Her Secret, His Child

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  Carly poured tea into one of the cups already waiting on the tray, added a slice of lemon to the saucer and then, remembering, spooned in two sugars. "He likes his drinks sweet," she murmured when she caught Tilly's eyebrows lifting.

  "Noticed that, did you?" Tilly handed her a small wooden tray, a knowing look in her eyes.

  "Of course I noticed," Carly said archly as she picked up the tray. "After all, I am my mother's daughter. We live to hostess."

  Tilly shook her head, her eyes twinkling in her kind face. "Tell Mitch I'd be happy to fix him a steak if he can't wait until dinner," she called after Carly as she left the kitchen.

  * * *

  Mitch sat up in stages, his thighs screaming and his gut queasy from the medicine and pain. He hadn't had spasms that bad in months. He wouldn't have had them now if he'd chucked aside his macho pride and used the chair when he was tired.

  Slowly, in the way he had to do everything now, he unwrapped the sodden towels from his legs and tried not to think about Carly's hands on his wasted muscles. Hell, he should be glad he'd been pretty much out of it, he thought as he piled the towels on the already damp sheet. Humiliation was something he handled better in small doses—when he was able to handle it at all.

  It hurt to turn toward the clock, but he did it anyway. Seeing that he'd slept away a good part of the day, he scowled as he reached for his undershorts. He needed a hot bath and a shave before he went looking for coffee and something to fill his empty belly. If he was lucky, he wouldn't run into Carly until he'd had some time to patch up his battered ego.

  The muscles he could still feel screamed in protest as he struggled into his shorts, then one by one his braces. He was strapping the last cuff when he heard a rap at the door, followed by Carly's voice calling his name. Before he could tell her to go away, she walked in, carrying a tray.

  She was wearing tan slacks and a silky shirt the color of smoke. A gold locket on a simple chain nestled just above her breasts. She looked neat and stylish and just about as sexy as a woman can look in clothes. His pulse speeded up, yet at the same time embarrassment coiled in his belly. Even though he knew it wasn't her fault that she'd caught him at his most vulnerable, he found himself hating the fact that she had.

  "Good, you're awake," she said as she balanced the tray she was carrying on one hand and closed the door with the other. "How are you feeling?"

  Like a poor excuse for a man he thought before answering with a terse, "Okay."

  "Before I forget to mention it again, your friend Dante wants you to call him when you get a chance. He said to tell you that he's lined up some prospects for you to interview."

  "You talked to Dante?" he demanded too quickly.

  She nodded, an uncomfortable look taking over her face. "That's actually the reason why I was in your room earlier—to tell you he was on the phone. He's the one who told me what to do to ease the spasms."

  Her gaze jerked away from his legs, as though the sight of the braces disgusted her, and his mood turned ugly as heat climbed his neck.

  "Sounds like the two of you had quite a talk. What else did my old buddy tell you about me?"

  "Nothing more than I needed to know to help you," she returned with a poise that shamed him. He was being an ungrateful jerk, he told himself before clearing his throat and forcing out the words she deserved to hear. "Thanks for taking care of me. I owe you one."

  Carly heard the stiff crackle of pride in his tone, which she'd expected. What she hadn't expected was the hint of vulnerability in the set of those huge shoulders and the way his big hands were clenched where they gripped the rumpled sheet. Realizing that he was embarrassed for her to see him at his most helpless sent a wave of tenderness running through her.

  "Actually, I'd say we were even," she told him with a casual smile as she crossed the room to set the tray on the table by the bed. "You were there for me that night when I fell apart in the pool. I was happy to return the favor."

  When he remained silent, she indicated the tray with a smile. "I figured you'd be hungry, so I brought you a cup of tea and some of Tilly's gingerbread. Also, Tilly said to tell you she'd be happy to fix you a steak if you're too famished to wait until dinner."

  "Must be my lucky day. A pretty nurse hovering and room service to boot."

  Carly caught a hint of sarcasm in his voice and reminded herself that he was more than likely still hurting.

  "Would you like lemon? I couldn't remember—"

  "You don't have to feed me, Carly," he declared in a cold voice. "It's my legs that don't work, not my hands."

