Scent of Danger

"I suppose so," she agreed. "All right, I'll try." She cleared her throat. "You asked about my mother. Her name's Gloria Radcliffe. She's a fashion designer with her own label. She has clients everywhere—including New York. In fact, she just got back from showing her latest designs here."

"Back? She... lives in New Hampshire?"

"No, in Rockport, Massachusetts."

"A... good place... for an artist... to call home." Carson couldn't miss the warmth with which Sabrina spoke of her mother. "You're very... proud of her."

"Yes, I am."

"Did you... tell her... you were coming... to see me?"

"She knows." A troubled expression flickered across Sabrina's face. "She wishes you well."

"But she'd... preferred if you'd... stayed away."

A sharp intake of breath. "It's not as black and white as that, Mr. Broo— Carson. It's complicated."

"Most things are...." He paused. "Twenty-eight years ago... she was determined to... go it alone...." He saw the glint of surprise flash in Sabrina's eyes. "No, I never... spoke to her... firsthand," he clarified. "But I was given... some background... by the medical personnel. Your mother's... criteria were pretty stringent.... She was blunt about the fact... that no man... would fill the bill... as a mate.... So she wanted one who could fill the bill as an ideal sperm donor... to make an extraordinary child...."

"I see." Clearly, she'd known only pieces of the puzzle. It gave Carson some pleasure to know he was able to fill in more.

"She stuck to her guns... and never married?" he asked.

Sabrina nodded.

"Not... surprised..." He angled his head, glanced at Sabrina's left hand. "You're not wearing a ring.... Are you a die-hard soloist... too?"

"A die-hard soloist?" This time her smile came naturally. "That sounds like I'm in flight school."

He chuckled, wincing a little at the resulting pain in his chest—a pain he stubbornly ignored. "Okay, then... what's the female equivalent... of a bachelor—a bachelorette?"

"I get the picture." She feathered her fingers through her long, dark hair. "And, no, I'm not militant about staying single. But I strongly suspect that's the way things will play out."

"Because you work... all the time." It was a statement, not a question.

"Something like that, yes."

"And you're different... out of sync with others... A loner and a maverick...."

The practiced look was back in place. "Are we describing me or you?"

It was a good business ploy, one Carson recognized well. She was reclaiming a position of power, turning a defense into an offense. Good for her. She was sharp and self-protective. Regardless, he was right.

"Both of us," he answered frankly. "But for now, you... I assume there's no one special... in your life....?"

She looked like she wanted to slug him for butting in where he didn't belong.

"Cut me... some slack," he urged. "I just... found out... I'm a father...."

Her brows rose. "Fine. I'll placate you—this time. No, there's no one special."

"Change that."

"What?"

"I said... change that."

"I don't believe this." Sabrina was at the edge of her seat again, looking like she was about to bolt. "I never met you before today, never even knew who you were. And here you are, analyzing me and handing out romantic advice?"