Her Secret Husband. Andrea Laurence

Heath realized they must look ridiculous standing there. Five rich, successful, powerful people moping at their father’s hospital bed, unable to do anything to help. All their money combined couldn’t buy Ken a new heart.

      At least, not legally. Since they’d already done their fair share of dancing on the wrong side of the law and had enough police lurking around their property to prove it, they’d stick with the doctor’s recommendations for now.

      “There’s not much happening here tonight,” Ken said. He tried to cover the fact that speaking nearly winded him, but he had to bring his hand to his chest and take a deep breath before saying anything else. “You kids get on home and get some rest. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon.”

      Julianne stepped to his side and scooped up his hand. She patted it gently, careful not to disturb his IV, and leaned in to put a kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Daddy. I love you.”

      “I love you too, June-bug.”

      She quickly turned on her heel and moved to the back of the group so others could take their turns. She’d let the tears on her cheeks dry, but Heath could see more threatening. She was trying to hold them in and not upset Ken.

      One by one, the rest of them said good-night and made their way out to the parking lot. The hospital was a good distance from Cornwall, so they merged onto the highway and made the long, dark drive back to their parents’ farm.

      Wade and Tori returned to their nearby home, but the rest of the family continued on to the farm. The boys each parked at the bunkhouse, leaving an impressive display of luxury vehicles out front. Heath was last, pulling his Porsche 911 Carrera in between Xander’s Lexus SUV and Brody’s Mercedes sedan.

      Twenty-five years ago, the old barn had been converted into a guest house of sorts, where the foster children who came to live at the Garden of Eden would stay. It had two large bedrooms and baths upstairs and a large common room with a small kitchenette downstairs. It was filled with old, but sturdy furniture and all the comforts teenage boys needed. Heath was the youngest of the four boys who had come to the farm and stayed until adulthood. These days they spent their time in multimillion-dollar mansions and apartments, but this farm was their home and when they returned, the boys always stayed in the bunkhouse.

      Heath watched Julianne pull her red Camaro convertible up closer to the main house. The old Federal-style home was beautiful and historic, but it didn’t have enough space for a large crew of children. Ken and Molly had a bedroom, their daughter, Julianne, had a room and there was one guest room.

      She stood on the porch, fumbling with her keys and looking lost. Heath didn’t like that at all. Normally, Julianne was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted from life and how to get it. But tonight she looked anything but her normally spunky self. Nearly losing Ken right after things went south with Danny must have been more than she could take.

      Heath grabbed his overnight bag from the trunk of his Porsche and followed the group into the bunkhouse. He set his duffel bag on the old, worn dining room table and looked around. The downstairs common room hadn’t changed much since he’d moved in, aside from the new flat-screen television Xander had purchased during his recent stay.

      There was a sense of comfort in being back home with his family. He imagined that wouldn’t be the same for Julianne, who would be returning to an empty house. Heath might not be the person she’d choose to stay with her tonight, but he wasn’t going to argue with her about it. He wasn’t leaving her alone.

      “Hey, guys,” he said to his brothers and their fiancées as they settled in. “I think I’m going to sleep in the big house tonight. I don’t like the idea of Jules being alone. Not after the day we’ve had.”

      Xander nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “That’s a good idea. We’ll see you in the morning.”

      Heath picked up his bag, stepped out and then jogged across the grass and gravel to the back door.

      * * *

      Julianne knew she should go to bed; it had been a very long day with unexpected twists and turns, but she wasn’t sleepy. She’d woken up worried about her work and the fallout of her latest failed relationship. Then the phone rang and her world turned upside down. Her previous worries were suddenly insignificant. She’d dropped everything, thrown some clothes in a bag and hit the road.

      Even now, hours later, she was still filled with nervous energy. There was a restless anxiety in her muscles, the kind that urged her to go to her workshop and lose herself in the clay. Usually, immersing herself in her work helped clear her mind and solve her problems, but all the pottery in the world wouldn’t fix this.

      She settled for a cup of chamomile tea at the kitchen table. That might bring her brain down a few notches so she could sleep. She was sitting at the table, sipping the hot tea, when she heard a soft tap at the door. The door almost immediately opened and before she could get up, Heath was standing in the kitchen.

      “What is it?” she said, leaping to her feet. “Did the hospital call? Is there a problem?”

      Heath frantically shook his head, making one curl of his light brown hair dip down into his eyes. He held up his hands in surrender and she noticed the duffel bag on his shoulder. “No, no problem. Dad’s fine,” he insisted. “I just didn’t want you to be alone in the house tonight.”

      The air rushed out of her lungs in a loud burst. Thank goodness Dad was okay. Her heart was still racing in her chest from her sudden panic as she slipped back down into her chair. She took a large sip of the scalding tea and winced. After the day she’d had, she didn’t need Heath hovering nearby and the distracting hum of his presence in her veins. An hour after they had left the hospital, she could still recall the weight of his hand on her shoulder and the comforting warmth of his chest pressed against her. The contact had been innocent, but her eyes had fluttered closed for a moment to soak in the forbidden contact. She’d immediately snapped herself out of it and tried to focus on her father’s health.

      “I’ll be okay alone,” she said.

      Heath dropped his bag onto the wooden floor and flopped in the chair across from her. “No, you won’t.”

      She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and middle finger. She could feel a headache coming on and that was the last thing she needed. Of course, she could take one of her migraine pills and knock herself out. That was one sure way to get to sleep tonight, but what if something happened to Dad?

      When she looked up at her guest, she found herself getting lost in the light hazel depths of his eyes. Heath was always happy, always ready with a joke or a smile. But tonight, his expression was different. There was a softness, a weariness, that lined his eyes. He looked concerned. Worried. But not for Ken. At least not entirely. He was concerned about her.

      As always.

      Julianne wouldn’t make light, even in her own mind, of Heath’s protectiveness of her. He had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep her safe. She knew that anytime, day or night, she could call him and he would be there. But not just because they were family and he cared about her. There was a great deal more to it than that and tonight was not the night she was willing to deal with it.

      “Thank you,” she said at last. She wasn’t going to put up a fight and force him into the bunkhouse. She didn’t have the energy to argue and frankly, it would be nice to have someone in the big, creaky house with her. No matter what had happened between them over the years, she always knew she could count on him to respect her boundaries.

      “It feels weird to be in the house without Mom and Dad,” he said, looking around at the large, empty kitchen. “Mom should be fussing at the sink. Dad should be tinkering with farm equipment outside.”

      He was right, but she didn’t want to think about things like that. Those thoughts would require her to face the mortality of her aging parents. Dad would come home this time, but eventually, he wouldn’t. She’d rather pretend they were immortal, like she had believed as a child. “Would you like some tea?” she