  "I know that, Mitch," she said quietly. "Just as I know you're upset because you hate to accept help, but we all need help on occasion."

  His mouth compressed, deepening the lines that suffering had etched into his strong face. "It's not the help I mind. It's the pity that usually goes along with it."

  "I don't pity you," Carly stated firmly.

  His tawny eyes took on a bleak cast. "I've heard that before from a woman. Like the dumb jock I am, I even believed it—until I found out from some of my buddies in rehab that the lady in question was turned on by gimps." Her soft gasp was like a knife to his heart, and even though he felt as though he were bleeding regret, he made himself go on. For the sake of his pride he needed to know that the woman he was coming to care about so deeply wasn't playing that same sick game. "Seems it gave her a thrill to make love to a guy who couldn't move half his body, no matter how aroused he got." His mouth twisted. "She knew all the right things to say, I'll give her that, but then, so do you."

  It took a moment for Carly to feel the hurt. When she did, something died inside. "If that's what you think of me, we have nothing more to say to each other." She turned to go, but he lunged forward and caught her hand, dragging her back. His fingers were steel, hurting her where they gripped. Though fear surged, she managed to fight it down because she sensed an inner agony in him far greater than the physical pain he'd endured earlier.

  "Let me go," she said quietly, her gaze locked on his.

  Though he eased his grip, he kept her prisoner. "Why did you let me make love to you, Carly? Was it because you felt sorry for me?"

  Carly took a deep breath and reminded herself of the years she'd spend believing that no man would ever want to touch her once he'd found out that she'd been raped. In his own way, Mitch was feeling just as insecure about his sex appeal. "I made love to you because I trusted you not to hurt me the way I'd been hurt before," she said, smiling softly at the memory of exquisite tenderness that night in the pool.

  "Which is just a diplomatic way of saying I'm safe, right?"

  Puzzled by his words, she let her smile fade. "In a way, yes."

  "Safe because I'm only half a man," he suggested in that same cold tone she was coming to dislike intensely.

  "No, of course not!"

  "Safe because I couldn't rape you the way Tracy's father did, even if I wanted to?"

  Carly stared at him, unwilling to believe her ears. Could he really be that insensitive? "I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer."

  Mitch heard the tremor in her voice and was suddenly ashamed of himself. "Hell, I don't know what I'm saying." He realized then that he was still clutching Carly's wrist and let her go. "Look, I'm sorry I blew up at you." He glanced down, his shoulders taking on a weary slump that tore at her soul. "I admit I've got more than my share of ego. Guess that's why I thought I was helping you heal."

  "But you are!" she declared emphatically. "I realize now that what happened that night in Palm Springs was just as much my fault as yours, and—" Carly bit off the rest, but it was too late. Mitch's face had turned the color of wet ashes.

  "Sarah?" he murmured, looking up at her in stunned disbelief.

  "Yes, that was the name I used. It sounds silly now, but it made me feel more … interesting."

  Though his face was still ashen, his gaze had narrowed, becoming accusing. "So you deliberately lied when you said we'd never met."<
br />
  "Mitch, try to understand," she pleaded softly. "Coach invited you to visit while I was in the East, and when I walked into the parlor that night I wasn't ready to deal with the past. And when I realized you couldn't remember where we'd met, I decided not to … refresh your memory."

  Reeling as though from a blindside hit, Mitch stared at Carly's face and tried to see a girl named Sarah. Once he'd been thankful to find his recollection of that night blurred, as though a curtain had been drawn over his mind, obscuring everything that happened from the time they left the bar until he woke up the next morning in a half stupor. Now he struggled to push past the fog, only to find the same scant impressions. So few, really. A feeling of soft skin against his, the taste of sweet kisses, an instant of the purest bliss as he'd plunged into her. And then, the next morning, those awful bloody sheets.

  "You came to my room, you had to know that I wanted to make love to you," he said hoarsely.

  "I thought I wanted that, too." Carly drew a shaky breath. "It was my first time, I was scared, and then…" She had to take another breath before she could continue. "It was as though, suddenly, I realized what was really happening, that I was making a terrible mistake."

