Confessions: He's the Rich BoyHe's My Soldier Boy

by Lisa Jackson

  “Before the TV goes on.”

  John rolled his eyes before racing after Bobby into the house.

  “Lighten up about the homework,” Hayden suggested.

  “So now you’re telling me how to be a parent?” she asked, though she wasn’t angry. “What makes you such an expert?”

  “I was a kid. A kid who was expected to get straight A’s, a kid who was supposed to be the best football player, baseball player, chess player and leader of the debate team. My folks wanted—no, make that expected—me to be the smartest kid in my class.”

  “Were you?” she asked.

  His grin turned devilish. “Until about seventh grade. Then I became the biggest hellion.”

  “I bet your parents were proud,” she teased, before she saw the storm clouds gathering in his eyes.

  “I doubt that was the word my father would have used to describe anything I did.”

  Before she could say anything else, the boys had thundered out of the house. They all piled into Hayden’s Jeep and he drove into town.

  Hayden took them to a small restaurant in the mall near the tricinemas. For the first time in their lives the boys, seated on one side of the booth, were encouraged to order anything off the menu as Hayden insisted this night was his treat. Nadine tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it, and in the end, John and Hayden each ordered a steak, Bobby stuck with a hamburger and Nadine chose grilled salmon. The boys were in heaven.

  “Why can’t we do this all the time?” John asked as he struggled to cut his steak.

  “Because it’s not practical,” Nadine replied.

  On the seat of the booth between them, Hayden folded his hand over hers. “Sometimes it’s better not to be practical.” His fingers fit into the grooves between her own and she tingled a little.

  “Everyone should keep his head,” she said. “And think of the consequences of what they’re doing.”

  “We’re just eating,” John pointed out. “That’s no crime.”

  “But we can’t do it all the time because we can’t afford it.”

  “He can!” Bobby said, pointing a fork at Hayden.

  “That’s right,” John chimed in, focusing on Hayden. “Katie Osgood says you’re the richest man in Gold Creek. But Mike Katcher thinks it’s Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  Nadine was horrified. “John, it’s not polite to—”

  Hayden held up a hand. “I don’t know about my local status and I really don’t care. My father was a very wealthy man. I inherited a lot from him, but it doesn’t mean a whole lot to me.”

  “Well, it should,” John said. “Money talks. That’s what my dad says.”

  Nadine wanted to drop through the floorboards of the restaurant.

  “He does. Dad is always talking about money,” Bobby added as the waitress approached. Luckily the subject was dropped.

  Hayden let the boys order dessert and the conversation stayed light as John plowed into apple pie with ice cream and Bobby picked at a huge piece of six-layer chocolate cake.

  Upon instruction, both boys thanked Hayden and he made a point of telling them to call him by his first name.

  This is going much too fast, Nadine thought, and realized that it wasn’t just her heart that would be broken when Hayden left. The boys, too, would miss him. For their own sakes, she had to make sure they didn’t get too emotionally attached to a man who would soon return to his life in the city.

  Later that night, as she was tucking Bobby into bed, she smoothed his hair from his forehead and gave him a kiss. “See ya in the morning,” she said before turning out the light.

  “Mom?”

  “Hmm?” She looked over her shoulder at the top of the stairs.

  “Are you going to marry Mr. Mon—Hayden?”

  She froze, hoping that Hayden, in the living room below, hadn’t heard her youngest son’s question. John leaned over from the top bunk and stared at his mom, waiting for her answer. Her throat felt like sandpaper, but she shook her head.

  “Why not?” Bobby wanted to know.

  “He hasn’t asked her yet, you dope.”

  “It’s more than that. I...Hayden...we...well, we live in different worlds.”

  “But you like each other,” Bobby pointed out. “He’s here a lot.”

  “Liking each other is not enough.”

  John propped his head up with his hand. “If he asked you, would you say ‘yes’?”

  That was a tough one. “I don’t think so.”

