A Father for Danny Read online

  “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “If you’ll give me a chance,” Samantha said, her voice rising, “I’ll be happy to explain.”

  He sat on the edge of the chair opposite her, leaning forward. He had the upper hand, and he knew it. “I’m waiting.”

  She took a deep breath. No more games. All she had to do now was give him the facts, and leave the rest to him. Oh. And one more thing.

  She moistened her lips, wondering why she felt so nervous. He certainly didn’t look as scary as his photograph. He was taller than she’d expected, and filled out more.

  His eyes caught hers and she realized he knew she’d been checking him out.

  “Confirming I’m the right man?”

  His tone was not amused. Neither was the glint in his eye.

  Dear Reader,

  Any author will tell you that story ideas are generated from a variety of experiences, questions and revelations. Knowing identical twins in my workplace raised a few questions of my own. Such as what would it be like to look at another person and see your mirror image, and how difficult would it be to establish your own identity when people are constantly mistaking you for your identical twin?

  These are some of the questions I asked myself after I decided to make the heroine of A Father for Danny an identical twin. The bond between twins—that almost mystical link of thought and emotion—has been the subject of innumerable scientific studies and texts. But the question that captured my interest most of all was what happens when that connection is stretched almost to the breaking point? When identical twins who shared everything as children and teenagers suddenly become distrustful of each other?

  Tackling the novel from that vantage point, I then had to figure out how these sisters could regain that unique rapport. What better way to accomplish this than through a frightened boy and a lonely man—both in need of love and a family?

  Families coming together is a common theme in many of my novels, and the various intricate and delicate relationships between family members can provide many plotlines. In the end, isn’t the whole idea of family the ultimate goal of all romance?

  Janice Carter

  A FATHER FOR DANNY

  Janice Carter

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Janice Carter is a Toronto-based author and teacher. Her hobbies—besides writing—include cooking and reading. She is married with two grown daughters and looks forward to retirement and “grandmothering” in the near future. This is her eleventh novel, and she hopes to write many more family sagas.

  Books by Janice Carter

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  593—GHOST TIGER

  671—A CHRISTMAS BABY

  779—THE MAN SHE LEFT BEHIND

  887—THE INHERITANCE

  995—SUMMER OF JOANNA

  1079—THE REAL ALLIE NEWMAN

  1144—THE SECOND FAMILY

  1178—PAST, PRESENT AND A FUTURE

  1295—THE BEEKEEPER’S DAUGHTER

  Dedicated with love to my mother,

  Lois Gene Carter

  1920–2007

  And to the best father in the world,

  William Henry Carter

  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

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I FIND THINGS, NOT people,” Samantha Sorrenti repeated. “Things like rare books or antique coins. Art objects. Once I even had to search for an original Winnie the Pooh Teddy Bear.” She grinned, hoping to lighten the mood. His brown eyes didn’t flicker. Sam sighed. “What you want is a private investigator. Did you check the Yellow Pages?”

  “Your Web site says you find anything.”

  “Anything. Not anyone.”

  “It didn’t say you just look for stuff like old books.”

  “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you. My advice is to check out an agency.”

  He stared at her for a long, painful moment. Then he pushed his chair back and got to his feet so abruptly that it toppled over. The clatter echoed in the small room. When he reached the doorway, he turned around.

  “I can’t afford a private detective. Your ad says you don’t charge anything unless you find it.”

  It! she felt like shouting. “Why the urgency? I mean, you could probably find him through the Internet yourself.”

  His face darkened. “I don’t have time for that.”

  “But it might take only a few weeks and it’s free. How can you lose?”

  He took a step toward the desk. “How could I lose?” His voice cracked.

  He was going to cry!

  “You just don’t get it. I need to find him because…because my mother is going to be dead in six weeks. Maybe less.” He wheeled around.

  Sam swallowed. “Wait,” she said.

  He stopped, turning slowly back to her. His eyes and nose were red.

  “Maybe I can do something,” she murmured.

  He stared as if he hadn’t heard right.

  Sam pointed to the toppled-over chair. “Sit,” she said quietly, trying not to sound as exasperated as she felt. After all, he was only twelve years old.

  He didn’t rush back to the chair, but shuffled instead, in that awkward walk of boys wearing ridiculously baggy pants. He slowly righted the chair and sat on it, slouching.

  Sam knew this nonchalance was an attempt at face-saving, but it still rankled. He could at least pretend to be appreciative. “Look, I’m expecting an important call, so I can’t be long, but…uh…I know someone who may be able to help.” Sam stopped. Did she really want to take that step? She looked at the light in his eyes and her heart sank. She had to take it now. “Someone in the FBI.”

  “The FBI?” It came out as a croak.

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No, but this is going to be just between us, right?”

