The Illegitimate Billionaire (Whiskey Bay Brides Book 4; Billionaire & Babies)

by Barbara Dunlop

  Callie started up the stairs.

  “I can explain,” he called after her.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Deacon,” Tyrell called out again.

  Deacon was torn between going after her and getting rid of Tyrell. The last thing he needed was Frederick’s father in the mix of all this.

  He dragged open the door. “What are you doing here?”

  Before the words were even out, he saw that Margo was with him.

  “Where are my grandsons?” she asked, a desperate hunger in her eyes.

  “They’re asleep,” Deacon said.

  “But they’re here.”

  “You were supposed to call,” Tyrell said.

  “And I will,” Deacon countered.

  Margo started forward.

  “You have to leave,” Deacon said, blocking her from entering and glancing behind him.

  He was fairly sure Callie wouldn’t come back downstairs, but he didn’t dare chance it.

  “I want to see them,” Margo said.

  “I told you, they’re asleep.”

  “I won’t wake them.”

  Deacon looked at Tyrell. “Take her home or you’ll blow everything.”

  He could see the hesitation on Tyrell’s face.

  “Now,” Deacon said.

  “I’ve waited so long,” Margo wailed.

  “Darling.” Tyrell put a hand on his wife’s arm. “We have to—”

  “You can’t make me wait,” she cried, shaking Tyrell off. “And him.” She pointed to Deacon. “He’s the last person who should stop me from seeing my grandsons.” She surged forward.

  Deacon planted himself directly in front of her. “You may not like me. You may even hate me. But this is my house, and Callie is my wife, and you are not getting past me to see those boys.”

  “How dare you.”

  He heard a noise behind him.

  “Deacon?” Callie asked.

  His stomach turned to lead.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Is that her?” Margo asked.

  “Go,” Deacon hissed.

  “Grandsons?” Callie asked.

  He turned to face her, blocking the opening of the door. “I told you I could explain.”

  “Who are those people?”

  Deacon fought it for several seconds, but then gave in to the inevitable. “They are Frederick’s parents.”

  The color drained from Callie’s face.

  “They’ve been estranged from Frederick for years,” Deacon quickly explained. “He didn’t tell you about them, because he didn’t speak to them.”

  She looked like she might keel over, and he rushed forward to support her. He grasped her shoulder and put an arm around her waist.

  “Are you Callie?” Margo asked.

  Deacon saw that the door was wide open, and Margo had stepped inside.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered in Callie’s ear. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m Frederick’s mother,” Margo said.

  Tyrell entered, as well. “I’m Tyrell Clarkson. This is my wife, Margo.”

  Callie tipped her head to look at Deacon.

  “Can we do this tomorrow?” he asked Tyrell.

  “I’ve waited so long,” Margo said. “Can I please see my grandsons?”

  “They’re asleep.” Callie’s whisper was paper dry.

  “I promise I’ll be quiet,” Margo said. Her longing was so painfully obvious, that even Deacon felt sorry for her.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Deacon said to Callie. “She has no right to ask.”

  Margo glared at Deacon.

  “You’re their grandmother?” Callie asked Margo. The bewilderment was clear in her tone.

  Margo nodded.

  “You knew this?” Callie said to Deacon.

  “I was trying to figure out how to tell you. I thought—” Deacon stopped himself. There was no way he was having this conversation in front of Tyrell and Margo. “I’ll explain. But not right now.”

  “I don’t have Frederick’s money,” Callie told Deacon.

  “I don’t want Frederick’s money.”

  “What happened to Frederick’s money?” Tyrell asked.

  “Back off,” Deacon ordered.

  “He gave it to charity,” Callie said. “Spinal cord research.”

  “His entire trust fund?” There was skepticism in Tyrell’s tone. “Millions of dollars?”

  “He never told me how much. He once said he regretted it. He didn’t know he’d have the boys.”

  “I have no interest in Frederick’s money,” Deacon said to Callie. To Tyrell, he said, “Can you not see that you should leave.”

  “But—” There was a tremor in Margo’s voice.

  “Not tonight,” Deacon said.

  “You can come up and see them,” Callie said.

  Deacon looked at her, dumbfounded.

  Hope rose in Margo’s expression.

  “For a quick minute,” Callie said. “If we’re really quiet.”

  Margo gave a rapid nod.

  Callie disentangled herself from Deacon. “This way.”

  She started up the stairs, and Margo was quick to follow.

  * * *

  “You better start talking,” Callie said to Deacon as she marched into the family room.

  She’d sat in the boys’ room for an hour after Margo left. Instinct had told her to curl up next to James for the night and try to block out everything she’d just learned. But she knew she’d never sleep. There was no point in putting off the confrontation with Deacon.

  “Will you sit?” he asked.

  He was in a leather armchair, next to the stone fireplace, a tumbler of amber liquor on the table beside him.

  There was nothing to be gained by standing. So she took the opposite chair. The thick cushions cradled her weight.

