The Doctor's Secret Son

by Janice Lynn

  “Were you trying to wake him?” he accused when they got back to the living room.

  She shook her head.

  “If he’d awakened and I was there with you crying it would have traumatized him. Is that what you were hoping for? To make him not trust me from the beginning?”

  “No,” she denied, looking horrified at his accusation. “Of course not. How could you think that?”

  “How could I think otherwise? I have a son who doesn’t know me from a stranger because you kept him from me.”

  She winced at his accusation. “I didn’t know where you were.”

  “Did you look?”

  Guilt written all over her face, she closed her eyes. “No.”

  “Then don’t tell me you didn’t know where I was. I wouldn’t have been that difficult to track down. You knew I lived in Atlanta...that I’d been at the CCPO event. All you had to do was ask Agnes and she’d have gotten word to me.”

  “I can’t change the past, Trace. I thought you wouldn’t want to know.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You’re the one who told me you didn’t want a relationship, didn’t want children, ever. I was a weekend fling. Someone you’d had a good time with and nothing more. We weren’t dating, or an item, or involved in any way. I wasn’t supposed to get pregnant.”

  She was right.

  “Did you get pregnant on purpose?”

  Her chin jutted forward. “You know I didn’t.”

  “Why did you suddenly decide to tell me?”

  “It wasn’t suddenly.” She wiped at the tears still running down her cheeks. “I’d been thinking about it since first seeing you in the medical tent again.”

  Right. That was why she’d not bothered to tell him while they’d been in Atlanta.

  “I’m staying here,” he announced, surprising both him and her with his decision.

  Her eyes were wide. “Here as in my house?”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t think—”

  “That’s right. You don’t think. Nor do you get to have a say in this. You have kept my son from me for four years.”

  She collapsed onto the sofa as if her legs would no longer hold her. Her head drooped low, the tears starting again full force.

  “I am going to get to know my son the best I can in what time I have left before I leave and you’re going to help me do it so it causes him as little stress as possible.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” she asked, looking up at him through her red-rimmed eyes.

  “By making me a welcomed houseguest, by being friendly to me so he doesn’t pick up on any negative feelings, by telling him the truth.”

  “You want me to tell him that you’re his father?” She sounded horrified.

  “You think it better to lie to him and tell him I’m some random guy you’ve decided to let move in?”

  “There’s not room in my house for you, Trace.”

  He glanced around the living room. “This is a mansion compared to some of the hellholes where I’ve worked over the past four years. I’ll be fine.”

  Not that he thought for one second she was concerned about his comfort. She didn’t want him there. Too bad. He wanted every second possible with his son, to get to know the boy and for his son to get to know him. He’d figure the rest out later. For now that was the only game plan he had.

  “But—”

  “I’m staying and we’re not lying about who I am.”

  “But—” she repeated.

  “You’ll tell him tomorrow when he wakes up that I am his father.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t have time for games, Chrissie. I’ll be leaving for Africa soon. In a couple of weeks.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh. He’ll stay with me while you go to work.” Which just occurred to him. “Do you work tomorrow?”

  Staying with the boy on day one would be awkward, but he’d figure it out.

  “No, I’m off for the next four days.”

  “That’s good. That will give him time to get used to me before he stays with me.” And then Trace would have to leave soon thereafter. How long would it be before he’d be back in the States? Six months? A year? Maybe longer?

  “He’s not staying alone with you.”

  “He is.” Trace cut his gaze to Chrissie’s watery-eyed one. Under other circumstances he could feel badly for her, would have wanted to comfort her.

  These weren’t other circumstances.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SEEING TRACE’S PAIN and frustration hurt.

  She couldn’t argue with him. Not when in many ways he was right.

  She had kept their son away from him, something that no matter how she tried to make up for, she’d never be able to. In some ways she was no better than her father.

  She could remind him that he’d said he didn’t want children, but she’d never presented him with the option of wanting Joss.

  “Fine. Stay here.” She gestured to the sofa. “I’ll grab a pillow and a blanket.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t need them. You do.”

  Was he kidding? Her brow lifted. “I’m sleeping on the sofa?”

  He nodded. “If Joss wakes up in the middle of the night, it might scare him to find a strange man on the sofa. Which means I can’t stay on the sofa. Unless you’ve got another bedroom where you can put me, I’m taking your room where I can lock the door to prevent him from finding me unexpectedly.”

  He was putting her on the sofa and taking her bed.

  “I haven’t changed my sheets this week.”

  He didn’t look impressed. “I’ve survived worse than dirty sheets.”

  She’d done this. She’d set this wheel into motion. No, she hadn’t really expected him to show up at her house and announce he was staying, but it wasn’t as if she’d expected to tell him they’d had a child and him to say, That’s nice and never to hear from him again.

  Or maybe she had.

