Their Secret Son
Judy Duarte
THE SECRET WAS OUTThe towheaded son of stunning socialite Kristin Reynolds had to be his child. Because once upon a time fireman Joe Davenport and Kristin had been lovers, pulled apart by her prestigious family. He hadn't wanted to give her up then, and he refused to give up his son now. Of course, this time, he and Kristin were both adults. They could handle the intimacies of parenthood, without wanting more. And though the heat of her gaze, of her touch, was almost more than he could bear, he'd be damned if he'd reignite their old flame–even if Kristin was the one woman who tempted him to want the family, and the wife, he could never have.
“Am I Bobby’s father?”
The tears slipped down her cheeks, revealing the words her mouth couldn’t form. She nodded.
Joe had suspected Bobby was his son. Kristin’s affirmation only validated what he already sensed.
A part of him wanted to lash out and be angry that she’d kept their child a secret from him. But guilt came flying back in his court. After all, he’d been the one to end things that day at the ball field.
As long as he was placing blame, he’d throw some out at their fathers—hers for being so obstinate about wanting what was best for his daughter, and his for being a lowlife jerk.
But that didn’t change the current fact.
Joe Davenport had a son.
Dear Reader,
Spring might be just around the corner, but it’s not too late to curl up by the fire with this month’s lineup of six heartwarming stories. Start off with Three Down the Aisle, the first book in bestselling author Sherryl Woods’s new miniseries, THE ROSE COTTAGE SISTERS. When a woman returns to her childhood haven, the last thing she expects is to fall in love! And make sure to come back in April for the next book in this delightful new series.
Will a sexy single dad find All He Ever Wanted in a search-and-rescue worker who saves his son? Find out in Allison Leigh’s latest book in our MONTANA MAVERICKS: GOLD RUSH GROOMS miniseries. The Fortunes of Texas are back, and you can read the first three stories in the brand-new miniseries THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS: REUNION, only in Silhouette Special Edition. The continuity launches with Her Good Fortune by Marie Ferrarella. Can a straitlaced CEO make it work with a feisty country girl who’s taken the big city by storm? Next, don’t miss the latest book in Susan Mallery’s DESERT ROGUES ongoing miniseries, The Sheik & the Bride Who Said No. When two former lovers reunite, passion flares again. But can they forgive each other for past mistakes? Be sure to read the next book in Judy Duarte’s miniseries, BAYSIDE BACHELORS. A fireman discovers his ex-lover’s child is Their Secret Son, but can they be a family once again? And pick up Crystal Green’s The Millionaire’s Secret Baby. When a ranch chef lands her childhood crush—and tycoon—can she keep her identity hidden, or will he discover her secrets?
Enjoy, and be sure to come back next month for six compelling new novels, from Silhouette Special Edition.
All the best,
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
Their Secret Son
Judy Duarte
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my little brother, Bobby Astleford, who over the
years has grown from a pest to a friend.
I forgive you for all those annoying things you used to do, including the
times you chased me with a baseball bat. And I won’t mention that night you
were arrested for speeding down East Valley Parkway while
I was supposed to be watching out for you.
But setting that field on fire with a box of matches and your model
car might make you famous.
I love you, Bobby.
Books by Judy Duarte
Silhouette Special Edition
Cowboy Courage #1458
Family Practice #1511
Almost Perfect #1540
Big Sky Baby #1563
The Virgin’s Makeover #1593
Bluegrass Baby #1598
The Rich Man’s Son #1634
Hailey’s Hero #1659
Their Secret Son #1667
Silhouette Books
Double Destiny
“Second Chance”
JUDY DUARTE
An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte always wanted to write books of her own. One day, she decided to make that dream come true. Five years and six manuscripts later, she sold her first book to Silhouette Special Edition.
Her unpublished stories have won the Emily and the Orange Rose, and in 2001, she became a double Golden Heart finalist. Judy credits her success to Romance Writers of America and two wonderful critique partners, Sheri WhiteFeather and Crystal Green, both of whom write for Silhouette.
At times, when a stubborn hero and a headstrong heroine claim her undivided attention, she and her family are thankful for fast food, pizza delivery and video games. When she’s not at the keyboard or in a Walter Mitty–type world, she enjoys traveling, spending romantic evenings with her personal hero and playing board games with her kids.
Judy lives in Southern California and loves to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 498, San Luis Rey, CA 92068-0498. You can also visit her Web site at www.judyduarte.com.
From the Bayside Banner:
Wealthy property owner Thomas Reynolds made a surprise visit to juvenile court today, where he argued against the release of the fourteen-year-old who was charged with setting last week’s fire that destroyed one of his warehouses on Industrial Way.
When asked by a reporter about his interest in the case, Reynolds said, “Bayside doesn’t need another juvenile delinquent on the streets.”
Also on hand was Detective Harry Logan, who spoke on the teenager’s behalf. “He wasn’t trying to be malicious,” Logan argued. “His dad had been using that dilapidated building to deal drugs, and the boy was only trying to draw attention to the man’s crime.”
Saturday night’s blaze caused Reynolds about $25,000 in damages and resulted in several fines for the condition of some of his other buildings on the street. When questioned about the faulty wiring and broken glass in the burned warehouse, as well as the other structures, Reynolds declined comment.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
W ith every call to a fire, a shot of pure adrenaline coursed through Joe Davenport’s blood and didn’t let up until the last hot spot was out. And this one was no different.
The scent of ash filled the air as Joe walked through the charred weeds that once blanketed the vacant lot on the corner of Tidal Way and Harbor View Drive. He was searching for a point of origin and he spotted it near a melted blob of blackened red plastic.
The blaze had taken only ten minutes to contain, but the situation could have become deadly if the flames had reached the Billings place, an old clapboard house that sat next to the burned property.
Edna Billings, whose arthritis confined her to a wheelchair, might not have escaped from the house in which she insisted upon living alone.
Dustin Campbell, a rookie fireman, strode toward Joe, his hand clamped on the shoulder of a kid who looked no more than seven years old. “We’ve got us a firebug, Joe. I caught him standing in the copse of trees, and he smells like smoke.”
The boy wore a crisp pair of khaki slacks with dirt and grass stains on the knees. A suspicious bulge rested in the ash-smudged pocket of a freshly pressed, white button-down shirt.
“What do you have there, son?”
The towheaded boy, whose clothing suggested he’d grown up in a well-to-do home, shrugged, then reached into his pocket, withdrew a gold, monogrammed cigarette lighter and handed it over without any qualms.
Joe had no intention of scaring the kid, but a serious talk about the dangers of playing with matches or lighters, followed by an offer to make the youngster a junior fire marshal usually worked like a charm.
He’d found that instilling a bit of fear and guilt didn’t hurt, either. A small flame became dangerous in the hands of a child. He assessed the boy with a narrowed eye of authority. “What’s your name?”
“Bobby.” The boy stood as tall as his seven-year-old stance would allow. The small, squared chin told Joe he’d have to practice his intimidation skills a bit more.
With a stubborn cowlick, a scatter of freckles across his nose and a dirt-smudged cheek, the boy reminded Joe a lot of himself at that age.
Joe had also been a cocky, towheaded kid, prone to trouble. But he shook off the comparison. “Did you start the fire?”
“Nope.” Bobby crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one side.
“But you must have seen it.”
The kid nodded sagely.
Joe continued to prod for some answers and a confession. “How big was the fire when you first saw it?”
The boy used his thumb and forefinger to measure an inch. “About that big. But I didn’t start it.”
Joe merely nodded at the pint-size explanation that had to be a lie. “Only that big, huh? You must have been the first one on the scene.”
