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Gavin's Child
Caroline Cross
BACHELORS & BABIES THE SECRET BABY Gavin Cantrell had a son! An adorable baby boy who looked just like him. The new father would celebrate and pass out cigars, but there was one hitch - Gavin's child was two years old. And his estranged wife had some explaining to do… .Annie had been a new bride with a surprise baby on the way when Gavin had walked out of her life. And now her husband had come home a sexy stranger who'd betrayed her. Gavin vowed to be a full-time father, and little Sam did need a daddy. But to make a full-time family, Annie needed back the man she'd married… .BACHELORS AND BABIES: Three men get more than they ever expected when they connect with the woman of their dreams… .
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u8911c642-534e-5b6c-bdbd-65005ad073d2)
Excerpt (#u62093ef2-85fb-578c-9a8f-360f86062b7c)
Dear Reader (#u432171e2-b042-58af-acb3-76a764c14a55)
Title Page (#u62da17dd-adc0-5d1b-b79e-fe24fa6abd72)
Caroline Cross (#uf10759ba-be77-5834-a750-0e8da6dd5c99)
Dedication (#u5bc6a825-22f9-5e3a-b641-e056c4439b9d)
Prologue (#uf7ed765a-ea58-51ab-9b18-58a3785ccd95)
One (#u80114c89-d344-5538-9c32-ce47c20a574c)
Two (#u8ef7e626-f5a2-5183-8757-b5d322c2fcf9)
Three (#u19cffff0-b831-5bf9-8053-9f50669a9f37)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Preview (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Mama! You’re Squishing Me!”
Mama? Gavin frowned, a V forming between his brows. His gaze skated over Annie, stopping at her slender hands, which were clasped together to support the child’s weight. A chased silver-on-gold wedding band stood out starkly on one slim finger.
A ring he himself had slipped on.
His gaze shot back to her pale face, to the stark panic she couldn’t disguise.
And suddenly it all fit.
The ring, her distress, the little boy’s bright blue eyes and familiar grin…
Familiar because it was the spitting image of his, seen captured in photos and reflected in mirrors for his entire thirty-four years.
Dear Reader,
Cowboys and cops…sexy men with a swagger…just the kind of guys to make your head turn. That’s what we’ve got for you this month in Silhouette Desire.
The romance begins when Taggart Jones meets his match in Anne McAllister’s wonderful MAN OF THE MONTH, The Cowboy and the Kid. This is the latest in her captivating CODE OF THE WEST miniseries. And the fun continues with Mitch Harper in A Gift for Baby, the next book in Raye Morgan’s THE BABY SHOWER series.
Cindy Gerard has created a dynamic hero in the very masculine form of J. D. Hazzard in The Bride Wore Blue, book #1 in the NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series. And if rugged rascals are your favorite, don’t miss Jake Spencer in Dixie Browning’s The Baby Notion, which is book #1 of DADDY KNOWS LAST, Silhouette’s new cross-line continuity. (Next month, look for Helen R. Myers’s Baby in a Basket as DADDY KNOWS LAST continues in Silhouette Romance!)
Gavin Cantrell is sure to weaken your knees in Gavin’s Child by Caroline Cross, part of the delightful BACHELORS AND BABIES promotion. And Jackie Merritt—along with hero Duke Sheridan—kicks off her MADE IN MONTANA series with Montana Fever.
Heroes to fall in love with—and love scenes that will make your toes curl. That’s what Silhouette Desire is all about. Until next month—enjoy!
All the best.
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Gavin’s Child
Caroline
Cross
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CAROLINE CROSS
grew up in eastern Washington State, where she acquired a love of books and horses, long summer days and wide-open spaces. Although she was an inveterate reader, it wasn’t until after the birth of her second child that she discovered the magic of contemporary romance fiction. Fascinated by the opportunity to write about what interests her most—people, and why they behave as they do—she began her first book and has been writing ever since. She now lives outside Seattle with her husband, two daughters and an everexpanding collection of pets.
To Pat Teal—savvy friend and wise counselor
And to Melinda, Susan and Sandi—three of the
brightest, nicest—most irreverent—friends anyone could have. Thanks guys.
Prologue (#ulink_b1329723-1a30-5ab5-aa06-110626a6cf95)
Someone was watching him.
Gavin Cantrell paused as he reached for the six-pack of beer. A prickle of primitive awareness crept up his broad, powerful back. It was so strong that he had to fight an uneasy urge to roll his shoulders.
Instead, he stood as still as a statue and tried to pinpoint the source of the feeling. First he narrowed his eyes against the artificial brightness of the fluorescent lights overhead. Next he blocked out the insistent voice on the grocery store’s PA system, which was requesting that shoppers be on the lookout for a missing toddler.
He eased back, two hundred and ten pounds of muscled aggression, and took a long look around.
The aisle was deserted.
Well, hell. There’s nobody here but you, Rambo.
The tension slowly drained out of him, and a wash of heat worked its way up his neck. He shook his head. How much longer was it going to take for the overactive defense mechanisms he’d learned at Colson to fade? How long before he stopped seeing enemies in every shadow and threats around every bend? Another month? A year? Ten?
He raked a hand through his dark hair and let loose a sigh of disgust. All right, so he’d overreacted. It was no big deal. He was just tired—and hot, sweaty and hungry after thirteen hours working full-out on the Ebersoles’ new house. His foot ached from the beam an apprentice carpenter had inadvertently dropped on it. And his shoulders stung because he’d foolishly worked barechested under the hot June sun.
All he needed was a cold drink, a long shower and a hot meal, then he’d feel more like himself.
None of which he was likely to get standing around here, he reminded himself. Any more than the twenty-mile drive north to the furnished room he called home was going to get shorter. Sighing, he reached once more for the beer—only to be brought up short as the sensation of being watched skated along his spine again.
Disgusted, he started to grab the six-pack anyway, determined not to be drawn into whatever crude game his psyche was playing. Suddenly a slight movement at the end of the aisle caught his eye. He dropped his hand—vaguely aware that the voice on the PA system was now droning something about blue rompers and red sneakers—and waited.
Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. He’d just about decided he really was imagining things when a child peeked around the corner. The little boy, barely bigger than a minute, had an angel’s face beneath a mop of silky, moonbeam-colored hair.
For a span of seconds he watched Gavin warily out of large, mischievous blue eyes, the color as clear and deep as Gavin’s own. And then he hooked his thumbs behind his ears, made a comically ferocious face and waggled his fingers.
The last of the tension seeped out of Gavin’s big frame. I’ll be damned. He looked around, confident that any second now some chiding mama or disgruntled sibling would appear and put an end to the kid’s horseplay.
And then he glanced down and registered the crimson color of the boy’s itty-bitty sneakers.
Well, hell. The good news, obviously, was that the PA system’s missing toddler hadn’t been abducted.
The bad news was that only he and the kid appeared to know it.
He considered his options. The most logical course of action would be to grab the little fugitive and haul him up to the manager’s counter. Yet as big as Gavin was—and, at the moment, as dirty and disheveled—such a move would probably scare the starch right out of the little guy. Gavin didn’t want any trouble—particularly not the sort he’d get if the kid kicked up a fuss at being manhandled and somebody got the wrong idea.