  “Are you talking about confidentiality?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I mean.”

  “I think you’ve got me confused with a lawyer. As I said, I’m not even a private investigator. I look for—”

  “Yeah, you told me. Things. Not people.”

  Sam felt her blood pressure rise. “Do you want me to get you some help or not?”

  She saw him flinch, but didn’t regret her harsh tone. He might be only twelve, but he’d managed to barge into her office all on his own.

  “Yes, I do. It’s just that you mentioning the FBI…it sounds serious.”

  More serious than you can imagine. “Okay,” she said, reaching for her notepad. “Why don’t you tell me your story and I’ll make some notes? Then I’ll get back to you.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. As soon as I can.”

  He chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds, then began. When he finished, less than ten minutes later, Sam didn’t trust herself to look his way. She stared at her notes, the words blurred by tears. She sniffed, blinked twice and finally raised her head.

  His eyes met hers, and Sam thought she caught a glimmer of satisfaction in them. He knows I’m hooked.

  She cle
ared her throat. “Okay, so let me review this. Your mother has had no contact with your father since you were born.”

  “Since before I was born. She says he never knew about me.”

  “But she never tried to contact him, to tell him about you?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. She always told me he never knew. I think he moved to another city, anyway.”

  “Maybe your mother can fill in some of these gaps.”

  “Why do you have to see my mother? Can’t this be just between us?”

  “Does your mother know you came to see me?”

  He looked away.

  “She doesn’t, does she?”

  “She has enough problems.”

  Sam had no reply to that. He was right of course. “The thing is, you’re a minor. I can’t legally help you without your mother’s consent.”

  His eyes flicked coolly back to hers. “But you’re not a real private detective, anyway.”

  And you’re no typical twelve-year-old. “I can’t do anything for you without your mother’s knowledge. Anyway, you told me she was the one who suggested finding your father.”

  “Kinda.”

  “What do you mean, kinda?” Sam’s voice rose.

  His gaze dropped to his hands, interlocked in his lap. “When she first found out about the cancer, she said it was too bad my father didn’t know me.”

  Sam felt as if she’d just plunged her other foot into quicksand. “Well, I’d have to talk to her if you want me to help,” she eventually said.

  “Okay, okay.” His eyes met hers again. “But don’t upset her. Please? She already feels bad because she knows I’ll have to go into foster care after…well, after.”

  He didn’t need to clarify. “I won’t upset her, Danny, I promise. But she needs to know. Can you tell me anything at all about your father?”

  “His name is Danny, too. I think my mom forgot his last name.”

  Or never knew it. Sam was beginning to wonder if Danny was the product of a one-night stand. Which meant the task she’d taken on would be impossible. “Anything else?”

  His face brightened. “He liked motorcycles. My mom said he had a real cool tattoo on his right arm and long hair, like a rock star.”

  “Oh,” was all Sam could think to say. The picture forming in her mind wasn’t exactly a poster for fatherhood. “So Benson is your mother’s name?”

  “Yeah. Emily Benson.” He craned his neck, looking at something behind her.

  The clock, Sam realized. “You have to go soon?”

  “Yeah. I told Minnie I’d be back about five and I gotta take a couple of buses.”

  “Who’s Minnie?”

  “Our next-door neighbor. I’ve been staying with her for the last two weeks.”

  “Your mother—”

  “She’s in the hospital.”

  “Oh. Is she having surgery or something?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. All that’s finished. Now she’s just waiting. In…I can’t remember the name for it. A special room in the hospital.”

  “Palliative care?”

  “Yeah. That’s it. Mom calls it the Waiting Room. She jokes about it. You know, how hospitals are always making you wait for something. She says she even has to wait to die.” His voice cracked again and he turned his head toward the bookshelves at his right.

  Silence shrink-wrapped the room. Sam badly wanted a glass of water. No. Make that a double of any alcoholic drink available. Unfortunately none was.

  Finally he said, “Minnie says I can stay with her for now but…well, she’s old, you know.” He looked back at Sam. His eyes were red-rimmed. “She’s living on a small pension and can’t take care of me for too long.”

  Sam cleared her throat. “I’ll need her telephone number.”

  Danny complied, then said, “She’s in the apartment across the hall from ours, so I can go back and forth, take care of Mom’s plants and stuff.” He got to his feet. “So…uh, when should I call you?”

  Sam knew she was sinking fast and there was no way out. Maybe a couple of phone calls would convince him she couldn’t do much more. “Like I said, I have to, uh, talk to someone who may be able to help and then I’ll get back to you.”

  “Will that take long?”

  She felt her face heat. He was persistent. Not one to be put off by lame excuses. “I’ll do my best, Danny.”

