Inherited: Baby

From bump to baby and beyond….

Whether she’s expecting or they’re adopting, a special arrival is on its way!

Follow the tears and triumphs as these couples find their lives blessed with the magic of parenthood.

Rescued: Mother-To-Be

by Trish Wylie

“I don’t want your money!”

Anger scorched across her face and she calmed with obvious effort. He could see it in the unclenching fists, the softening of her shoulders, and he bided his time, watching uncertainty war with pride, fury battle vulnerability.

“What do you want, then?” he finally prompted, increasingly uncomfortable with standing in this tiny room not knowing what to say or do, clumsy in his efforts to help.

For a moment he wondered if she’d heard him, as Maya’s attention remained fixed on Chas, the intensity of maternal love etched on her face taking his breath away.

“I do want something from you. A commitment.”

His world tilted as the impact of her demand hit him full-on.…

Inherited: Baby
Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Nicola Marsh has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary, which could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer doing her dream job: creating the romances she loves. Visit Nicola’s Web site at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.

For Dad, who thinks horses are the best thing on four legs! And thanks to Trish for her horse expertise.

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

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

MAYA EDISON STOOD ramrod straight, oblivious to the huge society crowd that had turned the funeral into a farce. She stared at the casket containing her dead fiancé as it was lowered into the ground, wishing she could cry.

Wishing she could feel something other than the soul-deep weariness that had seeped into her bones around the time she had moved in with Joe Bourke, fallen pregnant with his child and bought his phoney lines about wanting to get married.

Wishing she didn’t feel the slightest hint of relief that her nightmare with Joe was over. Or the overwhelming guilt at her role in his death.

Loving Joe had been a rush, a whirlwind romance that had plucked her up and deposited her in the eye of an emotional hurricane, leaving her to pick up the pieces less than two years later.

‘You okay?’

She turned at the light touch on her elbow, nodding mechanically, gaining some comfort from the genuine concern in Riley’s deep blue eyes.

Riley Bourke, Joe’s serious older brother, the only person at this funeral who had lent a helping hand after Joe’s death, the only person who seemed to care.

Joe had used to scoff at Riley, labelling him a stodgy, boring old fuddy-duddy when in fact only six years separated them. Unfortunately, Joe’s twenty-eight had been going on eighteen, something she’d realised all too late, while Riley’s solid dependability had been a godsend since her fiancé’s death.

The rest of Joe’s friends were hangers-on, party people who hadn’t relinquished their hold on her fiancé even after he became a father. They were only here now to get their faces in tomorrow’s newspapers.

Joe Bourke, entrepreneur, leading player in Australia’s horse racing circles, Melbourne’s society darling and all-round nice guy, was dead.

Big news in a city that had fawned over him, laying his life out for all and sundry on a regular basis in the gossip columns. Joe had lapped up the publicity, she’d hated it. Yet another reason why they’d grown apart and something that had ultimately led to this tragic day.

‘You don’t have to come to the wake. Why don’t you take Chas home?’

Riley hadn’t relinquished his hold on her elbow, obviously not convinced she was all right.

She’d have to do better than this. For some strange reason, she’d had no compulsion to weep till Riley looked at her with real compassion. Suddenly she wanted to blubber like Chas when he was wet, hungry or teething. Thankfully, her precious son had slept in his pram next to her during the entire funeral, oblivious to the fact he’d lost his daddy before he really knew him.

Not that Joe had shown the slightest bit of interest in getting to know his son over the last fourteen months since Chas had been born.

Mentally chastising herself for paying out on Joe even on the day of his funeral, she managed a weak smile. ‘I’d like nothing better than to take Chas home but shouldn’t I be at the wake?’

She refrained from adding, Won’t people talk?

People had been talking since the minute Joe had met her at the Cup Eve Ball less than two years ago and swept her off her feet, right into his plush South Bank apartment.

‘What was one of the richest men in Melbourne doing with a horse strapper? A girl who mucked out stables for a living? A girl who hadn’t given up her job despite being cocooned in the dreamy arms of Joe Bourke?’

Oh yeah, people had talked. And talked. And were still talking, a soft tittering sweeping the crowd now that the formalities were over and they looked forward to the elaborate bash Riley had organised at a nearby hotel to celebrate his brother’s life in style.

