KIRKLAND: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security)

by Glenna Sinclair

  Dreams do come true. I have a real family now. I’m looking forward to those quiet, if active, senior years. Yet, I’m also looking forward to every minute between.

  ~ End ~

  Blindsided

  Prologue

  Harrison

  I stared out the window of the car, watching familiar neighborhoods flash by outside. I love New York! The first time I was here was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college. I came with a group of friends for a summer of recklessness. And what a summer that was! I still have a few of the tattoos I got that summer, the first of dozens I now have to keep covered when conducting business.

  Who would have imagined my life would go the way it did? Well, I suppose it was always my father’s plan. He just thought he’d be here to watch it happen.

  We pulled up to the hotel and a valet arrived at my door, yanking it open and welcoming me with that rote speech all service people learn on the first day at the job. I climbed out and stretched my back a little, relieved to be out of the confines of one vehicle after another. I had some free time—thank goodness—before my meeting in the morning, so I thought I’d take a walk after I checked in. Visit a few favorite places.

  The moment I stepped into my room—a nice suite with a balcony that overlooked Manhattan—I pulled out my smartphone and took note of all the emails and phone calls I’d ignored on the long flight from Oregon. I started to answer a few, but then decided it could wait. My life was a succession of meetings and emails and phone calls. Surely it could all wait for a few hours, for once.

  I changed into jeans and a t-shirt, feeling halfway human for the first time all day, and slipped out of the hotel through a side door. A taxi deposited me in Brooklyn, not far from the rat infested motel where my friends and I stayed that long-gone summer. My stomach growling, I ducked into a little hole in the wall restaurant that served the best shrimp scampi I’d ever had. The maître d’ recognized me, his face breaking into a huge smile as he charged through a group of people waiting impatiently for a table to greet me.

  “Mr. Philips! How lovely to see you again.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, Jack.”

  “Let me show you to a table.”

  Those words set off a few grumbles in the people around us, but I didn’t really pay much attention to it. I was used to this sort of attention. It used to bother me, but maybe I’ve gotten a little too comfortable in the world of privilege I’d shunned as a young man. There were few perks to the job that was thrust on me eleven years ago. Shame on me for enjoying the few that did exist.

  I took a seat and ordered a nice bottle of wine, enjoying a glass as I waited for my salad to be delivered. My table was in the center of the room, so I sat back and watched the other diners. I like to watch people, imagining what their story might be. Like the young couple sitting to my right. They were clearly arguing, even though they were trying hard to keep their voices down and their gestures to a minimum, it was hard to ignore the intensity in their expressions. I imagined they were fighting over another woman—or perhaps a man—who was coming between them. Or maybe it was something to do with the in-laws. There was another couple behind them who were displaying such sickly sweet affection for one another that it almost made me sick to my stomach. I watched as the man’s hand moved slowly over his woman’s wrist and tried to remember the last time I’d touched a woman like that. It was kind of pathetic that I couldn’t remember with any certainty.

  My salad arrived and I tucked into it, enjoying the acidic burn the dressing offered. I sat back to pour myself another glass of wine when I caught sight of a familiar face. I had to look twice, not sure I was seeing what I thought I was, or if my eyes were playing tricks on me. I’d just been thinking about her, this woman I met during that trip to the city so long ago, so maybe…but, no. It was really her.

  Her hair was shorter, a slightly different shade of blonde than it had been sixteen years ago. The shape of her face was a little rounder, her jaw softer. But her eyes were still that incredible pale blue I dreamt of for years after that long ago summer. My first love. She wasn’t my first affair, but she was the first girl who broke my heart.

  I crossed the room without thinking about it, leaning against the arch that separated the lobby from the dining room with a casualness I was definitely not feeling.

  “Julia?”

  She looked up at the sound of her name, a smile exploding in her eyes when she saw me.

  “Harry!”

  She laughed as she threw herself into my arms. I slid my arms around her waist, my mind noting the few differences in her body even as my heart noted the familiarity.

  “I can’t believe it’s you! It’s been so long!” She stepped back and stared up at me, her fingers brushing my jaw. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long.”

  “Are you meeting someone? I mean…” I stepped back and gestured toward my table, “I’d be happy for you to join me.”

  “I was actually just going to make an order to go. But I have nowhere to be. I’d be happy to join you.”

  I immediately slid my hand over the small of her back and led her to my table, acting the gentleman by pulling out her chair and helping her settle in. Then I gestured to the waiter, arranging for another wine glass and putting in her food order.

  When we were settled across from each other, I found myself staring at her, my eyes moving slowly over her familiar face. We’d only spent two months together, but it felt like a lifetime, as those young affairs often do. I remember waiting for weeks after I went back to college, jumping each time someone called, hoping it would be her. But it never was.

