His Baby Surprise

by Lisa Childs

  Ryan lowered his head in shame and stared down at the floor. “Debbie told Brad on homecoming night, when he went over to talk to her. Then she told me. And we all told Dad.”

  “So you’ve all known for months that you’re Faith’s father,” she stated, understanding now why Brooks had looked so utterly betrayed. “How could you have kept something so important from your brother?”

  “We didn’t know how to tell him,” Ryan said. “So we told Dad first. But he already knew.”

  The sheriff lifted a ragged envelope from his desk. “The DNA results came back a while ago. They proved that Faith is a Hoover, but that Brooks is her uncle, not her father. Brad’s too smart to get that serious with a girl at his age.”

  Ryan flinched as if his dad had slapped him. “But you didn’t say anything to me until we came to you.”

  “You’re not ready to be a father,” the sheriff said.

  Ryan pushed a hand through his curly hair, the same way his big brother always did. “And you thought Brooks was?”

  “Not at first,” the sheriff admitted, “but then he believed she was his, and the DNA test results hadn’t come in yet. By the time they did, he’d stepped up—he’d proved himself.”

  “He’d fallen in love with her,” Priscilla said.

  And now he had lost her. Not like Priscilla had lost her baby, but she suspected it felt the same way. Permanent. And now Priscilla had lost him—before she’d ever really had him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “So you’re just gonna take off, then,” Brad said, leaning against the jamb as Brooks tossed some stuff into his worn duffel bag.

  “I have no reason to stay here.” He should have been relieved; he should have felt lighter than he had in months.

  “None?” Brad asked.

  “You must have talked to Ryan.” Brooks had been gone long enough, driving down all the back roads of Trout Creek. He suspected the whole town had heard he’d finally figured out he was living a lie. “You know the truth. I was the only one left in the dark.”

  “I’m sorry, Brooks, but you were doing the daddy thing really well,” his brother said. “And Ryan—there’s no way he could handle it. He’s a screwup.”

  “He didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” Brooks couldn’t help defending the sixteen-year-old.

  “None of us meant for it to happen. But we didn’t know how to tell you the truth without you getting mad. It was like it just snowballed, you know? And we didn’t know how to stop it.”

  Their snowball of lies had knocked him down as hard as he’d been knocked down on the ice all those months ago. And he felt as confused.

  “Do you really want to leave?” Brad asked.

  No. But the pressure still weighed heavily on him, giving him that sense of panic and urgency. “I’m so sick of the old man manipulating me. I just need to get away from him.”

  “Is that what you want?” Brad asked. “Or are you just rebelling—doing the opposite of whatever Dad wants?”

  Brooks’s hand clenched the clothes he’d just shoved in the bag. “Is that what I’ve been doing?”

  All those times he’d yelled at his father to stop treating him like a kid…Yet he still acted like one.

  Brad shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re doing.” He stared at Brooks for a moment. “Do you?”

  Throwing away everything that mattered to him—that was what he’d be doing if he left. He needed to talk to his other brother. “Where’s Ryan?”

  “Dad took him over to the Cooks’. They’re all going to talk about what’s best for the baby.”

  “Without me?”

  “Everybody thinks you’ve already taken off,” Brad said.

  “Of course.” No matter what the old man had said, he still thought Brooks was just like his mother.

  “I told Dad that you hadn’t come back for your stuff,” Brad continued, “but he said you’re so mad you’d probably leave without it.”

  “I am mad.” But he was more disappointed than angry. Now. At first he’d been furious that his dad had played games and manipulated his life again. “I’m mad they don’t think I have any say in what happens to Faith.”

  “But—but you really don’t,” Brad stammered as Brooks shoved past him in the doorway. “She’s not yours.”

  Maybe not biologically. But she was his in every way that mattered, and his arms ached to hold her again. “Faith is my daughter.”

  Moments later, as he let himself into the Cooks’ house, he repeated those exact words to the group assembled—and arguing—in the living room. And when the infant, clasped in Debbie’s mother’s arms, began to cry, he took the baby from her and held Faith close to his heart.

  “Shh, sweetheart.” With a heartfelt sigh, she settled against him and stared up at his face. “Daddy’s here.”

  His father, perhaps knowing how badly he’d screwed up, stayed silent now. Even though he stood next to Ryan, he studied Brooks, as if unable to believe his oldest son was really there and not on the road leading away from Trout Creek.

  “I don’t care about the DNA,” Brooks said. “I want to raise Faith.” The baby might have been a surprise, but he could not imagine his life without her in it now. And she wasn’t the only one he couldn’t imagine a life without.

  Debbie, her face red, her eyes puffy, glanced at Ryan, who looked as if he’d been crying, too. “Coach Hoover, she’s yours. She should stay with you.”

  Brooks felt an overwhelming relief. “Are you sure?”

  “You’ve been raising her. You’ve been taking care of her.” Debbie’s voice was shaky and she blinked back tears. “Good care of her.”

  Brooks looked down at the baby, content in his arms. During all those late nights of walking the floor and rocking, they had bonded like father and child. It didn’t matter what the DNA results said. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he said to Debbie. “Are you sure you can give her up?”

