His Secret Son

by Brenda Jackson

  She took the key out of her purse and looked at him. Had she sensed he’d been staring at her backside? “Nice neighborhood,” he said, in case she had.

  “Yes, it is.” She paused. “I will have to tell Ms. Charlotte who you are, as well. She will be shocked.”

  He nodded. “She also assumes we’re married?”

  “Yes. The only person who knows the truth is my best friend in Paris. Dionne.”

  Laramie didn’t say anything as she unlocked the door and opened it. Then she stepped aside. “No, after you,” he told her. “I’m used to bringing up the rear.”

  She nodded and entered her home. He followed, closing the door behind him. Her place had a cozy air. It felt small and intimate compared to the monstrosity of a house his parents owned, where he’d grown up as a child.

  He stood in a foyer with stairs on one side and a living room on the other. The lit fireplace reminded him of how cold it was outside. The heat in here felt good. She had decorated for the holidays. A Christmas tree sat in front of the windows and he couldn’t help noticing that several of the ornaments were the ones he had bought for her in Paris. It made him feel good to know she had kept them.

  “Nice place,” he said, glancing over at Bristol as he removed his Stetson and placed it on a nearby hat rack.

  “Thanks.”

  “I thought I heard voices. You’re home.”

  An older woman came down the stairs and he figured her to be Ms. Charlotte. She smiled when she saw them. Then suddenly, the smile seemed to freeze on her face and she stopped walking to stare at him.

  “Sorry I’m late, Ms. Charlotte. How was Laramie tonight?”

  The older woman answered Bristol, without taking her eyes off him. “He was fine as usual.”

  It was then that Bristol said, “Ms. Charlotte, I’d like to introduce—”

  “I know who he is,” the older woman said, still staring at him.

  The woman’s words gave Laramie pause. “How can you know?” he asked, lifting a brow.

  “Your son looks just like you.”

  His son looked like him? “Does he?” he heard himself asking.

  “Yes, your spitting image,” the older woman said.

  “That’s one of the first things I noticed after he was born,” Bristol added.

  The woman finally continued down the stairs. When she reached the bottom step, she said, “I know you’re not a ghost, so I can only assume you weren’t dead as Bristol thought.”

  Laramie stared into the older woman’s eyes. He admired their sharpness. He had a feeling you couldn’t hide much from those eyes. “No, I wasn’t dead, although the government thought I was. I was missing in action for almost a year before being recused.”

  For some reason he felt he should provide her an explanation. She nodded and her lips creased into a smile. “I’m glad you came back alive. You’re going to love that little boy up there. He’s a sweetheart.”

  Bristol groaned. “You shouldn’t say things that aren’t true, Ms. Charlotte. You and I both know he’s just gotten the hang of the terrible twos.”

  “Like I’ve always said, boys will be boys. I should know after raising four of my own.” She then glanced at her watch. “Time for me to leave. I’m sure the two of you have a lot to talk about,” she said, heading for the door.

  She glanced back at them, specifically at Laramie, and said, “I’m glad you’re here.” The older woman then opened the door and closed it behind her.

  Laramie saw Bristol was focused on the painting that hung over her fireplace. He’d seen it before. In Paris. In her bedroom. It had hung directly over her bed. She’d told him it was one she’d painted with someone. He’d been amazed how the beauty of the Point Arena Lighthouse had been captured so magnificently on canvas. The painting was so vivid it seemed that the waves from the Pacific were hitting the shoreline. He recalled visiting the actual lighthouse years ago with his parents.

  “Bristol?”

  She switched her gaze to him. “Yes?”

  “Are you okay?”

  She stood beside a lamp and the light illuminated her. He was thinking then what he’d thought when he’d first seen her. She was beautiful. In the bright light, he could study her. See more. Her dark hair was swept up and away from her face in a way that seemed to make her features even more striking. Especially with those earrings in her ears...

  It was then that he remembered. He’d given her the earrings as a gift. It seemed the Christmas ornaments weren’t the only thing she’d kept.

  “You’re ready to see him?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “He’s asleep, so whatever you do, try not to wake him. Laramie can be a handful when awakened from his sleep. He doesn’t like that very much.”

  “I won’t wake him.”

  “Okay. Then follow me please.”

  She headed up the stairs and he followed, feeling his stomach knot with every step. This was crazy. He’d faced bitter enemies without flinching. Yet knowing that at the end of these steps was a child he’d helped to create had nervous tension flowing through him.

  The moment they reached the landing she turned to him. “This way. His bedroom is next to mine so I can hear him at night.”

  He nodded, inhaling her scent. It was soft, subtle—jasmine. He recalled that was her favorite fragrance and for those three days they’d spent together it had become his.

  He hung back when she opened the door and entered the bedroom. She turned on a small lamp. His gaze raked the room. It had bright yellow walls and a mural of zoo animals gathered around an image of someone reading a book.

