Secret Baby Santos

At the sound of the doorbell, she straightened.

“Would you get that for me, Maggie?” her mother called from the kitchen. “Jim Becker’s stopping by with a set of crutches for your father. He’s supposed to be up walking by the end of the week.”

Maggie smiled when her father only buried his head deeper into his paper. Getting a six-foot, two-hundredpound, stubborn man walking was no stroll in the park, but if anyone could do it, Maggie knew her mother could.

Other than running into Nick at the market, it felt good to be home. The scent of a roast baking, the sound of her mother’s humming from the kitchen, even her father with his nose in the paper. She missed all that. Life had gotten too crazy these past few years. She hadn’t even realized it until this minute just how crazy.

She was going to enjoy her time here, she resolved. Enjoy her time with Drew and her parents. She’d put the past behind her a long time ago; it no longer existed. There was only here and now.

The doorbell rang again and when she opened the door the past she’d put behind her stood on her parents’ doorstep, staring back at her with eyes as black and deep as a forest at midnight.

Two

Nick couldn’t remember when he’d ever seen eyes so deep green before. Eyes so big and wide and... nervous?

So she was still shy, he thought, and realized that he found it charming. Most of the women he knew always seemed so sure of themselves, confident almost to the point of intimidating. He liked a little hesitation in a woman, a little uncertainty. He especially liked the fact that he was the cause of it.

Smiling, he pulled her credit card out of his pocket. “You lost this at the market. I thought you wouldn’t mind, so I booked us a Jamaican cruise. We leave next week.”

She stared at him, then blinked and snatched the card out of his hand. “Thank you.”

Then she slammed the door in his face.

This wasn’t going exactly as he’d planned.

Nick raised his brows and stared at the closed door. The Maggie Smith he remembered might have been shy, but she’d also been sweet.

But then, the Maggie Smith he remembered had also been skinny and drab.

Damn if he wasn’t intrigued.

He noticed Mrs. Potts, the Smiths’ next door neighbor, watering the bushes that separated their properties. She’d been the dean’s secretary the six months he’d spent in Wolf River County Home for Boys, and she’d been old then. When he nodded at her, the frail woman quickly looked away, pretended she hadn’t seen that Maggie had just slammed a door in his face.

Maybe Maggie still thought of him as some kind of convict, even though his “visit” at the county boys’ home had been twenty years ago. His “offense,” a short joy ride with Linda Lansky on her older brother’s new scooter, had been harmless, but Bobby Lansky hadn’t been the understanding type. Neither had the judge, unfortunately.

But he really hadn’t minded going to the home. Lucas and Ian had both been there at the same time, and at least he got fed regularly, and no one ever punched him in the stomach for leaving a jacket on a chair or playing the stereo too loud. Hell, it had been more like a vacation.

But that was a long time ago. He couldn’t imagine that was the reason Maggie was so nervous around him.

Frowning, he stared at the front door. Whatever her reason, he should walk away. He had more work than he could handle, and he didn’t have time for a timid, high-strung female, even if she was drop-dead gorgeous.

But then, Nick Santos was not a man to walk away from a challenge. And this Maggie Smith, whoever she was, was definitely a challenge.

Besides, he was certain that incredible smell emanating from inside the Smith house was roast beef.

What the hell. He rang the doorbell again.

The door flew open, this time with Angela Smith on the other side. “Nicholas Santos! What a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in.” She took hold of his arm and tugged him into the entryway. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding. Maggie, sweetheart, look who’s here. It’s Nick!”

From the corner of his eye, behind him, Nick caught a flutter of hands, a waving motion, but when he turned, Maggie stood perfectly still, a tight, thin smile on her lips.

“We ran into each other at the store,” he said with a grin, and watched her cheeks flush at his choice of words.

“Why, Margaret Jane, you didn’t even tell me. Shame on you.” Angela closed the door. “Well, now that you’re here, you’re staying for dinner and I’ll not take no for an answer. I’m sure you like roast beef and mashed potatoes, don’t you, Nick?”

Maggie’s head snapped toward her mother. “I’m sure Nick already has other plans, Mom.”

