The Seven Year Secret

by Roz Denny Fox

  Connor lingered in the doorway until well after the taillights of the senator’s limousine had disappeared through the wrought-iron gates. “I guess it couldn’t make my day any worse,” he said, still not wanting to step inside and close the door on his departing fiancée. He’d never felt so torn.

  “Brandy does wonders to restore a burned-out soul. Drunk in moderation, of course,” Bradford was quick to add.

  “I’m not sure I can handle liquor on an almost empty stomach.”

  “I’ll ask Marta to bring us a tray of fruit, cheese and crackers. Or a couple of thick roast-beef sandwiches,” the old man said, with obvious hope that Connor would agree.

  “Fruit and cheese, I might manage. If you want a sandwich, sir, go right ahead. As it is, I feel bad about destroying Marta’s hard work. I feel worse because you and Mallory missed your meal. And Claire. On a flight this late, she’ll be lucky to get peanuts.”

  “Leaving was her choice. I offered to have a snack sent up, if she’d agree to just sleep on her decision.”

  “I know you did, Senator. I think I’m feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders about now. Claire never bargained for anything like this.”

  “All you can do is ask yourself how else you could have played the hand you were dealt.” Bradford led Connor into his study, a room furnished in dark leathers and manly plaids.

  “That’s the hell of it,” Connor said sadly, “I don’t see any other way to play it.”

  Bradford poured two glasses of brandy. He tasted his, made a smacking sound with his lips, then handed Connor the second glass. “Sit. Tell me how this early storm-detection system of yours works. How much time does it give a city to evacuate?” The phone rang and Brad excused himself to take the call.

  Connor accepted the glass, but he wandered around the room. The call went on for a good thirty minutes. Amazingly, on hanging up, Brad returned immediately to his earlier question.

  “Before we get into any of that, do you mind answering a question for me?” Connor asked.

  “If I’m able to, I will. I’m too wily a politician to promise answers until I’ve heard the question.”

  Connor tried but couldn’t restrain a laugh. “Spoken like a man who’s had too many dealings with the press. I’m not planning to broadcast your answer. Still, you might not like my asking something so personal. Why are you bending over backward to be nice to me? I’d think you’d act the opposite toward a guy who skipped the country, leaving your daughter unmarried and pregnant.”

  Obviously Bradford hadn’t expected quite that question. He inhaled his brandy, and Connor had to pound him on the back several times in order to get him to breathe normally again.

  “Sorry.” Connor again paced the room. “It’s an honest question, I think.”

  Brad took a big swallow of brandy. He let Connor wander the perimeter of the study for fifteen or twenty minutes. The younger man took an inordinate amount of time inspecting Brad’s extensive law library and framed records of his accomplishments as a state senator.

  Finally, Brad roused himself. “I’ll answer your question with a question, my boy. Did you know Mallory was pregnant when you took off for the South Pacific?”

  “No. And I swear that’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “Mmm. That happened the same week Beatrice was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, but I had more to consider than you and Mallory. Not that it didn’t occur to me once or twice to use fatherly muscle and force you to do right by her. But Beatrice became deathly ill so fast. Mallory, God love her, devoted endless hours a day to her mother’s care. And Bea didn’t want anyone but Mallory ministering to her. The one time I brought up the idea of tracking you down, they both jumped down my throat.”

  “Mallory didn’t discover she was pregnant until after I’d flown to the Pacific?”

  “That I can’t say. Looking back, I’d have to admit I operated in a fog that year.”

  “It must’ve been a bad time for the whole family. I hope you know that, grant of a lifetime or not, I’d have chucked it all and flown home if I’d had any inkling what was happening here. Thing is, I wrote Mallory. Three, maybe four letters. She never answered. Not so much as a stinking line.”

  Bradford seemed to sag in his chair. “Mallory had her hands full with Beatrice being so ill. And didn’t you two squabble right before you left?”

  “Seven years is a long time, but I’d remember an argument like that. We had a discussion, but I left thinking we’d agreed to correspond.”