  She took a breath, realizing that the words she had to say would hurt. "You didn't give me a chance to beg you to stop, but … at the time I didn't understand how … difficult it would be for you to back off once you were excited. And you'd had a lot to drink."

  "Don't sugarcoat it, Carly!" he commanded bluntly. "I was lousy, stinking drunk." He hadn't had a beer since, and only rarely had more than a glass of wine with dinner. "For what it's worth, I tried to find you later—after I'd sobered up enough to realize what I did—but you were gone. I knew I'd been a selfish ass, but, God help me, I never for one minute thought that you might have been unwilling."

  Suddenly he dropped his head and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders heaved as he drew a harsh breath before lifting his head again. "I know it doesn't mean jack to say I'm sorry, but you have to believe me, Carly, I've never regretted anything more in my life."

  "I do believe you, Mitch—now. But it took me a long time to let go of my anger—and my guilt."

  Mitch bit his lip, his eyes turbulent, his expression troubled. Finally he straightened his shoulders, then asked softly, "And … Tracy?"

  Carly's mouth trembled, then firmed. "She's your child."

  For a frozen moment Mitch couldn't breathe. His chest burned, and he felt lightheaded. Finally starved for air, he dragged in a harsh lungful and tried to make sense of chaos in his head. But his usually logical mind refused to move past a mercifully numbing shock.

  "Why didn't you get in touch with me when you found out you were pregnant?"

  "Several reasons," Carly admitted. "Primarily, though, I convinced myself that you wouldn't want anything to do with me or the baby."

  "You were dead wrong," he said with rough emphasis. "I know what it's like to grow up without a father. I never would have wanted that for a child of mine."

  "But I didn't know that!" she protested urgently. "How could I?"

  "By giving me the chance to tell you!" he snapped, his eyes flashing as much in anger as frustration.

  "Put yourself in my place, Mitch," she said as calmly as her thudding heart would allow. "You were already famous, and I was a nobody, just a girl who agreed to a one-night stand. You yourself say that you didn't even remember my face the next morning. What makes you think you would have believed my story, even if I'd come to you?"

  "Damn it, Carly! I would have married you! Hell, I…" He stopped abruptly to pass a hand over his face. "Okay, let's forget the past," he said with a rare impatience. "But what about now? Why didn't you tell me that night in the pool. Or last night?"

  Carly felt a stab of guilt. "I wanted to," she admitted softly. "Especially that night at Gallagher's. And then later, in the pool, I realized that I'd been terribly wrong about you. You weren't selfish or callous, just the opposite."

  He lifted one eyebrow sardonically. "Are you sure you weren't waiting for the right moment to cut me off at the knees? Like now, maybe?"

  "How dare you!" Carly exclaimed, her body beginning to shake.

  "You lied once. Maybe you're lying again."

  She drew a sharp breath. "I'm telling you the truth, Mitch. Believe me or not. It's your choice."

  She turned stiffly and walked out, closing the door very softly behind her.

  * * *

  Jess Dante cradled his Scotch and water on his flat belly and watched his two-year-old son Tyler chasing a butterfly around the backyard of the old Victorian house in a Sacramento suburb where he lived with his wife Hazel and their two children.

  Mitch sat nearby, cradling three-year-old Francey against his chest. Worn out from a wild game of soccer she'd had earlier with her Daddy, she had climbed into his lap for a victory hug and almost immediately fallen asleep.

  Hazel had offered to take her inside when she'd gone in to tend to the arroz con polio, but Mitch had claimed the little tike was sleeping too soundly to be moved. In reality, he'd been enjoying the feel of the small warm body nestled against him so trustingly.

  Hazel had simply smiled that kind smile of hers, kissed her daughter on the top of her head, and then kissed him on the cheek before muttering one word. "Softy."

  Not many people knew him well enough to know he'd always been a sucker for kids. For a lot of years, he'd always figured to have himself a house full once his vagabond playing days were over.

  "I couldn't even face her the next day, Jess. Every time I thought about what I did to her, I got a bellyful of acid." He drew a hard breath. "Damn, I still can't believe I didn't recognize her."