“I love roast beef.” Nick kept his eyes on Maggie, fascinated by the small twitch of distress at the corner of her jaw. A delicate, enticing jaw, that gave way to a long, slender, enticing neck.

She wanted him gone in the worst way. Which only made him want to stay all the more.

He turned back toward her mother and handed her the grocery bag in his hand. “Bud and Joe’s was having a special on these. I thought maybe you could use some.”

Angela took the bag and looked inside. “Green beans. How thoughtful of you, Nick. I actually sent Maggie to the store for some, but she forgot the list.”

He glanced back at Maggie. The blush that had brightened her cheeks only a moment ago now colored her entire face. “Try them with a can of mushroom soup and cheese,” he said. “They make a great casserole.”

“You cook?” Angela beamed at Maggie. “He cooks, Maggie. Isn’t that wonderful? Boyd—” Angela stuck her head into the living room “—Nicholas Santos stopped by to say hello. He’s going to have dinner with us. Oh, heavens, I’ve got to check on the biscuits. Maggie, sweetheart, take Nick out to say hello to your father.”

Nick watched Maggie squirm when her mother left them alone in the entry hall. She stood stiff as a fence post, and he could see her battle between good manners and tossing him out of the house.

Whatever was going on here with the woman, Nick had the distinct feeling it went beyond shyness.

A challenge and a mystery. Now if only he could get the lady to talk to him, he just might stand a chance. “I heard you got married.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward her father. “Yes, I did.”

Nick frowned. That wasn’t the right answer. She was supposed to tell him she was divorced. “I also heard you got divorced.”

Surprise lit her eyes as she looked back at him. “Did you?”

Not exactly an answer, but Nick never gave up easily. “I also heard you’re a journalist for a New York newspaper. With your own column even.”

That brought a lift of one finely arched eyebrow. “You heard all that.”

“So are you?”

“A journalist?”

“Divorced.”

“Oh. Yes.”

He took a step closer. Damn, but she smelled good. “Maybe we could go out for dinner sometime. Catch up on what we’ve been doing for the past twelve years.”

She took a step back. “I don’t think so, Nick. I’m just here to help take care of my dad for a few weeks. I won’t really have much time.”

“Coffee, then.” He moved in closer again, drew the scent of her deep into his lungs. “Tomorrow night.”

Something caught her ear, the faint sound of laughter, Nick thought. She paled, then grabbed hold of his arm and nearly dragged him into the living room. “Why don’t we go say hello to my father?”

Her abrupt change of behavior surprised him, but since she was actually touching him, he decided they were making progress. “How’s the leg, Mr. Smith?” Nick asked the back of the sports page.

The paper came down. Boyd Smith still looked the same, though he was bald now over a rim of silvergray hair. He still had the same scruffy eyebrows and penetrating stare. “You still riding those motorcycles, Santos?”

“Only for pleasure now, sir.”

“Got any whisky?”

“Not on me.”

‘How ’bout a cigar?’

“’Fraid not.”

“Next time you come over, see that you bring both.”

“Yes, sir.”

The paper went back up, and Nick assumed that their talk was over. Not exactly a long conversation, but a productive one. He’d already been invited back. He grinned at Maggie, but she merely frowned. When she realized that she was still holding his arm, she quickly dropped her hand.

“Excuse me.” She backed away. “I need to...check on something. Why don’t you just have a seat and I’ll be back in a—”

“Mommy, my movie’s over!”

The flying tackle from a pair of small arms caught Maggie around the knees from behind, sending her sprawling forward into Nick’s arms. He caught her smoothly, fully enjoying the feel of her soft body and full breasts against his chest. Much to Nick’s delight, she struggled to disentangle herself, which only increased the friction of their bodies.

Her body still flush with his, Maggie looked up at Nick, a mixture of shock and horror in her eyes. She finally managed to wrench herself free, then turned to face the three-foot-high, dark-haired dynamo who’d knocked her off her feet.

“Drew!” Maggie gasped. “I’ve told you not to do that.”

“I forgot.” The youngster stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans and glanced down contritely. “Sorry. I just wanted to hug you.”

Nick knew a con job when he heard one. This kid was good, he thought with amusement. And cute, too. Nick knew nothing about children, but he’d guess the boy to be around five or so, with dark, almost black hair nearly the same color as his big, thickly lashed eyes. His oversize feet were encased in thick-soled tennis shoes, and Nick could only imagine he’d be tall as a doorway by the time he was sixteen.

