His Secret Christmas Baby

by Rita Herron

  Tugging his coat around him, he walked through the cemetery searching for Natalie’s marker. Sprays of flowers circled a grave in the distance, and he instantly realized it had to be hers. A lone figure stood beside it, burrowed in a coat, head bowed.

  He hesitated for a moment, then curiosity overcame him, and he picked his way through the rows of graves until he was close enough to see the figure more closely.

  The woman wore a long black coat, and as she leaned forward to place the flowers in the vase at the head of the marker, he spotted a bundle in her arms.

  A baby wrapped in a blanket.

  The two of them looked like angels in the midst of the snow, like a mirage so beautiful it couldn’t be real.

  Then she turned to leave, and he sucked in another pain-filled breath.

  It was Brianna Honeycutt, Natalie’s best friend. Brianna, beautiful Brianna. Brianna with the raven hair and sky blue eyes. Brianna with a voice that sounded like sugar and spice and everything nice. Brianna with skin like a porcelain doll, and a body like a goddess.

  Brianna who’d never wanted anything to do with him.

  Her face registered shock as she spotted him, and instant regret slammed into him. He’d never had the courage to talk to her when he was young.

  Then he’d slept with her best friend, a night that was a blur. Natalie had been in Raleigh, and they’d run into each other at a bar. He’d been upset about a case, and she’d had a sympathetic ear.

  Too many drinks later, and they’d ended up in bed. But they’d both known it meant nothing and had gone their separate ways.

  Judging from the glare Brianna sent him, she knew exactly what had happened that night and didn’t think too highly of him.

  His gaze dropped to the baby, and shock hit him. Brianna had a child? He hadn’t heard that she’d gotten married.

  A quick check to her finger and he saw there was no ring.

  “You have a child?” he asked, wondering who Brianna was involved with.

  She hesitated, her look wary, then stroked the baby’s dark blond head. “I adopted Natalie’s son. It was what she wanted.”

  A knot settled in his gut. He had kept up with the town through the online news and knew that she’d died in childbirth. “Of course.”

  Then the date of Natalie’s death flashed into his head, and the months fell away as he ticked them off in his head.

  The dark blond hair…Hair just like his.

  Was it possible that that baby was his?

  BRIANNA CLUTCHED BABY RYAN to her, a frisson of alarm ripping through her at the sight of Derrick McKinney.

  That same feeling of hopeless infatuation she’d felt as a young girl followed. Hopeless because he’d never even noticed her.

  Just as she remembered, he was tall, muscled and broad-shouldered. The wind tossed his wavy dark blond hair across his forehead, snow dotting his bronzed skin. His eyes were the color of espresso, a magnetic draw to them that made her body tingle with want. She could still see him dressed in all black, tearing around the mountain roads on that Harley.

  Sexuality leaked from his pores just as masculinity radiated off his big body. But even as need and desire swirled through her, fear sank like a rock in her stomach.

  He suddenly stalked toward her, his jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as they raked over her and settled on the bundle in her arms.

  She’d wondered who the baby’s father was, and had feared it might be Derrick, but Natalie had insisted he wasn’t. Besides, he hadn’t been in Natalie’s life the last nine months, nor had he attended the funeral, so she’d assumed that if he was the father, he didn’t want anything to do with the little boy.

  “Brianna.”

  She stiffened. His voice sounded rough and deep, the sensuality in his tone igniting desire inside her.

  She had to get a grip. Had to steel herself against him. He’d slept with her best friend—not her.

  And she couldn’t forget it.

  Tears pricked her eyelids as she zeroed in on the bouquet in his hands. He’d even brought Natalie fresh flowers.

  Lilies—Brianna’s favorite.

  Natalie had loved roses.

  God, she was pathetic. Jealous over her friend because Derrick had obviously loved her.

  He cleared his throat. “I was sorry to hear about Natalie. How tragic.”