  Then there was the toy box in the corner. He smiled, remembering how he would pull all his toys out of the box at the beginning of the day as a boy, only to have to put them back at the end. His parents always had a full-time housekeeper and undoubtedly, she’d figured the more she taught him to do in his playroom, the less she would have to do.

  He watched Bristol move toward the bed. From the doorway he could see the small sleeping form beneath the blanket. A mop of dark curly hair peeped out and he instantly recalled the pictures he’d seen of himself as a child with the same mass of curly hair. His parents hadn’t given him his first haircut until he was about four.

  When Bristol stopped by the bed, he moved to where she stood as blood pounded in his temples. He looked down and his heart stopped. Suddenly, he was bombarded with emotions he couldn’t keep in check. He was looking down at his child. His son.

  His son.

  A son he and Bristol had made together during their three days of heated passion. Three days he hadn’t been able to forget. Three days, the memory of which had helped him maintain his sanity when any normal person would have lost it.

  He had expected to feel something. But not this. Not this overflowing of emotions filling him to capacity, taking hold of his mind and heart. He might not have been interested in fathering a child before, but the thought that he’d fathered this one had intense pride tightening his shoulders then spreading all the way down to his gut.

  Since his child was lying on his stomach, he could only see one side of his face. That was enough. His mind rang out with the words... He’s mine. All mine.

  Um, not quite, he thought, glancing at the woman by his side. His son was hers, too. That was a fact he couldn’t forget.

  She met his gaze. At that moment, something passed between them and this time it wasn’t sexual in nature. It was an unspoken understanding that no matter what, this child—their child—would always come first. He understood and accepted the pledge.

  “Does he sleep through the night?” he whispered. He had to say something. He wanted to know so much. He wanted to know everything.

  A smile touched her lips. “If you’re hoping he’d awake anytime soon, no suc
h luck,” she whispered back. “He usually fights sleep tooth and nail, but when he’s out, he’s out until the next day.”

  “May I come back tomorrow to see him? Spend time with him?”

  She didn’t answer. Why? All he needed was a yes or no, preferably yes. Instead, she whispered, “Let’s go back downstairs and talk about it.”

  Talk about it? Did she think her answer would make him yell and risk waking up his son? What was there to talk about? This was his son. She’d said so. He’d believed her even without seeing all of him. Drawing in a deep breath, he hoped like hell there was not about to be any drama. The only true drama he enjoyed was of the SEALs kind.

  He followed her out the door and back down the stairs. “Would you like a cup of coffee or a beer, Laramie?”

  “A beer will be fine.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  In a way, he was glad she’d left him alone for a few moments to deal with all these emotions. Was she deliberately stalling? Would she try to deny him rights to his son? She’d said the reason she’d tried writing to him three years ago was because she’d wanted him to know she was pregnant. He’d just seen his child. Now what? Did she expect him to walk away? Should he consider obtaining an attorney so he could know his rights as a father? All he knew was that his son had his name. Bristol even had his name, although they weren’t legally married.

  He rubbed a hand down his face. The hour was late. Was he overthinking things? If he was, it wouldn’t be the first time. He was a suspicious bastard by nature. He rarely took anything at face value.

  She returned with a beer for him and a cup of tea for herself. He remembered how she would drink a cup of tea every morning and every night before bedtime. He would get all turned on just watching how she sipped her tea.

  “Let’s sit in there,” she said, indicating the living room. “Although I loved my studio apartment in Paris, it’s nice to have more room here, especially with Laramie.”

  She sat down but he remained standing. Her calmness kicked up the uncertainty inside him even more. Was this when she would tell him he could have no part in his child’s life or that he would only get whatever part she chose to give him?

  He opened his beer and took a huge swig. The cool liquid felt refreshing going down his throat. He glanced over at her and saw she was looking at him. It was as if she wanted to say something but was too nervous to do so. In that case, he needed to just come out and squash whatever ideas were formulating in her head here and now.

  “I asked you upstairs if I could come back tomorrow and you never gave me an answer. So I can only assume you have a problem with me doing so. In that case, I think you need to hear me out, Bristol.”

  He moved to stand a few feet from where she sat and met her gaze. “I want to see my son again. Every chance I get. I want to know him and I want him to know me. I want to be there for him. I want to be a part of his life. I’m not a man who will walk away from my child. I have rights as a father.”

  He paused before adding, “And just so you know, if you deny me those rights, I will fight you legally with every penny I have.”

  Eight

  Bristol knew she needed to do something before she began crying. Already it was taking everything within her to fight back the tears glistening in her eyes. She doubted Laramie knew just how much his words meant to her.

  A part of her had known that she’d fallen in love with him during their holiday fling for a reason. Although she hadn’t gotten to know him in the way she would have liked, in her heart she’d believed he was a man with character. A man of honor. A man who believed in doing the right thing.

  When she discovered she was pregnant, letting him know had been automatic because of what her mother had done to her father. But Bristol hadn’t known, until this very minute, how Laramie would feel about their son. Whether he would accept him or walk away. Even when he’d said he believed Laramie was his and had wanted to see him, there hadn’t been any guarantees as to what his reaction would be. But she could not deny him the right to see his son and if he’d walked out the door after doing so, it would have been his loss. Not hers or her child’s.

