that are hard to let go. In this story, Brijette Dupre has to deal with both. But she’ll learn that occasionally when the truth comes out and we let go of our preconceptions, life can be all the richer for it.

      I hope you enjoy Brijette and Cade’s story as I revisit Cypress Landing, Louisiana, and their volunteer search and rescue team. I love to hear from readers. You can send me a note at Suzanne Cox, 107 Walter Payton Dr., # 271, Columbia, MS 39429 or by e-mail to [email protected]. Be sure to visit me on the Web at suzannecoxbooks.com or superauthors.com.

      Sincerely,

      Suzanne Cox

      Unexpected Daughter

      Suzanne Cox

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Suzanne remembers writing her first stories when she was about nine or ten years old, and she’s been writing ever since. In February of 2002 she decided to try to get her writing published. On February 14, 2005, she sold her first book, A Different Kind of Man, to the Harlequin Superromance line.

      While trying to decide what she wanted to be when she grew up—besides a writer—she worked a variety of jobs. She has a bachelor of arts in English with a minor in secondary education, a bachelor of science in nursing and a master of science in career and technical education with an emphasis in adult education. She’s also a National Board Certified Teacher in career and technical education. Along the way she’s worked as a high school English teacher, an elementary school teacher, a registered nurse on a cardiac unit, brain injury rehab unit and several different medical-surgical units. She’s also done stints as a home health nurse and a community health educator at a hospital. These days, when she’s not writing, she’s at her day job as an allied health instructor at a high school career and technology center.

      In her spare time, when she can find some, Suzanne enjoys reading, painting, biking and fishing. She’s presently “livin’ her dream” in south Mississippi with her own personal hero husband, Justin, and her boy in puppy dog clothes, Toby, who masquerades as a miniature pinscher.

      To my husband, Justin, for being perfect

      even when it’s hard, like when I’ve misplaced my checkbook, again.

      To my friends at CLCC—Jan, Steph, Lisa,

      Cathy and the guys, who are more like family than anything else.

      To my in-laws for just keeping me in the family

      amid all this insanity.

      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

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      SWEAT TRICKLED DOWN the side of Brijette Dupre’s brow and a few loose strands of jet-black hair stuck to her damp chin. The ancient air conditioner in the other room did little good, especially in this heat. Brijette wiped her face with a paper towel as she counted sample packs of an antibiotic.

      “He needs to take these three times a day with food and try to keep those stitches dry and clean. I’ll be here next Thursday all day and I’ll want to see that cut.”

      The bony woman moved her head in agreement, her stringy hair falling into her eyes. She held on to the barefoot eight-year-old boy. Brijette made a last swipe with a sterile towel in an attempt to remove one more spot of dirt from the child’s skin. She wanted to tell the woman to take the kid home and give him a bath, or at least toss him in the creek. But you didn’t tell these people what to do or expect them to live by any other standards than the ones to which they were accustomed. She should know. She’d been one of them for the first seventeen years of her life.

      Brijette helped the boy off the portable exam table and led mother and son to the door. The breath of cooler air made her wish she could leave the door open, but she couldn’t treat patients in front of the customers who came and went in the run-down store. Anton Guidreaux, who owned the place, had been good enough to let them use an empty storeroom attached to one side of his building as an exam room. As a nurse practitioner, Brijette worked under the license of the doctor in town. She normally practiced in the clinic with him, helping him see patients. But on Thursdays she came to the small community of Willow Point and offered medical care to those not likely to get it otherwise.

      More than a few of the people in Cypress Landing wondered why she came here. They figured if those people wanted to see a doctor, they could come to town. Those people. Other folks in town made it sound as if she jetted off to another country every week. As though the simple people who still chose the life of the backwater and swamps were of a different species. This was Louisiana, not some Third World country. How would the woman who’d just left feel, sitting dirty with worn shoes in the pristine waiting room at the clinic in Cypress Landing? No, Brijette was doing what she had to, for them and for herself, or at least for the girl she used to be.

      “Brij, I see trouble coming.”

      Brijette left the storeroom, to see what Alicia was talking about. Alicia Ray was the nurse who assisted her at the weekly clinics in this rural community off the Mississippi River. Brijette joined her on the porch steps and unconsciously gripped the other nurse’s shoulder.

      “Oh, no!” she whispered.

      Ten feet away, a young girl staggered toward them with the help of a boy who looked as if he might faint or run at any minute. The girl struggled with her very large and very obviously pregnant stomach.

      The two women jumped to the ground, grabbing the girl. With the young man’s help they managed to haul her into the exam room and hoist her up on the table, which was definitely not intended for delivering babies. Unfortunately, Brijette figured transforming the space into a delivery room wasn’t an option.

      “Go see if you can fine a land-line phone—there’s no reception here on your cell. Call the clinic and have them