Don't Let Go by Marliss Melton Page A

for his wallet.
    Her eyes went from questioning to indignant as he cracked it open and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. “I don’t want your money!” she exclaimed, backing up. “Boys! You’d better be washing up.”
    “Silas won’t come out from under the bed, Mama,” said the oldest son, who sidled into the doorway, his gaze fastening on the money.
    “I’ll get him out,” she said, pushing past Solomon to head down the hallway. “Watch the baby,” she said to Christopher.
    Solomon trailed after her. Silas was his responsibility now. He found Ellie in the center of an impossibly small bedroom, down on her hands and knees. “Silas, I told you this was going to happen. It’s a good thing, trust me. Your papa’s going to take good care of you. Come on out now, or else.”
    Solomon didn’t know what “or else” entailed but it was bad enough to prompt Silas to wriggle out from his hiding place. He crawled into Ellie’s embrace and hid his face in her neck. “Hush, baby. It’s okay,” she said, her voice trembling audibly. Solomon thought of Jordan Bliss. A weight immediately pressured his chest. Jesus, not again.
    “Listen,” he said, loath to separate another child from his caretaker, “I’m going to write you a check.”
    As she shot him an outraged look, he added, “It’s up to you whether you cash it or not, but it’s got my home address written on it. That way you can find me if you want to visit Silas.” Stepping over to a dresser, he scribbled out a sum ample enough to see Ellie and her brood through the next few months, at least.
    By the time he turned back, Ellie had pulled clothing out of a second dresser and was stuffing it into a paper bag. She took the check without looking at it and stuck it in the pocket of her shorts. “This is all he’s got,” she said, handing Solomon the bag. “Okay, Silas. Give me a hug and get on out of here.” Her terse tone camouflaged the fact that she was close to tears.
    As the boy wrapped his thin arms about her shoulders and trembled, Solomon tore his gaze from the heartache etched on Ellie’s brow. “Come on, son,” he urged in his gentlest voice. He held out a hand to him.
    Silas looked at the hand. Eyes filled with trepidation, he nonetheless found the courage to put his little hand into the bigger one.
    The instant their palms touched, Solomon’s knees went weak. A ferocious tide of love roared through him, so fiercely that he had to fight from crushing his son’s fingers. He wanted to speak reassuring words, but with his throat clogged with emotion, all he could do was to blink back tears and nod at Ellie as he herded Silas toward the door.
    The formal dining room in the nineteenth-century farmhouse was used strictly on holidays and special occasions. It surprised Jordan to find that Jillian had not only dusted the mahogany sideboard, she’d also dressed the table in a lace tablecloth, topping it with heirloom china and crystal glassware. The essence of cooked apples wafted from the kitchen, betraying the fact that Jillian had also baked their mother’s recipe for apple pie. And all of this was to celebrate Jordan’s safe return?
    Even Graham and Agatha thumped down the stairs wearing their finest. Bemused and a little curious, Jordan was told that Special Agent Valentino was en route and would she please stir the rice so that Jillian could race upstairs to dress?
    “Of course,” said Jordan, glancing wryly at her own, casual sundress. “I didn’t know this was going to be a special occasion.”
    Valentino’s knock came just as Jillian descended the stairs in a pretty pink dress. At the sudden brightening of her countenance, Jordan had a thought: Maybe this was more than just a thank-you.
    She watched as Jillian introduced her children—Graham, who grudgingly accepted Rafe’s handshake, and six-year-old Agatha, who caught the agent off guard by hugging him effusively. He looked over at Jordan and smiled. “You look much