Never Too Late Read online

  “It’s hard for you to see the prison, isn’t it?”

  Hunter opened his mouth to deny it, but somehow the lie caught in his throat.

  “I lost two and a half years there. It’s a little hard to get past that.”

  Kate’s blue eyes softened with understanding, and she reached a hand across the SUV and touched his arm with gentle fingers. “I’m so sorry, Hunter.”

  He jerked his arm away. “I’m sorry enough for myself. I don’t need your pity, too.”

  She paled as if he had slapped her and quickly pulled her hand away. “Right. Of course you don’t.”

  He opened his mouth to apologize, then closed it again. Maybe it was better this way. It was going to be tough enough for him to stay away from her on their journey without having to endure shared confidences and these casual touches that would destroy him….

  Never Too Late

  RAEANNE THAYNE

  Books by RaeAnne Thayne

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  The Wrangler and the Runaway Mom #960

  Saving Grace #995

  Renegade Father #1062

  *The Valentine Two-Step #1133

  *Taming Jesse James #1139

  *Cassidy Harte and the Comeback Kid #1144

  The Quiet Storm #1218

  Freefall #1239

  †Nowhere To Hide #1264

  †Nothing To Lose #1321

  †Never Too Late #1364

  RAEANNE THAYNE

  lives in a graceful old Victorian nestled in the rugged mountains of northern Utah, along with her husband and two young children. Her books have won numerous honors, including several readers’ choice awards and a RITA® Award nomination by the Romance Writers of America. RaeAnne loves to hear from readers. She can be reached through her Web site at www.raeannethayne.com or at P.O. Box 6682, North Logan, UT 84341.

  For Kjersten Thayne, the best daughter in the world! I couldn’t have written this one without you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  What was wrong with her? Kate Spencer wondered as she watched her brother twirl her best friend—his new wife—around the room. The small train of Taylor’s elegantly simple ivory gown brushed the floor and her face glowed with joy at being in the arms of the man she loved.

  They looked perfect together, the lanky cowboy author and his lovely, serene bride. But instead of sighing over the romance of the moment, Kate only felt restless, edgy, uncomfortable inside her skin.

  She sipped at her champagne as an odd combination of emotions floated through her veins along with the bubbles.

  She was thrilled for Wyatt and Taylor. How could anyone look at the two of them together and not be thrilled for them? She loved Taylor and wanted her friend to be happy and though she couldn’t say she’d really had the chance to get to know her brother in the nearly six weeks since he had found her, her gut told her Wyatt was a good man who would rather cut off his arm than hurt his new bride.

  And there was the cause of her restlessness—that she didn’t really know Wyatt at all. She shifted and set the flute on the table. Wyatt was her flesh and blood yet she barely knew him. Or her other brother Gage or their parents, Lynn and Sam.

  She was suddenly overflowing with family. A mother, a father, two strong, handsome brothers. And now two sisters-in-law and even two step-nieces from Gage’s marriage to Allie DeBarillas.

  For a woman who had grown up believing she was nothing—less than nothing, just the throwaway kid of a homeless junkie—this sudden surplus of relations was daunting.

  Intellectually she knew she belonged here with them. DNA tests proved without a doubt that she was the child of Sam and Lynn McKinnon, sister to Gage and Wyatt. But emotionally, they were still all strangers to her, all but Taylor.

  If circumstances had been different, she would have known that her father wasn’t very graceful on the dance floor and that Gage and Wyatt both looked strong and masculine and gorgeous in their tuxedos.

  She would have known her mother didn’t drink anything stronger than white wine and that Gage had broken both his legs earlier in the summer and that Sam had the incredible skills to carve the delicate wood angel that graced the soaring twenty-foot-high Christmas tree.

  She was only now just learning all of those things because her entire life with these people had been stolen from her one hot summer afternoon twenty-three years ago.

  She needed to move, to channel some of this restless energy into something constructive.

  As Taylor’s maid of honor, shouldn’t she be doing something? Mingling or labeling gifts or helping out in the kitchen? She jumped up, intent on finding something to occupy her mind beyond her own problems. Before she could escape, though, Lynn whirled past her in the arms of her oldest son Gage.

  Blond and petite, Lynn looked radiant and far too young to have two sons in their thirties, one a decorated FBI agent and one a bestselling true-crime author.

  And a daughter, Kate had to remind herself, a daughter who barely knew her.

  Bitterness welled up inside her and threatened to spill out but she staunchly suppressed it just as Lynn disengaged from her son’s arms and wrapped Kate in a sweet-scented embrace. Her mother was a toucher, she was discovering. Lynn rarely let a conversation go by without holding her arm or squeezing her hand or patting her knee.

  Kate had wondered more than once if perhaps Lynn needed somehow to make up for the twenty-three years they’d been apart, for all the hugs and kisses they had missed. Or maybe she was afraid if she didn’t touch her to make sure she was real, Kate would once more disappear.