Gavin’s expression darkened. He knew all about wrong ideas. He should; he’d spent thirty-four months at the state correctional facility at Colson, courtesy of the State of Colorado, because the Pueblo County prosecutor had had one about him.
He could just imagine what the reaction would be in this situation if somebody found out he was an ex-con. Not to mention what might happen to his current freedom if he were accused of child abduction.
The thought of being locked up again made his stomach roll.
If he had a brain in his head, he would grab the beer and get the hell out of here. Except…what if the kid wandered off and ran into real trouble? Even though it wasn’t Gavin’s concern, and even though it’d serve whoever was accountable right to get a royal fright, he couldn’t very well let the kid pay the price for some adult’s lack of responsibility.
Besides, he thought gruffly, slanting the child an exasperated glance, he really was a cute little guy…
He sighed as a possible solution struck him. It wasn’t much, and, God knew, just the idea made him feel like four kinds of fool.
On the other hand, if it kept the kid from wandering off until some good, respectable, law-abiding citizen showed up to rescue him, he supposed it was worth a try.
Which wasn’t a hell of a lot of comfort for how ridiculous he felt as he turned his head and stuck out his tongue.
The child’s hands stilled. His eyes opened wide with surprise. Then he hastily ducked back around the corner.
Gavin slammed his mouth shut, nearly swallowing his tongue. Terrific. He’d scared the kid off and now—
The boy popped back around the corner. A devilish gleam in his bright blue eyes, he screwed up his little face in concentration and stuck out his tongue.
Relief flooded Gavin. He matched the boy’s action—and crossed his eyes, as well.
Again, the child looked startled. Then his entire face lit up in a shy, lopsided grin, and he laughed.
The high, bright sound was irresistible. So was that smile. Yet Gavin frowned, swept by a sudden, inexplicable sense of recognition. Puzzled, he studied the boy, taking in the sturdy little body, the pink and cream complexion, the winged brows, the button nose, the rosebud mouth. The kid was a charmer, no doubt about it, but Gavin was sure he’d never seen him before. Still, there was something about that smile, about the way it crooked up at one corner that—
“Sam!”
The frantic feminine voice at his back blew his train of thought right off the rails. In the next instant a woman rushed past, leaving the faint scent of white lilacs in her path.
Gavin watched, transfixed, as she slid to her knees and scooped the child into her slender arms.
“Oh, Sam!” She gathered the toddler close and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her hair, the same thick, silver gilt as the child’s, was caught up in a high ponytail that spilled down her back like a cascade of silk. It exposed the creamy, vulnerable curve of her nape and the slim, delicate line of her back. “You scared me half to death, sweetie.” A tremor went through her as she fought for composure. “You know you’re not to ever, ever go where I can’t see you. And—” she lifted her head, setting the child away just enough so they could see each other “—you’re not supposed to talk to strangers. Remember?”
Eyes huge, the little boy nodded. “�Kay.”
“Good.” She immediately gave him another fierce hug, then turned her head slightly, for the first time acknowledging Gavin’s presence. “I’m sorry if he was bothering you,” she said, struggling a little as she got her legs beneath her and hefted the child up. “I only looked away for a moment, and the next thing I knew, I couldn’t find him. He’s so fast, like quicksilver—” She stopped and swallowed. Hard. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him…”
Gavin knew what she’d look like before she turned. He knew her nose would be small and straight, her cheekbones elegant, her mouth lush, her eyes big, dark and mysterious. He knew she would have the sort of cool, quiet beauty that made a man burn, that haunted his days and bedeviled his nights, that ruined him for anyone else.
She gave a shaky, self-conscious laugh. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. It’s just—” she twisted around, a tremulous, apologetic smile on her full mouth as she finally raised her eyes to him “—he’s all I—oh!” Her face drained of color, leaving her skin sickly pale beneath her smooth golden tan. “Oh…no.”
His mouth twisted at her reaction. “Hello, Annie.”
“Gavin.” She stumbled back a pace.
The child, clutched tightly in her arms, squirmed restlessly. “Mama!” he complained. “You’re squishing me!”
Mama? Gavin frowned, a V forming between his brows. His gaze skated over her, snagging on her slender hands, which were clasped together to support the child’s weight. An embossed silver-on-gold wedding band stood out starkly on one slim finger.
A ring he himself had slipped on her finger.
His gaze shot back to her pale face, to the stark panic she couldn’t disguise.
And suddenly it all fit.
The ring, her distress, the little boy’s bright blue eyes and familiar grinFamiliar because it was the spitting image of his, seen captured in photos and reflected in mirrors for his entire thirty-four years.
Stunned, he stared at his wife, whom he’d last seen through the Plexiglas barrier in the penitentiary visiting room. The woman who’d sat, her expression a blank mask, and never said a word when he’d set her free to live her life without a felon for a husband. Even though, judging from the boy’s size, she must have known, even then, that she was carrying his son.
“Down, Mama.” Sam’s impatient voice hung in the air. “Down, down, down.”
Awareness flooded Gavin, first in a trickle, then in a gush, as the full extent of her betrayal crashed through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, rocked by wave after wave of fury, pain and disbelief.
A mistake, he realized too late. Because when he opened his eyes, she and the boy were gone.
One (#ulink_34fb8995-9436-5350-ad55-c0e6c225a613)
The storm broke as Annie started for work.
Car keys in hand, she stood on her small covered porch and watched as the wind sighed through the gnarled trees that lined the dusty street. A faint drumroll of thunder echoed through the artificially early twilight, only to fade away as the first raindrops began to fall, rich with the scent of sun-baked evergreen.
She lifted her face to the breeze. It had been unseasonably hot all week. She let her eyes drift closed, the better to savor the cool wash of air that ruffled her hair and tugged at her clothes. While she no longer minded working nights, had even convinced her body it was okay to sleep from first light to mid-morning, she didn’t think she’d ever get accustomed to life without air-conditioning.
A rueful smile lit her face. Watch out, Annelise. Your silver spoon is showing.
She sighed. Time and past, to get going. Clia would no doubt have her head if she were late.
The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the truck.
Big and black, its headlights gleamed in the murky light as it rolled down the street, slowing and speeding up in a way that suggested its driver was reading house numbers as he drove.
As simply as that—with an instinct she didn’t question—she knew.
Gavin.
Annie had been expecting him for more than a week, ever since their disastrous encounter in the grocery store. In some ways his arrival was a relief. At least now the waiting would be over. She would see him again, and the confrontation she’d dreaded for three long years would become a thing of the past. No longer would she struggle with the guilt, the regret, the host of what-might-havebeens.
No longer would she have to look into Sam’s precious little face and wonder if she’d compromised his future to survive her past.
At least now, she would know.
In the street, the pickup stopped altogether, then slid in against the curb with a throaty rumble. The headlights winked out; the engine fell silent. Raindrops spattered, sizzling as they struck the hood.
Oddly calm, Annie watched as the door swung open and Gavin climbed out. He hadn’t changed, she thought with that strange sense of detachment. Last week in the store she’d been so overwhelmed at the sight of him she hadn’t really seen him.
But now…Dressed in boots, jeans and a navy T-shirt, he was all man, from his hard thighs and narrow hips to his wide shoulders and strong, chiseled features. The wind snatched at his hair, tumbling the thick, inky strands across his forehead. Even from where she stood, the blue of his eyes was startling.