  The teenager nodded, and tears streaked down her face. “I already gave her up. I—I just left her there…on your doorstep. I don’t deserve her.”

  Her mother stepped forward and slid an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Debbie, I can’t believe you went through all this alone. You should have told me. I would have helped you. We could have figured this out together.”

  Her face contorted with misery, Debbie shook her head. “I—I couldn’t add to everything else you had going on.” She glanced over to her grandfather, who stood near the windows. He was staring out at the lawn, his image reflected back at them, tears streaming from his eyes like his granddaughter’s. “I couldn’t tell you, Mom.”

  “You should have told me, D.,” Ryan said, his voice shaking with emotion. “I should have known why you stopped talking to me, why you stopped hanging out.” It was obvious now that Debbie’s love hadn’t been unrequited. “You quit the team. And I didn’t know…”

  “I couldn’t tell you in person,” Debbie admitted, “but I told you in that note I left with her.”

  A note Brooks had interpreted as being for him. But he didn’t interrupt the kids to explain the misunderstanding. They were hurting so much. Given his own pain and self-pity earlier, he felt as self-centered and self-absorbed as the note had said.

  “You should have told me when you first got pregnant,” Ryan repeated. “You must have been so scared.” The teenage defenseman who’d faced down opponents twice his size on the ice looked frightened to death now, his eyes wide, his face pale.

  “What would you have done?” Debbie asked with a derisive snort. “Married me?”

  Ryan swayed on his feet, and Brooks stepped closer, to steady him. But their father was there first, his hand on the boy’s broad shoulder. “We’re too young to get married,” Ryan said.

  “We’re too young to be parents.” Debbie turned back to Brooks and her baby. “Do you really want her?”

  He nodded. “With my whole heart. I love her.”

  “You were thinking about giving her up,�
� Ryan reminded him with a trace of bitterness, “when you thought she was yours.”

  “Because I love her, I want what’s best for her,” Brooks explained. “I wasn’t sure then that that was me. Now I am sure.”

  Satisfied, Ryan nodded.

  “I’m also sure that I want her to know you two are her biological parents.”

  “Won’t it be weird?” Debbie asked.

  “We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “She should know how special the two of you are. And how special she is.” With a pointed stare at his father, he added, “I don’t want any more lies or secrets in this family.”

  Faith Hoover would always know exactly who she was. It wouldn’t take her thirty years to figure it out. He only hoped it wasn’t too late for him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Are you okay?” Maureen asked, her elbows propped on the railing of Priscilla’s front porch.

  The March sun had chased away some but not all of the cold. Priscilla hardly noticed, though. She was numb. “I’m fine,” she lied.

  “Then why are you standing out here?” Maureen asked with a shiver. “You must be freezing.”

  “No. I need the fresh air to think,” she said. And maybe she needed the cold to numb away the pain she’d felt earlier, in the sheriff’s office.

  “You’re thinking about Brooks?”

  She didn’t bother denying it. “I’m trying to figure out who can take over as hockey coach. I don’t think Coach Cook is recovered enough to bring them to the state championships.”

  “He looked pretty healthy at the game.”

  Priscilla shook her head, unable to envision Coach Cook in the job that had been his for so many years. Since Brooks had held that position, he had made it his own. Just as he’d made her his own. “You know, this is exactly why I didn’t want him for the job. I knew he wouldn’t stick it out. I just knew it….”

  Tears choked her. She’d known he wasn’t the man for her, either, but that hadn’t stopped her from falling for him.

  “That’s not fair,” a deep voice murmured. “You’re just assuming that I’m taking off.”

  “You’re not?” Maureen asked the question that was stuck in Priscilla’s throat.

  He lifted his arms, then dropped them back to his sides. “I’m here.”

  “For how long?” Maureen’s voice was stern as she stepped into her role of overprotective older sister.

  “That’s up to Priscilla,” he said. “Can I talk to her alone?”

  Maureen waited until Priscilla nodded before leaving the porch for the path that led to the main lodge. He must have parked his vehicle there, since Priscilla hadn’t heard him drive up.

  “So you’re going to turn in an actual resignation?” She shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, he’d submitted an application with proper references—for a job he’d been all but guaranteed.

  He shook his head. “Nope. If you want to get rid of me, you’ll have to fire me. I’m not resigning.”

  “But—but…” she stammered in confusion. “How are you going to coach when you’re leaving?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, his dark eyes alight with his usual mischief.

  Was he just teasing her?

  “But your coach got a neurologist to clear you to play again. You can go back.”

  “I talked to the coach. His neurologist still had concerns. I’d have to sign a waiver to play again—swear that I’m aware of the risk if I get another concussion.”

  “So there’s still a risk?”

  He nodded.

  “Is it a risk you’re willing to take to play the game you love?” she asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “And you’re fine with that? You’ve been dying to get back on the ice.” She had been selfish to hope that he would give up what he loved for her and Faith.

  “I’ll get back out there,” he said, “and start training again.”

  “With your team? So you’re still leaving?” She was confused. He’d just said he wouldn’t take the risk.