Bobby shrugged his small shoulders in a flip defense that reminded Joe of his own run-in with the law after starting a fire in an abandoned building when he was a kid. Joe hadn’t meant to do anything other than draw attention to his father’s illegal activities.
His old man had been dealing crack from that warehouse for years, and Joe decided to do something about it, something that would make the firefighters and cops take notice. As a fourteen-year-old, he’d hoped the efforts of the authorities might cause a drug-addicted dad to see reason.
That day, nearly twelve years ago, had been a real turning point in Joe’s life.
Once charged with arson and delinquency, Joe Davenport was now well on his way to becoming a fire chief, thanks to the guidance of Harry Logan, patron saint of bad boys.
“How do you suppose the fire started?” Joe asked Bobby.
“It was my mom’s fault,” the kid said in his own defense.
Now the story was getting interesting. “Are you telling me that your mom started the fire?”
“Nope. But it was her fault.”
Joe remained focused and controlled, but a grin tugged at his lips. “Suppose you tell me why it was her fault.”
The boy took a deep breath, then blew out a sigh, as though frustrated he had to explain something that should have been apparent. “I got a model car for my birthday, and some of the little prongs that hold the parts together broke off. I asked her if I could use her nail glue, ’cause it works good enough to stick your fingers together forever, but she wouldn’t let me.”
Joe raised a brow, but refrained from showing any other expression. “So she set the field on fire?”
“No. I had to figure out another way to make it stick together. Then I remembered how plastic melts, cause once I stuck a plastic fork in the fireplace and it melted into a glob that got real hard. So I took my grandpa’s lighter, even though I’m not s’posed to play with it, but I was gonna be real careful.” The boy’s hazel eyes shimmered, and his bottom lip quivered in what looked like his first bit of remorse. “And the car caught the field on fire when it melted.”
At the boy’s defensive explanation, Joe considered turning his back so the kid wouldn’t see him grin at a child’s logic. How did parents deal with this stuff on a daily basis? This boy needed some firm, loving guidance.
Not a fist, of course, which was his own father’s way of dealing with a strong-willed child. Joe wasn’t an expert on child rearing, by any means, but he knew what didn’t work.
“Bobby!” a woman’s voice called from across the street.
So, the mother had arrived. Well, Joe had a little talk for mothers of small-fry firebugs, too. Gearing himself for a confrontation, he slowly turned around.
But nothing had prepared him for seeing Kristin Reynolds, a woman he’d dated eight years ago. She was still just as pretty as he remembered, tall and willowy, with hair the color of honey and eyes of emerald green.
The years had been good to her. Damn good.
She wore cream-colored slacks and a black sweater. Cashmere, most likely. And it fit nicely, showing off near perfect breasts, much fuller than he remembered.
They’d both been seventeen and balanced precariously on the cusp of adulthood when they first met.
Joe had been moonstruck that homecoming night in November. And he still found her attractive, stunning. More so, he supposed.
His heart slipped into overdrive, reminding him his blood was pumping in all the important places. There were some things time didn’t change.
The pretty socialite hurried toward them, distress in her expression, an expression that looked a lot like maternal concern.
Surely, Kristin wasn’t this kid’s mother.
“Uh-oh,” the boy muttered. He kicked the toe of his leather shoe at the dirt. “Here comes my mom.”
Kristin had only recognized her son, Joe realized, because her eyes hadn’t caught Joe’s yet, which was just as well. He wasn’t sure what to say to her anymore.
His heart thudded in his chest like a loose ball bearing, although he wasn’t sure why. Anticipation at seeing her again, he supposed. And awkwardness, too. Kristin Reynolds was the first lover he’d ever had.
Joe had broken up with her after pressure from her dad, a wealthy property owner who had never forgiven the kid who set that run-down warehouse on fire and drew a ton of unflattering media attention on the condition of one of the many buildings he owned.
Thomas Reynolds had made no secret about the fact that Joe Davenport wasn’t good enough for his daughter. When he went looking for Joe, demanding he stay away from Kristin, Joe hadn’t backed down. Not until the red-faced man threw Kristin’s happiness and her sky-is-the-limit future in his face.
At one time, Kristin had been an honor student and college-bound, but her grades had slacked and her interest in the fancy school her mother had once attended had waned.
“My daughter never lied to me before,” Thomas had said, “never snuck around behind my back. And now look at her.”
Joe hadn’t known that Kristin had lied to her dad, nor had he known that she had to sneak out of the house in order to see him.
“Do you want to drag her down to your old man’s level?” Thomas had asked.
That was the last thing Joe had wanted to do. The pompous bastard had been right, though. Kristin would be throwing her life away on a guy who would never be able to compete with her father or any of the other men in her social circle.
Joe had faked it pretty good that June day out at the ball field, when he told Kristin he didn’t love her. The lie had nearly torn him in two, but her father was right. Kristin deserved so much more than what the son of a drug-dealing scumbag could offer her. And letting her go had been the right thing to do.
So why, after eight years, was he having such a heart-banging reaction to seeing her again?
Her scent, something classy and exotic—expensive, no doubt—wrapped around him like a quilt of memories on a cold and lonely night.
Joe cursed under his breath. How could she still evoke this kind of reaction in him—both emotionally and physically?
It had been eight years since he’d last held her. And it had taken ages to get over her.
“I’m okay, Mom,” the boy said.
Joe looked at Bobby, and suddenly the similarities he’d seen in the kid slapped him across the face. His mind, although somewhat taken aback, did a quick calculation, starting with eight years and subtracting nine months.
The tall, honey-blond woman addressed her son. “You were supposed to be in your room, young man.” When she turned her gaze to Joe, she sucked in a breath, and her lips parted in recognition.
Kristin stared at an adult version of the high school senior she’d once loved, once given her heart and virginity to. The guy who’d thrown it all back in her face and walked away.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected to see him when she returned to Bayside to spend the summer with her ailing father. She just didn’t expect to see him now. Like this.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to regain her composure.
“Is this boy your son?” Joe asked.
Did he see the resemblance? Did he suspect?
How could he not? She’d been faced with the obvious every time she looked into those sweet eyes—amber-colored, like his father’s.
And she’d been reminded all over again of the heartache caused by the rejection of her first and, up until recently, only lover.
It had taken years to forget Joe, but seeing him brought it all back to the forefront—the pain, the rejection, the humiliation of telling her dad she was going to have a child out of wedlock. The lie she’d told when asked who had fathered her baby.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m his mother.”
Joe’s eyes sliced right through her usual cool and formal demeanor. And she found herself at the awkward, gangly stage again, staring in wonder at the new boy in school.
Joe had matured, filled out and grown taller. His amber eyes, more sharp and piercing than before, studied her and Bobby with a keen assessment, threatening to peel away each layer of the lie until he discovered the truth, the truth she couldn’t allow to surface.
She brushed her moist palms against the hips of her slacks and prayed for a quick and easy escape. She had to get out of here, before the secret she’d kept for the past eight years muscled to the forefront.
Did Joe know?
Did he see what she saw everyday? A boy who was the spitting image of “that Davenport kid?”
Joe handed her the gold lighter she’d given her father two Christmases ago, then slid her a crooked grin. “It seems that this fire is your fault.”
“Mine?” Had her voice shrieked like a fishmonger’s wife? Surely not.
“That’s what Bobby told us,” Joe said. “He needed some glue for a model car that was broken.”
“Bobby,” she said, squatting to meet her son at eye level. “I can’t let you play with Superglue.”
“Lighters aren’t a good idea, either,” Joe said. “He tried to weld the plastic together.”
