скачать книгу бесплатно
Duncan didn’t say anything. It was Ben’s own reflection that stared back at him accusingly from the dark glass. The image wasn’t clear enough to show the touch of gray that had appeared in his hair lately, but his mind supplied that. He was pushing forty, and he was alone. It wasn’t how he’d ever thought his life would work out.
But he had a son. He straightened his shoulders and turned to face Duncan. “She’s coming here with Zach in a couple weeks. They’ll stay here to give me a chance to get to know him, let him get to know me.”
“I can go back to the base.”
“Hell if you will! This is your house, too. Your home. And—” he grimaced “—maybe it will be easier if we have someone else in the house. She and I have a lot to work through.”
“A single night together doesn’t exactly constitute a relationship. There can’t be that much to work out.”
“I’m going to marry her.”
Duncan’s eyes went blank. After a moment he turned away, shrugging out of his jacket as he spoke. “She came here because she wants you to marry her? It seems…belated.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” Irritation at his brother’s denseness eased some of the other feelings. “That isn’t why she came here, and I haven’t asked her yet.”
“But you think she’ll agree?”
“She’s the mother of my child.”
For the first time that night, there was a hint of humor in Duncan’s voice. “She might not see the two as being equivalent.”
“That’s why we’ll have a lot to work out.”
Duncan looked as if he might say something more, then shook his head and headed for the hall to hang up his jacket.
Ben was starting to feel better. They’d gotten through some of the worst of it. He remembered the drink he’d poured earlier and went to get it. The liquor tasted warm and mellow, but there was a bite beneath the smoothness. Tonight he needed that bite. When Duncan came back into the room, Ben swirled the amber liquid in his glass without looking up. “So, are you going back to the base, or are you going to stay here where you belong?”
“Do you need me to stay?”
Ben almost snapped out something about wanting and needing being different, but stopped himself in time. Duncan was the one who needed help, not him. But he was too stubborn for his own good. He’d hang around if he thought Ben needed him, though. “Yeah,” he said, though it wasn’t easy.
“All right. Ben…” Duncan seemed to struggle for words. “For God’s sake, think about this. You spent a couple days with her five years ago. You didn’t even recognize her.”
“She looks different now. Her hair was long then.”
“You didn’t know her,” Duncan repeated. “And now you want to marry her.”
“She’s got my son.”
Duncan turned away. “How old is she?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Do you even know?”
Ben searched his memory. “I think…probably close to thirty now. Maybe.”
“At least you didn’t rob the cradle,” Duncan muttered. He still wouldn’t look at Ben. “You have feelings for her, or do you just plan on using her to get custody of your son?”
It was strain Ben heard in his brother’s voice, not anger. He reined in his own temper as firmly as he could. “I don’t use women.”
Duncan turned slowly to face him. His eyes were winter-gray and unreadable. “If you didn’t want her enough to hang around five years ago, what kind of marriage can you have?”
“Things have changed. She didn’t need me then. She does now.”
“Because of the boy.”
“That’s part of it.” Ben took a deep breath, let it out and got the rest of it said. “Twenty months ago she was diagnosed with breast cancer.”
Chapter 3
Andrews, Florida, three days later
Gwen tucked the letter neatly back in its envelope. She took a deep breath, striving for calm.
The moist air carried the taste of home into her lungs—Florida air, flavored with hibiscus and jasmine. Outside a mockingbird welcomed the evening. The orange-gold rays of sunset streamed at a familiar slant through the windows of the porch. An easy profusion of light filtered through the leaves of the big bay tree to dapple the wooden floor, the glass table where she sat and the long white envelope with the Colorado return address.
Ben had booked and paid for the flight for her and Zach. He’d sent a terse little note to let her know, sent it overnight mail. Dammit. She pushed to her feet and started pacing.
She’d agreed to come to Highpoint with Zach. She’d agreed to stay in Ben’s house so he and Zach could spend normal, everyday time together. But she hadn’t agreed to letting him pay for their airfare.
He’d done it anyway.
