Fortune's Secret Child

by Delacorte, Shawna

  A hard jolt of an indecipherable something shot through his body, leaving an uncomfortable sensation in its wake, a possibility he refused to consider. She must have gotten pregnant immediately after their breakup. She had gone from him straight to another man’s bed. A spark of rancor ignited, but was quickly extinguished by an overriding reality. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had driven her into another man’s arms—someone who had gotten her pregnant, then deserted her. It was an unsettling thought, and he felt something between guilt and anger.

  Shane studied the boy for a moment. He was dressed in pajamas, his light brown hair still sleep-tousled. He had surrounded himself with every one of Shane’s Native American artifacts that had been within reach on the shelves. He seemed to be absorbed in a book, carefully studying each picture before turning the page to the next.

  A moment of sorrow swept over Shane. Cynthia’s son looked so much like her. He wondered how things might have turned out if he hadn’t— He clenched his jaw and bit off the rest of the errant thought. The past couldn’t be changed. It served no purpose to speculate.

  The little boy looked up at him, as if suddenly aware of his presence. The sight pulled at Shane’s heart and left him momentarily speechless. The boy had his mother’s eyes, the same iridescent blue. Shane knew he should say something, but didn’t know what. Bobby solved the problem by speaking first.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Shane Fortune. This is my house. I live here.”

  “My name’s Bobby McCree.” He showed an open curiosity, with no signs of apprehension about Shane’s presence.

  Bobby McCree. Well, that took care of whether Cynthia had ever been married to the boy’s father. Realizing that left him every bit as unsettled as having her in his house and knowing she had a son.

  The little boy continued to look up at him as if waiting for him to say something. Shane ran a hand across the back of his neck in an attempt to still the uncomfortable shiver, but it didn’t help. He had developed a real bond with children and had no problem relating to them. He had spearheaded an entire hospital construction project solely for the benefit of Native American children, but at that moment he felt at a total loss for words. Too many conflicting thoughts and feelings raced through him. There’d been too many surprises all at once.

  “So...Bobby, what’s your book about?” He crossed the room as the boy rolled over, then scrambled to his feet. Bobby held up the book so Shane could see it. He was surprised to find that it didn’t belong to Bobby, but came from his bookshelf, a volume of photographs depicting reservation life. Some of the photographs were over a hundred years old and others were modern. It was not the type of book he thought would have grabbed the attention of someone Bobby’s age.

  Shane took a closer look at the various items strewn around the den. In addition to drums, masks, baskets and other Native American artifacts, Bobby had scattered some of his toys on the couch and floor. There was a bright red fire truck, a police car, Old West action figures, building blocks and a couple of children’s books. He again thought it odd that Bobby would ignore his own books and toys in favor of Shane’s book of photographic studies.

  “Do you like the pictures?”

  “Yeah, they’re neat.” Bobby’s captivating grin showed a missing front tooth.

  “Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?” As awkward as the situation was, Shane could not deny the affinity he felt toward Cynthia’s son. His curiosity about Bobby’s father was again piqued. What kind of man would desert his own child—if that’s what really happened.

  A frown wrinkled Bobby’s forehead. “My mommy always makes me breakfast. Do you know how to make breakfast?”

  “I think I can handle it.”

  Bobby closed the book and carefully put it back in the bookcase in the same spot he had found it. He ran across the den and straight to the kitchen. Shane followed the boy, but stopped in his tracks at the kitchen door. What had been neat and tidy when he went to bed was now a disaster area.

  Bobby had obviously been in the kitchen before Shane had come downstairs. He had pulled a chair next to the counter to climb up and open the cupboard. A carton sat on the table next to a dirty glass, and a puddle of spilled milk had dripped on the floor. He had also tried, it appeared, to take a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator, but had sloshed half of it on the floor between the refrigerator and the kitchen table. Apparently he’d ended up settling for a couple of cookies, as evidenced by the lid from the cookie jar shoved across the counter toward the sink and the trail of crumbs on the floor.

  “It looks like you tried to make your own breakfast.” Shane gazed at the boy, not sure whether to be irritated or amused. “Don’t you think we should clean up this mess before we start something new?”

  Bobby stared sheepishly at the floor before looking up at Shane. He answered in a quiet voice, “I guess so.”

  Shane set about cleaning the kitchen with Bobby doing his best to help. As much as he tried to stay neutral in his thoughts, every time he looked at the boy he saw Cynthia. A soft warmth enveloped his heart and spread through his chest. He again wondered about Bobby’s father and what had happened between him and Cynthia. Those same thoughts tried to wander to what might have been, but he refused to play that game.

  As soon as the kitchen was presentable, Shane set about fixing breakfast. He put the various items on a tray and carried it out to the patio, setting it on the table. Bobby followed him, pausing long enough to pick up the fire truck from the den floor. He set the truck on the table, then climbed onto the chair. Shane sipped his coffee and studied Bobby as the boy took a big drink from his glass of milk, then gulped his orange juice.

  A scowl covered Bobby’s face as he stared at his bowl of cereal. He looked up at Shane. “My mommy buys different cereal. I’ve never had this kind before. I don’t like it.”