Having a bright and inquisitive child who was prone to mischief provided her once predictable life with one adventure after another. She could only wonder what other troubles were sure to come. Her instinct told her Bobby was just an active little boy, although her fiancé suggested she’d spoiled him by being too lenient.
“Bobby, we’ll talk about this at home,” Kristin said. Then she looked at Joe, caught the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the bad-boy smile that used to make her heart go topsy-turvy.
Used to? That was an understatement.
But she couldn’t allow those adolescent obsessions to interfere with her life plans. Not anymore.
For the first time in years, she’d found peace and contentment, not to mention a fiancé eager to marry her. And not just any fiancé.
Dylan Montgomery was a man who understood relationships, people. Children. He was a man who’d made a name for himself in the self-help market and was entering the realm of talk shows, the kind of man her father always dreamed she’d marry.
And speaking of her dad, she had his feelings to consider, as well as his health. A smoker for years, his idea of cutting back was to switch to a pipe, but his lungs were a mess and he had signs of emphysema. The overweight diabetic needed open-heart surgery, but his health complications prohibited the lifesaving procedure.
There was no way Kristin would subject him to the stress a truthful revelation would trigger at this point in his life. She might have spent the last eight years on the east coast, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t worried about her dad. That’s why she’d come home, to be with him, to talk to his doctors. To protect him, just as he’d always protected her.
Thomas Reynolds might seem to be an overwhelming brute at times, but that was because he was a successful businessman. Rumor had it that he wasn’t a man to be crossed, especially when it came to real estate sales and property development. And maybe there was some truth to that. There’d been a few lawsuits that she’d been aware of, litigations that her father had won, causing the financial ruin of at least one company. But that was business.
There was so much more to Thomas Reynolds than met the eye. He was Kristin’s father—the man who adored her. The man who lugged a video cam to every school function and sat in the front row, sometimes blocking the view of others when he stood to film his daughter’s attempts to perform. The man who created a goofy-looking butterfly costume for her to wear for the spring pageant, who listened over and over to her recite a poem in preparation for the elementary school speech meet.
The gentle giant who tucked her into bed each night and listened to her prayers. The brokenhearted husband who tried to compensate for his daughter’s loss of her mother.
If it took the rest of Kristin’s life, she wanted to make up to her father for the pain and disappointment he’d suffered because of her misplaced love and trust in Joe Davenport.
Joe touched her arm, chasing prickles of heat along her skin and jump-starting her heart. “We need to talk.”
“If you’re suggesting we discuss the past, there’s nothing to say.”
Joe looked down at her son, then back at her. “I think we have a great deal to talk about.”
No way would she get into a discussion with Joe about the past, their past. Not here. Not now.
Not ever.
“I’ll pay for any damages my son has caused,” Kristin said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get back home. I left the potatoes on the stove, and unless you want to be called to a kitchen fire, I’d better go check on them.”
She took Bobby by the hand and started the long walk up the driveway that led to her father’s estate, intent on escaping the rugged fireman’s perusal and getting her son home before too many questions arose.
As she neared the house, a white three-story Victorian home built more than a hundred years ago, her lies came back to haunt her.
You’re what? her father had bellowed into the phone when she called him from college to break the news.
I’m pregnant.
The day she’d intended to tell Joe that she suspected she might be carrying his child, he’d beat her to the punch by saying he didn’t love her anymore. As far as she’d been concerned, there was nothing for her to do, other than leave for college a couple of months early. By Christmas break, her pregnancy had been impossible to conceal.
Who is the father? If it’s that Davenport kid, I’ll tear him limb from limb.
That’s when her first lie went into effect, the lie she continued to perpetuate.
The baby’s father is a guy I met here, Daddy. A member of the water polo team. But it was just a fling on my part. And I’m not going to marry him, no matter how hard he begs.
Her father had roared his disapproval and disappointment, but continued his financial support until she graduated with honors and took a teaching job on the east coast. Whenever her dad had suggested she come home to visit, Kristin gave him one excuse or another, prompting him to fly back east in order to see her and the grandson he’d grown to adore.
As they neared the gates that led to the house, she gave Bobby’s hand a little squeeze. Not having a man around had been tough on the boy. On his mother, too. But they were doing okay. And soon Dylan would step into the paternal role. She didn’t need Joe Davenport in her life.
But had he suspected the truth? She could have sworn he had. Was he still trying to sort things through? Or had he gone about his business? Put his questions aside, as she hoped he would?
Like Lot’s wife, Kristin turned around, unable to hold her curiosity at bay.
Was Joe still watching?
He was.
Her feet slowed like blocks of salt, and her heartbeat reverberated in her ears. She could read the suspicion in his eyes, the questions.
Kristin’s days of lying were over. But how could she tell Joe the truth without revealing the secret she’d kept from her dad for years? If her dad found out, the stress might trigger the coming heart attack that would kill him.
Maybe, she tried to convince herself, Joe would thank his lucky stars not to be strapped with child support payments and the responsibilities that came with being a parent. Maybe he’d just let his unanswered questions die a slow and easy death.
She would cling to that hope.
As Joe watched Kristin walk away, he cursed under his breath.
Was he Bobby’s father?
It was definitely possible.
“That’s some woman,” the rookie beside him said. Then he blew out a long, slow whistle. “She sure doesn’t look like any of the mothers I ever knew.”
“She’s pretty, but definitely out of your league, Dustin,” Joe told his younger buddy. “When a guy falls for a woman like that, the future is bound to be rocky and steep.”
And there’d never been a relationship facing a more uphill battle than the youthful affair he and Kristin had innocently embarked upon.
Growing up, Joe had often been referred to as “that Davenport kid,” a reference he’d tried hard to shake. Trying to live down his dad’s reputation hadn’t been easy. And if Harry Logan hadn’t stepped into Joe’s life, God only knew where he might have ended up.
The night of the fire, Harry had found Joe huddled near a Dumpster, scared out of his socks, but ready to defend his action to the death. He’d only meant to start a fire in the old warehouse, not cause a roaring blaze that would threaten other buildings on the block. But Harry had seen through the surly display of anger and zeroed in on the fear in Joe’s eyes, the pain in his heart. And instead of hauling his sorry ass to juvie, as many cops would have done, Harry took Joe aside. Put him in his patrol car, but not as a suspect or criminal.
Harry had sensed that no one had ever given a damn about Joe, no one had ever listened to him. And for the next hour or so, he just sat there, nodding in understanding. Asking questions when appropriate. Listening intently, and then letting a kid who’d tried so damn hard to be tough bawl his eyes out.
And when the tears and sobs had finally stopped, Harry offered Joe something no one had ever offered him before. A sturdy shoulder to lean on. Hope for the future. A friendship with one of the greatest guys in the world. A family that included him in holiday dinners, barbecues and touch football games on the lawn. And a brotherhood of terrific guys who’d once been hell-bent misfits and now had a purpose.
Thanks to Harry, Joe had turned his life around. Still, he supposed there might be some people who couldn’t forget his parentage or his shabby roots, particularly Kristin’s father. But that was too bad.
Early on, Joe Davenport had made up his mind to ignore those people who couldn’t quite forget who his daddy had been. And he damn sure wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life proving that he was good enough for Kristin Reynolds. For one thing, her dad would never be convinced.
But things were different, now.
There was a child involved. A child Joe hadn’t known about. A towheaded boy who might be his son.
If Joe was Bobby’s father, he’d do right by the boy.
No matter what Kristin or her dad had to say about it.
Chapter Two
T he next day, after his twenty-four-hour shift ended, Joe stood on the front stoop of the Reynolds house, preparing to knock on the carved oak door that boasted a fancy stained-glass window.