  “You look great,” she said, her eyes doing the same as mine, taking in every subtle change in my face.

  “You, too.”

  She shrugged, but the blush on her cheeks told me how much she appreciated the compliment. “I take care of myself.”

  “It shows.”

  She reached over and touched my arm, her fingers cool as she flipped my wrist and touched the tattoo—an infinity symbol—that she’d seen emblazoned there.

  “You still have it.”

  “The other one, too,” I said, flipping my other wrist to show her the cross that adorned the other wrist.

  She laughed even as she reached over to touch it with her other hand. Her left hand. That’s when I saw her wedding ring and the impressive diamond engagement ring that went with it. I lifted her hand, my thumb rubbing against the jewel.

  “You got married.”

  “Yes. Ten years ago.”

  “Is he good to you?”

  She nodded. “He works on Wall Street. We live pretty well.”

  “Good. You deserve the best.”

  “What about you? Did you ever get married?”

  I shook my head even as I continued to stare at her ring. Why did it bother me so much that a girl I hung around with sixteen years ago was married? But, somehow, it did.

  “Did you become a teacher?”

  I looked up, a little ache awakening in my chest. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I let go of her hand and picked up my wine glass, taking a long swig as I formulated my answer. “I was close. I was just a few months short of earning my master’s degree. But then my father got sick and things just fell apart in a matter of weeks.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I shrugged, pretending that it no longer mattered. But it did. There was still that little bit of resentment that hung on all these years, hating my father, my brother, my sense of responsibility, and the circumstances that took my dreams from me. As much as I wanted to get past it, it still lingered just like the memories of the summer I spent with Julia lingered.

  “It was cancer. He died less than four months after they found it. And my brother…he was not prepared to take control of the business. But someone had to. My mom and sister needed someone to take care of them.”
/>   “So, you stepped up.”

  There was admiration in her tone. I looked at her, the desire to kiss her almost overwhelming. I took another long swallow of wine, feeling the heat of the alcohol finally having an effect.

  The waiter arrived with Julia’s salad, promising our entrees would be out in a few minutes. I watched her eat for a minute, remembering how we met. My friends and I had only been in town for a few days when we wandered into this late night deli. We were drunk and acting a little more obnoxious than necessary. And she was the put-upon waitress who had to deal with us. She ended up joining us, sitting on my lap while I fed her little pieces of my bagel. The taste of cream cheese still makes me think of the taste of her kiss.

  “Are you happy?” she suddenly asked.

  I shrugged. “I’ve taken my father’s little furniture business and built it into a pretty impressive corporation that sells everything from end tables to furniture polish to woodworking tools.”

  “Really?”

  “Ashland-Philips Corp.? I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s you? My husband was just talking about that company the other day. That’s you?”

  “That’s me. And my sister. She helps run it these days.”

  “Cool that you get to work with family.”

  I nodded. It was the only bright spot about it.

  Silence fell between us as we once again began to study each other. I could see the fine wrinkles at the corner of her eyes now, the slight sag to the skin under her chin. But I would forever remember her as that beautiful girl with the tight, sexy skin I caressed and admired day in and day out over that all too short summer.

  “Do you have kids?” I asked to distract myself from my thoughts.

  “Two with my husband.”

  “Two? Boys or girls?”

  “Two girls. The other was a boy, by the way. I wasn’t sure you would want to know, after what the lawyer said, but he was a beautiful little boy.”

  There was a sadness in her eyes as she spoke. I had no idea what she was talking about, but the way she said it made a chill run down my spine.

  “Who was a boy?”

  “The baby,” she said, looking up at me with tears in those perfect blue eyes. She kind of laughed as she reached up and brushed a tear away. “Sorry. Every time I think I’m over it…I think it’s just seeing you again.”

  I shook my head even as another chill joined the first and settled in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I said slowly, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  A twist of confusion filled her expression. She opened her mouth to speak, but the waiter chose that moment to arrive with our entrees—shrimp scampi for me and chicken parmesan for her. It smelled amazing, but my stomach was suddenly so twisted into knots that I wasn’t sure I could take a single bite.

  “I tried calling you. Over and over, I called. But they always said you weren’t available.”

  “Who said?”

  Julia frowned as she stared down at her plate, her fork tearing at the breading on her chicken. “I don’t know. Whoever answered the phone at the number you gave me.”

  I tried to remember what number I gave her. The one at the dorms, probably. Or the house? I couldn’t quite remember.

  “Why would someone say that?”

  She shrugged. “I called Tommy. He said he’d get a message to you, but I never heard back.”

  Tommy. He was a childhood friend, one of the guys who came to New York with me that summer.

