Keast, Karen Read online

  The Surprise of His Life

  Karen Keast

  Lindsey Ellison had a problem. She was in love . . . hopelessly in love . . . with Walker Carr. It would all be so lovely, so idyllic — if only he wasn't her father's business partner and best friend . . . and her godfather! And, of course, Lindsey couldn't ignore the fact that he'd be totally shocked to discover her feelings. She had to forget him.

  But how?

  It seemed impossible, especially now when she was returning to Galveston to help her parents through a rough time. She had to convince Walker that she was the woman he would love forever. Lindsey steeled her heart — because when Walker figured out her plan, it was going to be the surprise of his life!

  *****

  "What are you doing?"

  Lindsey brushed her knuckles against Walker's cheek, whose stubble felt wickedly sexy to her, and whispered, "You really are working too many weekends if you don't know what I'm doing."

  Walker reached for her hand, ostensibly to stop whatever wonderful something she was doing to his face, but he managed only to take her hand in his. Once he'd done so, he seemed unable to turn it loose.

  "Lindsey—"

  Her fingers entwined with his.

  "—this is not—"

  She leaned forward.

  "—a good idea."

  Her breath fanned against his mouth milliseconds before her lips brushed his.

  Walker moaned, then told himself to stop this... while he still could.

  SILHOUETTE BOOKS

  300 East 42nd St., New York, N.Y. 10017

  THE SURPRISE OF HIS LIFE

  Copyright © 1991 by Sandra Canfield

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Silhouette Books, 300 E. 42nd St., New York, N.Y. 10017

  ISBN: 0-373-09688-7

  First Silhouette Books printing August 1991

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  ®: Trademark used under license and registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Chapter One

  His goddaughter was all grown up, Walker Carr thought as he watched the young woman walk down the deplaning ramp of Houston's Hobby Airport. Actually, he amended, at twenty-three she had technically been a woman for several years. Which had certainly been the case some eighteen months ago, the last time he had seen her. That fact of maturity accepted, she was now nonetheless ... different. It might have something to do with the way her short blond curls had given way to a long silky-looking, shoulder-length mane. It might have something to do with the way youthful angles had given way to adult curves. It might have something to do with the innately sensual sway of her hips within the folds of the tailored steel-gray slacks. Whatever the indefinable something was, it made the stuffed teddy bear, which he'd impulsively bought minutes before at an airport gift shop for Lindsey to add to her collection, ridiculously inappropriate.

  He knew, too, that given the circumstances—her return to Galveston was under less than ideal conditions— his pleasure at seeing her was probably as inappropriate as the bear, but the truth was that he was glad to see her. He guessed he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed her... and her fun-loving disposition. The truth was that no one he knew got quite so much joy out of living, no one got more ounce-for-ounce happiness out of waking up in the morning, no one had such a close personal relationship with a smile.

  As always when he thought of her happy-go-lucky nature, he wondered what had made her flee on the eve of her wedding eighteen months before. What could have happened of such a magnitude that it had not only driven her from Galveston, but also from the United States?

  All wondering came to an abrupt halt as Lindsey Ellison's blue-gray eyes connected with Walker's. She smiled, waved and started toward the tall familiar figure of her godfather. Walker smiled, waved and started toward Lindsey. In seconds she was in his arms. Over the years, she'd been there countless times. However, Walker could never remember her holding on this tightly before. But then, never before had she needed comforting from someone other than her parents. That in mind—though he wondered if perhaps he needed comforting, too—he tightened his arms. Neither felt pressured into speaking.

  Finally, Lindsey pulled back and said, "Thanks for meeting me. I wasn't ready to face Mother or Dad."

  "No problem. You know I'm always there if you need me."

  By tacit agreement, they had started walking in the direction of the baggage-claim area. At Walker's remark, Lindsey glanced over at him and, for a fraction of a heartbeat, he had the oddest feeling that the smile at her lips was bittersweet, yet her words were perfectly normal when she spoke. So normal that he forgot the odd feeling.

  "Yeah, I know," she said. Another smile materialized, this one as genuine as a flawless, sparkling gem-stone. She nodded toward the teddy bear he held. "Is that for me? Or did you buy it for yourself?"

  Walker grinned—primarily because there was no way not to when Lindsey flashed her pearly whites. It had always been that way, even in the days when the pearly whites had been enmeshed in silver braces.

  "It's for you," he said, handing it to her. His smile faded as he added, "But maybe you're too old for teddy bears."

  Lindsey stroked the nutmeg-brown fur on the bear's head and stared down into black button eyes, as if woman and beast were already best friends. "One is never too old for teddy bears." She looked up at Walker. "Thanks. He's adorable."

  Walker nodded, inordinately pleased that she was pleased.

  "How was your flight?" he asked as they moved on through the crowded terminal. A man, possibly trying to make a tight connection, ran past. Instinctively, Walker curved his arm about Lindsey's waist. He was aware of the smallness of that waist and of the gentle rhythm of the hips beneath. Those sensations, coupled with the memory of her in his arms—the memory of soft rounded breasts and fragrant skin—confirmed his first observation. Lindsey was no longer a child. Not by any stretch of anyone's wild imagination.