  But from what he’d just said so passionately, he didn’t plan to walk out the door. He wanted to be a part of his child’s life...just like her father would have wanted to be a part of hers had he known about her sooner. Laramie Cooper was proving there were decent men out there. Just like her father.

  Tears she couldn’t contain any longer wet her cheeks. Why was she getting so emotional? Especially now? She blamed it on the fact that the man she’d fallen in love with three years ago, the man she’d thought was dead, was not only very much alive but was here, in her home, standing in front of her and accepting his child without any hesitation. Of course that didn’t mean he wanted to renew a relationship with her or anything; she understood that. That was fine. The most important thing was that he wanted a relationship with his son.

  “Hell, Bristol, you’re crying over what I said? Just because I want to be a part of my child’s life?” Laramie asked in an incredulous voice.

  More tears she couldn’t control flooded her eyes, and she saw both anger and confusion in his features. She wasn’t handling this very well and now she had him thinking the complete opposite from what she was feeling.

  “I need to get some tissue,” she said, quickly getting up to go into her kitchen to grab a few. Moments later, when she returned, Laramie was standing in front of her Christmas tree with his back to her. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans. She wondered if he’d noticed the ornaments. She doubted he would ever know how much she’d come to treasure them. How each time she looked at one she was reminded of Paris.

  “Laramie?”

  He turned around and met her gaze. She could tell from his stance and his brooding expression that he was still angry, even more so. She needed to explain and the only way she could do that was to tell him everything. “I think we need to sit down and talk.”

  The look in his dark, piercing eyes said that as far as he was concerned, there was nothing to talk about, but he nodded anyway. She took a seat on her sofa again, but he said, “I’d rather stand.”

  She wished he would sit down. Then she wouldn’t have to stare up at him. Wouldn’t have to notice just how well-built he still was. How sexy he looked in jeans and a leather jacket. And she wouldn’t have to notice how his eyes were trained on her. But she said, “Okay, if you prefer standing.”

  The room was quiet but she was convinced she could hear the pounding of her heart. “I might have confused you about a few things, Laramie,” she said. “I would like to explain and hope in the end you’ll understand.”

  She paused before saying, “Growing up, I never knew my father. Other kids had daddies and I didn’t understand why I didn’t. It was just me and my mom. One day...I believe I was eight at the time...I asked her about it. I wanted to know where my daddy was. She got angry with me and said I didn’t have a daddy, that I didn’t need one and not to ever bring up the subject of a father again. Her words were final and I knew it.”

  Bristol picked up her teacup and took a sip although the tea had cooled. “It was only after my mother died when I was fifteen that I moved from Houston to—”

  “You lived in Texas?”

  “Yes. I was born in Houston and lived there until I was fifteen.”

  He nodded. “I’m a Texan, as well. I was born in Austin.”

  She nodded and then continued her story. “When Mom died, I moved here to New York to live with my aunt Dolly. She was my mother’s only sibling.”

  Bristol took a breath and then continued, “It was only then that I got up enough courage to ask my aunt about my father. I knew nothing about him. I didn’t even know his name. But Aunt Dolly did. However, my mother had sworn her to secrecy. According to my aunt, my fath
er and mother dated while in high school in Dallas but he broke things off with my mom to pursue his dream of studying art in Paris. My aunt said he asked my mother to go with him, but she refused, saying she didn’t want to live in another country.”

  “Your father was an artist, as well?” Laramie asked as he leaned against a bookcase.

  “Yes.” Now might have been a good time to tell him her father was the famous artist known as Rand, but she didn’t. Her father’s identity wasn’t important to this story.

  “Imagine how excited I was when I found that out. When I learned where my artistic abilities had come from. It also explained why my mother never wanted me to pursue my art. I guess me doing so reminded her of him. Once I found out who he was, I wanted to connect with the man I never knew. The man my mom had kept from me.”

  She took another sip of her tea. “According to my aunt, my mother never told my father she had gotten pregnant. He didn’t know he had a daughter. The reason Mom kept it from him was because she resented him for choosing Paris over her.”

  She paused again before saying, “I convinced my aunt that I needed to see my father. To let him know I exist. She prepared me by saying that he might not want a child, that he might question if I was really his. Aunt Dolly didn’t want me to get hurt. But I didn’t care. I needed to meet him.”

  She recalled that time and how desperate she’d felt. “One of the men at my aunt’s church was a detective with the NYPD. He tracked down my father and discovered he lived in Los Angeles. I made the call to my dad the morning of my sixteenth birthday. Aunt Dolly talked to him first, to break the ice and introduce me. Then she handed the phone to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  No need to tell Laramie it had practically been the same thing he’d said when she’d told him about their child. “He said that he believed I was his and that he wanted to see me. To prove that point, he flew out immediately. In fact, he knocked on my aunt’s door in less than eight hours.” She smiled. “That was the best birthday present ever.”