He started up the slight slope of her ragged lawn. His long legs made short shrift of the distance, and it was only a handful of seconds before he halted at the foot of the stairs. His gaze was shuttered as he looked up at her, taking in her work uniform of black slacks, white blouse and braided hair.
“Annie.” He inclined his head a scant quarter inch.
Pain shot through her hand. She glanced down, bemused to see she had a stranglehold on her keys. Perhaps she wasn’t so calm, after all. “Hello, Gavin.” She forced her fingers to relax.
A faint smile twisted across the achingly beautiful curve of his mouth. “You don’t look very surprised to see me.” His eyes were as hard as ice chips.
Her courage almost deserted her then. “Liam Corson called me. He said you’d been making inquiries.” Corson had been her father’s attorney. “I—I thought you might come.”
He raised one straight black brow. “And?”
“And I guess you’d better come in.” She crossed the few feet to the door, opened the screen and got her key in the lock, only to falter as she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs.
Goose bumps prickled across her arms. To her horror, her hand began to shake, and the lock, always temperamental, refused to budge.
“Here.” His voice sounded in her ear. She froze as he moved up behind her, unknowingly sheltering her from the wind. He reached for the key, so close she could feel the heat from his skin and taste his scent on her tongue.
And as quickly as that, she was caught in a flood of memories; of waking to the slow caress of his workroughened fingers; of the melting pleasure she’d found in his powerful arms; of the deep, urgent murmur of his voice filling the night…
Annie. Look at me. Look at me while I love you, baby. See how perfect we fit together—
The door swung open.
Annie fled inside. Pulse racing, cheeks burning, she crossed to the battered old highboy set against the wall to the right. She dropped her car keys and pocketbook next to the diminutive chiming clock that had been her mother’s and switched on a small ginger jar lamp. Then she hurried across the room and turned on the larger lamp that sat on the end table next to her yellow-and-white sofa and the bentwood rocker—as if the light could banish the specters of her past.
All the while she was acutely aware of Gavin, who stood in the shadows inside the entry, silent and watchful.
Panic welled inside her. She couldn’t do this, she thought wildly. She’d been a fool to ever think she could match his calm, his control, his icy lack of emotion—
Stop it. With a slight shudder, she clamped down on the flow of negative thoughts and instinctively fell back on the endless drills in deportment that had filled her teenage years. While the Brook School for Girls hadn’t taught the proper etiquette for dealing with an estranged husband who’d broken one’s heart, Miss Kesson had repeated countless times that good manners were always a lady’s best line of defense.
Annie was no longer certain she qualified as a lady, but the reminder served to steady her. “Why—why don’t you come in and sit down?”
He didn’t move. “You live here?”
The disbelief in his voice puzzled her, and then she understood. The little house was certainly nothing like her father’s sprawling Denver compound, or even the deluxe town house she and Gavin had shared in the ritzy suburb of Bretton Hills. There was just the one room, with a pair of doors on one side that opened into her and Sam’s bedrooms, a bank of windows on the other side, and an archway at the back that led to the kitchen and bathroom.
Still, in many ways it was the first real home she’d ever known. And except for the handful of months that had comprised her marriage, the time she’d lived here since Sam was born had been the happiest period of her life.
She stood a little straighter and retreated further into formality. “Yes, I live here. Please, sit down, Gavin. I need to make a phone call, and then I’ll be right with you.” With that she escaped into the kitchen to call work.
Annie punched in the number she knew by heart, then braced herself.
A woman’s brassy contralto answered at the other end of the line. “Yo?” she said irreverently.
Annie sagged with relief. “Nina? It’s me.”
There was a pregnant silence. “Shoot. Don’t tell me. Your car broke down again. I’m going to personally murder that son of mine—”
“No, no. The car’s fine. Really. It’s just—something’s come up. Can you tell Clia I may be a few minutes late?”
“Well, I can try. But I’ve gotta warn you, she’s on a real tear tonight. Unless you’re being held hostage by terrorists—which, by the way, would be considerably less scary than making her angry—you’d better get your fanny in here ASAP.”
Annie’s stomach sank. “Okay. I’ll do my best.”
“Good. I’ll see you shortly. Oops—gotta run. The Wicked Witch is coming this way.”
The line buzzed in Annie’s ear. She replaced the receiver, trying not to think about how much she needed her job as she walked back into the living room.
There was no relief to be found there. On the contrary; it was like going from the frying pan into the fire. Gavin stood in Sam’s darkened bedroom doorway, a small, slightly shabby teddy bear clutched in his hands. The look on his face stopped her in her tracks.
“The boy—your son…his name is Sam?” he said carefully.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“How old is he?”
“He was two on January the second.” It was a year to the day after they’d been married; less than seven months after the Colson gates had slammed shut, destroying their marriage.
“So…” He glanced down at the stuffed animal. “He is mine, isn’t he, Annie?”
He didn’t mean the teddy bear, and she knew it. Just as she suddenly understood that, despite the stillness of his posture, the blankness of his expression, the lack of inflection in his voice, he wasn’t nearly as indifferent as she’d supposed.
Yet it never occurred to her to lie. Not because she still cared about him, she was quick to reassure herself. Other than a knee-jerk response to his undeniable physical attractiveness, she didn’t have any feelings left for him at all. Not after what he’d done…
No; she was doing this for Sam.
No matter what she felt, her child deserved a chance to know his father.
“Yes, Gavin.” Outside, the breeze had died down; her voice seemed to hang in the sudden silence. “Sam is your son.”
His head jerked up. A tremor went through him. Something flashed in his eyes, something fierce and primitive. In the next instant his control disappeared like smoke in a hurricane. “Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he. demanded harshly. He closed the distance between them in two explosive strides, not stopping until the toes of his boots struck the ends of her tennis shoes. “What were you trying to do—pay me back for calling it quits?”
“No!” He was so close she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “No, of course not!”
“Then what?”
She told him the only part of the truth she could. “You made it clear you didn’t want a wife. I didn’t think you’d want to be bothered with a child!”
“Yeah?” His face worked as he stared down at her. “Well, you thought wrong! Dammit, Annie, if I’d known you were pregnant, it would’ve changed everything!”
Even though it was what she’d expected he’d say, it hurt.
Yet it was a survivable pain, she realized slowly. Three years ago it would have destroyed her, but not now—not after everything else she’d been through.
She lifted her chin and gave an eloquent shrug. “I’m sorry.”
“Damn you.” Gavin wheeled away and stalked over to one of the windows, where he braced a hand against the sash and stood staring out at the deepening twilight.
She sighed, but her voice when it came was level. “I didn’t do it to hurt you.” To be honest, she hadn’t known she could hurt him. “All I can say is that it’s in the past. We have to go on from here.”
The cotton-covered muscles in his back flexed. “Yeah? That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t missed out on your kid’s entire life.”
A half dozen retorts trembled on her tongue, chief among them a pointed reminder of where he’d been the past few years. But she swallowed it and the others, afraid to tread any deeper into the past. This was hard enough as it was. “So what is it you want?”
He turned, his blue eyes hard. “What the hell do you think?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.
