CHAPTER TWELVE
“We have what?” Brand’s eyes so recently glazed in afterglow were now sharp and burned as brightly as the coals in the grate. He rolled off the couch, swept up his jeans and yanked them on in a quick, angry motion.
“A son,” she said, swallowing hard.
Emotions from rage to awe transformed his face. “A son. My God, are you serious?”
“He’s . . . he’s the person I’m looking for. Our baby—well, child now. Oh, God, Brand, I wanted to tell you earlier—”
“This had better be your idea of a sick joke.” He hitched his jeans up.
“You think I would joke about this?”
“I don’t know. Would you?”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m telling you that when you left I was pregnant!” She climbed to her knees and reached forward, catching his hand, but he stared down at her with damning eyes.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, peeling off her fingers as if her touch revolted him. His gaze raked over her body and she’d never felt so naked, so vulnerable in all her life.
“Look, I’ve been meaning to tell you—”
“When?” he asked, snapping shut his fly, then leveled his gaze at her again, “When, damn it!”
“There was never a right time—”
“In eleven years? In eleven damned years?” He threw his hands over his head and turned away from her. She watched the smooth muscles of his back flex as he swore roundly over and over again. “Do you know what this means, Dani?” he asked, rotating swiftly, his nostrils flaring as he suddenly smelled something hideous. Striding up to her, he glared deep into her eyes. “Do you?”
“That—”
“That I have a son whom I’ve ignored. For eleven damned years. Just like my louse of an old man!”
“No—”
“Why didn’t you call or write or—”
“Why didn’t you?” she demanded, her anger getting the better of her. She was breathing rapidly, her breasts rising and falling each time she gulped air. He glanced at her nipples, proud little points, and then looked quickly away.
“It’s not the same.”
“No, of course not. But do you honestly think I would’ve tried to find you, to chase you down, just because I was pregnant? Why? So I could get some kind of halfhearted proposal, so that you in all your nobility would have offered to be my husband? Well, sorry. If you wanted me because you loved me, that was one thing. My being pregnant had nothing to do with it!”
“Like hell.”
“Did you call even once?” she demanded, a flush heating her body. “Even so much as sit down to write a letter?” She shook her head. “No. Because, face it, Brandon, you didn’t want to be tied down and it was the last thing, the very last thing I would have done to you.” Shaking, she reached for her clothes and tried to make her fumbling fingers work as she started dressing.
“You knew how I felt about being a responsible parent.”
“And you knew how I felt about you!” she retorted, her fingers unable to fasten her bra. Suddenly the dimly lighted room was too close and she just wanted out.
“And you gave him away.”
“Yes!” The bra was finally hooked and she found her blouse.
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t raise him alone.” Stuffing her arms through her sleeves, she stared angrily at him. “And don’t you dare lecture me about not having the guts to do it. I gave him up, Brandon, willingly, thinking it was the best thing for everyone, and there hasn’t been a day, not one single day in the past eleven years, that I haven’t worried about him, wondering where he was, how he was doing.”
“At least you knew about him.”
“At least you were spared over a decade of heartache!”
He advanced on her as she stepped into her jeans. “So where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never kept track?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Tell me what happened.” Strong hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into her muscles.
She zipped up her jeans and tilted her face up to him. “You want all the grisly details?”
“Every last one.”
“Okay, but you don’t have to manhandle me to get the truth,” she said, and he, as if realizing how hard he was clutching her, suddenly let go and stepped away.
Dani found her glass on the floor and poured herself a gulp of wine. She swallowed and leaned on the mantel, her fingers sliding along the varnished wood, her thoughts rolling back in time. Inside she was shaking, but she tried to appear calm and in control.
“I didn’t know about the baby until after you’d left,” she said, blinking against tears. She couldn’t break down. Wouldn’t! “And when I realized I was pregnant, I was scared. Damned scared. I didn’t tell anyone until I was starting to show and then I confided in my mother. She . . . well, she was devastated at first, and between her and Jonah McKee they convinced me—”
“McKee?” Brand bellowed, a new rage contorting his features. That slimy son of a bitch. “What the hell did he have to do with this?”
“My mother worked for him, you know, and he’d always helped out. I . . . I think she was in love with him.”
