Secret Dad

“It’s not all that extraordinary,” she said with a touch of irritation. “What did you think I was, a lady of leisure or something?”

“No, I sure didn’t think that,” he said quickly. Then he frowned, seeing something behind her. “Is that your kid?” he asked.

She turned and saw Robbie at the door. The moment her gaze caught him, he slipped back into the house, and she shaded her eyes, wondering why he was acting uncharacteristically shy. “Yes, that’s him,” she said, then she gestured toward the house. “Come on,” she told him seriously. “Let’s get you fed and rested and then I’ll figure out where I’m going to put you for the night.”

That brought a quick reaction from him. Something deep in his eyes changed and he straightened, rubbing his chin with the heel of his hand. “No, listen, I’m out of here. I was just trying to split a few of your logs to try to pay you back for all you’ve done. I’ve got to get going, get up to my cabin and...”

His mind on his excuses, he made the mistake of trying to take a step toward her by putting weight on his weak leg and it deserted him entirely. He lurched and she sprang forward to break his fall. Her body caught his and her hand grasped the hard curve of his biceps, and the immediate sense of coming in contact with a man went through her as though she’d been struck by lightning.

“Here, lean on me,” she managed to get out around the catch in her breath. She knew she was quivering with a visceral reaction to his physical strength, she only hoped he didn’t notice. His body was long and hard and her own body was responding to it in a way she hadn’t felt for years—a way she hadn’t expected—a way that made her want to stop and listen to her heart beating like a captured thing in her chest.

Dangerous. The word echoed in her mind. He was danger all right, but that didn’t mean she had to give in to it.

“I don’t think so,” he was saying, pulling away from her so quickly, it was almost a recoil. “I don’t need help. I’ve got to do this on my own.”

He started toward the house and she followed slowly, trying to calm herself. This was wild. She never did things like this. But her body seemed to have a will of its own today. And she had to admit—it was pretty exhilarating.

“I’ll get out of your way,” he muttered, starting to bypass the house.

“No,” she cried, jumping forward and slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. “You come on in the house. I’m going to feed you, at least. Look at you, practically wasting away here.”

He turned his head and met her gaze and she felt as though he saw right through her, knew she’d grabbed his arm because she wanted to feel his muscles again, knew she wanted to keep him around as long as she could—just because. A flush filled her cheeks, but she didn’t care. That sparkling feeling was filling her with a sense of life she hadn’t had in a long time.

“Come on,” she urged, tugging on his arm. “Come eat.”

He came with her, but reluctantly, and he let her lead him. She knew he hated feeling weak this way, but she also had a feeling that wasn’t all there was to his hesitation. The awareness that had sparked between them earlier had come to life again when she’d broken his fall and held him for a split second, and she could tell that he felt it too, and that he wasn’t happy about it. Turning resolutely, she led the way to the house, chattering about the weather.

“Sit down,” she told him as they entered the dining room. “I’ll have the food on the table in no time.”

Denver hesitated as though he were about to argue, but the aroma of pot roast simmering wafted in from the kitchen and his resistance seemed to melt away. He lowered himself carefully to a seat at the table and she pretended not to be watching him out of the corner of her eye to make sure he made it. Turning, she glanced around the room. Robbie was nowhere to be seen and she set off to find out why.

She found him in his bedroom and took him to the bathroom to wash his hands. He came willingly enough, but he seemed worried about something.

“Mom. Who is that man?” he asked her as he soaped up, his eyes wary.

“He’s my friend,” she told him, turning off the water to hurry him along. “Do you want to come and meet him?”

Robbie frowned, taking his time, washing his hands as though it were a heavy responsibility. “Is he the surprise?” he asked, then shot a quick glance at her face.

She smiled as she turned the faucet back on for a rinse. “Yes. He’s the surprise. I thought you’d like having a man come to dinner. We don’t have men around here very often, do we?”

Robbie shook his head, thinking that over. “He’s awful big,” he said at last.

Charlie laughed. “Yes, he is, isn’t he?”

His freckled nose wrinkled. “Are you sure he likes boys?” he asked her.

“Of course.” She answered without thinking, handing him a towel. “Doesn’t everybody?”

He shook his head vehemently. “No. Mrs. Rathworth doesn’t. She always yells when I go by her house. She tells me to stay away from her yard.”

Charlie became serious suddenly, her head to the side as she gazed at him. “Have you ever gone in her yard?” she asked.

He shook his head. “But some of the fifth-graders did,” he told her as though in confidence. “They picked a bunch of her apples right off her tree.”

“Well, there. You see? There’s usually a reason when someone seems too mean. It’s usually because someone has been mean to them. You have to think about that before you get mad.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably. “Look.” He held up his hands for inspection. “All clean.”