  Maybe she’d simply been appeasing her conscience and had hoped he’d stay away so she could go on with the way things had been before seeing him again.

  “What am I supposed to tell my mother?”

  For the briefest of moments, she thought she’d reached him. But after that flash of indecision, his expression steeled again.

  “The truth.”

  The truth?

  Her mother had never pushed too hard for her to spill the details of how she’d ended up pregnant. She’d always been a good daughter, had rarely bucked her mother’s wishes. She had probably guessed that her daughter had gotten pregnant while at the CCPO event four years ago. When she’d burst into tears when asked about Joss’s father, her mother had accepted her answer that he was no longer in the picture and getting help from him wasn’t an option. She’d never asked since.

  How would she react to him now living in her house?

  To his just showing up out of the blue?

  Well, maybe, not so out of the blue. Her family knew she’d been in Atlanta for CCPO again a week ago.

  Heaviness tugged at her shoulders.

  “How long do you plan to stay?”

  He shrugged. “Until I have to leave.”

  How would that affect Joss? For Trace to come waltzing in, play the role of daddy for a few weeks, then disappear again?

  “You can’t just come into Joss’s life, then walk away as if he doesn’t exist. He wouldn’t understand that.”

  He crossed his arms and stared at her as if she were a pesky fly. “Not once have I said anything about walking away from my son as if he doesn’t exist.”

  She crossed her arms, too, and did her best to stare him down the way he was her
. And not to react to his my son because those words scared her a little. He hadn’t said “our son.”

  She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “You plan to stay in Chattanooga?”

  Because she wouldn’t acknowledge that he might mean something other than his staying here.

  She wouldn’t let him take Joss to Africa. She wasn’t sure she could stop him forever, but for the moment she was Joss’s legal guardian and had final say.

  “You know that isn’t the case. I’m booked on a flight a couple of weeks from now. In the meantime, I’m going to get to know my son. He’s going to get to know me and you are going to facilitate that so it goes as smoothly as possible given the unfortunate circumstances.”

  His tone brooked no argument, nor did his retreating back as he stepped outside.

  Heart racing, she ran to the front door, watched him walk around to the front seat of an expensive-looking SUV. He grabbed an overnight bag from the front floorboard, then headed back her way.

  “Miss me?” he quipped, looking way more relaxed and comfortable than he should considering he was invading her home as an unwanted houseguest and as a man who had just met his son for the first time a few minutes ago.

  “You wish,” she countered, glaring at him.

  Not acknowledging her quip, he stepped around her, headed toward the hallway, then paused. “You need anything out of here before I crash?”

  He was really going to sleep in her room, in her bed, and let her take the sofa? Sure, his reasons made sense, but still...

  “Yes.” She pushed past him and went into her room, grabbed one of the pillows off her full-sized bed, then glanced around the room. The room was about twelve by twelve and dominated by the queen-sized bed. There was a stack of books on her night stand, a mix of hers and Joss’s. Some clean clothes were draped over a wicker chair that had been her grandmother’s, waiting on her to hang them in her closet. At least she’d semi-made her bed that morning.

  Then again, what did it matter? She hadn’t invited him. He wasn’t her guest. If her house was a total wreck, tough.

  On that note, she turned, expecting to see him standing behind her, but he wasn’t. He’d stopped by Joss’s room, probably to stare at their son.

  She took a deep breath, pulled a blanket out of a plastic bin from under her bed.

  This time when she turned to leave her room, seeing Trace standing in her bedroom doorway caused her heart to stop.

  Or pretty darn close.

  Who would have thought Trace would be in her house, standing in her bedroom doorway?

  Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that would ever happen.

  Because for all her fear over his meeting Joss, for all her nervousness at what the future held, the man was breathtaking.

  Which didn’t sit well because she needed all her wits about her, not to get distracted by his soulful eyes, broad shoulders, and overflowing charisma. Not that he’d shown much charm since arriving at her house.

  Determined to protect her heart, she narrowed her gaze at him. “The bathroom is down the hallway. Stay out of my drawers.”

  He laughed and it was a dry, harsh sound. “No worries, Chrissie.”

  She wasn’t sure they were talking about the same drawers, but what did it matter? He’d made his point loud and clear.

  He was there because of their son. Not her.

  * * *

  Trace had slept very little and was wide awake as the first streams of morning light came through Chrissie’s unshaded windows.

  Part of him felt like a jerk for taking her room. Another truly believed he should be behind locked doors in case Joss woke prior to him and Chrissie. He didn’t want to scare the kid.

  The kid.

  His kid.

  He hadn’t really questioned Chrissie. Logic said he should get a paternity test. Not to would just be foolish on his part. But when he’d knelt beside the bed staring at the peacefully sleeping boy in the dimly lit room, he’d not been thinking, What if? He’d been thinking, That’s mine.