  He shook his head. “My team is Trout Creek High. I need to be here for them.”

  “You’re going to see the season through?” He really wasn’t the man she’d initially judged him to be.

  “Yeah.”

  “Things are going to change now,” she pointed out. “Debbie and Ryan will have more responsibility. They might even have to give up hockey.”

  “They don’t have to give up anything,” he said. “They just need to be kids, and focus on growing up.”

  “Is Debbie’s mom going to take Faith? Sonya is so busy with her dad.” She stopped herself as realization dawned. “Your dad—of course. Your dad is going to take Faith.”

  Brooks shook his head. “No, the old man is not taking her. Faith is my daughter. Debbie and Ryan are going to make it official in an open adoption.”

  Priscilla shivered as the numbness began to fade, and she dared to hope.

  “Here, let’s go inside,” he said, opening the door and guiding her with a hand on the small of her back. “It’s cold out here.”

  She had argued that point with her sister, but the sun had begun to set, so she nodded.

  Before closing the door, he grabbed a couple of split logs her brother-in-law had left on her porch. Then he started a fire in the small stone hearth in the corner of her living room.

  As the room began to warm, she shrugged off her jacket and stepped closer to the blaze and Brooks. “You’re really going to adopt Faith?”

  He unzipped his jacket and dropped it onto the back of the plaid couch. Then he joined her in front of the fire, his grin brighter than the flames. “Yes.”

  “Brooks, are you sure?”

  “Everyone keeps asking me that,” he said with a chuckle.

  “With good reason,” she pointed out. “It’s a big decision. You’re taking on responsibility for another life—for the rest of your life. Have you really thought this through?”

  “Yes,” he replied, his voice absolutely certain.

  “But it’s only been a few hours since you found out she’s not yours.”

  “She’s mine. She’s been mine since the first time I picked her up.” His words were gruff with emotion. “There’s only one thing in this life—in my life—that I’ve been more sure about than adopting Faith.”

  “What’s that?” Priscilla asked, although she thought she knew. Hockey. Back in high school, she had never seen anyone as certain of what he would be doing with his life.

  “That I love you,” he said. When her mouth dropped open, he pressed his thumb against her chin to push it shut and then pulled her into his arms. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “Brooks!” she exclaimed, unable to believe what he was saying. She’d known he was the man for her, but hadn’t dared to dream he could love her the way she longed to be loved.

  “And yes, I’m sure.” He laughed and tightened his arms around her. “I want to marry you, Priscilla Andrews.”

  She shook her head, unable to process what he was saying. Was she imagining it all? Had she cried herself to sleep over his leaving and dreamed this whole encounter? She reached up to check if he was real, rubbing her fingertips along the short stubble on his jaw.

  He caught her hand and pressed her knuckles against his lips. “I don’t have a ring yet, or I’d drop down on my knees and offer it to you. You deserve all that—the big romantic proposal. And I’ll give that to you when I get the ring. But I wanted to apologize for being such a jerk earlier, at my dad’s office.”

  “You’d just been dealt a couple major blows,” she said. “You were reeling. You felt betrayed.”

  “You didn’t betray me. And I never should have yelled at you. I’m so sorry.”

  She smiled. “You could have just sent me flowers. You don’t have to propose.”

  “That’s not why I proposed,” he said, his gaze intent on her face. “I’m serious, Priscilla. I want to spend my l
ife with you. But what do you want?”

  She hadn’t dared to hope for more than he’d already given her. More fun and pleasure than she’d ever known. But because she loved him, she couldn’t let him give up the one thing that had always been so much a part of him. “I can’t ask you to give up your career. You love hockey.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “And that’s why I love coaching it.”

  “But you love playing.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked. “I know that you didn’t think—when we first started this—that I was the guy for you. But when you came to me at the hotel, I thought you’d started to see me. I’ve become a different man since coming home. Do you want that man, Priscilla?”

  With her whole heart. “But one day you might regret—”

  “I won’t,” he assured her. “And you have yet to answer me.”

  “I will marry you,” she agreed.

  He scooped her up in his arms and swung her around. “Oh, thank God—thank you!”

  “As if anyone could ever tell Brooks Hoover no,” she teased.

  “You did,” he reminded her. “When you wouldn’t hire me.”

  “I think I want to offer you another job,” she said.

  “Husband? I can’t give you any references, but I promise to work really hard.”

  She smiled. “You’re already hired for that. I want you to be the athletic director.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Then I can spend more time taking care of your daughter.”

  “Our daughter,” he interjected. “I want you to adopt her with me.”

  She tensed with dread as a horrible suspicion occurred to her. “You haven’t—that isn’t why you’re asking me, is it? Because you promised the Cooks that you’d find a mother for Faith?”

  Stung by her mistrust, Brooks loosened his grip on her. She slid down, soft and warm against his tense body. But he stepped back and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets so he wouldn’t reach for her again and show her how much he needed her. She had to be certain on her own. “You think I’m using you?”

  “Are you?” she asked, with a fearful gasp that betrayed her insecurity.