“You see, my loving and oh-so-maternal mother dropped me off at the motel where Harold was living when I was almost four years old, then split, never to be heard from again. She’d been looking for him for most of my life…he explained to me years later in order to shut me up from asking so many questions about my mysterious mother.
“According to my dad, my saintly mom tried to pawn me off on some other john she’d been seeing on a regular basis when I was a few weeks old, but he’d insisted on a paternity test and was cleared. So she went after my dad next. It was a miracle that he’d hung around Chicago for so long. My dad, it seems, wasn’t quite as lucky as the first poor sap. After being tested, he was forced to take credit for contributing to my presence in the world. As he explained to me when I was a teenager, learning that he was a father scared the hell out of him. He handled the matter as he always handled unpleasant situations—he disappeared as soon as he got the results of the DNA test.”
Somewhere during his confessional, she’d paused in her stroking and pressed even closer to him.
“So, on that fateful day—night, actually—somewhere in rural Georgia, the woman who gave birth to me finally caught up with him. It seems she had contacts in high enough places that she had actually managed to track him down. He told me that she pounded on his door at four in the morning, bringing him out of a sound—and rather drunken—sleep. When he stumbled to the door and opened it, she shoved me into the room, together with a paper sack that held all my worldly belongings, turned around and left without saying a word to him or to me.”
He felt her lips move softly against his neck. His throat closed when he recognized the light kiss she gave him. He waited until the lump disappeared to continue. He had never put his story into words before. He’d been too ashamed. Now that he’d begun, Brad was surprised to discover that relating his history wasn’t as embarrassing as he’d expected.
Of course, the telling became easier because Rachel was the person listening.
“He said I bawled and squalled for days, driving him crazy, wanting my mother. I can never understand why I would have cried for her. Maybe I was scared of being with a complete stranger. My dad could have dropped me off at the nearest charity home for unwanted children, but for whatever reason, he didn’t. Instead, he took me on the road with him, saying I was a great cover for him. Women flocked to the good-looking man with a dazzling smile and a little boy clinging to his hand.
“By the time I was ten he’d taught me the finer skills of picking pockets. He always laughed about that. He said I was the best he’d seen in the business. Yep, my one claim to fame.
“At least I was good at something. We moved around too much for me to stay in school for long. Most of the time he wouldn’t bother enrolling me unless a truant officer happened to spot me. Harold was pleased when I reached the size where I could pass as being finished with school. I was tall for my age, which helped. He dressed me in his hand-me-downs—expensive shirts and suits he’d acquired from various women over the years.
“I became used to leaving town in the middle of the night and heading for the next town in one of his various cars, if we were flush enough. Otherwise we took the bus. I remember one time the police were waiting for us as we approached the one-room apartment he’d rented. We were lucky they didn’t see us, but we were forced to leave everything we owned behind.
“I remember being upset, but he promised me everything would be replaced and eventually things would get better. And they did. For a while. But never for long.
“And that, my dear lady, is a look at your new husband’s rather shady—and at times downright unlawful—past.”
Her hands stopped moving and she pulled far enough away to look at him. “Where is he now?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea. He turned up in Dallas a few years ago. I believe you talked with him. I wouldn’t return his calls and I suppose he gave up. Despite the fact that he raised me, I have no desire to see him again.
“I must have been fifteen or so when we left Texas rather suddenly and headed to California. The bus made a late-night rest stop in Tucson. We went inside the terminal and he drifted away, looking for a mark. I’d waited for an opportunity like that for months and had saved as much money as I could. I bought a ticket back to Texas and hid until his bus pulled out of the station.
“I don’t know when he discovered I wasn’t on the bus headed for Los Angeles. He might have thought I’d boarded before he did and crawled into one of the empty seats in back to sleep. There’s no way of knowing.”
“You never saw him again?” she asked.
“Nope, at least not to acknowledge. I went back to Dallas because we had passed through there several times over the years and I felt comfortable there. Plus the winters were much better than in Chicago, which helped since I lived on the streets for a while. With my talents, it wasn’t hard for me to get enough money to survive on.
“The greatest piece of luck I had in my entire, misbegotten life came to me on the day—about six months later—I tried to pick Casey Bishop’s pocket. It was cocky of me even to try, given the man’s size. He grabbed me by the arm and insisted on taking me home to my parents. At first he wouldn’t believe I was alone and his disbelief devastated me. I’ve always hated being considered a liar when I tell the truth.
“Anyway, I guess I finally convinced him because he insisted I go home with him, which of course set off all kinds of alarms in my head. Who knows why I went? It wasn’t because I trusted him. I didn’t trust anyone. Maybe it was because he was so damned strong. Or maybe I was just having a bad day.
“Whatever the reason, I went. He lived in a spacious apartment in north Dallas. His wife had died the year before and he lived alone. On the way to his place he told me he was a building contractor, and he was always looking for good help. He asked me if I was interested in making an honest living or did I prefer living on the streets?
“He drove a late-model pickup truck and I remember actually considering whether we would have a wreck if I pounded him for that stupid remark.
