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“So I noticed,” Lindsay muttered but not so loudly that her grandmother could hear. She’d also noticed the uneven brick path out front, the sagging porch steps, the crooked outlets, the cracking grout on the bathroom floors. She shuddered slightly to think of all she couldn’t see. What about the wiring, the plumbing, the actual structure holding up the charming but aging Victorian?
With such an old house, maintenance was a full-time job—one her grandfather had gladly taken on after retiring from the local post office. But while Robert Brookes had been a wonderful man, loving husband, doting father and grandfather, a handyman he was not. As his various attempts proved to Lindsay’s untrained eye.
Her parents had warned her that the house would need serious work before they could put it on the market, and she had to tread carefully—both about the quality of the work Ellie’s late husband had done and about selling the house Ellie loved.
Her grandmother was far too smart not to have figured out the reason behind Lindsay’s visit, once the phone calls from Lindsay and her parents failed to do the trick. So far, Ellie had changed the subject anytime Lindsay so much as discussed all the benefits of moving to Phoenix. Even the best, most convincing argument Lindsay could think of—“you’ll get to see more of me and Robbie”—had been met with Ellie’s patented smile.
“Something I could do right here if you and my great-grandson would move back home.”
Stubborn, Lindsay thought with a sigh. But so was she.
“Just needs a bit of elbow grease,” Ellie said, and for a split second, Lindsay thought her grandmother was talking about what might be needed to get her to move from the home she loved.
Still, Lindsay grabbed at the opening while she could. “You’re right, Gran. A little bit of elbow grease and some TLC. I know it’s been hard for you to keep up with everything since Granddad died,” she added gently.
Ellie sighed as she shut off the mixer. “Your grandfather loved puttering around the place. He was always happier when he had a project to work on.”
“Like you’re always happier when you have someone to cook for,” Lindsay said as she reached out to set the skillet on the stove and steal a handful of blueberries on the way back.
“Those are for the pancakes,” Ellie scolded as Lindsay knew she would. “And you’re right. Upkeep on this place was your grandfather’s love, not mine.”
Lindsay carefully swallowed the juicy bite-size fruit, almost afraid of ruining the moment. Was her grandmother starting to see things her way? “It’s a big house, Gran. A lot of work for one person.”
Ellie nodded as she wiped her hands on her apron. “That’s why I’ve made a decision.”
Pinpricks of tears stung Lindsay’s eyes. How hard it must be for her grandmother to realize she couldn’t stay in her own house. The place where she’d lived with her husband and young children. The place where she’d raised her family, grown old and said goodbye to the man she loved after over fifty years of marriage.
A pang hit her chest as Lindsay admitted she, too, would miss the old house where she’d spent some of the best parts of her childhood. She loved her parents, of course, but going to Grandma and Grandpa’s had always been such a treat.
But a house was just a house, and once Ellie moved to Phoenix, their family would see each other far more often. “It’s the right thing to do, Gran.”
“Oh, I know. It’s time,” Ellie said, her voice cheerier than Lindsay might have expected. But then again, once Ellie made up her mind, there was no going back.
The ringing of the doorbell interrupted before Lindsay could get too emotional, and she quickly blinked back tears as her grandmother turned toward the sound. “Can you watch these pancakes while I get that?” Ellie asked, already stripping off her apron and passing the spatula to Lindsay.
She could hear the low sound of voices—her gran’s familiar sweet tones and a lower, undeniably masculine murmur—as she watched the pancakes, waiting for the bubbles to rise to the top.
She’d flipped the first, somewhat successfully, when the voices grew louder. Her grandmother wasn’t— Oh, yes, she was. Ellie was leading whoever was at the door straight to the kitchen.
Lindsay didn’t need to look around to know there was no escape. She was still in her pajamas, for goodness’ sake! She didn’t even want to think about her hair or her glasses.
Panic started to build despite the deep breaths she took. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. This isn’t me anymore!
Bookworm Brookes—the geekiest girl at Clearville High.
