Their Secret Son

Kristin’s days of lying were over. But how could she tell Joe the truth without revealing the secret she’d kept from her dad for years? If her dad found out, the stress might trigger the coming heart attack that would kill him.

Maybe, she tried to convince herself, Joe would thank his lucky stars not to be strapped with child support payments and the responsibilities that came with being a parent. Maybe he’d just let his unanswered questions die a slow and easy death.

She would cling to that hope.

As Joe watched Kristin walk away, he cursed under his breath.

Was he Bobby’s father?

It was definitely possible.

“That’s some woman,” the rookie beside him said. Then he blew out a long, slow whistle. “She sure doesn’t look like any of the mothers I ever knew.”

“She’s pretty, but definitely out of your league, Dustin,” Joe told his younger buddy. “When a guy falls for a woman like that, the future is bound to be rocky and steep.”

And there’d never been a relationship facing a more uphill battle than the youthful affair he and Kristin had innocently embarked upon.

Growing up, Joe had often been referred to as “that Davenport kid,” a reference he’d tried hard to shake. Trying to live down his dad’s reputation hadn’t been easy. And if Harry Logan hadn’t stepped into Joe’s life, God only knew where he might have ended up.

The night of the fire, Harry had found Joe huddled near a Dumpster, scared out of his socks, but ready to defend his action to the death. He’d only meant to start a fire in the old warehouse, not cause a roaring blaze that would threaten other buildings on the block. But Harry had seen through the surly display of anger and zeroed in on the fear in Joe’s eyes, the pain in his heart. And instead of hauling his sorry ass to juvie, as many cops would have done, Harry took Joe aside. Put him in his patrol car, but not as a suspect or criminal.

Harry had sensed that no one had ever given a damn about Joe, no one had ever listened to him. And for the next hour or so, he just sat there, nodding in understanding. Asking questions when appropriate. Listening intently, and then letting a kid who’d tried so damn hard to be tough bawl his eyes out.

And when the tears and sobs had finally stopped, Harry offered Joe something no one had ever offered him before. A sturdy shoulder to lean on. Hope for the future. A friendship with one of the greatest guys in the world. A family that included him in holiday dinners, barbecues and touch football games on the lawn. And a brotherhood of terrific guys who’d once been hell-bent misfits and now had a purpose.

Thanks to Harry, Joe had turned his life around. Still, he supposed there might be some people who couldn’t forget his parentage or his shabby roots, particularly Kristin’s father. But that was too bad.

Early on, Joe Davenport had made up his mind to ignore those people who couldn’t quite forget who his daddy had been. And he damn sure wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life proving that he was good enough for Kristin Reynolds. For one thing, her dad would never be convinced.

But things were different, now.

There was a child involved. A child Joe hadn’t known about. A towheaded boy who might be his son.

If Joe was Bobby’s father, he’d do right by the boy.

No matter what Kristin or her dad had to say about it.

Chapter Two

T he next day, after his twenty-four-hour shift ended, Joe stood on the front stoop of the Reynolds house, preparing to knock on the carved oak door that boasted a fancy stained-glass window.

His excuse, which he hoped didn’t sound lame or reveal another, more pressing reason for being here, was to talk to Bobby about fire safety and give him a junior fire marshal badge. From personal experience, Joe knew the extra effort and personal touch would help Bobby be more mindful about playing with fire.

Harry Logan and George Ellison, the fire chief who’d dealt with Joe as a kid, had used the same approach. They’d taken him to the fire station and made him feel like one of the guys. It was an experience that had turned his crappy life around and given him a purpose, not to mention a station house full of friends and, eventually, a job he loved.

Joe would have come by to talk to any other kid who’d started a fire, but the semiofficial visit wasn’t his primary motive. He wanted to see Kristin again, to ask her point-blank whether he was Bobby’s father.

Because if the boy was his son, Joe was prepared to be the kind of dad he’d always wished he had. He might not be able to make up for the lost years, but he could certainly take an active part in the future—no matter what Thomas Reynolds had to say about his involvement.

He rang the bell, then rapped on the door for good measure.

