by Brenda Novak
“You’re serious? You won’t go out with me?” He was justifiably shocked. Two years ago she would’ve burst into tears of gratitude and relief if he’d tried to legitimize their relationship like this.
“Come on, Aaron. We don’t date. We never have.”
“We sort of dated,” he said.
“They call that fuck buddies.”
“Wow. I’m surprised you said that. You don’t even swear anymore.”
“The truth isn’t always pretty.”
“I say potato, you say po-tah-to.”
No, there was a difference between dating and what they’d had and the distinction was an important one. “Aaron, our relationship was lopsided. Why would I ever go back to that? Why would you? It was difficult enough for you to tolerate my adoration the first time.”
“I don’t think this’ll be the same.”
“Of course it will. We’ll go right back to what we’re used to.” Her body yearned for him even now, when she was feeling some conviction. How much stronger would that desire be in the moments she wasn’t?
“So what if we end up in bed together again? That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. We’re very compatible in that regard. But first I’ll take you to dinner, dancing, a movie—whatever you want. That’s dating, right?”
She gently bumped her head against the glass, although she felt like doing it much harder. “Not exactly.”
“Fine. I won’t touch you. We’ll just...date and see where we’re at in six weeks.”
“And Riley?”
“What about him?”
“I won’t stop seeing him.”
“Then date him, too,” he said grudgingly.
“But you don’t like it when I’m with him.”
“Just give me six weeks, damn it!”
She pivoted and started to pace. “Why? What’s convinced you it’ll be different this time around?”
“We’re different, Presley. Both of us. Don’t you feel it? The changes may be subtle. Once you dig under the surface, we’re still basically who we’ve always been. But...it might be enough.”
“Enough for what? To make you care more than you did two years ago?”
“I’m not making any promises, but I am asking for one last chance.”
To what? Destroy her heart for the second time? And what about Wyatt? “Sorry, I wish you well but...we have to move on.”
“We can move on in six weeks as easily as we can now!”
Not if he fell in love with her son and began to wonder about him. The more time she spent with Aaron, the harder it would be to guard every word, every look.
The thought that he might discover the truth terrified her enough that the answer became absolute. “That doesn’t change my mind,” she said, and ended the call.
* * *
“Hey, got a question for you.”
Aaron was putting a new front panel on a souped-up Camaro when Mack poked his head into the repair bay. He didn’t want to be interrupted. He’d gotten very little sleep and hadn’t started the day in a good mood. He kept replaying the conversation he’d had with Presley last night, kept seeing her in Riley’s arms as they danced at Sexy Sadie’s. “What is it?” he snapped.
Mack’s eyebrows shot up. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Aaron tossed his wrench into his toolbox, where it landed with a solid clang. “I’m frustrated with this,” he said as if getting that part in place had been giving him fits. But work wasn’t the problem.
“Presley was at the bar last night with Riley Stinson.”
Mack had noticed, after all. “And?”
“Is that what’s wrong with you? Why you were so preoccupied?”
Aaron began organizing his tools. “Is that your question?”
“No, that’s a perception.”
“Then get to your question.”
“Lana just called me.”
Mack still hadn’t asked a question, but something about his demeanor caught Aaron’s full attention. “What’d she have to say?”
“You remember she does hair at Shearwood Forest?”
“You dragged us all down there when she got her license and she butchered our hair. How could I forget? Go on.”
“She’s gotten better,” he said with a defensive scowl. “Anyway, she hears a lot of gossip at that place.”
Gossip? “Forget it.” Aaron raised a hand. “I’d rather not hear what people are saying about me. I don’t give a damn.”
“You’re going to care about this.”
Aaron studied him. Then he nodded. “Go on.”
“Riley’s mother came in this morning.”
“She still complaining about how I treated her son at Presley’s grand opening?”
He shook his head. “She helped Jacob watch Presley’s little boy last night so Presley and Riley could go out.”
Back to that sore spot? “Are you ever going to get to your point?”
Mack clasped Aaron’s arm in genuine concern. “Aaron, she said Wyatt looks exactly like you did at his age. She said the moment she laid eyes on him, she thought she was looking at you all over again. She also said she’d bet her bottom dollar he’s yours.”
Aaron stood in stunned silence. Wyatt wasn’t his. Presley had said as much. Dylan and Cheyenne both believed her. Wyatt belonged to some man in Arizona....
Some man for whom they didn’t have a name...
Some man she told Dylan it would be impossible to find...
Some man who’d given her no help whatsoever...
But she’d gotten pregnant after she left Whiskey Creek—hadn’t she?
That had to be the case. He’d always been conscientious about birth control. The only time he’d known about a malfunction was that night nearly a month ago.
“You have nothing to say?” Mack pressed.
Aaron wasn’t sure he could speak. His heart was pounding so hard he was afraid it might leap right out of his chest. Presley wouldn’t lie about something that important, would she? He managed to form two words. “That’s crazy.”
“The way you’ve always harped at me to be careful, to use protection, I thought...I thought it couldn’t be true. But...birth control can fail. I mean, you’ve seen her kid. I haven’t. He doesn’t look anything like you, does he?”