“Clean as a whistle,” she agreed, and they left the bathroom behind.

She led him out into the dining area and introduced him to Denver, who nodded to the boy but seemed to look right through him. Robbie followed her into the kitchen rather than stay at the table with him, and she took advantage of his presence and loaded him up with things to carry back out for the dining table. With help from the microwave, she had everything steaming hot in minutes, and soon they were passing serving dishes and getting ready to eat. Charlie looked over the scene and smiled. Something felt good about it.

“Cheers,” she said, raising her glass of milk to toast the other two.

Neither of them said a word, and they raised their glasses reluctantly, but she didn’t let it spoil her mood. She basked in the glow. This was as close to a family meal as this place had ever had.

And darn it all, this was good.

Four

The pot roast was out of this world. Denver had to restrain himself from closing his eyes as he savored every morsel.

“This meat is great,” he told Charlie, though he did so awkwardly. He wasn’t one who was used to complimenting the chef. “Too bad all mothers don’t teach their daughters to cook like this.”

She laughed. “My mother has never cooked a pot roast in her life,” she said happily, wanting to break into giggles at the thought of her formal, dignified mother in an apron with flour on her nose. “She’s probably not even sure what kind of meat you use.” She put a piece of that very same meat on her fork and regarded it kindly. “But she can plan a menu for three hundred at a charity luncheon, which is something I’ll never know how to do,” she added softly, then flushed, wishing she hadn’t said it. People must think it strange to hear her say a thing like that. She glanced at Denver to see what he was thinking.

Denver swallowed another delicious bite and avoided her gaze, wondering how he’d forgotten. Of course, he knew all about her mother and what kind of people she came from. Charlie seemed so different now, it was hard to keep that in mind.

He glanced down the table and looked at her. She was saying something to her son and it gave him a chance to study her without being noticed. She was pretty and quick-witted and her eyes shone with amusement most of the time. Had she always been this way? Not in his memory. He remembered how she’d looked the last time he saw her, years ago.

It was graduation day at the Arcadana Academy. He’d gone to watch his sister, Gail, walk up on the stage and receive her diploma. He’d been bursting with pride. She’d looked just like the others, tall and slim and beautiful, full of laughter, graceful as a bird. You couldn’t tell she was any different, he’d told himself. You couldn’t see that her father had swung a pickax for a living, that her parents hadn’t been made of money, with generations of breeding and privilege behind them, like the others. Gail looked as though she belonged. That was what he’d dreamed of for her, what he’d worked his tail off to provide for her. And now it had all seemed worthwhile.

He’d hung back after the ceremony, watching her being introduced to the families and friends of other girls. He didn’t want to embarrass her. There was no way anyone would ever confuse him with a blue blood, a fact that didn’t usually bother him. His broad shoulders hadn’t been earned by hours on the tennis court, and his tan was a product of the Sahara Desert, not the country club golf course. His hair was a little too long and his clothes looked a little too rumpled. Though he traveled a lot, his style was too plebeian for the jet-setters, and he had no interest in that sort of thing. But he didn’t want to cramp his sister’s style. It made him happy to see her succeed, to see her fit in.

Suddenly, she saw him and her face changed. With a shriek, she ran to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck, not caring who saw her embrace her rough brother. His heart had filled with love for her, but as he looked back to where she’d run from, he saw the others watching. Charlyne—as she’d been called then—was pointing at Gail and laughing, turning to say something to one of the others, and Denver reddened and pushed Gail away, sure the beautiful but obviously spoiled young woman was making fun of Gail’s brother.

“I just came to see you graduate,” he’d told her gruffly, purposely turning away from Charlyne. “I’ve got to get going.”

His sister had seemed to regret that, her huge eyes filling with sorrow. “Oh, but, Denver, we’re having a dinner at the Chez Sateau. You must come.”

His grin was slightly crooked. She even knew how to talk like the others. He shook his head.

“Can’t. Got an assignment and I’m due at the airport. I’ll see you later in the week, at home. You go on back to your friends.”

He’d looked at Charlyne as Gail walked away. She was looking right back at him, but now she wasn’t laughing. Their gazes met and held for a moment. Denver had hoped she couldn’t see how much he resented her. He pulled his gaze away, turned on his heel, and left for the parking lot.

Now he looked at the woman who had once called herself Charlyne. Her body was fuller, softer-looking, and her angular face had filled in with lovely curves. Where he’d once seen snobbery there was nothing but warmth. It hardly seemed possible that this Charlie was the same woman. He wished he knew what had brought on such a change in the weather.

But he frowned as he savored his last bite of meat. Years of undercover work had developed a strong streak of cynicism in him. People didn’t change that much. Maybe she’d just learned to hide what she really was. Maybe that was all there was to it.

