Chapter One
In spite of the calm assurance she projected, Erin O’Shea was quaking with nervousness as she pressed the doorbell. She heard the chimes tolling within the interior of the house. It was an attractive house, situated in one of San Francisco’s middle-class neighborhoods.
Glancing over her shoulder at the other houses lining the street, Erin reflected on the well-maintained neighborhood. The lawns were well kept; the houses, if not ostentatious, were immaculate and tasteful. The house she stood before was painted dove gray and accented with white trim. Like all the other houses on the street, it typified San Francisco’s architecture, having the garage level with the street and the house elevated. Steep concrete steps led up to the front door, which boasted an old-fashioned etched glass window.
She tried to peer through the opaque glass and glimpse some sign of movement as she listened for approaching footsteps, but could see nothing and heard no sounds from within the house.
What if no one were at home? Erin hadn’t thought of that possibility. Indeed, she had thought of nothing since she had deplaned from the flight from Houston except finding this house. Her thoughts while navigating the picturesque streets of San Francisco had been single-minded and purposeful. Today was the culmination of a three-year search. She had prevailed over musty record books, endless long-distance telephone calls, slammed doors, and disappointing false leads to be standing here at this moment.
Today she would see her brother for the first time in her life. Today she would be face-to-face with her only blood relative.
Her heart lurched when she heard footsteps coming toward the door. His wife? A maid? Her brother? She swallowed hard.
The door was opened slowly. He stood in front of her. “Mr. Kenneth Lyman?” she asked.
He didn’t answer her. Instead his eyes raked her from the top of her head to her toes. His rapid inspection couldn’t have taken more than a fraction of a second, but she felt that he had missed nothing.
“Mr. Kenneth Lyman?” she repeated.
He nodded curtly.
All her nervousness fled and was replaced by immeasurable joy when the man confirmed that he was her brother. He was so handsome! She was surprised to find nothing in his features that resembled her. He was as fair as she was dark. Whenever she had tried to visualize him, she had conjured up a face that was a masculine version of her own, but this man was nothing like she expected.
His hair was sandy brown, but when only a glimmer of the weak February sunlight struck it, it shone golden. Perched atop the mussed strands was a pair of eyeglasses with narrow tortoiseshell frames. The eyebrows that bridged his wide forehead were thick and as golden as his hair. Blue eyes, which were scrutinizing her closely, were fringed by thick short lashes that were dark at the base and gilded at the ends.
His nose was straight and narrow. The mouth underneath it was firm, wide, almost stern. There was a beguiling vertical cleft in his strong chin that suggested a stubbornness of will.
“Forgive me for staring,” she apologized even as she continued to look at him intently. Would she ever tire of seeing this face she had searched for for so long?
He still didn’t say anything. His eyes darted behind her as if he expected to see someone accompanying her. They took in the white Mercedes she had rented at the airport, the house across the street, the entire surroundings in one sweeping glance before they came back to her. It was disconcerting that he hadn’t said anything. But then, he didn’t know who she was.
“I’ve come a long way to see you,” she said for a start. “May I come in and talk to you for a moment?”
“What do we have to talk about?”
Her heart was pierced by a sweet pain at the first sound of his deep, low-timbred voice. But the pleasure changed to shyness in deference to his harsh tone. He probably thought she was selling something. “I… well, it’s rather personal.” She didn’t want to introduce herself to him while standing on the doorstep.
“Okay. You’d better come in.” He moved aside and she took a tentative step through the front door. He glanced around the yard once more before closing the door and turning to face her.
Standing this close to him, she was made aware for the first time how tall he was. She was considered tall for a woman, and yet he seemed to tower over her. Or maybe it was his overbearing attitude. Her brother seemed to exude power and a commanding control. He wasn’t muscle-bound, but radiated a strength that was intimidating.
Erin looked past the loosened knot of his necktie to the strong cords of his neck. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled to his elbows to reveal tanned, sinewy forearms. The white cotton was stretched across a broad chest that tapered into a flat stomach, and his long legs were hard and lean beneath gray flannel slacks. Perhaps he played basketball. Tennis? Surely he was athletically inclined to have maintained this wiry physique. She knew him to be thirty-three.