Brand snorted. “Looks like we have more in common than I thought. He rested his hips on the end of the couch, then nodded. “Go on.” His lips were still hard and flat, the corners of his mouth bracketed in white lines of fury, but he seemed to have control of his emotions as he sat, without his shirt, the firelight throwing gold shadows over his skin.
Slowly, Dani told him the rest of the story, about Estelle and the hospital, about keeping his name a secret and her newly found frustration of trying to locate the boy.
All the while, Brand sat there, watching her intently, as if looking for a flaw, a lie that he could latch on to. When she was finished, he rubbed his chin. His voice was flat and cold, without any inflection whatsoever. “What will you do when you find him?”
“Nothing. I’ll just be happy to know that he’s okay.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
“And what about me? What is my role in all this? Don’t you know this is my worst nightmare—to know that I fathered a son and abandoned him?” He cleared his throat and Dani fought the hot tears that slid from her eyes.
“I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again and then you showed up here. I wanted to tell you then, but the timing never seemed to be right.” She dashed away any trace of her tears and stiffened her spine, her chin angled in defiance, as if daring him to hit her with another emotional blow. “So now you know.”
And a silent thought passed between them; they’d made love again. They already could have started the same chain of events as before. Neither of them had given any thought to protection, even against any possible disease. Passion had ruled over sanity. Brand mentally kicked himself. How could he have been such a fool as to not protect her?
“I’m going to find him,” he said, reaching for his shirt.
“No—”
“And when I do, I’m going to go through the courts and do whatever it takes to exercise my rights as a father—”
“Stop! Brand, for the love of God, listen to yourself. You can’t bust in on an eleven-year-old boy’s life and turn it upside down.” She repeated the same warnings her sister had said to her. “You don’t know what will happen, but all you’ll cause is heartache for you, me, the boy and his parents.”
“I’m his damned parent.”
“No.” She shook her head miserably, knowing full well that she couldn’t have wounded him any more than if she’d stabbed him in the heart. “I took that right away from you.” She watched the look of defeat enter his eyes. “I’ve said I’m sorry and I’d say it a million times over if it would do any good, but it won’t. I can’t change what happened, nor can you. The best thing we can do for our son is to let him grow up healthy and happy and secure with the family he has.”
“Oh, God, Dani, listen, will you? We have to—I have to find out about this.” He stood near the door, his shirt open, his shoulders so tight they looked brittle, his spine ramrod stiff. “I think you should go.”
She didn’t need his invitation; she knew that whatever they’d shared was over. The expression in his eyes was condemning, the set of his jaw grimly determined. Whatever they’d recaptured, even fleetingly, was gone. “I’ll tell Sloan about you, in case you want to work with him.”
“What I want to know is why would Jonah McKee give two cents about your kid?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never understood his relationship to my mother or us.” Shivering from a cold deep within, she swept past him and tried not to notice the scent of his skin or the weight of his gaze. With as much pride as she could muster, she walked out of the house and out of his life.
* * *
“You’re mad, aren’t you?” Chris asked as he followed Dani out to the vegetable garden. She was toting a hoe over her shoulder and walking with strides so fast he had to jog to keep up with her.
“Mad? No. Angry? Well . . . no, not really.” She offered the kid a smile. Ever since he’d moved in with Brand two weeks earlier, he’d been puppy-dogging after her, following her around and helping out. He was still cocky, but for the most part, he seemed to enjoy life on the ranch and was learning fast with the horses. Aside from his complaints about the lack of a dog at the ranch, he seemed happy with life. If he was worried about Venitia, he kept it to himself.
Though Chris was always underfoot, Dani hadn’t seen much of Brand since she’d confessed to him about the baby. The few times they’d run into each other, he was barely civil, hiding behind aviator glasses that shielded his eyes as well as guarded his expression.
“Wanna help?” She tossed Chris the hoe.
“Nah. I hate weeding.”
“Don’t think of it as work, but more like . . . character building.”
“I think I got enough character.”
She couldn’t help but grin as she stared at him with his untied shoes, hat turned backward and peach fuzz on his upper lip. “Yeah, maybe you do.”
He didn’t seem concerned that his mother was, as he put it, “drying out.” His attitude was more of relief. But Dani thought it strange that his father never called or wrote or visited the boy. Brand was right on that score. Al Cunningham was a zero of a dad. Seemed to run in the family. Jonah McKee had been less than zero.
