“I found Jackson Pierce. I found little Emily’s uncle. Thank you for letting me do this, Mrs. Ford. I’m so grateful… it’s the weekend so no one from the child services bureau will be contacting you… yes… thank you. I’ll call you when I know more… take care, Mrs. Ford.”
Jackson stared at her back, trying to make sense of what she said, but that sick feeling he got whenever someone mentioned his family was lodged in his gut.
Jackson felt dread seep through his veins. Emily? Emily’s uncle? As though she sensed his presence, Hannah turned around. Her bright green eyes loaded up with tears as they stared into his. Her uncle. Her uncle. Those softly spoken words echoed in his mind and they echoed in the beautiful face of the woman standing across from him. Jackson couldn’t move, his body going cold as the truth of Hannah’s visit sank in.
The baby.
That baby wasn’t hers. It was his sister’s.
Chapter Three
Jackson had heard everything.
The look on his face made her forget about Emily for a moment. All she could feel was the painful pumping of her heart and the acrid taste of the tears burning in her throat. This wasn’t the way he was supposed to find out. She’d had a carefully rehearsed speech.
His eyes locked with hers and he strode across the room in what seemed like two steps. Suddenly there was no space between them, the room tiny and stifling. Panic set in.
“I want to know exactly who you are and what the hell you think you’re doing. Everything. Now.” His voice was raspy. Harsh. The anger that emanated from him was blatant. His jaw was clenched tight and the eyes that she thought were warm not too long ago, glistened with hate.
Hannah despised showing her hand. Hated showing that she was afraid of anything or anyone. Hated having someone know that she could be weak. But when he took a step closer to her, waiting for her answer, she took a step back, because he reminded her of a different man, of a different world, when she had no one, when she was helpless. But she wasn’t that same girl anymore. She was a grown woman. She had confronted her demons years ago. She held her chin up and looked him squarely in the eye. Don’t show your fear. Don’t show your fear.
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but I need you to back away from me and I need you to calm down,” she whispered holding up a hand between them.
…
He nodded slowly. “I am calm. I’m in control. I’ve never been out of control. I’m not going to touch you. I won’t hurt you. I’m angry as hell right now, but I don’t want you to spend another second thinking that you are being physically threatened by me. I’ve never, ever raised my hand to a woman.” He was surprised at how gruff his voice sounded. He watched her try to figure out if she could trust what he was saying. She looked into his eyes and he could swear she saw things that he’d managed to keep hidden from those closest to him. He backed up a step and put his hands in his pockets, willing himself to look relaxed.
She finally gave him a small smile, and it tore at him, more than it should have. He barely knew her, but that expression on her undeniably beautiful face made his gut clench. It made him forget for a moment why he was so angry with her. For a second, the relief of her not being afraid replaced his rage.
She folded her arms in front of her and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, for God’s sake.” Jackson ran his hands down the front of his face roughly, trying to stay in control of a situation that had the power to tear him down. He needed to get out of the room, away from her and everything she represented. He needed to gather his composure. He turned on his heel and walked out. When he reached the great room, Charlie came up to greet him, his scruffy tail wagging. Jackson patted the top of his head absently.
He heard her footsteps approaching.
“Jackson…” Her hesitant voice was barely audible against the wind and ice pellets drumming on the windows. He didn’t really feel like turning around. He avoided looking anywhere but straight ahead because he was acutely aware of the baby asleep in the room. He did not want to acknowledge what or who she might be.
“I’m a child services worker.” Hannah’s voice halted his emotional auto-shutdown mode. He hadn’t had to use that defense mechanism for a while, but it seemed whenever family was involved it was instinctual.
“Do you want a drink?” Right now, he was thinking he could down the whole bottle of his favorite whiskey.
He glanced over at her when she didn’t reply. She shook her head. Her face was pale, but she didn’t look afraid. He walked passed her to the mahogany liquor cabinet and poured himself a double shot. When he turned around, Hannah was sitting in front of the fireplace, her hands folded in her lap. His disloyal dog was contentedly sprawled across her feet. So much for man’s best friend.
Jackson sat in the club chair opposite her. He stared into the fire, the cool crystal cradled in the palm of his hand, a contrast to the heat that raged through him. He took another drink and then spoke. “So, you’re a social worker.”
She nodded, turning her eyes away from the crackling flames to meet his. He read her expression easily and it made his tight muscles ease slightly. His gut told him that Hannah wasn’t a liar. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t in the mood to mince words.
“I can’t stand social workers.”
He wasn’t sure how she was going to respond to that one. A few seconds later she broke the silence. “So that means you’ve been let down by the system.”
She obviously knew about his childhood. Yeah, he’d been let down. Abandoned. He didn’t bother looking at her. “Every social worker that has ever come my way was completely useless to me. Full of empty promises and false hope. Hope is the last thing you give to kids who have nothing.” The first time he told someone about the demented man who called himself a father he’d actually thought they might get help. Not for himself. If it were up to him he would have left, but his sister had refused to leave their home. So he stuck around for her. They lived in a dark, miserable hole of a house that reflected their father’s state of mind. That man that had the power to strike terror with one look, to rule over them like a dictator, had destroyed his sister. But not him. Jackson had shut himself off emotionally, and then he grew. He grew taller and stronger until father and son stood nose to nose and the man that once thought he was so mighty learned to put his fists back in his pocket.
Hannah’s soft, melodic voice clashed like lightning against the violence of his thoughts. “I know you don’t know anything about me. This is a horrible way for me to approach you. I’m sorry that this is bringing you so much pain—”
“This is not bringing me pain.” He hated that she was reading him, hated that she was right.
“You have to believe that I had the best of intentions. I had no choice. I risked everything to come here.” Her words came out quickly and she sounded almost frantic, probably because she was scared he’d kick her out.
He took another sip of the whiskey and met her gaze. She was gutsy. He ignored the sheen in her eyes, the concern that he read in them. He didn’t want to feel her compassion. He clenched his teeth against it, as though he could make himself immune to it, but there was no going back now. She had trudged in here and hauled him back to a past he’d tried to forget. He’d deal with this now and then send her and the baby packing in the morning. He could deal with one tiny social worker and a baby and then go back to his scheduled life. He had his dog and his business. What else did he need?
He leaned forward in his chair, his forearms on his thighs, the cool, smooth crystal of the glass cupped tightly in his hands. “Why don’t you tell me exactly why you are here?”
Hannah cleared her throat. “Your sister became one of my cases when she was pregnant. She was an addict who tried to stay clean for her baby.”
Jackson felt his stomach churn with revulsion as a memory of his sister, strung out, falling into his arms, bulldozed him into the past again. He hated Louise’s weakness. He hated that she hadn’t trusted him enough to keep her safe. He hated that Louise had taken the easy way out. She had abandoned him and the reality of their lives in favor of mind-numbing drugs. She had sold her soul, her body, for a cheap fix. The sound of Hannah’s voice reached in and brought him back.
“We found a group home for her and she did really well. She gave birth to a beautiful, healthy little girl that she named Emily.”
Jackson stared straight ahead, avoiding her probing stare. Don’t look over at the baby. She had named the baby after their mother, who had died when they were both children. When they were still friends. When they would tear through the woods bordering their home playing Batman and Robin until their mother would call them in for dinner, always with a smile, always with a home-cooked meal. That was all a long time ago. Such a different world that sometimes he wondered if it had happened at all.