Her Secret, His Child

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  "Something tells me you also gave some away."

  He glanced Kenny's way for an instant. "Not enough."

  She watched his jaw tighten and wondered why she'd thought he had no depth. "I can't help thinking of Jimmy's mother. I can't imagine anything worse than watching your child suffer and not being able to take away the hurt."

  He tipped his wineglass a little and stared into the ruby-colored liquid. "There was a kid in rehab with me, just turned fourteen. Broke his neck in a surfing accident, and the only thing he could move was his eyes. It was never going to get any better for him, and he knew it. His parents were great people. One of them was always with him. With his mom, the kid used to make jokes and laugh. He was trying to make her feel better."

  His gaze came to hers briefly, before he returned to his study of his wine. "Kept telling her how he was going to marry this cute little candy striper and give his mom a house full of grandkids."

  "And did he?"

  "No." He poured the rest of his wine down his throat and shrugged. "One night he just stopped breathing. Nurse came in the next morning to give him his meds and couldn't wake him up."

  Something in his face touched her deeply. "I'm sorry."

  "I told myself he was better off. Sometimes I even believed it." He frowned as the guitarist ran through a testing riff. Catching Gallagher's eye, he waved him over.

  "How about some dessert?" the Irishman coaxed, pencil already in hand. "Got fresh peach pie tonight."

  "Another time," Scanlon said without consulting her. Just as well, she thought. She couldn't force down another sip of water, let alone more food.

  Not since she'd held Tracy in her arms for the first time had she felt such turbulent, contradictory emotions. She hadn't wanted to spend any more time than necessary with Scanlon, but she'd done it for Bradenton. Then, damn him, he'd somehow finagled it so that she'd actually enjoyed talking with him. But this? She gazed down at the napkin crumpled in her hand. How could the man who'd just shared a little bit of his soul with her be the same man she'd met in Palm Springs?

  "Sure you two don't want to stay to listen to the music? Them boys don't look like much, but they're good musicians."

  "Another time," she said, watching as Gallagher totaled the check.

  "I'll hold you to that, Carly," Mick promised, dropping the check on the table between them. Before she could react, Scanlon's big hand flattened over it.

  "Good to see you again, Carly," Mick said, watching the byplay with obvious interest.

  "You, too, Mick. Give my best to Dorrie."

  "Will do." Instead of leaving, however, Gallagher shifted his gaze Scanlon's way. Even though the lighting was dim, she could have sworn his florid face had grown even redder.

  "It sure would make me a hero to my boys if I came home tonight with Mitch Scanlon's autograph," he said in an uncharacteristically tentative way.

  Mitch slanted him a thoughtful look. "Guess it wouldn't make me look too good in front of the lady if I turned you down, huh?"

  "Hell no. Make you look damn bad, in fact."

  "Can't have that." Glancing her way, he lifted one eyebrow. "May I borrow your pen again, please?"

  The grief was gone from his eyes, and his grin was a little on the cocky side. For a moment she wondered if she'd imagined the aching sadness she'd heard in his voice when he'd spoken of that young surfer. And then she realized he'd just tucked his sorrow inside again where no one could see it.

  Wanting desperately to comfort him, she managed a smile as she opened her purse. Handing over her pen again, she found herself wishing he was a stranger instead of a very complex, very attractive man she was doing her best not to like.

  * * *

  Mitch drove home at a leisurely pace, enjoying the sense of intimacy provided by the car's confines. Usually he was bone tired after a busy day, but not tonight. He'd been too busy trying to coax a genuine smile out of her to pay more than fleeting attention to the pain in his legs.

  The campus was still surprisingly busy, though most of the lights in the buildings had been extinguished. The rain had held off, and the stars were bright overhead. On the eastern edge of the residential area, a party was still going strong at one of the fraternity houses. Instead of the togas he remembered from his partying days, sarongs and loincloths seemed to be the costume of the day.

  "When did college kids get so young?" he asked with wry amusement when he caught Carly's glance.

  "I've been wondering the same thing lately," she admitted with a brief smile. "Fortunately, we have enough older undergraduates to keep things from getting totally out of hand."