But it was too late to do anything but grin and fake it. To put the best spin possible on the situation. A situation that grew so much worse as her grandmother stepped into the kitchen with a smile...and Ryder Kincaid following on her heels.
A nightmare, Lindsay thought. It had to be. Like the ones where you were naked in front of a crowd. But instead of naked, she was in her cartoon pajamas and thick-framed glasses. Which, as she met Ryder’s amused grin, was almost worse.
“Lindsay, dear, you remember Ryder Kincaid, don’t you?” Ellie asked as she slid the spatula from Lindsay’s nerveless fingers and took over at the stove.
“I, um, yes. I remember.” And though there was nothing remotely suggestive in her voice or in the moment, Lindsay swallowed as her gaze locked with Ryder’s. In an overwhelming, soul-stealing rush, she remembered...everything.
She’d been so nervous and yet so eager when Ryder kissed her that first time. Her heart had pounded so hard she was half-afraid it was going to leap right out of her chest. Every kiss, every touch had felt like magic, and she’d known her life would never be the same...
And oh, hadn’t she been right about that even if she’d been so wrong about everything else?
“Hey, Lindsay.” Was it her imagination or did Ryder’s voice sound a little deeper, a little rougher around the edges, as if he, too, was suffering from some flashbacks of his own? “Good to see you again.”
Her stomach twisting into knots, she asked, “What...what are you doing here, Ryder?”
His familiar grin was back, and Lindsay resisted the urge to slap herself. Hadn’t he proved time and again that that night had meant nothing to him? He’d hardly spoken to her in the weeks that followed, striding through the high school halls with Brittany Baines on his arm. Prom king and queen, the school’s golden couple. He’d forgotten all about her in the time it took to drop her back on her front porch and drive away.
“Your gran invited me.”
“What? Why?” For a split second, the room spun as her world tilted. Her grandmother couldn’t possibly know—no one knew about her and Ryder. No one except for Tony Pirelli, the boy—man now, though Lindsay hadn’t seen him since the summer after she graduated—whom everyone believed to be Robbie’s father. And even then, Lindsay hadn’t mentioned Ryder’s name when she confessed her terrifying secret.
Only that she’d been so, so stupid and was so, so scared...
“I don’t know what to do, Tony. I can’t tell the father. I just...can’t.”
“So don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t say anything. Anyone asks about the father, tell ’em it’s none of their business.”
“But you know people will think—”
“People can think whatever the hell they want. The trick is learning not to give a damn.”
It was a trick Tony Pirelli could give lessons in. He’d already angered his parents, first by dropping out of college midway through his second semester and more recently with his intention to join the marines.
“But what...what will you tell your family?”
He’d grinned at her—his typical indolent, almost insolent smile. “That’s easy. I’ll tell ’em the last thing they’d ever believe.”
“What’s that?”
“The truth.”
His plan had worked. The more he protested his innocence and hotly denied responsibility, the guiltier he sounded. Before long, everyone accepted he was the father of her baby—including his family. And for all these years, for the sake of their friendship, Tony had carried the weight of their disappointment so that she could keep the true identity of Robbie’s father a secret.
“Didn’t you know, Lindsay?” Ellie was asking. “Ryder moved back last year.”
“Yes, I’d heard. But that doesn’t exactly explain why you invited him over for breakfast,” Lindsay answered back in an aside that must have been loud enough for Ryder to hear, judging by the way one side of his mouth kicked up.
Ellie laughed. “I didn’t invite him for breakfast—though you’re welcome to join us,” she called over her shoulder to the man in question.
“Love to.”
Of course he would, Lindsay thought as she drew in a breath. Nightmare. Really, really had to be a nightmare. “Then why did you invite him over, Gran?” she asked even as habit kicked in and she reached for the plates to set the table.
“To take a look at fixing up the house. Isn’t that what you and your parents have been trying to get me to do for months now?” Ellie’s expression seemed a shade too innocent, but Lindsay was too caught off guard by her words to focus on the meaning behind them.