Well, he was a proud man. A proud, stubborn jackass of a man. She rubbed her temple. This probably wouldn’t be the only time they butted heads over money. Benjamin McClain had a real problem with the fact that she had more of it than he did. She’d known that.
She hadn’t known she was still so angry with him about it, though.
At the other end of the house, the front door slammed. “Mom! Mom! Guess what! Where are you, Mom?”
She stopped moving, a smile easing the tight muscles of her face. “In the Florida room, honey.”
Feet pattered, light and swift, down the uncarpeted hall toward the sun porch where Gwen waited. “We went to see the seals, Mom, and I fed one!” Three feet, one inch of towheaded tornado whirled into the room, legs pumping.
“You did?” She hunkered down and held out her arms. Her son hurled himself into them. “All by yourself?”
“Mostly.” Zachary was ever judicious in his assessment of truth. “I got to hold the fish myself, and the man held me. I told him he didn’t have to ’cause I’m four now, but he did, anyway. And their teeth are really big, Mom. Did you know that?”
“Big teeth, huh? Bigger than mine?” She made chomping noises and pretended to bite him. He giggled, and her arms tightened.
Oh, God. She wanted so much for him, so much….
“You’re squishing me, Mom.” He wriggled.
“Sorry, light-of-my-life. Tell me about the seals.”
“The man said they’re called seal-ions, not just seals. And they bark like dogs. Like this.” He demonstrated.
Her mother spoke from the French doors, her voice dry. “He did that all the way home.”
The muscles across Gwen’s shoulders tightened. “The condition of his clothes tells me he had a good time.”
“We both did.” Her mother gave Zach the soft, faintly surprised smile that only her grandson seemed able to elicit.
All her life, Gwen had heard how much she resembled her mother. It was true. Her nose lacked the symmetry of her mother’s, due to the time she’d fallen out of a tree when she was seven. Otherwise, looking at Deirdre Van Allen’s face was too much like peering into her own physical future—the same eyes, mouth, chin, even the same small ears tucked flat to their heads. The same wheat-pale hair and easily burned skin. Aside from age, there was only one obvious difference between the two women: their height. The fine bones and flat chest that made Gwen look like an undernourished child were transformed on Deirdre Van Allen’s taller frame into a model’s willowy elegance.
Sometimes Gwen had rebelled against the resemblance, sometimes she’d taken comfort from it. These days she mostly just hoped she’d be around to find out how accurate that genetic mirror turned out to be.
Two sticky hands seized her face and turned it toward a small, square face with dark eyes and a determined chin. “I want a dog.”
Her mind snapped back to the moment. “You do, huh?”
“I been telling you and telling you that.”
“Mmm-hmm. And what have I been telling you?”
His mouth drooped. “That I can’t have one till I’m older.”
“That’s right.” He looked so sad, with that pouty lip. And so stubborn, with those frowning eyebrows. And not like her at all. Her heart hitched in her chest. For a long time she’d managed to forget that Zach had come from two sets of genes, not one. She couldn’t do that anymore.
“But you never say how much older. I’m getting older all the time.”
“So you are. What did your grandma stuff you with, anyway?” She poked his T-shirt-clad tummy. “I see a purple spot, a red spot…”
He giggled. “That’s grape drink and ketchup.”
“And was that ketchup on something or did you take it straight?” She scooped him up and stood—and God, but it was good to be able to do that again, to rise easily with the warm weight of her son in her arms. The radiation had left her so weak, tired all the time.
All that was in the past. “I also see a bath in your very near future.”
He frowned, considering that. “With bubbles,” he informed her. “An’ my army guys.”
“Sure thing.” She glanced over her shoulder at her mother as she started for the French doors that led to the rest of the house. “There’s a pot of decaf in the kitchen, if you’d like a cup.”
“Wine sounds better right now.”
“You know where it is.”
Several minutes later she left Zach in a tub that was more bubbles than water, surrounded by battalions of “army guys.”
She would tell him about his father tonight. Oh, she’d had reason enough to wait until she’d seen Ben, spoken with him, but she’d returned from Highpoint two days ago. There was no excuse to delay any longer. Ben had made it clear he wanted a relationship with his son.