  “Aw, Mom!” Bobby said with a sigh. “If you married him we could have everything we wanted. New twenty-one-speed bikes, a big house, a boat that goes real fast like his—”

  “And an airplane. Like Mr. Fitzpatrick. Katie Osgood says—”

  “I don’t care what Katie Osgood says,” Nadine snapped at John. “Now, you just close your eyes and go to sleep, and that goes double for you,” she added with a smile for Bobby.

  Quickly she descended the stairs. “Trouble?” Hayden asked as she reached the first floor.

  “Nothing serious,” she replied, as he took her into his arms and placed a kiss upon her forehead. She melted willingly against him and wished she could think of a way to protect herself and her children from the great void that would appear in their lives when he locked the doors of the manor across the lake forever.

  * * *

  SELL OUT TO Thomas Fitzpatrick. The offer was tempting. Uncle Thomas hadn’t pulled any punches, which surprised Hayden as he studied the buyout offer. Thomas wanted all the mills and was offering a decent price, if not top dollar. The deal was neat. All Hayden had to do was sign on the dotted line and make an announcement at the next board meeting. Since he owned controlling interest, no one could raise a stink. So why was he hesitating?

  Because of Nadine. If he sold the mills and put the summerhouse on the market, he would be closing the door to Gold Creek forever and turning his back on Nadine and her children. He smiled as he thought of the boys. The older kid, John, was a handful. Bright and cocky, he was sure to give his mother more than her share of gray hairs, and the younger boy...he was difficult in his own way—a kid who struggled in school and was always at the mercy of his older, stronger brother.

  They didn’t know how lucky they were, he decided. If only he’d had a brother or a sister with whom he could have shared his problems, confided his darkest secrets and beat the living tar out of when he’d been angry.

  The phone rang, and he picked up on the second ring. He nearly slammed the receiver back into its cradle when he recognized Wynona’s wheedling voice. “Hayden? Thank God I caught you.”

  The irony of her words settled like lead on his shoulders. “What do you want, Wynona?” he asked without much interest.

  “I want to see you again. We need to talk.”

  “Talk to Bradworth.”

  He could almost feel her seething through the wires. “There are things we need to discuss. Important things. Things that I don’t want to confide in a lawyer.”

  “Guilty conscience?” he mocked, and he heard her swift intake of breath. He didn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse.

  “I’m coming to see you.”

  “Won’t do any good, Wynona. I’m leaving town.”

  “But—”

  “Goodbye,” he said, and slammed down the receiver. The phone started ringing again, but he didn’t bother answering, just took the stairs two at a time and started planning a weekend away from Gold Creek and the mills and Thomas Fitzpatrick and contracts. Away from the guilt.

  But not away from everything. He planned to take Nadine and her boys with him.

  * * *

  SAM CLAPPED HIS hands and yelled up the stairs to the loft. “Come on, guys. Chop! Chop!”

  “Give them a break,” Nadine reprimanded. “It was the last day of school today. They’re wound up.”

  “Good. We got lots to do.” To the rafters, he called, “Hurry up.”

  “Coming!” John hollered down.

  “So what�
�s the rush?” Nadine asked. She didn’t want to sound suspicious, but Sam wasn’t usually so anxious to be bothered with the boys. Not that he was a bad father, nor neglectful. He just wasn’t usually so attentive.

  In a clatter of footsteps the boys hurried down the stairs. After quick kisses to Nadine’s cheeks, John and Bobby, their overnight bags slung over their shoulders, were herded out the back door toward Sam’s waiting pickup. The passenger door opened with a loud creak just as Hayden’s Jeep pulled into the drive.

  “What the hell?” Sam said under his breath. “I wonder what he wants.”

  “He’s coming to see Mom,” Bobby offered and started waving enthusiastically. “He comes all the time.”

  Sam sent Nadine a sharp glance over his shoulder. “Is that right?”

  “Well—”

  “And he takes us fishing, and riding in his boat, and to fancy restaurants,” Bobby added.

  John, sensing the change of atmosphere in the air, didn’t add anything to the conversation.

  “He said he’d take us skiing, too.”