“But Ryder—” Her protest died on her lips as she realized she didn’t know exactly what Ryder had been doing for a living since he returned home. He’d worked at his in-laws’ firm in San Francisco, building billion-dollar, award-winning high-rises. Not something there was much need for in Clearville.
Still... “You’re...you’re a handyman?” Lindsay asked as she carried the plates toward the eat-in nook.
A very small nook she couldn’t get to without stepping way too close to Ryder. She tried to squeeze by, but he moved directly into her path and reached for the plates. “I do like to consider myself handy.”
Lindsay didn’t want to remember all the places those skilled hands had once touched while standing in her grandmother’s kitchen. Didn’t want to remember—ever. But she did. She remembered every touch, every kiss, every mistaken belief that what she was feeling—what they were both feeling—had to be love.
And that Ryder seemed to want her to remember was just...cruel. Like tossing her foolishness for falling for him, for thinking making love with him meant something, back in her face.
The stoneware plates, still caught between both their hands, rattled as her hands shook. “Hey, Lindsay,” Ryder said softly, his eyebrows pulling low. But whatever else he might have said was lost by the thump of footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Mom, what’s—”
Robbie’s typical question of “what’s to eat?” cut off as the boy slid to a stop in the kitchen doorway, his gaze shifting between his mother and Ryder. Lindsay jerked back so quickly only Ryder’s fast reflexes saved the plates from crashing to the tile floor.
“Hey, honey.” Reaching out, she restrained herself from pulling him into her embrace. Instead she took small comfort in resting a hand on her son’s narrow shoulder. He wasn’t big on hugs anymore, at least not when other people were around. And she no longer had the power to kiss an owie and make the hurt go away. It was all part of growing up, she knew. Part of changing from boy to man, a transition she knew nothing about.
And seeing the two of them—father and son standing side by side for the first time—she felt a wave of dizziness rock her. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds and blurring the edges of her vision until she could see nothing else but her boy and the man in front of her.
Everyone had always told her how much Robbie took after her. But then again, everyone also thought dark-haired, dark-eyed Tony Pirelli was her son’s father, and he and Robbie looked nothing alike. So little wonder people saw the resemblance between mother and son in their dark blond, wavy hair, blue-green eyes and slender builds. It was all Lindsay ever saw—until now.
But now, with Robbie and Ryder together, wasn’t there a similarity in the shape of their chins, their wide foreheads, the arch of their eyebrows? Even, heaven help her, the cowlick at the part of their hair, far more noticeable in Ryder’s short style than in her son’s too-long bangs.
Not a mirror image by any means. More of a time progression of what Robbie might look like in another twenty years...
“Who’s that?” Robbie murmured, his head lowered so far he might have been asking the question of the racecar speeding across the front of his shirt.
“Robbie, this is...”
Your father.
Chapter Three (#ulink_5c2903ae-8a78-507e-8a5b-16cce99c40a5)
For that split second, Lindsay nearly blurted out the truth she had kept secret for so long. The promised relief from the weight that had settled in her chest from the time Robbie was a toddler and started calling her own father “Dada” was almost overwhelming. But this couldn’t be about her. She had to think about her son...and about Ryder and the kind of father he might make.
She had no idea how Ryder would react to the news. He could turn his back on Robbie the same way he’d turned his back on her. Or—and wasn’t this her greater fear?—he could try to take Robbie away. He had nine years’ worth of visitation rights. Lump that altogether and he could steal the boy she loved more than her own life away from her for a long, long time. Not that joint custody worked that way, but the words joint custody filled her with a fear no amount of truth telling could free her from.
No, she had to get to know Ryder much better than she did now—much better than she’d even known him in high school—before she would tell him about Robbie.
So she said, “Robbie, this is Ryder Kincaid.”
