Читать книгу Cowboy's Secret Child - Sara Orwig - Страница 8

On a Monday during the first week of June, Jeb Stuart sat quietly in his car beneath the shade of a tall elm on a residential street in Dallas. He waited, his calm manner belying his churning emotions. He glanced at his watch, and then his gaze returned to the shady street. Ten minutes later his pulse jumped as a black car rounded the corner, slowed and turned into the drive of a small red brick house across the street. He saw the riot of the driver’s red hair before she disappeared up the driveway.

Still waiting, he looked at her surroundings, noting that she lived in a nice neighborhood. Farther down the block, sprinklers turned in silvery arcs on lawns. Her yard had flowers and trees and looked idyllic. In a few more minutes he was going to disrupt her peaceful life, much like a bomb going off in the neat red brick house. From all the difficulty he had in locating her, he guessed that she had expected him to come searching for her and had taken precautions against his ever finding her.

Then the front door opened and another woman came out. From the detective’s reports, Jeb knew she was the nanny. Dressed in jeans and a red T-shirt, she sauntered to a parked car, slid inside and drove past Jeb without a glance.

He had waited long enough. He stepped out and crossed the street. With each stride his heartbeat quickened, until it was thudding in anticipation when he climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell.

The door swung open and only a screen door separated him from the woman he had watched turn into the driveway earlier. Dressed in cutoffs and a blue T-shirt, Amanda Crockett looked up at him and their gazes locked. Jeb stared into wide crystal-green eyes that were enormous and seemed to grow larger. For a moment he was caught and held, but only for a moment, and then he remembered who she was and what she had done.

During the past two months he had rehearsed what he would say when this moment came. Yet now, as he looked down through the screen door into her green eyes, words failed him.

Then he realized it wasn’t going to be necessary to say half of what he had intended because all color had drained from her face, and she looked as if she were going to faint.

Fainting would not win her any of his sympathy, he thought, but as he watched, she raised her chin. Even through the screen door, he could see the spark that came into her eyes and he wondered if he was in for a fight. If so, he relished it because he wanted to let her know how much pain she had caused him. He watched her grasp the door, and her knuckles were as white as her face. Had she really thought she could get away with what she had done?

While her world shifted, Amanda Crockett gripped the solid door. As she looked at the tall stranger glaring at her, she could feel the most precious thing in her life slipping away. The moment she had dreaded for three years had come. One look at his face and she knew without a doubt that the stranger before her was the father of her son. In a grown-up version of three-year-old Kevin, she saw the same bone structure, the same straight nose and wide forehead, the same dark eyes and black hair that Kevin had. She knew now how Kevin would look when he was a man.

She tried to get her breath and fight the dizziness that threatened. The stranger hadn’t said a word, yet his dark eyes said everything. Determination, anger— there was no mistaking his feelings.

He towered over her, and his broad shoulders were as formidable as his height. Yet it wouldn’t have mattered if he had been slender and lightweight—he would have carried the same dreadful threat. More than a threat. The end of her world.

Her stomach constricted as if he had slammed his fist into it, and her head swam. Clutching the door, she gulped deep breaths of air, but words wouldn’t come. She had to invite him into her house. From his expression, she knew he would get inside whether or not she invited him, but for Kevin’s sake she needed to be civil, even though everything in her screamed to slam the door and run. Grab Kevin and keep running.

“Come in,” she whispered.

He opened the screen, and the hinge squeaked as he swung it wide while she stepped back. When he walked inside, he seemed to fill the hall. Dressed in a white shirt, jeans and western boots, he was rugged and handsome and an overpowering presence.

He turned to face her. “I’m Jeb Stuart. Cherie’s ex-husband.”

While Amanda fought a knot in her throat, her tears welled up. Nodding, she closed her eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes,” she said, opening her eyes, thinking he looked as if he would like to lock his hands around her throat and squeeze. She tried to gather her wits and catch her breath, but she failed. She reminded herself that he gave up all rights to his child a long time ago.

