Vick stared at her child as though he’d grown two horns and a tail. She’d rarely had any sort of altercation with Cody, and this one was particularly hurtful. But then, she’d always made it a point to do whatever she could to please him. Obviously, what was fine over a weekend once a month would result in a very spoiled child if he was indulged every day of the year. Vick suddenly realized she had a great deal to learn.
Sullivan must have made his feelings about her known to his mother and siblings, and her son—their son—had absorbed enough to know his father resented her. That situation had to be remedied, and would be, now that she knew about it. The question was what should she do now?
Vick was tempted to run away, to leave the house and stick to her monthly weekends with her son. If she did that, she’d be giving up the best, maybe the only chance she would have to get to know Cody better and perhaps convince Sullivan that she should have more time with him.
The fact that she still found Sullivan attractive was a complication she needed to leave on the shelf. He’d never shown the least bit of romantic interest in her since the single night they’d spent together, and she would only be letting herself in for heartache if he got even a hint that she regretted walking out of his life without a backward glance.
Why had she dressed and silently left the hotel the next morning without waiting for Sullivan to wake up?
Vick had thought a lot about that question. She’d guessed it was because she was afraid of getting more involved, of leaving more of herself behind than she already had. Based on her past experience, she didn’t trust anyone to stick around for the long haul. The stranger with whom she’d shared a night of lovemaking, the likes of which she’d never imagined in her wildest dreams, was leaving Jackson the next day. So what was the point of being bitterly disappointed when he turned out to be uninterested in more than the night of pleasure they’d shared? It was better to simply walk away.
She had no idea what the result of spending so much time with Sullivan over the next few weeks would be. She felt a twinge of fear, a lot of anxiety, and yes, she admitted, excitement at the possibility of…Well, she wasn’t quite sure what. She only knew she had to protect herself—mind, body, and soul—from getting mangled by someone who didn’t care.
Vick shook her head, disgusted with her willingness to hope for any sort of fairy-tale ending to what had been an admittedly out-of-the-ordinary encounter with a stranger. Spending more time with Sullivan might end up being as much of a wake-up call as spending more time with her son. Maybe on closer inspection the rancher wasn’t the appealing male that she’d painted him from a distance.
Vick followed Cody to the bathroom. She’d always kept an eye on him when he washed his hands. It was obvious that, here at home, it was something he did on his own. Maybe Sullivan had the right idea. She walked to the bathroom door and said, “When you’re done, come to the kitchen. I’m going to go help your dad.”
“Mac and cheese?” Cody asked hopefully.
“Sorry, buddy. I think tonight we’re stuck with leftovers.” Following Sullivan’s lead, she turned and headed down the hall, her shoulders hunched, expecting to hear Cody throw another tantrum. There was nothing but silence.
Vick let out a relieved breath of air and then realized that, while she’d dodged one bullet, another one was waiting for her in the kitchen.
RYE WAS BENT over, one hand on top of the refrigerator door, the other on his opposite thigh, staring into the abyss, but he wasn’t seeing the meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and peas leftover from last night’s dinner. He heard the sudden hum of the Coldspot over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and realized he’d kept the door open too long. He felt trapped by the circumstances unfolding around him, and he couldn’t think of a single move he could make to escape. He felt frozen in time and space. He stared at the shelves of plastic containers, his thoughts churning.
I should be waiting with Mom at the hospital. She’ll need someone with her if Mike’s surgery doesn’t go well.
But he couldn’t have sat down beside the woman he’d called “Mom” his whole life and not asked her the question that was all he could think about: Who are my biological parents? Darcie Sullivan had enough on her plate with Mike’s life still at risk.
Don’t die, Mike. Don’t die. Don’t die. The words sang like a mantra in Rye’s brain. He couldn’t imagine life without his younger brother giving him shit, grinning and tussling and arguing and sharing that bump and press of shoulders that was as much affection as they were willing to show each other as grown men.
It was because he knew Mike so well that he’d gone hunting for his brother when he hadn’t shown up at the meeting they’d scheduled over lunch to discuss doubling the size of the calving barn. Ever since Mike’s stint as a Navy SEAL, cut short by a gunshot wound that limited the range of motion in his shoulder, his brother paid close attention to time, and he never missed an appointment, especially one that involved food.
There had also been a feeling in Rye’s gut that something was wrong. He would have said that feeling was the result of their blood bond. Except, as he now knew, he and Mike might not even be physically related.
Rye felt the cold wafting at him from the fridge, chilling his flesh. He should get out the leftovers and close the damned door. His position was strained enough to be uncomfortable, but he couldn’t seem to move. His gaze was focused inward. As disturbing as it was to know Mike’s life hung in the balance, it had been almost as upsetting to see Lexie Grayhawk making herself at home in Cody’s bedroom. He’d never imagined having to deal with her in such close proximity. Never imagined having to resist the desire to touch.
He might have coped with both of those situations—Mike’s life in the balance and Lexie’s constant presence, one on top of the other—but it was the third looming cataclysm that had thrown him for a loop. It was hard to accept the fact that his father might not have been his biological father. Or that his mother was not his biological mother. Or that neither of them were his biological parents.
