A Hawk's Way Christmas Read online

  In this heartwarming reader-favorite holiday story, single father Gavin Talbot gets a second chance at happiness as he rediscovers the joy of family at Christmas with the Whitelaws. Return to Joan Johnston’s Hawk’s Way holiday classic.

  PRAISE FOR

  JOAN JOHNSTON:

  “Johnston warms your heart and tickles your fancy.”

  —New York Daily News

  “Her characters [are] perfectly enchanting.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  Johnston writes “a compelling, emotionally satisfying romance.”

  —Library Journal

  JOAN JOHNSTON:

  Bestselling author Joan Johnston is the celebrated author of 35 books and novellas, which have appeared on national bestseller lists more than 50 times and have been translated into 19 languages in 25 countries worldwide. Joan writes historical and contemporary romance, and has won numerous awards for her work from the Romance Writers of America, Georgia Romance Writers and Romantic Times magazine.

  Joan’s next novel, The Bodyguard, will be published in March 1998. And look for another Hawk’s Way novel from Silhouette Books in August.

  A HAWK’S WAY CHRISTMAS

  JOAN JOHNSTON

  For my mom,

  who taught me the true meaning of Christmas.

  And for my children,

  who light up my life all year round.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  CHAPTER 1

  Gavin Talbot had just stepped off the elevator and started down the hall of the pediatric wing of Houston Regional Hospital, when he thought he heard someone sobbing in the linen closet. He stopped and stared at the closed door. It was nearly midnight, and Gavin had decided he was so tired he was delusional, when he heard the sound again. Definitely sobbing. Female sobbing.

  Gavin rapped his knuckles twice on the linen closet door. “Is somebody in there?”

  “Go away,” a tear-choked voice replied.

  Gavin wished he were interning as a heart surgeon or an orthopedist. Those exhausted physicians wouldn’t have had any trouble walking away. But he was studying to become a child psychologist, and he knew a cry for help when he heard one.

  “Hey,” he said. “Maybe I can help.”

  “No one can help,” the tear-choked voice replied.

  “How about opening the door?”

  “Go away and leave me alone.”

  “I can’t do that. Look, it’s late. Why not have a cup of coffee with me in the cafeteria? Maybe we can work things out.”

  “You don’t even know what the problem is!” an exasperated voice replied.

  “I’m a good listener,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Absolute silence. He figured she was thinking about it. Gavin said nothing, just waited patiently and was rewarded when the door inched open and a swollen-eyed, tearstained face peeked out.

  “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

  He held his hands wide, letting her get a good look at the wrinkled blue oxford-cloth shirt, the sleeves casually folded up to reveal muscular forearms, and the frayed, beltless Levi’s he wore to make the kids he worked with feel more comfortable. “No gun, no knife, not even a needle. My name’s Gavin Talbot. I’m working at the hospital on a research grant.”

  She opened the linen closet door wider, but hesitated on the threshold. He noticed her shoulder-length blond hair was cut in a fringe around her face, and she had pale, red-rimmed gray eyes that looked as desolate as any of the dying children he had ever counseled at the hospital.

  Her shapeless dress was topped by a white hospital lab coat, identifying her as a medical student, and Gavin made an informed—and intuitive—guess about her situation.

  Medical students were notoriously overworked and under tremendous stress to perform at high levels, and fatigue and depression were common. She fit the profile. Dark circles played under her eyes, and her short frame was so delicate she looked fragile, like she would break if he were to hold her in his strong arms.

  “I’m R. J. Whitelaw,” she said, extending her hand. It held a wadded-up Kleenex. She quickly stuffed the tissue into her lab coat pocket and extended the hand again.

  Gavin swallowed her small hand in his and was startled by her firm grip. It conveyed confidence and self-assurance; there was nothing the least bit fragile about it. “It’s nice to meet you, R.J.,” he said. “I know some Whitelaws, Zach and Rebecca. They own a ranch in northwest Texas called Hawk’s Pride. Any relation?”

  Her lips curved in a wobbly smile that cracked as she broke down and sobbed, “My par-hents.”

  “I don’t recognize R.J. as one of their kids’ names,” he said.

  “I’m Ro-hol-le-heen.”

  She groped for her Kleenex, and he handed her the hanky from his back Levi’s pocket. “Try this.”

  “Tha-hanks,” she said, then blew her nose noisily.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Her brow wrinkled as she rubbed at her reddened nose. “Should I?”

  “We spoke on the phone. Your sister Jewel asked me to get in touch with you after I spent last summer as a counselor at Camp LittleHawk.”

  “Oh, no!” Her gray eyes filled to the brim with tears that quickly spilled over. “You ca-han’t tell her you saw me li-hike this.”

  “I promise not to do that,” Gavin said, taking Rolleen’s arm and heading her toward the cafeteria. “Let’s go get that coffee and find a quiet place to talk.”

  Camp LittleHawk, a camp for kids with cancer located on the Whitelaws’ northwest Texas ranch, had been started by Rolleen’s mother Rebecca and was now run by Rolleen’s sister Jewel. Gavin had met most of the Whitelaw clan over the summer, when he’d worked at the camp, and had promised Jewel he would look up her sister Rolleen when he got back to Houston.