Moments later, Kristin answered, wearing a simple green dress and her hair pulled into a ponytail. She looked young, much like the teenage girl she’d once been. The girl he’d once loved.

When she saw him, her emerald eyes widened and her mouth dropped. Obviously, she hadn’t expected him to follow her home.

He never had before.

Mostly because she hadn’t wanted him to.

But things had changed, now that they’d grown up and gone their separate ways.

“Joe,” was all she said, her voice soft, wispy. She blanched for a moment, then seemed to recover.

“I came to talk to Bobby.” And you.

“Bobby went on a picnic to Oceana Park with the family who lives next door. They won’t be home until later this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry I missed him.” Joe’s words weren’t entirely true. What he and Kristin had to talk about was best done in private, out of Bobby’s hearing range.

“Thank you for stopping by,” she said, as though wanting to send him on his way.

But Joe wasn’t about to be put off. “Like I said before, Kristin, you and I have some things to discuss. And I thought now might be a good time.”

She glanced over her shoulder and, before Joe could broach his main question, she took his arm and led him across the manicured lawn to the silver Chevy Tahoe he’d parked in the drive. “Now’s not the right time.”

Because her father was home, no doubt.

Would Thomas Reynolds always stand between them like an armed sentry? Or a rottweiler with eyes glazed and teeth bared?

Joe crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze snagging hers and demanding the truth—the real reason why now wasn’t a good time to talk. “What’s the matter, Kristin? Afraid your father will see me on his property and come running with his shotgun?”

“No, of course not.”

Joe didn’t believe her. The lie she’d uttered had brought a blush to her cheeks and a splotch to her throat and neck. She was afraid her dad would raise hell.

Well, he would just cut to the chase. “All right, Kristin. I’ll go. For now. But answer one question. Am I Bobby’s father?”

Her lips pursed, and she crossed her arms in a defensive stance. “Bobby isn’t your concern.”

“If he’s my son, he is.”

She stood there, silent and cool as a Grecian statue, yet Joe had the feeling an unexpected gust of wind would blow her over and smash her to smithereens.

For some insane reason, he felt an urge to comfort her, to wrap her in his arms and pull her close. Tell her she could depend on him for support.

But Kristin Reynolds, soft and gentle as she was on the outside, had an inner strength Joe had always admired. So instead of giving in and offering the protective gesture, he held firm. “I want some answers. And I’m not going away until I get them.”

She turned her back, as if to stomp off, but her feet remained rooted to the driveway. Was she crying? Considering a response? Trying to decide on how to tell him the truth?

Or was she merely going to recite the trespassing laws? Remind him that he’d never been welcome on Reynolds property?

Trying to gain control of her emotions, Kristin brushed a tear from her eye and stared at the front porch of the house in which she’d grown up, the home that had offered her refuge, comfort and safety over the years.

As much as she’d hoped Joe wouldn’t show any interest in her son, she knew the cocky, take-charge firefighter wouldn’t be put off.

What a sticky wicket she’d found herself in now.

She'd told Joe that she wasn’t afraid her father would come chasing after him with a shotgun. And she wasn’t. Her father wasn’t a violent man, although he’d been known to raise his voice loud enough to cause people to tremble when he’d been crossed.

But Joe’s presence and the subject he wanted to discuss would cause Thomas Reynolds to rant and rave, which, God forbid, could trigger the heart attack that might kill him.

Joe took her by the hand, turned her to face him. “I want a blood test to establish paternity.”

Kristin blew out a weary sigh. The stubborn fireman was taking this too far. She had to tell him something. The truth, she supposed. But not until she could get his promise. His promise to keep her secret until it was safe to reveal.

She swiped at a loose strand of hair that had slipped free of her ponytail and tickled her cheek, then gazed at the angular face of the man who had such power over her—power to turn her knees to jelly, her heart to mush. Power to turn her life upside down and blow her relationship with her father to hell.

“Slow down, Joe. There’s a lot you don’t know, a lot you don’t understand. I’ll discuss it with you—in private—if I can get your word about something.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll have to promise to keep our discussion a secret until I say it’s okay.”

