The Daddy Dilemma. Karen Rose Smith

and was taking it all in, from the claw-foot table and double-globed Quoizel lamp, to the lacy doilies on the arms of the camel-back sofa covered in a pretty pink flowered damask, to the Victorian lace curtains at the windows.

      “What’s the matter?” she asked, noticing his expression, which seemed a bit puzzled.

      “This isn’t at all what I expected,” he admitted.

      “I’m afraid to ask what you did expect.” Her smile was wry and she was hoping he’d relax a little bit with her. On the other hand, it might be better if he didn’t. If he relaxed she might not be able to keep her distance as well. One thing she knew about Nathan Barclay—from the pictures of his deceased wife all over his house, to his wariness about her and any claims she might have concerning Kyle—she needed to keep her distance. She’d had enough heartache in her life not to even consider giving in to a little bit of chemistry that might ripple between them.

      “I expected you to live in a modern glass-and-steel condo with contemporary paintings on the walls. I never imagined lace and antiques.”

      “The antiques were my mother’s. They weren’t antiques when she bought them at yard sales and thrift shops years ago. But she had a good eye and a talent with fabric that I didn’t inherit.”

      “You just got rid of your furniture?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

      “Believe me, it was nothing I was attached to. Except for that rocker.” She pointed to a wooden rocking chair with lions carved onto the back. “That I found for myself when I was in law school. Mom taught me how to look for bargains at yard sales. It had about ten coats of paint on it. It cleaned up great, don’t you think?”

      “You refinished it?”

      “Sure. Lye water, steel wool, glue here and there.” She headed for her kitchen, which was small but cheery, with its yellow, polished-cotton valance over the window, and philodendron hanging in one corner. “Would you like something to drink? Tea or coffee?”

      “Coffee.”

      A long counter separated the living room from the kitchen, with a post at each end rising to the ceiling. After taking off her jacket and hanging it over a dining room chair, she quickly poured water into the tank of the coffeepot. She measured out chocolate-flavored coffee, which was all she had, and switched the pot on.

      Sneaking a glance at Nathan, she noticed him unzip his jacket and lay it over the back of the sofa. He wandered about, studying the titles on her bookshelves. A duplicate picture of Kyle sat on the coffee table. She felt…naked having his dad look around her place like this. Intuition told her he was absorbing everything he could about her. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

      Producing a copper tray from a cupboard, she set two mugs of coffee on it, a carton of nonfat creamer, and sugar packets she kept for guests. Then she carried it to the coffee table and lowered herself to the sofa cushion, hoping Nathan would sit, too. He was making her jittery just being here.

      But if she thought she was jittery before, when he came over and sat beside her, she knew the true meaning of the word. When she’d visited Rapid Creek, she’d attributed her reaction to him to the situation, meeting Kyle for the first time and being stirred up about all of it. Now, however, she realized the man himself disturbed her…made her suddenly feel…hot.

      Pouring a liberal amount of creamer into her mug, she picked it up, took a few bolstering sips, then set it on a coaster. “So tell me why you’re here.”

      She was half afraid he was going to tell her he was having a restraining order placed upon her, so that she wouldn’t come anywhere near him or Kyle. But maybe that was just the lawyer in her being paranoid.

      “I came to ask you to spend Thanksgiving with us in Rapid Creek.”

      Nothing he might have said could have surprised her more. “You want me to spend Thanksgiving with you and Kyle?” She had to clarify so she was sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

      “This isn’t what I want,” he told her bluntly, “but I think it’s necessary. We need to have DNA testing done to find out if you’re Kyle’s mother.”

      “Why is this necessary now, when it wasn’t ten days ago? In fact, you didn’t want me anywhere around. Why the about-face?”

      After a few beats of silence, he replied, “Because Kyle had a serious asthma attack. He could have died.”

      “Oh, my Lord.” She felt the color drain from her face as the reality of his words sunk in.

      Nathan swore. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

      Although he might not want to admit it, she could see he was still upset by whatever had occurred. “Tell me what happened.”

      “Kyle has never had an attack this serious before. He had the one when he was three…one last year…but nothing since. Just wheezing sometimes.” He told her about taking Kyle to the store to buy clothes, the possibility of fabric smells or perfume setting off the attack.

      “You didn’t say anything about perfume when I came to visit.”

      “You weren’t wearing any.”

      No, she wasn’t. Because perfume bothered some of her clients, she was careful about the products she chose. But the fact that Nathan Barclay had noticed that…well, of course he would have noticed if he was protective of Kyle.

      “So you don’t know for sure what caused it?”

      “My father has another theory.”

      “And that is?”

      “Kyle has been different, more quiet, more subdued since your visit. Dad feels there was an unconscious connection between the two of you and Kyle felt the loss of that. He looked for something from you in the mail every day. Emotional stress can be a component in an asthma attack.”

      “You didn’t want me to have any contact! You told me not to write…to stay out of Kyle’s life.”

      “I know. Possibly I was wrong. Maybe I underestimated his need of a woman your age in his life.”

      “You don’t believe we had a connection because I’m his mother and he’s my son?”

      “We don’t know that. I don’t believe you two bonded because of some mystical mother-son thread. You played with Kyle…with his fire trucks. You read him stories. Why wouldn’t he like you?”

      “Mr. Barclay—”

      “It’s Nathan,” he said curtly. “If we’re going to be around each other, if you’re going to be under my roof, we might as well be on a first-name basis.”

      “You want me to stay in your house rather than the lodge?” she asked in astonishment.

      “The whole point of this is for you to spend time with Kyle, isn’t it?”

      “And if I’m not his mother?”

      “Then he’ll have made a new friend. You can write to him and he can write back, and we can all relax.”

      Was this really so simple for him? “When are you returning to Rapid Creek?”

      “Tomorrow morning. I don’t want to be away too long. The doctor changed Kyle’s medication, and he seems to be doing fine. But I don’t want to take any chances.”

      She did some quick calculating, weighing pros and cons, responsibility in her job against responsibility for a boy who could be her son. “I can’t fly back with you tomorrow. But I think I’ll be able to arrange everything by Tuesday. Would that be all right?”

      “Tuesday would work out well. My brother Ben is flying in Wednesday night. We can keep Kyle’s excitement to small doses.”

      Sara wondered again if Nathan was trying to protect Kyle a little too much…and if that might not be the basis of the whole problem. But she