Feeling shaky, she closed the door and moved ahead of him. As she ushered him into her small living room, she heard his boot heels scraping the oak hardwood floor.

“Have a seat,” she said, perching on the edge of a walnut rocker while he sat on a dark blue wing chair facing her. Looking at him, she became aware that he was very handsome, with riveting dark eyes, sexy, thick lashes, broad shoulders and long legs. When he glanced around the room, she wondered if he thought her home adequate for his son.

She looked at her simple furniture in maroon and navy, her plants, the books on the shelves and the prints that hung on the walls. Kevin’s little books were on the oak coffee table. Whether Jeb Stuart liked it or not, this was Kevin’s home. She locked her fingers together in her lap while the silence became thick and tense.

“I guess you already know that I’m Amanda Crockett, Cherie’s cousin.”

“Yes. I’ve talked with my lawyer and I hired a private detective—that’s how I found you.”

Amanda struggled against the ridiculous urge to beg him to leave her alone. And then she thought about all Cherie had told her about her ex-husband and anger mixed with fear. She would get her own lawyer; she would fight for Kevin.

“What changed your mind about your son, Mr. Stuart?”

“Changed my mind?” he asked, frowning, a note of incredulity in his voice. She noticed that he gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles were white. He leaned forward slightly, narrowing the distance between them. “Look, lady, you’ve got my child. I’m his father and I’m entitled to my son.”

“You abandoned him, Mr.—”

“Abandoned!” The word was snapped like the crack of a whip. His face reddened, and even though his voice grew even quieter, it was laced with fury. “I did not abandon my son.”

“You may say that now, but at the time—”

“Oh, no,” he interrupted, rage blazing deeper in his dark eyes. “I didn’t abandon him,” he said slowly, with emphasis. “I didn’t know Cherie was pregnant with our child. She kept that from me when we got divorced.”

Amanda’s head reeled again, and the worst of her suspicions were turning out to be the truth. Every word he said was a knife thrust into her heart. Was he lying or telling the truth? If he was lying, he was a good actor. His gaze was direct and his tone held conviction. Amanda’s stomach churned. Deep down she had always wondered if her cousin had lied to her.

“She said you didn’t want your child and you left her and joined the army. Where have you been these last three years?”

“I’ve been in the army,” he answered stiffly. “But when I left for the army, I didn’t know I had fathered a child. We divorced in October 1997. I haven’t seen Cherie since right after our divorce. In January 1998, I went into the army and got out in January of this year. In April I learned about Kevin.”

“Who was born the twenty-second of May three years ago.” With her anger and fear growing, Amanda wondered who was the truthful one. She knew Cherie wasn’t always truthful, but she didn’t know whether Jeb Stuart was truthful, either. After all, he married Cherie. What kind of man would marry her cousin? As swiftly as that question came, Amanda knew that most men would be drawn to Cherie.

“Cherie told me that you abandoned her and that you didn’t want your child. She didn’t want the baby and she knew that I would. She asked me if I would adopt him when he was born. So I went to court and adopted Kevin. I’m his legal mother.”

“Legal adoptive mother,” Jeb reminded her. “I didn’t know about my son. I found out through a friend who knew Cherie and me. Three months after I got out of the army, I just happened to see her. She knew Cherie had been pregnant, but she didn’t know Cherie didn’t keep the baby.”

“Look, I’ve raised Kevin as my son. You’ll tear his life to pieces if you try to take him from me now,” Amanda said, growing more certain of the rights she had and angry that he would barge in and expect her to hand over her child.

“Lady, I’m his father.”

“I have a letter from Cherie saying that you abandoned her when she was pregnant and you knew she was pregnant. Any judge will look at that. I can get Cherie to testify.”

“We both know what her testimony is worth!” Jeb’s anger surfaced again at the lies Cherie had told.

“You’re not going to take my son,” Amanda said defiantly.

