Читать книгу The Baby Bet: His Secret Son - Joan Elliott Pickart - Страница 8

It was New Year’s Eve and people across the country were more than ready to celebrate the special event.

In Ventura, California, it was as though Mother Nature had decided to take part in the festivities by producing an unseasonably warm and crystal-clear night, allowing the party goers to show off their finery without the distraction of bulky coats. Excitement crackled through the air.

The sky was a lush cushion of black velvet for millions of stars, which glittered like diamonds across the heavens, leaving room for only a sliver of silvery moon. Fireflies danced through the darkness edging the city like a multitude of whimsical fairies carrying magical glowing wands.

Traffic was heavy, but smiling drivers exhibited uncharacteristic patience as bumper-to-bumper vehicles crept forward on the main streets of Ventura.

But Andrew Malone was not smiling as he pressed the brake pedal of his sports vehicle yet again. The light six cars ahead of him had turned red.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, a deep frown knitting his dark brows. The knot of tension in his gut coiled tighter, and a stress-induced headache throbbed painfully in his temples.

He glanced at the car next to him and saw a man in a tuxedo behind the wheel. The woman in the passenger seat threw back her head, apparently laughing, revealing a dazzling smile as dangling earrings swung next to her pretty face.

Party time, Andrew thought, switching his attention back to the now-moving traffic. Everyone was out on the town for a good time, without a care in the world. Whatever troubles they might have in their day-to-day lives were forgotten, pushed into oblivion for a handful of hours.

And why not? This was New Year’s Eve, when glasses would be raised to toast farewell to the old and welcome the new. The past and the present.

Andrew narrowed his eyes as he drove forward slowly, his grip on the steering wheel tightening to the point that his knuckles were white.

His mission, his purpose, on this night was to bring the past into the present. Events that had taken place forty years before were going to be brought into the now, and the piper paid.

Things were going to be set to rights at long last, the final chapter written for a story that had begun during a summer four decades ago. Before this night was over he would collect on a debt owed to a woman who was dead and gone, unable to receive what was undeniably hers to have.

Andrew glanced quickly at the piece of paper next to him on the seat, scanning the map he’d sketched showing the directions to his destination.

Two more blocks, he thought. The supper club in the large hotel he was seeking was just ahead, and inside that building was the man he sought, the one who was going to pay for what he had done. A man who had no right to raise his glass in a toast to the future until he had acknowledged his actions of the past and the woman who had suffered immeasurable heartache because of them.

“Final chapter and verse,” Andrew said, a steely edge to his voice. “Tonight.”

After what seemed an eternity, Andrew pulled into the parking lot of the hotel and drove to the far edge, ignoring the valet attendant by the front door of the large, brightly lit structure.

He locked his vehicle, smoothed the lapels of the dark suit he wore, then ran his hand down his tie. The knot in his gut twisted painfully, and he drew a steadying breath before squaring his shoulders and striding toward the entrance to the hotel.

The noise in the ballroom was nearly deafening as a multitude of guests talked and laughed while a band played on the opposite side of the crowded dance floor.

Tables stretched along one wall, displaying a vast array of food. Tables covered in linen cloths were set up in the area between the double doors leading into the room and the dance floor.

Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the people, who were dressed in their very best for this special occasion.

Kara MacAllister looked up from where she sat at one of the tables when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

“Is it my turn already, Richard?” she said, smiling at the man who had gained her attention.

“Yep, little sister, you’re up. I’ve done my meet-and-greet bit at the door. According to the schedule, you’re next. I swear, I didn’t know anyone who came in during my stint.”

Kara got to her feet, her full-length, mauve-colored dress falling in soft folds over her slender figure as she rose.

“Well, that makes sense,” she said. “We each had a certain number of people we could invite to the party, so none of us could possibly know everyone.” She laughed. “We could have gotten some of those sticky-paper name tags for the guests to fill out. You know, the ones that say ‘Hi, I’m…,’ and you write your name with a magic marker.”

Richard matched her smile. “Oh, hey, that would be classy.” He flapped his hands at her. “So, go, go. Tend to the door. I’m going to get myself some of that food before it’s all gone. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Kara said, then looked at the woman she had been sitting next to at the table. “Mother, I don’t know how you managed to keep anything in the cupboards while Richard and Jack were growing up. They both still eat like there’s no tomorrow.”