So little Maggie Smith had a kid. How ’bout that.

He watched her kneel beside her son, saw the struggle on her face to remain stern. “Hugs shouldn’t hurt, sweetheart. You have to be more careful.”

The child nodded, then glanced up. His dark eyes turned wary at the sight of a stranger, but he didn’t look away or step back.

Maggie stood stiffly behind her son, her hands on his shoulders as she faced Nick. “Drew...” She hesitated, then pulled in a breath and continued, “This is Nick Santos. Nick, this is my son, Drew.”

Nick stuck out his hand, which the child promptly accepted. Nice grip, Nick thought. “How’s it going, Drew?”

“You drive a truck?” the boy asked.

Did everyone in this family answer a question with a question? Nick wondered. “Yes, but mostly I ride a motorcycle.”

“Motorcycles are cool,” Drew said with all the authority of a child, “but I want to drive a truck when I grow up.”

“Maybe we can go for a ride sometime, if your mom says it’s okay.”

“Really?” Drew’s eyes brightened. “On the motorcycle or the truck?”

“Either. Both.”

“Wow. Really? Can I, Mom?”

Maggie had been vigorously shaking her head, but she went still when Drew looked up hopefully at her.

“I don’t think so, honey. You’re not big enough for motorcycles yet.”

“I’m almost five,” Drew complained. “Tommy Fuscoe rides on his daddy’s motorcycle all the time, and he’s littler than me.”

“You’re not Tommy Fuscoe,” Maggie said firmly. “But we’ll see.”

A definite no, Nick realized. But with the two of them working on her, Nick was confident they’d change her mind...one of several things he intended to change her mind on.

“Wanna see my bike?” Drew looked at Nick. “My grandpa got it for me just to have here. Didn’t you, Grandpa?”

“Needs new tires,” Boyd mumbled with a flip of his newspaper.

“C’mon.” The youngster sprinted through the front door. “It’s in the garage.”

“After you.” Nick swept his hand out and Maggie moved past him, though she was careful not to brush against him. But the warmth of her body where she’d been thrust against him only a few moments ago still lingered on him, and he was anxious to feel that warmth again.

And next time she fell into his arms, he intended that they be alone.

He caught her arm on the porch, took it as a good sign when she didn’t immediately pull away. “Cute kid,” he said, wanting a moment alone with her now. “He must look like his father.”

She shrugged, then glanced in the direction her son had run, but not before Nick caught the flicker of pain in her eyes. Damn, he thought. She must still be hung up on the guy.

“You see him much?”

Frowning, she looked back at him. “See who?”

“Drew’s father. Your ex.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “He lives in Vancouver.”

He thought of his own father, a man he never knew, then thought of the stepfather he wished he’d never known, and felt an instant kinship with Maggie’s son. “That must be hard on Drew.”

“He was only a year old when we divorced. He doesn’t remember him.” She jammed her hands into her pockets and sighed. “Look, Nick, I appreciate you stopping by, but I really would rather—”

Drew’s scream stopped her, and she was off the porch running toward the garage in a space of a heartbeat. Nick took the porch steps in one jump and was rounding the side of the house when he heard the sound of a child’s sobs from inside the garage.

He found mother and son kneeling beside the bumper of a white compact. Crushed under the right front tire was the back wheel of a child’s bicycle.

“You broke it,” Drew cried. “You broke my bike.”

“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” Maggie looked up at Nick, her face stricken. “I...I didn’t see it.”

Nick moved around to the passenger door, put the car in neutral and pushed it backward. Metal creaked as the car’s tire rolled off the bike.

Tears streamed down Drew’s face as he reached for the handlebars and attempted to stand the twisted bike up. “I’ll never ride it now,” he railed.

“I’ll get you another bike, sweetie.” Maggie reached out to touch her son’s shoulder, but he shrugged away from her.

“I don’t want another bike. This was the best one, and Grandpa gave it to me.”

Nick studied the bike and without thinking, said, “I’ll fix it.”

