Page 56 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

“Those were Ken’s adoptive mother’s initials. My guess is that she got the photograph when she adopted Ken. I found it in a manila folder marked in Ken’s handwriting as ‘Mother’s papers.’ He probably didn’t get this until after she died.”

“Then he knew about me.”

“I suppose so.”

The tears were flowing again. “Lance, this is my mother,” she whispered, smoothing her fingers across the face in the picture. “Mary Margaret Conway. I know her name.”

“And she loved you. She probably knew that she was about to die and took you to the orphanage to see that you were taken care of.”

“My father?” She looked up at him expectantly.

He only shook his head sadly. “I don’t know, Erin. But now you have a name. That’s a lead if you want to start from there.”

She sighed, but it wasn’t out of sadness. It stemmed from a sense of peace and well-being. “I don’t know. Maybe sometime. For right now, this is enough. More than enough. I…” She choked on the emotion clogging her throat. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Slowly she raised her eyes to his. She saw a strange shine glossing over the blue irises.

“It was the least I could do, Erin. I felt responsible for your losing your brother. When I saw this, I wanted to bring it to you. I don’t think Mrs. Lyman will mind.”

Imperceptibly they moved closer together. Each was caught up in a maelstrom of whirling emotions. His clean, masculine scent filled her head and numbed her brain. His hard, strong body promised solace for someone who wanted and needed support. Someone who was troubled by problems that seemed insoluble. Someone whose heart had been shattered five months ago and still continued to be chiseled away a little each day.

“Erin,” he said gruffly. “Erin—”

The door was flung open and Bart barreled into the room. “Sugar, are you okay?” He glanced quickly to Erin before glaring at Lance, who had flown off the sofa and stood facing Bart dangerously. “What in the hell are you doing here?” Bart demanded.

“None of your damn business,” Lance said with a deadly calm.

“Like hell it’s not,” Bart challenged. “I ought to pound the everlovin’ crap out of you.”

“You might try,” Lance said placidly.

Erin remained on the sofa, too overwrought to stand and fight them both. Her head was splitting and her mouth had a sour taste in it. “Please, please. Both of you.”

“Has he upset you, honey? You’ve been crying.” Bart folded his immense bulk into the ludicrous facsimile of a squat in front of the sofa and covered Erin’s cold hands with his.

“No, he—” Erin began.

“What I had to see Erin about was private and no concern of yours, Stanton,” Lance barked.

“Everything about her concerns me,” Bart declared, standing up to his full height.

“Not what she and I say to each other.” Erin knew that tone of Lance’s. He was furious, and the cold, brittle voice rained on them like shards of glass. His eyes were frigid as they locked with Bart’s.

Bart was no coward, but he recognized a worthy opponent. He backed away slightly. “Then we’ll leave it up to her.” He took his eyes off Lance for only a split second to look down at Erin. “Sugar, do you have anything more to say to Mr. Barrett?”

The import of the question wasn’t lost on her. She knew what he was asking. Did she want to tell Lance about their baby? God, what was she to do?

She wanted to tell him. To see a glow of happiness and love replace that fearsome glint in his eyes would be the most beautiful sight in the world.

But dare she take the risk? What if he looked at her with disgust? Suppose he berated her for not practicing birth control? Could she bear a patronizing attitude born of guilt and a sense of responsibility? Would he feel obligated to do the “right thing” by her?

Don’t ever be afraid of me, Erin. Never…

No. She couldn’t trap him by announcing her pregnancy. As much as she wanted him, she wouldn’t take him on those terms. Scheming women had used that resource since history began. It was the ultimate weapon to assure victory—the trump card.

She loved Lance. That was an undeniable fact. But he had never expressed love for her. In all those passion-laden hours they had shared in San Francisco, he had never made any allusions to loving her.

Perfect, perfect… I’ll wait…

Her appeal to him was strictly physical. True, it was consuming. But to Erin, who had always

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