“I was very well-known at several grocery stores,” her mother said, smiling. “But as I recall, there was a certain young lady who held her own at the dinner table when she was a teenager.”

“Gotcha, Kara,” Richard said. “That’s how I remember it, too.”

“I’m outnumbered here,” Kara said, laughing. “I’m off to do my smiling duty at the door.”

Kara wove her way through the tables, smiling and waving at those who greeted her. She stopped at the closed double doors and realized instantly that she felt like some sort of security guard.

She clasped her hands loosely in front of her and tapped one foot in time to the peppy music floating through the air above the noise of the chattering, laughing people.

Ten long minutes passed and the doors didn’t open.

Maybe everyone who had been invited had already arrived, Kara thought, glancing over the crowded room. It certainly appeared as though there were a hundred people here, which was the number that had been agreed upon.

She was beginning to feel rather silly standing there like a dressed-up soldier at the ready. Well, so be it. This meet-and-greet plan had been very important to her aunt Margaret, and everyone was being a good sport about it. She was the last one on the schedule to perform this duty, then a good time could be had by all.

Kara swayed slightly in tune to a waltz the band was playing and hummed along with the lovely music. She jerked in surprise as one of the doors opened, snapping her out of her dreamy state.

My stars, she thought, as a frisson of heat rushed through her. What an incredibly handsome man had just walked into the ballroom.

Whose guest was he?

He was the epitome of the clichéd tall, dark and devastating. Wide shoulders, broad chest, long muscular legs, and rough-hewn features.

His hair was black and thick and fell just over the edge of his collar in the back. His skin was tanned by the sun, not by a booth in a salon, as evidenced by the crinkling squint lines beside his dark-brown eyes. He was, oh, maybe thirty-seven or thirty-eight.

Gorgeous. The man was drop-dead gorgeous.

And he was so intent on his scrutiny of the people in the room that he hadn’t even noticed her standing there auditioning for the meet-and-greeter-of-the-year award. Chalk up one severe blow to her feminine ego. This would never do.

Kara cleared her throat.

The man continued his perusal of the room.

“Happy New Year,” she said brightly and fairly loudly, “and welcome to the party.”

The man’s head snapped around and he frowned as he stared at her. She extended her right hand.

“I’m Kara MacAllister,” she said, “and I’m the welcoming committee at the moment. May I ask your name and inquire as to whose guest you are?”

The man ignored Kara’s outstretched hand, and she let it drop back to her side.

“I’m here to see…” he started, then cleared his throat. “Here to see…Robert MacAllister.”

“Uncle Robert?” Kara said, smiling. “Why don’t I take you to his table? I could be wrong, but I believe you’re the last guest to arrive. I’m just standing here looking ridiculous.”

No, she was looking beautiful, Andrew thought. Absolutely lovely. Her short curly black hair framed a face of exquisite features, including a smile that made her dark eyes sparkle.

She was fairly tall but small-boned, delicate, making him very aware of how big and bulky he was compared to her. And her lips. Man, there was a whole new meaning to the phrase “kissable lips” as of that very moment. She was—

Damn it, Malone, he thought, putting a halt to his rambling thoughts. Wake up. Did you catch the lady’s name? MacAllister. She was Kara MacAllister.

She’d probably been in that group photograph he’d seen in the newspaper, but he’d zeroed in on another face, another person. The man he’d driven a hundred miles to confront.

“Where’s Robert MacAllister?” Andrew said gruffly.

Kara frowned. “You don’t exactly seem in a party mood, Mr…. I don’t believe you mentioned your name.”

“It’s Malone. Andrew Malone.”

“Well, Mr. Malone, please allow me to welcome you to the final event of the week-long MacAllister reunion,” Kara said, smiling again.

Andrew nodded absently.

“But since you were invited to this shindig by Uncle Robert, you no doubt know that we MacAllisters have been on the go since Christmas. It’s been exhausting but wonderful, with so many special memories. We wanted to share this last night of the reunion with our friends.”

Good grief, she was babbling, Kara thought, feeling a warm flush of embarrassment stain her cheeks. What on earth was the matter with her? She was actually chattering like a magpie to keep Andrew Malone standing right where he was, instead of delivering him to his host the way she should.

