His Real Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Salonen, Debra

  Joe did know that. He’d grown up in a traditional household with two parents and a sibling at his side to help him fight his battles, but he could remember people who hadn’t fared so well. People who were regarded as “different.” People like Lisa.

  “Did he ever get picked on?” Joe asked, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Because he didn’t have a father, I mean? Or because his mother wasn’t married?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I know of. He’s such a sweet boy that I think he’s always had a lot of friends. Brandon has a big heart. Even as a child he was very kind to others and tried hard to be liked.”

  “Oh, no, please tell me he wasn’t a people-pleaser like me,” Joe tossed out without really thinking.

  His mother turned sharply to look at him. “What are you talking about?” Her tone was stern. “You were a peacemaker, not a wimp. There’s a difference, you know. Sometimes peacemakers are the first ones to get punched in the face.” She touched his cheek. “I saw that happen many times. Patrick’s bravado would lead to a brawl, and you’d be the one to walk away with a black eye.”

  Joe felt a surge of emotions, probably from the painkillers the nurse had given him. He was too choked up to speak so he just turned the page.

  “Peewee football,” his mother said, pointing to a pint-size player in full pads and helmet. “Lisa and I were both nervous wrecks the whole season. Fortunately, Brandon almost never played. And when he did, he rarely got the ball, so he was safe.”

  “He wasn’t a star player?” Joe asked, truly surprised.

  His mother’s white hair bounced from cheek to cheek. “Heavens, no. He signed up every year and earned his letter, but he spent most of the time on the bench. Which was just fine with me.” She traced the W on the chest of Brandon’s jersey. “I went through all kinds of hell every time Patrick got hurt.”

  She held up her hand and named off the different body parts Joe’s brother had injured. “Concussion. Fractured wrist. Sprained ankle. Displaced kneecap. Broken ribs.” She shook her head and sighed. “That boy invited calamity.”

  “But Brandon’s never been busted up too badly?” Joe tried to make the question sound casual, but his mother cocked her head in an inquiring way before answering.

  “A few bumps and bruises, but nothing his grandmother Constance couldn’t fix.”

  Joe was glad.

  He turned the page. A photograph he’d never seen before caught his eye and he pulled it free from the plastic cover. On impulse, he laid it flat on the glass of the scanner and hit a button. A light passed under it and a moment later, the image appeared on his right monitor.

  Joe Sr. and Brandon sitting on the tailgate of Joe’s father’s old pickup truck. “They were close, huh?”

  Joe thought his dad looked old and tired. What hair was poking out from under his Giants ball cap was mostly gray. Brandon was probably twelve or thirteen at the time. His legs reached nearly to the same place as his grandfather’s did.

  “Yes. Joe and Brandon had a special bond.”

  She brought her fingers close to the monitor. “This was taken on a camping trip to Shaver Lake. When Joe came home he said it was one of the best times of his life.” The wistfulness in her voice reminded Joe just how much his parents loved each other.

  Joe finished flipping through the pages then switched albums. His mother ran her hand over the cover and smiled—a sad smile. “I haven’t looked at this one in years.”

  The book contained a hodgepodge of images. Old black-and-whites of distant family members were crammed in with the twins’ school photos. On one page, there was nothing but panoramic views of Worthington—as seen through the eyes of a young boy.

  Joe removed the one showing his father and brother standing in the doorway of Joe’s Place. “Remember when I ordered this camera out of a catalog? Dad gave me a hard time about wasting my money.”

  His mother patted his head with a loving gesture. “Even then you were over the moon in love with taking pictures. You mowed lawns all summer to buy your first little movie camera, remember?”

  Joe could picture it. He also recalled all too clearly the day his brother broke it. “It was an accident,” Patrick had claimed. “I left it sitting on the fender of the car so I could film Lisa and me making out.”

  Patrick always knew how to get to him.