  “To be frank, my boy, sometimes it’s wiser just to forget. Stirring old ashes too often starts new fires.” The old man poured each of them another brandy. “Here. Drown your sorrows in this.”

  Connor hadn’t realized he’d drained his glass. He swirled the golden liquid, trying to remember back seven years. He and Mallory had both been moody in the weeks before he graduated from FSU’s master’s program. Her folks had thrown a number of lavish campaign parties. Mallory had wanted him to accompany her. Connor remembered he’d been tired and had a thesis due. In addition, he worked four nights a week and didn’t have time to waste hanging around with Tallahassee’s rich and famous.

  Damn, why couldn’t he recall more? Back then, he and Mallory argued a lot over their social differences. Especially over the wishes of Mallory’s mom.

  Only now Beatrice Forrest was dead. The senator was probably right on one score. Why rekindle old animosities?

  “Stop frowning. You’ll look old before your time, my boy.” Bradford smiled at his own joke. “It’s getting late. Take a load off your feet. I’m going to buzz Marta and see what happened to our snacks. Then I want to talk turkey with you about your system. I’m sure you’re aware of the preliminary data being leaked by various weather services in South America and the Caribbean. There’s been a higher than normal number of predictions regarding increased hurricane activity for the upcoming season.”

  “I’ve seen the reports.” Connor turned one of the leather chairs to face Bradford’s. He waited to continue until the senator had finished speaking with Marta.

  Connor remembered something he needed to do before they launched into work mode. He wanted to be sure Claire had arrived home safe and sound. So as not to disturb the senator, Connor retreated to a quiet corner of the study and took out his cell phone. The number he punched in rang five times before Claire picked up. “Hi. It’s me. Just checking to see you made it home okay.”

  Silence stretched over the line. “I barely walked in the door. Dammit, Connor. I worked up a really great mad at you on the flight. Why do you have to go and be so blasted considerate?”

  He smiled. “It probably comes from growing up an only child of a single mom. She pounded stuff like that into me.”

  “Yes, well, ordinarily it’s a commendable trait. Now, if only you’d get the rest of your priorities straight.”

  “I believe they are straight. Granted, it’s bad timing, Claire. I mean, learning I fathered a child. But I did. Would you really like the type of man who’d turn his back on his obligations?”

  She sighed. “You don’t know what I feel, Connor. I don’t know what I feel. I know I need a while to sort it all out. Don’t contact me again until you’re sure which path you’re going to take.”

  Connor was about to reiterate that he was sure, but the line went dead. He slowly released the breath he’d been holding.

  “Is everything all right?” Bradford called from across the room.

  “What? Yes. No.” With a wry shrug, Connor shoved his cell phone back in its case. “Claire made it home. She’s no happier with me now than when she left.”

  Bradford ambled over and gave Connor a bracing slap on the back. “Give her time, my boy. Give her time. That’s another big difference between women and men. Women hold grudges longer. Oh, hey, here’s Marta,” he said as the door opened and the housekeeper walked in, carrying a tray.

  “I heard that disparagin
g remark, Senator,” Marta said. “Women are like that because our moms were such terrific travel agents, sending us on all those guilt trips.”

  The men chuckled before diving into the platter Marta had prepared. They’d hunkered down to talk by the time she left, closing them in the room.

  MALLORY SHUT OFF THE VIDEO Liddy Bea had fallen asleep watching. After several seconds of blessed silence, she set the control aside and pulled a light sheet over her daughter. Since the last regimen of steroids had kicked in, Liddy Bea didn’t resemble Connor quite as much as she had during the phase when she’d been nearly well. Then her angular cheekbones almost matched his. Mallory smoothed a tangle of tight curls back over Lydia’s ear.

  Removing all but one stuffed toy from the bed, she rechecked the sturdiness of the side rails before she tiptoed out to tell the night nurse she was leaving. She did her best to turn off her memories of Connor O’Rourke.

  Connor and his caustic bride-to-be.

  Even if Mallory hadn’t dreamed of Connor reappearing in her life, she’d never have pictured him with a woman like Claire Dupree. The blonde was attractive but clingy. Connor never used to like clinginess. He’d been the outdoorsy sort. A kid into swimming, boating and surfing. He’d seemed to admire the way Mallory kept pace with him in all things. He had worked harder than anyone on the hurricane disaster-relief drills.