His excuse, which he hoped didn’t sound lame or reveal another, more pressing reason for being here, was to talk to Bobby about fire safety and give him a junior fire marshal badge. From personal experience, Joe knew the extra effort and personal touch would help Bobby be more mindful about playing with fire.
Harry Logan and George Ellison, the fire chief who’d dealt with Joe as a kid, had used the same approach. They’d taken him to the fire station and made him feel like one of the guys. It was an experience that had turned his crappy life around and given him a purpose, not to mention a station house full of friends and, eventually, a job he loved.
Joe would have come by to talk to any other kid who’d started a fire, but the semiofficial visit wasn’t his primary motive. He wanted to see Kristin again, to ask her point-blank whether he was Bobby’s father.
Because if the boy was his son, Joe was prepared to be the kind of dad he’d always wished he had. He might not be able to make up for the lost years, but he could certainly take an active part in the future—no matter what Thomas Reynolds had to say about his involvement.
He rang the bell, then rapped on the door for good measure.
Moments later, Kristin answered, wearing a simple green dress and her hair pulled into a ponytail. She looked young, much like the teenage girl she’d once been. The girl he’d once loved.
When she saw him, her emerald eyes widened and her mouth dropped. Obviously, she hadn’t expected him to follow her home.
He never had before.
Mostly because she hadn’t wanted him to.
But things had changed, now that they’d grown up and gone their separate ways.
“Joe,” was all she said, her voice soft, wispy. She blanched for a moment, then seemed to recover.
“I came to talk to Bobby.” And you.
“Bobby went on a picnic to Oceana Park with the family who lives next door. They won’t be home until later this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry I missed him.” Joe’s words weren’t entirely true. What he and Kristin had to talk about was best done in private, out of Bobby’s hearing range.
“Thank you for stopping by,” she said, as though wanting to send him on his way.
But Joe wasn’t about to be put off. “Like I said before, Kristin, you and I have some things to discuss. And I thought now might be a good time.”
She glanced over her shoulder and, before Joe could broach his main question, she took his arm and led him across the manicured lawn to the silver Chevy Tahoe he’d parked in the drive. “Now’s not the right time.”
Because her father was home, no doubt.
Would Thomas Reynolds always stand between them like an armed sentry? Or a rottweiler with eyes glazed and teeth bared?
Joe crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze snagging hers and demanding the truth—the real reason why now wasn’t a good time to talk. “What’s the matter, Kristin? Afraid your father will see me on his property and come running with his shotgun?”
“No, of course not.”
Joe didn’t believe her. The lie she’d uttered had brought a blush to her cheeks and a splotch to her throat and neck. She was afraid her dad would raise hell.
Well, he would just cut to the chase. “All right, Kristin. I’ll go. For now. But answer one question. Am I Bobby’s father?”
Her lips pursed, and she crossed her arms in a defensive stance. “Bobby isn’t your concern.”
“If he’s my son, he is.”
She stood there, silent and cool as a Grecian statue, yet Joe had the feeling an unexpected gust of wind would blow her over and smash her to smithereens.
For some insane reason, he felt an urge to comfort her, to wrap her in his arms and pull her close. Tell her she could depend on him for support.
But Kristin Reynolds, soft and gentle as she was on the outside, had an inner strength Joe had always admired. So instead of giving in and offering the protective gesture, he held firm. “I want some answers. And I’m not going away until I get them.”
She turned her back, as if to stomp off, but her feet remained rooted to the driveway. Was she crying? Considering a response? Trying to decide on how to tell him the truth?
Or was she merely going to recite the trespassing laws? Remind him that he’d never been welcome on Reynolds property?
Trying to gain control of her emotions, Kristin brushed a tear from her eye and stared at the front porch of the house in which she’d grown up, the home that had offered her refuge, comfort and safety over the years.
As much as she’d hoped Joe wouldn’t show any interest in her son, she knew the cocky, take-charge firefighter wouldn’t be put off.
What a sticky wicket she’d found herself in now.
She'd told Joe that she wasn’t afraid her father would come chasing after him with a shotgun. And she wasn’t. Her father wasn’t a violent man, although he’d been known to raise his voice loud enough to cause people to tremble when he’d been crossed.
But Joe’s presence and the subject he wanted to discuss would cause Thomas Reynolds to rant and rave, which, God forbid, could trigger the heart attack that might kill him.
Joe took her by the hand, turned her to face him. “I want a blood test to establish paternity.”
Kristin blew out a weary sigh. The stubborn fireman was taking this too far. She had to tell him something. The truth, she supposed. But not until she could get his promise. His promise to keep her secret until it was safe to reveal.
She swiped at a loose strand of hair that had slipped free of her ponytail and tickled her cheek, then gazed at the angular face of the man who had such power over her—power to turn her knees to jelly, her heart to mush. Power to turn her life upside down and blow her relationship with her father to hell.
“Slow down, Joe. There’s a lot you don’t know, a lot you don’t understand. I’ll discuss it with you—in private—if I can get your word about something.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ll have to promise to keep our discussion a secret until I say it’s okay.”
Joe had a stubborn pride and a sense of honor. If he gave her his word, he’d keep it. She doubted the years had changed that about him.
She watched him contemplate what she'd said, the stipulations she’d lined out. And she wondered what would unfold if he accepted her terms.
After what seemed like ages, but was probably only a minute or so, he dragged a hand through his wheat-colored hair. “All right. I’ll play it your way.”
Relieved, Kristin slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. “Okay. But I don’t want to discuss this subject here.”
“How about we talk about it over dinner tonight?”
Dinner? That wasn’t what she had in mind. It seemed too much like a date. Just the idea of being alone with Joe Davenport again brought forth a rush of heated memories. Shared chocolate shakes at Dottie’s Diner, hands entwined under the table. Slow dancing under the strobe lights at the Spring Fling. Stolen kisses behind the dugout at the baseball field.
She tried to focus on the day he’d broken her heart, the day he stopped loving her. All the nights she’d cried herself to sleep. Anything but the attraction she still felt for a guy who’d thrown her heart back in her lap.
Joe slid her a grin. “I know a quiet little out-of-the-way place where even James Bond would feel comfortable spilling his secrets.”
Secrets. She’d kept hers so close to the vest that she wasn’t sure she could share them with anyone.
What did Joe expect from her, after all these years?
The truth, she supposed. Lord knew she was tired of the lies, the deceit. But not tired enough to risk her dad’s health.
“Give me the directions,” Kristin said, “and I’ll meet you there.”
“You don’t want me to pick you up?” Joe’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “Your dad always stands between us, doesn’t he?”
Yes, he probably always would, but there was no need to get into that discussion now. “You never did like to play by anyone else’s rules.”
“I still don’t.” He withdrew a notepad from the dash of his Tahoe, then scratched out an address. “I’ll meet you at four-thirty. Before the dinner crowd shows up.”
She nodded, then stood in silence as he climbed into his SUV and drove away.
At four-fifteen that afternoon, Kristin borrowed her father’s Lincoln Town Car and drove to Harbor Haven, a small seaside enclave twenty miles north of town.
As a teenager, she’d had to sneak out many times to see Joe Davenport. And it seemed as though history were repeating itself. She’d told her dad that she wanted to meet an old friend, which was true. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked for a name.
Other than the secret she’d kept for years, Kristin hadn’t lied to her dad since she and Joe had broken up. She’d always valued honesty. And the deceit clawed at her heart and conscience. But she didn’t know how to backpedal now; the lie seemed to hold her firmly in place.