  After a succession of photographic Christmases and birthday celebrations, they neared the end of the book. Joe was finally starting to unwind, until his mother said, “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you? And don’t bother trying to deny it. I know when my son is upset.”

  “I…um…” Joe tried to think of something to use as an excuse until he could get next door and talk to Lisa.

  “It’s about Brandon, isn’t it?”

  Joe gave an ambiguous, “Hmmm.”

  “Lisa and I were talking a few months ago. Nothing serious. Just gabbing over coffee. She happened to mention that a friend’s little boy had such a high fever his mother was afraid he might wind up sterile. The woman’s doctor reassured her that scenerio was unlikely, but the story reminded me of when Patrick had a bad case of the mumps. I told her that my doctor said just the opposite. He warned me that Patrick might never be able to have children.”

  Joe’s hand was shaking on the mouse as he named and saved the image he’d just scanned.

  His mother went on. “Lisa seemed upset by this. At first, I couldn’t imagine why. After all, she’d given birth to Brandon, so the doctor must have been wrong. Right?”

  Joe’s throat was too tight to swallow, let alone talk. He made a slight shrugging motion.

  “But the more I thought about the look on her face, the more worried I got. What if the doctors were right?”

  “Did you talk to Lisa about your concerns?” Joe asked, pleased to see that his voice still worked and he sounded fairly normal. “Did you ask her what was bothering her?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I was afraid she might tell me Brandon wasn’t my grandson,” Maureen said in a soft whisper. “I wracked my brain trying to remember any other young men Lisa had been friendly with in high school. The only one I could think of was you. And I knew you wouldn’t do something like that behind your brother’s back. So, I decided I was just being an old worrywart.”

  Joe felt his stomach drop. He felt as humiliated and ashamed as he had at age nine when he spilled grape juice on the living-room carpet then tried to clean it up with bleach. His mother had returned from work and had guessed instantly—by the smell, of course—that something was amiss. She had that same perceptive look in her eyes.

  “Then you came home,” she said, squeezing his hand. “And I felt something between you two. Some…history.”

  “Look, Mom, I wish I could talk to you about this, but Lisa asked me to—”

  She cut him off mid-sentence. “I was prepared to judge you, Joe. And Lisa. But then, something happened that made me realize that nothing is black and white where a person’s emotions are concerned.”

  The weightiness of her tone registered. He wasn’t the only one in the family with secrets.

  “If you and Lisa were together, son, then it was because you both cared deeply for the other. That much I do know,” she said decisively.

  Joe didn’t confirm or deny her allegation. Instead, he asked, “What happened to change your mind?”

  “Nothing that I care to get into tonight. It’s late, and you should be resting.”

  Joe was more than happy to let the subject drop. Until he had a chance to talk to Lisa, he was going to play it cool. He’d do what he did best: observe. “And you have a big day tomorrow, don’t you, Mom? Didn’t Gunny say the two of you are visiting his son and daughter-in-law?”

  “Yes,” she said with a sigh.

  “You don’t sound very enthused,” Joe said. “Is this something we should talk about?”

  His mother got to her feet. “Just pre-wedding nerves,” she said,
her voice falsely perky. She waited for Joe to stand up then gave him a hug. “We’re not leaving until noon, so I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Joe kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, son. And no matter what happens with Lisa and Brandon, I want you to know that I understand.” She put her hand flat against his chest. “You can’t dictate to your heart, no matter how hard you try. Sometimes love has a mind of its own.”

  Joe watched her walk away. He wasn’t sure how to take her cryptic message, but one thing he knew, his mother wasn’t the same joyful bride-to-be who’d called him just a few weeks earlier.

  LISA’S HEAD WAS POUNDING. A restless night filled with old ghosts and new worries had kept her from getting the sleep she needed. Plus, an early morning phone call from the caterer who was handling Maureen’s wedding had contributed another worry to her load. The musicians the hotel usually used were already booked.

  “This is the problem with last-minute plans,” the caterer said. “They either fall into place or nothing works out right.”