Drew stopped crying, and both mother and son looked up at him. Good grief, Nick thought. Where had that come from? He’d never fixed a kid’s bike in his life.

“You will?” Drew swiped at the tears on his cheeks.

The shop was backed up with two weeks of work, he had a mountain of paperwork to do, but what the hell? “Sure. A bicycle’s just a motorcycle without an engine, right? Can’t be much different. You can come to my shop and help me. We’ll make it good as new. Better, even.”

“Better?” Drew’s face lit up. “And I can come help? Really? Did you hear that, Mommy? Nick says I can help. I’m gonna go tell Grandma and Grandpa.”

In a flash of tennis shoes and blue jeans, he was gone. Her mouth open, Maggie stared after her son, then slowly turned to Nick. “This is very embarrassing. You must think I’m some kind of an idiot.”

He smiled, leaned in close enough to see the threads of dark brown in her deep green eyes. “Come out for coffee with me tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what I think of you.” He’d show her, as well, if she’d let him close enough.

She shook her head, but not before he saw the hesitation. And something else, something wistful and sad. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’m just so busy right now. I really can’t.”

He was trying to imagine her busy, exciting schedule. No work, home all day with her parents and an almost-five-year-old. “Can’t,” he asked carefully, “or don’t want to?”

Her gaze was steady as she met his. “I’m sorry,” she said evenly. “I’m just not interested.”

Well, that was certainly to the point, especially coming from such a shy, sweet girl. The words had even been spoken gently, but were still a direct verbal blow to his pride nonetheless. He nodded, backed off from her. “Can I ask why?”

She dragged a hand through her hair, then sighed. “Like I told you, I’m only here for a few weeks to help my parents, that’s all. I didn’t come here for—”

He grinned when she hesitated, lifted one brow. “Wild sex?”

Surprise widened her eyes at his outrageous comment. They both knew he was teasing, but still, something passed between them. Something intense and distinctly sexual.

“You think that’s what I had in mind, Maggie? Coffee, then wild sex?” He put a hand over his chest and gave her his best wounded look. “I might be fast, darlin’, but I’m not easy.”

She blushed rosy-red. Damn if he didn’t itch to touch her heated skin and smooth his fingers over her cheek.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” she said softly. “But like I said, I’m just here for my parents.”

For a woman who wasn’t interested, she was awfully nervous, awfully tense. And as curious as that made him, he knew when to back off.

For the time being.

“All right, then.” He flashed her his best smile, then held out his hand. “How ’bout friends?”

She stared at his hand for a long moment before slipping her fingers into his palm. “Sure.” She smiled weakly. “Friends would be great.”

Her skin was smooth against his, soft and warm, and he was certain her fingers shook before she quickly pulled away. There was heat between them, all right, he thought with mild satisfaction. No question about it.

“I’ll explain something to Drew,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll understand how busy you must be at your shop. There’s a bicycle repair in town I can call in the morning.”

“I didn’t offer to fix Drew’s bike to get you in bed, Maggie,” he said tightly. “Whatever it is you think of me, I haven’t sunk that low, yet.”

“I’m sorry.” Distress narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just thought you might have spoken before you realized what you were letting yourself in for. I was offering you an out.”

“I’ll let you know when I need an out.” He bent down to study the bike. “I can straighten the wheel, but I may have to order a couple of new parts. Come by my shop tomorrow with the bike and Drew. I’ll give you both the nickel tour.” He relaxed, gave her a slow, easy grin. “I even promise not to hit on you.”

She smiled back, the first real smile he’d managed to lure from her. Her eyes softened and for the first time since he’d plucked her out of that stack of tumbled green beans, the tension between them eased.

Damn if she wasn’t even more beautiful when she smiled like that, and damn if he hadn’t promised not to do anything about it.

All he had to figure out now was how to get her interested without coming on to her.

This was a first for him, he realized, and brightened at the prospect. It wasn’t going to be easy. Even now, in the face of her rejection, all he could think about was pulling her into his arms and tasting that gorgeous mouth of hers.

In the meantime, he thought with a sigh, since he couldn’t have what he really wanted, roast beef and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy would have to keep him satisfied.

Three

She couldn’t sleep. Hot shower, warm milk, counting sheep, three chapters of a boring book. Nothing had worked. She was wide awake, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about Nick.