She looked in the rearview mirror, checking her appearance in spite of her resolve not to do so. An hour earlier, she’d actually found herself primping before the bathroom mirror, trying to look her best.
A glance at the bed, where several different dresses and outfits lay, had made her realize the foolishness of her girlish behavior.
She and Joe were merely old friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And she certainly didn’t want him to think she still had the hots for him.
The memory of their breakup was still etched deeply in her mind. It still haunted her dreams. Still brought a familiar ache to her heart, a watery blink to her eyes, if she’d let it. For the most part, the past was over and done. She had a rosy future in front of her, and risking another broken heart wasn’t in her game plan.
After putting aside any romantic misconceptions, she’d finally chosen a pair of black jeans and a yellow sweatshirt. This was a casual meeting by the beach, not a date. And she wasn’t about to give her old lover the impression that she thought it was anything else.
She gazed out the windshield, following Joe’s directions until she found The Gull’s Nest, a quaint eatery that offered outdoor dining. Joe had been right about the place. It was out of the way and quiet.
Before parking the car, she spotted him sitting at a table outside, wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt. He’d dressed casually, too. Thank goodness.
Yet he was still too darn attractive for his own good.
Those amber-colored eyes watched every step she made, until she reached the table where he waited, feet stretched out before him in that sexy stance he’d probably never shake.
He stood, while she took a seat.
“Thanks for coming out here to meet me,” he said.
She merely nodded.
A matronly waitress handed them menus, then asked if she could get them a drink.
Kristin thought an iced tea or soda might be best, but chose white wine for its calming effect. Joe ordered a beer.
“It’s pretty here,” she said, trying to avoid the topic they’d both come to discuss.
“I thought you’d like it.”
Rather than look at the sandy-haired man who studied her intently, she glanced at the setting sun, which had painted a colorful sunset. The kind made for artists. And lovers.
A summer breeze stirred the salty ocean air, and seagulls cried and frolicked on the shore. An aura of romance settled upon the table, as did a gentle yet heavy silence.
Kristin had expected Joe to throw his question out, like a fisherman casting his nets upon the sea. But he kept both his question and his thoughts to himself. For that, she was glad.
It wasn’t until after the waitress delivered their drinks that Joe finally spoke, finally began to lay his thoughts on the line. “I realize a lot has happened in the past eight years.”
More than he’d previously suspected, that was for sure, but she let him speak. Let him sort through his thoughts and open his case.
“I don’t have any right to demand anything from you,” he said, “but if Bobby is my son, I deserve to know.”
He was right, but before she could gather her courage, try to explain, the waitress returned to take their order.
They both asked for the fish tacos, which were the house specialty. Kristin hoped the chatty waitress would remain, pull up a seat and join them. Anything to prolong the moment of truth.
When the woman took their orders back to the kitchen, Joe continued. “You left town right after our breakup. You weren’t scheduled to go until August.”
That was true. But how could Kristin have stayed in town, heartbroken and pregnant with Joe’s baby? She'd had to leave before the secret was out. She’d loved Joe with all of her heart and soul. Breaking up with him had nearly torn her apart, and she wasn’t about to let her dad know she was hurting, that she’d been jilted. God only knew how he would have reacted.
She’d told Joe her father wasn’t a violent man, and he wasn’t. His battles were usually fought at a conference table or, when necessary, in court.
But back then, if faced with a pregnant teenage daughter, he might have stormed after Joe, pressed charges of some kind. Made Joe’s life miserable. So, in a way, leaving had been a means of protecting both of the men she loved.
“My mother’s sister lives back east,” Kristin said. “So when Aunt Mary invited me to spend some time with her before I started school, I jumped at the chance. Getting out of town seemed like a good idea. Believe it or not, I cared about you. And when you told me you didn’t love me, I was crushed.”
Again, Kristin relished being able to speak the truth. She hadn’t told anyone about Joe, about their relationship, about her heartbreak. And for once, it felt therapeutic to let the words out. Liberating.
“Did you leave town pregnant? With my baby?” His eyes drilled into her, his words hammered on her heart.
“I’ve never discussed Bobby’s father with anyone,” Kristin said, “and I won’t do so now, unless I can get you to promise me something.”
“It’s a simple question, Kristin. Just give me a yes or a no.”
Answering no would be so simple. So easy. But she wasn’t about to lie about Bobby any more than she had to. But neither was she willing to jeopardize her father’s health.
“Things aren’t simple, Joe. I’ve kept secrets from my dad, secrets that will anger him when he finds out. And I’m not ready to confess yet.” She took a sip of wine, enjoyed the cool taste as it slid down her throat. Then she studied the fireman across from her, the man who’d once turned her inside out and promised to do so again, if she let him get too close.
Thank goodness she knew better than to allow that to happen. She needed a man who could commit for the long haul.
“They say confession is good for the soul,” Joe said.
She nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. But my dad has serious health problems. He needs bypass surgery, but other complications—his weight, sugar diabetes, the early stages of emphysema—have the doctors debating whether he can handle the surgery. I want to keep his life stress-free until the cardiologist and other specialists can determine a treatment.”
Joe’s jaw tensed, and she feared he was digging in his heels for a battle of attrition. Was he unwilling to understand, to care about her dilemma, her personal stake in all of this?
“I’m not into secrets,” he said.
She knew that. That’s why she’d never told Joe about having to sneak out to meet him. “I’ll tell my dad the truth, but I don’t want him finding out until I think his health can handle it.”
“So what are you asking me? Not to tell your father?”
“I’m asking that you honor my secret and my privacy. If I share that information with you, I want you to promise not to tell anyone until I say it’s okay.”
Before Joe could speak, the waitress brought their food. The silence was almost overpowering, as Kristin awaited Joe’s decision.
She studied her plate and poked at her food. But it wasn’t just nervousness and a guilty conscience that made her stomach all atwitter. It was the sandy-haired man across the table, the man she’d never been able to shake from her blood. Or her heart.
Time heals, the old adage said. But did it? Why did her old lover continue to stir up feelings and desires she’d buried years ago?
A wave of guilt splashed over her, as she thought about Dylan, her fiancé. He was a good man. Solid. Dependable. Willing to make a commitment. Yet, if truth be told, he didn’t stir the same fire that Joe did.
But there was more to life than hot sex. And quite frankly, a warm, dependable soul who would stick by a woman through good times and bad would prove to be invaluable in the years to come.
“Okay, Kristin. I promise to keep your secret.” His gaze cornered her, demanded to hear the words. “Am I Bobby’s father?”
The tears slipped down her cheeks, revealing the words her mouth couldn’t seem to form. She nodded her yes.
Joe had suspected Bobby was his son. Kristin’s affirmation only validated what he already sensed. He could tell by looking, by some kind of built-in parental instinct, maybe.
A part of him wanted to lash out and be angry that she’d kept their child a secret from him. But guilt came flying back in his court. After all, he’d been the one to end things that day at the ball field. And he’d made it clear he didn’t want to see her again. He couldn’t blame her for staying away.
And as long as he was placing blame, he’d throw some out at their fathers—hers for being so obstinate about wanting what was best for his daughter and his for being a low-life jerk.
But that didn’t change the current fact.
Joe Davenport had a son. A boy who was a lot like him.
And for some reason that didn’t make any sense whatsoever, it pleased him to know he and Kristin had made a baby.
He’d loved her so much back then. Of course, that was before he knew how much her father hated him, how star-crossed their relationship had been. Still, their short time together had been good—almost magical—while it lasted.
And they’d made a baby.
“Think it happened out at the lake, that afternoon?” he asked. “Or at the cabin in Julian?”