  Lisa had promised to get back to the woman today with an alternate band. Jen has a lot of connections, Lisa thought, maybe she can suggest somebody.

  “Why does everything have to be so complicated?” Lisa muttered under her breath as she opened the French doors off her bedroom and stepped outside.

  A path of concrete stepping stones led from the patio around the side of the house. The grass needed mowing, she noticed, as she walked barefoot along the path. Keeping the yard mowed and edged was part of Brandon’s chores—a responsibility he often left till Lisa got after him.

  I shouldn’t have to remind him. When I was his age, I took care of the yard, cooked all the meals and did most of the shopping.

  “Oh, my God,” she said stopping in her tracks. “I was a seventeen-year-old housewife.”

  Unnerved by the thought, she dashed the rest of the way to her private retreat—a place that never failed to calm her nerves. Birds chattered happily in the bright red foliage of the photinia bushes that obscured the fence. White blossoms adorned the honeysuckle vines covering the decorative trellis that had once provided privacy for her mother’s hot tub.

  The small square spa had been the first thing to go when Constance’s new quarters were completed. Now, the shady enclave contained one padded lounge chair with a side table, to accommodate Lisa’s book and iced drink when she was reading, and a two-person bench made of wrought iron and redwood for rare visitors.

  Lisa sank down on the chaise and kicked out her feet. The sun felt soothing while the morning breeze hinted at the warmth to come. She closed her eyes and took a sip of herbal tea from the mug she carried. She’d forgone coffee this morning since her nerves were still on edge.

  Once I get this talk with Joe out of the way, I’ll be able to relax, she thought. “I hope,” she murmured against the lip of the cup. “Unless he insists on doing something stupid.”

  She closed her eyes and rested her head against the cushion. A smart person would have stuck around and talked to him last night, rather than prolonged the worry. But at the time, she’d panicked.

  After fleeing the hospital like a coward, Lisa had returned to Joe’s Place to put away all the tools and make sure everything was ready for this morning. Martin had been there doing inventory. He’d informed her that Jen and several other neighboring business owners had called to check on Joe’s condition. Their concern seemed to demonstrate the fact that while Joe had been home a mere couple of weeks, already he’d reestablished a connection with the townsfolk. Her customers. Her friends.

  Once home, Lisa had tossed and turned till dawn. The most pressing question seemed to be whether or not to tell Brandon about his paternity. She wanted to do the right thing for her son, but Lisa knew that if—when—the truth came out, she’d be the one branded as a harlot while sweet, affable Joe walked away with everyone’s sympathy.

  “I hate him,” she muttered, bringing her knees up so she could rest her chin on them. “Why is everything so damn easy for Joe Kelly?”

  “Which Joe Kelly would that be?” a voice asked. “Certainly not me.”

  Lisa’s grip on her cup faltered and tea cascaded over her bare knees. She jumped to her feet, brushing lukewarm liquid from her skin.

  “Oops, sorry,” Joe apologized, hurrying forward. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Here.”

  Lisa’s mouth hung open. “Why are you in my yard carrying a towel?”

  He held out a yellow towel that had been resting on his shoulder. Lisa recognized it as one of Maureen’s. The terry cloth was damp and smelled of Ivory soap and…Joe.

  He combed his fingers through his still-wet hair. “I saw you from the bathroom window and didn’t want to miss out on a chance to talk to you alone, so here I am—towel in hand.”

  He moved closer and dropped to one knee so he could mop up the trickles of liquid running down her shins. Lisa tried to move back but was trapped by her chair. “Don’t. It’s just tea. It’ll dry on its own. Joe,” she exclaimed sharply when his ministrations came close to the hem of her cutoff shorts. The loose, skimpy ones that she never wore in public because they were too short.

  “Sorry,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “I got carried away. How can you have such a perfect tan this soon in the season?”

