Promise to a Boy. Mary Brady

      

      She glanced at Reed and wondered if he could be the type of man to take Kyle away from here, from the people who loved him

      Too complicated. Too scary.

      In a perfect world, she’d ask Reed what he thought about the possibility Kyle was Jesse’s and what they should do about it. In her dream, he’d tell her it would be great to have a nephew and maybe the boy would come visit when he was older, say eighteen and a half. In the meantime, he’d busy himself setting up a college fund.

      That could happen. Maybe Reed Maxwell was a good man, a fine man. He certainly looked fine. The dark knit of his shirt stretched across muscle that nearly begged to be touched. His face cleanly shaven did the same for kisses.

      Heaven help her, she needed to make her mind go someplace else.

      Dear Reader,

      When you read my books, I feel like a real storyteller. Thank you for that!

      The past has been harsh with Abby Fairchild and Reed Maxwell. What they don’t know—at first—is they can help each other mend what’s broken about their lives and brighten their future.

      I hope you enjoy Abby and Reed’s story and that you have fun meeting more of the residents of the fictional town of St. Adelbert. Some of these characters will help Abby and Reed and some will hinder, but together these people offer color, heart and a sense of belonging.

      Also get a peek at how Maude DeVane and Guy Daley—He Calls Her Doc—are doing. Hint: Maude has gained several “good” pounds.

      I’d love to hear from you. Visit my website at www.marybrady.net or write to me at [email protected].

      Enjoy,

      Mary Brady

      Promise to a Boy

      Mary Brady

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Mary Brady lives in the Midwest and considers road trips into the rest of the continent to be a necessary part of life. When she’s not out exploring, she helps run a manufacturing company and has a great time living with her handsome husband, her super son and one cheeky little bird.

      To my husband and son who appreciate me on many levels and on most days.

      Acknowledgements

      To my critique group: Denise Cychosz, Pamela Ford, Victoria Hinshaw, Laura Iding, Laura Scott and Donna Smith who freely offer their wisdom and encouragement.

      To the people of Montana who have allowed me to build a fictional town in their beautiful state.

      And last, but never least, to Kathryn Lye, my editor who helps me focus on giving my readers the best story.

      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 ONE

      “YOU’RE NOT ANGELINA Fairbanks.”

      “I knew that.” Abby Fairbanks smiled at the man who had rung her front doorbell—insistently—interrupting an excellent game of Candy Land with her nephew. She brushed a clump of dark curls out of her eyes so she could get a better look at the tall and sullen stranger.

      He studied a photo in his hand and then looked at her again. His dark brown eyes gave nothing away, but his frown deepened. “This is supposed to be the address of A. Fairbanks who moved here from Denver. Is Angelina here?”

      Abby reached out and tipped the edge of the photo so she could see the image. It was Lena all right, from a few years ago when they lived in Denver, and it looked as if it had been taken at one of the parties during which her sister had partaken of more than one mood-altering substance.

      She looked up at him and gave him a long steady not-quite glare.

      “I guess that would depend on who you are.” And what you want with my sister, mister. He didn’t look like the law, thankfully, because Lena had cleaned up her act.

      The man eyed her suspiciously.

      Abby fingered a button at the V of her flowered Henley-style shirt and then tugged down the edge of the hem that must have flipped up when she sat on the floor playing with five-year-old Kyle. When she realized these twitchy actions probably made her look less confident than she wanted to look, she put one hand on the doorknob and stood up straighter.

      “What do you mean, it depends on who I am?” he asked.

      The man’s rumpled blue-and-white-striped dress shirt had a small drop of something red—ketchup hopefully—on the front of it, and the quilted leather bomber jacket he wore looked high fashion, or rather…well, she’d think girlie if he didn’t look so hot in it. Whoever he was, he had traveled far away from home.

      “Montana’s a big state and St. Adelbert is a small out-of-the-way town. We don’t get many strangers here, especially on our doorsteps. It makes us cautious.” Abby hoped the nudge acted like a warning shot fired over his head.

      “It’s important that I speak with Angelina. Is she here or not?” He widened his stance to look more intimidating. He didn’t need to. His muscular body and deep frown were enough for that.

      Abby suddenly felt something she hadn’t felt since she moved back to the small town of St. Adelbert.

      Fear.

      What if there was something in Lena’s past she didn’t know about, something bad enough to have some city man chase her down?

      “I’ll be back in a few minutes, sweetie,” she called over her shoulder to her nephew, who no doubt was already getting anxious to continue their game. Then she stepped out onto the dull gray porch badly in need of paint and pulled the door closed behind her. She was safe outside. In a town this size, where everyone loved to know everyone else’s business, all she needed to do was call loudly and at least three neighbors with weapons of some sort would converge. Even if it was just one of the gray-haired women across the street with a cast-iron skillet.

      The man stepped back toward the wooden railing. His short dark hair looked as if it got the tender loving care of a city barber, no, make that a stylist. His nails were neat and his skin, probably a pale shade before he left home, had been cast with a pink tinge from exposure to the harsh mountain sun.

      Things could go any which way. She could push and he could push back harder. She took a deep breath and decided the best thing to do was to keep things light, until he did something to actually threaten her or hers.

      “If you’re a bill collector, she’s out of the country. If you’re the police, she didn’t do it. If you’re a suitor…” Which Abby definitely knew he was not. Her sister would have told her about any hotties she had on hold. “She said I should stand in for her.”

      She gave him an impeccably polite smile, hoping that last little bit would scare him off. It would most men who preferred her pretty, vivacious sister, with the flowing auburn hair and bright blue eyes.

      His