PROLOGUE
Taylor’s Crossing, Oregon
The wipers slapped the snow away and the windshield fogged with the cold, but Melanie Walker barely noticed. She drove by rote, unseeing as the miles from the clinic downtown slipped beneath the old truck’s tires.
One of her favorite songs was playing on the radio, fighting a losing war with static, but she didn’t concentrate on the melody. She couldn’t. Her mind wouldn’t focus on anything but Gavin and the last time she’d seen him, three weeks before.
His naked body had been the only heat in the hayloft, and his legs and arms had been entwined with hers. The smell of musty hay and animals had filled the air.
“Wait for me, Melanie,” he’d whispered against the curve of her neck. His breath had been as warm as a summer wind, his tawny eyes seductive in the half-light of the barn. “Say you’ll wait for me.”
“You know I will,” she had foolishly vowed, unaware that fate was against her. At the time she’d known only that she loved him with all of her young heart. And that was all that mattered.
Until today.
She swallowed a hard lump in her throat and shoved the gearshift into third. Her rendezvous with Gavin had taken place three weeks ago and she hadn’t seen him since. And now, all their plans and her entire future had changed.
As she drove through the snow-packed roads, she forced her wobbling chin up and clamped hard on her teeth. She wasn’t going to cry, no matter what.
Gavin was over a thousand miles away, chasing a dream, and she was alone in a small Oregon town—two months pregnant.
Her hands clenched over the wheel as she struggled with the right words to explain to her father that she was carrying Gavin Doel’s child.
Snowflakes drifted from a gray sky and melted against the windshield as the pickup rumbled along the slippery highway. To the west, the town of Taylor’s Crossing nearly bordered Walker land. To the east, fields and pine forest covered the foothills of the Cascades.
Melanie snapped off the radio and glanced into the rear-view mirror. Worried hazel eyes stared back at her.
Pregnant. Unmarried. And seventeen. Even in the cold, her hands began to sweat.
The fact that her father had let Melanie see Gavin had been a miracle. He despised Gavin’s father, and heaven only knew why he’d allowed Melanie to go out with “that kid from the wrong side of town,” the boy who had the misfortune of being Jim Doel’s son.
“Help me,” she whispered, feeling entirely alone and knowing she had no option but to tell her father the truth.
If only Gavin were still here, she thought selfishly, then whispered to herself, “You can handle this, Melanie. You have to!”
She shifted down and turned into the short lane near the house. The truck slid to a halt.
All Melanie’s newfound convictions died on her tongue when she saw her father, axe propped over one shoulder, trudging through the snow toward the barn. The pup, Sassafras, bounded at his heels.
Hearing the rumble of the pickup’s engine, Adam Walker turned and grinned. He yanked his baseball cap from his head and tipped it her way, exposing his receding hairline to the elements.
Melanie’s mouth went dry. She cut the engine, pocketed the keys and sent up a silent prayer for strength. As she opened the truck’s door, a blast of chill winter wind swirled inside. “It’s now or never,” she told herself, and wished she could choose never.
Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her fleece-lined jacket, she plowed through a blanket of snow. Four inches of powder covered the frozen ground of the small ranch—the ranch that had been her home for as long as she could remember. Though the town of Taylor’s Crossing was steadily encroaching, her father had refused to sell—even after his wife’s death.
Melanie shivered from the vague memory of losing her mother—and the sorry reasons behind Brenda Walker’s death. Her father still held Jim Doel responsible.
Oh, Lord, why did it seem that her entire life had been tangled up with the Doels?
“I’d about given up on you.” Her father squared his favorite old Dodgers cap back onto his head, then brushed the snow from the shoulders of his jean jacket.
Melanie wanted to die.
“Go into the house and warm up some coffee. I’ll be back as soon as I feed the stock and split a little kindling.” Whistling, he turned and started for the barn.
“Dad?” Her voice sounded tiny.
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to have a baby.”
Time seemed to stand still. The wind, raw with the breath of winter, soughed through the pines and cut through her suede jacket. Her father stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face her again. His jaw dropped, and denial crept over his strong features.
“You’re pregnant?” he whispered.
Nodding, Melanie wrapped her arms around her middle.
“No!”
She shifted from one foot to the other and tried to ignore the sudden bow in her father’s shoulders. All expression left his face, and he looked older than his forty-seven years. His throat worked and his brown gaze drilled into hers. “Doel?” he asked in a voice barely audible over the wind.
She nodded, listening to the painful drum of her heart.