  "Long," she responded to his question.

  "When did you leave London?"

  Threading back her blond hair in a weary gesture, she said, "Days ago, it seems like, but I guess it was only Friday morning." It was now almost five o'clock Saturday afternoon.

  "Have you been able to rest any?"

  "No," she answered, and Walker knew that her inability to rest had more to do with her troubled heart than with the inconvenience of travel. He knew, too, that both of them were avoiding the subject most on their minds.

  They chose to ignore it a little longer. In fact, they ignored it the remainder of the walk to the baggage-claim area. Once the car keys had been fished from the front pocket of Walker's jeans, once Lindsey's suitcases had been stored in the trunk, once the car was headed in the direction of Galveston, Lindsey braved a question.

  "How's Mother?"

  Walker bent forward, adjusting the air conditioning from moderate to high in an attempt to regulate the harsh August heat. He then looked over in Lindsey's direction. Not mincing words, he said, "As well as can be expected. I think she's still in a state of shock."

  "Yeah, well, I can identify with that," Lindsey responded, not bothering to mask her sarcasm.
>
  Walker was aware that their conversation sounded as though there had been a death. It was his guess that a death would have been easier for Lindsey to cope with. Well, maybe not to cope with, but it would have sure been darned easier for her to understand. And maybe for him, too.

  "What happened?" Lindsey asked. Walker could hear the pain in her voice. It took a bite out of his heart.

  "You know as much as I do," he said, which was to say precious little, he thought. Except that his two best friends—Bunny and Dean Ellison—were hurting. And that he didn't know what in hell to do about it. All he knew was that he had to find a way to stand by each of them even though they were standing in opposition of each other. He could imagine the war of feelings, the battle of divided loyalties, raging inside Lindsey. Even though he must surely be experiencing only a fraction of what she was, he very definitely felt like a combat casualty.

  "What goes through someone's thought processes to make him want a divorce after almost twenty-five years of marriage?"

  Walker could tell that Lindsey expected him to have some enlightened insight into another man's thinking. He didn't, though. He hadn't the least notion why Dean had asked for a divorce. He hadn't the least notion how, or why, a good marriage had soured. "I don't know, hon," he replied. "I just don't know."

  "Mother thinks he's having a mid-life crisis," Lindsey said, obviously hoping that Walker would agree.

  "That's possible."

  "She thinks that he thinks he's getting old."

  Walker could relate to that. At forty-seven, he definitely had days—mornings mostly—when he felt older than old. On those occasions, he felt as though he'd been ridden hard and put up wet. On those occasions his bum knee throbbed with pain. He'd shattered the kneecap during his less-than-illustrious pro football career, the career that had lasted half a season or until an ugly, mean defensive back had decided to pulverize him. Yeah, he knew what it was like to feel old. And in a way that surpassed the physical reality.

  He'd been increasingly feeling his age ever since his wife's death almost eight years before. It had been so unexpected—a bout with a virus that doctors hadn't even been able to identify. Before he'd known what was happening, Phyllis was dead... and he'd been left to finish raising their son, who was a year older than Lindsey. All in all, the death had diminished him in some way he couldn't explain, but could feel deep in his heart. It was as though the flame of life still burned within him, but it was no longer bright. Instead, it only simmered, sending him through the motions of living without any real interest. God only knew he'd never have made it without Dean and Bunny Ellison!

  For that matter, Dean and Bunny had been a part of his life for as far back as he could remember. He and Dean had been friends for forever. They'd gone to the same Galveston high school, where both had played football, then on to the same college, where they had repeated their football performance. Following that, both had served in Vietnam. Afterward, Dean had started an offshore oil company, while he'd played out his shortlived football career. After his knee injury, Dean had hired him on and, ultimately, had made him an equal partner in the business. They worked well together, with him being primarily in charge of the Galveston office, while Dean, who'd long had his pilot's license, assumed responsibility for the offshore operations. Somewhere along the way—when he had been twenty-two to be precise, Dean within a year of him—each had married. The wives had rounded out a perfect foursome. They'd seen each other through thick and thin—through the birth of the Carrs' son, through the birth of the Ellisons' daughter, through the heartbreak of Phyllis Carr's death.

  "What do you think?"

  Walker glanced up, at the same time angling the air-conditioning vent away from his achy knee.

  "Do you think it could be this mid-life crisis thing?" Lindsey asked, now bluntly seeking his opinion.

  Walker repeated what he'd said before. "That's possible." At Lindsey's crestfallen look—she'd wanted him to wholeheartedly support her mother's theory—he added, "Lindsey, just give him a little time and a little space. Sometimes they're all a man needs to get his perspective back."

  Lindsey started to say something, then decided against it. Instead, she eased back into the corner of the car, clutching the teddy bear to her. For the first time since he'd seen her deplaning, Walker thought she looked youthful. Vulnerably youthful. He longed to ease her pain, but he just didn't have the power. Any more than he'd had the power to ease his own eight years before. Any more than he had the power to ease his own now.