Unfortunately, some of the talk she abhorred so much reached her ears just as Riley leant closer to say something.

‘Look at her; Joe’s barely cold in the ground and she’s already moving on to the next rich guy. And Joe’s brother, no less! There’s a name for girls like her, prostituting themselves to the highest bidder.’

Maya stiffened and turned stricken eyes to Riley, furious at the scathing condemnation tossed so casually and cruelly, mortified that Riley, a man she hardly knew, had to hear it. However, before she could marshal her thoughts on how to respond—which had been to ignore it and walk away whenever anything unsavoury had tarnished her relationship with Joe—Riley slid his arm around her shoulder and placed his free hand on the bar of Chas’s pram.

‘Let’s go,’he said, leaving her little option but to obey as he gently propelled her away from the spiteful woman who’d uttered the slanderous words that still rang in her head.

Unfortunately, people would think her relationship with Joe had been based on money rather than love. People like that, in Joe’s social sphere and born with a silver spoon clutched in their fists wouldn’t understand how a naïve, trusting young woman could fall so quickly for a smooth charmer.

They wouldn’t understand that she’d spent her entire life hoping for a knight in shining armour to sweep her off her feet and give her the fairy tale ending she’d only read about in the few tattered second-hand books she’d owned as a child.

And they’d never understand how a past she’d worked so hard to forget could raise its ugly head and wipe out her son’s future.

‘It’s okay, Riley. You don’t have to do this.’ She stopped as they neared the cemetery’s periphery, grateful for his support but needing time out to process her feelings, to bank her guilt at the part she’d played in Joe’s death, and to grieve in peace.

Riley kicked down the brake on Chas’s pram and turned to face her, his strong grip on her upper arms feeling way too good. Joe hadn’t touched her in a long, long time and she’d craved affection her whole life.

‘Do what? Protect my brother’s fiancée and my nephew from vile, malicious gossip? Do what any brother would do?’

‘You’re not my brother.’

The words popped out before she could think and he blinked in surprise—but not before she’d glimpsed a spark of an emotion she couldn’t identify. At a guess, it looked like relief.

Not that she could blame him—relieved not to be related to a gullible idiot. Joe had obviously felt the same way, prolonging their engagement, feeding her false promises till he’d finally spilled the truth the night they’d fought for the last time, the night he’d been too tanked to walk a straight line let alone drive.

‘No, I’m not your brother, but I’m here for both of you,’ he said, glancing at Chas with a tenderness that took her breath away. ‘Whatever you need, let me know. I want to help.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, wishing he’d stop looking at her like some sort of pathetic charity case.

If she’d learned one thing over the years it was to hold her head high. Pride was all she had left.

‘You sure you’re going to be all right?’

‘Positive,’ she said, injecting some force into her voice before she broke down completely and wept on Riley’s broad shoulders. ‘And I appreciate you taking care of all this.’

She waved a hand towards the dispersing crowd in the distance, relieved that she wouldn’t have to deal with their probing stares or harsh censure any longer. Her life with Joe was over and she’d do her best to see that Chas didn’t bear the brunt of the stigma she’d had to face.

‘No problems. If you need anything…’ Riley trailed off, his steady gaze drawn to Chas once again as if he didn’t want to let her son out of his sight.

Great. Another Bourke who doubted her mothering skills. Joe had often thrown put-downs her way in his usual joking fashion. Sadly, she’d learned that Joe’s ‘jokes’ were a front for cruel barbs, insults meant to hurt her where she’d feel it most. She’d trusted him enough to tell him about her past—so what had he done? Honed in on her insecurities when their relationship faltered, sticking the knife in and twisting it just for the fun of it.

No, she wouldn’t miss Joe. As much as she’d loved him, had idolised him, he was her past. Chas was her future.

Looking down at her sleeping son blowing small air bubbles out of the corner of his mouth, she managed a weak smile, feeling some of the tension of the day ebb away.

‘We’ll be okay,’ she said, tracing Chas’s baby-soft cheek with her index finger, overwhelmed by how much she loved this little boy.

And as she gently lifted her slumbering son and placed him in his car seat, and Riley helped load the pram and nappy bag in the back of her four-wheel drive station wagon, she knew they would be okay.