She hadn’t said anything to Skye or Max about Jonah being Brand’s father. They had their own worries as Skye was due to deliver her own baby any day. Why get them all worked up about Jonah’s illegitimate son? Besides, that was Brandon’s call and deep down she hoped that the word never got out—for the sake of the McKee family. Jonah may have been a louse, but his wife didn’t need to be reminded of it.
Chris handed her the hoe before trotting off to the garage where he was working on a skateboard ramp.
Dani, frustrated, attacked the rows of squash and green beans with a vengeance, slicing at weeds with her hoe and wishing that life hadn’t become more complicated than it already was. Finally her finances were in decent, if not great, shape and now she had the emotional, gut-wrenching problem of dealing with Brand. Or not dealing with him.
Sweat dripped on the ground and she wrapped a handkerchief around her forehead to catch the drops before they trickled into her eyes. The old windmill blades rattled occasionally, but the air was fairly still and searing.
She felt Brand’s gaze before she saw him. Steeling herself, she glanced over her shoulder to find him standing in the shade of an apple tree, resting his elbows on the rickety split-rail fence between the garage and the garden.
“I thought we should talk.”
“What about?”
“The other night.”
“I think we said enough.”
“Not quite.” He vaulted the fence and walked down the dusty rows of bush beans, looking cool and hard, his face set, no trace of a smile. She was tired of his cold determination and the disapproval in his eyes.
“The answer is still no.”
“Answer?” he asked cautiously.
“I still won’t marry you and nothing you can say will change my mind.”
He almost smiled. Not quite, but almost. “Brassy, aren’t you?”
“Bossy, aren’t you?”
At that, he caught hold of her wrist, forcing the hoe to drop with a thud to the hard ground. “Enough, Dani. We can’t spend the next eleven months sniping at each other.”
“So what do you propose?” she asked, emphasizing the last word.
His jaw clenched as he gazed at her with piercing eyes. “You’re a hard woman.”
Her stupid pulse was jumping again; he could probably see it throbbing at her neck or feel it beneath his fingertips wrapped around the inside of her wrist. “Not half as hard as you are.” She yanked her arm away and picked up the hoe. “I’ve got work to do.” She started down a row of corn, now as high as her shoulder.
“We’ve got to think about Chris.”
Stopping short, she turned and wanted to scream at him, wanted to shout at him that over the past two icy weeks she’d come to realize how much she cared for him, how much she missed the soft rumbling sound of his laughter, how she’d come to wait for him each night, hoping to see him, how she loved him. Damn it, that was the crux of the problem: she loved him. Biting down on her lip, she grabbed hold of her runaway thoughts. “You’re right. Chris doesn’t need to see us acting like children.” Leaning against the hoe, she yanked off her work gloves. “So what do you suggest, some kind of truce?”
There was a slight lift of one of his powerful shoulders. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“We can’t very well go back to the way we were,” she observed, leaving the hoe planted and sauntering up to him. Squinting against the sun, she angled her face to his. “Okay, Scarlotti,” she said, extending her hand, “you’ve got yourself a deal.” He squeezed her fingers briefly and that same wonderful, hateful jolt that always occurred whenever he touched her sizzled up her arm.
Dropping her hand and looking decidedly disgruntled, he took a step away. “Okay. So that’s it.”
“Not quite,” she said, deciding to clear the air. “Sloan called today—I think he contacted you, too.”
“Faxed me a note. Said he did some more digging and found the lawyer who handled the adoption. Sloan called and must have pressured him, because the attorney threatened to sue if he pushed any harder.”
“Can he do that?”
“People sue for anything these days.”
Dani untied her handkerchief and mopped her face. “I don’t think Sloan’s too worried about a little lawsuit. He’s pretty persistent.”
“Good.” Brand watched her wipe the sweat from her forehead and neck, her blouse gaping slightly to reveal the swell of her breasts, and he was suddenly aware of how difficult it was to breathe. The air was cloying, and the thought of Dani swimming naked in the cool waters of the creek or taking a bath in his old tub, or a shower in the new stall, made him so hard he had to shift to keep a bulge from being apparent in his crotch. “I need a favor,” he said.
“Oh, so that’s what all this friendly stuff is about.”
“No, I—” Then he saw that she was teasing. “Can you stay here with Chris? It’s Ma’s two-week anniversary or whatever the hell you call it at the clinic and . . . well, she wants me, just me, to visit. Tonight at seven.”
