Worth Fighting For (Bayside Bachelors #3) Read online

  Brett didn’t know why he continued to hold Caitlin close, why he wasn’t ready to let her go.

  The silk of her hair lay soft against his cheek, and without a conscious thought, his lips brushed the strands in a whisper-soft kiss that was too out of line for anyone’s good.

  Her arms still locked around his neck, she lifted her face. A vibrant aquamarine gaze wrapped around him like seaweed in the surf.

  His heart slammed into his chest.

  Should he apologize? Make some moronic excuse for letting a hug get out of hand?

  He tried to think of an apology, an excuse, some explanation of why his body had taken charge of his brain—until he spotted desire brewing in her eyes. And in the scheme of things, reason and good sense no longer seemed to matter.

  So he lowered his mouth to hers….

  Dear Reader,

  We’re deep into spring, and the season and romance always seem synonymous to me. So why not let your reading reflect that? Start with Sherryl Woods’s next book in THE ROSE COTTAGE SISTERS miniseries, The Laws of Attraction. This time it’s Ashley’s turn to find love at the cottage—which the hotshot attorney promptly does, with a man who appears totally different from the cutthroat lawyers she usually associates with. But you know what they say about appearances….

  Karen Rose Smith’s Cabin Fever is the next book in our MONTANA MAVERICKS: GOLD RUSH GROOMS continuity, in which a handsome playboy and his beautiful secretary are hired to investigate the mine ownership issue. But they’re snowbound in a cabin…and work can only kill so much time! And in Lori’s Little Secret by Christine Rimmer, the next of her BRAVO FAMILY TIES stories, a young woman who was always the shy twin has a big secret (two, actually): seven years ago she pretended to be her more outgoing sister—which resulted in a night of passion and a baby, now child. And said child’s father is back in town… Judy Duarte offers another of her BAYSIDE BACHELORS, in Worth Fighting For, in which a single adoptive mother—with the help of her handsome neighbor, who’s dealing with a loss of his own—grapples with the possibility of losing her child. In Elizabeth Harbison’s hilarious new novel, a young woman who wonders how to get her man finds help in a book entitled, well, How To Get Your Man. But she’s a bit confused about which man she really wants to get! And in His Baby to Love by Karen Sandler, a long-recovered alcoholic needs to deal with her unexpected pregnancy, so she gratefully accepts her friend’s offer of her chalet for the weekend. But she gets an unexpected roommate—the one man who’d pointed her toward recovery…and now has some recovering of his own to do.

  So enjoy, and we’ll see you next month, when things once again start to heat up, in Silhouette Special Edition!

  Sincerely yours,

  Gail Chasan

  Senior Editor

  WORTH FIGHTING FOR

  JUDY DUARTE

  To Patricia Kawano Barberio, with whom I’ve shared

  laughter, tears and wine while we discussed—

  and sometimes cussed—life’s unexpected curves.

  Together, we always come out on top.

  I love you, Patty!

  Books by Judy Duarte

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Cowboy Courage #1458

  Family Practice #1511

  Almost Perfect #1540

  Big Sky Baby #1563

  The Virgin’s Makeover #1593

  Bluegrass Baby #1598

  The Rich Man’s Son #1634

  Hailey’s Hero #1659

  Their Secret Son #1667

  Worth Fighting For #1684

  Silhouette Books

  Double Destiny

  “Second Chance”

  JUDY DUARTE

  An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte always wanted to write books of her own. One day she decided to make that dream come true. Five years and six manuscripts later, she sold her first book to Silhouette Special Edition.

  Her unpublished stories have won the Emily and the Orange Rose, and in 2001, she became a double Golden Heart finalist. Judy credits her success to Romance Writers of America and two wonderful critique partners, Sheri WhiteFeather and Crystal Green, both of whom write for Silhouette.

  At times, when a stubborn hero and a headstrong heroine claim her undivided attention, she and her family are thankful for fast food, pizza delivery and video games. When she’s not at the keyboard or in a Walter Mitty–type world, she enjoys traveling, spending romantic evenings with her personal hero and playing board games with her kids.

  Judy lives in Southern California and loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 498, San Luis Rey, CA 92068-0498. You can also visit her Web site at www.judyduarte.com.

  * * *

  From the Bayside Banner:

  A drive-by shooting on Saturday evening claimed the life of an eighteen-year-old pregnant woman at a downtown bus stop. The woman was rushed to Oceana General, where she was placed on life support until her baby girl was delivered by Caesarean section.

  Kay Logan, a member of the board of directors of Lydia House, a nonprofit organization that helps homeless young women get their lives on track, said, “Jennifer Harper was once a teen runaway from the Midwest and was living on the street when she first came to Lydia House. She was well on her way to becoming a success story until this senseless tragedy occurred.”

  According to Mrs. Logan, funeral services for the single mother will be held at 2:00 p.m. this Saturday at the Bayside Community Church.