Dinner with him tonight had been the longest two hours of her entire life.

She’d sat beside him, said grace, then passed him the potatoes as nonchalantly as if he were any other guest at her parents’ table for any other dinner.

But it was hardly just any other dinner, and Nick was hardly just any other guest.

He certainly had a healthy appetite, Maggie thought. The way he packed food away, she couldn’t believe he wasn’t at least twenty pounds heavier. But there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man. She’d discovered that firsthand when Drew had tackled her straight into those strong arms and Nick had held her against his broad chest. He was solid muscle, every last inch of his six-foot-four-inch frame.

Exactly as she remembered him five years ago.

How could he just show up here like this now, throwing her entire life into turmoil?

With a groan she sat and turned on the bedside lamp. Running into Nick at the store had been one thing. That she could have handled. But him showing up here, charming everyone in sight, including Drew, was another matter entirely.

The image of her son placing his small hand in Nick’s would be burned in her memory forever.

At that moment she’d felt as if time had stopped, as if the world had stopped and nothing else existed but the two of them. The two men in her life who had changed her the most, both of them unintentionally altering her life forever. And neither one of them had a clue how important they were to her.

When her heart had started beating again, when she’d recovered her ability to breathe, all she could do was watch them, watch them in amazement and disbelief that two such wonderful people had touched her life.

She’d found a calm in that moment. As if she’d been waiting for that moment without even realizing it, and now that it had happened, she felt an incredible relief. She’d also realized she’d been acting like an idiot. There’d been no reason for her to be so afraid of them meeting.

In a hundred years Nick Santos would have no reason to believe that Drew was his son.

How could he, when Nick himself didn’t even realize that he’d made love to her?

Sometimes even she wondered if she’d dreamed that night, if she’d simply lost it completely and confused a fantasy with reality. At those moments all she’d have to do was look into her son’s eyes, watch him smile and she knew the truth: Drew was Nick’s son. Absolutely no doubt about it.

And she’d do everything in her power to be certain that Nick never knew.

The soft light from the table lamp spilled onto the rose wallpaper, and Maggie stared at the delicate patterns of flowers and vines. This had been her bedroom growing up, until the day she’d left ten years ago. Hoping for excitement, she’d chosen a large East Coast university, but had realized soon enough that a plain, painfully shy small-town girl just didn’t fit in with the big city. She stuck it out, though, earned her journalism degree, and through a college placement agency found her first job with the North Carolina Tribune. Never mind she was making coffee and filing, and no one in the office ever gave her a second look, she had a real job with a real newspaper. She’d vowed to prove herself somehow, make them see she could write the best damn article the Tribune had ever seen. All she needed was a chance.

Eight months later, due to a flu epidemic that left two-thirds of the office home in bed, she finally got her chance. A sports assignment. Following the National Motorcycle Championship race that afternoon at the local speedway, she was supposed to interview twotime national champion Nick Santos.

She went straight to the bathroom and threw up.

Of all the assignments, of all the people in the world to interview, fate had given her Nick Santos, the man who’d rescued her from Roger Gerckee when she was thirteen years old. She remembered every wonderful, glorious moment of that day.

She’d been eating lunch alone, as she always did, in the back of the lunch area. Roger had singled her out that day and had been taunting her about her braces, big glasses and curly red hair. She’d managed to ignore him until he snatched her sandwich and threw it in the trash can, but then she hadn’t been able to stop the tears of humiliation and anger.

Like a knight on a white horse, Nick Santos suddenly appeared. Vividly she could still remember the fury in Nick’s dark eyes, hear the deadly calm in his voice, when he’d told Roger that he shouldn’t be wasting food like that, then dumped the bully in the same trash can. The entire school had cheered, and she had fallen hopelessly in love.

She’d never told anyone her feelings for Nick. She would have been the laughingstock of the school if she had. She was different from the other girls. They’d always known what to say, what to wear, how to act. She’d simply never fit in, and falling for a boy like Nick was absurd. Nick was not only older, he was part of the notorious Bad-Boy Trio. A girl had to be fast to hang with Nick, she’d heard in whispered rumors, not to mention gorgeous and ready for a little danger.