Joe had a stubborn pride and a sense of honor. If he gave her his word, he’d keep it. She doubted the years had changed that about him.

She watched him contemplate what she'd said, the stipulations she’d lined out. And she wondered what would unfold if he accepted her terms.

After what seemed like ages, but was probably only a minute or so, he dragged a hand through his wheat-colored hair. “All right. I’ll play it your way.”

Relieved, Kristin slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. “Okay. But I don’t want to discuss this subject here.”

“How about we talk about it over dinner tonight?”

Dinner? That wasn’t what she had in mind. It seemed too much like a date. Just the idea of being alone with Joe Davenport again brought forth a rush of heated memories. Shared chocolate shakes at Dottie’s Diner, hands entwined under the table. Slow dancing under the strobe lights at the Spring Fling. Stolen kisses behind the dugout at the baseball field.

She tried to focus on the day he’d broken her heart, the day he stopped loving her. All the nights she’d cried herself to sleep. Anything but the attraction she still felt for a guy who’d thrown her heart back in her lap.

Joe slid her a grin. “I know a quiet little out-of-the-way place where even James Bond would feel comfortable spilling his secrets.”

Secrets. She’d kept hers so close to the vest that she wasn’t sure she could share them with anyone.

What did Joe expect from her, after all these years?

The truth, she supposed. Lord knew she was tired of the lies, the deceit. But not tired enough to risk her dad’s health.

“Give me the directions,” Kristin said, “and I’ll meet you there.”

“You don’t want me to pick you up?” Joe’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “Your dad always stands between us, doesn’t he?”

Yes, he probably always would, but there was no need to get into that discussion now. “You never did like to play by anyone else’s rules.”

“I still don’t.” He withdrew a notepad from the dash of his Tahoe, then scratched out an address. “I’ll meet you at four-thirty. Before the dinner crowd shows up.”

She nodded, then stood in silence as he climbed into his SUV and drove away.

At four-fifteen that afternoon, Kristin borrowed her father’s Lincoln Town Car and drove to Harbor Haven, a small seaside enclave twenty miles north of town.

As a teenager, she’d had to sneak out many times to see Joe Davenport. And it seemed as though history were repeating itself. She’d told her dad that she wanted to meet an old friend, which was true. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked for a name.

Other than the secret she’d kept for years, Kristin hadn’t lied to her dad since she and Joe had broken up. She’d always valued honesty. And the deceit clawed at her heart and conscience. But she didn’t know how to backpedal now; the lie seemed to hold her firmly in place.

She looked in the rearview mirror, checking her appearance in spite of her resolve not to do so. An hour earlier, she’d actually found herself primping before the bathroom mirror, trying to look her best.

A glance at the bed, where several different dresses and outfits lay, had made her realize the foolishness of her girlish behavior.

She and Joe were merely old friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And she certainly didn’t want him to think she still had the hots for him.

The memory of their breakup was still etched deeply in her mind. It still haunted her dreams. Still brought a familiar ache to her heart, a watery blink to her eyes, if she’d let it. For the most part, the past was over and done. She had a rosy future in front of her, and risking another broken heart wasn’t in her game plan.

After putting aside any romantic misconceptions, she’d finally chosen a pair of black jeans and a yellow sweatshirt. This was a casual meeting by the beach, not a date. And she wasn’t about to give her old lover the impression that she thought it was anything else.

She gazed out the windshield, following Joe’s directions until she found The Gull’s Nest, a quaint eatery that offered outdoor dining. Joe had been right about the place. It was out of the way and quiet.

Before parking the car, she spotted him sitting at a table outside, wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt. He’d dressed casually, too. Thank goodness.

Yet he was still too darn attractive for his own good.

Those amber-colored eyes watched every step she made, until she reached the table where he waited, feet stretched out before him in that sexy stance he’d probably never shake.

He stood, while she took a seat.

“Thanks for coming out here to meet me,” he said.

She merely nodded.

A matronly waitress handed them menus, then asked if she could get them a drink.