  A hospital spokesman reported the five-pound two-ounce newborn was doing well and would be placed in foster care.

  * * *

  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

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Lieutenant Brett Tanner had never done anything so stupid.

  Not since he joined the U.S. Navy ten years ago.

  And he damn sure didn’t know why he did it now, after all this time. Curiosity, he supposed, but for some reason he felt compelled to drive by the house, to peer from a safe distance. To make sure his kid was okay.

  He rode his black Harley Softail past the high school, where he’d first met Kelly, his son’s mother, and turned left at the fire station. The old neighborhood appeared the same, but he knew better.

  The bike made another left onto Periwinkle Lane, as though it didn’t need a rider, then slowed to a stop.

  Brett cut the engine before he reached the cul-de-sac, where the two-story house stood in silent testimony of the things that had remained the same.

  And the things that hadn’t.

  The outside walls boasted creamy-white stucco. And the wood trim was painted a pale teal—something Kelly had repeatedly told him had needed to be done. Something he’d never gotten around to, since he’d been deployed most of the short time they’d been together.

  The grass, obviously fertilized, was a deep shade of green and had been newly mown, the edges cut straight. A rainbow spray of flowers grew along the sidewalk—from the front porch to the drive, where a late-model, white Chevy pickup and a blue minivan rested.

  For a moment, he had a masochistic urge to leave the Harley parked at the curb and saunter up the walk like he still owned the place.

  But he remained rooted to the spot.

  On a couple occasions he’d reconsidered his decision to walk away fr
om his son without a fight. But that was only after having one too many beers. When he was thinking clearly, he knew he’d done the right thing.

  His son, a little boy Brett hadn’t seen since he was two, deserved to be happy.

  Why confuse the poor kid and screw him up now? Too much time had passed, and David Hopkins was the only dad Justin had ever known.

  Besides, with the duty Brett pulled, he’d be in and out of the kid’s life like he was pushing through a revolving door. What good was that?

  Brett didn’t know how long he studied the house, the new fence, the bright yellow swing set in the backyard. But he stood there long enough to see that it was just the kind of home every kid ought to have.

  One of those purple-flowered trees Kelly had always liked now grew in the front yard. A bright blue flag, adorned with a picture of a birdhouse, hung from the porch overhang, and a wrought iron bench with a floral seat cushion sat by the front door, where a wooden welcome sign hung.

  It was vivid proof of all that was right in Kelly’s world—now that Brett was no longer a part of it.

  The relationship had been wrong from the get-go, he supposed. They’d squabbled about most everything. But when Kelly got pregnant, he’d insisted they get married for the kid’s sake. And when she’d reconnected with her old boyfriend, he’d wanted an amicable split for the same reason.

  So Brett joined the ranks of absent fathers. But at least he wasn’t a deadbeat dad. The Navy deducted an allotment from his pay for child support. And each month he sent Kelly a personal check for an extra two hundred dollars—for incidentals. Stuff his kid might need. Something a dad ought to provide.

  It was also a way to keep in touch, to let Kelly know where he was—in case his son needed him. In case she wanted to send him a picture or something.

  She hadn’t sent him squat, not even a thank-you. But he hadn’t pressed her, even though something deep inside fought his passive reaction.

  Instead, he’d taken out an additional $250,000 life insurance policy—above and beyond what the Navy would provide his son—should something happen to him.

  It had been his way of doing right by the kid he’d fathered.

  And so had his letting go, staying away and allowing his child to grow up in a loving, peaceful home. Little Justin had two parents to raise him, two people who could be civil to one another. It was bound to be a hell of a lot better childhood than Brett had suffered through.

  Just then, a little boy wearing a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and a red baseball cap came out of the neighbor’s side yard. He ran a short distance down the sidewalk, leaped over a small hedge in the front of the house Brett had been watching, then dashed inside yelling, “Mom, I’m home.”

  That was his son. Justin.

  Emotion clogged his throat, and his eyes went misty at the thought of what he’d given up.

  But Justin was better off this way. Happy and settled in a home where two parents loved him. But that didn’t mean the decision wasn’t tearing Brett up inside.

  Justin had been only four months old when Kelly told Brett she wanted to end their marriage, that she’d hooked up with her old boyfriend from college.

  Brett’s first thought was to tell her to give Justin to him and get the hell out of his life, but he’d managed a calm tone and used all the tact he could muster.

  “What about the baby?” he’d asked her, when she told him over the phone that things weren’t working between them and she wanted a divorce.

  “What about the baby?”

  “I thought maybe I should raise him, since you and David probably want to have a family of your own.”

  “I’m Justin’s mother,” Kelly had cried into the telephone. “I’m not giving him up. He needs me, not a dad who’s never home.”

  A sense of anger, frustration and hostility had come over him, making him want to fight her for his son. And he didn’t like it. Didn’t like what it meant, what he knew it would lead to, so he’d shut up, stepped back and let go.

