He might not like his father right now. Might not agree with him. Might not share his values.
But he loved his father and always would.
“I should know,” Harrington said, his voice cracking. “Trust me. I do know.”
Liam stared at his father, taking a step toward him. “Dad?”
Harrington walked to the wall of windows, his arms around himself protectively. He stood there looking out, inhaling, exhaling. “I know because I was adopted as a baby.” He turned toward Liam and looked at him, then away. “Because I’m not a real Mercer.”
Holy hell. He knew. He knew he was adopted.
“I can tell from your expression that you’re shocked,” Harrington said. “Of course, I couldn’t tell you because then you might not think you were a real Mercer. I kept the secret to protect you.”
Oh, Dad. Liam closed his eyes for a moment, letting this all sink in.
“I overheard an argument between my parents when I was nine,” Harrington said. “I’d left for school but forgot a book and had come back. My parents were in the living room, their voices raised. I hid behind the wall and listened. My father said it was getting ridiculous that I didn’t know, that he wasn’t going to put up with it a day longer, but my mother pleaded with him to let it go, to just make it go away. At first I had no idea what they were talking about. But then I understood. I’d been adopted as a baby. My mother wanted my father to pretend that wasn’t the case. That I was my parents’ child, end of story.”
Liam tried to picture his father, tall, strong, imposing Harrington Mercer, hiding in the kitchen and eavesdropping on an unbearable argument between his parents only to discover he’d been adopted. That a secret had been kept, a secret about him. Liam recalled photos of his father while looking for pictures of Alexandra Mercer during her pregnancy. He’d been a solemn-faced kid, with serious blue eyes. Liam could hardly bear imagining that boy standing there in shock, confused, hurt.
“My father kept saying that the truth was the truth and it was wrong to keep something so important from me, that I should know for many reasons. But then my mother said something I’ll never forget. She said, ‘It’s too late. If he’d grown up knowing that would be different. But it’s too late. It’ll break his heart to know he’s not a real Mercer.”
“Oh, God. Dad.” Tears pricked the backs of Liam’s eyes and he blinked them away.
“I turned and ran then. I don’t know what else was said. But I do know they never did tell me. Long after my mother died, when my father was in hospice and I’d visit him, he would hold my hand and tell me to never forget that I was a Mercer, that it would carry me through.”
Liam’s heart clenched. There was so much he didn’t know about his dad. There was so much the people closest to you didn’t reveal. Incidents and memories and trauma that seeped their way inside their bones, changing them this way or that.
“I never let on that I knew. I didn’t want to break his heart at the end. And I know it would hurt him deeply to know that I’d known the truth for decades.” He turned back to the windows, his chin lifted, the strain in his jawline evident. “But do you want to know what kept going through my mind as my father drifted in and out of consciousness? That I wasn’t a real Mercer. That a lie wouldn’t carry me through. To fill my father’s shoes at Mercer Industries, I’d have to work very hard, make my life the business and try to become a Mercer in all the ways I knew how. I think I passed just fine. But I never felt like I truly belonged, that the name wasn’t really mine.”
Liam tried to process everything he’d just heard, but the words echoed in his head. The name wasn’t really mine. “Given all you just said, how could you say that Alexander isn’t a real Mercer, then? How could you turn your back? Your parents brought you up to be their son. That made you a Mercer. Not your DNA, Dad.”
“Because the truth was unbearable, Liam. And Alexander is going to grow up knowing the truth. He’s not a Mercer. He’s an Ingalls. And I’m not going to lie and pretend he’s something he’s not. He’s not my grandson. Shane is.”
“So you’re not a Mercer. That means I’m not. And guess what—that means Shane isn’t, either. So it looks like you don’t have any grandsons.”
His father stared at him then, hard, then looked away.
“When does it end, Dad? Who gets to be a Mercer in this branch of the family?”
His father walked over to the bar and topped off his scotch. He didn’t say anything.