  "Coach said something about special programs for displaced timber workers?"

  "We were the first to recognize the need," she said, her voice reflecting a quiet pride. "Several of the graduates from the pilot program are now teaching what they learned to others." Shifting, she crossed her legs, giving him a flash of silky calves and one trim ankle.

  "Very impressive," he said, his voice scratchy and a couple of tones deeper than usual. He'd learned a lot about self-denial in recent years. Things he could no longer manage he'd made himself stop wanting. Things that took more effort generally took more time, so he planned his days—and nights—accordingly. Discipline was the key—that and a brutally honest acceptance of the difficulties and frustrations forced on him by his paralysis.

  Making love took more than extra effort these days. It also exposed the very awkwardness and vulnerability he tried so hard to keep from showing. As soon as the bedroom door closed behind the lady of his choice, he felt the same clammy fear he'd felt the first time he stepped into the huddle as a professional. Outwardly calm, even cocky, he'd been a wreck inside, his guts churning so hard it had hurt to breathe. And his hands had been sweat slick from panic at the thought of the humiliating mistakes he was bound to make. But damn, it would almost be worth a hefty dose of humiliation to feel Caroline Alderson's soft body moving against his.

  "Oh look, there're Tracy and Nigel," she said, leaning forward to peer through the windshield. They caught up to the MG at the mansion's driveway. The top was still down on the roadster, and Tracy was bundled against the night air in a bright yellow parka and stocking cap. Scanlon tooted, and she lifted a hand in the air and wiggled her fingers.

  "Nice kid," he said, glancing Carly's way. "For what it's worth, I admire you for doing such a great job raising her."

  "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure who raised whom." A gentle smile played over her lips, and he drew a hard breath. "She's told me more than once that it's just as difficult being an only child as it is being a single parent."

  Glancing his way, Carly saw his jaw grow taut and wondered if he was thinking about his childhood. "Does she see much of her father?" he asked without looking at her.

  "Tracy's father is not a factor in her life," she said carefully and calmly.

  That brought his gaze her way, and she saw that he was surprised. "His choice?"

  "Yes," she said, because any other answer would lead to questions she wouldn't—couldn't—answer.

  "Man's a damn fool," he declared, his tone a little rough.

  Carly stared straight ahead, stunned by the depth of emotion she'd heard in his cryptic words. She'd been so sure he wouldn't want the baby, so sure he would try to pressure her into an abortion, perhaps even offer her money. Convincing herself that a man that callous, that selfish, didn't deserve to know he'd become a father had been easy.

  She tightened her hands around her purse and tried to level her suddenly erratic heartbeat. She was still trying when Scanlon made the turn onto the circular drive; ahead, Tracy drove straight through to the detached garage beyond the house.

  The mansion's grounds were as brightly lit as the campus, but most of the windows in the big house were dark. "Looks like your mother's turned in for the night," he said as he parked in the same spot by the front walk.

  Tracy was already out of the car and walking toward them by the time
Carly left the Jag. "Hi, Mom," she called gaily. "Nigel's all tucked in for the night, safe and sound."

  Carly smiled. "I wasn't worried." She slipped an arm around Tracy's shoulders for a quick squeeze. As always, she felt emotion swell in her chest whenever she touched her daughter. "Did you have a good time?" she asked, releasing her.

  "Terrific, until Nigel ran out of gas."

  Carly sighed. "Sweetie, I distinctly remember telling you—"

  "I know, but I forgot. Anyway, it worked out."

  "What did you do, call the auto club?"

  "Not exactly. Ian flagged down a passing car, and—"

  "What do you mean, Ian flagged down a car?"

  "Now, Mom, don't get excited, okay? He just happened to be at the bowling alley, and one thing led to another. I drove him back to campus is all." She broke into a brilliant smile. "Hi, Mitch!"

  "Made it back safely, I see," he said, nodding toward the garage.

  "Yep. Not a scratch." She slanted her mother a quick I-told-you-so glance that had Carly wanting to strangle her only child then and there.

  "We'll talk later," she promised.