  Besides, what would Brett have done with the baby? Take him away from his mother? No way. Kelly loved the child. He knew that.

  Visitation had been established through the uncontested divorce, and Brett had seen his son from time to time, but because of his military career, it wasn’t very often.

  With Kelly and her new husband always present, things had been awkward. But on the last visit, when Justin was two, the toddler had acted kind of timid. Kelly had said that Brett’s presence was confusing him.

  Maybe so, because Brett felt uneasy around his son, too. Hell, with his unstable upbringing, he didn’t feel nearly as qualified to father his son as David was. The guy was a schoolteacher, for God’s sake. So Brett had stepped back.

  It hadn’t been easy, and a couple of years ago, when Justin had gotten older, he’d contemplated stepping in and insisting Kelly tell the boy David wasn’t his real dad. But Brett was afraid that would only screw the kid up and make him a hellion, like Brett had once been.

  So he’d sucked it up and made the biggest sacrifice he would ever make. And time hadn’t done a damn thing about easing the grief.

  The same familiar ache settled deep in his chest, and his eyes began to water. Damn. He felt like bawling. And he hadn’t cried in years. Not after he’d grown battle weary and lashed out at his warring parents in a fit of rebellion that damn near landed him in jail.

  Brett started the engine and turned the Harley around. It was time to head back to Bayside. Back to the condo he was house-sitting for a Navy buddy. Back to a big-screen TV, a fridge full of beer and a crotchety old cat named Fred.

  But his mind would remain on the vision he’d seen, the perfect life Kelly had created for his son.

  His parents’ nasty divorce and vicious custody battle had lasted most of his growing-up years and done a real number on him. For that reason, he’d sworn never to do that to a child of his own.

  “I’d walk away first,” he’d told Kelly, “rather than make my son a pawn, make him suffer like I did.”

  And Brett had kept his word—even though it nearly killed him not to be a part of Justin’s life.

  At the stop sign, he gunned the engine, then headed back to the condominium complex where he would spend his shore duty. But his chest still ached and his eyes stung.

  What the hell was the matter with him?

  Brett Tanner didn’t cry. He sucked it up and did his duty. He did the right thing.

  After all, he’d chosen the wrong road too many times in the past.

  As tears welled in his eyes, he cursed the evidence of his weakness, then tried to shake the pain and anger as he sped through the city streets. He turned into the Ocean Breeze complex, just as a white Volvo appeared from nowhere.

  A loud metallic thud sounded when his bike slammed into the car. His body flew through the air, then slid along the driveway.

  He didn’t feel any pain at first. Not until his head cleared and he felt the sting of asphalt on his knees and arm, followed by an agonizing ache where his shoulder had hit the ground first.

  The impact had sent his two-hundred-dollar sunglasses flying, probably smashing them to smithereens.

  How was he going to explain this to the other driver? Or to a police officer, if one showed up on the scene? Or to any of his buddies, if they ever caught wind of this?

  He’d had his head up his ass, thinking about his son, about Kelly. About the raw pain in his chest and the tears that clouded his sight.

  And he’d caused an accident.

  A black shadow struck the car with a vengeance. Caitlin Rogers slammed on her brakes, but much too late to avoid an accident. She threw the gearshift into Park, and glanced in her rearview mirror to see her four-year-old daughter sitting wide-eyed in the car seat in back.

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  Emily nodded. “What happened, Mommy?”

  “I ran into someone. You wait here.”

  Caitlin swung open the door and rushed to check on the motor
cyclist she’d just struck.

  Had she killed him? Maimed him? Oh, God. Please let him be okay.

  How could she have been so blind, so irresponsible?

  She’d been so caught up in the trouble looming over her that she’d been on autopilot and hadn’t even seen the motorcycle turn into the complex. All she’d been thinking about these past few days was that she might lose custody of the child she’d loved and raised since birth, the precious little girl she hoped to adopt.

  Caitlin looked at the dazed man and saw a nasty abrasion on his chin, a blood-speckled white T-shirt, a scraped leather aviator jacket, jeans that were torn and bloody at the knee. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The man slowly got to his feet, and she had to tilt her chin to look him in the eyes—glassy blue eyes that looked watery. Gosh, had she hurt him that badly? Had his injuries made him teary-eyed?

  “It’s all my fault,” she said. “But I have insurance.”

  He grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to admit blame in a traffic accident?”

  “No. But I was thinking about something else and not paying attention. I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He glanced at the raw and bloodied knuckles of his right hand. Then he looked at the scraped and battered bike, the dented gas tank, the broken mirror, the bent handlebars, the scratched leather seat that looked like a fancy saddle. He clicked his tongue, blew out a ragged sigh and rolled his eyes.

  Gosh, she felt terrible about this. Thank God he was wearing a helmet. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine. Really.” He limped to the big, black motorcycle that lay on its side, then shut off the engine.