“I have something for you, Dad. It’s in the car. I’ll be right back.”
Liam’s legs—and heart—felt so heavy as he walked out of the room. Part of him didn’t want to leave his father alone with his thoughts, with the admission hanging in the air like that. But he wanted to give his father the music box and letter. The time had presented itself.
Liam returned to the room with the box, his father still standing by the windows. “Dad, do you remember Mom showing this to you? She found it in a brown paper bag with your name on it, left anonymously on the porch last week.”
Harrington shrugged. “Your mother shows me a lot of things.”
“Well, Mom gave it to Shelby for her secondhand shop, Treasures. But when Shelby saw the box, she fell in love with it and decided to keep it instead of offering it for sale. She was examining it and found a letter hidden away under the velvet inside lining.”
“And?” his father asked, bored and impatient. He sipped his scotch and sat down in the club chair by the fireplace.
“Here,” Liam said, handing him the box. “The letter is inside. You need to read it.”
Harrington rolled his eyes but took the box. He opened it and unfolded the letter, his expression changing a second later as he read the date.
“That’s my birthday. The day and year I was born,” Harrington said, looking up for a moment and then returning his gaze to the letter.
Liam sat down on the chair across from his father, looking down, wanting to give the man some privacy.
He heard his father gasp and looked up. Liam knew exactly where he was in the letter. The first time “Mrs. Mercer” was mentioned.
Harrington sat still as a post, staring at the letter. He appeared to be rereading it, then again. His hands flew up to cover his eyes, his shoulders trembling.
His father was crying.
Liam got up and walked over to his father and put his hand on his shoulder. Harrington stood and wrapped his arms around Liam, sobbing, and Liam held him tightly, saying nothing, just letting him cry it out. It was the third time he’d seen his father cry; the first time had been when Liam was just a kid, when his father’s mother was dying, the second time at the funeral.
Harrington pulled back, wiping at his eyes. “Good God, this almost ended up in some stranger’s house on the mantel.”
Liam smiled. “But it didn’t. It ended up in your daughter-in-law’s hands. Shelby. Shelby Mercer. She’s a Mercer because she married me. I’m a Mercer because you’re my father. Alexander is a Mercer because I’m his father. And you’re a Mercer because you’re Wilton and Alexandra Mercer’s son.”
Tears glistened in Harrington’s eyes. “I’m also this woman’s son. Whoever she was.”
“Yes. Also. Just like Shane is also my son. Even though I didn’t raise him for the past six months. Even though someone else did. In that case, DNA says so. In Alexander’s it’s because I love him. Love, Dad. That’s what matters. Your birth mother clearly loved you. Your adoptive parents clearly loved you. Love makes you family. Period.”
Harrington stood up and moved to the windows again. Not saying a word.
“Shelby and I did a little investigating. It led us to a woman named Pearl who runs a dog rescue out of her home on the outskirts of town. Pearl is the one who left the letter. Your birth mother was her friend. She can tell you the story, if you want to hear it.”
“I�
�m not sure,” Harrington said, taking a sip of his drink.
“When you’re ready, then,” Liam said. “If you’re ready.” He walked over to his father and put his arm around him, then kissed his cheek, ignoring the way Harrington stiffened. Tough nuggies, Dad. In the doorway, he paused and turned around. “Oh, and Dad, I’ll be at Alexander’s bedside at the clinic till five and then I’ll go pick up Shane and take him back to the ranch. Just to keep you in the loop.”
His father nodded and again didn’t say anything.
Liam had no idea where things would go from here. He just knew he was desperate to see Alexander and hear that he was improving, even though Shelby had told him exactly that an hour ago. But first he’d have to stop at the office and take care of some pressing business, then pick up Shane and drop him off at the Pie Diner with the Ingallses for the couple of hours he’d be at the clinic for visiting hours.