Kristin thought an iced tea or soda might be best, but chose white wine for its calming effect. Joe ordered a beer.

“It’s pretty here,” she said, trying to avoid the topic they’d both come to discuss.

“I thought you’d like it.”

Rather than look at the sandy-haired man who studied her intently, she glanced at the setting sun, which had painted a colorful sunset. The kind made for artists. And lovers.

A summer breeze stirred the salty ocean air, and seagulls cried and frolicked on the shore. An aura of romance settled upon the table, as did a gentle yet heavy silence.

Kristin had expected Joe to throw his question out, like a fisherman casting his nets upon the sea. But he kept both his question and his thoughts to himself. For that, she was glad.

It wasn’t until after the waitress delivered their drinks that Joe finally spoke, finally began to lay his thoughts on the line. “I realize a lot has happened in the past eight years.”

More than he’d previously suspected, that was for sure, but she let him speak. Let him sort through his thoughts and open his case.

“I don’t have any right to demand anything from you,” he said, “but if Bobby is my son, I deserve to know.”

He was right, but before she could gather her courage, try to explain, the waitress returned to take their order.

They both asked for the fish tacos, which were the house specialty. Kristin hoped the chatty waitress would remain, pull up a seat and join them. Anything to prolong the moment of truth.

When the woman took their orders back to the kitchen, Joe continued. “You left town right after our breakup. You weren’t scheduled to go until August.”

That was true. But how could Kristin have stayed in town, heartbroken and pregnant with Joe’s baby? She'd had to leave before the secret was out. She’d loved Joe with all of her heart and soul. Breaking up with him had nearly torn her apart, and she wasn’t about to let her dad know she was hurting, that she’d been jilted. God only knew how he would have reacted.

She’d told Joe her father wasn’t a violent man, and he wasn’t. His battles were usually fought at a conference table or, when necessary, in court.

But back then, if faced with a pregnant teenage daughter, he might have stormed after Joe, pressed charges of some kind. Made Joe’s life miserable. So, in a way, leaving had been a means of protecting both of the men she loved.

“My mother’s sister lives back east,” Kristin said. “So when Aunt Mary invited me to spend some time with her before I started school, I jumped at the chance. Getting out of town seemed like a good idea. Believe it or not, I cared about you. And when you told me you didn’t love me, I was crushed.”

Again, Kristin relished being able to speak the truth. She hadn’t told anyone about Joe, about their relationship, about her heartbreak. And for once, it felt therapeutic to let the words out. Liberating.

“Did you leave town pregnant? With my baby?” His eyes drilled into her, his words hammered on her heart.

“I’ve never discussed Bobby’s father with anyone,” Kristin said, “and I won’t do so now, unless I can get you to promise me something.”

“It’s a simple question, Kristin. Just give me a yes or a no.”

Answering no would be so simple. So easy. But she wasn’t about to lie about Bobby any more than she had to. But neither was she willing to jeopardize her father’s health.

“Things aren’t simple, Joe. I’ve kept secrets from my dad, secrets that will anger him when he finds out. And I’m not ready to confess yet.” She took a sip of wine, enjoyed the cool taste as it slid down her throat. Then she studied the fireman across from her, the man who’d once turned her inside out and promised to do so again, if she let him get too close.

Thank goodness she knew better than to allow that to happen. She needed a man who could commit for the long haul.

“They say confession is good for the soul,” Joe said.

She nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. But my dad has serious health problems. He needs bypass surgery, but other complications—his weight, sugar diabetes, the early stages of emphysema—have the doctors debating whether he can handle the surgery. I want to keep his life stress-free until the cardiologist and other specialists can determine a treatment.”

Joe’s jaw tensed, and she feared he was digging in his heels for a battle of attrition. Was he unwilling to understand, to care about her dilemma, her personal stake in all of this?

“I’m not into secrets,” he said.

She knew that. That’s why she’d never told Joe about having to sneak out to meet him. “I’ll tell my dad the truth, but I don’t want him finding out until I think his health can handle it.”

“So what are you asking me? Not to tell your father?”