  “Why don’t you taste it? You might be surprised. You might find a new kind of cereal you like.” Shane offered him an encouraging smile. “If you eat all your cereal, I think I can find a doughnut for you.”

  “I don’t bribe him to eat his breakfast.”

  Shane jerked around in his chair at the stern words. He had been so fixed on Bobby he had not heard Cynthia come up behind him.

  She wore white tailored slacks and a short-sleeved top in a tangerine color. The silky-looking fabric caressed the same breast his hand had grazed last night. A tingling danced across his fingertips in response to the recollection. Her long blond hair was pulled back and fastened with a gold clasp at her nape. Last night she exuded the earthy sexuality he remembered so well. This morning she presented a pristine loveliness, which also lived in his memories. Either way, it caused his blood to rush a little hotter and his heart to beat faster.

  He attempted to hide his thoughts and the very real emotional impact she had on him by adopting a more distant attitude. He may have been all cool control on the outside, but inside he fought off the clearly remembered sensations of the most intense love affair of his life. “I was beginning to wonder if you planned to sleep the morning away.”

  Cynthia ignored his pointed comment, but found it a lot more difficult to ignore his handsome features, his broad shoulders and strong arms, barely contained in the lightweight T-shirt, and his long legs, encased in faded jeans. His hair was shorter than he used to wear it, but the thick raven locks still feathered softly over his ears and across the back of his neck at collar length.

  She took a steadying breath, but it did nothing to calm the conflicting emotions that raced through her body—heated desires and a quick rush of excitement when she saw Shane, followed closely by a sharp stab of alarm when she spotted Bobby with him. She tried to force a casual sound to her words while fighting off the panic that threatened to rob her of her last shreds of composure. “I see the two of you have met.”

  “Oh, yes. Bobby and I have met. We’ve already had a busy morning.” Shane winked at the boy. “We’ve been cleaning up the mess someone left
in the kitchen.”

  She nervously cleared her throat as she made her way to the other side of the table, where her son was seated. She placed her hands protectively on his shoulders. “I hope Bobby hasn’t been any trouble. He doesn’t usually wake up this early. It was probably the strange surroundings.”

  “Me and Shane fixed breakfast.” Bobby stared down at his bowl. “But I don’t think I like this kind of cereal.”

  She kissed her son on the forehead, then smoothed back his unruly hair. “I remember when you thought you didn’t like waffles, either, because you thought they looked yucky. Now they’re your favorite breakfast.” She offered him an encouraging smile. “Don’t you think you should taste the cereal before you make up your mind?”

  Bobby looked up at his mother. He scrunched up his face. “I guess so.” He tentatively took a bite. He didn’t say anything, but continued to eat. She smiled when she saw a look on his face she knew well, the one that said he found something new that he liked.

  She turned her attention to Shane, her manner businesslike. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get myself a cup of coffee while Bobby eats his breakfast. We’ll leave as soon as he’s finished.”

  Shane rose from his chair. “I’ll get it for you.”

  She maintained a standoffish attitude, as much for her own sake, in trying to keep her emotional equilibrium, as to send a message to him. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.” She stepped back into the den and started toward the kitchen, with Shane close behind her.

  “Uh, about your leaving...”

  His words cut through her outer show of control straight to her buried anxiety, triggering an angry reaction. She whirled to face him, speaking slowly as she carefully measured each word. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out of your house this morning just as I said we would. I’ve already packed our things.” She glanced at the floor. “Except for these toys. I hadn’t anticipated having breakfast here. I’d planned for us to be out of your house as soon as I got Bobby up.”

  “I’ve, uh, been giving it some thought,” Shane said.

  She busied herself collecting Bobby’s toys. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not interested.”

  He ignored her comments. “I don’t know why Kate wanted you to stay here, but I’ve found that it’s far easier to go along with what she wants than to try to fight her on anything.”

  Cynthia turned a cool gaze on Shane, one that belied the nervous churning in her stomach. “Well, you shouldn’t have a problem with this one. You can tell Kate that I chose to leave.”

  He awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced at the floor. “I guess I’m not making myself very clear.”

  His nervousness and uncertainty caught her by surprise. They seemed completely out of character for the analytical, dynamic and confident Shane Fortune she used to know. This strange turn of events left her slightly perplexed. She thought everything had been settled last night. She wanted to move out of his house before things became more awkward than they already were. But mostly she wanted to get Bobby away from Shane. Protecting her son and his true identity was her number-one priority.

  Shane cleared his throat as he took the toy police car from her hand, set the toy on the coffee table and then captured her wary gaze with his own. He fought the desire to reach out and touch her. He forged ahead, uncertain about where he was going. “What I’m trying to say is that you can stay here—you and Bobby—until you settle your father’s estate and find a place of your own. This is a large house. There’s plenty of room for everyone. We don’t have to feel crowded.”

  He wasn’t pleased with the expression on her face or her body language, which both said his logic hadn’t convinced her. He offered a smile as he gestured toward the patio. “And there’s the swimming pool and hot tub.”

