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the boy sprawling. The last thing Wyatt remembered was the blistering whack of a belt on his body, and his mother’s screams....
    Forcing the images from his mind, Wyatt turned left at the intersection and followed the detour signs back to the main road. His father had taken the money that night. And while his mother rubbed salve on his welts, he’d vowed to her that he would change their lives. One day he’d be rich enough to buy her all the things she didn’t have now. And she would never have to change another bed or scrub another toilet again.
    He’d accomplished his goals and more. But his mother hadn’t lived to see his Olympic triumph or the successes that followed. She’d died of cancer while he was still in high school.
    His father had gone to prison for killing a man in a bar fight. Years later, still behind bars, he’d dropped dead from a heart attack.
    Wyatt had not attended the burial service.
    He’d put that whole life behind him—had made himself into a new man who was nothing at all like his dad.
    So why did he feel so lost when it came to dealing with his daughter?
    Not that he didn’t love Chloe. He’d never denied the girl anything that might make her happy. He’d been the best provider a man could be and not once—not ever—had he raised a hand against her. But now it slammed home that in spite of all the work he’d done and the things he’d bought, he still didn’t know the first thing about being a father.

Three
    T urning onto the unmarked side road, Leigh switched her headlights on high beam. Until now, she hadn’t been worried about finding Wyatt’s house. But the moonless night was pitch-black, the thick-growing pines a solid wall that shut off the view on both sides.
    She hadn’t planned on arriving so late. But everything back in town had taken longer than she’d expected. When the clerk at Baby Mart had helped her make a list of furniture and supplies, Leigh had been staggered at how much it took to keep one little baby in comfort—and how long it took to choose each item. By the time she’d left the store her head was pounding, her feet throbbing in her high-heeled pumps.
    She’d stopped at the paper to tell her boss she was quitting, then headed home. Kevin and her mother had hovered around her bed as she threw clothes and toiletries into her suitcase. They’d demanded to know what was going on. Leigh had mumbled something about a secret assignment, assuring them that she’d be fine, she’d keep in touch, and they could always reach her on her cell phone. They probably suspected she’d gone to work for the CIA, or maybe that she was running from the Mafia.
    She hated keeping secrets from her family. But there was no other way to make this work. Kevin’s baby son needed her help; whatever it took, she would be there for little Mikey.
    A large, pale shape bounded into her headlights. Her foot slammed the brake. The station wagon squealed to a stop, just missing the deer that zigzagged across the road and vanished into the trees.
    Shaken, she sagged over the steering wheel. What was she doing, driving up a dark mountain road to move in with a man she barely knew—a man who made her pulse race every time his riveting indigo eyes looked her way?
    The memory of that afternoon’s encounter, when she’d tumbled out of the SUV and into his arms, was still simmering. The clumsy accident must have been no more than a simple embarrassment for Wyatt. But the brief intimate contact had flamed through her like fire through spilled gasoline. Wyatt Richardson was a good fifteen years her senior. But never mind that—the man exuded an aura that charged the air around him like summer lightning. How was she going to keep her mind on work if her pulse ratcheted up every time he came within ten feet of her?
    Right now Wyatt should be the least of her worries. Tucked into her purse was the one item she’d bought with her own cash at Baby Mart—a thick paperback on infant care. Truth