  But perhaps Connor had changed. Maybe his focus had switched more to indoor sports, Mallory considered darkly as she walked out of the hospital. She recalled he’d been plenty adept at those, too.

  Meandering up the tree-lined street that led to Mark’s apartment, Mallory reminisced about Connor’s abilities in the indoor arena. They’d started out high school friends. In college they’d taken friendship to the next level. During many a rainy afternoon that should have been spent studying, they’d made slow, delicious love on her narrow dorm bed.

  Immersed in memories, Mallory almost walked past Mark’s place. Disgusted with herself, she stamped up the steps and punched in the security code. Her brother’s apartment, generally a place she thought warm and cozy, seemed lonely tonight.

  She quickly went through the rooms, turning on lights. It wasn’t until she ended up in the totally masculine bedroom that she attached a label to her oddly melancholy feelings. She was jealous, green-eyed jealous, of Claire Dupree. So jealous, Mallory didn’t want the woman anywhere near Liddy Bea.

  There it was in spades. Hardly a month had gone by in the past almost seven years that Mallory hadn’t envisioned Connor showing up unannounced, a heartfelt apology on his lips for his long years of silence. Then he’d admit how mistaken he’d been. How his life, without her, had been bleak. He’d beg her to take him back.

  Which she’d do after pretending to think about it. She’d say straight out that they had a daughter. It’d be love at first sight, and Connor would cradle Liddy Bea in his strong arms—in her fantasy. Then they’d all hug and kiss. Unfortunately, at this point, the scene she’d created automatically faded out on those happy images of her imagined family reunion.

  It hurt like hell, knowing the familiar dream would never come true. Stumbling forward, she fell facedown on Mark’s bed and sobbed out the tears she’d become so good at holding in.

  Mallory cried until her eyes were dry—until her shoulders and lungs ached. Then she got up and dragged herself off to shower away the red, puffy evidence, vowing these would be the last tears she’d ever shed for Connor O’Rourke.

  She’d wasted half her life on him. On loving him while she watched him grow from a gangly, awkward boy into a handsome, self-possessed man. Always there’d been pride in his thoughtful, gentle manner. Pride in his intellect. In his dogged accomplishments, some forged against all odds. Those were gifts she’d tuck away in the dim recesses of her mind, until one day she might take them out and unwrap them for his daughter. Not now, though. Not when the feelings inside her were so raw. Someday she’d be strong enough to share the very best memories of Connor with Liddy Bea.

  Unless she had to destroy them fighting him in court…

  Frowning up into the fine spray, Mallory wondered where that thought had come from. But she would fight if he and Claire attempted to gain even partial custody. That woman, Claire, had been spiteful about Liddy Bea’s lucky charm. The pink elephant might be modest compared to Claire’s diamonds, but the circumstances under which Connor had purchased the gift was what made the elephant so very special.

  Like Claire, Connor had once thought his gift tawdry. Compared to the other presents Mallory had received for her sixteenth birthday, he’d considered the little elephant insufficient, its newspaper wrapping an embarrassment.

  As she left the shower to towel herself dry, Mallory wished he knew she couldn’t name one other gift she’d received that day. What had gone through his mind, she wondered, when he saw she’d kept the elephant?

  Oh, damn! What if Liddy Bea had said she knew her daddy had given Mallory the elephant? If their paths ever crossed again, she might have to ask Connor that very question.

  Relaxed from her shower and the purging tears, Mallory returned to the bedroom, oddly more content than she’d been in some time. Davis had delivered a suitcase filled with her clothes, including nightwear. But with Connor occupying her mind, it seemed more fitting to slide between the cool sheets in the altogether, as had been their habit when they lived together. She thought about the fact that Connor had been extra careful when it came to protection. Always. Which told her their daughter was meant to be.

  A languid stretch brought new visions of Connor O’Rourke.

  The two years they’d been roommates in that tiny, hot, third-floor walk-up, nude was the preferred attire—so to speak—for both of them.