  “Something to drink?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay.” He sat forward. “From the beginning. When I first came to Charleston, I already knew who you were.”

  “What did you want from me?”

  “I wanted to meet you. Tyrell was curious about his grandsons. He was also afraid of approaching you. He thought Frederick had turned you against them, so he didn’t want to introduce himself.”

  “Why you?”

  Deacon hesitated.

  She peered at him. “Are you making up a lie?”

  “I’m thinking about how to phrase the truth.”

  She scoffed at the semantics, wishing now that she’d said yes to a drink.

  “It was because I’m only tangentially connected to the family,” Deacon said. “Tyrell thought you’d know the rest of them, but not me.”

  “What does tangentially mean?” She hated the way he was talking in riddles.

  Deacon was hiding something. He was probably hiding a lot. When she let herself think about what she’d lost here tonight, her stomach curled into a ball, and tears burned behind her eyes.

  “I’m Tyrell’s illegitimate son.”

  Callie sat up straight, nearly coming out of her chair. “You’re Frederick’s brother?”

  “Half brother. And we never knew each other. I’m not sure he knew I existed.”

  “But his father did.”

  “Oh, yes. Tyrell has known about me all along.”

  Callie sat back, trying frantically to digest the information.

  Deacon rose and crossed the room.

  When he came back, he handed her a glass.

  “Brandy,” he said.

  She thought about refusing, but it seemed like a better idea to drink it down.

  She accepted the glass and took a healthy swallow.

  “Y
ou don’t love me,” she noted as he sat down. Of everything that had been revealed, that was the fact that burned most sharply in her mind.

  Deacon sat back down and again took his time responding. “I was amazed at how much I liked you.”

  “Am I supposed to be grateful for that?” She could add mortification to her list of unwelcome emotions. She’d honestly thought she loved him, that she was in love with him, that he was the love of her life.

  He, on the other hand, had been faking it the whole time.

  “I thought you were after my money,” he said.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

  “There’s a good way to accuse me of being a gold digger?” She took another drink.

  “You as much as admitted to marrying Frederick for his money. I thought I was the next step on the ladder.”

  “But you stayed after that. It doesn’t make sense that you stayed.”

  She knew she was tired. She was emotionally drained. This was probably the very worst day of her life, and her brain was foggy. But it was nonsensical that he’d stuck around if he thought she was using him.

  “There are a lot of different relationships in the world. I guess I didn’t mind that you were pragmatic about bettering your circumstances.”

  “You thought I was pretending to fall for you?”

  What kind of a man was he? She thought back to the time they’d spent together, the fun they’d had, the nights in her house, the beach with the boys. All that time, he’d thought she was playing him?

  “I liked you a lot,” he said, toying with his glass, turning it in a circle on the wooden coaster. “I didn’t know where it was going, and I wanted to find out.”

  “So you proposed? You married me to find out where it was going?” She took another healthy swallow of the brandy.

  “I knew Watkins was pursuing you, and, well...I couldn’t afford to wait.”

  “I had no interest in Hank.” She was revolted by the thought of even kissing Hank. There was no way she would have embarked on a relationship with him.

  “I know that now,” Deacon said.

  She polished off her drink. “I don’t know what you thought was going to happen here. But I’m leaving in the morning. I’m filing for divorce. You’ve messed up my life—”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I think we can make this work.”

  She laughed. It sounded a bit hysterical. It probably was.

  “Make it work?” she repeated. “In what universe is there anything here to make work?”

  “I was wrong. I thought I was giving you what you wanted, another wealthy husband.”

  “It had nothing to do with wealth.” She didn’t know why she made the point. She didn’t care anything about Deacon’s opinion of her. “Frederick begged me to marry him. He knew I wasn’t in love with him. But he was kind, and he said I made him happy, and I wanted to be a mother. I didn’t want to stay in Gainwall and—”

  “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

  “I hate what you thought of me.”

  “I was wrong. I knew the Clarksons wanted their grandsons. I thought you wanted money. We got along fine. We got along better than fine.”

  Memories of their lovemaking—the ones she’d been desperately trying to keep at bay—suddenly surfaced. She felt her body heat up from her toes to her cheeks.

  “Is that how you see it?” she asked. “You had everybody’s best interests at heart?”

  “I’m saying I knew what they wanted. I thought I knew what you wanted. And it was easy to talk myself into doing it.”

  “You got it completely wrong.”

  “I just admitted that.”

  It was true. He had. She didn’t know what else to say.

  “Don’t leave right away,” he said. “It’s always an option. It’ll stay an option. But there are a lot of people...”

  She waited, wondering how he’d intended to end the sentence.

  “More brandy?” he asked instead.

  She looked down at the empty glass in her hand. She wasn’t leaving in the next five minutes. She still had to make it through tonight. “Why not?”

  He rose to pour. “You saw how Margo feels.”

  Callie couldn’t help but think back to Margo’s expression when she saw her sleeping grandsons. There had been tears in her eyes. She’d slowly crouched down beside James’s bed and just stared at him.