She had no other option.

‘Your brother must’ve been a good man.’

Riley took a sip from his third espresso of the afternoon and stared at Matt Byrne, the lawyer who’d handled his business dealings for the last few years. ‘My brother may have been a lot of things but I don’t think good was one of them.’

Competitive? Yeah.

Obsessed with winning? Yeah.

Cocky, brash and charming. Definitely.

But good? Uh-uh.

Matt raised an eyebrow. ‘By the size of this turnout, I’d say quite a few people would disagree with you.’

Riley followed Matt’s gaze, sweeping the crowd which included several TV celebrities, politicians and a few models. Notably absent were members of the racing fraternity—though, considering Joe’s growing gambling debts and the number of times Riley had bailed him out, he wasn’t surprised.

‘Most of this crowd are here for the free food and alcohol,’ he said, annoyed at the bitter tone creeping into his voice.

Matt didn’t know about Joe’s carousing, his penchant for beautiful women, his love of the high life and Riley wanted to keep it that way. The fewer people who knew about Joe’s private affairs, the better. It made it less likely that any more gossip would taint Maya and Chas.

Maya…A fleeting image flashed across his mind of the petite blonde dressed in head to toe black, her face hidden by a huge hat, the way her luminous green eyes had stared up at him when that vile woman had implied she was a tart.

He’d been prepared to dislike Joe’s fiancée, half-believing the rumours he’d heard about her gold-digging tendencies, and therefore had been staggered by how much he’d wanted to haul her into his arms and comfort her, to block out the cruel whispers and tell her everything would be all right.

A strange reaction considering he hardly knew her. Joe had seen to that.

‘What’s going on, Riley? You never lose your cool.’

Riley wrenched his attention back to Matt. ‘You met Maya, right?’

‘Yeah. Gorgeous woman. She must be devastated that Joe’s gone. And that poor little kid—’

‘Chas will be fine. That’s why I flew you down here.’

‘I’m still surprised about that. Surely a hotshot like Joe would have his own lawyer to handle the will?’

‘I want you to do it,’ Riley bit out, knowing Joe hadn’t had a lawyer. The last guy who’d been foolish enough to take on that particular responsibility had washed his hands of Joe’s dealings quick smart. ‘That way, I know everything will be done right.’

‘Gee, thanks, mate. Though, by your tone, I’d swear you have as much confidence in my abilities as that woman over there has of making it to the door without falling flat on her face.’

Riley grimaced as a supermodel tottered on incredibly high heels towards the heavy oak doors, either drunk, high or both. Great company his brother had kept.

Making a lightning-quick decision, Riley beckoned Matt towards the huge glass windows overlooking Collins Street. ‘Look, I have a feeling Joe’s will is going to be messy. Or, more to the point, what he’s left behind will be messy.’

Matt’s expression didn’t change—a true professional, which was why Riley trusted him. ‘How so?’

Riley sighed and tugged at the tie knotted at his throat. He hated wearing the things and couldn’t wait for the day when stockbrokers took to T-shirts and jeans. As if.

‘Call it a hunch, but I don’t think Joe managed his money wisely. In fact, I’m not sure he has much left.’

This time Matt couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘You’re kidding? He was reportedly one of Melbourne’s richest guys. And you’re no pauper. The Bourke name is synonymous with wealth.’

‘Yeah, well, I think Joe has been living on his name for a while now.’

While fleecing him as often as possible. Stupidly, Riley had continued to bail out his flake of a brother, hoping he’d change, mature once he became a father. It hadn’t happened.

‘What about Maya and the child?’

‘As far as I know, they should be okay for now. Joe owned the apartment they live in and bought Maya a new car when she had Chas. I assume he paid the bills.’ Or more correctly, Riley had given the money he’d shelled out at increasingly frequent intervals over the last six months.

Damn, he should’ve intervened; he should’ve made a stand. But then, where would that have left Chas, the little guy who had no say in who his parents were?

‘But apart from those assets, you’re concerned he won’t have money left to provide for Maya and Chas?’

‘Exactly.’

Matt paused, an uncomfortable look on his face as if he was searching for the right way to phrase what came next.

‘You’re really worried about them, aren’t you?’