  His eyes held hers for a long moment, then he turned abruptly and walked out the door. Sam dropped her forehead into her hands. What have you done now, Sorrenti?

  “ARE YOU SERIOUS? What in heaven’s name possessed you, Samantha?”

  There had been a time in Sam’s teen years when she’d answer a question like that with a flippant quip. But she and her mother had finally managed to establish what they euphemistically called a “working relationship” so Sam wasn’t even tempted to play the smart-ass, as her mother used to say. She regretted, however, bringing up the afternoon visit from Danny Benson during her weekly tea and chat with her mother.

  “Mom, he’s twelve years old and his mother is dying. He has no other relatives and…well…he almost started to cry right there in my office. What could I do?”

  Nina Sorrenti set the teapot back onto the tray and handed Sam her cup and saucer. “You could have pointed him toward the many agencies available to help children in his situation.”

  “I know, I know,” Sam muttered. “I’m a sucker for a sob story.”

  “I didn’t say that, darling.”

  “But I am, I admit it. He just looked at me with his big brown eyes and I remembered—” She broke off.

  “How you felt when you were his age? When your father walked out on us?”

  Sam took a long sip of tea before replying. “Mother, I’m not in one of your therapy sessions. Maybe we should just drop the subject and talk about what I really came here for—your upcoming sixtieth. “

  Nina waved an index finger at Sam. “Darling, you’re not going to persuade me to have a big party. I refuse to acknowledge this particular birthday.”

  Sam stared at her mother ensconced in the easychair across from her, one sleek leg gracefully draped over the other. She was wearing a knee-length straight skirt and tailored shirt, which highlighted her slender but shapely figure. In spite of the streaks of gray in her short hair, Nina had the face and skin of a much younger woman.

  Nina went on, smiling, “Besides, you’re not getting out of this so easily. I’m just pointing out something that must be obvious to you.”

  Sam knew the subject wasn’t going to be dropped. She sighed. “What I think is that you’re purposely overlooking the blatant differences between Danny’s situation and mine. You’re doing the psychologist thing with me and I don’t like it.”

  “And you’re still evading my question.”

  “Not evading so much as putting it into perspective. Of course I can relate to his problem, because I understand what it is not to have a father-figure in my life. But he never knew his father, whereas Skye and I were—”

  “Abandoned.”

  Sam shrugged. “If you want to use that word, go ahead.” She put her cup and saucer back on the table and sneaked a peak at her watch.

  “Now who’s playing therapist?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mother!”

  Nina laughed. “Okay, I’ll give it a rest. But—”

  Sam held up a palm. “Say no more. Session ended. So, tell me what’s new in your life?”

  Nina leaned forward to set her cup and saucer down, then smoothed her skirt as she sat back in the chair. She seemed to be taking her time to answer, Sam thought.

  “Mmm, not too much, dear. I’ve been asked to speak at a conference next month.”

  “Great. Where’s the conference? Anyplace exciting?”

  Nina smiled. “Just here in good old Seattle. That’s why I accepted. I’m not up to traveling all over the country anymore for these things. Same old, same old, as the expression goes.”

  “You used to lo
ve to travel.”

  “I know, but I don’t feel the urge now. I’m all for curling up in front of a fire with a good book.”

  Sam laughed. “Yeah, right, Mom. Funny how I can’t picture you doing that.” She studied her mother for a moment, trying to see her objectively. An attractive woman, an accomplished clinical psychologist and still working at it daily.

  “You’re not really that upset about turning sixty, are you?”

  “No, dear, not really. Though I admit it’s given me much more pause than turning fifty did. But I’m hoping to make some time for myself now. I’ve decided to whittle down the size of my practice—I’m not taking any new patients.”

  Sam mulled that over. Nina had always been driven by her love for her career and her love for her children. She couldn’t imagine her slowing down. But then, she also couldn’t imagine her getting any older. For a long moment Sam couldn’t speak.

  “Well, Mom, don’t think that this means we won’t be celebrating your birthday,” she tried again.

  Nina raised an eyebrow. “I wonder where you get that stubbornness from?”

  “It’s genetic, I believe.” Sam stood up. “What do I owe you for the consultation?”

  “How about a kiss?”

  Their eyes locked and they both smiled. Sam leaned down to kiss her mother.

  “Will you come for dinner next Monday, rather than tea, and tell me more about Danny?”

  “I’d love to come for dinner. I’m sure by then Danny will have realized I can’t help him.”

  “Maybe your sister can be of assistance.”

  “How?” she asked, though Skye had automatically came to mind when she’d been talking to Danny.

  “Isn’t that her field? Doesn’t the FBI handle missing-persons cases?”

  “This man isn’t really missing. I’m assuming whatever relationship he’d had with Danny’s mother simply ended and he left town, not knowing he’d fathered a child.”