His face turned white. “Oh—Mellie.”
“Dad—”
“That black-hearted son of a bitch!” he suddenly growled, wincing as if physically wounded. The small lines around his mouth turned white.
Melanie didn’t have to be reminded of the hatred that still simmered between the two families. And she hadn’t meant to fall in love with Jim Doel’s son. But Gavin, with his warm eyes, enigmatic smile, lean, athletic body and razor-sharp wit, had been irresistible. She’d fallen head-over-heels in love with him. And she’d thought, foolishly perhaps, that the love they shared would bridge the painful gap between their families—the gap that had been created by that horrible accident.
“You’re sure about this?” her father whispered, his gloved fingers opening and closing over the smooth wood of the axe handle.
“I saw the doctor this afternoon.”
“Jesus Christ!” Adam’s teeth clenched. He took up the axe and swung it hard into the gnarly bark of a huge ponderosa pine. “He’s just like his old man!” An angry flush crept up his neck, and he muttered an oath under his breath. Kicking the toe of his boot into the base of the tree, he grappled with his rage. “I should never have let you see him—never have listened to that stupid brother of mine!” he raged. “But your damned uncle convinced me that if I’d forbidden it, you’d have started sneaking behind my back!”
“Dad, I love Gavin—”
“Love? Love! You’re only seventeen!” he bellowed, placing both hands on the fence. He breathed deeply, as he always did when he tried to regain his composure. His breath fogged in the air. “I don’t have to tell you about the pain Jim Doel has caused this family.” His face twisted in agony, and he leaned heavily against the tree.
“I—I know.”
“He’s a bastard, Mellie, a drunken, useless—” His voice cracked.
“Gavin’s not like his father!”
“Cut from the same cloth.”
“No—I mean, Dad, I love him. I—I want to marry him.”
“Oh, God.” Setting his jaw, he said more quietly, “And Gavin—how does he feel?”
“He loves me, too.”
Snorting, Adam Walker ran a shaky hand over his lip. “He only loves one thing, Melanie, and that’s skiing. Downhill racing’s his ticket out of Taylor’s Crossing and believe me, he’s going to use it to stay away.”
Melanie’s heart wrenched. Some of what her father was saying was true—she’d told herself that the death-defying runs down the face of a rugged mountain were and always would be Gavin’s first love, his mistress—but she didn’t want to believe it.
Her father glanced through the trees to the snow-laden mountains in the distance. Absently he rubbed his chest. “I guess I can’t really blame him on that one.”
“But, when he gets back from Colorado . . .” she protested as the wind tossed her hair in front of her face.
“He won’t be coming back. He’s gonna make the Olympic team.” Her father’s gaze returned to hers. The sadness in his eyes was so profound it cut to her soul. “Sweet Mary, you’re just a child.”
“I’m—”
“Seventeen, for God’s sake!” His breath whistled through his teeth.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Life hasn’t begun at seventeen.” He reached into the pocket of his work shirt for his cigarettes, then swore when he discovered the pack was missing. He’d quit smoking nearly three years before.
Walking on numb legs, Melanie crossed the yard and propped her elbows on the top rail of the fence. Through the pines she could see the spiny ridge of the Cascade Mountains. The highest peak, Mount Prosperity, loomed over the valley.
Her father’s throat worked as he followed her. He touched her gently on the shoulder. “Doc Thompson at the clinic, he can—”
“No!” she cried, pounding her fist against the weathered top rail. “I’m having this baby!” She turned, appalled that he would suggest anything so vile. “This is my child,” she said, tossing her black hair from her eyes. “My child and Gavin’s, and I’m going to keep him and raise him and love him!”
“And where does Gavin figure into all this? Does he know?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I just found out this afternoon.”
Adam Walker looked suddenly tired. He said softly, “He may not want it, you know.”
“He does!” Her fists clenched so hard that her hands ached.
“He might consider a wife and baby extra baggage.”
She’d thought of that, of course. And it worried her. Gavin, if his dreams were realized and he made the Olympic team, might not be back for months. Unless he felt duty bound to give up everything he’d worked for and return to support a teenage wife and child. Nervously, she chewed on the inside of her lip.
“What do you think he’ll do when he finds out?”
“Come back here,” she said weakly.
“And give up skiing?”
Though she felt like crying, she nodded.
He sighed loudly. “And that’s what you want?”
“No. Yes! Oh, Dad, yes!” She threw up her hands. How could anything so wonderful as Gavin’s child make life so complicated? She loved Gavin, he loved her, and they would have a baby. It was simple, wasn’t it? Deep in her heart, she knew she was wrong, but she didn’t want to face the truth.