“I want to be a part of my son’s life.”
Annie bit back an automatic refusal, determined to remember her vow to put Sam’s interests first. Still, now that the moment was at hand, it wasn’t quite so easy to say the words that would allow Gavin access to her child. She took a deep breath. “All right,” she said finally. “I’m sure we can work out some sort of schedule for you to visit—”
“Visit?” He shook his head. “No. I’ve already missed too damn much. I’m not missing any more.”
Her breath froze in her lungs. “Then what?”
“Hell, I don’t know!” He looked around, as if the answer could be found lurking in the corners. A curious expression suddenly moved across his face. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Sam?” The clock struck six, its muted chime marking off the hours. Her heart sank. She was now officially late. “He’s at the sitter’s.”
Gavin frowned, as if only now registering the significance of having encountered her earlier out on the porch. “Why? Did you just get home from somewhere?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, then dropped her hand. She hadn’t even worked her shift, and already she was exhausted. “No, I was just going out. As a matter of fact, I’m late. Do you think we could table this until tomorrow?”
“No.”
A small spark of desperation flared inside her. Though she didn’t think Clia would fire her just for being late, she didn’t want to find out. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. “Please. It’s clear we’re not going to settle anything tonight.”
“The answer’s still no.”
“But why?”
He smiled, completely without humor. “Why do you think?”
It took her a moment to correctly interpret the distrustful look in his eyes. She sighed. “You think. If I were going to take off, I would’ve done it a week ago. I swear I’ll be here tomorrow. Maybe by then we’ll both be calm enough to talk this through and decide what’s really best for Sam.”
Amazingly, the mention of their son’s welfare did the trick. The suspicious gleam in his eyes flickered out, although his expression remained cool and probing. He searched her face. “What time tomorrow?” he asked finally.
The breath she hadn’t known she was holding sighed out. “How about noon?” This wouldn’t seem like such an ordeal after a few hours sleep, she told herself firmly. They would be able to work something out, something adult and civilized.
“The boy—Sam—will he be here?”
“Of course.”
He continued to give her the same piercing stare before he nodded abruptly. “All right.” He started for the door, only to rock to a stop after a few feet and look back at her over his shoulder. “But I’m warning you, Annie. Don’t even think about running. Now that I know about my son, I’d find you.”
With that he turned and slammed out the door.
Annie stood staring after him, not certain what she wanted to do more—yell, plead, throw something, or sink to her knees and cry until she didn’t have any more tears.
In the end she did none of those things. She didn’t have time for histrionics. Instead she grabbed her things, turned out the lights and ran for her car.
The Palomino Grill was located off Interstate 25, at the end of the freeway ramp that led to the little town of Mountainview. It was open around the clock and looked considerably better at night than during the day.
Its floor plan was simple. Booths lined three of the four walls, tables dotted the center space, and an open-ended counter with padded swivel stools stretched the length of the kitchen. An old manual cash register topped a glassfronted counter that was filled with the usual assortment of gum, candy and antacid tablets. Garish red-and-black carpeting, sun-faded red curtains and a jukebox crowned with a decade-old display of dusty plastic geraniums completed the decor.
Annie was an hour and a half past the end of her regular shift when she dropped the tray of dirty dishes. There was a ringing crash, interspersed with the tinkle of breaking glass and the clatter of bouncing cutlery.
It might not have seemed so bad if it hadn’t been the second tray she’d dropped that night.
Or if she didn’t suddenly have an overwhelming urge to cry.
But it was and she did. To her horror the room began to blur, while a lump the size of one of Sam’s Nerf balls bloomed in her throat.
Mortified, she stooped down, righted the tray and blindly began to pick the silverware out of the debris, stubbornly blinking back tears. She hadn’t suryived the past three years just to fall apart over a bunch of broken dishes, she told herself.
The reminder helped. But not nearly as much as the irreverent female voice that sounded above her head a few minutes later. “Wow. Two trays in one shift. It’s gotta be BFS.”
Annie glanced up at her friend, Nina. “What?”
“You know. BFS.” The other waitress wiggled her fingers. “Butterfinger syndrome. Occupational hazard of waitresses, data processors and brain surgeons. Of course—” she bent down, scooped up the remaining pieces of silverware and whisked away the tray “—as far as that last group goes, the consequences tend to be an eensy-weensy bit more serious.” She gave Annie a meaningful look. “Know what I mean?”
Annie stared at her thirty-something friend, looking past the rose tattoo on Nina’s wrist, the improbable burgundy hair and the triple-pierced ears, to the sympathetic hazel eyes. A grateful if shaky smile spread across Annie’s face. “I guess that does put it in perspective.”
“You betcha.” Nina set the tray aside and offered her a hand.
Annie took it. To her surprise when she looked around, she saw that the diner was empty, except for Big Bob, the night cook, and Leo, the dishwasher, whom she could see through the pass-through to the kitchen. “Where’d everybody go?”
Nina shrugged. “You should’ve dropped the dishes sooner. I think you scared the last group off. They lit out a few minutes ago.”
“Clia’s going to kill me.”
Nina looked at her curiously. “Clia, my pretty, slithered onto her broom and went home hours ago. Furthermore, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“She’ll know,” Annie said firmly, “because I’ll tell her.”
Nina groaned. “I swear, Annie, you make Dudley DoRight look like a piker.” She disappeared through the swinging doors into the back, only to reappear seconds later, broom and dustpan in hand. She thrust the latter at Annie and began to sweep. “You really need to work on your attitude,” she said without missing a beat. “Try thinking about it this way. Clia owes you for agreeing to stay until Char and May show up.”
“She owes you,” Annie said. “I was late, remember?”
Nina rolled her eyes. “Get a grip. At least you called. And it was probably only the third time you’ve been late in two years. Those two haven’t been on time once in the past two months. And I, for one, am getting damn tired of covering for them.”
As if on cue, the bell above the door jangled. A trio of burly truck drivers came in, closely followed by the pair of giggling blond twins who worked the graveyard shift.
“Finally,” Nina said. She took the dustpan out of Annie’s hands, gave her a quick once-over and pointed toward the far booth. “Go. Sit. We need to talk.”
“But—”
“I’ll be right there.” Not waiting to hear any further protest, she marched away, dumped the broken dishware into the trash and went to have a little talk with their blond co-workers.
She joined Annie a few minutes later. “Honest to God, those two make Jenny’s gerbil look like an intellectual.” Jenny was the second of Nina’s three children; she had one from each of her marriages. “Here.” She handed Annie a steaming cup of coffee, set her own on the table and slid onto the seat. “You look like you could use it.”
“Thanks.” Annie dredged up a tired smile. “Does that mean I look as bad as I feel?”
“Ha. You couldn’t look really bad if you worked at it. But you’ve jumped like a scalded cat every time anyone’s so much as hiccuped tonight. It doesn’t take one of those brain surgeons to figure out something’s wrong.”
“Oh.”
Nina grimaced at the carefully neutral answer, twisted sideways and stretched out her legs on the seat with a sigh of pleasure. “So. Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or am I going to have to pry it out of you?”
Annie rolled the cup between her hands and considered her answer.