  “Hasn’t this been the most wonderful day?” Lynn beamed. “I’m so happy I just want to dance all night.”

  Kate managed a smile and hugged her back. “It’s lovely. Everything is perfect. I don’t know how you and Taylor threw this together on such short notice.”

  Lynn laughed. “We didn’t have any choice. Wyatt refused to wait once he found his Taylor. Gage was the same way.”

  Gage smiled at both of them and Kate thought again how ruggedly handsome the FBI agent was. “We McKinnon men are impatient creatures,” he said. “Once we find what we want, we move fast.”

  She watched his gaze scan the room until it rested on his wife, Allie, who was laughing as she tried to show her daughter Gabriella the steps of a waltz. Allie didn’t seem to mind Gaby’s shiny black Mary Janes planted on top of her own evening shoes as she moved through the dance.

  Gage smiled at them both and the love in his eyes blazed brighter than all the stacks of candles gleaming around the room.

  Kate knew Gage and Allie had been married for three months but they still acted as if they couldn’t bear to be out of each other’s sight. She hadn’t been there, of course. She hadn’t even known she had a pair of brothers three months earlier.

  “I’m sorry I missed your wedding,” she said on impulse, then regretted it when Lynn hugged her again, her eyes sorrowful.

  “Oh my darling. We’re just so glad you’re here now. It seems like a dream, the most wonderful of miracles, that we’ve found you again after all these years. And just in time for the holidays!”

  Kate blew out a breath. She had barely given Christmas a thought between helping Taylor with her wedding, finishing up her E.R. rotation in her second year of residency and dealing with this wild ta
ngle of emotions at learning her true identity.

  Finding out she had been kidnapped at the age of three from the arms of a loving family and thrust into the hell she’d lived as a child tended to make everything else on her to-do list fade into the background. How was she supposed to adjust to the fact that the person she thought she was all her life didn’t exist?

  She supposed she needed somehow to summon the energy and get busy about the holidays. It was unlike her to procrastinate so long—her friends always teased that she usually had her shopping done by Halloween.

  Though she typically only bought a few gifts—something for Taylor and a few other friends, and for Tom and Maryanne Spencer, her foster parents in St. Petersburg—she was stunned by the sudden realization that her list had now grown by leaps and bounds.

  She already had something for Taylor, a stained-glass wall hanging she had purchased at the arts festival in Park City last August, but now she would have to find something for Lynn and Sam, for Wyatt, for Gage, and for Allie and her children.

  Before she could give in to the panic spurting through her at the idea, Lynn squeezed her hands. “I know I’ve mentioned this at least a dozen times before,” her mother went on, “but I wanted to remind you again that I’m having dinner Christmas Eve at my home in Liberty. We’ll all be together. Even Sam is staying until after the holidays.”

  A blush stole across Lynn’s still-lovely skin like autumn’s touch on a delicate leaf and Kate wondered at it. She looked for her father and found him on the dance floor with Allie’s youngest daughter, Anna.

  Sam McKinnon was still a handsome man, she thought, even though he was probably nearing sixty. He was exactly the kind of man she would have selected for a father if she’d been given a chance—quiet and strong, with powerful shoulders, a deep desert tan from years of living in Las Vegas, and the nicked and callused hands of a carpenter.

  Her parents had divorced decades ago, a year after she’d been kidnapped. Could Lynn still have feelings for Sam after all this time? And if she did, why had she never acted on them?

  Did their divorce stem from the trauma of losing a child? Though she knew it was irrational, she couldn’t help a pang of guilt, as if somehow she had been responsible.

  “We’ll be eating around seven,” Lynn said. “A little early because of the girls.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” she lied smoothly.

  The fact that her words were a lie only made her more angry. These were wonderful people—loving and kind and painfully eager for her to take her place in their family. Why couldn’t she? Why was she so damn conflicted every time she saw the love in their eyes?

  Why couldn’t she become the daughter they had lost?

  Sam suddenly swung Anna around in their direction through the crowd to join them. The moment they were close enough, Anna jumped from his arms and threw her arms around Gage’s waist.

  “Gage-Gage-Gage,” she chattered. “Grandpa Sam and me were dancing. He says I dance just like Clara in The Nutcracker. Wanta see?”

  She didn’t give him a chance to answer as she pulled him out to the area of the room that had been cleared of furniture for dancing.

  “Looks like I’ve lost my partner,” Sam said with that warm smile of his. “How about if I take my beautiful little girl for a spin around the dance floor instead?”

  She gazed at that smile. How many other dances had she missed with her father over the years? What would her life have been like if she’d had Sam, with his broad hands and his warm smile, to help her over all the rough patches along the way?

  She thought of the times when her home had been the back seat of a broken-down car, when her stomach had churned with hunger more often than not, when her only friend had been a tattered doll Brenda had picked up at the Salvation Army during one of her good moods.

  Suddenly she couldn’t bear this. She cared about these people and she wanted to love them. But how could she, when she couldn’t see past her own bitterness over all that had been taken from her?