“Yet you want to keep my son from me,” Jeb shot back. He wanted to reach out and shake her and tell her that he had missed his son’s babyhood because of her and her cousin.

“Mama?”

At the sound of the soft voice, Jeb turned. A small boy holding a blue blanket stood in the doorway. Dressed in a green T-shirt and jeans, he was barefoot. His thumb was in his mouth.

As Jeb looked at the child standing across the room, he felt as if a fist had clamped around his heart. The rest of the world vanished, leaving only the child. Awe and love and uncertainty filled him. He wanted to touch his child, just touch him. And he saw why Amanda Crockett had recognized him when she opened the door. The resemblance deepened Jeb’s awe. This was his son! He wanted to take the boy’s hand and say, “I’m your dad, and you’re coming home with me,” but he knew it was not going to be that simple. The child was wide-eyed, looking from one adult to the other.

“Come here, Kevin. Did you just wake up?”

Amanda’s voice was transformed, sounding calm and sweet and filled with love, carrying so much warmth that Jeb turned to study her before looking back at his son.

Kevin cast a wary eye at Jeb as he scurried across the room to his mother and climbed into her lap to hold tightly to her. While Amanda gently rocked him and stroked his back, Jeb’s heart received another blow.

For the past two months, from the moment he had discovered Cherie’s deception and the loss of his child, he had been filled with rage and hurt that was compounded when he saw how completely the woman who had his son had vanished. She had left no trail, as though she had known full well that she was doing something underhanded. Now as he watched Kevin wrap his thin little arms around Amanda Crockett’s neck, Jeb’s pain deepened. For the first time, he wondered how he could take his son from the woman who was truly a mother to him.

She gazed over Kevin’s head at Jeb, watching him carefully, and when he looked into her eyes, she gave him a searching stare.

“We need to talk some more,” she said quietly, “but we can’t right now.”

“I can come back,” he said, his voice as quiet as hers, yet he knew that her emotions were as much on edge as his. She seemed to think this over, looking down at Kevin, stroking his hair from his face and patting him. Was she a good mother? Jeb wondered.

“If you want to stay for dinner, Kevin goes to bed around eight and we can talk then.”

Surprised that she offered dinner, Jeb wondered if she wanted him to see her with Kevin to press her point that she was his mother and they loved each other. She didn’t need to, because Jeb could already see they had a close relationship. Was she good to him? he wondered again. Even if she was a marvelous mother, he didn’t want to walk out of his son’s life and give up all rights.

“Thanks. I’ll stay because we do need to talk.”

She gave him another one of her cool, level looks, and he experienced a flicker of admiration for her because she had weathered a big shock and was now in control of her emotions and ready to fight for her rights. At the same time, he didn’t want to admire her or like her or find her attractive. So far he had succumbed to two out of the three and he wondered whether, if he stayed for dinner, he would also begin to like her.

His anger was transforming into a dull, steady pain, and all his plans for getting his child and watching him grow were going up in smoke. The woman facing him was causing him to readjust his thinking. And, adding to his turmoil, he was too aware that she was damned attractive. His gaze flicked over her in a quick assessment that took in the wild red hair that was an invitation to a man to tangle his fingers in it. His gaze lowered to his son’s tiny hand resting against her breast with trust and love. Yet, at the same time, Jeb couldn’t keep from noticing the lush fullness of her breasts beneath her clinging blue T-shirt.

“Kevin, this is Mr. Stuart,” she said.

Kevin twisted slightly to stare at Jeb.

“Hi, Kevin,” Jeb said quietly, feeling another knot in his throat.

Kevin held his small blanket against his face and gazed steadily at Jeb for a long moment until he ducked his head against his mother again. She smoothed his straight black hair. “Sleepy?” she asked him.

He nodded without answering her.