  Brianna couldn’t speak. Instead she swallowed back tears. As if the baby overheard the reminder that his mother was gone, he whimpered and began to fuss.

  “I know how close you two were.” He shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet. “This must be really hard for you.”

  She nodded. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. I miss her every day.”

  His gaze dropped to the fussing baby in her arms. “So Natalie had a little boy?”

  Brianna took a deep breath and tugged the blanket over his face to ward off the wind. Or was it so he couldn’t see the little boy’s face? “Yes.”

  “What about the father?” Derrick’s voice warbled slightly over the word father.

  Wariness filled Brianna, and she rocked the baby, trying to soothe him. “He’s not in the picture.”

  Derrick’s broad jaw tightened. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Brianna said, trying to stick as close to the truth as possible. “Natalie never told me.”

  Surprise registered on Derrick’s face. “I thought you two shared everything.”

  At one time they had. But Natalie had glossed over the details of that night with Derrick. And the last few weeks she’d acted strangely, secretive, even shut her out.

  Because Derrick was the father of her son? Because she knew it would hurt Brianna even more to know that Natalie shared a child with the only guy she had ever wanted?

  “WHAT IS THE BABY’S NAME?” Derrick asked.

  Brianna licked her lips, snowflakes dotting her silky shoulder length hair. “Ryan. It was Natalie’s father’s name.”

  He nodded. The Cummings family had been a surrogate to Brianna.

  A stiff wind picked up, swirling snow, leaves and dried pine straw around them. Brianna shivered, the baby’s cries escalating.

  “I’d better get him out of the weather,” she said. Then she gave a pointed look at the flowers. “And I’ll leave you alone to speak to Natalie.”

  Cuddling the crying infant to her, she dashed past him, picking up her pace and practically running toward her vehicle. He frowned, a knot gathering in his stomach.

  Brianna had always avoided him, but for a moment, he thought he’d detected fear in her eyes.

  No, not Brianna. She was as sweet as they came.

  Too sweet for his badass ways back then, and too sweet now.

  Don’t trust a woman, his inner voice warned. Didn’t you learn your lesson before?

  He walked over and knelt at Natalie’s grave, then laid the spray of flowers on the top. “Natalie, is that little boy mine? And if he is, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  He turned and watched as Brianna sped away, and anger began to simmer inside him. He’d never considered having a family, especially a child. Had never thought he’d be any good at it.

  But if that baby boy was his, he’d find out.

  BRIANNA WAS SHAKING AS SHE drove back to her house, but with the snow thickening, she forced herself to drive slowly and to avoid the dangerous patches of black ice.

  What if Derrick was Ryan’s father?

  Would he want the baby?

  An ache rolled through her chest at the thought of having to give up the little boy she’d come to think of as her son. Yet at the same time, guilt pressed against her chest.

  She loved Ryan and as his adoptive mother, she had to think about his future, to put him first. She’d never known her own father.

  Didn’t Ryan have a right to know his, especially if the man wanted to be in the picture?

  She parked, gathered Ryan from the backseat, rocking him as she rushed to her house and unlocked the door.

>   The wind sent the chimes into a soft musical symphony, her front porch swing swaying in the breeze. The wreath she’d hung on the door reminded her of the upcoming holiday, that this was a special time of year. Natalie had loved Christmas.

  For Brianna, it had meant lonely nights, holidays without gifts, a reminder that her mother had dumped her on the doorstep of an orphanage and never looked back.

  But Natalie had treated her like family, and her parents had included her in their family celebrations, making memories that had changed her life. She and Natalie had decorated cookies together as kids, had created handmade ornaments and strung popcorn for the tree.

  Natalie would be missed.

  Brianna would carry on those traditions with Natalie’s son, and make sure he knew his mother’s love.

  Ryan’s cries escalated. She flipped on a light and rushed to get him a bottle. He calmed as he ate, and stared at the twinkling Christmas tree lights as if mesmerized by the bright colors. She had bought a crib for the spare bedroom, so she changed his diaper and settled him into the baby bed.