  She blew out a breath, loathe to disappoint this kind man more than she feared she already had been a great disappointment to all of them. “Um, I’m a bit warm. I think I need to sneak out for a little air. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all, honey.” He winked at her and slipped an arm across Lynn’s shoulders. “I’ve been waiting all night for my chance to sweep the mother of the groom off her feet.”

  Lynn blushed again but went willingly into his arms. Neither of them noticed as Kate slipped through the huge gathering room of the Bradshaws’ski lodge in Little Cottonwood Canyon with its heavy log beams and soaring cathedral ceiling.

  The large home was the perfect place for a December wedding. Besides the huge tree in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, with its twinkling gold lights and plump burgundy ribbons, more lights winked from fresh garlands hanging on the stairway and around the doorways. Gold and burgundy candles speared out of more greenery on the mantel of the huge rock fireplace, where a fire burned merrily.

  It was a magical scene, one she would have delighted in for Taylor if circumstances had been different. She barely noticed, though, as she hurried through the house and slipped out the door leading to the wide deck that circled the rear of the house.

  The twinkling lights extended out here and gave her just enough light to pick her way carefully across the deck. The December cold was a welcome relief from the warm house and from the heat of her own emotions as she leaned against the railing and lifted her face to the gentle snowfall.

  After a moment, she could feel the tension in her shoulders begin to seep away as tiny flakes caught on the mossy-green velvet of her dress, in her hair, on her eyelashes. She relaxed enough that she even stuck her tongue out to catch a few stray snowflakes.

  Growing up in Florida, she’d never seen snow as a child. It wasn’t until she came to Utah for college that she had experienced her first snowfall and she still remembered how entranced she’d been by the sheer beauty of it.

  Eight years later, she’d seen enough snow for it to lose much of its magic—it was mostly just a pain to drive in and a hassle to scrape off her car on her way to class or to the hospital.

  Until moments like this.

  Inside, the string quartet played something low and lovely and the mountains gleamed white in the moonlight. Tiny, gentle snowflakes kissed her cheeks.

  She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but she did know this was the nearest thing to peace she had known since Wyatt had revealed to her the results of the DNA testing he had secretly ordered after they’d met through Taylor.

  “You stay out here much longer, you’re going to catch pneumonia.”

  The voice from the darkness startled her and she whirled so quickly she nearly lost her footing on the snow-slick wood of the deck. A large, dark shape stepped out of the shadows at the edge of the deck and into the light spilling from the lodge windows.

  She recognized Hunter Bradshaw, Taylor’s older brother, and pressed a hand to her suddenly racing heart. To her chagrin, she suddenly wasn’t sure if her increased pulse stemmed from being caught unawares or from suddenly finding herself in such close proximity to Hunter.

  In a dark suit and white shirt, he was gorgeous, with dark hair the color of hot cocoa, lean, elegant features and dark-blue eyes that gleamed in the night. And, she had to admit, he had been making her pulse race since they’d met five years earlier.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.” Her voice sounded breathless and she cleared her throat to conceal her reaction to him. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Oh, about fifteen minutes before you showed up.”

  He had watched her the whole time? While she lifted her face to the sky and caught snowflakes on her tongue like a kid on the playground at recess? Heat rushed to her cheeks, surely enough to melt any flakes left there.

  “I’m sorry I interrupted you
r solitude.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he finally said after an odd pause.

  “I’ll leave. You obviously wanted to be alone.”

  He shrugged. “Not really. I just can’t seem to spend enough time outside.”

  He didn’t add any other explanation, but he didn’t need to. She knew exactly why he craved fresh air, even cold and snowy fresh air. It all must seem heavenly to a man who had only been out of prison for a little over a month.

  Hunter had spent more than two years on death row for a hideous crime he didn’t commit. He had only gained his freedom after Taylor and Wyatt had uncovered the truth behind the slayings of Hunter’s pregnant girlfriend, her mother and her unborn child.

  Relieved to be able to focus on someone else’s problems for a change, she studied him in the moon’s glow and the twinkling lights. He looked tired, she thought, and the doctor in her wondered how he’d been sleeping since his release.

  “How are you doing? I mean, really doing?”

  He was quiet for a moment, as if not very many people had asked him that. “When I was first released,” he finally said, “I wanted to do everything I’d been dreaming about inside that miserable cell for thirty-one months. I wanted to climb the Tetons again and feel the water rushing around my waders as I stood in a stream with a fly rod and ski every single black diamond run I could find.”

  “Did you?”

  His laugh was rueful and a little bitter. “The first week. Now for some strange reason I can’t seem to generate enough energy to do anything but sit out here and breathe the mountain air.”

  She knew exactly what he meant—his discontent and malaise mirrored her own.

  “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. It’s going to take a while to adjust to normalcy again. Give yourself a little time.”

  Hunter had to smile at that crisp, professional note in her voice. “Thank you, Dr. Spencer. I don’t believe I realized psychiatric medicine was your specialty.”