“I’m asking that you honor my secret and my privacy. If I share that information with you, I want you to promise not to tell anyone until I say it’s okay.”

Before Joe could speak, the waitress brought their food. The silence was almost overpowering, as Kristin awaited Joe’s decision.

She studied her plate and poked at her food. But it wasn’t just nervousness and a guilty conscience that made her stomach all atwitter. It was the sandy-haired man across the table, the man she’d never been able to shake from her blood. Or her heart.

Time heals, the old adage said. But did it? Why did her old lover continue to stir up feelings and desires she’d buried years ago?

A wave of guilt splashed over her, as she thought about Dylan, her fiancé. He was a good man. Solid. Dependable. Willing to make a commitment. Yet, if truth be told, he didn’t stir the same fire that Joe did.

But there was more to life than hot sex. And quite frankly, a warm, dependable soul who would stick by a woman through good times and bad would prove to be invaluable in the years to come.

“Okay, Kristin. I promise to keep your secret.” His gaze cornered her, demanded to hear the words. “Am I Bobby’s father?”

The tears slipped down her cheeks, revealing the words her mouth couldn’t seem to form. She nodded her yes.

Joe had suspected Bobby was his son. Kristin’s affirmation only validated what he already sensed. He could tell by looking, by some kind of built-in parental instinct, maybe.

A part of him wanted to lash out and be angry that she’d kept their child a secret from him. But guilt came flying back in his court. After all, he’d been the one to end things that day at the ball field. And he’d made it clear he didn’t want to see her again. He couldn’t blame her for staying away.

And as long as he was placing blame, he’d throw some out at their fathers—hers for being so obstinate about wanting what was best for his daughter and his for being a low-life jerk.

But that didn’t change the current fact.

Joe Davenport had a son. A boy who was a lot like him.

And for some reason that didn’t make any sense whatsoever, it pleased him to know he and Kristin had made a baby.

He’d loved her so much back then. Of course, that was before he knew how much her father hated him, how star-crossed their relationship had been. Still, their short time together had been good—almost magical—while it lasted.

And they’d made a baby.

“Think it happened out at the lake, that afternoon?” he asked. “Or at the cabin in Julian?”

“Huh?”

His question seemed to take Kristin aback, as though she’d forgotten about the day she’d first given herself to him.

“We only made love a couple of times,” he continued. “And I guess it really doesn’t matter when Bobby was conceived.”

“It was at the cabin,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. “I’m not sure how I know, but—”

“You’re probably right.” Joe had that same feeling. The day had been special. Perfect. And if God chose to bless the world with a new baby, that would have been the time.

A sappy grin rose to the surface, and he couldn’t stop the excitement that bubbled inside. He wanted to be the kind of father he’d missed having. A father like Harry Logan, who always had time to listen, time to advise. Time to throw back his head and laugh, to enjoy an afternoon with his family, even if that family included a bunch of onetime bad boys like Joe.

Yep, Joe wanted to be that kind of dad to Bobby. He wanted to have backyard barbecues and toss footballs around on the grass. He wanted to take his boy fishing. And teach him how to ride a bike, if Bobby didn’t know how already. They’d play catch. And—

Kristin kept brushing the tears from her eyes.

Sheesh. Was she unhappy about telling him? Or sorry she’d kept the secret? Joe wasn’t sure what broke the floodgates, but he felt responsible. He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m happy about this.”

She looked up at him, surprise splashed across her face. “You are?”

“Yeah.” He shot her a smile that he hoped would help ease her mind, in one way or another. “I like the idea of having a kid.”

“But you understand, we have to take this slow. Right?”

“Yes,” Joe told her, “but I want you to understand something, too.”

“What’s that?”

“I might have agreed to hold off announcing my fatherhood, but that doesn’t mean I don’t expect to be involved in my son’s life.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Starting immediately.”

“What do you mean?” She pulled her hand back, and her eyes widened. “You promised not to say anything.”

“I won’t. I’ll keep the secret. But I didn’t say anything about staying away. I’ll start off by being his friend, you know, a fireman who took an interest in a fatherless boy.”