“Huh?”
His question seemed to take Kristin aback, as though she’d forgotten about the day she’d first given herself to him.
“We only made love a couple of times,” he continued. “And I guess it really doesn’t matter when Bobby was conceived.”
“It was at the cabin,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. “I’m not sure how I know, but—”
“You’re probably right.” Joe had that same feeling. The day had been special. Perfect. And if God chose to bless the world with a new baby, that would have been the time.
A sappy grin rose to the surface, and he couldn’t stop the excitement that bubbled inside. He wanted to be the kind of father he’d missed having. A father like Harry Logan, who always had time to listen, time to advise. Time to throw back his head and laugh, to enjoy an afternoon with his family, even if that family included a bunch of onetime bad boys like Joe.
Yep, Joe wanted to be that kind of dad to Bobby. He wanted to have backyard barbecues and toss footballs around on the grass. He wanted to take his boy fishing. And teach him how to ride a bike, if Bobby didn’t know how already. They’d play catch. And—
Kristin kept brushing the tears from her eyes.
Sheesh. Was she unhappy about telling him? Or sorry she’d kept the secret? Joe wasn’t sure what broke the floodgates, but he felt responsible. He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m happy about this.”
She looked up at him, surprise splashed across her face. “You are?”
“Yeah.” He shot her a smile that he hoped would help ease her mind, in one way or another. “I like the idea of having a kid.”
“But you understand, we have to take this slow. Right?”
“Yes,” Joe told her, “but I want you to understand something, too.”
“What’s that?”
“I might have agreed to hold off announcing my fatherhood, but that doesn’t mean I don’t expect to be involved in my son’s life.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“Starting immediately.”
“What do you mean?” She pulled her hand back, and her eyes widened. “You promised not to say anything.”
“I won’t. I’ll keep the secret. But I didn’t say anything about staying away. I’ll start off by being his friend, you know, a fireman who took an interest in a fatherless boy.”
She seemed to relax, to accept his compromise. “I suppose that will work.”
“Some guys might not like a surprise like this, Kristin. But I’m not just any guy. I want to take an active part in Bobby’s life. And I plan to be the best dad in the whole world.”
She fingered the stem of her wineglass, then looked at him. Lord, she had the prettiest green eyes he’d ever seen. He’d missed gazing at her.
“But this is a secret for now,” she said.
“For now.” Joe shot her a smile. “But we’re going to tell Bobby. Soon.”
“When the time is right,” Kristin insisted. “You promised to let me decide when that would be.”
He had, although he was having cold feet about the promise. Still, he owed her something. He’d gotten her pregnant, then told her he didn’t love her anymore, left her to fend for herself and the baby.
Yep. He owed her something. And he’d given his word to keep quiet until she said the time was right.
But as far as he was concerned, that day couldn’t come too soon.
Thomas Reynolds might not think Joe was good enough for his daughter. And maybe he was right. But Bobby was a Davenport.
Once upon a time, Joe might have backed down when it came to a relationship with Kristin. But this was different. He wouldn’t bow out of his son’s life. Not now. Not ever.
Kristin and her father had better brace themselves, because Joe Davenport was going to be a father to his son.
And he would fight whoever got in the way.
Chapter Three
K ristin knew Joe meant to be a part of Bobby’s life, but she hadn’t expected him to show up at the front door on his next off-duty day, wearing a white T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans and a smile that battered the wall she’d built around her heart.
“I came to see Bobby,” he said.
She fought the urge to look over her shoulder, to see who had seen him at the door. But she didn’t dare peek; she didn’t really need to. Her father’s room was on the backside of the house, and he was busy on the Internet this morning, dabbling with his online stock purchases.
Besides, as a fireman, Joe’s interest in Bobby seemed reasonable. Her father couldn’t find any fault in that.
“I’d like to take Bobby to the station and introduce him to some of the guys. You know, let him see the equipment. Get a private tour.”
When he flashed her another crooked smile, she couldn’t help but relax. Somewhat.
For some crazy reason, she wished she’d known he was coming so that she could’ve run a comb through her hair, put on some lipstick.
But Joe had come to see Bobby, not her. And she had no business primping for her old lover. Not when she’d already been burned by him and his change of heart. And not when she had a commitment to someone else.
Kristin called her son, and moments later Bobby came bounding downstairs.
“Uh-oh.” The little boy slowed his steps when he laid eyes on the off-duty fireman on the stoop. “I haven’t been playing with the lighter anymore.”
“That’s good,” Joe said. “I came by to talk to you about fire safety and doing me and the guys down at the station a favor.”
“You want me to do a favor for you?” Bobby’s eyes grew wide. “Sure. What is it?”
“We’d like you to represent the fire department while you’re at school. You know, by telling the kids about the dangers of playing with matches and lighters. After all, you’ve seen what happens when a fire gets out of hand.”
Bobby broke into a full-on grin. “Cool.”
“Of course, I’d make you a Junior Fire Marshal,” Joe said, “so the kids know you’ve been trained and certified by the department.”
“That’s way cool.” Bobby made his way to the front door and gazed at the man he didn’t realize was his daddy with such admiration, such awe, such respect, that Kristin had to swallow a lump in her throat and blink back tears.
Joe shot a glance at her. “If it’s all right with your mom, I’d like to take you down to the station this morning.”
A part of her wanted to hold Bobby tight, to keep him away from his father. To keep the future from unfolding without her. But she couldn’t say no.
The idea of those two peas in a pod taking off without her didn’t sit well, though. She’d love to witness their first father-son experience and longed to see them together, to watch their reactions. But she’d better conjure an excuse other than the truth.
“I’ve never had an official tour of a fire station,” she said, trying to make her interest sound as though it had nothing to do with father and son. “Can I go along, too?”
Joe studied her for a moment, his thoughts impossible to read. Then he shrugged and slid her a half smile. “Sure.”
Had her request surprised him? Bothered him? She wasn’t sure, but something told her he was merely being polite for her son’s sake.
For their son’s sake.
Her secret had become his secret, and she hoped he would honor it until she deemed the time was right to reveal it.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said. “I’ll get my purse.”
Moments later, they all climbed into his Tahoe and started down the road. Bobby sat in the middle of the spacious backseat, as eager and excited as Kristin had ever seen him.
How strange, she thought. To be riding down the street in Joe’s SUV. Like a family on the way to the amusement park. Or to the movie theater, the mall or the beach.
It seemed so right yet, at the same time, surreal.
Kristin found it difficult not to glance across the seat at the tall, rugged man behind the wheel. Impossible to ignore his square chin, the quirk of his smile, the glimmer in his gold-flecked eyes.
Even when she looked straight ahead, she couldn’t help but relish the smell within the cab of his vehicle, a combination of new car and Joe’s light, musky aftershave.
But Kristin wasn’t the only one having trouble keeping her eyes to herself. Joe kept glancing at Bobby, at his hair, his face. The little hands that rested upon small knees.
Was he taking inventory? Checking the Davenport contribution to the boy?
Kristin found Joe’s interest heartwarming, but at the same time scary. She’d never had to share Bobby before and she refused to consider the thought of cross-country visitation. It was more than a mom could handle at this point.
When they reached the station, Joe parked in back, next to a white Jeep Wrangler and a blue Ford Explorer. “We’re here.”
“All right!” Bobby’s enthusiasm was hard to ignore.
And so was her own nervous excitement. She hadn’t been to visit Joe’s home away from home in years.
Joe watched Kristin and Bobby climb from the Tahoe. He’d intended to spend time with his son alone, and Kristin’s request to join them had taken him by surprise. Didn’t she trust him to be alone with Bobby? They’d made a deal, and she ought to know he’d abide by it. For the time being, anyway.
