Confessions: He's The Rich Boy / He's My Soldier Boy

“Come on, you,” she said, touching him fondly on the nose. “You can help me dig out all the Christmas decorations and wrapping paper. I think most of the stuff is in the closet under the stairs—”

“Mom, hey, Mom!” John’s voice echoed through the small house.

Bobby rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. “Oh, great. He’s back.”

“Hey—there’s someone here to see you! Says you left somethin’ at his place,” John yelled.

Nadine glanced out the window to see John, riding his old bike as if his tail were on fire. Hershel galloped beside him, barking wildly.

Nadine froze for an instant when she recognized the reason for all the commotion. Her back stiffened to steel. Behind the boy and bike, striding purposefully up the path to the house, his angled face a mask of arrogance, was none other than Hayden Garreth Monroe IV.

Chapter Six

BRACING HERSELF, SHE walked onto the front porch, arms crossed over her chest. In his beat-up jacket, flannel shirt and faded jeans that fit snugly around his buttocks and rode low on his hips, he didn’t look much like the multimillionaire he’d become overnight. He was still too damned sexy for his own good. Or hers.

“I think you forgot something,” he said as he strode up the slight incline to her house. His gait was a little uneven, but that was probably due to the rocky ground rather than the result of his boating accident years before.

“Forgot something?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Believe me, Hayden, I haven’t forgotten anything.” She glared at him, and all the bitter memories of her youth washed over her in a flood.

His eyes narrowed and his anger was visible in the hard angle of his jaw. Digging into the front pocket of his jeans, he withdrew a ring. Her ring. Instinctively she touched her fingers, assuring herself that the band with its imitation stone was really missing. “Yours?” he asked as he climbed the two long steps of the porch.

“Oh.” She felt suddenly foolish. And trapped. He was too close. Too threatening. Too male. Squaring her shoulders, she managed to find her voice. “Thanks. I didn’t realize I’d left it.” She took the ring from his outstretched hands, careful not to touch him. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I would’ve been back for it tomorrow.”

His eyes held hers for a heart-stopping second and her lungs squeezed. Quickly he glanced away. “I wasn’t sure you’d be returning.”

“I said I would—”

“You’ve said things before, Nadine,” he pointed out and the comment cut her as easily as the bite of a whip. He was insulting her, but why? She’d never done anything to hurt him. Or his family.

“Hey, mister, is that your boat?” John’s eyes were round with envy as he stared at the dock where a speedboat—shiny silver with black trim—was rocking on the waves.

“It is now.”

“Oh, wow!”

“You like it?”

John was practically drooling. “What’s not to like? It’s the coolest.”

“Is this your son?” Hayden asked.

Was it her imagination or was there a trace of regret in his question? Reluctantly, she made introductions. “Hayden Monroe, my oldest son, John,” Nadine introduced, and spying Bobby peeking through the window, waved him outside. Bobby came cautiously through the door. “And this is my baby—”

“Don’t call me that,” Bobby warned.

“Excuse me.” Nadine smiled and rumpled his red-blond hair. “This is my second son. Bobby. Or are you Robert today?” she asked, teasing him.

“Hello, Bobby. John.” Hayden shook hands with each of the boys, and Nadine wondered if the shadow that stole across his summer-blue eyes was a tinge of remorse.

“Are you the guy who owns the sawmill?” John asked, and Nadine’s polite smile froze on her face.

“For now.”

“The whole mill?” Bobby asked, obviously impressed.

Before Hayden could reply, John said, “My dad says that the owner of the place is a goddamned mean son of a—”

“John!” Nadine cried.

“Your dad is right,” Hayden replied with a glint in his eye.

John’s forehead creased into a frown.

“Hayden just inherited the mill from his father,” Nadine guessed, glancing at Hayden for reassurance. “He hasn’t owned it all that long. Daddy wasn’t talking about him.”

“You don’t like your dad?” Bobby wanted to know, and Nadine sent up a silent prayer. She didn’t want to get involved with Hayden, didn’t want her children feeling comfortable with him, didn’t want to know anything about his life.

“My dad’s gone,” Hayden said flatly. Then, as if seeing that the boy was still confused, he added, “We didn’t get along all that well. Never saw eye to eye.”

“My dad’s the greatest!” John said proudly as he threw his mother a defiant look.

Hayden’s lips turned down a fraction. “That’s how it should be.”

Satisfied that he’d made his point, John waved to his brother. “C’mon, Bobby. Let’s check out the boat!” John was already running down to the dock.

“Be careful. Don’t touch any—”

Hayden’s hand clamped over her shoulder and she gasped. “They’ll be fine,” he said. “No need to overmother them.”

“But—”

“I’ll wager they know how to handle a boat and what to steer clear of.”

“You don’t even know my boys,” she shot back indignantly.

“Maybe not. But I do know about mothers who are overprotective.”

His hand was still resting upon her shoulder, but she shrugged the warm palm away from her. “It’s none of your business how I raise my children, Hayden,” she said crossly.

“Just a little free advice.”

“Then it’s worth exactly what I paid for it—nothing.”

“Boys need to explore, check things out.”

“Is this something you’ve read or are you talking from experience?”

“I was a boy once.”

“I know,” she said, her heart thumping unnaturally. “I remember.”

His gaze sliced into hers, and though he didn’t say a word, the air seemed charged with silent accusations. To her disbelief she realized again that he seemed to be holding a grudge against her. As if in that faraway other lifetime she’d wronged him! As if he and his father hadn’t altered irrevocably the direction of her life! As if he hadn’t walked away from her and never so much as cast a glance back over his shoulder! Her insides were shredding, and she bit down on her lip so that she wouldn’t start throwing angry accusations his way.

Standing on the porch, being so close to him was awkward. Being near him was uncomfortable. And yet she had to be polite. He was, after all, her boss as well as her ex-husband’s employer. She dragged an invitation over her tongue. “If you’re not worried about the boys damaging your boat, why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee?”

His dark brow arched. “Your husband won’t mind?”

“Not at all,” she replied quickly, and decided not to tell him that she was divorced. Not yet.

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