He let the current scene come back into his senses again. Charlie was talking seriously to her son, telling him that no, he was not going to get a rifle until he was much, much older.

“Billy has one.”

“Billy can have a hundred. That is not going to make a difference to us. You’re too young. And guns are disgusting anyway.”

The boy looked at Denver as if he were waiting for him to jump in here, but Denver didn’t have an opinion one way or the other, and Robbie looked away again, disappointed. Denver felt his disappointment and shrugged. There was nothing he could do here. He’d had a rifle by the time he was six himself, but his family had lived in the country. Things were different in those days. He couldn’t imagine giving this infant child a rifle to carry around with him. Charlie was right. The kid didn’t need it.

He had to laugh at the irony, though. Here he was, a man who lived a life where a gun was an absolute necessity, and he didn’t want to see the boy use one. Maybe he was losing his edge. Maybe it was time to start thinking about a life after the dangerous one he’d been leading all these years. “You can’t do this forever,” a friend had said to him only a few days ago. “Go out and find yourself a woman and have a family.” He’d laughed at the time. The thought had been ludicrous. But somehow it didn’t seem quite so funny right now.

Looking across the table, he found the boy staring at him as though he were a specimen that might need dissecting. Before he could look away again, the child spoke to him for the first time.

“Hey, mister,” he said softly, looking a little shy but determined. “Did you ever catch a three-pound golden trout?”

Denver blinked. It seemed an odd question. But then, kids were odd. He never had got the hang of dealing with them. “Can’t say that I have,” he answered gruffly, hoping that would satisfy him.

The boy’s stare grew more intense. “Billy’s dad did,” he said, as though that proved something.

Denver wanted to ask who the hell Billy was, but he stopped himself in time, and luckily, Charlie caught his attention.

“More?” she was asking.

He shook his head. “It was great,” he told her, and it was true, but he was definitely full. He couldn’t remember when a woman had last cooked for him like this. Looking at her, he wished he could tell her how much it meant to him. But on second thought, maybe it would be better to let it go.

She cleared away a few dishes, then settled back in her chair and smiled at him as though ready for the next item on her agenda, and he tensed, ready to run.

“So, Mr. Denver Smith,” she said pleasantly. “How long are you planning to stay?”

“About five more minutes,” he drawled, avoiding her gaze.

“No,” she responded with a quick laugh. “I mean here at the lake.”

“A few weeks,” he said, not filling in any details. After-dinner chitchat had never been one of his favorite activities.

“What made you come here to our little two-horse town?” she asked, glancing around the table to see if anyone needed anything. “All we’ve got is the lake and a broken-down ski lift Hal Waters is trying to sell to some gullible flatlander. We don’t get too many...” She stopped and pretended to blot at a spill with her napkin. She was going to say “men like you” but then she realized that might be a little too blatant a compliment. “Anyway, what made you come here?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t looking for a tourist trap. I’m not staying long.”

“And then what will you be going back to?” she asked.

He glanced at her, amused. He knew what she was up to, and he knew she knew he knew. But that didn’t mean she was going to get what she was after. “I suppose I’ll be going back to where I came from,” he told her casually.

She blinked, then leaned forward, her jaw at a determined angle, reminding him suddenly of her child. “And where, exactly, is that?” she insisted, her deep violet eyes pinning him to the wall.

He put off answering long enough to see those eyes flare with indignation before he gave her a tidbit. “I’ve got an apartment,” he admitted at last, suddenly feeling a little silly about being so close-mouthed. Years of training had made him that way. Experience and natural suspicion had intensified the instinct to keep his private life private—even from friends. But it could be he was going a little far here. After all, what would it hurt to tell Charlie a few things about himself? “I’m not there much, but it’s sort of a home base. It’s in San Francisco.”

“San Francisco.” She nodded, and there was a faraway look in her eyes. “I was born there.”

“Really?” Turn about was fair play, wasn’t it? “What brought you out here to the mountains instead?”

Her smile was brief and noncommittal. “I like the mountains,” she said evasively, rising and reaching for his plate. “There’s dessert, and I won’t hear ‘no’ from you. You just sit tight for another minute or two.”

Obediently, he stayed where he was, but he knew she was being as elusive as he was. That was odd, and yet it fit in with everything else she’d said today. She was here under an assumed name and she wanted to leave her past out of it. What was she running from? It would be very interesting to find out. And what would she do if she knew he recognized her? He hadn’t planned to tell her at all, assuming he wouldn’t be around long enough for it to matter. But now that he’d lingered this long, it hardly seemed fair to keep her in the dark. He ought to say something. Maybe he would.

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