What made the whole thing so much more painful, almost unendurable, was the knowledge that his parents—the people who’d raised him, he corrected—had lied to him his whole life. Having faced the decision himself whether to allow his child to be raised by someone else, Rye couldn’t imagine how anyone could give up their own flesh and blood. But one, or both, of his parents had done exactly that. What did that say about him? Or them?
If he was adopted, why hadn’t Darcie and Patrick Sullivan simply told him so? Why hide the knowledge from him? What was the big secret? Was his biological father a murderer? His biological mother a drug addict? Were they teenagers too young to support a child on their own? Or had he been left on a firehouse doorstep like some unwanted burden?
Rye felt the angry flush begin at his throat and rise to heat his icy cheeks. He gritted his teeth to control the rage that made him want to grab every container in the fridge and splatter them viciously against the wall. Which was more proof that he was going to have to come to terms with what he’d discovered, and get control of his emotions, before he confronted his mother.
Now that he knew a little of the truth, Rye was determined to discover the rest of the story, even if it was worse than anything he’d conjured in his imagination.
“How can I help?”
Rye jerked upright at the sound of Lexie’s voice. She was standing on the other side of the ancient refrigerator door, leaning over the top to peer inside. He reached in for the meat loaf and peas and handed them to her. “Supper.” Then he grabbed the mashed potatoes and followed her across the room to the stove.
“Should I turn on the oven?”
He shook his head. “I’ll make up plates of food, and we can nuke them in the microwave.”
“Where are the plates?”
He was surprised at how well they worked together, between his
volunteering where the next thing was she might need, and her asking for what she wanted. He wondered if Lexie always wore jeans that hugged her rear end so lovingly. Her white Western shirt, tucked into belted Levi’s, looked like it had been tailored to fit her, showing off a narrow waist and luscious, plum-sized breasts. She was wearing some kind of perfume, but he would have had to put his nose to her throat to get a really good whiff, and he wasn’t about to do that, even if he found the idea nearly irresistible.
It was going to be dangerous having his onetime lover living in his home. It was really too bad his fascination for Lexie Grayhawk had never faded. To make matters worse, his physical attraction was now layered with admiration for the woman he’d come to know, despite his best efforts to avoid her company.
The twenty-one-year-old girl who’d picked him up in a bar was the same woman who’d argued with Congress to stop grizzlies from being delisted as an endangered species, who’d attended an infinite number of fundraisers to solicit donations for grizzly protection, who’d arranged to buy more land dedicated to grizzly habitat, and who had an unquenchable passion—and bulldog tenaciousness—when it came to protecting all endangered species. Finally, and perhaps most important, although he begrudged admitting it, she’d become a loving, caring parent to their son.
Rye had consciously kept Lexie at arm’s length because he knew how easy it would be to do something he would regret. He didn’t want the complications any sort of relationship with her, including a sexual fling, would cause. And honestly, what kind of connection could you establish with a woman you didn’t trust?
Yeah, yeah, she’d come back after she’d walked away from Cody, but the fact was that Lexie’s first instinct had been to run. Who could say whether she might do that to him if they started a relationship and things got tough. Which meant that, however long Lexie Grayhawk remained a guest in his home, she was strictly off-limits.
Cody had arrived in the kitchen and, without being asked, went directly to the silverware drawer and collected what they would need for the dinner table. No signs remained of the crying fit he’d thrown in his bedroom.
Lexie shot Rye a shocked look, and he realized she’d had no idea Cody was the one who set the table each night, putting folded paper napkins, knives, and forks on the correct side of each cloth placemat, leaving room for the plates.
Rye finished pouring sweetened iced tea into three glasses and saw Lexie’s raised eyebrows when Cody took one in each hand and headed back toward the table.
“Won’t he spill those?” she asked.
“Hasn’t so far,” Rye replied.
“Isn’t that too much for him to carry?”
“He’s plenty strong. Kids need jobs if they’re going to grow up to be responsible adults.”
He saw her chagrin before she asked, “What other chores does he do?”
“Gathers eggs from the chicken house in the morning, measures grain for the horses in the barn, milks Daisy if I’m too busy.”
“He’s only five years old!” she protested.
“And lives on a ranch,” Rye shot back. “Everyone does his fair share or he—or she—” he added, narrowing his eyes at her, “doesn’t eat.”
“But he’s just a baby!”
She objected loudly enough for Cody to hear. He turned to her, thrust his chest out, pointed to it with his thumbs, and announced, “I’m not a baby. I’m a big boy!”
“Oh, lord,” she muttered, shooting a look in Rye’s direction. “Have I been buffaloed. I’ve been doing everything for Cody, thinking he couldn’t manage for himself.”
Rye grinned. “Now you know.” He saw the disappointment in her eyes and said, “Don’t worry. He still needs plenty of parenting.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“He’s a bear on taking a bath.”
“I haven’t had any problems getting him into the tub.”
“How about getting him out of it?”
He watched her mouth purse into a shape that looked adorably kissable before she admitted, “He does like to spend a lot of time playing in the water.”