When she’d left Denver three years ago and started driving north, she’d been numb, so overcome by the events of the preceding months she hadn’t been able to think past escaping the city where her entire world had collapsed. During the previous year she’d graduated from an exclusive Boston college, returned to Colorado after a fourteen-year exile and been swept off her feet by the man of her dreams. She’d gone from being her wealthy father’s golden princess, to Gavin’s prized possession, to being a twenty-three-year-old orphaned ex-debutante with five thousand dollars to her name, no marketable skills, a husband who didn’t want her and a baby on the way.
In the back of her mind she’d had a vague plan of starting over somewhere like Montana or Idaho. Instead the muffler had fallen off her car after a mere forty-three miles, stranding her in Mountainveiw, and she’d simply been too overcome to move on.
Yet she hadn’t given up entirely. The child stirring inside had refused to let her. For the first time ever, somebody had been depending on her. Annie had been determined not to let that small, precious somebody down.
Somehow she’d found the energy and strength to rent her little house, to husband her limited financial resources through the remainder of her pregnancy, to make it alone through the long, scary hours of childbirth. Three months later she’d found her way to the Palomino, determined to do whatever she had to, to support her new little family.
Beyond the bare particulars, she hadn’t talked about her past to anyone. At first because it was too painful. And then because she’d put it behind her.
Or so she’d thought.
She looked over at Nina’s expectant gaze and realized she was finally going to have to say…something. She sighed, trying to decide where to start. “I ran into Gavin in the grocery store last week,” she said finally.
“Gavin?” Nina’s blank look spoke volumes.
“My husband. Sam’s father.”
“You mean, you really are…married?”
It was Annie’s turn to look startled. “For heaven’s sake, Nina.” She glanced from her friend to the heavy gold and silver wedding band on her own hand, and back again. “Yes. What did you think? That I’d made it up?”
“Well…yeah. What was I supposed to think? You’ve been alone ever since you first walked in here desperate for a job, when Sam was just a little tadpole. You never join any of the discussions me and the other girls have about sex. I just figured some guy had given you a real bad time. That because of Sam, it was easier to say you were married than talk about it.”
Bemused, Annie shook her head. “Is that why you think I’ve turned down every offer for a date since I’ve worked here?”
“Well, sure. That and the fact that you look and sound like one of those high-class types they use in ads to sell mink coats and pearls. You’re light-years above the yahoos we get in here, and we both know it.”
Annie winced, but recognized that now was not the time to dwell on what it was about her that prompted people to see the surface, rather than the person underneath. “Be that as it may, I am married. And Gavin is very, very real.”
“So where’s he been? Is he military or CIA or something?”
“No.”
“Alien abduction, then?”
Annie took a deep breath. “He’s been in prison.”
Nina nodded. “That was gonna be my next guess.” Her eyes narrowed. “So what’d he do? He didn’t beat on you, did he?”
Annie shook her head, shocked at the very idea. “No. Gavin would never do that.”
“So what are we talking here? Too many traffic tickets? Mass murder? What?”
Annie sighed. “The charge was accomplice to criminal fraud.”
“Huh. And what does that mean in real-people English?”
“It means he worked for my father, who owned a company that specialized in building big commercial structures—high-rises, shopping malls, that sort of thing. Gavin started as a carpenter, but eventually became one of KinnairdCo’s most valuable foremen. Until three and a half years ago, when a Pueblo high-rise under construction collapsed. A worker was badly injured. It turned out—” she stared into her coffee “—it turned out the company was in financial trouble. And that my father had tried to economize by substituting substandard steel and other low-grade materials for what was specified in the bid, even though he knew it could compromise the structure. Charges were brought, but before anything could be proved, he had a heart attack.”
“And?”
Annie pushed her coffee mug aside and looked up. “And by then, Gavin and I had been married for three months, and Daddy had made him a partner in the business. So he—” she exhaled tiredly “—became the one held accountable.”
Nina stared. “But…but that’s not fair! How could he be blamed if he didn’t know?”
“He knew,” Annie said quietly. “He wasn’t part of it, but at some point he found out and chose to say nothing, and that was enough to make him legally responsible as far as the Pueblo County D.A. was concerned. He came after Gavin with everything he had. On advice of counsel, Gavin pleaded �no contest’ in return for a reduced sentence. Not,” she added tiredly, “that he ever discussed it with me. Verbal communication was not our strong suit.”
Nina studied Annie’s drawn face. “God. No wonder you left him.”
Annie’s mouth quirked with a faint, ironic smile. “That’s just it. I didn’t. He broke it off—” she paused “—the day I was going to tell him about Sam.”
“He didn’t know you were pregnant?”
Annie shook her head.
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“No.”
There was another long silence as Nina digested this last. “But why?”
Annie shrugged, no more willing to explain to Nina than she had Gavin. “It’s not important.”
“I see.” Nina regarded her thoughtfully. “So why didn’t you divorce him?”
Annie toyed with a spoon, her gaze on the dull metal handle gripped in her slender fingers. “I guess at first I hoped he’d change his mind. And then later, after I left Denver, I didn’t have either the money or the energy to bother. I simply wanted to forget.” She laid down the spoon and looked up at her friend. “And now…well, now, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he knows about Sam and he showed up at my house tonight. That’s why I was late.”
Nina whistled inelegantly between her teeth. “No wonder you’re all shook up. So what does he want?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he does, exactly. We’re supposed to get together later today to discuss it.”
Nina, hardheaded about everything else, was still a romantic at heart. “I bet he wants you back.”
Annie shook her head. “No.” It was the one thing she didn’t doubt. “He’s only interested in Sam.”
Nina didn’t look convinced. “How about you?”
“How about me what?”
“Do you still love him?”
“No.”
Nina looked even more skeptical, but wisely didn’t say so. Instead she cocked her head. “So what do you want to have happen?”
“I—I want him to go away. I want him to be a good father to Sam, but from a distance.”
“Then tell him to take a hike,” Nina said flatly. “And if that doesn’t work, demand money. In my experience that’s usually enough to make most guys take off. Look at the trio of losers I was married to.”
“You don’t know Gavin,” Annie said, remembering his warning about leaving. “When he wants something, he’s the most single-minded, determined person I’ve ever known.”
Nina made a rude sound. “Except you.”
Annie stared at her in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”
Nina reached over and patted her hand. “It means that if anybody can handle good old Gavin, it’s you, hon. Open your eyes. At least where Sam is concerned, you’re not some lily-livered little girl. And if nothing else—” her expression turned wry “—you’ve got the advantage of intelligence. After all, your hubby already proved he wasn’t too bright when he let you go.”
Annie’s face softened. “You’re a good friend, Nina,” she said softly.
The redhead nodded. “You bet. Try and remember that the next time we’re working different shifts and I need you to fill in for me.”
“You can count on it.”
They fell silent. After a few moments Nina glanced at her watch. “Lord, it’s after four.” She yawned and climbed to her feet. “Good thing it’s Saturday. I’m going to go home and sleep a zillion hours. How about you?”
Annie stood and gathered up their coffee cups, dropping them onto the bussing cart as they went to get their purses. “First the grocery store, then sleep, then Sam.” Then Gavin.
As if she’d heard that last, Nina reached over and gave her a quick squeeze. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly.
Try as she might, Annie didn’t think so.