  Exhausted herself, she went to her room across the hall, then pulled on warm flannel pj’s and climbed in bed.

  But worry kept her tossing and turning for hours, her nights filled with memories of the orphanage and the friend who’d left her behind.

  Then other images taunted her. Derrick’s big masculine body. Derrick looking at her with desire. Touching her. Wanting her. Making her his.

  Finally she fell into a deep sleep, but a noise jarred her awake.

  The baby crying…. He was probably hungry again.

  She shoved the covers aside, jammed her feet into her slippers and pulled on her robe, then knotted it at the waist and shuffled across the hall.

  Night shadows streaked the walls, then suddenly the silhouette of a man bled into view, and her heart pounded. He was in the nursery, leaning over the crib.

  Panic shot through her. He was going to take Ryan!

  Lunging into the room, she shouted at him to stop, but he scooped up the baby and turned toward her. He wore all black and a ski mask, the only visible part of him was his eyes. Dark eyes that bored into her like lasers.

  “Put him down,” Brianna said. “Please just leave him alone. He’s just a baby….”

  He stalked toward her, his hulking form menacing as he shoved her aside. She grabbed his arm to stop him and get Ryan, but he swung his fist up and slammed it into her face. Her head snapped back, but she sucked in a sharp breath, terror streaking through her as she ran after him.

  He raced toward the stairs, and she clawed at his back and shoulders, but he jerked her arm and flung her down the steps. She hit the wall, bounced over the ridges of the staircase and landed in a puddle at the bottom of the steps, the room spinning.

  Clutching the baby to him, he vaulted over her. Panicked, she grabbed wildly at his ankle, determined not to let him escape.

  “Let go, you bitch.” With a snarl, he swung his foot back and slammed it into her nose. Blood spurted, pain rocked through her and the room swirled.

  Choking on a sob, she struggled to crawl after him. But he kicked her again, and she lost the battle and collapsed into the darkness.

  Her last thought before she passed out was filled with pure terror—she’d just lost Natalie’s son.

  Chapter Two

  Derrick jerked awake, sweating and panting for breath. Images of that last case had haunted him all night. He could still see that tiny grave, hear the father’s choked cry, the mother’s scream of denial.

  That dream had blended into another—memories of his own father tormenting him as a kid, beating him to a bloody pulp, making him feel worthless.

  He stood, wiped the sweat from his brow and went to the window. Daylight was barely dawning yet it was always night in his mind, night filled with dark thoughts of that case and the mess he’d made of it.

  All because he’d let his past get in the way. Let himself believe the mother’s story that the kid’s father was abusing him. Easy to believe. It happened every day.

  But in the end, he’d been wrong. The mother had been the abuser.

  Her tears had fooled him.

  Never again.

  He had to stay detached.

  The snow dotting the tree branches reminded him of Brianna holding that baby at the graveyard the night before. Of the question nagging at him.

  Could that little boy be his son?

  Hell, if he is, he’s probably better off without you. What do you know about fatherhood?

  Zilch. Except that he didn’t want to be like his old man. And he didn’t want some kid thinking he’d deserted him, either.

  What kind of mental scars would that give him?

  Hissing in frustration, he strode to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked bloodshot, worry lines fanning around his mouth, the remnants of the nightmares still in his gaunt expression.

  No, if that baby was his, he wouldn’t hurt him like his father had hurt him.

  Dammit. He’d find a way to be the man, the father, the kid deserved, even if he had to take lessons to do it.

  And damn Brianna. If she knew the baby was his son, why hadn’t she contacted him and told him?

  Another woman—another deception. It seemed to be par for the course. Women liked to play games. But he was no player.

  He took a quick shower and dressed, then grabbed his weapon and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans. As he went out the door, he tugged on his jacket and slogged out through the snow. A glance at his watch told him it was only 6:00 a.m. Brianna might not be up. Then again, babies awakened early, didn’t they?