“Sure,” she said with a smile. “I was just giving you a little guff earlier. I’ll stay with Chris anytime. Maybe I’ll even take him to a movie.”
Brand’s heart tore a little. How he’d like to be a part of that little expedition. “Good. Thanks.” He turned and walked out of the garden while a ground squirrel jeered at him from the top of the woodpile and Dani’s cat, still as death, watched from a clump of tall grass. This place was becoming familiar, so damned familiar. He wondered if, when the lodge was finished, he’d ever want to leave.
* * *
The cigarette was nearly steady in Venitia’s hands and she forced a smile. When he’d first greeted his mother, he’d seen her improvement, noticed that she was calmer than usual. They’d spied other patients sitting in groups, smoking and talking, laughing and playing cards or watching television. They were allowed, his mother explained, during the free hour and a half after dinner. Then it was back to routine—strict diet and exercise, counseling sessions, group and private.
They walked through a sun-room of the old Victorian house. Grape arbors and fruit trees that reached to the sky graced the backyard. Plastic tables and chairs were grouped near a fish pond or beneath shade trees. Scenting the air, a rose garden added splashes of pink, yellow, red and white.
“How’s Chris?” she asked as they sat near the pond, where brightly colored tropical fish were swimming beneath wide lily pads.
“He’s great. He misses you, of course, but he’s glad that you’re getting some help.”
“Not easy when you think your mom’s a drunk.”
“He never said—”
“Sure he did, Brand.” She took a shaky drag on her cigarette, then let the smoke curl from her nostrils. “They’re big on being truthful here, you know. No matter how much it hurts.”
“I think that’s good.”
“Sometimes the truth can hurt.”
He thought of Dani and her admission that she’d borne him a son. “I know.”
“Sometimes it can drive people away.”
Again his thoughts fled to Dani. His heart swelled when he thought of her, so strong, so independent, so damned proud of finally making it on her own. He’d been half in love with her as a feisty, rebellious teen, but now he was completely smitten by the strong woman she’d become. True, her tongue was still sharp, but she could be kind, as well, and a truer person he’d never met. The fact that she was beautiful was only the proverbial icing on the cake. “I know it can, Ma,” he said, his hands clasped between his knees. “So tell me, how’re they treating you?”
She smiled sadly, told him a little about her days, and to his surprise, seemed somewhat serene. She wasn’t so calm, she assured him, during the first few days. As she stubbed out her cigarette, they made small talk which eventually petered out. Finally she asked about Dani.
“She’s fine,” Brandon said, wondering where this was leading.
“Getting along with Chris?”
“Seems to adore the kid. She’s with him tonight, taking him to the movies.”
“Good. That’s good,” Venitia whispered, watching as a sparrow flitted from one branch of a cherry tree to another. “As I said, the people here think it’s always wise to tell the truth and unburden yourself of lies.”
“Does this have something to do with Dani?” he asked, his mind spinning ahead. What was Venitia hinting at?
“Yes. And you.”
His heart started to thump. “What, Ma?” he said, but his brain was already clicking ahead, putting the pieces of a worrisome puzzle together. “Oh, no.”
“It’s Chris.”
His mouth lost all moisture. He couldn’t move.
“He’s your son, Brandon,” she said, biting on her lip to keep from breaking down. “Your son and Dani’s.”
“God, Ma,” he whispered. “Why?” This was too much to digest, way too much. And yet, it all made sense—in a strange way. He’d never seen his mother pregnant and Chris resembled him. And this explained Al’s lack of interest in the boy. He felt as if he’d been slugged in the gut.
“Jonah thought it would be best.”
“Jonah?” he repeated, shocked all over again. “What did he have to do with it?”
“Well—”
“He didn’t want anyone to find out that his bastard had sired a bastard?” he said, standing up swiftly and kicking the table so hard it went flying.
“Mrs. Cunningham?” one of the attendants called, concerned.
Venitia held up a hand. “It’s all right.”
“The hell it is,” Brand said, then looked at his mother, his pitiful, sick mother. Once she was through with this clinic she was faced with medical tests on her liver; He held his tongue, waved off the attendant who wouldn’t quit hovering nearby and stood at the edge of the pond, staring down at the fat orange and black fish swimming lazily in the cold water. “Why, Ma?”