She didn’t do things like this. She didn’t act like a giddy girl when in the presence of a good-looking man. Well, in all fairness to herself Andrew Malone was the best-looking man, bar none, she’d ever encountered in her entire thirty years but still…She really had to get a grip.

“Would you follow me please, Mr. Malone?” Kara said, with a sweep of one arm.

Andrew nodded, then fell into step behind Kara as she made her way through the maze of tables. His glance slid along Kara’s back, and a jolt of heat slammed through him as he saw the sway of her hips and the way the soft material of her dress clung enticingly to her feminine curves.

Damn it, Malone, he fumed. She’s a MacAllister.

Kara stopped, nearly causing Andrew to bump into her. She looked up at him and smiled.

“You’re in luck,” she said. “Uncle Robert and Aunt Margaret are heading back to their table from the buffet. I guess the others seated with them must be filling their plates. There’s Uncle Robert over there. See?”

Andrew’s heart thundered and a trickle of sweat ran down his chest.

There he was, he thought. Robert MacAllister. It was hard to believe that the man was only a few feet away and coming closer with every passing second.

He was much more dynamic in person than in the newspaper picture. He looked taller, his gray hair thicker, shoulders wider, and there was no sign of a belly inching over his belt. His suit was obviously expensive, custom-tailored, and he had brown eyes and an even tan.

Yes, there he was, in living, breathing color.

Robert and Margaret MacAllister reached the table, and Robert set down his plate to assist Margaret with her chair. She settled into place and spread her napkin on her lap.

“Uncle Robert?” Kara said before he had a chance to sit down.

“Oh, hello, Kara,” he said, smiling. “Are you having a nice time this evening?”

“Delightful, thank you,” she said. “I’m the meeter and greeter of the moment, and I’ve brought one of your guests to you so you can say hello.” She glanced up at Andrew, then back at her uncle.

Robert frowned as he looked at Andrew. “My guest? I’m sorry, but Kara must have misunderstood you. I don’t believe you and I have met.”

“We haven’t,” Andrew said, his gaze riveted on Robert where he stood on the opposite side of the table.

“But you told me that…” Kara started, obviously confused.

“I said I was here to see Robert MacAllister,” Andrew said, not looking at Kara. “I didn’t say that he’d invited me.”

“You crashed this party?” Kara said, planting her hands on her hips. “Of all the nerve. Are you a reporter? Is that it?”

“No,” Andrew said, “I’m not a reporter.”

“Then what do you want?” Kara said.

“Kara,” Robert said, “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for why Mr….”

“Malone. Andrew Malone,” Andrew said.

“Why Mr. Malone has come here,” Robert said. “Would you care to clue us in, young man?”

“I’m here,” Andrew said, a muscle jumping along his jaw, “because it’s time. In fact, it’s long overdue.” He reached into his jacket and removed a folded piece of paper, which he tossed onto the table. “That picture made up my mind for me.”

Margaret retrieved the paper and opened it. “This is the group picture of our family that was in the newspaper a few days ago.”

“I don’t understand,” Robert said, frowning. “What does that photograph have to do with your arriving here uninvited, Mr. Malone?”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell?” Andrew said. “Malone? It doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Robert said thoughtfully. “Should it?”

“I suppose not,” Andrew said, a rough tone to his voice. “It didn’t mean anything then, so why should it now?”

“Look, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Robert said. “I have no idea why you’re here, but this is a private party and—”

“For family only,” Andrew said. “I know. That’s why I’m here. You forgot to send me my invitation. The name Malone doesn’t ring a bell? Okay, try this one. Sally Malone. Sally. Does that conjure up any memories, Robert? A summer a long time ago? An innocent young girl who fell in love with you? Hey, come on, Robert, surely you remember Sally.”

The color drained from Robert’s face as he stared at Andrew.

“Sally Malone,” Robert said, hardly above a whisper. “I’d forgotten all about her.”

“No joke,” Andrew said, with a bitter sharp bark of laughter. “You forgot about her the minute she was out of your sight. But she never forgot you, Robert. That would have been really tough to do, considering her circumstances. Oh, no, she never forgot you.”

