Long-Lost Mom. Jill Shalvis

animal over the roar of the surf.

      The squirrel sat up on its haunches, hoping for more.

      Stone tossed some more food, then laughed in spite of himself when the greedy thing tried to eat it all on the spot.

      “Oh...my God.”

      At the soft gasp Stone shifted on the large rock and looked over his shoulder.

      A woman stood on the sand of the deserted beach, covered from head to toe in black. Black trousers, black hooded wool coat, gloves and boots. The early-morning spring sun spilled over her, bathing her in a golden glow, and for an instant she looked so familiar his heart all but stopped.

      Jenna.

      A shaft of pain sliced through him, neatly destroying his calm. For a moment he’d thought she’d come back, but he knew now that was impossible.

      Jenna Loggins was gone. Long gone.

      And he was glad.

      The woman standing before him appeared rigid, practically unbreathing. All he could see of her was her nose, but somehow it was enough to know she was deeply troubled.

      Great. For the past ten years Stone had made it a habit to stay away from women in distress. Far away.

      The woman, medium height and willowy as a reed, suddenly swayed on her feet as though feeling faint.

      Dammit. “Are you all right?” His voice was rougher and grittier than he would have liked, but sitting here, in this precise spot, where he hadn’t been in an entire year, was tearing his guts out.

      She nodded, then raised a glove-covered hand to her face. Behind her mirrored sunglasses he sensed her intense unwavering stare, which he returned.

      She didn’t look all right, although he couldn’t see her well at all, just a vague impression of porcelain skin, carefully painted lips and shuttered eyes. “Maybe you should sit down,” he suggested, shifting over on the large rock. There was ample room for two.

      Slowly, as if in a trance, the woman walked around the rock to face him. For a long minute she said nothing, did nothing, just stared at him.

      And despite Stone’s resolve to be alone and miserable on this day, something about the woman caused a stir deep within him. It wasn’t her body; he couldn’t see it clearly. It certainly wasn’t the face she’d hidden from him with such care. No, it was something much more profound, and it disturbed him in a way he hadn’t been disturbed in some time.

      He was inexplicably aware of her as a woman. And he didn’t want to be. God, he so didn’t want to be.

      “I...can’t believe it,” she whispered.

      Neither could he, but he couldn’t deny it. Some silent connection was drawing him to her.

      The squirrel, clearly sensing snack time had come to an end, took off, chattering loudly, and disappeared into the thick woods lining the California beach. The noise seemed to snap the woman out of her spell. Again she lifted a hand to one cheek as if protecting herself from his gaze. Stone couldn’t see her eyes behind the reflective sunglasses, but he knew she stared at him as if waiting for something.

      “Are you sure you’re all right?” The minute the words were out he wished them back. Would he never learn to stop trying to fix everyone’s problems but his own?

      “You...don’t know me.”

      She sounded so shocked that Stone took a closer look. Her hood had fallen back some, revealing a crop of fawn-colored hair, artfully cut to fall in soft waves about her face—a face still more than half-covered by her scarf and the tilt of her head, almost as though she was afraid he would recognize her.

      He didn’t.

      A horrible bone-seizing tension seem to grip her, a tension he didn’t understand and told himself he didn’t want to.

      “Don’t tell me you have amnesia,” he quipped, trying to lighten the mood, when in fact, for some reason, he really wanted to take her hand and tell her everything would be okay.

      He was an idiot.

      “No, I don’t have amnesia. But...” Her voice trailed off and her mouth closed tight. Suddenly she sank onto the rock beside him. “You... I’m a stranger to you.” As if she realized how much she’d revealed, she dragged her hood back over her head and hugged herself with her arms. “A complete stranger.”

      “We can fix that easily enough,” he said, disturbed by the anguish in her voice. “I’m Stone Cameron. And you’re...”

      “I’m...” She hesitated so long Stone became convinced she wasn’t going to tell him. She continued to regard him intently, as if he could fill in the blank for her. “Cindy,” she said finally, almost regretfully. “My name is Cindy Beatty.”

      A lie. He knew it even before she refused to meet his gaze. And just that quickly, his sympathy and curiosity vanished, for he’d had enough of that sort of woman to last him a lifetime. Standing abruptly, he shrugged into his jacket and without another word started walking away, across the sand, toward the steep stairs that led to his truck.

      “You’re...leaving?” The last word was a squeak of surprise.

      “Yes. Goodbye,” he added politely, unwilling, even in the face of her lie, to be completely rude. Hardening himself to the pained disbelief in her voice, Stone forced himself to keep walking. His reaction was ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop himself.

      Not on this day.

      * * *

      She’d lied, and hated herself for it. Still, Jenna watched him go with hungry eyes, suddenly transported back in time. Ten years since she’d seen him. He’d been the most coolheaded, most strong-willed and honest man she’d ever known. That had obviously not changed with time, for she knew he’d sensed her lie.

      Heart aching, she watched his broad-shouldered form slowly disappear from sight. Physically he’d changed little. His laugh lines were deeper, his eyes a bit more cynical, and he wasn’t as lanky, almost gawky, as he’d been at twenty. But he still possessed a raw sensuality that tugged at some elementary core of her, and his body was still honed to a lean toughness by the physical labor he’d done to put himself through college.

      She’d gotten that tidbit from the detective she’d hired, and her heart had nearly broken. For it had been her fault that he’d had to work so hard back then.

      Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

      The words repeated like a mantra through her head, mixing with the crashing waves.

      Why hadn’t she told him the truth just now? Why had she reverted to the young girl of her past and taken the easy way out, using the name she’d adopted for herself—Cindy Beatty?

      She could have told him about the car accident that had changed her life. Yes, she’d nearly died—should have died. Instead, she’d been given a new lease on life. A chance to right her wrongs, of which there were an unfortunate many. And oh, yes, thanks to plowing face first through her windshield and then having three cosmetic surgeries to repair the damage, she had a new face with which to do it.

      Jenna had waited until today, her twenty-seventh birthday, to make the final move, to come back to San Paso Bay, midway up the California coast and get what she’d always dreamed of.

      Forgiveness. And her daughter.

      A new birthday, a new beginning.

      She hoped.

      But sitting on the rock that had once been hers and Stone’s safe haven, all she could think of was how it’d been one of the last times she’d seen Stone. The way he looked without the restriction of any clothes covering that surprisingly savage strength. What she would give to feel him pressed against her, to have his hard arms encircle her body and tighten around her until...

      She was crazy thinking like this. Crazy. Drawing a shaky breath,