His Son, Her Secret

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “Or something,” he agreed as the Realtor pulled into the driveway of a truly stunning house. From the outside, it looked as if it was maybe half the size of her family’s mansion—and easily five times the size of her current apartment, if not more.

  Leona opened her car door and gaped. The house was built to look like a log cabin, but this was no primitive home. The red tile roof gleamed in the morning sunlight and the foundation plantings were lush—obviously well watered despite the lingering drought conditions.

  “Here we are!” said Sherry with an even bigger smile.

  “How much?” Leona demanded.

  Sherry blinked and said, “It’s $1.3 million, but it’s been on the market for a few months so I think there’s negotiating room.”

  “No.”

  Sherry’s megawatt smile faltered. “I’m sorry?”

  “No,” Leona said, ignoring the Realtor and turning back to Byron, who had the nerve to look innocent. “This was supposed to be a temporary thing, a three-bedroom apartment—not a—” She turned back to Sherry. “How many square feet?”

  “Nine thousand, if you account for the maid’s room over the garage.”

  Nine thousand square feet of luxury. Not a cozy little apartment. This place had a maid’s room, for God’s sake. This felt wrong. Everything about it was off. She’d spent the past year scrimping and scraping. She didn’t want this situation to even suggest that she could be bought—that her affection was for sale. That’s what her father would do if he admitted he’d screwed up. He’d throw an insanely expensive gift at her and expect that to make everything okay.

  Well, this was not okay. Her affection could not be bought and that was final. Yes, she wanted stability for Percy but this was so far beyond stable that it wasn’t funny. “No, Byron. This isn’t what we agreed on.”

  She started to get back in the car, but Percy began to fuss and before she could do anything, Byron had the back door open and was unbuckling the baby. “You want out? This place has a swing set in the back,” he told the boy. “And a big lawn where you can run around and we could even get a puppy! Would you like a puppy, Percy?”

  Percy squealed in delight, although Leona was sure he didn’t really grasp what puppy meant. She glared at Byron. What the hell was he trying to do here—bribe a six-month-old?

  “Come on, little man,” Byron said. He shut the back door and walked to the front of the car. “Let’s wait for Mommy.”

  Leona had several choice things she wanted to say, but Percy squealed and clapped his hands and he looked...happy. She was stuck in a very real way. She couldn’t drive off without her son—but she didn’t like this bait and switch. It felt as though Byron was steamrollering her and she didn’t like it. If she wanted to be steamrollered, she’d go home and her father would be happy to run roughshod all over her.

  “We’re only looking,” Byron said. He turned to Sherry, who was not wearing any kind of smile at all. “We have other places to look at that are at other price points, correct?”

  “Yes!” Sherry replied enthusiastically.

  Byron leaned down and kissed the top of Percy’s head while he kept his eyes fastened on hers.

  “Fine. But I don’t have to like it,” Leona snapped as she got out of the car.

  “Duly noted. I want to see the kitchen.”

  Sherry unlocked the house and led them inside. The place had a grand feeling to it, but it wasn’t the same sort of cold, sterile feeling Leona’s parents’ mansion had given her—or, for that matter, that the Beaumont Mansion had given her, kitchen notwithstanding. Instead of severe colors and harsh lighting designed to make everything look as expensive as possible, this entryway was filled with the warmth of the early-morning sun.

  “Oh,” she couldn’t help but whisper.

  “Beautiful,” Byron agreed. “Which way’s the kitchen?”

  Sherry went on and on about the specifications of the house—the number of bedrooms and bathrooms and the view and so on. All Leona could do was trail along behind them, trying to take in the magnitude of the place.

  She hadn’t allowed herself to be disappointed with her apartment because she’d been desperate and only had so much money. It was the best she could do on short notice and, for that, she was grateful for it.

  But for the first time in a year, she allowed herself to think about living in a place that was above good-enough. Byron spent twenty minutes in the kitchen, examining the appliances and discussing a “work triangle” with the Realtor, who was back to full-on perkiness. While they talked, Leona held Percy and they walked through the living room again. Wide French doors opened onto a tree-lined yard. And, as Byron had promised, there was a swing set—although this was closer to the equipment one would find in a park.

  They toured the four bedrooms, including a master suite that had a huge whirlpool tub, and then they looked at the office. “This would be yours,” Byron said in a low voice as he opened the door for her.

  Leona couldn’t help but gasp. The room was mostly windows and looked out onto the green expanse of the golf course. Behind that, the mountains broke rank and raced up to the sky. The morning light gleamed deep purple off the mountains’ sides. There wasn’t a parking lot or Dumpster in sight.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “I thought that, if you ever quit working for that Fish guy—”

  “Lutefisk,” she corrected, staring at the built-in bookcases and filing cabinets that made up the interior wall.

  “Yeah, him. If you wanted to quit working for him, you’d need an office space for your business.”

  She’d always talked about opening her own design firm—how she’d design his restaurant and then build her clientele from there. She turned to face him. “You remembered.”