“So Casey ended up hiring me and he meant business. He worked my tail off. He found me a small apartment. He hounded me into getting my GED and later going to college at night. He didn’t understand how difficult it would be for me to enroll anywhere. For that matter, he couldn’t list me as an employee for several weeks because I didn’t really have a last name. Harold used so many that I was never enrolled under the same name twice. He’d make up some sob story about being recently widowed and that my school records would be following. We were generally gone by the time the school authorities insisted on documentation.
“It was when Casey insisted on putting me on his payroll that I decided to tell him about my problem. I didn’t go into detail, of course. Otherwise, I would have put the guy to sleep with my sob stories.
“Besides, I knew he’d never believe me and I didn’t want to go through that pain again. I just told him I didn’t have a legal last name or a social security number. In fact, I didn’t know at the time whether my birth had ever been recorded.
“Casey dragged me to see a lawyer—did I tell you how big that guy was?—who filed some papers on my behalf and got me in front of a judge who legalized my choice of a last name. I kept my first name because I was used to it. I took the Phillips name because I liked the sound of it. It was new and untarnished. I made a vow to keep it that way.”
Brad felt drained—as though he’d been working at hard physical labor. He kissed the top of her head and added, “That is the story of my life and a great deal more than you ever wanted to know about me, I’m sure.” He tried for a light tone but wasn’t certain he’d managed one. He hoped for an equally light response.
Instead, Rachel asked, “Did you ever look for your mother?”
He snorted in derision. “You’re kidding, right? Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t have enough information to locate her. The attorney hired an investigator to find my birth records in orde
r for me to get my Social Security number. I gave him the information I had—her name was Mary Ellen, but I didn’t know her last name. My dad never bothered to learn much about her. I calculated her current age because once, when my dad was drunk, he told me the little I knew.
“I knew that I’d been born in a Chicago county hospital on July seventh. I knew the year I was born, my mother’s first name and that my parents had never married. With no more than that, the investigator managed to locate my birth certificate.
“Mary Ellen Ogden was the name on the birth certificate. The father was listed as unknown, which is really amusing if you think about it, since I never knew my father’s real name.”
“So Casey was your mentor, in a way.”
“You could say that. I certainly looked up to him. He was an honest and ethical man—something I never believed existed until I met him. He became an example for me. I’ll be eternally grateful for the fact that he never gave up on that belligerent, punk kid.”
“Where is he now?”
“Casey?” He smiled. “He retired several years ago. In fact, it was his retirement that pushed me into starting my own company. He made sure his contacts and associates knew me and knew I could be trusted. The business would never have made it those first couple of years without his help.”
“Where does he live?”
“He moved to Florida, became a fishing fool and fell in love with sailboats. The last time he called, he was thinking about sailing around the world.” He chuckled, thinking about Casey visiting islands filled with sensuous beauties. Casey loved women. Always had. The problem was that his wife had been his one true love and he’d never considered marrying again.
Rachel leaned closer and kissed him, her lips lingering on his mouth, bringing his full attention back to her and reminding his body how much he wanted to make love to her. Brad couldn’t believe the sudden effect his administrative assistant had on him, not after the years they had worked together without sexual tension.
He couldn’t ignore the tension today. Her kiss was tender, something he’d never felt from a woman. It was all he could do not to strip her clothes off and devour her, showing her everything he’d learned about satisfying a woman.
That could wait, though. He didn’t want to act like a barbarian, he reminded himself.
A thought flashed suddenly and unexpectedly into his head. He narrowed his eyes and looked squarely at her as soon as she straightened slightly from that all-encompassing sharing of herself with him. “Was that a pity kiss?” he demanded, knowing he sounded abrupt. He didn’t care. He needed to know.
She looked startled by his words, and, after a slight pause, as though to catch her breath, she began inexplicably to laugh—peals of laughter that filled the cabin. Every time she would start to quiet, she would meet his gaze and convulse into more laughter.
“Are you laughing at me, by any chance?” he asked when she appeared to calm down.
She nodded her head vigorously, holding her hand over her mouth as though to stop another spate of sound. She appeared to be catching her breath. “I would love to see the expressions of the many women who have been in your life if they had heard that question coming from you! Honey, I don’t know how to break the news to you, but there are lots and lots of reasons why a woman might decide to kiss you. Pity isn’t anywhere on that list.”
He stared at her in surprise. She had called him honey. Other women had used pet names for him—names that had sometimes made him flinch—but he’d never heard Rachel call him anything other than Brad.
He smiled and pulled her close. She was right where he wanted her to be. Better than that, she hadn’t seemed at all shocked by his story. Maybe he’d kept it bottled up for too long. Talking about his past had the effect of releasing a long-held burden. It no longer mattered what he had been and done in his past. What mattered was who he had become.
Brad closed his eyes and with a sigh of exhaustion and a new sense of well-being drifted off to sleep.