Liam wished he could just head over there right now. If he didn’t see Shelby’s face soon, hear her voice, feel her in his arms for a bracing hug, he would spontaneously combust.
* * *
“It’s so hard to see a baby in the hospital,” Norah said, barely able to hold the stuffed monkey, the five board books and the blanket with the chew ends she’d bought for Alexander. She glanced down at the little guy asleep in the bassinet.
“You’re a sweetheart for bringing him all these presents,” Shelby said. “Between you, Aunt Cheyenne, Mom, Liam’s brother, mother and his cousin bringing heaps of gifts, we could open a big-box store.”
Norah smiled. “Alexander’s color looks pretty good.”
Shelby nodded. “The doctor said he responded well to treatment. He may only have to stay here for two days.”
One day less without Shane and Liam, the four of them together as a family. That was good. And so was the news that Alexander was already on the mend with antibiotics for the bronchiolitis and fluids.
Norah had to get back to the Pie Diner for the after-dinner rush, but just as she was leaving, Liam arrived. He hugged his sister-in-law, thanked her for all the pie she’d had delivered to his home and office, told her how her beef pot pie was the best he ever had and then turned to look at the stacks of gifts for Alexander.
“Wow. Alexander sure is loved.”
And lucky. Like his cousin had said the morning Liam’s entire life had turned upside down. Lucky because he was cherished.
“My parents came with the huge stuffed dolphin?” he asked, eyeing it in the corner.
“Actually, that was your brother’s doing. The dolphin, the Harry Potter and Narnia collections on the windowsill and an iPod preprogrammed with lullabies by his favorite artists.”
Liam smiled. “That’s Drake, all right.”
“And your mother brought that,” she said, pointing to the giant play mat with all kinds of pop-up fun for a six-month-old. “She was very concerned about Alexander and said she’d call later to see how he was doing.”
Liam frowned. “My father wasn’t with her?”
Shelby shook her head. “He hasn’t been here.”
“How did my mother seem when she was here?”
“Uncomfortable. Upset.”
“No doubt.” Liam filled Shelby in on everything that had happened during his talk with his father.
“He’s known he was adopted since he was nine years old,” Shelby repeated, shaking her head. “That must have been so hard to process.”
“What isn’t hard to process? Loving a six-month-old baby. You don’t get to pick and choose which baby to love.”
Shelby reached out for Liam’s hand. He was spitting mad, his cheeks flushed, his blue eyes flashing. She’d never seen him so angry.
“He should have been here. Two hours have passed since I left him. How could he not have rushed over here to see his grandson? How the hell can he act like this?” His voice was raised and he expelled a breath, looking in Alexander’s bassinet to make sure he hadn’t woken him. He closed his eyes for a moment and turned away, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Liam—”
He paced the room. “Just goes to show you how family can cut you to the quick. How you can’t really let yourself count on anyone. What we’re doing, Shelby, this arranged marriage with our list of dos and don’ts—that’s how you set up a family. That way, no one gets hurt.”
No, no, no, Shelby thought, her heart pleading. We’re supposed to move past this. The way we feel about each other is supposed to blast through this ridiculous arrangement and make our marriage real in every sense of the word.
“Like I said,” he continued, “you were right to stop things last night. Thank God you did. Because all it would lead to is heartache. And I’ve had enough.”
“No, Liam. I wasn’t right.”
He stared at her, waiting.
She stepped closer. “I was scared! Just like you are. But avoiding real love, a real marriage, because of fear—Liam, that’s wrong.”
He turned away and ran a hand through his hair. He was clearly frustrated and she could tell he was thinking she just didn’t get it, didn’t understand.
No, it’s you who doesn’t understand! Think about what you can have!
Yes, just explain that, she told herself. What was waiting for them if only he’d open that locked-up heart, guarded by bitter old trolls.