Of course, having her come along wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was kind of nice. Made him almost feel like part of a family.
But if he knew what was good for him, he’d stop thinking about stuff like that.
Things between him and Kristin had ended a long time ago, and he had no intention of resurrecting something destined to crash and burn. Especially with a woman who would choose her father over him every time.
And Thomas Reynolds wasn’t just any man, any father. The hard-ass real estate tycoon had pulled a few political and financial favors and fought to thwart Harry’s efforts to gain leniency in Joe’s case. He’d argued that Bayside didn’t need another known juvenile delinquent back on city streets. Joe wasn’t so sure that Reynolds wasn’t just trying to get back at him personally, because the wealthy businessman hadn’t spoken in juvenile court since.
Fortunately, the judge had seen the results of Harry’s involvement with other troubled young boys and ruled in Joe’s favor. But Joe had a feeling Reynolds had never gotten over the court’s decision.
And Joe doubted he ever would.
There wasn’t much the wealthy landowner did that Joe didn’t pay close attention to. And more than one Bayside citizen had crossed Thomas Reynolds, only to meet with financial ruin somewhere down the line. A coincidence? Joe didn’t think so.
Shoving aside his resentment of Kristin’s father, he placed a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to my family.”
The first fireman they met was Sam Henley, a five-year veteran on the squad. “Hey, Davenport. What’s up?”
Joe gently squeezed his son’s small shoulder and addressed his friend and fellow firefighter. “I brought along a candidate for that Junior Fire Marshal position. His name is Bobby.”
“It’s nice to meet you, son.” Sam extended a hand in an adult greeting that caused the boy to beam with pride. Then he cast an appreciative eye on the attractive woman at Joe’s side.
“This is Kristin Reynolds,” Joe explained, “Bobby’s mother.”
After pleasantries were made, Sam gave Bobby and his entourage a full tour of the station, the trucks and equipment.
The guys Joe thought of as brothers kept glancing at him and Kristin with knowing looks. Joe could tell by the way they grinned at him—and winked when Kristin wasn’t looking—that they assumed his interest in the boy had more to do with the pretty mother.
Maybe, to an extent, they had sensed something. Being this close to Kristin again was having an effect on him. And try as he might, he couldn’t seem to keep from gazing at her, appreciating the attractive woman at his side.
She wore a turquoise silk blouse that set off the color of her eyes, made them glimmer and sparkle. The slinky material dressed up a simple pair of black jeans that hugged her hips. Kristin had always been attractive, but the years—or maybe motherhood—had done something to her. Made her blossom.
As her shoulder brushed against him, he fought a natural urge to take her hand or to slip an arm around her and pull her close. To go back in time and take up where they left off.
It was a stupid thought. What they had before had been special—but the situation had been hopeless. And now, eight years later, they’d both grown up. Changed more than either of them could probably guess. And if that weren’t reason enough to ditch the sappy urges, there were too many secrets between them. Too much pain. Too much reality.
Kristin was destined for bigger things than a small-town life with an average Joe.
No. His interest was in his son. And Joe looked forward to the day he could announce that relationship to the world.
After the tour of the fire station, Joe took Kristin and Bobby to lunch at Burger Bob’s, a nearby hamburger joint with an indoor playground to attract kids and families.
Bobby zipped off to play until their order was ready, while Kristin waited with Joe at a corner booth.
It felt funny sitting across from her old teenage lover, waiting for a meal of cheeseburgers, fries and chocolate shakes—fare that had once been their favorite.
And it felt even stranger to go out to eat with their son, something other families did on a routine basis.
“Thanks for letting me take Bobby to the station,” Joe said.
She smiled, remembering how much time Joe had spent with the fire department when he was a teen, how the firefighters became the family he didn’t have. She supposed it was a way for Joe to introduce his son to his world. And she was glad she was able to share the day. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”
“You’re welcome.” He shrugged. “It was no big deal. Just a visit to the fire station. Kids like that sort of thing.”
She suspected it was much more than that. Unless things had changed, the department was Joe’s life, his family, his home. And taking Bobby to meet his buddies and see the station was an attempt to share himself with his son. But Kristin didn’t comment.
Nor did she mention the fact that he’d once shared his life at the station with her. And that she’d been honored when he had.
She remembered how his eyes had lit up when he told her about the camaraderie he found with the firemen. In fact, his anecdotes had made the guys down at the station seem so real, so extra-special, that she’d really wanted to meet them herself.
He’d taken her to the fire department once to introduce her to his friends. Most of the guys had been out on a call, but the ones she’d met had made her feel welcome. And special.
The aroma of burgers and fries filled the air, as they sat at the white Formica table, the past hovering too close, the future just out of reach.
When one of Burger Bob’s employees brought a tray of food and set it down, Kristin called Bobby to eat.
“Aw, do I have to?” the boy asked.
Kristin was ready to begin the usual argument, whenever her son wanted to continue playing instead of going to bed, brushing his teeth or eating dinner, but Joe stepped in.
“Bobby, a fireman has to eat when the chow is in front of him, since he never knows when he’ll be called out on an emergency that could keep him away from the station for hours.”
The boy nodded, then joined them at the table, taking a seat next to Joe. More than once, his eyes flitted back and forth between his messy, ketchup-laden burger and the man he’d obviously come to admire.
“Do you have a family?” Bobby asked Joe. “You know, kids and stuff?”
Both adults paused, hands half-raised or half-lowered, jaws frozen.
“The guys down at the fire station are my brothers,” Joe said. “And I’ve got a friend named Harry, who has included me in his family.”
Joe shot a glance at Kristin, and she bit her bottom lip.
She could read the pain in his eyes, the accusation. The disappointment. He wanted her to tell Bobby now, to use this as an opening to explain. But she couldn’t allow it. Her son might tell her father.
No more lies, she’d promised herself. But she couldn’t help this lie of omission.
What a web she’d woven.
As Joe munched on a double bacon cheeseburger, Bobby studied him while sucking chocolate shake through a straw. “For an adult, you’re pretty cool.”
“Oh, yeah?” Joe answered, a grin tugging at his lips. “Thanks.”
“You’re even more cool than Dr. Dylan.”
“Dr. Dylan?” Joe asked. His eyes traveled to Kristin, and she felt her cheeks warm.
Her fiancé, Dylan Montgomery, was better known as Dr. Dylan. And it was no surprise to her that Bobby would like Joe better. Dylan hadn’t taken Bobby on any outings—yet, although she was sure he would one of these days. Dylan’s book tours and speaking engagements took up a lot of his time.
“He’s not a shot-and-medicine kind of doctor,” Bobby said. “He’s on TV.”
“A movie star?” Joe asked.
“No,” Bobby interjected before Kristin could explain. “Not like that. Dr. Dylan just tells other people what they’re doing wrong.”
Joe looked at Kristin, then questioned the boy. “Does your mom take you to see Dr. Dylan?”
“Nope. He comes to our house, sometimes. He’s my mom’s boyfriend.”
“I see,” Joe said.
So, pretty Kristin hadn’t been a hermit. Or celibate. But then, neither had Joe. But for some reason, it prickled him to know she had a boyfriend.
Because of his son, he told himself. That’s the only reason.
But maybe he was just plain envious of the guy who’d captured Kristin’s heart. Envious because Dr. Dylan represented the kind of man Thomas Reynolds approved of as a son-in-law.
Bobby popped a French fry into his mouth. Between chews, he said, “Dr. Dylan is stuffy.”
“Stuffy?” Joe asked.