Aaron hadn’t seen a resemblance. But he hadn’t been looking for one. Now that the issue had been raised, however, he could see where someone might think Wyatt favored him. Wyatt had his mother’s eyes, but...
Presley says his father was tall...
He was just some prick who took advantage of her... But she doesn’t have contact with him, doesn’t know how to reach him.
Those snatches of conversation immediately came back to him, as well as one other detail. For several months before she left, Presley hadn’t been sleeping with anyone else—at least as far as he could tell.
Mack lowered his head to study Aaron’s face, since Aaron was staring at the concrete beneath his feet as he tried to piece it all together. “I’m sorry, man. I hope I didn’t upset you.”
When Aaron met his brother’s gaze, Mack hunched over and shuffled his feet. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“What you said a second ago, it’s not true,” he said. “It can’t be true.”
“I’m sure you’re right. I just... I felt you should know. Not only that, but people are speculating. I figured you’d hear it from someone else if you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Does Dylan know what Mrs. Stinson is saying?”
Mack shrugged. “I haven’t mentioned it to him, and he hasn’t brought it up to me, so I’m guessing he doesn’t.”
Forgetting the Camaro, Aaron stalked past his youngest brother in search
of his oldest.
“Something wrong?” Dylan asked when the door slammed against the inside wall of the front office.
Aaron had planned to question his brother about Presley’s baby, to see if he was keeping Wyatt’s true paternity from him. But the moment he opened his mouth, he realized he might be pouring gas on a rumor that had no merit to begin with. Why create doubt?
“What is it?” Dylan prompted.
“I have to go somewhere,” he replied.
Dylan came out from behind the counter. “Right now? Jason Peel’s hoping to get his Camaro back today.”
Aaron pictured Wyatt in his mind’s eye and felt his stomach muscles tighten. Could that be his baby? His son? “Jason will have to wait.”
* * *
Aaron was glad Presley wasn’t home when he arrived. Before he confronted her and demanded reassurance that Mrs. Stinson was in no way correct about Wyatt, he wanted to see the child in question, wanted to study him with a more discerning eye.
Alexa, daughter of Sophia DeBussi, Ted Dixon’s fiancée, was babysitting. Only fourteen or so, she was a sweet, pretty girl. They’d met at Ted and Sophia’s Valentine’s party a couple of months ago so, thankfully, she recognized him and didn’t seem to be frightened by seeing him at the door.
He stood back so he’d appear even less threatening. “Hello.”
A shy smile curved her lips. “Hi.”
“I take it Presley’s still at work?”
“Yeah.” She checked her phone. “She won’t be home for another hour. She had a massage at three.”
“No yoga tonight?” he asked conversationally.
“There weren’t enough sign-ups so she had to cancel Friday’s class.”
“That’s too bad.” He pretended to be sympathetic, but he was too rattled to feel much empathy over a canceled class. “How’s Wyatt doing?”
Her smile broadened. “Great! He’s so cute, isn’t he?”
No question. But was there also an Amos family resemblance? “He awake or...” In the afternoon, there was always the chance he’d be napping. Even Aaron knew that.
“He got up half an hour ago. We’ve been playing.” She opened the door wider to show him Wyatt sitting amid a sea of toys.
When the toddler looked up and grinned, Aaron suddenly felt as if he had a thousand pounds of sand sitting on his chest. He’d swung by his house to get a picture of himself as a baby; he planned on pulling that out for comparison as soon as he had the opportunity.
“I’m meeting Presley here when she gets off,” he told Alexa, “so I’ll take over for you.”
“Really?”
“Is that okay?”
“I guess, but...Presley never said anything.”
“We could call her, but I’d hate to interrupt her massage.”
“No, that wouldn’t be good. So...should I go ahead and call my mom?”
“If you don’t mind having her pick you up a little early, that’d be great.”
She hesitated, but he took out his wallet to pay her, and that seemed official enough that she didn’t voice whatever question might have been on her mind.
When he handed her the money, she looked up in surprise. “This is more than I usually make. I’ve only been here for a few hours.”
He’d estimated what he considered to be an appropriate amount, but he wasn’t worried about the extra. “Consider it a bonus.”
With a blush, she shoved the bills in her pocket. “Thanks. Come on in. I’ll call my mom. If I do it right away, I can probably catch her before her nail appointment.”
Aaron couldn’t take his eyes off Wyatt as he and Alexa waited for Sophia. They made small talk, and he pretended to watch TV with her, but he wasn’t really paying attention. When they heard the honk that was Alexa’s signal, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s her,” she said, and stooped to kiss Wyatt before slinging a backpack over one shoulder and hurrying out.
Then Aaron was alone with Presley’s baby, who was dragging around a plastic bat and using it to smack a plastic ball.
“I’m going to have to teach you about baseball,” Aaron told him, but even saying that, thinking like that, frightened him. Was this child his?
Wyatt’s eyes lit up when Aaron spoke. “Ba!” he said, pointing to the ball.