“Liam, every minute of our lives is going to be filled with risk. Alexander got sick. It could have been worse. It wasn’t. Shane will fall out of a tree when he’s five. Alexander will take a hard fall off a bike when he’s eight. There will be accidents and mishaps and heartache and who knows what else. That’s life. And we have to deal with it.”
“Yes, stuff happens, Shelby. Believe me, I know. So do you. So let’s not add to it by messing up a platonic marriage that’s working just fine.”
“You call this argument fine? You call going to bed every night alone fine? You call wishing we were truly together fine?” She paused, wondering if she was going too far. Maybe it was only she who felt this way. Her heart clenched as she realized Liam might not have the same depth of feeling for her. But everything inside her told her he did. “And what about the boys? Do you really want them to grow up thinking that a marriage is based on nothing more than practicality and friendship?”
He turned away again, let out a heavy sigh and faced her. “Nothing wrong with practicality and friendship. I’d say there are worse things to build a marriage on. Like nothing more than passion.”
But we have it all! We have the friendship. We have the practicality. And we definitely have the passion!
She opened her mouth to say so, but he shook his head. “There’s nothing more to say, Shelby. I’m going to pick up Shane and bring him home to the ranch. A few days apart will probably serve us well, anyway. Let you bond more with Alexander and me with Shane. And give us some time to forget last night ever happened and start fresh.”
I don’t want to start fresh. I love you! I want my husband in every sense of the word.
But now wasn’t the time to make her case for that whopper. Liam was hurt and angry and lashing out. Maybe a little time to themselves was in order.
Maybe he’d come to his senses.
Except what if he didn’t? Like father, like son?
A chill ran up Shelby’s spine.
Liam stood by Alexander’s crib and touched a kiss to his forehead, then left the room, taking Shelby’s heart with him.
Chapter Fourteen
Alexander had been discharged the next afternoon, and Shelby brought him back to the apartment above her shop. Liam had called at least ten times for updates.
And to ask if his father had stopped by the clinic to see Alexander before he was sent home.
The answer was no, and the silence on the end of the phone made it clear that Liam hadn’t made peace with his father’s reject
ion overnight. As if that was possible, anyway.
Shelby had stayed at the clinic last night, watching Alexander’s chest rising and falling with every breath, her love for him keeping her awake. She hadn’t wanted to miss a moment. Not when she’d missed so much already. She must have fallen asleep eventually on the uncomfortable built-in “parent” cot, grooves in the side of her face, her hair a disaster and her back all wonky. Her mother had come by the clinic with sesame-seed bagels and cream cheese and orange juice and coffee and given Shelby a wonderful massage, and it had taken all Shelby’s doing not to let loose with everything that had happened.
She usually would, but this was her husband’s family business and it didn’t feel right to blab about it just so she could feel better.
Except that was what family was for.
By the time Shelby was back home and Norah arrived a half hour before she had to open Treasures and take over as proprietor for the day, Shelby had let it all out.
“Oh, Shelby,” Norah said, pouring them both coffee at the table in the kitchen. “He’ll come around. The man loves you. The man is in love with you. He can’t put the kibosh on that no matter how hard he tries.”
Shelby felt her shoulder slump and dumped a teaspoon of sugar in her coffee. “His father did it.”
“Baloney. His father is processing. The man was handed two big kicks upside the head—first that his grandson was switched at birth. Then that his birth mother left him a letter. He had a minute to process that letter yesterday when Liam expected him at the clinic. Give him a little time.”
“That’s a good point. Liam worries he’s a lost cause.”
Norah took a sip of her coffee, frowning at the pink-red lip gloss stain she left on the mug. “Look, I don’t know Harrington Mercer. I barely talked to the man at your pie-diner wedding reception other than about his favorite kinds of pie. But I know people. And the man has heart.”
Norah was awfully good at reading people. She always had been.
“You think so?” Shelby asked, feeling herself brighten a bit.
“I do. Oh, by the way—the lawyer and I broke up.”
The Baby Switch! Page 16