“You want the man you love to give up a huge part of his life, something his world revolves around?” her father asked, bringing to light some of Melanie’s immaturity.
She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see you through this, Melanie. You just tell me what you want.”
Melanie smiled, though her eyes burned with tears. “I want Gavin,” she said.
Her father’s hand stiffened, and when she glanced up at him, she saw that his face had turned ashen. He measured his words carefully. “You didn’t plan this, did you?”
“Plan what?” she asked before she realized the turn of his thoughts. She felt the color drain from her face. “No!”
“Some women work out these things ahead of time—”
“No!” She shook her head. “The baby was an accident. A glorious, wonderful accident!
“Good.” He pressed his lips together. “’Cause no man wants to feel trapped.”
“I—I know,” she whispered.
He touched her chin with a gloved finger, and his expression became tender. “You’ve got a lot going for you. Finish high school and go to college. Become a photographer like you wanted—or anything else. You can do it. With or without Gavin.”
“Can I?” she asked.
“’Course you can. And Gavin’s not the only fish in the sea, you know. Neil Brooks is still interested.”
Melanie was horrified. “Dad, I’m pregnant! This is for real!”
“Some men don’t mind raising another man’s child and some men don’t even know they’ve done it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, but a sick feeling grew inside her as she grasped his meaning.
“Only that you’re not out of options.”
She thought about Neil Brooks, a boy her father approved of. At twenty-two, he was already through college and working full-time in his father’s lumber brokerage. Neil Brooks came from the right side of the tracks. Gavin Doel didn’t.
“I’m not going to lie to Neil,” she said.
“Of course you’re not,” her father agreed, but his eyes narrowed just a fraction. “Go on now, you go into the house and change. I’ll take you into town and we’ll celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” she asked.
He rolled his eyes to the cloud-covered heavens. “I suppose the fact that I’m going to be a grandfather, though I’ll have you know I’m much too young.” He was trying to cheer her up—she knew that—but she still saw pain flicker in his eyes. She’d wounded him more than he’d ever admit.
Gritting his teeth and flexing his muscles, he walked back to the ancient pine and wiggled the axe blade free, leaving a fresh, ugly gash in the rough bark.
He headed for the barn with Sassafras on his heels again. But he was no longer whistling.
Melanie shoved her hands into her pockets and trudged into the old log house that had been in her family for three generations. Inside, the kitchen was warm and cheery, a fire burning in the wood stove. She rubbed her hands near the stovetop, but deep inside she was cold—as cold as the winter wind that ripped through the valley.
She knew what she had to do, of course. Her father was right. And, in her heart, she’d come to the same agonizing conclusion. She couldn’t burden Gavin with a wife and child—not now. Not ever, a voice inside her head nagged.
Climbing the stairs to her room, she decided that she would never stand between Gavin and his dream. He’d found a way to unshackle himself from a life of poverty and the ridicule of being the town drunk’s son. And she wouldn’t stop him. She couldn’t. She loved him too much.
On his way to Olympic stardom as a downhill skier, Gavin couldn’t be tied down to a wife and child. Though he might gladly give up skiing to support her and the baby, one day he would resent them both. Unconsciously, Melanie rubbed her flat abdomen with her free hand. She smiled sadly. If nothing else, she’d have a special part of Gavin forever.
Her pine-paneled room was filled with pictures of Gavin—snapshots she’d taken whenever they were together. Slowly, looking lovingly at each photograph of his laughing gold-colored eyes, strong jaw and wind-tossed blond hair, she removed every memento that reminded her of Gavin.
She closed her eyes and, once again, remembered the last time she’d seen him. His tanned skin had been smooth and supple beneath her fingers. His pervasive male scent had mingled with the fragrance of hay in the loft.
“Wait for me,” he’d whispered. He had cupped her face in his hands, pressed warm kisses to her eyelids, touched a part of her no other man would ever find.
She remembered, too, how he had traced the slope of her jaw with one long finger, then pressed hard, urgent lips to hers. “Say you’ll wait for me.”
“You know I will,” she’d vowed, her fingers tangling in his thick blond hair, her cheeks, wet from tears, pressed to his.
His smile had slashed white in the darkened hayloft. “I’ll always love you, Melanie,” he’d sworn as he’d kissed her and settled his hard, sensual body over hers.
And I’ll love you, she thought now, as she found a pen and paper and began the letter that would set him free.