“I didn’t know what to do. Jonah told me about the baby. He knew you were seeing Dani, how I don’t know, probably from some of your friends—there was something about the two of you running away from some party that the police raided. Jonah had connections, remember, with the police and sheriff’s department and practically every county judge on the bench. Your names must have come up as being together and Jonah put two and two together when he heard the story from one of his friends in the department. These friends kept you from ever being charged with anything.”
“Jonah bailed me out?” he asked, thunderstruck. No wonder. He’d never questioned his not being charged, but now it all made sense.
“And bought you off.”
“Oh, God.” His insides were ice, his blood frozen. He’d never guessed, not once, not even when Dani admitted that they’d borne a son, that Chris . . . his half brother, for crying out loud, was really his boy.
“Jonah did care about you, Brand, in his own misguided way.”
“So he told you I was going to have a son.”
“Yes. You were already in California, making a new life, and I was married to Al, living in Everett. We’d just moved to a small town and I didn’t want your son farmed out to strangers. So . . . I convinced Al that we should adopt him. Al wasn’t happy about the idea, but Jonah wanted to keep tabs on his first grandson and offered us some money.”
“Oh, Ma, no . . .” he said, shaking his head.
“I couldn’t stand not knowing where Chris would be, so we adopted him. I’m not sure it was perfectly legal, but Jonah pulled some strings and . . . well . . . Chris was mine.” She was openly crying now, tears raining from her eyes, her shoulders quivering with sobs.
Brand took her into his arms and fought the urge to scream and yell. She’d done what she thought was best, and though it burned a hole in his gut to think that for eleven years he hadn’t known, had not one clue that he’d been a father, now he could set things straight. It wasn’t too late.
“You can’t tell him now, you know.”
Brand closed his eyes and rocked his mother. She’d given up her youth for him twice—once as his mother, then again as the adoptive mother to his son. “I know. In time.”
“Yes, in time. When he’s old enough to understand. Oh, God, I’ve messed things up, haven’t I?”
“Nah, Ma, you did what you thought best. That’s all anyone can ask,” he said, though rage gnawed at his soul. That old bastard, Jonah McKee, was the manipulator, the main puppeteer while all the others were his playthings, his marionettes. “But I have to tell Dani.”
“Oh, Brand . . .” she said, clinging to his shirt. “Don’t. Please—”
“It’s her right, Ma. Hers and mine. She’s been looking for her child for a long, long time.”
* * *
Chris was asleep in the car. Barely eight o’clock and the kid had conked out. They’d driven into Dawson City, eaten at a local burger joint and watched an action movie that in Dani’s opinion was much too violent, peppered with too much foul language and sexual innuendo, but Chris had loved it. Now, as he lay with his head propped against the passenger window, she was struck by how much the boy was like his brother.
Brand.
Just the thought of him brought fresh pain to her heart. She loved him and once again that love was thwarted. “You’re an independent woman,” she reminded herself, but the thought of running the ranch alone, without him coming home each evening, cut a hole through her middle as wide as Stardust Canyon.
As she slowed near the mailbox to pick up the letters, magazines and daily paper, Chris woke up and stretched. Yawning, he reminded her again of Brand; even his temperament was close to his older half brother’s. Nonchalantly he sorted through the envelopes as Dani drove down the lane to the house.
“Great,” he grumbled when she slid to a stop and the last envelope was dropped onto the dash.
“Lookin’ for something?”
His eyes flashed in defiance. “Nah.” Chewing nervously on his thumbnail, he looked out the bug-spattered windshield. “Who cares anyway?”
Dani touched his arm, understanding that he was hoping to hear from Al. “Your dad’s probably busy.”
“Yeah and he never wanted me, okay?” Sudden color rushed into his face. “I heard him and Ma arguing, right before the divorce. They didn’t know I was standing outside their open bedroom window looking for a cat that had crawled under the house. They were screaming at each other and Dad said something crazy, like he didn’t ever want me or I wasn’t his kid or something! It was all just for money.”
“He was just angry.”
“No, Dani, it was more than that.” He swallowed hard and gulped in air. “He hates me. I don’t know why, I don’t know what I did, but he hates me.”
“Oh, honey.” She tried to touch him, but he threw off her arm, opened the door and flung himself out of the Bronco. Dani knew she should give him time to cool off, but she couldn’t. Heart breaking, she ran after him and caught up with him at the porch. “Look, Chris, I can’t speak for your father. God knows he hasn’t treated you decently, but you have to remember that we all love you. Your mother, Brand and I, we think you’re a terrific kid.”