  Because he wanted the boy to be his.

  He’d not planned to have children, so how much he wanted Joss to be his didn’t make logical sense.

  How could he so desperately want what Chrissie had told him to be true?

  He believed her.

  All night he’d battled between anger, a sense of betrayal, uncertainty, and awe that he’d fathered a child.

  Restless, he pushed the sheet back and got up.

  Going to the living room, panic hit him when he saw the empty sofa. Had she taken off in the middle of the night?

  Turning, he went to Joss’s room, pushed open the door and stopped short at what he saw.

  Chrissie’s small frame was curled on the car bed with her son’s little body pressed up against hers. The little boy’s hand rested on his mother’s.

  Morning light lit the room, and with him lying next to Chrissie it was easy to see his resemblance to his mother.

  Same blond hair, same beautiful porcelain skin.

  He sat down in a rocking chair, careful to keep the chair from squeaking, and watched the sleeping mother and child.

  His child.

  His and Chrissie’s child.

  As angry as he was at her for not telling him about Joss, he couldn’t imagine anyone that he’d rather have as a mother of his child. Certainly, Chrissie had haunted him while he’d been overseas.

  While she’d been raising their child.

  While he’d been lying in a hospital recovering, she’d been here, with their son. And he hadn’t known.

  Another surge of betrayal burst through him that she hadn’t told him. How could she have not told him?

  If not before, how could she have driven away a week ago without saying a word? Without telling him that she’d given birth to his son?

  Every moment they’d spent together had been a deception.

  Every breath, every touch, every look, every smile, every laugh—all had been lies.

  Because she’d known he had a son and she hadn’t told him.

  Which brought him back to why she’d told him yesterday.

  He knew very little about her, other than that she’d volunteered at CCPO as a nurse, drove him crazy sexually, and lived in Chattanooga.

  From what he’d seen of her home, it wasn’t fancy or very big, but was clean and well-cared-for. As he’d told her the night before, he’d lived in worse overseas.

  Much worse.

  Because Chrissie’s home was filled with love.

  Whatever her reasons in telling him about Joss, she loved their son.

  It oozed from the picture-filled walls.

  It oozed from the way Chrissie held him even in sleep.

  Not that she was asleep, because his gaze suddenly collided with her green one. She studied him and he returned the favor.

  She didn’t move, just lay there watching him. Her hair was tousled from sleep and he had an immediate flashback to a week ago when he’d awakened next to her. That morning they’d stared into each other’s eyes in a very different way.

  There had been no hurt, no anger.

  He felt both at the moment. Betrayed.

  How could she have kept their son from him?

  Even if he could understand her not telling him four years ago, why hadn’t she told him a week ago?

  How could she have had sex with him, spent that much time with him, all the while knowing what she’d done?

  What kind of person did that?

  Taking care to be quiet, he got up and left the room.

  Mainly because the longer he sat, the more upset he got. He paced across to stare at a photo of a baby Joss with a toothy grin.

  He sensed Chrissie behind him bef
ore he heard her.

  Still, he didn’t turn, just stared at the photo.

  He’d missed so much. “You should have told me.”

  “We went through this last night. How was I supposed to know you’d want to know?”

  He spun to look at her. She still wore her sweats and baggy T-shirt. Her hair went in several different directions. She was beautiful, but all he could think was how much she’d stolen from him.

  “He’s my son,” he reminded her, liking how the words sounded on his tongue. “Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

  “Not every man does.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not every man.”

  She raked her fingers through her hair. “No, you aren’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She flinched. “Can we not do this today?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to argue with you, Trace.”

  “Yeah, well, you should have thought about that before you kept my son from me.”

  “You know, Trace, that goes two ways?”

  “I didn’t keep our son from you.”

  “No, you didn’t, but guess what? You didn’t come looking for me, either.”

  “There’s a big difference. I didn’t know you were pregnant, Chrissie.”

  Her chin shot up defiantly. “You didn’t ask.”

  “Seriously?” He rounded on her. “A man is supposed to have to ask a woman to find out that she’s pregnant?”

  She closed her eyes. “Okay, you’re right. That didn’t make sense. Not really. I—”

  “Not at all,” he interrupted. “You should have told me and you know it.”

  “Mommy?”

  Both Trace’s and Chrissie’s heads spun toward the little boy standing in the doorway. He wore superhero pajamas and his fair hair was a little tousled, but his eyes were what got to Trace. He had inherited the Stevens eyes. He’d noticed it in the photos, but in person Joss’s eyes were mirror reflections of his own. Of his father’s.

  “Hey, baby,” Chrissie greeted, going over and scooping him into her arms and kissing the top of his head.

  The little boy patted her cheek, staring back at Trace with suspicion through eyes identical to his own.

  His knees went weak and he reached out to steady himself.