Riley nodded, banishing another image before it could take hold, that of Maya cradling a sleeping Chas in her arms as she put him in the car, a small possessive smile playing around her mouth, a mouth he had no right noticing.

‘In that case, let’s hope this all turns out for the best. For everyone’s sake.’

The astute gleam in Matt’s eyes did little to calm Riley’s nerves. He had major misgivings about this whole mess: about Joe’s will, his helpless nephew and the woman left to raise him.

He needed to know more.

He needed to help.

It was the least he could do after the part he’d played in his brother’s death.

CHAPTER TWO

MAYA STEPPED FROM the bath and quickly wrapped her dripping body in a towel from habit. Joe had hated the changes giving birth had wrought on her body: the stretch marks, the new distribution of weight, a changed body shape in general and he’d told her so on a regular basis. She’d learned to cover up in front of him, to hide her shape beneath baggy clothes, all in the effort to feel better about herself.

But then, nothing had stopped Joe’s nasty streak when he’d been on a roll and unfortunately, ever since she’d given birth to Chas, he’d been on one continuous ‘make Maya pay’ quest.

Tying the towel turban-style around her long blonde hair—in desperate need of a trim—she slipped into her favourite pink towelling robe and fuzzy fuchsia Princess slippers. Ironic, considering she couldn’t be further from a princess if she tried, but the minute she’d seen the funky slippers she’d had to have them. Spending all day in jodhpurs and grubby T-shirts gave a girl a complex and she often had the urge to buy the most ridiculously feminine items.

Though the baby monitor was silent, she peeped into the nursery, unable to get enough of her gorgeous little boy even when he was sleeping. He looked so peaceful lying on his tummy, bottom in the air, snoring ever-so-softly. A little angel without a care in the world—and she had every intention of seeing it stayed that way. She’d put up with Joe’s appalling treatment for the sake of her son. Now that Joe had gone, she would do anything to protect Chas from harm. Anything.

She tiptoed into the room, inhaling the faintest hint of baby powder, her eyes adjusting to the near-darkness broken by a tiny teddy bear night-light, loving every precious moment of being a mum to this little boy. Whether asleep or awake, Chas was the centre of her world and if she thought she’d loved horses, it was nothing to the overwhelming love of motherhood. It frightened her in its intensity yet she was powerless to resist it.

‘Ma-ma,’ Chas cried out softly, wriggling down further in the cot, thrashing from side to side till he got comfortable again.

She held her breath, not wanting to wake him, desperate for a full night’s sleep herself. The funeral had been tougher than she’d imagined and all she wanted to do was have a hot chocolate, fall into bed and pray that she’d sleep. Real rest had eluded her for months now courtesy of the tense, uncomfortable co-existence she’d slipped into with Joe.

Kissing her finger, she gently placed it on Chas’s cheek and tiptoed from the room, heading for the kitchen and the comfort of warm cocoa. However, she barely had time to fill the kettle before there was a soft knock at the door.

No one visited her. Her mum was in a special accommodation home and the people she worked with were just that, work acquaintances. She didn’t socialise, she didn’t have friends, so who was bothering her at eight-thirty on the night of Joe’s funeral?

Almost dead on her feet, she ignored whoever it was and flicked on the kettle, spooning several heaped teaspoons of cocoa into a mug. However, the knock came again, louder this time. Rather than have the unwelcome visitor wake Chas, she padded to the door and opened it a fraction.

‘What are you doing here?’

Her response sounded sharper than she intended and Riley stiffened, a tiny frown appearing between his brows.

‘I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After today…’ He trailed off and for a guy at the top of his field, one of Australia’s number one stockbrokers, he appeared uncertain.

Guess she had that effect on the Bourke men. Once the initial spark had faded, Joe had been uncertain of everything where she’d been concerned: uncertain if she was the woman for him, uncertain if she was wife material, uncertain if he wanted anything to do with her and her child as he’d insisted on calling Chas.

‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, the pain of Joe’s attitude towards Chas stabbing her anew.

Riley pinned her with a glare, the intensity behind the steady blue-eyed stare making her squirm. What was it about this guy that made her feel helpless? She’d been that way ever since he’d bustled into the apartment a few hours after Joe’s death, taking charge of arrangements, snapping orders into his mobile phone, delegating jobs like a king. Introverted in her grief at the time, she’d let him take charge.