“Robert, what is going on?” Margaret said. “Who is Sally Malone?”

“My mother,” Andrew said, taking a step closer to the table. “My mother, who died when I was fifteen years old. My mother, who had your baby after you abandoned her that summer, MacAllister. Let me introduce myself again. I’m Andrew Malone. Your son.”

“What?” Kara said.

“Robert?” Margaret said, a frantic edge to her voice. “What is he saying? What does this mean?”

“My God,” Robert said, his gaze riveted on Andrew. “You’re…oh…oh…pain…I…”

Robert pressed both fists to his chest and in the next instant collapsed to the floor, knocking over his chair in the process.

It was bedlam. Margaret screamed Robert’s name and jumped to her feet as people at other tables rose and turned in the direction of the commotion. Everyone seemed to be talking at once as Margaret dropped to her knees beside her husband.

“Get out of my way,” Kara said, pushing past Andrew. “Move.”

Andrew took a step backward as people began to hurry to where Robert lay on the floor, his eyes closed. Kara knelt beside her uncle, loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. She looked up and quickly scanned the crowd of people.

“Give him air,” she yelled. “Ryan, I need help here with CPR. Forrest, call 911. Hurry up. We need an ambulance, paramedics. Tell them to contact Mercy Hospital where I’m on staff and tell those on duty in the emergency room to stand by for our arrival. I think Uncle Robert has had a heart attack!”

Hours later Andrew wandered aimlessly along a dimly lit hall in the hospital. He’d removed his tie, shoved it into his jacket pocket and opened three buttons on his shirt. A deep frown was on his face as he walked slowly, his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

A nightmare, he thought. He was in the middle of a nightmare he had created. He’d never be able to erase from his mind the image of Robert MacAllister crumpling to the floor.

What had followed was a blur, one scene slamming into the next in his mental vision.

The band had stopped playing. How strange that he should remember that. There had been no more pretty music floating through the air. Just shocked and panicked voices. People shouting. Margaret MacAllister crying. Kara MacAllister giving orders, telling everyone to move back, move back.

Kara was a doctor, that much was obvious. She’d assisted the paramedics when they’d arrived, told them what she wanted done. The guy who had helped her perform CPR on Robert—what was his name? Ryan. Yes, Ryan MacAllister. Someone had said that he was a cop.

Andrew dragged a restless hand through his hair and continued his trek.

Reporters had appeared in the ballroom at almost the same moment as the paramedics. Flashbulbs had gone off and questions had been asked of the people who were standing around with horrified expressions on their faces.

He’d kept backing up, backing up, until he’d reached the door, then hurried from the ballroom to the registration desk to ask directions to Mercy Hospital.

He’d managed to enter the hospital through a delivery door and had stayed out of view, not wishing to encounter any of the MacAllisters or the reporters. In the confusion he’d gone unnoticed, but had heard the grim bulletin that had been given to the press corps.

Robert MacAllister had suffered a severe heart attack and was being transferred to the cardiac intensive care unit.

His condition was critical.

“My God,” Andrew said aloud, his voice ragged with emotion, “what have I done?” He stopped in his tracks and swept his hands down his face.

He’d never intended to harm Robert. He’d only wanted what was rightfully due Sally Malone. He’d gone to the restaurant to confront Robert with his existence, to force the man to acknowledge that Sally had mattered, had been important.

That long-ago summer affair had taken place, and Robert would no longer be allowed to deny it, or the existence of the special and innocent young girl who had had her heart broken and her dreams shattered.

But he hadn’t achieved his goal, Andrew thought, shaking his head. Instead? Robert MacAllister lay near death a floor above this one, while his family was gathered in a waiting area, clinging to one another, seeking solace from one another, waiting to hear whether Robert MacAllister would live or die.

And if he died, it would be Andrew Malone’s fault. Robert’s own son would be guilty of killing him.

Andrew closed his eyes for a moment and drew a shuddering breath.

He felt as though he was being crushed with the weight of his guilt, with the truth of what he had caused to happen. What kind of man was he? How had it come to this?

Confronting Robert MacAllister had seemed so right, a way of getting Sally Malone the recognition she deserved after all these years. But his mother would be appalled if she knew what he had done to Robert. She would be ashamed of the actions of her son.

