Secret Baby Santos

by Barbara Mccauley

  “Sure.” Maggie smiled, took the cassette recorder the teacher handed her and resisted the urge to scowl at the woman when she took Nick’s arm and led him away. The accountant was still speaking, something about the thrill of learning to balance checkbooks, when Miss Perry came out and asked if there were any questions. There weren’t. While the teacher thanked the man, Maggie tested the volume on the cassette player, set it to record and placed it on a chair at the edge of the stage.

  When she looked up again, Nick caught her eye and winked. He was incorrigible, she thought, shaking her head. Uncontrollable and unpredictable. And for the next few days, she thought with a mixture of pleasure and grief, he was all hers.

  “All right, children.” Miss Perry raised her hands to quiet the room. “Everyone please pay attention now. Drew Hamilton has asked a special friend to come visit with us today, and we need to be on our best behavior while he’s speaking. Can we all say good morning to Mr. Santos?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Santos,” over two hundred small voices echoed in the auditorium as Nick stepped up to the microphone. When he cupped a hand to his ear and told the kids he couldn’t hear them, they all screamed louder, making the sound system reverberate. When he grabbed his chest and stumbled backward, the children howled with laughter.

  Ham, Maggie thought as she rolled her eyes. Not that she was surprised. After all, he’d raced and performed exhibitions in front of thousands, been on the cover of at least half a dozen high-profile magazines and posed for at least two well-known clothes manufacturers. Nick Santos was not a shy man.

  What he was, was sexy, charming, fun and drop-dead handsome. A dangerous combination for any man, but for Nick, it was downright deadly.

  She watched him clown it up for the kids, describe how he’d turned something he’d enjoyed doing into a job. He stressed that money shouldn’t be the reason you choose a job, but that first and most important, you should like what you do. That if you liked your job, it would be fun and never feel like work.

  Her own job felt like work, she realized. Thomas had been calling twice daily, and even though she enjoyed what she did, the thought of going back to the chaos of her office made her head ache.

  Almost as much as her heart ached.

  She moved to the edge of the stage, just inside the curtains, and scanned the room until she found Drew. He had a wide smile on his face, his big eyes were glued onto the man speaking at the microphone. Her son adored Nick, talked about him endlessly. She knew how hard it was going to be on him when they left.

  She felt the moisture in her eyes, blinked it away. It was bad enough she’d let herself fall in love with Nick all over again, but she’d dragged Drew in, as well. That was unforgivable.

  Almost as unforgivable that she’d kept father and son apart all these years.

  Since that day on the mountaintop, she’d known she had to tell Nick the truth. She realized that he might never speak to her again, that he might refuse to claim Drew as his own, but she couldn’t lie to him anymore. Drew and Nick both deserved a chance. They both deserved to make their own choices. She had to accept whatever the consequences might be.

  Coward that she was, she’d planned on waiting until the day before she and Drew were leaving. There would be anger, she was certain of it, and she didn’t want Drew exposed to the turmoil or confusion.

  But as she watched Nick banter with the kids, watched him point to Drew and say hello, then Drew’s excited wave back, she knew she couldn’t wait. If Nick believed her, if he accepted Drew as his own, then the next few days would be important to both Nick and Drew as father-son time. She couldn’t take that away from him, no matter how frightened she was of the outcome. There was no question in her mind that it was too late for Nick and her, but there might still be a chance for Drew and Nick.

  He was talking about the importance of school and an education when she turned away on shaky knees. She couldn’t face him now, she needed a little time by herself before she took her father to the doctor. Time to think, to find the right words.

  She prayed her words would be the right ones.

  Nick gave the motorcycle full throttle on the last stretch before he turned into the parking lot of his shop. For good measure, he popped a wheelie, then spun three figure eights before sliding sideways ten feet through a wide shallow puddle. Water sprayed, a flock of sparrows scattered. The motorcycle stopped six inches from the entrance.

  Damn, but he was in a good mood.

  And why shouldn’t he be? He’d had his first school function as a dad—well, almost a dad—and he was about to ask the woman he loved to marry him. It was the same feeling he’d always had before every race. That same nerves-on-edge, adrenaline-pumping, firein-his-gut feeling.

  He always went into every race absolutely knowing that he would win. Asking Maggie to marry him would be no different, he decided. She’d say yes. She had to say yes. He couldn’t think any other way.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his work now, even though he was three weeks behind and had customers screaming at him. They could go somewhere else if they didn’t like it.

  He looked at his watch. Damn. It was only ten forty-five. Their dinner reservations weren’t until eight, and he wouldn’t pick Maggie up until seven forty-five. What the hell was he supposed to do for nine hours? He felt the power of the motorcycle under him, thought about riding into the mountains. That would burn off some of this energy, calm him down and give a little balance to his spinning world.

  He sighed heavily and tugged off his helmet. No, he couldn’t go into the mountains. Now that he’d taken Maggie there, he’d only think of her. She’d be with him, whispering over his shoulder, and he’d want her so badly he’d go crazy.

  Anxious, he paced the shop, stopping to check the installation of an engine he’d worked on yesterday. Then, restless again, he moved into his office where his answering machine blinked furiously at him. Ten calls. Damn. Damn.