He appeared smarter, stronger and bigger than everything around him, capable of handling anything and more. In a way, he intimidated her. He’d intimidated her when they’d first met but then she’d been so ga-ga over Joe that night at the ball she’d barely noticed his serious—though just as cute—older brother.

Cute. What a joke. Nothing about Riley was cute. With his dark hair, piercing blue eyes and tall, athletic frame, striking would be more appropriate. Even sexy, though she couldn’t equate the words sexy and Riley in her mind in the same sentence right now.

‘You sure about that? You don’t sound fine to me.’

He hadn’t budged and, by the determined expression on his face, he wouldn’t till she convinced him she really was okay.

Sighing, she unchained the door and swung it open. ‘I am, but I can see you’re not leaving in a hurry so you may as well come in and have a cuppa with me.’

‘Not the most gracious of invitations but you’re right, I’m not leaving here till I know you’re okay.’

‘What are you doing for the next twenty years then?’ she muttered under her breath.

Thankfully, Riley chose to ignore her sarcastic comment and followed her into the kitchen, his presence dwarfing the tiny chrome and black space.

‘What’ll you have?’

‘Coffee is fine,’he said, grabbing a carton of milk out of the fridge and a clean mug off the sink, looking more at home in the kitchen than Joe ever had.

Stop it! Stop comparing him to Joe.

She blinked, almost surprised at her inner voice chastising her like that. For a girl who’d hardly noticed Riley when they’d first met, she was certainly making up for lost time and making unfavourable comparisons between the brothers to boot!

Joe had been cocky, brash and fun-loving.

Riley was serious, thoughtful and responsible.

Joe had hogged the limelight and adored being the centre of attention.

Riley faded into the background, preferring to take control from the sidelines.

Joe had some hang-up with winning.

By all counts, Riley was a winner; his reputation in the business world spoke for itself.

However, there was one area where the brothers couldn’t compare.

Joe had said he loved her, though she’d discovered that wasn’t true.

Riley obviously tolerated her for the sake of Chas. She’d seen it after Joe’s death and earlier today at the funeral: the curiosity, the censure, the pity.

And she hated it.

He probably thought she was a pathetic basket case but at least he’d been there for her, for Chas, at a time when she’d needed him the most. Which was more than she could say for anyone else in her lifetime, including her mother.

‘How did the wake go?’ she asked, more out of something to fill the growing silence than any burning need to know.

Riley’s lips compressed into a thin line. ‘People stayed as long as the finger food and alcohol kept coming. A few blokes retold some of Joe’s tall tales. That’s about it.’

‘Guess I wasn’t missed then.’ She couldn’t keep the irony from her voice though she couldn’t fathom the answering flicker of something dark and mysterious in his eyes.

‘Joe knew you loved him. He wouldn’t have needed to see you schmoozing with his phoney mates to prove that.’

‘I guess you’re right,’she said, guilt piercing her soul. She could hardly face the truth even in the deepest part of her, too horrified to admit that she hadn’t loved Joe.

She had at the start. At least, she’d thought she did. Maybe it had been infatuation, maybe it had been a plain old-fashioned crush. She’d been so naïve, so clueless when it came to men that she’d fallen for the first classy guy to look her way, wanting to believe his smooth lines, wanting to believe that he loved her. For someone who’d never known real love growing up, it had been a heady experience.

‘Look, this isn’t any of my business but I know you two had problems and I hope you’re not beating yourself up over them. Joe was fun and spontaneous and affectionate but he could also be a selfish brat.’

Maya didn’t question how Riley knew about her relationship troubles with Joe. She didn’t have to. It hung unspoken in the tense, awkward silence between them and she jumped in relief when the kettle whistled.

‘Joe and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of issues but then I guess that’s part of being a couple,’ she said, pouring boiling water into the mugs, grateful to concentrate on such a mundane task and not have to see the look of judgement on Riley’s face.

Riley was a smart guy and a smart guy would’ve read between the lines and known the argument he’d overheard the night of Joe’s death had only been tip of the iceberg stuff.

A smart guy would’ve twigged that things had been worse. A lot worse.