  “I never forgot. Not you,” he replied, holding his gaze with hers. “I want to make it up to you.”

  She wanted to believe that—to believe him. But Percy squirmed in her arms and she thought of all the long months without Byron, of being completely on her own.

  “By buying me an extravagant house?” She forced herself to walk back out into the hall, away from the beautiful office and the stunning views.

  “I’ve got to live somewhere—somewhere that doesn’t involve my extended family,” he replied, following her out. “And you requested your own space, did you not?”

  Sherry gave them a sideways glance. “Let’s go check out that playground!” she said, leaning forward to speak directly to Percy.

  “I requested separate bedrooms. Not a freaking nine-thousand-square-foot mansion, Byron. It feels like you’re trying to buy my loyalty. Or at least my complicity. And I don’t like it.”

  He stared at her. “What on God’s green earth are you talking about?”

  “It just feels like this is something my father would do. Throw a lot of money at a problem—”

  “You are not a problem,” he interrupted. “Percy is not a problem.”

  “No? Maybe not right now, but how long before you remember you’re still mad at me? Or when Percy has a rough day, a rough night and won’t stop screaming? Then it’ll be a problem, all right. Mine. When the going gets tough, you’ll get going.”

  Sherry poked her head back around the corner. “Everything all right?” she asked.

  Byron fixed Leona with a hard glare. She fought the urge to step back, to agree with him—to go along to get along. Those days had passed. She had to stand firm—this was her life, too. So what if the house was beautiful? So what if it had everything she could ever want in a home?

  It would still be bought and paid for by Byron. He’d control the money, the house—and her. She was only useful as long as Percy needed her. Oh, Byron could dress it up with a pretty office or whatever, but still—she’d be dependent on him. And after she’d left home, s
he’d vowed to never be dependent on another man for as long as she lived.

  After all, if it was his house on his terms, what would happen to her if it didn’t work out? Would he show her the door? He might not disappear into the night again—but there were other ways to be abandoned. Wasn’t that what his father had always done? Hardwick had never gone anywhere, but as soon as he’d tired of his wife, out she went without a penny to her name. If that wasn’t abandonment, she didn’t know what was.

  She couldn’t handle the rejection, not a second time. So she stood firm. She didn’t back down and she didn’t apologize for having an opinion. She was in control of her destiny, damn it all. If only destiny would stop throwing her curveballs.

  Byron turned to the Realtor, who waited with an expression that made Leona think of a golden retriever.

  “We’ll take it,” he said decisively.

  Another freaking curveball.

  Destiny had a funny sense of humor.

  Eleven

  The next thing Byron knew, Leona was stomping away from him. Why was she being so damn stubborn?

  He had the entire buyout from the sale of the Beaumont Brewery sitting in a bank account, completely untouched. Seventeen million dollars—plus compounded interest—was waiting for him and if he wanted to buy himself a nice house, then damn it, he would.

  He thought Leona was just going to cool off in a different room—but then he heard the front door slam.

  “Leona!” he yelled, running after her. He got the front door open as she was belting Percy into his seat. “Leona, wait!”

  She shot him an incredibly dirty look, but she did not wait. She got into the car and fired it up.

  Before Byron could give chase, his phone rang with the tone he’d selected for Matthew. What the hell... He had to talk to Matthew. If anyone could fix this mess that Byron kept making worse, it was his older brother. So, with a groan of frustration, he let Leona go.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “For the love of God, tell me you’re not backing out of the restaurant.” Byron could almost see Matthew pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

  The Realtor poked her head out. “Is everything okay?” she asked, as if the answer wasn’t obvious. “Did your wife change her mind about the house?”

  “Hang on,” Byron said. Then, to Sherry, he said, “No, we’ll still take the house. But I have an important—and private—call to take, if you don’t mind.”

  The Realtor’s eyes lit up with commissioned dollar signs. “Oh, of course! I’ll be inside.”

  Byron waited until the door shut. “No, I’m not backing out of the restaurant. And hello to you, too. Where the hell have you been? I called you three days ago!”

  “You didn’t say it was an emergency and Chadwick didn’t call in a panic, so I figured it could keep. I unplugged for a couple of days.”

  “Since when do you unplug in the middle of the damned week? I thought you were always working.”

  “Not always. Not anymore.” Something in his voice changed. “I took a trip with Whitney. We got married.”

  Byron was almost too stunned to speak. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” was the terse reply.

  “Well, congratulations, man. I would have come out for it.”

  “I know. But we wanted to keep it quiet.”

  Byron snorted. Usually, Matthew was all about maintaining the family image—public relations was his thing. But he’d gone and fallen in love with former wild-child star Whitney Wildz who, in real life, was a very private woman named Whitney Maddox. Matthew would do anything to protect her from the paparazzi. Including, apparently, getting married in complete secrecy.

  “Did you at least tell Mom? You know she’ll be heartbroken if you got married without telling her.”