  “Bobby, I don’t think Dad wants to hear everything that Mr. Monroe has talked about.”

  “He said we were supposed to call him Hayden,” Bobby corrected, and Nadine had to grit her teeth.

  Hayden parked next to Sam’s pickup and stretched out. Taller than Sam by nearly three inches, with broader shoulders and harsher features, he looked hard-bodied and tough. “Hayden, you’ve met Sam, I think.”

  “At the mill,” Sam supplied, his eyes narrowing a fraction. “And a long time ago. Company picnic, or something.”

  Hayden extended his hand, but Sam ignored it.

  “Is there something you want?”

  Hayden offered a practiced smile. “I just came to see Nadine and the kids.”

  Sam bristled a little, and Nadine wondered again where his sudden sense of fatherhood had come from. “Well, you’d better say ‘hello’ now because the boys are leaving with me. For the weekend.”

  Hayden’s lips stretched into a wide grin, as if he harbored a secret he wouldn’t share. “Have a great time.”

  “We always do,” Sam said stiffly as he climbed into the cab of his truck and roared off.

  “What was that all about?” Hayden asked.

  “You know perfectly well, Hayden Monroe. I think it’s called marking his territory. The boys were going on and on about you and all the things you’ve done for them and Sam got his fatherly hackles up.” She glanced at the disappearing truck. “About time.”

  “So,” Hayden asked, placing his hands on her waist, “does that mean you’re free for the weekend?”

  “It means I’m alone.”

  His grin turned positively evil. “Not anymore. I’m taking you out—”

  “Where?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “You’ll like this one,” he guaranteed.

  “Hayden, I don’t think—”

  “Humor me. Believe me, you won’t be disappointed.”

  * * *

  HE WAS RIGHT. Three hours later, as the Jeep rounded a final curve through the pine trees in the mountains, Nadine held her breath. Lights glowed through the windows of a rambling, three-storied lodge. Built of cedar and pine, with a wide porch, the building was settled in a thicket of pine trees and nearly twenty miles from the nearest small town.

  Inside, the walls were raw wood, aged dark without a hint of varnish and covered with paraphernalia of the Wild West—saws, wagon yokes, axes and picks, even a full-size canoe. Wagon-wheel chandeliers offered flickering light. “I was afraid you were going to take me somewhere stuffy.”

  “Me?” he laughed. “Never.”

  They were seated near a bay window decorated with a cedar garland and sprigs of pine and mistletoe. Soon a waiter poured the wine Hayden had chosen, then took their orders. A hurricane lantern flickered on the cloth-covered table and reflected in the glass. Nadine sipped her wine and talked with Hayden before noticing, through the window, snow beginning to fall in thick, heavy flakes.

  “If this keeps up, we could be trapped here all night,” Hayden teased.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Would it be so horrible?” he asked, the light from the lantern reflecting in his warm blue eyes.

  “I’m a mother. I have responsibilities.”

  “The kids are with their dad. And your answering machine’s on. If there’s a problem, you’ll know about it.”

  “Why Mr. Monroe, I think you’re trying to seduce me,” she teased, and her pulse jumped.

  “Count on it.” Her throat went dry as he touched his glass to hers with a soft clink, then finished his wine in one swallow.

  They talked through courses of Caesar salad, French onion soup, stuffed trout and raspberry mousse. Hayden told her he’d found a buyer for the sawmills and that he was considering the offer. Her heart felt as if it had been pierced by a sharp needle as she considered the fact that he might soon be gone, perhaps before the first of the year. A coldness settled in her stomach and seeped through her limbs. All along she’d known that he would leave, of course, but she’d never let herself think about the date; it had seemed a long way into the future, some indefinable time that she would worry about come spring...or maybe summer. But now? She managed to pretend that his talk of selling the sawmill didn’t bother her, that she was sophisticated enough to deal with the inevitable fact that they would soon be separated by time and distance, but the small puncture wound in her heart seemed to rip a little more with each of her breaths.