The quiet sound of the bell reminding them to fasten their seat belts woke Rachel some time later. She couldn’t believe that she’d actually gone to sleep while flying! She raised her head and looked at Brad, who appeared sound asleep. She wasn’t surprised. When she’d seen him first thing that morning he’d looked as though he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before.
Rachel moved off his lap and settled into her seat. Once fastened in, she reached over and fastened his seat belt as well, careful not to wake him.
She took advantage of this time to stare at him to her heart’s content. She’d never had the opportunity to watch him sleep. The most obvious difference in the sleeping Brad from the man she knew was how much younger he looked when he slept. Studying him now, Rachel had a better idea of what he must have looked like when he was younger. The lines were gone from around his eyes and between his brows. His mouth looked relaxed and very kissable.
Pity, indeed. She grinned at the thought, but her smile soon faded. How could anyone hear about his childhood and not have compassion for the boy and be angered by the way he had been mistreated? He’d never had a childhood, that much was obvious. She also better understood why he didn’t trust women. How could a woman abandon her own child that way?
She shook her head in disgust. It was a good thing she didn’t know how to contact Mary Ellen Ogden. Otherwise she might be tempted to find her and yank her bald. Rachel couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d felt so ferociously protective.
She was being ridiculous and she knew it. Brad Phillips was one of the strongest, most independent men she’d ever known. He certainly didn’t need her to kick butt and take names on his behalf.
How had he managed to survive such an upbringing? she wondered. Not only survive it but develop such strong morals and ethics. He certainly hadn’t learned them at home. In fact, it was plain that the man never had a home.
Maybe God decided Brad had dealt with enough in his life and sent Casey as his messenger of hope.
No wonder Brad had bought the large house and acreage where he now lived. It was in a quiet neighborhood with secluded grounds. No doubt he’d needed such a place to return to after his day was over. What seemed so sad to her was that he lived there alone.
No longer, she thought. Brad Phillips would never have to be alone again as long as she had anything to say about it.
Chapter Eight
Brad awoke when the plane banked sharply to make its final approach to the airport. He opened his eyes and stretched before remembering that Rachel was with him. Rachel…his wife. Rachel…who was afraid of flying.
He quickly glanced at her. She had her eyes closed but wasn’t clutching the armrests. Her hands rested loosely in her lap. He wondered if she was asleep. He didn’t remember when she’d moved from his lap, but he’d felt a loss. He’d missed having his arms around her, holding her close. He’d never experienced such a yearning toward anyone and it unnerved him.
The wheels made a screeching sound as they contacted with the tarmac landing strip. By the time the plane had taxied to the hangar where it was kept and had stopped, Brad had unbuckled his seat belt and was gathering up his bag and briefcase, needing some kind of action to soothe this uneasy feeling inside him.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rachel stand and look around the cabin as though coming out of a deep reverie. When she looked over at him, she smiled, and Brad felt as though a large hand grabbed his heart and squeezed.
“You ready?” he asked Rachel brusquely as Steve walked into the cabin from the cockpit. She didn’t answer but waited beside him for Steve to open the door. Steve stepped back and allowed Rachel and Brad to precede him. Once on the ground, the men shook hands and Brad strode toward his car, his mind focused on business, which calmed him somewhat. He didn’t notice Rachel hurrying to keep up with him.
Business was something he knew about and felt comfortable with. Thoughts of his company soothed him as they always did. Suddenly he was eager to get
to the office and return to his normal routine. He determinedly pushed all thoughts and feelings about his confession from his mind.
On the drive to the office, Brad concentrated on compiling a mental list of things he needed to do, starting with a meeting with the office manager. He didn’t expect to hear of any crises that might have occurred since he’d spoken to Rich the day before. He just wanted to stay up-to-date on things.
Brad’s mind settled comfortably into his routine. When they stopped for a traffic light, he realized that neither of them had said a word since leaving the plane.
He glanced at Rachel, wondering what she was thinking. “You okay?” he asked.
She turned her head and blinked. “Maybe a little groggy. I’m sorry I fell asleep in your lap. Your legs must have been paralyzed from holding that much weight for so long.”
“Didn’t keep me from sleeping as well.” Then he brought up some of the pending work awaiting them, which they discussed the rest of the way to the office.
Brad had entered the company’s reception area innumerable times on his way to his office, but today everything looked different to him. Puzzled, he paused and looked around. The colors appeared brighter or something…had the area been recently repainted?
He gave his head a shake. What was wrong with him?
Melinda, the receptionist, looked up when the door opened and gave them a perky grin. “Welcome back, Mr. Phillips, Ms. Wood.”
He paused at the counter in front of her desk and said, “Would you let Rich Harmon know I’m back? Tell him I’d like to see him at his earliest convenience.”
“Certainly,” she replied, lifting the phone receiver.
On the way down the hallway he passed several employees who greeted him with a friendliness he’d never noticed before. Had they always been that way?
Nothing had changed to explain his new perspective, he was certain. Maybe it had something to do with the air pressure in the plane. He made a mental note to have Steve check it out.
But Not for Me (Silhouette Special Edition) Page 12