She rocked him slightly, stroking his head while she glanced at Jeb, and he could feel the clash of wills between them. They both wanted the same child. Jeb thought he was entitled to his son, yet for all his young life, the one person Kevin had known as his parent was Amanda Crockett. Jeb realized he was going to have to face that and deal with it in a way that wouldn’t cause a lot of pain to his child.

Why had he thought that he could show up and demand his son and she would hand him over? He had expected a fight, but he hadn’t stopped to think about her being locked into his son’s affections. He had thought of Amanda Crockett as he thought of his ex-wife, Cherie, and Cherie would have given up a child by now. She had given this one up at birth.

“Do you have a grill?” Jeb asked.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go get some steaks and grill them, and then you won’t have to go to so much trouble.” He stood, feeling a deep reluctance to leave. He wondered if he would ever get enough of looking at Kevin. What a marvel the child was! His big brown eyes watched Jake solemnly. Oh, how he longed to touch his son, to hold him. “Anything else you’d like?”

“Thank you, no,” she answered politely. She stood and picked up Kevin and shifted him to one hip.

As Jeb followed Amanda to the door, his gaze left his son and drifted down over her; he noticed the slight sway of her hips and her long, shapely legs. She opened the door and stepped back for him to leave. When he was outside, he looked back again at Kevin.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. She nodded and closed the door. Jeb felt as if she had slammed it shut on his hopes and dreams.

He shopped quickly, and as he drove back to her house, logic told him she would be there, getting dinner. But his emotions churned and he half expected to come back and find her house empty. Too easily, he could imagine her taking Kevin and running away.

Why hadn’t he stopped to think what he would do if she was a wonderful mother to Kevin? Kevin. Jeb liked the name. According to the detective, the child had his adoptive mother’s last name, Crockett.

When Jeb returned to her house, her black car was in the drive and relief poured over Jeb. He parked behind it and picked up the sack of groceries. On impulse, he went to the back door and knocked.

She opened it and motioned to him. “Come in.”

He entered a kitchen that had mouthwatering smells of hot bread and a blackberry cobbler. He was even more aware of Amanda as she gazed up at him with those compelling crystal-green eyes. Her tangle of red hair and the tiny beads of perspiration dotting her brow gave her a sultry earthiness that was appealing. She blinked, and with a start he realized that he was staring at her. She waved her hand.

“Set the groceries there,” she said, motioning toward a space on the countertop. “Kevin isn’t into steaks and salad. He gets macaroni.”

Jeb placed the grocery sack on the counter and took out the steaks to unwrap them. All the time he worked, he was conscious of Amanda moving around him, of her perfume, of her steady, watchful gaze. She looked at him as though she had invited a monster into her kitchen. Her house was comfortable and appealing, but the kitchen was small, and when he brushed against her accidentally, he was acutely conscious of touching her.

“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing at her. She looked up and once more they were caught, gazes locked and sparks that he didn’t want to feel igniting. Her lips were rosy and full, a sensuous mouth that conjured up speculation about what it would be like to kiss her. He realized where his thoughts were going and turned away, bumping a chair.

What was the matter with him? He was reacting to her like a sixteen-year-old to a sexy woman, yet Amanda Crockett had done nothing to warrant any blatant male attention. He needed to remember that this woman was tearing up his life and that he was getting ready to tear up hers. If only she would do the right thing, acknowledge that Kevin was his son and simply hand him over. She had no right to take his child from him.

Hope began to flicker that she would be reasonable, realize she had taken a child from his father. Then he glanced across the kitchen into her eyes, which held fire in their depths, and he was certain that wasn’t going to happen.

Dinner was a silent, strained event with little conversation by anyone. Jeb began to wonder about his son, who seemed shy and too quiet. Kevin was the only one with an appetite and he ate his macaroni, his bread and butter, and drank his milk.

“You’ve been in the army?” Amanda asked.

“The Eighty-second Airborne. I was a paratrooper.”

She inhaled sharply. For some reason he had a suspicion she didn’t approve, yet she probably didn’t approve of anything about him.

“Do you and Cherie keep in contact?” he asked.