“That’s what Megan, my sitter, says. I’m not sure what it means, but I think it’s because he reminds her of my stuffed walrus.”
Kristin choked on a fry—uncomfortable with the table topic?—then cleared her throat. “Looks like I’m going to have to talk to Megan. I don’t think Dr. Dylan looks like Wally the Walrus.”
“He has that funny mustache,” Bobby reminded her. “And his chest and neck get all poochy when he talks.”
“You’ve always liked Dr. Dylan,” Kristin said. A blush on her cheeks suggested the conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn.
“I do.” Bobby looked at Joe and laughed. “I like Wally the Walrus, too.”
Joe couldn’t help but chuckle. He wondered whether he should correct the kid, but for what? Being honest? Having an opinion? Heck, he didn’t need to lay eyes on the guy to share the stuffed-walrus opinion.
Bobby pushed the remnants of his burger aside. “Can I go play now?”
“One more bite,” Kristin responded.
The boy complied, then dashed toward the multicolored climbing structure, leaving Joe and Kristin alone. Joe took the opportunity to learn more about Dr. Dylan, to find out how Kristin felt about the man. How deep their relationship went.
But only because the man might become his son’s stepfather, Joe told himself. That was the only reason. Yet he couldn’t ignore a tinge of envy.
“So, tell me about Dr. Wally.”
Kristin clicked her tongue. “Stop that. His name is Dylan. And he doesn’t look like a stuffed walrus.”
“Okay. Tell me about Dr. Dylan.”
She arched a brow. “Why do you want to know about him?”
“Just curious.”
She scrunched her nose, and Joe assumed she felt awkward discussing her new lover with her old one.
He supposed it felt kind of weird to him, too, but like a puppy with a brand-new slipper in his mouth, he couldn’t seem to leave it alone. “Is he good to you?”
She nodded. “And he’s good to Bobby, too. Although he says I’m too easy on him.”
“Are you?”
“Bobby seems to get into a lot of trouble, but sometimes I find it kind of funny. Or clever. The other day, he took the closet doors off the runner, leaned them against the shelf and made a slide in the bedroom.” She fiddled with the straw in her drink. “I scolded him, of course, but didn’t give him time-out.”
Joe’s old man would have found that reason to bounce Joe across the room. Kristin’s method of discipline seemed in line with his own.
“Dylan thought Bobby was being destructive. But the doors had already been broken, and I was waiting for the handyman to fix them. I thought Bobby was just bored. And a little creative.”
“I agree.” Joe reached across the table, took her hand in spite of his resolve not to get too touchy-feely. “Bobby’s a great kid, Kristin. You’ve done a good job raising him by yourself.”
He didn’t mention being sorry that he couldn’t have been there for her. Or that he placed a lot of the blame on her dad.
It was all water under the bridge now, he supposed, but the fact was, Joe didn’t like Thomas Reynolds any more than Thomas liked him. And Kristin would have eventually resented Joe for coming between her and her father.
As they nursed their chocolate milkshakes, drinks they’d shared in the past, Joe couldn’t help wondering how their lives would have turned out had he not buckled to her father’s demands and let Kristin go.
Would she have told him about the baby? Would they have run away and gotten married? Lived in a crummy apartment, the only place he would have been able to afford?
He shook off the curiosity. Kristin, who’d only known wealth and privilege, wouldn’t have been happy with the simple life Joe could provide. And even though his paycheck was now considerably larger than what it would have been eight years ago, what they once had was over and done.
His only concern was Bobby. For the boy’s future. And making sure he got to spend as much time as possible with his son.
“How long will you be in town?” Joe asked her.
“For the summer, I think. Assuming my dad’s health improves, I’ll return to the east coast when the new school year starts.”
That gave Joe some time to bond with his son, time to get to know him. Time to introduce him to the people who’d become his family. “The Logans are having a barbecue on Saturday. And I’m not working. Would it be all right if I took Bobby?”
“Of course,” she said. “The Logans are nice people. And I know how much they mean to you.”
“Great. I’ll pick him up about noon, if that’s all right.”
She cleared her throat. “I’ll bring him to your house, if you don’t mind.”
Joe crossed his arms and leaned back in the red vinyl seat. So that’s where she was coming from. Obviously, she still didn’t want Joe at her house, still didn’t want to chance him running into her dad.
Had time with his son not been at stake, Joe would have told her just what he thought of that damn suggestion to meet him. As it was, he swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and wrote the directions to his condominium complex on a napkin.
Her keeping things a secret wasn’t going to last for long. Joe wouldn’t let it. One of these days he’d force the issue and insist they tell their son the truth. Tell Bobby that Joe was his father. And that, from now on, his dad was going to be a big part of his life.
Then they’d tell Thomas Reynolds.
The blustery old goat might get red in the face and cuss a blue streak, but he didn’t scare Joe. Not anymore.
Joe didn’t want to see Thomas Reynolds suffer a heart attack but, quite frankly, the man should have learned to control his temper and his blood pressure years ago.
Bobby was a Davenport.
And as far as Joe was concerned, Kristin’s father could put that in his fancy pipe and smoke it.
Chapter Four
K ristin sat behind the wheel of her father’s white Town Car and glanced at the directions Joe had written on a crumpled napkin.
“How long will it take to get there?” Bobby asked from the back seat.
“Just a few more minutes, I think.” Kristin spotted the Playa del Sol condominiums up ahead and turned into the complex. She followed the roadway until it forked, then turned left, as Joe had instructed, and parked the car in one of the few visitor spaces she could find. “Well, this is it.”
She studied the white stucco building, the red, Spanish tile roofs.
“Which one is his?” Bobby asked.
“Number 126. Will you help me look for it?”
“Okay.” Bobby eagerly climbed from the car and began to scan the wrought-iron numbers on the front porches. “That one is 112. And there’s 113.”
They strode along the concrete walk that lined a freshly mowed carpet of grass. Kristin caught the salty scent of the ocean breeze, as she scanned the verdant grounds of the complex. Playa del Sol had been built in a Spanish style and landscaped with enough palms, tropical plants and flowers to give it a Mexican Riviera aura.
“There it is!” Bobby pointed to a unit with a red-flowered hibiscus growing near the door. “I’m going to ring the bell.”
A wave of anticipation washed over Kristin, in spite of her efforts to forget what Joe had once meant to her, and she wiped her hands upon the sides of the pale yellow linen dress she wore.
Joe opened the door, a broad grin aimed at her son. Or rather, their son. “Hey, Bobby.”
The boy beamed. “Hey, Joe.”
When the firefighter cast his gaze on her, something zapped between them. She wasn’t entirely sure what, but it shot a wave of excitement coursing through her veins, causing her heart to go topsy-turvy and her senses to reel. How could he still do that to her, after all these years?
After all the heartbreak, all the tears?
Kristin stood on the front porch, like an awkward adolescent on a first date. But this wasn’t a date. Not at all. And she hated the idea that it felt even remotely like one, for more reasons than one.
She was over Joe Davenport. And she was engaged to another man. An exceptional man who would make a wonderful husband and father.
Hoping her nervousness didn’t show, she mustered a smile. “Hi.”
“Good morning, Kristin.” His voice had grown deeper with age. Huskier. More able to strum upon her senses than it had in the past.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are we too early?”
“Not at all.” He opened the door, allowing her and Bobby to enter. “Come on in.”
Her son zipped right inside, eager to be in the fireman’s home, while Kristin moved slowly. She noted the hardwood entry, the Berber carpet, the beige sectional against the east wall, the glass-top coffee table, where a TV remote and a Sports Illustrated rested.
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