  She didn’t notice the time passing, nor did she observe the snow that had accumulated on the ground around the lodge. She concentrated totally on Hayden, the inflexible line of his jaw, the angles of his cheekbones, the way his lips barely moved as he spoke.

  By the time they’d finished coffee, two inches of snow had fallen. “Looks like we’re here for the night,” Hayden observed as he paid the bill and glanced outside.

  “Doesn’t your Jeep have four-wheel drive?”

  His grin crept from one side of his mouth to the other. “Yes, but it would be a waste not to take advantage of the room I’ve already paid for, don’t you think?”

  “What I think,” she said, standing as they left the table, “is that you should have asked me first.”

  He pulled her into a shadowy corner near the lobby. “All right. I’m asking.” His eyes held hers. “Will you spend the night with me?”

  She swallowed hard and considered all the reasons she should tell him to take her home. Staying would only prolong the heartache and keep the pain alive, and yet she couldn’t resist. “Of course I’ll stay with you,” she whispered, knowing that he didn’t realize she meant for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  THE ROOM SPRAWLED across most of the top floor. Lustrous hardwood peeked out from beneath thick Oriental carpets and the furnishings of the suite were crafted to look antique. A hurricane lamp sat on the corner of the mantel in the bedroom occupied by a queen-size canopy bed.

  A bottle of champagne stood chilling in a stand, and through the French doors leading to a private deck, Nadine noticed steam rising from an outdoor hot tub in a thick cloud, reminding her of the morning fog on Whitefire Lake.

  “This is quite a place,” she observed, running her hand over the curve of the bed frame.

  “It’s nice.” He struck a match to the fire and lit the lantern before turning down the lights.

  “You’ve been here before?” Why it mattered, she didn’t know, but she didn’t want to be just one in a long line of the women he’d brought here.

  He nodded, watching her reaction in the beveled glass mirror over the bureau. She felt a jab of pain, but hoped he didn’t notice. In the firelight, his features seemed harsher, more male, and the thought of him with another woman... Oh, God, she loved him too much. “With whom?” she asked, her voice sounding oddly strangled.

  While icicles formed in her hea
rt, he had the audacity to smile. “A woman.”

  Oh, God.

  She fought the urge to walk straight out the door, and when he stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, she wished she could find the strength to shake them off. But her willpower seemed to vanish at his touch and her skin heated beneath his fingertips. “Do I know her?”

  “You’ve met, I think. A long time ago.”

  Wynona. She felt like such a fool and her shoulders drooped a little. He pulled her closer and whispered into her ear. “I was here with my mother. I was ten or eleven at the time, I think.”

  Relief flooded through her, and when she met his gaze in the mirror again, she saw the hint of laughter in his crystal-blue eyes. “You are a rotten, mean, miserable—”

  “Prince,” he supplied, and she couldn’t help but grin as he twirled her in his arms.

  “You’re the king now, you know.”

  He shook his head. “Not me. Just a regular Joe.”

  “Regular Joes don’t do this—” She motioned to the room and deck.

  “They should,” he said, as he lowered his lips over hers and dragged her onto the bed with him. She quit arguing and gave herself body and soul to him. The doubts and fears in her mind were stripped away as surely as were her clothes. The old bed creaked as he removed her jacket, sweater and slacks and, while she was dressed only in her bra and panties, he tore off his own clothes. His shoes clunked as they hit the floor and were followed quickly by his slacks and shirt. In the firelight, his chest seemed bronze, the swirling black hairs darker than ever. His body was taut and strong, and she was reminded of a Native American warrior, so sinewy were his thighs and shoulders. But his eyes were blue, a tribute to his Anglo ancestors.

  “This is the way it should be,” he whispered, as his arms folded around her and he nibbled at the skin of her neck. Her pulse jumped and her blood flowed like liquid fire through her veins. His chest hair was stiff and curly against her skin and he seemed all hard and angular where she was soft and supple. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her long and hard, his tongue exploring, his hands moving sensually along her rib cage.

  He shoved her bra away from her breast, kissing the nipple with featherlight strokes that caused her to writhe and arch against him.