“Very little,” she added, carefully. “I haven’t seen her in three years,” she said glancing at Kevin, and Jeb wondered if Kevin thought Amanda was his blood mother.

“She’s a country-western singer. I’ve seen her CDs in stores.”

“I’ve seen them, too,” Amanda replied, “but I haven’t seen Cherie. She’s remarried.”

“Right, for the third time,” he added dryly. “To the actor, Ken Webster.”

“You know a lot about her.”

“I hired a detective. I got all this information from him.” As Jeb talked, only half paying attention to their conversation, he tried to think what he could do about his son. His attention slid back to Kevin. “How old are you, Kevin?” he asked quietly, knowing the answer.

Kevin held up three fingers.

“Three years old. That’s getting very big. Do you go to pre-school?”

Kevin shook his head.

“Not yet. He’s enrolled for next fall,” Amanda said, touching Kevin. She constantly reached out to pat his shoulder or brush his hair from his forehead, and Jeb wondered whether she was affectionate all the time or whether she was giving Kevin attention out of worry now. Jeb leaned back in his chair. He had little appetite, and she didn’t seem to have any, either. Yet he was happy to be with Kevin, even though the child seemed inordinately shy.

“Is macaroni your favorite food, Kevin?”

Kevin shook his head while Amanda answered, “His favorite is chocolate ice cream. Maybe chocolate cake is a second favorite and then chicken drumsticks.” Her answer was perfunctory, her thoughts still churning.

Glancing over the food on the table, Amanda could hardly eat. What kind of battle lay ahead of her? Was Kevin going to be one of those children she had seen on the television news and in the paper—a child who had two people battling over him while he was always pictured as crying and unhappy?

She was sick at the thought. Every time she looked into Jeb Stuart’s brown eyes, she could see his determination, and every time he looked at Kevin, she could see his longing. He wanted his son.

That knowledge tore at her because at the time of Kevin’s birth, when Cherie wanted Amanda to take the baby, Cherie had sworn Jeb hadn’t wanted his child. Had he had a change of heart or was he telling her the truth—that he really hadn’t known? Amanda suspected that he was telling the truth. He looked earnest enough.

She couldn’t imagine having one of those horrible battles that hurt Kevin badly. She felt as if Jeb Stuart wanted to cut her heart out and take it with him. She realized he was staring at her, and she guessed he must have asked her a question.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I see a child’s swing in your backyard. Will there be time before Kevin goes to bed to go outside with him and play?”

“Sure,” she answered easily. “We’re finished. As soon as I clean the kitchen, we’ll go outside. Want to?” she asked Kevin, and he nodded. He started to stand.

“Wait. What do you say?”

“May I be ’scused?”

“Yes, you may,” she answered, and Kevin slid off his chair and ran to get his toys.

When she stood, Jeb Stuart rose also and picked up dishes. “I can clean up,” she said.

“This is no trouble,” he answered politely, and she thought how civil they were being to each other, yet what a sham it was. She knew he was doing it for Kevin’s sake, just as she was.

In her small kitchen she could not avoid bumping against Jeb. Each time she was intensely conscious of the physical contact. Every nerve tingled. Jeb Stuart looked full of raw energy, and she wondered if he would make her as nervous if Kevin weren’t the connection between them.

Making a rumbling noise like an imaginary motor, Kevin sat on the floor, playing with one of his toy cars. He was so little, too vulnerable. While she watched him, her eyes blurred. She couldn’t give up her child! As pain came in waves, she fought a rising panic. Trying to gain control of her emotions, she didn’t want to cry in front of Jeb Stuart. I’m Kevin’s legal mother. But she had seen the pain in Jeb’s eyes and she knew he was entitled to his son. She was losing Kevin! She felt queasy, as though she were going to lose the little she had eaten for dinner. She turned on the cold water and ran some over her hand, then patted the back of her neck and her forehead.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was quiet and deep and he was right beside her. She looked up into his inscrutable dark eyes and wondered if they were both headed for dreadful heartache. She feared that no one was going to win in this situation, least of all Kevin.