Two (#ulink_8ecafe48-bf7e-5a9f-93d5-9d0b3e831d17)
He had a son.
The realization had kept Gavin up most of the night.
Yet it was only now, as he once again drove toward Annie’s house, that it was really beginning to sink in.
After a week of wondering, of cautioning himself against getting his hopes up, he finally knew.
He had a son. A bright, bold, beautiful little boy with an angel’s face and the Cantrell talent for trouble.
Joy, as fierce as anything Gavin had ever known, threatened to overwhelm him.
He took a deep breath and attempted to rein in his elation, a little uncomfortable with the strength of his feelings. Still, he couldn’t help thinking it was an exceptionally beautiful morning. Last night’s brief storm had passed. The sky was clear, and dawn was in full bloom, tinting the dew on people’s lawns silver and painting the snow that capped the peaks to the west with lavender, pink and gold.
He had a son.
In the scheme of things, it was almost enough to balance the anger Gavin felt every time he stopped to think that if not for a quirk of fate, he never would have known of the child’s existence.
Almost. But not quite.
Nor was it enough to blind him to the fact that, given last night’s conversation, the boy’s mother would prefer him to quietly fade right back out of the picture. Or at least limit his involvement to some nice, neat, orderly little schedule she no doubt felt she should be the one to devise.
If that was the case, she was in for a rude awakening. Although he still was a little hazy on the details, he intended to be an active part of his son’s life.
With that thought firmly in mind, he slowed as he approached the small, rectangular bungalow, still a little amazed that his designer boutique wife was living in such a bargain basement place.
And then he saw the empty spot in the driveway where Annie’s car should have been, and it drove every other thought from his mind. Oblivious to the squeal of protesting rubber, he hit the brake and sent the pickup skidding into the curb.
Alarm splintered through him. Yet even as his stomach twisted painfully, he told himself not to panic, not to jump to conclusions. She’d been on her way out last night. Chances were her car had broken down on the way back, or she’d lent it to a friend, or something.
She had to be here. She’d promised, dammit.
Heart pounding, he scrambled out of the truck. He tried the front door first, knocking hard enough to silence the birds singing in the surrounding trees. When he got no answer, he began a clockwise circuit of the grounds, stopping first to peer through the living room windows.
Inside, everything was dark and still, untouched from the way he remembered it last night.
He forced himself to step away, telling himself that it didn’t mean anything as he vaulted the waist-high fence that enclosed the backyard. The first thing he saw was a small inflatable wading pool. It sat, abandoned, in the ankle-high grass, one lone rubber duck bobbing on the surface.
The sight made his heart clench.
He averted his gaze and strode across the neat concrete patio, up three shallow steps to the small service porch where he tried the back door. It was locked, as he’d expected. He leapt down, unlatched the side gate and started down the drive. It didn’t take long to find that, while the shades were down on both bedroom windows, there was still enough of a gap at the bottom of each to see that neither bed had been slept in.
There was no doubt about it. Annie and the boy were gone.
Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Anger and self-disgust choked him. With a strangled curse, he planted his feet and slammed his fist into the rough clapboard siding, needing some outlet for his anguish.
He cursed the pain that radiated up his arm.
Yet it was nothing compared to the ache around his heart.
Dammit. Despite his tough-guy words, his big brave threat to track Annie down like some modern-day bounty hunter, she’d split. She’d probably taken off the minute he’d cleared the corner last night.
And to think he’d actually felt guilty about threatening her! God! He had to be the biggest fool imaginable. Hadn’t he learned the hard way you couldn’t trust anyone?
Shoulders heaving, he shook his head at the irony of it.
Until he’d seen Annie and the boy in the store last week, he would have sworn he’d made his peace with the past. Two years and ten months in prison gave a man plenty of time to think. Although he would never forgive Max Kinnaird for what the older man had done, Gavin accepted that he had only himself to blame for his own situation.
It had been his decision not to turn in his father-in-law, his decision to allow the older man time to try and fix the mess he’d made. The result had been disastrous, a painful reality he lived with every day.
As for his wife and his brief marriage…Well, that was a different story. For a variety of reasons he hadn’t let himself think about Annie or the life they’d once had from the day she’d raced out of the Colson visiting room.
He’d closed the door on that part of his past.
In much the same way, he’d also resolutely refused to consider the future. Instead, he’d redefined his life by simple pleasures—a cold beer, blue skies, the chance to play a game of pickup softball after work. He’d been thankful for the job provided by an old friend and openly overwhelmed when the same friend had agreed to cosign the loan to get him his pickup. He’d been fiercely grateful for every small freedom, from driving fast on the highway, to taking his morning run, to sleeping in a room without bars on the windows.
He’d been perfectly happy to live in the moment, a survival strategy he’d learned in prison, where it had been all that had preserved his sanity.
Until last week he would have said he was content.
Until last week, when the possibility he had a son had changed everything. Suddenly he’d had a purpose again, a reason for giving a damn.
Had apparently being the operative word, he thought bitterly, so overcome by misery it took a minute for him to realize that the wheezing, sputtering sound he’d been hearing for the past thirty seconds was an approaching car.
He raised his head just in time to see Annie drive up in her ancient Honda. Shock and relief made his head swim. He straightened, anyway. By the time she’d shut off the engine, set the hand brake and climbed out of the car, he had himself under control.
Or at least that’s what he thought—until he saw her undisguised wariness.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
She was still in the same clothes she’d had on last night.
He didn’t want to think about the implication of that. Nor did he want to consider why her hair was mussed, her blouse partially unbuttoned, her baby-smooth skin pale with exhaustion. He took a step closer. “Where the hell have you been?”
She stiffened and lifted her chin, as if she were part of the Royal Family and he was an uncouth peasant. “None of your business.” Stooping down, she reached in and grabbed a grocery bag from the passenger seat, bumped the car door shut with her hip and started along the walkway toward the porch.
Her attitude didn’t do jack for his temper. “The hell it’s not.” He caught up with her at the stairs, which they went up shoulder to shoulder. “We had a deal, Annie—an agreement to talk.”
She shoved the grocery bag into his arms, freeing her hands to work the key in the lock. “I said noon.” She opened the door, snatched back the bag and looked pointedly at him. “It’s not quite five-thirty, Gavin. I’m going to bed. Come back later.”
The door banged shut in his face.
Stunned, he stood there a moment, then nearly ripped off the knob in his haste to get the door open. One quick glance revealed Annie wasn’t in her bedroom. By the time that registered, he was already at the kitchen archway, where he gave a quick look around, this being the part of the house he hadn’t been in last night.
Not that there was much to see. To his immediate left were floor-to-ceiling shelves that served as the pantry and a small Formica table with two chairs and a high chair grouped around it. Straight ahead, beneath a bank of windows that overlooked the tiny backyard, was the sink, centered in a section of painted white cabinets topped by eight feet of pale yellow countertop. The door to the service porch was to the right.
The refrigerator was to his immediate right, followed by another, shorter stretch of yellow counter that made a left turn to accommodate the stove. A little further along the same wall was the door to the bathroom.
All in all, it was like the rest of the house: spotlessly clean but rather worn. By far the most outstanding thing in the room was Annie, who was poised in front of the shelves to his left.
“It must’ve been a real hot date,” he said caustically.
