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Amalie was her own woman, but she was all that was left of Shandy. There was nothing more precious to him in this world than this child he’d never known existed. But he was never going to get over knowing that finding her had nearly cost her life.
The night was cold, but the wind had long since laid as Amalie drove across town. She had dressed for the weather in clothing that would not irritate the scars. The dress was a favorite—soft blue wool—long sleeved and with a neckline that dipped just below her collarbone and a hem that fell just above her knees. Her stockings were sheer. Her shoes, black with silver heels.
Dark hair, highlighted by the streak of white, framed her face. High cheekbones set off a perfectly straight nose. Sooty lashes and wing-shaped brows set off eyes as blue as the dress she was wearing. A brush of lipstick was the extent of makeup. She was excited, and anxious, and had been waiting for this moment for as long as she could remember.
Her heart was pounding as she wheeled her red SUV into the hotel parking lot. She grabbed her purse as she got out, tucked the photo album under her arm, pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck, and headed for the entrance, completely unprepared for the bright-red carpet rolled out before her, and the escort service awaiting her.
“Miss Lincoln! We meet again,” Michael said. “I have the honor of escorting you to your father’s suite.” Then he offered his elbow and walked her all the way through the lobby, then escorted her up in the elevator and all the way to the door of Wolf’s suite. “Just knock. He is anxiously awaiting your arrival,” Michael said, then slipped back onto the elevator and left.
Amalie knocked three times. Moments later, the door swung inward, and she was in her father’s presence and immediately looking for herself in his face.
He was tall, with a head of thick iron-gray hair, a nose that had obviously been broken at least once, a strong, square jaw, and sky-blue eyes.
She smiled. “I’m tall like you, and I have your eyes!”
“And your mother’s face!” Wolf said, and opened his arms.
The thunder of his heartbeat was strong against her cheek as he embraced her, and then he stepped back to take her coat and hung it on a hook by the door.
“God, you are so beautiful,” Wolf said. “Come. We’ll sit by the fire to talk. Food will arrive shortly, but there’s so much we don’t know about each other. Would you like something to drink?”
She shook her head. “I’m already light-headed from the excitement, and I don’t know where we start.”
“You already know how I lost you. What else can I tell you that will fill in the gaps?”
“What was my mother’s full name…before you married?”
“Cassandra Leigh Bullock, but I called her Shandy. Her parents were Carter and Leigh Bullock, from New Orleans, Louisiana. Old family. Old money. Upper class. I was not. They hated me from the start. Their money came from offshore drilling. I was one of the drillers on an offshore rig. Shandy loved me. I loved her. We married.”
“How long were you married before me?” Amalie asked.
“Two years before she got pregnant. Out of curiosity, what day do you celebrate as your birthday?” he asked.
“April sixth.”
Wolf’s head came up, and his nostrils flared in anger. “I flew into New Orleans on the sixth. They told me you’d been born dead two days earlier. God damn it! Shandy was dying and I believed them. But what if you were still there?” He buried his face in his hands, and in that moment, Amalie felt every bit of his shock and pain.
“Do they still live there? Carter and Leigh Bullock?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I wonder who they paid off to make all this happen,” she said.
“God only knows,” he muttered. “What’s your earliest memory?”
“Sitting on the side of a bed in a room full of crying babies.”
His eyes welled. “Do you have any idea how old you were?”
She shook her head.
“Did anyone ever try to adopt you?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I never understood what was happening for the longest time. I was just a kid with a bag who kept being moved from place to place, sleeping three to a bed. And like I told Sean, there was always a bed wetter, or one who cried herself to sleep every night, or a mean one who pinched and pulled hair.”
“What kind of a kid were you?” he asked.
“The one who never made waves. It’s how I met Sean.”