“Yeah, well, what else can you say?” he charged, eyes flashing, nose beginning to run. He swiped at it with his sleeve.
“I don’t have to like you, you know. I don’t have to want to be around you. It’s not like you’re . . . like you’re my . . .” She let the words fall away.
“Your what?”
“Well, my son.” She saw the resemblance then, the shape of his mouth, the little bump on the bridge of his nose, the few freckles that seemed out of place on his olive skin. Her heart jolted. He couldn’t be. Just because he was the spitting image of Brand except for the few traits that belonged to her family . . . No. Her imagination was running away with her. “But . . . but I care about you anyway.”
“Because of Brand?”
“He has nothing to do with this.” Or did he? Did he have everything to do with it? Could it be? Her feet felt leaden, her mind was spinning way out of control. She was letting her emotions play havoc with her rational thinking. “Come on upstairs and I’ll buy you a Coke.”
He hesitated, then his gaze slid away and he tried to hide the fact that he dashed away tears. “In a minute, okay?”
“Okay.”
On wooden legs, she walked up the stairs, her heart thundering in her chest, her fingers suddenly cold. Inside the apartment she walked to the sink, splashed water over her face, then saw the message light flashing on her answering machine.
Without thinking, she pressed the play button and Sloan Redhawk’s voice filled the room. “I think we found our couple, but they’re divorced,” he said, and she braced herself against the table. “Your boy was adopted by—hold on to your hat, I’ve already sent Brandon a Fax—Venitia and Al Cunningham.”
She closed her eyes. “Dear God.”
“His name is Chris, but you probably know him. You might want to give me a call . . .”
There was a gasp from the doorway and she turned to find Chris standing on the threshold. He had on a clean flannel shirt, his hair was wet as if he, too, had thrown some water over his eyes and forehead and his face was a pasty shade of white. “What?” he croaked, his voice cracking on the single pain-filled word. “What did that guy say?”
“Oh, Lord, Chris, I didn’t know. I had no idea that—”
“That what? That I’m your son? Yours and . . . and Brand’s? Who is that guy?” he demanded, poking his finger at the machine. “Who?” His face twisted in revulsion. “It’s lies, right? All lies?”
“I don’t know—”
“No!” She took a step toward him but it was too late. “No! No! No!” He flew down the stairs, nearly tripping, his shirttails flying. “You’re not my mother, you’re not!” He ran to the old windmill and she followed him across the field, through the door and up the rickety old steps. At the top, he was waiting, his eyes hollow and filled with rage. “I hate you.”
“You don’t.”
“Yes, I do.” He spit the words out, as if they tasted vile. “How could you? How?”
“If you’ll just listen . . .” He was crying openly now, his face twisted in an agony so deep it tore at her soul. Dani hurt for him, for the boy she’d known as Brand’s brother, for her son. “I love you.”
“That’s why you gave me up! ’Cause you loved me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s sick! Twisted! Perverted!”
“Chris, just listen, okay? That’s all I can ask you to do. After that, if you still hate me . . . well, I can’t change that.”
“You’re one poor excuse for a mother.”
“I know. That’s why I gave you up. I was young and scared and your dad had already gone to California. I didn’t know where he was. I . . . I had hoped we’d get married . . . but then things changed.”
“You mean after he screwed you, he took off.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she snapped. “If you’ll just listen, I’ll tell you what happened.”
* * *
Brand felt as if he were about to explode. Emotions, old and new, ripped through him and he couldn’t get home fast enough. He only stopped once, at a corner where a kid was giving away puppies. He didn’t understand the sudden need for a dog, but he stopped by instinct and handed the ragtag boy a twenty-dollar bill even though the puppy was free—the last of the litter, a runty little tyke that was supposed to be half Lab and half greyhound. Not the cutest puppy in the world, but a dog nonetheless. Chris had been wanting a dog.
Dani’s Bronco was parked in its usual spot, but no lights shone from any of the windows. Dog in hand, he searched the house and the apartment, hurrying, hoping to find her, to explain that he’d found their son. Worry clutched at his heart because the front door to her apartment was standing wide open. He called out but didn’t hear a response.
The groan of gears caught his attention and he glanced at the old windmill. On the upper level, he saw a spot of blue through the window.