  There was a short pause before Matthew said, “I flew her out for it. She was our witness.”

  “Good.” And it was. Their mother had had enough heartbreak in her life. Byron didn’t want to add to it. Still, the fact that Matthew had seen fit to invite their mother but not Byron or Frances stung, if only a little.

  “So, yes,” Matthew went on, “I am capable of unplugging for a little honeymoon with my wife. She’s working with a horse, and I’ve got an hour to deal with the priority issues. If you’re not bailing on the restaurant, what’s up?”

  Okay, so even if Matthew had gotten married without telling Byron, at least he was still a priority. “I have a problem.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Was there any good way to say this? Probably not. “You remember how I wanted you to invite Leon Harper to Phillip’s wedding reception?”

  “And his family, if I recall correctly. A request that struck me as so odd that I looked into Harper a little more. Apparently he has two daughters.” Matthew sounded as if this were no big deal.

  “And you remember how I went to Europe for a year?”

  “Paris and then Madrid, yes. Are you telling me these two facts are connected?”

  Byron kicked at a pebble in the driveway. He just had to get this out. It was his mess, but he needed help cleaning it up. “Three days ago, I discovered that Leona Harper—Harper’s oldest daughter—gave birth to my son about six months ago. His name is Percy.”

  There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line—a silence that lasted more than a few moments.

  Byron couldn’t take it. He plunged ahead. “I’ve asked her to move in with me and—”

  “Into the mansion?” Matthew spluttered. “Are you insane? A Harper living in the Beaumont Mansion?”

  “As I was going to say before I was interrupted,” Byron said, trying not to snap at his brother, “I’m buying a house for us. And I’ve asked her to marry me. For our son’s sake.”

  Again, there was another painful silence. “Jesus, Byron,” Matthew finally muttered. “I’d have thought, after our father left bastards scattered to the four winds, that you would have been a little more careful than that.”

  The condom failure from last night popped into his mind. “I was careful. But sometimes things don’t work like they’re supposed to. I need a prenup. We have to get married as soon as possible to make sure her father can’t declare her incompetent and take my son away.”

  “No,” Matthew replied flatly. “You absolutely cannot marry her. She’s Harper’s daughter for God’s sake! Frances didn’t tell me the details, but she made it pretty clear that someone had broken your heart and that’s why you left.”

  “I am well aware of what happened. But I am not leaving any bastards to be scattered to the winds. He’s my son and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. Even marry a Harper.”

  “Are you into pain or something? You enjoy being Harper’s punching bag? Because if you tie your horse to his wagon, that’s all you’re ever going to be,” he groaned in exasperation again. “I don’t think there’s a prenup in this world strong enough to stand up to Harper’s sharks. He could use you to take down the entire family. He already took our business from us, Byron.”

  “I know that,” Byron snapped.

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Just take the boy. Legally, I mean. She didn’t tell you about the baby, I take it?”

  “No, but I’m not going to—”

  “So we’ll sue for full custody on the grounds that she’s unfit to be a mother. And for the love of everything holy, do not sleep with her again.”

  Byron winced. He couldn’t bring himself to deny it, but he couldn’t confirm it, either.

  “You already have, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Matthew let out a long, low growl of pure frustration. “Did you at least use protection?”

  “We did. It failed. Again.”

  There was a noise in the background
that could have been Matthew kicking or throwing something. “You have got to be freaking kidding me. Come on, Byron! Stop thinking with your dick for once!”

  “I am not thinking with my dick, damn it. I am trying to make things right. I thought you’d appreciate that—isn’t that what you do? I got her pregnant. I wasn’t there when the baby was born. I missed the first six months of my son’s life. I’m trying to make up for lost time. I don’t care what you think about her—Leona and Percy are already my family. I want to make it official. And if you won’t help me, then I’ll do it myself.”

  Another long silence. Byron would bet money that Matthew was now rubbing his temples and grimacing comically.

  “Does Harper know you’re back?”

  “I don’t think so. Leona took her sister and basically ran away from home after I left. They don’t have any contact with their parents. But she was worried her father would try to take the boy.”

  “He wouldn’t win,” Matthew said decisively. “You’re the boy’s father.” Then, a moment later, he added, “There’s no doubt about that?”

  “None. The boy looks like me. Red hair and everything.”

  Matthew sighed heavily. “There’d need to be blood tests to confirm, but you must realize Harper wouldn’t win. You’re the child’s father. You don’t have to marry her to protect the baby.”

  “But he’d try,” Byron insisted. “Harper would sue anyway and that would be almost as bad. He’d drag Leona through court and smear her name in every patch of mud he could find. Not to mention how much it’d cost to defend against him.” When Matthew didn’t immediately respond, Byron added, “You know what Dad did to Mom.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I’m not saying the situation is ideal,” Byron went on. “But I can’t let that happen.”

  “And—despite all the facts of the matter—you trust her not to turn you over to her father? Not to use this kid to bankrupt the entire Beaumont family?”