  “He never said anything.”

  “And then the lawyer went to your house. He said he spoke to you. That you told him yourself that you didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

  “I never spoke to a lawyer. When did he go to the house?”

  Julia thought about it for a second, her fork still tearing at that innocent chicken. “It would have been about February or March.”

  “I was still at Stanford then.”

  Tears filled her eyes again. “You never knew, then?”

  “Knew?”

  “I was pregnant, Harry. When you left, I found out a couple of weeks later.”

  It was like she’d doused me with freezing water. Every nerve in my body just went numb. I stared at her, unable to truly comprehend what she was saying.

  “Pregnant?”

  “We were so careful. I couldn’t figure out…something broke or maybe that night in the shower…I don’t know. My parents hit the roof. My dad wanted me to have an abortion, but my mom grew up Catholic. She wouldn’t let that happen. I wanted to keep him, but they refused to help me if I did that. I would have been on my own, and I couldn’t make enough money with my job at the deli to take care of kid.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I gave him up for adoption.”

  I felt seriously ill then. My head was spinning and my stomach felt as though someone had deposited a hot rock there. I leaned forward a little, trying to relieve the pressure that I knew, logically, was all in my head. Then I poured another glass of wine and swallowed a healthy slug, but that sat even heavier on my stomach and made the pressure worse.

  “You signed the papers. At least, the papers the lawyer came back with had your signature on it. And I picked this great couple. They had a little girl they said was so excited to have a little brother. It seemed perfect. I’d been an only child and I didn’t want my son to grow up that way…”

  She was babbling now, her words high pitched and so quick that I could barely keep up with her. I reached across the table and took her hand.

  “Who were they? Where do they live?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know much about them. I was only given their first names—Dale and Robin. They lived in upstate New York then, but it was fifteen years ago.”

  “Fifteen years?” I shook my head, trying to imagine that I was a father. And that my child was fifteen years old.

  It was overwhelming.

  I stood up and tossed a handful of bills on the table before walking out. I made it to the corner before I lost what little I’d eaten on the sidewalk.

  I was a father. I had a child out there somewhere and someone chose to hide that information from me.

  I knew who it was. My father. He’d never wanted me to teach. He’d never wanted me to have a normal life. He groomed me from the time I was a toddler to take over the business, to become the CEO I was now. He had all these grand plans for his children. My brother, Randy, let him down from the very beginning. So he put all his hopes and dreams on me. And his death—if I didn’t know it was impossible, I might suspect he got sick on purpose.

  My father did this. He hid my child from me.

  If he hadn’t, how different would my life be now?

  “You have to go find him,” my sister, Libby, told me a few days later when I poured the whole story out to her. “He’s your kid. You owe it to yourself to know he’s okay.”

  And that was exactly what I planned to do.

  Chapter 1

  Penelope

  I rushed into the house, yelling at the top of my lungs.

  “JT, get up! We’re late!”

  There was no response. But I hadn’t really expected there to be.

  JT was my fifteen year old brother. And, since I go to bed at eight o’clock every night because I have to get up at three to make donuts at our family owned bakery, he’s pretty much left to his own devices most night. And he takes advantage of that. He usually stays up until one or two o’clock, watching horror movies and eating everything in the house. The evidence of his late night escapades were scattered around the living room in the form of empty potato chip bags and several dishes with everything from congealed butter and melted cheese stuck to their surfaces.

  I gathered dishes as I made my way through the house, dumping them in the sink with aloud clatter.

  “JT, seriously,” I muttered as I shoved open the door to his bedroom a minute later.

  “Penny,
get out!”

  I stared at him a second, surprised to see him up and nearly dressed for once. “Sorry,” I mumbled as I backed out of the room.

  JT and I had been on our own for three years now, ever since our parents died in a late night car crash on their way home from their weekly date night trip into the city. I had to give up my fledgling career and come home to take care of JT and take over the bakery. It was my mother’s dream, you see, the reason why they moved from New York to this small town in the middle of farm country in Texas. A bakery that served everything from donuts to fancy cakes to simple gingerbread cookies. I worked in the bakery all through high school, but I was determined to have a life in the city, working in anything having to do with art. I was an artist. Not good enough to have some show in a fancy gallery dedicated to my work, but good enough to work in a Fifth Avenue advertising firm. And then the accident and everything changed.

  “Hurry up, JT. We have to leave in like five minutes. I have this huge cake I’m supposed to deliver in two hours and we just started on the fondant.”

  “I’m right here. You don’t have to yell.”

  He brushed past me and burst into the kitchen, searching the pantry for something…Pop Tarts, I suppose. But we didn’t have any. That was another thing I needed to add to my to-do list. Grocery shopping.