  Mallory smiled, betting that information would wipe the snide smile off Claire’s face. Flopping to her side, Mallory stifled a giggle with a yawn. It felt good. She hadn’t giggled since Liddy Bea’s transplant began to go bad.

  For her daughter’s sake, Mallory couldn’t let herself get too worked up or angry at Connor. After all, he’d told his fiancée that he intended to have the tests. Her opinion of him rose from the basement, where Mallory had let it tumble.

  Closing her eyes, she silenced her mind. Tomorrow was a brand-new day. A day that could well bring Liddy Bea a step closer to a bright future, thanks to Connor.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CONNOR HEARD FOOTSTEPS going either upstairs or down as he emerged from his morning shower. If the senator was up and about this early after keeping him up till midnight talking hurricane predictions, then the old man must be in better shape than Dr. Dahl had led Connor to believe. Too much brandy and smoke from Bradford’s cigars had left Connor groggy.

  Normally not an early riser, he’d managed to roll out of bed at seven this morning. Mostly because he was determined to catch Dahl before his morning rounds. Last night as Connor tossed about, unable to sleep for worrying about the two women whose lives he’d disrupted, he decided to press Dahl to begin the tests ASAP.

  It wasn’t fair to drive Mallory from her home, and it wasn’t fair to leave Claire dangling. If he proved to be a good donor for Liddy Bea, and there was no reason given the state of his health why he wouldn’t be, then he needed to do it. He and Claire had to face and dispense with her doubts, fears or other reasons for not wanting him to offer a kidney.

  Dressed and feeling pretty much presentable, Connor left his room, buttoning his wallet into his left hip pocket. Not expecting to see anyone, he was startled when he bumped smack into Mallory, who’d apparently left her room across the hall.

  When she’d flown out of the house last evening, she’d worn casual clothes—a crop top and walking shorts. She now had on a gold-colored sleeveless dress that brought out red lights in her thick curls. Curls that had once spread like fiery flames across their shared pillow.

  Floored by the memory and the need that slammed through him, Connor halted in his tracks. “I, uh, thought you spent the night at Mark’s ap
artment.”

  “I did.” She adjusted a flat gold necklace. “I left here in such a huff, I forgot to take the notes I needed for a meeting I can’t reschedule. Also,” she said wryly, “it’d probably cause a riot around the hospital if I showed up at a meeting of wealthy local matrons wearing shorts. Dad sent stuff, but Marta didn’t include work clothes.”

  Connor ran a hesitant gaze up, down and up her slender length again. “I always thought you could wear a garbage bag and look good.”

  He appeared so serious, Mallory hastily sobered. It was probably the coward’s way out, but she gripped the banister and all but ran down the stairs. At the landing, she realized how short of breath she was.

  “Hey, slow down. If you’re headed to breakfast, I’ll join you.”

  “Shouldn’t you wait and have breakfast with your fiancée?”

  “Claire flew back to Miami last night. If Dr. Dahl can arrange to test me today, I’ll be leaving, too. I’ll continue my research until he notifies me of the next step. If you have pull setting up lab stuff fast, you could be rid of me sooner.”

  Her heart did a series of drumbeats. “So you convinced Claire to let you proceed? Thanks, Connor. I know giving Liddy Bea a kidney can’t be as easy a decision for you as for me. She’s little more than a stranger to you.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  They’d reached the kitchen door, where the smell of fresh coffee permeated the air. Mallory stopped and absorbed his smoldering glare. “Enough, already. Tell me, Connor, should I have trapped you into staying in Tallahassee with the news of my pregnancy? Was I supposed to demand you abandon your dream? How? The first thing you said to me that night was to suggest I stay behind, forget you and hook up with one of the yuppie lawyers Mother was forever parading past me. Well, I’m sorry, Connor. I needed to keep some portion of my pride intact.”

  “I probably said a lot of dumb things. I don’t remember. Dammit, Mallory, at least give me credit for trying to do something right. Your mother made it clear enough that you could and should do better than marrying me. If it’s retribution you want, the truth is I’d barely landed on Guam when I knew that letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life.”