  And he had. He and Rolleen had traded phone messages several times, but they’d both been so busy, he’d given up trying to get together with her. Now he’d met her, and Gavin was suddenly a lot more than a detached observer of someone in trouble.

  He knew Rolleen was the eldest of the eight Whitelaw kids. And smart. “Rolleen’s away at medical school,” Rebecca had told him proudly. “She’s been at the top of her class during each of the past two years.”

  Obviously something had gone very wrong. He wondered if she was having trouble keeping up her grades, and if so, why.

  When they reached the cafeteria, the door was locked and all the lights were out. Gavin looked at his watch and made a disgusted sound. “I forgot the cafeteria closes at midnight over the holidays.”

  “I wasn’t thinking, either.” Rolleen disengaged her arm from his and said, “Thanks anyway for the offer.”

  She had already turned to leave when Gavin caught her by the shoulder. “Wait. Why don’t we go across the street to the Coffee Caper? They’re open twenty-four hours a day.”

  She wiped at the tears on her cheeks with the heel of her hand, shook her head, then looked up at him with those desolate gray eyes. “I don’t want anyone to see me looking like this.”

  “There must be someplace we can go to talk,” he said. “Your place? Or mine?”

  She looked at him askance. “I’m not in the habit of inviting strangers home with me—or going home with them.”

  He smiled his most trustworthy smile and said, “I’m not a stranger. I spent the entire summer working for your sister. I’m sure if you gave Jewel a call, she’d be willing to vouch for me.”

  Rolleen visibly shuddered. “No. I don’t want to speak to her—to any of th
em—right now. They’d know…they’d know…”

  When tears began to spill from her eyes again, he simply pulled her toward him—tugging when she at first resisted—put his arms around her and hugged her gently, aware of his much greater size and strength.

  She gripped him tightly around the waist while she cried, as though if she didn’t, she would fly away into pieces. The strength of her hold on him once again contradicted his fragile image of her. There was nothing delicate about her crying, either. Her whole body heaved with sobs so painful they made his throat ache—and he didn’t even know what her problem was.

  Yet she hadn’t collapsed entirely. She was still standing on her own two feet. There was plainly more to R. J. Whitelaw than met the eye.

  When the sobbing had resolved into hiccups, Gavin kept one arm around Rolleen and began walking her down the deserted hall toward his mentor’s office, where he’d been headed in the first place. He got out his key and unlocked the door and eased her inside. When he reached for the light, her hand was there to stop him.

  “Don’t. I look awful.”

  If she was able to think about how she looked, she was feeling better, Gavin thought. The light streaming in from the hall through the old-fashioned, half-shuttered venetian blinds was enough for them to see each other’s faces, and she was right about her appearance. Her eyes and nose were puffy and swollen and red.

  “All right,” he conceded. “No light. Why don’t you sit down and take it easy?” He eased her onto the well-used black leather couch and felt her tense as he sat down beside her. He put more distance between them and heard her exhale in a relieved sigh.

  She rested her elbows on her knees and dropped her face into her hands. He didn’t resist the urge to put a comforting hand on her shoulder and rub at what turned out to be very tense muscles on her shoulders and neck.

  “That feels wonderful,” she said.

  “Let’s get rid of this,” he said, easing off her lab coat. He angled her slightly away, so he could use both hands effectively, and said, “You want to tell me about it?”

  “There’s nothing you can do to help,” she said resignedly.

  “What have you got to lose by telling me?”

  She sighed again. “Nothing, I suppose.”

  Between the softness of her skin, the small, enticing curls on her nape and the little sounds of pleasure she was making, Gavin realized he was becoming aroused in the seductive darkness. He stopped what he was doing and slid back across the couch.

  He leaned forward, draping his arms on his widespread thighs, and said, “I’m listening, Rolleen, if you’d like to talk.”

  “I’ve been using R.J. at school,” she said. “I think it sounds more—never mind.”

  More what? Gavin wondered. But he didn’t ask. He was merely providing a friendly shoulder for the sister of a friend. “Rolleen’s what I’ve heard you called all summer,” he said. “It’s unusual and pretty—like you.”

  She started to speak, stopped herself, then said, “Rolleen’s fine.”

  He had a feeling it wasn’t really fine, but he didn’t want to get sidetracked talking about her name when something much more important was bothering her. “All right, Rolleen,” he said. “Shoot.”

  She hesitated as though on a high diving board, her face thoughtful, then dove in. “If you’ve met my parents you know they think I’m the perfect daughter.”

  “I don’t think I heard a disparaging word about you all summer,” he admitted with a smile. “And praise was heaped on your head.”

  She made a face. “That’s the problem. I’ve always been the ‘good little girl.’”

  “Really? How come?”

  “Because by the time Zach and Rebecca adopted me from the Good Souls Orphanage I’d made a promise to God that if He sent somebody to take me out of that place, I’d repay Him by being the best daughter any parents could ever have.”