  She snatched the towel from his hand and applied it to the puddle that had collected on the cushion. “Simple,” she said, easing down. “You spray it on. No sweating in the sun, no future wrinkles.”

  “Smart. Not as much fun as oiling you down on the swimming platform at the lake,” he said with an exaggerated leer, “but it makes sense.”

  He walked into her small haven, which seemed to shrink with his presence. “I like what you did back here,” he said, stopping to touch a luscious pink rose. “Very peaceful and serene.”

  With a boyish smile that brought out his dimple, he added, “But you need a water element. A little pond. With koi. I have some I’d be happy to give you.”

  She almost laughed at his earnest appeal, but reminded herself to be on guard. “No thanks. I have enough responsibilities without adding to the load.”

  Joe sat down on the settee, hunching forward so his forearms were resting on his knees. She could picture Brandon in a similar pose last night at the hospital. Except for the difference in hair color—

  Lisa stopped the thought. She’d spent hours looking at Brandon’s baby pictures, searching for a clue that would definitively prove which brother had fathered her child. All she’d come away with was a headache.

  “How’s the shoulder?”

  “Not bad. Could have been ugly, if you hadn’t blocked my fall.”

  Lisa shook her head. “I don’t remember doing anything. It happened so fast.”

  “I agree. One minute I was on top of the ladder, the next I was on the floor looking up. Brandon did an amazing job of capturing the moment on tape. He has good instincts.”

  Lisa rubbed at the pain that blossomed between her eyes. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that he inherited that ability from you.”

  When Joe didn’t answer right away, she lowered her hand and looked at him. His expression seemed bemused, as if the thought hadn’t struck him until just that moment. Lisa groaned. “Stop it, Joe. We have a lot of hard decisions to make that will impact my son in a huge way, so I don’t want the issue muddied with emotion.”

  “‘Muddied with emotion?’ What does that mean? You’re not some mechanical drone who can turn off her feelings, Lisa. This is eating you up inside, just like it is me. I can see it on your face.” He cleared the distance between them, moving her feet aside so he could sit on the flat part of the chaise.

  He leaned close—too close—and touched his finger to her forehead. “This line is new, isn’t it? From last night I’d bet. You didn’t sleep, did you? You paced and stewed and fretted.”

  Lisa hated that he knew her so well. “I went to the bar after I left the hospita
l. To put away our tools and equipment,” she said truthfully.

  “I know. I went there, too.” He hesitated a second then added, “To talk to Martin.”

  Lisa heard a confession in that statement. She groaned. “You told him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Frustration and fear made her strike out. She kicked his thigh with the heel of her foot. “Damn you. I asked you not to tell anyone.”

  Joe pressed his palm to her ankle, not hard but solidly enough to prevent her from kicking him again. “Actually, you said not to talk to Brandon or Mom. You didn’t name Martin on that list.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “That sounds like something your brother would have said—in the seventh grade.” Joe had the grace to blush. “Patrick was a master at sidestepping the truth.”

  He met her gaze directly and said, “Everybody knew that about him. So, why did you believe him when he told you I was sterile?”

  Lisa brought both hands up to her face, half covering her nose and mouth. “I don’t know. Because he seemed so sincere? Because I couldn’t imagine anyone lying about something like that?”

  “Maybe you wanted to believe him because it was easier.”

  She sat straight. “What part was easy? The part where I told him I cheated on him? The part where he asked me to marry him and I said yes, even though…” She caught herself before she spilled her guts completely. “Before you point a finger, you should ask yourself why you never questioned Brandon’s paternity.”

  The emotions she’d kept bottled up so long began to come to the surface like water from a broken main. “Why didn’t you ever ask me if there was even a remote chance that Brandon was yours?”

  “Well, we only did it that once.”

  “As opposed to the hundreds of times your brother and I made love?”

  The bitterness in her voice must have been obvious because Joe frowned. “I guess so.”

  “Here’s a news flash. Patrick liked to talk about sex a lot more than he actually got around to doing it.”