  He saw her objections forming, but he adopted his most compelling bedside manner and continued before she had an opportunity to speak. “I can imagine things have been very hectic for you the past couple of weeks. It’s difficult enough to handle a long-distance move, and even more difficult to do it with a child.”

  He glanced out the door of the den and could see Bobby still eating his breakfast. “To add the emotional turmoil of your father’s death to the circumstances is asking too much. The least I can do is allow you a safe and quiet haven in the middle of the chaos for a couple of weeks or so. You certainly can’t take care of your business while living in a motel and trying to take care of your son, too. I’m at the hospital a good deal of the time, so you’d practically have the place to yourself.”

  He held up his hand to prevent her from voicing her objections. “Don’t say anything now. Give it some thought while you have breakfast.” He extended an engaging smile that he hoped would mask the uncertainty weaving its way through the fabric of his confidence. “Okay?”

  He saw her relent before the words came out of her mouth. “I’ll...I’ll think about it.” She turned her attention to picking up the rest of Bobby’s toys.

  Cynthia set the toy box on the coffee table next to the police car, then gazed out the door at Bobby. The little boy had taken his fire truck and was playing with it on the patio. She knew she could not conduct her business with her father’s estate while keeping her son cooped up in a motel room all day. Even if she let him play outside, she certainly couldn’t allow him to play in a parking lot or at the motel swimming pool without constant supervision.

  She slowly turned to face Shane. She had reluctantly come to an uneasy decision. She made a valiant attempt to ignore the apprehension layered on top of her anxiety, caused as much by her unwanted attraction to Shane as by her all-important need to protect her secret.

  He eyed her curiously. “Well?”

  “I...” She stole another quick look at Bobby. Did she dare to stay in Shane’s house and tempt fate? Trepidation shivered through her body. She shoved the words out quickly, before she could change her mind. “Yes. If it won’t be too much of an imposition, we’ll stay until I can get my father’s estate straightened out.”

  “Well, that’s settled then.” An odd sensation washed over him. Whether or not he’d planned it, the fact remained that Cynthia McCree was back in his life. What he was not sure about was whether he had made the right decision and where that decision would lead. Intimate memories of their time together flooded through his mind, vividly bringing back desires and yearnings for what had once been.

  “Yes, I guess it is. I suppose I should go upstairs and unpack our things.” She stepped to the patio door and called to her son. “Come on, Bobby. Let’s take your toys to your bedroom so they aren’t cluttering up Shane’s den, then you need to get dressed.”

  “In a minute, Mommy.” He pushed the fire truck while making engine noises. “My firemen aren’t done putting out the fire yet.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him if you want to go ahead and unpack.”

  She paused for a moment, not sure how to respond to Shane’s offer. Even though she had started Bobby on swimming lessons at their neighborhood YMCA in Chicago, she didn’t feel comfortable about leaving him alone by the swimming pool. But of even greater concern was leaving him alone with Shane. The last thing she needed was for Shane to question Bobby about where his father was. An uncomfortable lump knotted in the pit of her stomach and refused to go away. This was more than she had bargained for when she’d made the decision to move back to Pueblo. She had never figured close contact with Shane Fortune into the equation.

  She watched her son playing with his truck. Her love for him flowed through her body, sending warmth to every corner of her existence. His innocence was balanced in a precarious position between the business she had to handle and her fear that Shane would discover his true identity. It was up to her to make sure that nothing—or no one—robbed him of his right to a happy childhood. She closed her eyes for a second and tried to still her rattled nerves. She had to be strong. She could not allow this temporary association with Shane
to distract her.

  Nor could she allow Shane to work his way into her heart again—a task she feared would not be all that diffi-cult for him to achieve.

  Cynthia stiffened her resolve. She had to make sure Shane didn’t suspect that anything was amiss. “I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. I’m sure Bobby won’t need any attention other than someone just being here to make sure he doesn’t try to go into the pool without supervision.” She gave one last tentative glance in Bobby’s direction and headed for the stairs.

  Shane stood at the patio door watching Bobby play with his truck. Uncertainty welled up inside him—uncertainty about whether he had done the right thing, uncertainty about what the future held. An unidentified yet disturbing emotion pulled at his heartstrings. Bobby looked so much like Cynthia. Her son—a child who might have been theirs. His thoughts again wandered toward Bobby’s father and what had happened to him. He watched Bobby until the emotional tug-of-war taking place inside him became more than he could handle.

  He turned his attention toward the Native American artifacts Bobby had scattered on the floor. He began gathering them together. A small hand thrust a mask in front of his face.

  “Here. I can help.”

  Bobby picked up a drum next and started to hand it to Shane, then paused. He looked at the drum, at Shane, then at the drum again. He hit it. A grin spread across his face and he hit it again. “I can be a Indian and you can be a cowboy.”

  An involuntary laugh escaped Shane’s throat. “Maybe we should do that the other way around. Since I’m one-quarter Native American, I think you should be the cowboy, instead of me.”

  Bobby put down the drum. His eyes grew wide in amazement as he stared at Shane. “You’re a real Indian?”