  All right. He’d do some paperwork, make a few calls. That would kill a little time. He was reaching for the phone when he realized that the cassette Drew’s teacher had given him was still in his shirt pocket. He reached behind him and popped it into his stereo, then turned back around and started to dial the phone.

  His hand froze.

  “Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston pie, a fly can’t bird, but a bird can fly...testing, testing, testing...”

  He turned slowly, stared at the stereo in confusion. How had he gotten the wrong tape? Two seconds later he heard Miss Perry’s voice, then his own as he greeted the children. This was the right tape, all right.

  He rewound the tape, turned it louder as he played it again. The voice was soft, smooth, clear. Sexy.

  Maggie?

  Miss Perry had handed the cassette player to Maggie and asked her to record his talk. He narrowed his eyes, remembering that he had watched her test the volume just before he went on stage.

  He played it again, closed his eyes and played it again.

  Something passed through him. Something intangible, with no substance, yet it held him tighter than steel chains. He rose, went into his bedroom and dug through a box he kept under his bed, an odd assortment of photos, racing medals and memorabilia. He found the cassette he was looking for and came back into the office.

  He played the old cassette.

  “Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston pie...”

  Frowning, he stared at the two cassettes. They were identical, except the voice in the old cassette was quieter, shook just a little.

  What in the world was going on?

  Maybe the silly saying was common, a phrase everyone used to test a recorder, just like everyone always typed out, “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.”

  But it was the same voice. The mystery woman’s and Maggie’s. They sounded exactly alike.

  As if they were the same woman.

  He sat, staring, for what felt like a lifetime, before he picked up th
e phone again.

  Nick’s shop was quiet when Maggie stepped inside an hour later. No generator motor running, no air tools. No loud rock music blaring from the radio. He hadn’t even turned the overhead lights on in the shop, or in his office. If his motorcycle and truck both weren’t outside, she might have thought he wasn’t even here.

  “Nick?”

  She moved through the shop, into the office, jumped when she saw him sitting in his office chair, in the near dark. He said nothing, didn’t move, just stared at her with unblinking eyes.

  It had been less than two hours since she’d seen him, but she knew that something was terribly wrong. “Are you all right?”

  “Sit down, Maggie.”

  His voice, so cold, so distant, like his eyes, terrified her. She sank slowly onto the chair across from his. “What’s wrong?” she asked, certain she didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  Her fingers were cold as she folded them in her lap. “Tell you?”

  “About Drew.”

  Fear snaked through her blood. “Drew?”

  His eyes glinted like onyx, his jaw tightened. “That he’s my son.”

  Oh, dear God. She gripped the arms of her chair, felt her throat close up on her.

  How could he know? It wasn’t possible.

  He turned, flipped on the cassette player behind him. She heard her own voice, repeating that silly Winnie the Pooh rhyme. Confused, she simply looked at him. “I-I made that this morning.”

  He shook his head slowly. “You made that five years ago. When you were working for the North Carolina Tribune. You were assigned to interview me after my race, and you left it in the room. I kept it as a little memento of a great night of sex with a nameless, faceless woman. Tell me, Maggie, is that how you interviewed all the men you were assigned? You crawled into bed with them, then left without even telling them your name?”

  She felt the blood drain from her face and turn to a knot of ice in her stomach. “No,” she whispered, shook her head and repeated, “No.”

  He still hadn’t moved, but he had the look of a stalking panther. The tension in the room was a living, breathing thing.

  “After I heard this tape,” he said evenly, his voice edge with steel, “it was easy to track you. The papers you worked for and past references brought me right back to North Carolina at exactly the same time I was there.” He picked up a sheet of paper from the top of his desk. “Your old boss was even so helpful as to fax me a copy of the article the paper ran. An article that gave explicit details of the race, even the party afterward. Written by M. J. Smith.”

  She winced when he tossed the paper at her. Anger narrowed his eyes, pressed a hard line across his mouth. “Why, Maggie, just tell me why. Were you playing some kind of sick game? The same game you’ve been playing since you came back to Wolf River?”

  “No,” she choked out. “You have to believe me.”

  “Believe you?” he snorted. “Lady, the last thing I’d ever do is believe you.”

  A sob filled her chest, but she forced it back down. She was standing at the doorway to hell, and there was nothing she could do but walk in.

  “Five years ago,” she said, her voice shaking, “I was terrified when my boss assigned you to me. I never even told him that we knew each other. With all your success and the kind of life you led, I didn’t even think you’d remember a simple, plain girl like Maggie Smith, anyway.”

  Nick made a rude sound, but he didn’t interrupt, just kept those dark, furious eyes locked on her. -

  “When I walked into the celebration party in your suite, I was overwhelmed. I was going to leave again, but a blond man in a Hawaiian shirt thought I was from the hotel, that I’d come to inspect a problem you’d reported in the bathroom. I tried to explain, but it was loud and I was nervous, so I ended up in your bathroom, drinking champagne. It relaxed me, gave me a shot of courage to go ahead with the interview. I made that silly tape and was on my way out when you came in and shut off the light. When you said you saw me and you were glad I was there...”