He let his annoyance at himself for being so susceptible to Lexie’s charms resonate in his voice as he replied, “There’s five of us here need to use the same tub. He can’t be spending all night in there. That goes for you, too.”
It was plain as the pert nose on her face that she hadn’t focused on the fact that they’d be sharing a bathroom, much less a bathtub. An image of Lexie naked, water streaming down the sleek lines of her lush body, rose before him. And caused the obvious response. He turned away, so she wouldn’t notice, and cursed under his breath. He had to be more careful. He had to stop thinking of her in a sexual way. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.
They were pretty much finished with their meal when a knock sounded at the back door.
“Are you expecting company?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Anybody looking for you?”
“Not that I know of.”
When Rye flipped on the porch light and opened the kitchen door, he found a uniformed Flathead County deputy sheriff standing there with one booted foot perched against the top step. Rusty stood by his side, tail wagging, ready to slip inside if Rye wasn’t careful.
“What’s up, Pete?”
Deputy Sheriff Pete Harrison took off his hat and held it in his hands. “I’m sorry about your brother, Rye. I’m here to do my due diligence on Mike’s bear attack for the Wildlife Human Attack Response Team.”
“Meaning what?” Rye knew there was some sort of joint team that investigated bear attacks, but since no one he knew had been the victim of an attack, he wasn’t quite sure how it worked.
Before Pete could answer, Lexie joined Rye at the door.
“Pete,” Lexie said, a broad smile making her look even prettier. “I didn’t expect to see you today. We didn’t have a date I forgot about, did we?”
“No. I’m here about Mike’s grizzly attack.” Pete’s glance shot speculatively from Lexie to Rye and back again, before he said, “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I’m taking care of Cody while Darcie stays with Mike at the hospital.”
Pete frowned. “You’re living here?”
“Just for a month or so.”
Rye could see Lexie’s announcement didn’t sit particularly well with Pete. It was common knowledge that Rye and Lexie had made a baby together, although no one knew much about how it had happened. Rye realized he wasn’t willing to assuage Pete’s concern by saying in plain words that he had no interest in Lexie Grayhawk.
Pete took a step closer to her, cutting off Rye’s view, and said, “I did leave a message on your phone.”
“Oh?”
“I have to work this weekend, but I wondered if you might like to go out dancing next Friday.”
Without responding to his offer, Lexie said, “Come on in, Pete,” gesturing him inside as though it were her kitchen and not Rye’s. She stood back far enough that Rusty bounded inside.
Cody yelled, “Rusty!” and jumped up from the table. He raced after the dog, which Rye knew was headed straight for Cody’s room, where it would hide under the bed, hoping not to be found and sent back outside.
Rye sighed. It was going to be a battle to get Rusty out of the house without an argument from his son, who never seemed to notice the mutt’s dirty paws, the ticks that inevitably clung to its hide, and the drool that dampened Cody’s sheets when the dog snuck up onto the bed—and under the covers—during the night.
Rye shot a perturbed look at Lexie, who was completely oblivious to the cardinal sin she’d committed by letting the dog in the house.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she asked the deputy.
“That would be nice.”
“Make yourself comfortable at the table. We were just fi
nishing up supper.”
Rye hid the spurt of irritation he felt at the knowledge that Lexie was dating the deputy. After all, he wasn’t interested, so why not Pete? Harrison had movie-star good looks and a grin that had charmed a good many girls off a studded red-leather bar stool at Casey’s in Whitefish. Besides which, he was a pretty good guy.
All these years, Rye had managed to avoid imagining the mother of his son in bed with another man. Which was foolish, of course, since he’d done his fair share of dating. According to his mother, who’d let a bit of information drop here and there, Lexie hadn’t seemed to stick any longer with one man than he had with one woman.
“Cody, come finish your supper,” Lexie said loud enough for the sound to reach down the hall.
Cody showed up in the kitchen a moment later and said, “I’m done, Daddy. Can I go play with Rusty?”
Rye had his mouth open to say, “Fine,” when Lexie said, “You haven’t finished your peas.”
“Aw, Mom,” Cody whined.
“One more bite.”
To Rye’s amazement, Cody crossed to his place at the table, picked up his fork, piled it high with peas, and stuck it in his mouth. He’d never insisted his son finish the food on his plate, not even because the starving children of some poverty-stricken nation were going hungry while his son had plenty. But Cody had obviously been through this with his mother often enough to know that he had to eat that last bite of food before he could escape the table.
He watched as Lexie caught Cody by the ears, leaned down to kiss him on the forehead, and said, “Don’t start your bath until I’m done here.”
As Cody scampered away to join the dog in his room, Rye said, “Can’t he even take a bath on his own when he’s with you?”
She looked startled. “He can. But it won’t be much longer before he won’t want me there. Until then, I intend to take advantage of every opportunity I can to spend time with him.”
The response silenced him, reminding him that, so far, she’d only been seeing their son one weekend a month. She was right. Cody was growing like a weed, and it wouldn’t be long before he didn’t want or need his mother to be involved in a lot of the things he did. Rye had never let himself wonder too much about how Lexie felt about their arrangement. It was easier to pretend not to know her feelings on the subject.
Sullivan's Promise Page 4