Up on tiptoe to put a box of crackers away, she stiffened, shoved the box into place and sank back down. She turned to the table, delved into the grocery sack and pulled out a half gallon of milk. “Look. I was at work. Okay? I stayed longer than usual because someone was late.” She crossed toward him to open the ancient fridge.
Just as a precaution—he’d had it up to the eyeballs with her fondness for abbreviated conversations—he planted his arms on either side of the archway. “Yeah, right.” He wasn’t exactly sure why he couldn’t let it go. Most likely because it was nothing less than she deserved, after the scare she’d given him. It sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she looked as if she’d just climbed out of somebody’s bed. “Unless I’m mistaken, your degree is in art appreciation. What were you doing, Annie—cataloging the paintings on somebody’s ceiling?”
She gave him a long look, gently shut the refrigerator, then marched over, unhooked the receiver on the wall phone, punched in a number and shoved it at him. “Ask whomever answers if I work there.” She ducked under the cord and scooted past him.
“Hey, wait a minute! Where do you think you’re going?”
“I told you,” she said, her voice muffled as she disappeared into her bedroom. “To bed. I have four hours before I have to get Sam. We can talk then.”
Her door swung shut at the same time an impatient female voice snarled into the phone. “Palomino Grill.”
“Who the hell is this?” he demanded.
“The Queen of Sheba—whodya think?” This startling pronouncement was punctuated by a violent crashing sound, followed by the distinctive buzz of the dial tone.
Gavin jerked the receiver away from his ear. He’d been hung up on. Lips pursed tightly, he glared at the bedroom door and cursed. After a moment, however, he grudgingly reached out, pressed redial and waited.
This time a different voice answered. It was a man’s, and it was far more congenial. “Palomino Grill.”
Gavin straightened. “�Morning. I’m trying to locate Annelise Cantrell. Is she there?”
“Annie? Heck, no. You want Annie, you gotta get up early.” The man chuckled at his own joke. “Call back—or better yet, come in anytime from six in the evening to two in the a.m. �Course, you’ll have to wait till Monday, �cuz she’s off for the weekend. Too bad, too—she’s one fine little filly.”
Gavin’s voice reflected his shock. “No kidding.”
“Nope. Wouldn’t dare kid. The boss lady doesn’t allow it.”
“Well…thanks.”
“Sure thing.”
Gavin slowly replaced the receiver and walked into the other room. Feeling as if the world had just taken a spin in the wrong direction, he sank onto the couch, staring blindly at the closed door to Annie’s room.
A waitress? Hell. She was chock-full of surprises. First the kid. Then the run-down house. Now this.
Well, what did you expect? She’s her father’s daughter, isn’t she?
Max had been a master of the unexpected, too, he reminded himself acidly. It had been one of the crucial little personality traits of his late father-in-law’s that Gavin hadn’t fully appreciated until it had been too late to protect himself.
Still, even knowing what he now did about Max, Gavin had never dreamed that the old man would fail to provide for his only child. After all, she’d been the light of Max’s life, the epitome of his success, his perfect, beautiful, golden girl. Nothing had been too good for her: not the fancy Eastern schools, the designer clothes, the holidays spent skiing in Gstaad or sunning on the beaches of Tahiti or St. Tropez.
God knew, the old man had wanted more for her than him. Gavin might have been smart enough to work his way up the ranks to become a foreman at Kinnaird Construction, might have been good enough to be considered a trusted advisor, but he’d always known that Max aspired for more than a hardworking, dirt-under-thefingernails construction worker for his high-class daughter.
Only Annie hadn’t agreed…
And this was how she’d paid for it.
He lurched to his feet. Dammit. The past was past. Like Annie had said last night, there was no going back. He’d done what he’d had to, what he’d believed at the time was best for both of them.
She was the one who’d chosen this path. She should have told him she was pregnant, told him about the boy. Like he’d said to her last night, if he’d known, it would’ve changed everything. At the very least he would’ve found some way to provide for her and their child.
Instead, she’d chosen to keep it a secret. To cheat him out of two and a half precious years of his son’s life. A son who clearly needed him, he thought soberly, looking around. Although the children’s books and toys neatly stacked on the shelves of the inexpensive entertainment center appeared to be new and of good quality, everything else in the room was well-worn, bordering on shabby.
He thought about that as he walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.
He was still thinking about it three hours and forty-nine minutes later, when the bedroom door opened and Annie padded out. Her face was flushed with sleep, her hair a tangled cloud of silver gilt that spilled over her shoulders and down her back.
She was naked except for a pale yellow cotton-knit camisole and a pair of matching bikini panties.
She skidded to a halt when she saw him. “What are you doing here?”
He returned her stare, furious at the spurt of heat that surged through his blood, the sudden stirring in his loins. “I’m waiting for that talk.”
Her eyes widened as she registered the mug clutched in his hand, the proprietary way he was slouched on her sofa with his stocking feet propped on the coffee table.
He nodded toward the archway. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen.”
“How…nice,” she murmured. “Why don’t you make yourself at home?”
He settled more firmly into the sofa. “I intend to.”
Alarm mixed with the wariness on her face. After a telling silence, she dampened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “What does that mean?”
He raised the mug and calmly took a sip of coffee before he answered. “It means,” he said coolly, “that I’ve come to a decision about what’s best for our son.”
She went very still. “And what’s that, Gavin?”
“Simple.” His gaze never wavered from her face. “I’m moving in.”
Three (#ulink_21056691-320d-57af-8bc3-e036a2ab31a6)
The room seemed to tilt beneath Annie’s feet. “You’re not serious.”
Gavin set down his mug, settled back and linked his hands across his lean, hard middle. “Oh, yes, I am.”
The way he said it made her skin prickle. He sounded exactly like the old Gavin, the one who’d always gotten whatever he went after.
Yet this—this was unthinkable. “But the house is so small. There’s no spare room…” She raked her hair away from her face, verbally grasping at straws while she struggled to clear her sleep-fogged mind.
His gaze followed the movement of her hand, up, then down, and the strong, masculine line of his mouth flattened out. Before she could divine his intention, he reached toward the rocker, snagged the shirt draped across the seat and tossed it at her. One black brow slashed up sardonically. “Why don’t you put that on? I wouldn’t want you to catch cold or anything.”
Like a slap in the face, the comment brought her completely awake. She grabbed for the shirt and snatched it out of the air, painfully aware not only of the brevity of her attire, but that beneath her clinging camisole, her nipples were tightly, unmistakably beaded.
Heat burned in her cheeks. At the same time a shiver went through her, although, until this moment, she hadn’t been aware she was cold. With hands that trembled, she slid her arms gratefully into the soft flannel, only to still as the sleeves tumbled over her fingertips, the shirttail drifted down her thighs, and Gavin’s scent—soap, fresh air, a hint of freshly milled wood and him—wafted around her.
Too late she realized the flannel shirt was his, the one he’d been wearing earlier over his T-shirt.
Instantly she lifted her shoulders to shrug off the garment, only to stop as she glanced up and found him watching. His expression was as cool as ever, but there was a hint of challenge in his celestial blue eyes. It suggested he fully expected her to reject his offering like the shy, timid little virgin she’d been when he married her, a woman who’d only ever known one lover.