She’d wanted to explain, to smooth things over with the brother-in-law she never knew but her good intentions had blown up in her face. More to the point, Joe had blown up in her face.

‘Why did you come around that night?’

No use glossing over it. Riley had brought up the subject; she may as well finish it.

He shrugged, wrapping his hands around the coffee mug she handed him and staring into the strong black liquid like a wizard looking for answers in a cauldron.

‘I hadn’t seen Joe in a while. Guess I was worried about him. And you and Chas,’ he added as an afterthought.

‘But you’d never visited before,’she persisted, driven by some strange need to get Riley to talk, perhaps to give her some answers to Joe’s irrational behaviour that night.

‘I know, my fault. Business keeps me busy. I’m pretty much chained to my desk or travelling.’

He sipped at his coffee and Maya couldn’t decide if he was giving her the brush-off or not.

‘Joe never mentioned you much.’

Until he’d gone out with Riley that night, arrived home two hours later reeking of alcohol and spewing forth a torrent of vile accusations that hadn’t made sense. She hadn’t even known Riley, let alone fancied him.

‘Joe and I weren’t as close as I would’ve liked, probably both our faults.’ Riley glanced away, a sad expression on his face before his gaze returned to hers, melancholic, uncertain. ‘He seemed pretty out of control that night. Was that a one-off?’

She wished. ‘Joe wasn’t happy. His behaviour the last few months was erratic.’

Riley frowned. ‘Erratic?’

‘He didn’t spend much time here.’

Major understatement. That night had been typical: with Chas screaming in the nursery at Joe’s escalating abuse, she’d fired back, taunting Joe, hitting his vulnerable spots, knowing it would enrage him further and he’d do what he always did.

Run.

Not come home for days.

Seek and find comfort wherever he could as long as it wasn’t with her.

‘Joe didn’t seem too stable when we chatted that night and I wondered if his death was purely accidental.’

Maya stiffened, understanding Riley’s need to have answers but resenting his inference and the intrusion into her privacy nonetheless.

‘There’s no doubt in my mind that Joe’s car crash was an accident. Joe was too cocky, too full of himself to end his own life.’

Despite her certainty, she would live with the guilt for the rest of her life—that her words had pushed Joe to get behind the wheel of his car when he clearly could barely walk, let alone drive.

She should’ve stopped him.

But she hadn’t.

And it had killed her fiancé, the man who had told her that same night that he’d never had any intention of marrying her, ever, and the humiliating reasons why.

‘You must’ve had a rough time with Joe…’He trailed off, having the grace to look uncomfortable.

‘And what are you trying to do? Make me relive the tough stuff just for old times’ sake?’

The words slipped out before she could stop them and she could see she’d hit below the belt.

‘I’m sorry. I was just trying to say I understand.’

Pity. Stark, obvious pity shone in his eyes and she hated it. She didn’t need Riley’s pity. She didn’t need anything from him.

‘Thanks, but I’m fine. You’ve helped with the funeral and I appreciate it, but now Chas and I would like to be left alone.’

Hot, angry tears threatened her composure. Tears of shame that she’d given him short shrift when he’d been the one person to stand by her the last few days, tears of guilt that a confrontation with Riley could make her cry when she’d been dry-eyed over Joe’s death.

Riley took a sip of coffee, his steady regard never leaving her. Even in the face of her rudeness, he didn’t flinch or fire back.

‘Fine, but Chas is my nephew and I’d like to play a part in his life.’

His calm words embarrassed her, made her feel like a petulant child. ‘Why now? You’ve never shown any interest before.’

Her barb hit home if the faint pink staining his high cheekbones was any indication. However, he still didn’t falter or lose his cool and she had a silly urge to push him, to punish him for being so calm in the face of her offensiveness.

‘Besides, how do you think you’re going to do that? You said business keeps you busy.’

‘I can offer you financial support,’ he said, draining his coffee and rinsing the mug while she glared at his back, irrationally noting the perfect fit of his designer business shirt stretched across his shoulders.

Money. He was offering money.

She should’ve known.

The Bourkes had been born with a silver spoon in their well-fed mouths, had never known a day’s hunger or the desperate, clawing empty feeling of knowing there was no money to buy food for the next week. The yearning for an ice cream cone or the craving for new shoes so that you could be like the other kids.