“I’m all right,” she said stiffly, turning to blindly rinse a plate and place it in the dishwasher. A hand closed gently on her wrist. Feeling his touch to her toes, she looked up at him.

“Go outside with Kevin. I’ll finish this and join you.”

She didn’t argue. After drying her hands, she took Kevin’s hand and headed outside, thankful to escape her kitchen, which now seemed smaller than ever and filled with the electrifying presence of the most disturbing male she had ever encountered. She still tingled from that casual touch of his hand on her arm. At the kitchen door, she glanced back over her shoulder.

Jeb stood watching her, and the moment their gazes met, another lightning bolt of awareness streaked through her. His midnight eyes were riveting and sexy. She felt a raw edginess around him that she suspected she would have experienced even if Kevin had not been a factor in their relationship. As they gazed at each other, the moment stretched between them, tense, breathtaking, until she turned abruptly. Hurrying outside, she tried to catch her breath and ignore her racing heart.

When Jeb joined them, she was swinging Kevin, and the child was smiling. Jeb stood watching and she was grateful for his patience and caution around Kevin. She knew Kevin was shy, and he became even more withdrawn if someone forced attention on him.

Time seemed to stretch into aeons until they went inside. She bathed Kevin and tucked him into bed. When she kissed him good-night, she held him close. He hugged her and then lay on his pillow. “Mama, who is Mr. Stuart?”

“He’s a friend, Kevin,” she answered slowly, wondering how to tell Kevin the truth. He’s your father and he’s come to take you from me ran through her mind while she looked into a pair of dark eyes so much like those of Jeb Stuart.

“I like it better when you don’t have a friend here.”

“You like it when Megan or Peg come over.”

He thought this over and nodded. “I like Megan better than Mr. Stuart.”

Amanda merely nodded and hugged Kevin again and fought tears because she didn’t want to cry in front of him. As though he sensed something amiss, he clung to her. She kissed him again and tucked him in.

“One more story, please.”

She relented and told him another story until his eyes closed and his breathing became deep. Reluctantly, she squared her shoulders, then tiptoed out of Kevin’s room and closed the door behind her.

In the small family room, Jeb Stuart stood with his back to her, staring out a darkened window at the night. She knew he was lost in his thoughts because there was nothing to see outside.

“He’s asleep.”

Jeb turned around and studied her, flicking a swift glance over her that she felt as much as if he had brushed her body with his fingertips.

“Is he always so shy?”

She shrugged and crossed the room to sit down on the sofa, folding her legs beneath her. “He’s shy, but he’s even more shy with you because he’s seldom been around men. He sees me and his nanny, his Sunday school teachers, my friends and, on rare occasions, my aunt, and they’re all women.”

She received another assessing gaze. “You’re pretty,” Jeb said.

“Thank you,” she answered perfunctorily, because she suspected he was going somewhere with his remark, and her wariness increased. Even as her defenses rose, on another level, she was pleased by his assessment.

“You’re too attractive to be single unless there’s a good reason. I know this is a blunt question, but you and I are going to have to do some serious talking. Why haven’t you married and had your own children?”

She raised her chin. It had been a long time now since she had thought about marriage, and having Kevin had taken most of the sting out of the question, because Kevin had helped her lose a lot of her feelings of inadequacy.

“Why haven’t you remarried and had more children?” she shot back at him.

“I had one unhappy marriage, and I’m not ready to marry again. So back to my question—why haven’t you married and had kids of your own?”

Like a lot of other people, she had secrets she didn’t care to share. Jeb Stuart’s question was personal, and she knew she could refuse to answer him or give him one of the two or three casual replies she had given on dates, but she saw no reason now to be anything except totally honest.

“I can’t have children of my own,” she replied, looking him squarely in the eye, feeling an old familiar pain.