Him.
So, Annelise? scoffed a mocking little voice in her head. That’s precisely what you are.
Yes. But she was damned if she’d broadcast the fact to him. Not after the way he’d tossed her aside like yesterday’s newspaper. Let him at least wonder, insisted her shattered pride.
She forced a smile to her lips, freed a hand and rolled up one cuff, then the other, lifted her arms and flipped her hair free of the upturned collar. “Thanks. That does feel better.” With what she hoped was the air of a woman who regularly entertained men while wearing nothing but their shirt and her underwear, she walked over, curled up in the rocker and tried to appear unfazed. “But you still can’t move in.”
His face might have been carved from stone. Except for a slight pulse visible at the base of his throat, he showed no emotion at all. “Why? Because this place is so small?” He leaned back and shrugged, dismissing her objection with an indolent gesture that made the beautifully curved muscle in his shoulders round. “So we’ll find someplace bigger.”
“No,” she said flatly. “This is my home. I’m not giving it up. And there is no more we. Remember?”
She would never forget. His words were burned on her heart, scored by a thousand tears. It’s over, Annie. You were just a pretty trophy, a way to show how far up I’d come in the world. I don’t want to see you back at Colson again.
She brought up her chin. “I wouldn’t live with you in a place the size of Buckingham Palace.”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah? Well, pardon the hell out of me, but I didn’t think your personal comfort, or mine, was the issue. I thought it was Sam’s welfare we were supposed to consider. With me here, at least he’d get to stay home at night and sleep in his own bed—not get stashed God knows where. Or don’t you care about that?”
Indignation blazed through her. “Don’t you dare speak to me about caring! You don’t have a clue what I’ve gone through to make a home for Sam these past few years.”
His blue eyes darkened. “And whose fault is that, Annie?”
“Yours,” she said flatly.
Their gazes clashed, and for a moment she was sure she’d gone too far, that he’d lash back.
Instead, after a taut silence, he was the first to look away. True, it was to glance pointedly around, his expression less than flattering as it encompassed the room and its furnishings before coming to rest on her face. But still, it was something.
“Come on. Be reasonable,” he said gruffly, his tone a fraction less chilly, a trifle more persuading than it had been before. “This is hardly the lap of luxury. I’ve got a steady job, and I’m making good money. Think of all the things we can do for our son if we pool our resources. Not to mention how much better it’ll be for him to have both of us watching out for him.”
For a moment she actually wavered. Not because he was making an effort to be reasonable. And not because of the money, either, although it would be a relief to have something left over at the end of the month to set aside for emergencies.
No, it was the last part of his statement that almost made her give in. Because the truth was that his presence would alleviate the constant fear she’d lived with since Sam’s birth, about who would take care of her little boy if something were to happen to her.
And then Gavin drummed his fingers against his thigh, and she noticed he was no longer wearing his wedding ring. Furthermore, given the even tan that bronzed his hand, it was obvious he hadn’t worn it for some time.
Reality crashed down on her like the sky falling. What was she thinking? It was one thing to allow him to get acquainted with Sam. It was something else entirely to let him become an integral part of her little boy’s life. Not when she had firsthand knowledge of the transitory nature of his devotion, the flexible attitude he brought to his commitments.
And not when she knew for herself how natural it was for a child to idolize a father, to wrongly take the blame when nothing ever proved to be enough for the man.
She didn’t want that for Sam.
She shook her head. “No, Gavin. It’s out of the question.”
He gave her a long, unreadable look. “Is that your final word?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it, then.” He straightened, slid his feet to the floor, reached for his boots and pulled them on. “You can’t say I didn’t give it a try. I guess I’ll see you in court.”
She was so stunned by his apparent capitulation, it took a moment for the import of that last, quietly murmured statement to penetrate. “What?”
The smile he sent her was mocking. “What did you expect, Annie? That I’d just walk away? Think again.”
Her mouth felt as if she’d swallowed a handful of dust. “What—what do you mean?”
“I mean—” he climbed to his feet, towering over her as he stamped his heels down into his boots “—that I intend to be part of my kid’s life, no matter what. If that means I have to sue you to establish my custody rights, so be it.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “But th-that’s crazy! You’d never win.”
“Why? Because I have a record?” He shook his head, a caricature of a smile still on his face. “Forget it. Besides search for you, one of the things I did this week was talk to a lawyer. According to him, the fact that I served time doesn’t automatically make me an unfit parent. As a matter of fact, in his opinion, it isn’t nearly as big a deal as your attempt to conceal my son’s existence from me. Apparently, fathers’ rights are a pretty hot issue these days.”
Her stomach plummeted toward her ankles. “You’d do that? Drag Sam through the courts? Make him a hot issue, a bone to be fought over?” She squeezed her eyes shut, recalling the endless speculation and hounding by the Denver press that had accompanied the scandal. An ugly custody battle would be sure to revive the whole mess. She felt sick at the thought of Sam becoming the focus of such relentless scrutiny.
Gavin stared coldly at her. “Not me, Annie. You. All I want is a chance to be part of the boy’s life. But if you want a fight—fine. I’ll give you that, too. Whatever it takes.”
Panic rolled through her. She felt as if she were being driven into a tight and airless corner, while he…
He looked coolly confident, as big and unyielding as one of the Rocky Mountain peaks that dominated the western horizon.
Clearly, she’d underestimated his determination.
Just as she’d overestimated her own. Not only did she not have the money for a legal battle, she simply didn’t have the stomach for it. If it were only her, she might chance it. But when it came to Sam…
The possible price was too high. Even if she knew she would win, she simply couldn’t risk her son’s security, his happiness, his opportunity to have a normal, average home life, by making him the object of that kind of bitter fight.
And what if she lost? What if she were forced to share custody, to hand Sam over to Gavin for a day, a week, a month at a time? It wasn’t that she thought Gavin would be an unfit parent; yet even if he qualified for Father of the Year, to Sam he would still be a stranger.
There was no escaping the truth. No matter how she felt, she had to do what was best for Sam. And what would be best for Sam would be for him to get to know Gavin here, in his own familiar home, where she could be on hand to help and watch over him.
But it would only work if it was done on her terms.
She took a deep breath. Without quite knowing how she got there, she found herself on her feet, needing to meet Gavin on a more equal level when she capitulated. “All right. You win. You can move in.”
A deep, savage satisfaction lit his eyes, turning them as blue as a hot summer sky. “Good.”
She smiled faintly. “On one condition.”
Suspicion hardened his features in an instant. “What’s that?”
“Where Sam’s concerned, regarding discipline, rules, setting limits, I have the final word.”
He didn’t like it, but then, she hadn’t expected him to. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She sighed. “Because he’s only two and a half years old. Right now, he’s testing his boundaries, and he needs consistency. I don’t want him caught between us, getting two different sets of signals.”
He thought about it. “Okay,” he said finally, then promptly imposed a condition of his own. “That’s fine…for now. As long as we can talk about it in a month or two.”
In a month or…two? Suddenly, the enormity of what she’d agreed to slammed into her full force. She was actually going to live with Gavin again. They would eat off the same set of plates and drink from the same glasses. They would share a newspaper and shower in the same tub. His clothes would mingle with hers in the hamper.
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