A hard lump sat heavy in Aaron’s stomach as he got out the picture of himself and crossed the floor. He was afraid Wyatt would be unhappy if he tried to pick him up. What if the kid started crying and wouldn’t stop? Aaron didn’t have Cheyenne here today, or anyone else, to pass him off to, and he’d never taken care of a small child. But Wyatt hadn’t been afraid of him when they first met at Cheyenne’s. It was possible he’d be brave here, too—and he was, as long as Aaron didn’t try to touch his bat.
“Where did you come from?” Aaron asked him.
“Ba!” He proudly held out his toy.
Aaron examined his baby picture, searching for similarities and differences.
Presley’s coloring was darker than her son’s. Wyatt had chocolate-colored eyes, but his hair was more of a sandy blond like Aaron’s. His father was definitely a white man, Aaron concluded. That fit. And no doubt he was tall, as Presley had told Cheyenne. At six-two Aaron wasn’t short. But hair color and size? That certainly wasn’t conclusive evidence when it came to offspring.
Neither did it rule him out, however.
Aaron carried Wyatt to the couch and sat down. At first, Presley’s son seemed surprised and a little intrigued by the stranger who’d suddenly appeared in his home. But that didn’t last. After a few seconds, he grew bored with Aaron’s fixation and tried to get down. Then Aaron’s cell went off, and the ringtone got the tyke’s attention.
“Pone!” He waited for Aaron to take action, but Aaron left the phone in his front pocket. It was probably Dylan, wondering when he’d be coming back to finish the Camaro, and Aaron didn’t have an answer for him.
“Pone?” Wyatt poked a finger at the noise, but that didn’t change Aaron’s mind. Nothing else mattered in this moment; he couldn’t quit staring. He was hoping to see something, some trait or expression that would answer his question.
Wyatt was so distracted by the noise and what it signified that he dropped his bat and tried to get to Aaron’s cell himself. “Pone!”
Aaron had to admit the kid had personality, and he seemed smart. His determination and insistence might’ve made Aaron laugh—if he wasn’t so terrified of what he was going to find out when Presley got home.
18
Presley was excited as she hurried to her rental house from her studio. She hadn’t had too many massage appointments this week. They’d been tapering off since the opening. But she’d expected that, since people who weren’t true candidates lost interest. The clients who did return tipped well, so she was still generally on track. Bill Hunsacker, who owned the jewelry shop down the street, had just given her an extra twenty dollars.
While she was mentally adding up how much she’d made this week and deciding which bills the money would cover, she put her key in the door—and realized it wasn’t locked.
Whiskey Creek was a safe place, but Alexa was only fourteen. Presley didn’t believe in taking chances, not after living in a questionable part of Fresno.
“Hey, why’s the door unlocked?” she called out as she let herself in. “Did you guys go for a walk and forget to lock up when you came back?”
The stroller was on the front porch, where she usually parked it. So she knew they weren’t gone now. The TV was on, too. But Alexa and Wyatt weren’t in the living room, and Alexa didn’t answer.
“Hello? Lex, I’m home!”
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Presley dropped her canvas tote on the coffee table before glancing up—and then froze. Aaron stood in th
e hallway, holding her baby.
“You couldn’t have come home ten minutes ago?” he asked dryly.
Wyatt’s pants were off, and his diaper was askew. Although Aaron looked funny standing there, his expression harried after attempting his first diaper change, Presley didn’t laugh. She couldn’t. Fear welled up, nearly sealing off her throat.
Why was he in her house? And where was her babysitter?
“I didn’t see your truck.”
“It’s out there, big as life.”
“Not in the drive...”
“Across the street.”
She nodded. She’d been so focused on her budget that she hadn’t been paying attention. “Where’s Alexa?”
“Her mother picked her up an hour ago.”
“Because...”
“I was here. I figured you didn’t need both of us.”
The fact that he’d taken such a decision on himself let her know she had reason to worry, and that brought tears to her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying to stem them, but they slipped over her lashes and ran down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying?” he asked. Despite her effort to hide her guilt and terror, she was reinforcing his suspicions, and his suspicions made him angry. Justifiably so. But she’d heard the accusation in his voice from the moment he first spoke, knew why he was here. Fear of this encounter—and its outcome—nearly overwhelmed her.
“I–I don’t know.”
“Really?”
“Aaron—”
“Mama!” Wyatt leaned forward, trying to climb into her familiar arms, but Aaron wouldn’t let her have him.
“Is it true?” He held Wyatt but kept him just out of reach. “Is this child mine?”
There’d been times, usually late at night, when she’d imagined such a confrontation. But never had she imagined a scenario that started with her being so teary and tongue-tied.
For a brief moment, she was tempted to shore up her lies, to stand by them, but it was futile. She’d always known that once Aaron began to suspect, the game would be up. All he had to do was demand a paternity test. Within three or four weeks, DNA would remove all doubt.
“I was trying to do you a favor.” Her voice fell to a whisper because she was struggling just to breathe.