How would Zach feel about suddenly acquiring a father?
Her stomach clenched with nerves. She saw that her mother had poured her a glass of merlot and left it on the counter. She picked it up and took a sip, letting the rich taste of the wine linger on her tongue.
It was so important to handle this right. She’d tried to prepare herself for the questions Zach would ask, including the big one: why hadn’t she told him about his father before?
Unfortunately she still didn’t have a good answer for that one.
Sighing, she looked at the open doors to the Florida room. Might as well get this over with. Her mother wouldn’t leave without making one last push to change Gwen’s mind.
“Battles are being waged,” Gwen announced as she stepped into the sun porch. “Campaigns plotted, and bloody war declared. I think the green guys are going to win again, though.”
Dusk had replaced the warm colors of sunset. Her mother stood in silence and dimness, her back to the house, looking out at the shapes and shadows of the garden. Her back was as straight as ever, but the way she hugged her arms to her made her look oddly vulnerable.
“Mom? Is something wrong?”
Deirdre turned, her face pale in the dying light. “I saw the letter from him. You’re going through with this, aren’t you.”
Gwen grimaced and flipped the light on. “It wasn’t addressed to you.”
“I didn’t read it,” her mother snapped. “But I couldn’t help seeing the return address.” She waved at the glass table, where a glass of wine sat next to the envelope with McClain Construction in the upper left corner.
Gwen took a deep breath. Arguing with her mother wouldn’t help. It was probably inevitable, but it wouldn’t help. Her throat ached as she crossed to her mother. “Yes, I’m going through with it. Everything is arranged—we leave on the tenth and will stay with his father for two weeks. I’ll tell Zach tonight.”
“Oh, Gwen.” Deirdre closed her eyes tightly for a second. “I don’t understand this obsession of yours. For heaven’s sake, you had to hire a detective to track the man down!” She shuddered delicately. To Deirdre Van Allen, anything connected with a detective was implicitly sordid.
“That was partly my fault. I’ve told you that.”
“The way you make excuses for this man worries me.”
Was she doing that—making excuses? Wearily Gwen rubbed her temples, where a headache was starting. “This is about Zach, not me.”
“Is it? I don’t think so. With all that Zach’s been through in the past eighteen months, the last thing he needs is another major change to deal with.”
Gwen turned and headed for the kitchen. Deirdre followed. “We’ve been over this and over this. You know how I feel.”
“And this is about your feelings, isn’t it? Not mine. Not your son’s. You’re cherishing some sort of romantic pipe dreams about this man, a man who walked out on you without a backward glance.”
Gwen wanted to scream. She wanted to just stand there and yell as loud as she could, but that would be as cruel as it was childish. It would frighten her mother and Zach.
Her mother was already scared. Gwen understood that; fear lay behind the protests and opposition. So she carried both their glasses to the sink, emptied them and rinsed them and opened the dishwasher. “This man has a name, you know. And a son. He deserves to know his son.”
“And what does Zach deserve? To have his life turned upside down for the sake of some man you picked up in a bar?”
Gwen’s breath sucked in. The jolt of pain came as a surprise. It shouldn’t have, she thought, yanking a paper towel loose from the roll, then bending to grab the spray cleaner from under the sink. Her mother had never put it quite so bluntly before, but then, she wasn’t one to give up without using any and all weapons within her grasp.
There were always fingerprints to be cleaned from the refrigerator. She moved there quickly, sprayed and wiped.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Deirdre came up behind Gwen. “For heaven’s sake, Gwen, sit down. It’s difficult to hold a conversation when you’re bouncing all over the place.”
“I can’t think when I’m sitting still. You know that.”
“You’re not thinking now. What happened five years ago was an aberration on your part. But this man—”
“Ben,” Gwen said, angry. She turned to face her mother. “His name is Benjamin McClain. And it was an aberration for him, too.”
“No doubt that’s what he told you.” Deirdre’s lips thinned. “Be realistic. He’s a construction worker. Picking up women in bars is no doubt quite normal for him.”