“Hey, bud,” Ryder said, sticking his hand out. He had his fist closed and Robbie somewhat cautiously reached out to bump knuckles. His arm skinny, pale and still little-boy smooth; Ryder’s well-muscled, tanned and covered with a light sprinkling of masculine hair. His tone more relaxed than Lindsay would have expected, he added, “Your mom and I used to be friends back in school.”
“Really?” Robbie glanced sidelong from behind his glasses at Lindsay as if waiting for her to verify a truth he couldn’t quite believe.
Yeah, well, she’d always known her son was smart. Smarter than her teenage self, who’d actually believed she and Ryder had something more than friendship.
Still, she faked a smile and agreed, “That’s right. We started hanging out while I was tutoring Ryder in math.”
It was a bit of a low blow. Robbie had never needed any kind of help in school—not from her and certainly not from another student. Pointing out that Ryder had was more than a little immature.
But Ryder merely grinned. “That’s right. Your mom was the smartest girl I knew.”
Not smart enough to keep from being totally fooled by him. But Lindsay swallowed her anger the same way she had a decade ago—by focusing on Robbie. “Why don’t you finish setting the table?” she suggested with a nod at the stack of plates Ryder had already placed on the table.
“Set it for four, sweetie,” her grandmother called out from her place at the stove, proving she’d been listening in all along. “Mr. Kincaid is joining us for breakfast.”
Ryder grinned at Robbie. “Call me Ryder. Mr. Kincaid is my dad.”
The boy muttered something beneath his breath that might have been Ryder’s name, but Lindsay could barely hear over the words echoing through her head.
“Mr. Kincaid is my dad.”
But with Robbie gathering silverware from the kitchen drawer and her grandmother flipping the bacon popping in the skillet, Lindsay took the opportunity to ask, “What are you doing here, Ryder?”
“Like your gran said. She called looking for a quote to fix up the house. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
He lifted his eyebrows in challenge, bringing back the memories of the dares she hadn’t had the will to resist. Yes, she’d tutored him in calculus, and yes, Ryder had gone on to pass the class. But more often than not, he’d convince her to slip away from the library and sneak off to the square or the rocky, secluded beach not far from town.
It hadn’t been much of a risk, really, as they’d never done anything more than sit on a shady park bench or walk on the beach and talk. So perfectly harmless if she didn’t count falling headlong in love with him.
And while Lindsay wanted to believe she’d outgrown such foolishness, this was one challenge she couldn’t refuse. She didn’t dare admit she had a problem with Ryder taking a look at the house—not without giving him cause to wonder why. And hadn’t she been looking for a way to get to know him? A better opportunity wasn’t likely to fall in her lap, and yet—
I don’t want him here. Not so close to Robbie. Not where their every move would be under her grandmother’s watchful eye...
“I don’t suppose it would hurt to get a quote,” she said finally. “But I’m going to need references.”
“Of course,” he agreed with mock seriousness. “You wouldn’t be the girl I remember if you didn’t do your homework first.”
“The girl you remember,” she muttered beneath her breath with a sarcastic scoff. “Right.”
She turned to head back to the kitchen, but Ryder caught her arm. Lindsay nearly gasped at the unexpected contact even though it was nothing more than a split second before he let go. Had he sensed her reaction? Or make that overreaction? She didn’t dare look him in the face. Good Lord, could this morning get any more humiliating?
“I’m sorry about yesterday. Seriously, Lindsay, when I first saw you...I didn’t recognize you. You looked so different.”
Because she’d changed, she reminded herself. And not only on the outside. She was a new person. A stronger, smarter, more confident person. So she forced herself to meet his gaze.
Sincerity filled his expression as he said, “I didn’t realize it was you.” A faint smile curved his lips. “Seeing you today, I’d have recognized you in a heartbeat.”
And then that mossy gaze traveled from her sleep-tousled hair caught back in its mousy ponytail, her thick glasses and makeup-free face, down her cutesy and by no means sexy pajamas, all the way down to her feet. Heat rose over her skin every inch of the way.
Embarrassment. Pure and simple embarrassment.
