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They had never acted on the bolts or the heat. Had never even shared a pity kiss during their weekly gripe parties. But, mercy, those warm parts of her wished she could put her mouth on his and see just how hot this could get. Probably hot enough to lead them straight to the bedroom, where she figured there’d be something even hotter and better than lightning bolts.

Of course, if that happened, they’d be risking their friendship. Yes, the very friendship that had gotten them both through crappy times, including the deaths of their parents, the ups and downs of their careers, and their lying, cheating mates. Because if things could fire up enough to lead to sex, they could also fizzle out and spell the end of their friendship.

And that’s the reason Emmy didn’t move in on Calen’s mouth.

Perhaps it was the reason he also inched away from her and quit staring into her eyes. Then again, his eyes had plenty of other things to occupy him. His attention immediately went back to the letter in the center of the piles.

After some snail-crawling moments of silence, he tipped his head to the letter. “My mom passed away the year before that was postmarked.”

Maintaining her own silence, Emmy knew there was no need for Calen to fill in the blanks. A one-year-old baby couldn’t address an envelope, so that meant the child had been conceived while Waylon was still married to Calen’s mother.

“Maybe the sender got the address wrong,” Emmy pointed out. “Maybe it was meant for some other daddy.”

He looked at her again, this time without the heat, but rather with a dismissal. That was okay. She’d already dismissed her suggestion, too.

“The simplest answer is usually the right one,” he muttered.

On a heavy sigh, Calen picked up the envelope and opened it. Not a letter but rather a Christmas card, a homemade one with a glittery dancing snowman that was the companion to the hand-drawn one on the envelope. There was no greeting on the front of the card, but when Calen opened it, he saw the same block writing that was on the envelope.

And there it was. That word again.Daddy, followed by a message.

“Daddy,” Calen read aloud. “I hope you like my card. I made it just for you, but Mama helped. I love you. I hope one day me and my big brother, Calen, can be friends and that Mama and me can live with you and him. Love, Vanessa.”

More snail-paced moments of silence followed, no doubt while Calen reread the message. Emmy was doing the same and trying to wrap her mind around the crotchety Waylon fathering a secret child, one who could pour out such love. One who was also aware that she had a big brother.

“I’m guessing you didn’t have a clue about this,” Emmy said.

“None,” Calen verified.

“All right,” Emmy continued, going into best friend, comfort mode, “maybe Waylon met the child’s mother after your mom died, and this Vanessa isn’t his bio-child. He could have kept the relationship from you because he thought you might not want him seeing someone.”

Calen didn’t latch on to this possibility with “take it and run with it” approval, but he seemed to be at least considering it. Considering it and making another connection.

He got up, went to pile number three and rifled through until he came up with another card. No childish scrawl or snowman on this one. It was addressed to Waylon, and the sender was Vanessa Bozeman.

“This one was from six years ago,” Calen said, opening it. Out dropped a picture of an attractive teenager wearing a maroon graduation outfit.

Emmy immediately checked to see if there was any resemblance between Calen and her. There was. They had the same dark brown hair and same coloring. Emmy was about to point out that could be a coincidence, but then she saw the writing inside the card itself.

Thinking of you, Dad. Merry Christmas.

Love, Vanessa.

“Well, hell,” Calen muttered.

Emmy gave him a couple of minutes to try to absorb the new message. Even if this woman wasn’t his bio-sibling, it was obvious she felt a connection to Waylon. Not enough of a connection though to come forward after Waylon’s death. Then again, maybe she didn’t know he’d died.

“Are there any other letters from her?” Emmy asked.

“I’m not sure.”

That sent them scrambling to the three additional piles to start going through them, but they’d barely started the task when there was a knock at her door. Emmy hadn’t heard a car pull up, but it could be someone who’d just walked, since the house was in town.

“Calen?” someone called out after another quick knock.

Both Emmy and Calen cursed. Because it was Sasha.

“Calen, I went by your office and Junie said you were here,” Sasha went on. “I need to talk to you.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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