  "Eighteen years is a long time."

  A burly, craggy-faced California native of Italian descent, Dante had been well on his way to becoming number one in Formula One racing when an accident had cost him his right arm. After a difficult recovery, he'd returned home to attend law school, becoming one of the most respected criminal attorneys in the state.

  It had been his idea to join forces in the spa and half his money that had gotten it started. Along the way he and Mitch had become friends, closer, perhaps than most, because each understood the demons the other kept hidden from the world.

  "I remember walking out of my motel room the next morning and heading for the nearest bar," Mitch confessed, fighting the sudden rush of shame. "Two days later I woke up in the drunk tank with the D.T.'s and some guy swinging a sledgehammer in my head."

  Dante took a sip of his drink, his gaze on his son. "I've had a few headaches like that myself," he said in a voice that said he wasn't proud of admitting that about himself.

  "As soon as I raised bail, I tried to find her. Went to every motel in Palm Springs, but there was no one with her name registered. Now I know why."

  Mitch swallowed another mouthful of soda, then poured the rest onto the grass and crumpled the flimsy can in his fist. Since he'd gotten back to California, he'd been having trouble keeping much of anything down. He didn't even think about sleeping.

  "Hey you two," Hazel called through the open kitchen window. "You've got ten more minutes to talk dirty before dinner's on the table."

  Mitch watched Dante's face soften and looked away. " When's Hazel due?" he asked, watching Tyler's grubby hands flailing the air as the butterfly dipped and soared just out of range, as though playing tag with the giggling toddler.

  "Second week in January." Dante drained his glass and set it on the table between them. "Another girl."

  Mitch smiled. "Tyler's going to have a heck of a time holding his own."

  Dante looked at his friend. "How's it feel to find out you have a half-grown daughter?"

  Mitch felt the familiar thud in his gut. "Like someone came up with a cure for paralysis and then told me I didn't deserve to have it."

  Dante's dark eyes flooded with sympathy. "Could be you're being too hard on yourself here, Mitch. Times were different when we we
re kids."

  Mitch slanted him a hard look. "Tell me something, Jess. Did you ever force a woman against her will?"

  Dante's face tightened. "No."

  Mitch scrubbed his free hand over his face. "God, Jess. I keep seeing Carly's face when she told me. Her eyes. I should have known, I even had this nagging feeling we'd met someplace." He gave a snort of self-disgust. "Even when we made love, it didn't connect. I thought it was some other bastard who'd hurt her."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "What can I do?" He'd asked himself that same question over and over. He still didn't have an answer. "All I know is football, so I'll do my damnedest to give her the winning season she wants, but that's not nearly enough."

  He'd lain awake night after night since returning to California, imagining what the last seventeen years had been like for her. Suffering through childbirth at an age when most girls were going to dances and football games, hearing the gossip, seeing the stares, raising Tracy alone. Worrying about her, seeing her through the sniffles and the first day of school.

  "Sometimes I think about all the times I felt sorry for myself these past five years. Funny thing, I don't think I'll ever feel sorry for myself again, not when I think about the hell I put her through. I deserve to be crippled. And worse."

  Dante reached over and laid his hand on Mitch's knee. "I wish I could tell you it would all work out," he said before sitting back again. "But that would be a lie, and we both know it. Sometimes there's not one damn thing you can do to make things right."

  Mitch lifted his chest in a breath so slow it didn't ruffle a hair on Francey's dark head, but he felt as though he'd just run a marathon. "I'm crazy about her, Jess. Ain't that a hoot? I want her so badly I'm damn near sick with it."

  "Then fight for her, Mitch. Fight the way you fought to walk again."

  "If I thought it would do any good, I'd crawl the length of the damn stadium to beg her forgiveness."

  "Dinner," Hazel yelled. "Rustle those sexy buns, gentlemen, or I'll feed it to the chipmunks."

  Dante called to Tyler, who came toddling over, a big grin on his face, his arms outstretched. Jess scooped him into a one-armed embrace and kissed his fat little cheek. Tyler giggled as Jess set him on his feet again, then handed him the empty glass.