  Gavin realized he was hearing the truth and was humbled by it. “It sounds like you kept your promise.”

  Her mouth shifted in a crooked smile. “Pretty much. I stole some gum once from the five-and-dime in town—to see if I could get away with it.” Her lips quirked as she admitted, “I didn’t. And I got caught smoking once in the high school bathroom. But I was a straight-A student and president of the student council and a soloist with the church choir and helpful around the house. And a devoted daughter.”

  She looked up at him, and the grief and despair were back in her eyes. “That’s why what’s happened is so awful. Momma and Daddy are going to be so disappointed in me when they find out what I’ve done.”

  Her eyes began misting again, and he reminded her, “You still haven’t told me what it is you’ve done that’s so bad you don’t want your family finding out about it.”

  She stood slowly and turned in profile, then pressed her hands along the front of her dress from the waist downward. He saw the slight outward curve of her belly, and felt his stomach turn over. She’s pregnant.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said.

  He stood, crossed away from her to the desk and settled his hip on the corner, trying to be nonchalant. But he knew the Whitelaws well enough to know they would be disappointed in their daughter, of whom they were so proud. “Who’s the father?” he asked. “And where is he?”

  “One of my professors,” she replied. “He’s spending the next year at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, completing a study on viruses.”

  “Does he know about the baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “He said the problem is mine, and that I should solve it. Meaning, I should get an abortion,” she said bitterly. “Or give up the baby for adoption.”

  “Those are available options,” he said neutrally.

  “Not for me! I’m going to have this baby and keep it and love it enough for both parents!”

  She slumped back onto the couch. “But I’m going to have to quit medical school to do it. I can’t ask my parents to support me and a child, too. That wouldn’t be fair to them.”

  “Don’t you think that ought to be their decision?”

  “I know they wouldn’t begrudge me the money,” she said. “But I can’t take advantage of them like that. After everything they’ve done for me, look how I’ve repaid them—by getting pregnant without a husband, without even a fianc;aae!”

  She took a hitching breath and blew it out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with my problems.” She walked past him to stare out through the half-open venetian blinds, her arms crossed protectively over her small bosom. “I dread spoiling everyone’s Christmas when I go home next Tuesday. I’d stay here, but then they’d know something was wrong and come after me.”

  She turned to face him. “Christmas has always been a special time of year for my family. On Christmas Eve, Momma always tells the story of how she met and married Daddy, and how together they picked each one of us to be the family Momma could never bear in her womb…”

  Her face was crumpling again, and he quickly asked, “How will they know you’re pregnant, if you don’t tell them?”

  “The eight of us kids have always shared bedrooms. It’s hard to keep secrets when you share a double bed,” she said, managing a brittle smile. “I’ll be four months pregnant by Christmas, and I’ll be dressing and undressing in front of my sisters. They’ll surely notice my figure has changed.”

  “I see.”

  “Even if I could hide in the bathroom to dress, I’ve never worn blousy clothes, so that would be a tip-off. And if I tried wearing jeans…” She turned and held her dress tight against her slim figure—slim except for the bulge in the middle. “They’ll see the truth for themselves. And my family is so physical—rambunctious, playful, ripping and tearing around the house, horseback riding at a full gallop, flag football that ends up being full tackle—they’d know the instant I excused myself from any of those activities that something was up.”

  “You do seem t
o have a problem,” Gavin murmured.

  Her chin began to quiver. “Momma will cry when she finds out. And Daddy…he’ll get quiet as a sunset on the prairie. But I’ll know he’s feeling bad, because it’ll be right there in his eyes. He’s no poker player, my dad.”

  She swallowed hard before she said, “They’ll be so unhappy, it’ll spoil Christmas for the whole family. And that’ll be one more thing I’ll have to feel guilty about.”

  Her chin was still quivering, but she had her teeth clenched to keep from losing control. He was pretty sure an iron rod ran down Ms. Whitelaw’s slender back.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said unhappily.

  Respecting that inner core of strength—and the pride that had put it there—Gavin resisted the urge to offer platitudes. He wanted to help her, but he wasn’t sure what he could do. He had little personal experience to draw on. The rollicking Christmas she had described was nothing like what Christmas had been for him in the past, or was going to be like for him this year.

  He had come from a small family, an only child of parents who had died in a private plane crash when he was eleven, and he had a small family of his own—himself, his four-year-old daughter Beth and his grandmother Hester. This was the first Christmas since his wife, Susan, had died. Or, more precisely, since Susan had committed suicide, scrawling a note that said nothing about why she had taken her own life, but telling him that Beth was not his child.

  Gavin had spent the past year tortured by thoughts of the woman he’d loved in another man’s arms. Wondering endlessly why Susan had killed herself. Wondering what he had done to make his wife betray him. And furious at the thought that his precious daughter, whom he had adored, was not his own flesh and blood. He had become a distant parent to his child, unable to hug her and love her the way he had before Susan’s revelation.

  Gavin was certain his grandmother was planning to manipulate things so he ended up spending a lot of time over the Christmas holiday with Beth. Hester firmly believed that time and proximity would wear down his reserve.