  The snow flurries were dwindling, yet the spiny branches of the trees were coated in white, and dark storm clouds hung heavy in the sky. Gears ground as he chugged up the mountain road toward Brianna’s, grateful he’d had snow chains put on the Jeep. The winter wind whistled through the car as he parked in her drive. Squinting through the fog at the small log cabin, he frowned as he noticed her front door stood ajar.

  Why would her door be open in cold weather?

  Instincts honed from years on the job kicked in, and he removed his gun and climbed out, his gaze scanning her property as he slowly inched toward the porch.

  He didn’t see anyone lurking around, but still kept his eyes peeled as he neared the front door. A glance inside made his stomach knot.

  Brianna was lying on the floor at the bottom of the steps unmoving.

  Good God, what had happened?

  Adrenaline kicked in as he ran toward her and knelt to check for a pulse. His own clamored as he waited.

  A second later, he exhaled in relief. She was breathing.

  He placed his gun on the floor beside him, pulled his cell phone from inside his jacket and punched 9–1-1.

  “This is Derrick McKinney,” he told the operator. “Send an ambulance to Brianna Honeycutt’s house. She’s unconscious and it looks like she took a fall.”

  “I’ll get an ambulance out there right away,” the operator said, then asked for the address.

  Derrick gave her directions, then snapped his phone closed, and brushed Brianna’s hair from her cheek. “Brianna, can you hear me?” He gently shook her, turning her face sideways to check her injuries.

  The bruises on her face made his gut clench.

  She hadn’t just fallen. Someone had hit her.

  Anger churned in his gut, then panic slammed into him. The house was quiet. Too quiet?

  Where was the baby?

  His heart pounded as he vaulted to his feet and searched the downstairs, then raced up the steps. He spotted Brianna’s bedroom on the left, then a guest room across the hall with a crib inside. He hadn’t prayed in ages, but he said a silent prayer that the baby was safely asleep in the crib.

  But when he looked inside, the baby was gone.

  THE SOUND OF A MAN’S GRUFF voice penetrated the fog enveloping Brianna, but a screeching so
und trilled in the distance, compounding the pain hammering in her head.

  “Brianna, can you hear me?” Soft fingers stroked her cheek. “It’s Derrick McKinney. I need you to wake up and talk to me.”

  She moaned, but slowly roused, and tried to open her eyes. Where was she? What had happened?

  “Brianna,” he said a little more harshly. “Please. I need you to talk to me.”

  Panic and fear pummeled her as reality returned. Oh, God…the baby.

  “Ryan…” Tears choked her, and she pushed at the floor with her hands, desperate to get up. “The baby…a man…he broke in and took him.” The room swirled as she lifted her head, and pain rocked through her again, sending nausea in waves.

  “Easy,” Derrick urged. “You’d better lie flat until the EMTs get here. You might have a head injury.”

  “No, I’m okay.” She had to drag in a breath to stem the nausea. The room twirled, and she closed her eyes and willed herself not to get sick on him. “Just help me to the couch.”

  He eased her onto the sofa, then knelt beside her. “Tell me where it hurts,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine,” she claimed through gritted teeth, “but he took Ryan.” She clutched his arm with an iron grip. “You have to find him, Derrick. You have to.”

  “I will,” he declared softly. “Just tell me what happened. What do you remember?”

  She massaged her temple, struggling to recall the details. “I put Ryan to bed after I got home and then went to bed myself. Later, I heard him crying, and went to the nursery, but a man was standing over the crib. Then he grabbed Ryan and started to leave.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  She shook her head. “No, it was so dark, and he was dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask. The only thing I saw was his eyes.” A shiver rippled through her, and she slowly sat up. “He had cold, mean eyes.”

  He stroked her arm as if to calm her. “Then what happened?”