  "How's Adam?" Lindsey asked.

  The mention of his son, who lived and worked in Houston, brought a smile to Walker's lips. "He's gonna be a new papa any day now."

  Lindsey smiled. "Is he about to freak out?"

  "Actually, I think it's Grace about to freak out. Adam calls her a dozen times a day and watches her like a prison guard every minute he's home. The other night she got up to go to the bathroom and Adam was dressed when she came out—dressed and hollering that he couldn't find the car keys, which turns out were in his hand. Oh, and his jeans were on wrong side out."

  Lindsey laughed. The sound reminded Walker of something pretty and lyrical. "I know he'll want to see you before you go back," he said.

  "I, uh, I may not be going back."

  The news took Walker totally by surprise. The look he gave her said so.

  She shrugged. "I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do," she explained. "Technically, I've just taken a leave of absence—vacation time I had coming, plus my accumulated sick days. I'm to let them know later what I decide."

  "But I thought you liked your job." Following the breakup of her engagement, she'd taken a secretarial job at a London-based American company. Walker knew, via her mother, that Lindsey not only enjoyed the work, but also enjoyed being in England.

  "Oh, I do. It's a great job, I work for nice people, but—" she shrugged again "—it may be time for a change."

  "What would you do?"

  "Go to Paris, maybe. Or Hong Kong. Maybe even Timbuktu." Lindsey smiled, her pink-glossed lips curving upward. "Who knows, I might even stay in Galveston for awhile."

  A troubling thought occurred to Walker. "Lindsey, you're not staying because of what's going on between your parents, are you? Because I know they wouldn't want—"

  "That isn't the reason I'd be staying," she interjected. The lips that had been smiling straightened into a serious line.

  Walker waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't. She just allowed her gaze to hold his—one second, two seconds, just a little longer than was normally expected. Walker had the same odd feeling he'd experienced at the airport, the one that said he was missing some point.

  Suddenly Lindsey smiled, shattering the odd feeling, leaving only a comfortable normalcy in its place. "Who knows? Maybe I won't stay, after all. Want to run off to Timbuktu with me?"

  Run off to Timbuktu? The strange thing was, Walker reflected, there were times, particularly of late, when running off, starting over, doing something totally frivolous, even foolish, had its appeal. Maybe there was something to this mid-life crisis thing. Maybe the crazies did set in somewhere between yesterday's dreams and today's realization that dreams were for the young. Maybe the same thing, only magnified, had happened to his friend.

  "C'mon, I'll bet you know a dozen guys who'd have their bags packed in a New York minute and be on a plane with you to Timbuktu...or anywhere else, for that matter."

  "That's the problem. There're too many. I can't decide. Why, only last week Prince Charles begged for the chance to accompany me, but I told him that he just couldn't do that to the princess. I finally made him see that Jolly Ole England needed him and that he just couldn't go around shirking his royal responsibilities."

  Walker grinned. "How noble of you."

  "Yeah, I thought so, and me not even a countryman."

  Walker's grin grew, then faded. "There's no one special?"

  Lindsey's smile stayed in place, but a cloud of some emotio
n—regret?—streaked across her gray-blue eyes. "Let's just put it this way. I'll be going to Timbuktu alone. That is, if I can't talk you into going." On the heels of that, without even the slightest pause, suggesting that if she didn't blurt it out, she wouldn't be able to say it at all, she asked, "Is there another woman?"

  The question needed no clarification. Walker knew she was talking about her father.

  "To my knowledge, no."

  "Would you tell me if there was?"

  Walker pondered the question. It was a tough one. He had loyalties binding him to all three members of the Ellison family. What would he do if Dean had confided in him personally, privately?

  "I don't know," Walker answered honestly. "But I can tell you in all honesty that Dean hasn't mentioned another woman to me." Of course, he hadn't forewarned him about the divorce, either, which maybe meant that Dean was sensitively aware of just how caught in the middle he was.

  Relief of the most profound nature washed across Lindsey. Walker could actually see her muscles relaxing, could actually hear her silent "Thank God." Like a vase that had been emptied of all negativity, he saw her filling up with a new optimism.

  "Well, then," she said, "I'm just going to have to talk some sense into Dad."

  "Lindsey..." Walker hesitated, searching for just the right way to phrase what he felt he had to say. He decided that there was no easy way, no right way. "Lindsey, hon, what goes on between a man and a woman is personal. It's not the kind of thing that a third party, even someone who loves them, can mediate. It's not the kind of hurt that another party can heal."

  "I know," Lindsey said, "but it won't hurt to talk to Dad, will it?"

  "Of course not, but—"

  "I'll just talk to him and, if it helps, it helps. If it doesn't, it doesn't."

  Despite his warning, despite her statement to the contrary, Walker sensed that Lindsey thought she could "fix" her parents' broken marriage. He recognized her attitude for what it was—the optimism, even the cocky naïveté, of youth. He sighed silently, wishing he could loan her some of his maturity. But he couldn't. Maturity was something that was earned, oftentimes hard earned. All he could do was offer her a shoulder to cry on if things didn't work out the way she wanted.