Chris was probably holed up there, sneaking cigarettes or something. Dani might be in the stables. “Come on, you,” he said to the pup and hurried across the expanse of dry grass. As he walked through the open door, he heard voices drifting down the stairs and Dani’s voice, soft and gentle, filtered down to him.
“. . . so you can’t blame your father, he never even knew about you.”
His heart stopped. She was telling Chris? No!
“I felt as if I had no other choice, but I hated myself for it and I thought about you every day.”
“Oh sure!” Chris said. “So you made it with Brand and got knocked up.”
“I loved him and I think he loved me. We were just too young to do the right thing.”
“You loved him?” Brand heard the sneer in Chris’s voice.
“Yes,” she said passionately.
“But you married someone else.”
“I know.” Her voice shook. “I thought it was over with Brand, that I’d never see him, or you, again. I wanted to start over, to have a new life, but it didn’t work out.”
“’Cause you’re a loser!”
“Is that what you think?”
“Hell, I don’t know what to think, Dani!” he cried and Brandon’s heart nearly broke. “What about Brandon? What about him? Do you still love him?”
“Yes,” she said without a second’s hesitation.
“Are you gonna marry him?”
“If he asks me.” Again, she added silently.
“Why don’t you ask him?”
She hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I was thinking about it,” she admitted, and Brand sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
“So what about me?”
“I don’t know, Chris,” she said honestly. “I just found out about you today. But, of course, I would want you to live with me and Brand and your grandma.”
“This is way too heavy. Way too heavy.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to believe it.”
“I don’t blame you, but I want you to know something. I love you now and I loved you before I knew you were my son. I also loved that little baby I gave up eleven years ago—differently, of course, but believe me, no one will ever love you more.”
“Bull!” Brand mounted the stairs, his boots ringing on the old wood. “That is bull,” he said as he climbed into the loft. “Because I love you, too. Every bit as much.”
“Brand, I didn’t know—” Dani flushed. “Do you know, did you hear—”
“That’s what Ma wanted to talk to me about.”
“She’s a liar!” Chris said, pointing an angry finger at Dani. “And Ma—she’s lying, too.”
“She just wanted to protect you.”
Chris wasn’t convinced and the glare he sent Brandon was pure hatred. Brand wouldn’t give up. He set the pup on the dusty floorboards and the poor little dog whimpered.
“Who’s this?” Dani asked.
“Our new dog.”
“Our?”
“This family needs a pet.”
“Family?” she repeated, her throat catching.
“Yes. I know I’ve asked you once before but I’m asking again. I want you to marry me, I want Ma to live with us and I want us to start raising our son.”
“No way!” Chris yelled. “You can’t just—”
“Listen to me, Chris. I never knew until a few days ago that I even had a son. Then today I find out you’re my son. Believe what you want, but here’s the way it is. I’d go through hell to claim you as my own.”
“Bull—”
“Don’t even say it,” Brandon warned. “I’ve lived all my life not knowing my dad’s identity and I’m not going to let it happen to my kid. Your mother and I . . . we made mistakes. Hell, we’re human, but I hope she’ll marry me and we can start fixing everything right away.”
“You can’t fix this!”
“It’ll take time.”
Chris sniffed, dashed the tears from his eyes and tried not to notice that the puppy, a golden bundle of fluff, was nosing his leg.
“And it’ll take counseling. We’ll all see a family counselor, including Ma.”
Chris shook his head. “I don’t know—”
“You want to talk to Al?”
Chris’s face curled in on itself. “No way. He hated me.”
“Well, I don’t. I love you, son,” Brand said, tears standing in his eyes. Dani felt hot trickles run down her cheeks.
“So do I,” she whispered.
Brand reached forward and offered Chris his hand. Hesitantly the boy stretched out his fingers. As their hands touched, Brand pulled hard, slamming Chris against him. “I’ll never leave,” he vowed, his voice husky. Then, with his free hand, he grabbed Dani in a fierce grip that promised he’d never let go. “And I won’t leave you ever. No matter what happens.” His gaze held hers and she believed him.
Openly sobbing, her arms surrounding Chris and Brand, Dani felt a surge of happiness well from deep inside her. They were together—a family. Finally. No more wondering, no more worrying, just a future filled with love. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she said, smiling through her tears. She tilted her face up and brushed a kiss across his lips. “It’s what I’ve wanted for twelve years.”