  Sighing loudly, Tracy returned her attention to the man at her mother's side. "Mom didn't tell me you were famous," she said with a good try at righteous indignation.

  "Probably because I'm not anymore."

  Tracy passed that off as not worthy of comment. "All the guys on the team are talking about you, and when I told them you were going to be the new coach, they nearly busted a gut."

  "Tracy Alderson, you had no right to tell them any such thing!" Carly exclaimed, frowning.

  "Why not? It's true, isn't it?"

  "It is not. Nothing's been signed."

  Tracy's breezy grin disappeared. "Oh. That's too bad, because the guys were really excited. Especially Ian." She shifted her attention to Scanlon, her face lighting up again. "He thinks you walk on water."

  His grin was rueful. "I admit I've learned to do things differently these past few years, but I can't even begin to think how I'd manage that."

  Tracy giggled. "Where'd you guys go, anyway?"

  "Gallagher's," Carly interrupted, anxious to head off a budding friendship between Scanlon and her daughter. "And it's late. Shouldn't you be catching up on all the sleep you've lost studying late this week?"

  "Sounds like a plan," Tracy said, glancing from one to the other.

  "Night, Sweetie," Carly murmured. "I'll be right up."

  "Oh, that's okay. I'm really tired, so I think I'll just go right to bed. But you take all the time you want." Tracy bent to kiss her mother's cheek before aiming a dimpled smile in Mitch's direction.

  "Night, Mitch."

  "Good night, Tracy," Carly repeated, more firmly this time.

  Tracy's expression said she got the message, thank you very much. "See you tomorrow," she tossed at both adults before skipping off like a five-year-old who was delighted with herself and the world around her.

  Scanlon watched her for a long moment, a strange, almost wistful look in his eyes. "Ian doesn't know it yet, but he's in for a hell of struggle with that one."

  Carly inhaled swiftly, but before she could blast him, he suddenly turned her way and grinned. "Don't fuss, Mom. I'm not criticizing your little girl, just stating facts. She's got a mind of her own. Like her mother."

  "If you mean I've raised her to think for herself, yes, you're right. She's very independent. Most only children are."

  "Why do I get the feeling your mother raised you to be just the opposite?"

  "Because she did. I was supposed to follow her example and become the perfect 'woman behind the man.' It was a terrible disappointment to her when she realized she wasn't going to have a son and I was going to have to take over for my father someday."

  He leaned against the fender of the Jag, and she wondered if he was tired. "Is that why you're always so serious?"

  "You make it sound like a crime."

  "No crime. I just like the way you smile." He touched his finger to the corner of her mouth. "I wish you'd do it more often."

  "Don't," she grated.

  Mitch saw confusion cloud her eyes. No, not confusion, he decided. There were shadows in her eyes, the kind he'd seen too many times before in the eyes of paraplegics not to recognize the pain. This woman had been badly hurt. Perhaps not physically, but hurt all the same. Mitch knew from experience that the only way she would ever come out a winner was to confront her demons, which in this instance seemed to be him.

  "How about a nightcap?" he found himself asking on impulse, something he rarely did these days.

  "No, thanks. I think I'll call it a night." She marched past him toward the house. Chuckling, he followed at his more deliberate pace. Stopping a few feet from the door, she opened her bag and felt for the house key she was certain she'd put there earlier.

  "Problems?" he asked, coming up to her.

  "No, I—"

  "Good evening, Dr. Alderson." The man came out of the shadows, startling her into dropping her bag. It was Chad Duncan.

  Mitch moved to stand between them, saying with deceptive softness, "A little late for a social call, isn't it, friend?"

  "Good to meet you, Mitch," the guy said, holding out his hand. "I'm Duncan, Bradenton Falls News-Times."

  Mitch acknowledged the outstretched hand with the quick lift of one eyebrow. "Something we can do for you?"

  "An exclusive would be nice." Shrugging, Duncan lowered his outstretched arm. "Something along the lines of an unofficial announcement of your appointment as Bradenton's new football coach."

  "Can't announce what hasn't happened."

  Duncan's grin flashed. "Hey, I understand. You want to save if for the press conference."