Andrew opened his eyes again and stared down at the floor.

His life was completely out of control. During the past few months he’d felt strange, edgy, as though something was missing from his life, but not having a clue about what it was.

He kept telling himself he had everything he wanted and needed: a hefty bank account, classy apartment, an endless string of women who asked nothing more of him than he was prepared to give. His business was thriving and he knew he was respected, known as a man of integrity.

Despite everything there was a void, an emptiness within him that was chilling. And no, damn it, he wasn’t falling prey to some midlife crisis because he was approaching his fortieth birthday. He didn’t know what was wrong, what was plaguing him, but it would pass. He hoped.

And now? On top of his inner turmoil he had just created a hefty serving of guilt to heap on the pile.

“Malone,” he said with a disgusted shake of his head, “you’re a real piece of work.”

Andrew started to walk slowly, turned a corner in the corridor, then was stopped in his tracks by a good-size wall that had glass installed from the ceiling halfway down to the floor.

The room beyond the glass was dimly lit, and Andrew stepped closer, his eyes widening as he peered into it.

Babies. A whole slew of tiny babies. As he’d traveled from one floor to the next in the hospital, using the stairs, he’d apparently ended up in the maternity wing.

What irony, he thought dryly. Here before him was life in its purest and most innocent form. And staring at these little miracles was a man who might very well have caused the death of his own father.

Andrew started to turn to leave the area when a sudden movement beyond the glass near the rear of the nursery caught his attention.

There in the shadows he could see…yes, she was definitely there. It was a woman in a rocking chair, holding a baby in her arms and feeding it a bottle. He couldn’t see her face because from the shoulders up she was cast in shadow.

She wasn’t a nurse. He could see the hospital gown she wore, but beneath it was a long dress that came to the tops of her high-heeled shoes.

Oh, man, Andrew thought, look at that. She was a mother, who had been out celebrating on New Year’s Eve, then had come to the hospital to feed her baby before going home. She was bringing in the new year with her child, who apparently hadn’t been able to be released from the hospital with its mother.

She was rocking slowly back and forth in the chair, holding that tiny infant tightly in her arms, safe from harm, as she fed it.

Andrew was unable to tear his gaze from the scene before him.

Mother and child. So beautiful together. So real, and honest, and perfect.

A foreign warmth suffused him as he stood watching the woman and child. With the strange warmth came a sense of fulfillment, of completeness, a startling realization that he had finally discovered what was missing in his life.

A wife. A soul mate. A partner. And a baby created with that woman, who would have vowed to stay by his side until death parted them.

That was what he wanted, needed, and he hadn’t even known it.

He was tired of being a solitary man who came home to an empty apartment each night, having no one to talk to, to share with, to sleep close to in his big bed.

He wanted for his own what he was seeing beyond this nursery window.

But as the realization of his wants, his needs, really hit home, the warmth within Andrew was shoved roughly aside by a bone-deep chill.

He splayed one hand on the nursery window, feeling the hard surface, the wall that stood between him and what was within.

And the same was true of his heart. While still a teenager, he’d vowed that he would never love, never render himself vulnerable, be at the mercy of another who had the power to shatter his hopes and dreams. He would not be a victim of love as his mother had been.

If a woman he was dating began to make overtures about a permanent relationship or declared her love for him, as had happened on several occasions in the past, he ended things quickly, in a state of near panic as he registered a sense of being smothered, caught in a web he might not be able to escape.

The wall around his heart was as solid as the glass separating him from the babies, from the mother and child he could see in the shadows.

And he had no intention of lowering that wall. Not ever.

Andrew stiffened as the woman inside the nursery rose from the chair and disappeared into a deeper shadow beyond his view.

He should leave, he supposed. He had no business standing here in the middle of the night—he might frighten that mother when she came out of the nursery. But he just wanted to see her for a second, mentally thank her for revealing to him the truth about himself that he hadn’t known, the inner yearning he would now be aware of and be on even greater guard against. He would do that in his mind while he bid her a happy New Year.

He heard a door open, then close, then the click of high-heeled shoes on the tile floor. He turned in the direction the sound was coming from along the side of the nursery, prepared to greet the mother from the shadows.

Andrew’s heart thundered as Kara MacAllister came around the corner.