  She stopped, felt her cheeks flame with humiliation, then cleared her throat and continued. “I was stupid enough to think you actually knew who I was. Then when you kissed me, I couldn’t think at all. I simply believed what I wanted to believe. That a man like you could have wanted a woman like me.”

  “You just left,” he said tightly.

  “You called me another woman’s name,” she whispered hoarsely. “I was humiliated. I’d made a fool out of myself. How could I have ever faced you again?”

  “You were pregnant, dammit!” He stood, slammed his hands on the desk. The phone rattled, and a stack of papers flew.

  “It was six weeks before I found out.” Her voice felt raw, every ragged breath burned. “You’d been long gone, back on the racing circuit. By the time I worked up the courage to call you, you were knee-deep in a paternity suit. You would have thought me just one more lovesick groupie crawling out of the woodwork. I couldn’t stand the thought of fingers pointing, of my picture plastered all over the tabloids. I would have lost my job, and then how would I take care of my baby?”

  “Our baby,” he snapped. “I had a right to know.”

  “Nick, you didn’t even know you’d made love to me. If I’d come to you, would you have believed that the woman in your bed was boring little Maggie Smith?”

  He pushed away from the desk, moved to the windows overlooking the shop and stared out. She rose from her chair, steadied herself with a hand on his desk and turned toward him. His back was to her, his shoulders stiff. Her fingers ached to touch him.

  “You were a virgin,” he said without emotion.

  “Yes.”

  His hands knotted into fists. “And did you think that meant nothing to me?” he asked harshly. “Did you think I led such a life of debauchery that luring innocent women to my bed was just another day in the life? You were pregnant, dammit, with my child. You had no right to keep that from me.”

  “I didn’t know you.” He still wouldn’t look at her, and it was ripping her insides. “I could only imagine the life you led, the women. Even if I convinced you that Drew was yours, if there was positive proof, I couldn’t imagine that you would welcome a child into that life. I didn’t want to force a child on you, a child you’d never asked for.”

  “So you kept him,” he said bitterly.

  She glanced up sharply. “There was never any question that I would keep him. I loved him from the moment I knew he was growing in me. I made a decision to raise him myself.”

  “You forgot about Richard.” His words dripped with sarcasm.

  “I already told you that Richard was a mistake, that I thought Drew needed a father. Even for Drew, it was wrong to marry someone I didn’t love.”

  “You’re just full of mistakes, aren’t you, Maggie?”

  “I’m sorry, Nick.” She pushed away from the desk, took a shaky step toward him. “If you want him to, maybe Drew could visit you occasionally. He wouldn’t even have to stay with you. He could stay at my parents’, and you could come see him when you could manage the time.”

  She gasped as he swung around and took hold of her arms. “Visit him occasionally?” He spat the words at her. “Manage the time?”

  He released her, and she stumbled back. She felt numb, exhausted, but she steadied herself, then straightened and faced him. “You have every right to be furious with me. But please, I’m begging you, don’t hate Drew, too. He loves you.”

  I love you, she desperately wanted to say. But he would never believe her now. As he’d already told her, he would never believe anything she told him.

  “Hate Drew?” Astonishment furrowed his brow as he dragged a hand through his hair. “You think I could hate him? Is that how little you think of me?”

  His anger was one thing that she could somehow handle and come to terms with, but the disgust in his eyes, the revulsion was her undoing. Frantic, she reached out t
o him. “Nick, listen to me, please—”

  He stepped away from her, held up one hand as a warning to stay back. “No, Maggie. You listen. An hour ago I was ready to beg you to stay here in Wolf River. You and Drew. I thought I’d fallen in love with you. I even wanted to marry you. Imagine that—” his laugh was dry and hoarse “—you made a chump out of me not once, but twice. That’s pretty damn impressive for plain little old Maggie Smith.”

  She didn’t bother to wipe at the tears falling down her cheeks. “Nick—”

  “You had your turn, Maggie,” he said tightly. “Now it’s my turn. The only one who’s going to be visiting Drew from now on will be you.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face again, turn to ice as it settled in her stomach. “What are you saying?”

  “That you can go back to New York, I don’t much give a damn. But you’re not taking Drew. You robbed me of more than four years of my son’s life, and I don’t plan on missing out on one more day. And I don’t doubt for one second that any judge will disagree with me on this one.”

  She felt the room spin around her, the ground shift under her. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. “You can’t do that,” she whispered between painful breaths. “You can’t take him away from me.”

  “Don’t worry, Maggie, you’ll have your visits.” He stepped closer, ran his finger over her jaw, then roughly cupped her chin in his hand. “Who knows, darlin’, maybe you can crawl into my bed again one of these days, too.”

  She jerked her head away at his ugly words. Maybe she deserved all of this, his hatred, his scorn, but losing her son was inconceivable. She would never let that happen. Never.

  She straightened, lifted her chin. “Don’t do this, Nick,” she said quietly, leveling her gaze with his. “Please don’t do this.”

  He turned away from her. “You wouldn’t want to be late for your lunch date, Maggie. Just close the door on your way out.”