  The illumination from the security lights cast hard shadows on Scanlon's face, but Carly was suddenly certain that the dangerous glint in his eyes came from within. "What press conference?"

  "The one Marca Kenworthy is so busy setting up. According to my inside sources, she's hoping to invite reps from the major networks and—"

  "As Mr. Scanlon's already said, we haven't a clue what you're talking about," Carly interrupted. "And forgive me for pointing it out, but you're trespassing, Mr. Duncan."

  Even though she'd spoken pleasantly, the reporter's expression turned ugly. "Don't play lady of the manor with me, Carly. I knew you way back when, remember? And just because I work for a hick paper doesn't mean I don't have contacts all over the country. Soon as I heard the bad boy of the NFL was up here getting the VIP tour of the campus, I knew. Good old Brady is about to get itself a real high profile, honest-to-God football coach."

  "Even if you guessed right, no one much cares anymore about what I do or don't do," Mitch said with an easy shrug. "So if I were you, I'd check out those inside sources of yours again, Duncan. Sounds to me as if somebody somewhere is trying to set you up for a bad fall."

  Duncan struck a cocky pose. "No offense, Scanlon, but you're bigger news now that you're crippled than you ever were healthy. People these days love stories like yours." He directed a pointed glance toward Scanlon's legs. "Bet those braces get damned heavy by the end of the day." He snapped his fingers. "Now that's a lead for you. A real tearjerker, if I do say so myself. Probably sell every damn paper we print."

  Carly felt Scanlon stiffen, but his expression remained unruffled. "No comment," he said when Duncan arched an inquiring eyebrow.

  "Too bad. Guess I'll just have to go with what I've got."

  Grinning smugly, he started to walk away, only to stop short when Carly called his name. "Perhaps we can find some common ground, here," she said, all but choking on her words.

  "I'm always willing to listen. What do you have in mind, sugar?"

  "How about a broken nose, for starters?" Scanlon said even more quietly.

  "Hey, no offense, big guy. Just trying to make a living here."

  Carly laid a hand on Scanlon's forearm. "It's okay, Mitch. Chad and I go way back. He was the editor of our high
school paper the year I graduated." Without giving him time to react, she turned again to Duncan. "Come to my office tomorrow at two. I'll arrange for Dr. Kenworthy to be there, as well."

  "No can do, Carly. My deadline's noon."

  "Ten o'clock, then. That should give you plenty of time."

  His expression said he didn't like it. "I guess that'll work," he said grudgingly. "See you then."

  Carly managed a polite smile, for once grateful to her mother for training her to be gracious under pressure. As soon as Duncan was out of sight, however, she let her smile fade.

  "I see what you mean about the press," she muttered as soon as she heard a car start somewhere below.

  "Proud of yourself?"

  Needing time, she bent down to retrieve her bag. Without looking at him, she found the key and slipped it into the lock. She looked at him, then wished she hadn't.

  His face was hard, his eyes cold. A shiver of fear sliced her spine, but she managed a small, defiant smile. "We'll talk inside."

  Safely inside, she left her bag on the foyer table and headed for the parlor, flipping on lights as she went. Her heels made a hollow sound on the hickory flooring, and her pulse thundered in her ears.

  It was cold in the small room, and she opened the fire screen and used the poker to stir the ashes, hoping for a spark of life. It didn't surprise her when she found the fire had burned itself out. Giving up, she leaned the poker against the brick and turned to look at him.

  "Okay, so we kept a few things from you."

  "A few? Now that's rich. In spite of all those fine sounding words you threw at my head, you don't really give a damn about my coaching ability, do you? It's the name you want, not me. Isn't that about the size of it?"

  She managed a quick breath. She was risking everything on these next few minutes. "You don't have coaching experience," she explained without audible emotion. "Without the name, there's no credibility. Surely you can see that."

  "Funny thing about being screwed, Carly. Sometimes you enjoy it, and sometimes you don't."

  Her skin paled. Her lips seemed to lose all color, as well, but her eyes held steady on his. "Bradenton's in trouble. Whatever I have to do to save it, I'll do."