  “There’s no love lost between me and Tyrell, but he is their grandfather. And they have two uncles, Aaron and Beau.” Deacon finished pouring her brandy and turned back. “James and Ethan are the spitting images of their uncles.”

  “I don’t care,” she said.

  This wasn’t about uncles. It was about her and her sons. Her chest tightened again thinking about what this would do to her boys. They adored Deacon.

  They were barely recovering from the loss of their father. She’d just ripped them away from their lives in Charleston, and now she was going to ruin their foundation all over again. How had this gone so wrong?

  “Family matters,” Deacon said as he handed back her glass.

  A question rose up in Callie’s mind. “What happened with Frederick and his family?”

  “Something between Frederick and Tyrell. Beyond that, I don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “All I know is that Frederick went off to college and didn’t come back afterward. There were rumors that he’d had a falling out with his father.”

  “You never asked?”

  “Asked Tyrell?”

  She nodded.

  “Tyrell and I don’t talk much.”

  Callie was struggling to put the pieces together. “But he sent you to Charleston.”

  “That was an anomaly. I was probably his last choice.”

  She gazed into her glass, the rich amber glowing in the lamplight. “I am leaving.” She had no other choice.

  “I know,” he said softly. “I’m only asking for a few days.”

  Her heart actually hurt. “I’m not sure if I—”

  “You can have your own room. I’ll stay out of your way. Let the boys meet their grandparents. Just take it slow, methodical, make the best choices for the three of you. It’ll be the right thing in the long run.”

  She studied his expression, wondering if he was playing her all over again. “What do you get out of this?”

  “I like you, Callie. I adore the boys. We’re...compatible.” The sensual glow in his eyes told her what compatible meant. “We could make it work.”

  He wasn’t wrong. They were compatible in every way possible.

  But staying with him, knowing all this, accepting what he’d done and how he felt about her? She couldn’t do it. It was more than her heart could take.

  “That’s not going to happen,” she said, her voice breaking over the words.

  Eight

  It was 4 a.m. Deacon was in bed, but he wasn’t anywhere near to sleeping.

  How had he judged her so wrong? Callie wasn’t acting. She’s wasn’t playing him or Hank or anyone else to work her way up the societal ladder.

  Down the hall, Ethan cried out in his sleep.

  Deacon was on his feet and halfway across the room before he realized he couldn’t go to the boy. Callie would go to him. Deacon no longer had the right.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze going to the glowing red numbers on his bedside clock. It was four eleven.

  Her heard Callie’s voice, indistinct as she tried to soothe Ethan.

  Deacon rose again, moving to his open door, listening while Ethan continued to cry.

  He heard James’s voice, and realized Ethan had woken him up.

 
He started down the hall. He didn’t care how Callie might be feeling about him. It was clear she needed help.

  He walked into the room and went straight to James, who was sitting up in bed. Deacon sat down, and James climbed into his lap. He hugged the boy close and looked to Callie.

  “He’s burning up,” she said in a hoarse voice.

  “Does he need a doctor?”

  “There was a bottle of acetaminophen drops in one of the suitcases.”

  “I put them in the medicine cabinet.” Deacon rose, carrying James with him into the bathroom.

  In the glow of the nightlight, he located the medicine. Behind him, Ethan coughed weakly and cried harder.

  “Owie,” Ethan whimpered.

  “I know, sweetheart,” Callie said. “We’re getting you some medicine.”

  Ethan sobbed, coughed and sobbed some more. He sounded wretched, and Deacon’s heart went out to the poor little guy. Deacon measured out a dose and brought it to Callie.

  “We can call a doctor,” he said.

  “Let’s see if this helps first.”

  Deacon would rather call a doctor right away, but he knew he had to leave the decision to Callie.

  She put the medicine dispenser to Ethan’s lips. “You need to swallow this, honey,” she crooned.

  “Yucky,” Ethan cried.

  “You can have some juice after.”

  “No.”

  “It’ll make you feel better.”

  “No, Mommy, no,” Ethan wailed, turning his head.

  “Ethan.” Callie’s voice was firm.

  “Daddy,” Ethan cried, launching himself to Deacon, catching Callie completely off guard.

  Deacon quickly grabbed for him, holding James fast in his other arm, gathering the sobbing Ethan against his chest before he could fall to the floor.

  Deacon locked onto the staggered expression in Callie’s eyes.

  “Let me try,” he told her softly. “James, can I put you down on the bed?”

  Ethan’s sobs turned into an uncontrollable cough.

  “Mommy?” James asked, his voice trembling. “Is Ethan going to die?”

  Callie’s eyes filled with tears. She reached for James, taking him from Deacon to hold him in her arms. “No. No. Sweetheart, Ethan is going to be fine. I promise. We just have to give him some medicine.”

  Deacon took the medication from Callie and sat down on James’s bed, holding Ethan close, the little boy’s damp face against Deacon’s bare chest.