The Love Child

by Catherine Mann

  “Um, why are you curious about her name?”

  “We put a lot of thought into naming our horses. I’ve found there’s usually a clue to the individual’s personality when I hear the story about why they chose the name.”

  “That’s very insightful of you.”

  “You sound surprised. Should I be insulted?” He half teased, eyes steady on the controls. Alert. Aware.

  Sexy as hell.

  He commanded a cool confidence as he guided the plane through the clear sky.

  “I apologize for not thinking before I spoke. But I guess now I have to be honest. You seem too...brusque.” Sliding her gaze away from him, she peered out the window, down to the Alaskan topography. Lakes appeared like constellations among the green valleys, the lush color a brief but vibrant treasure in Alaska.

  “Maybe I’m churning around some deep contemplation during all those quiet moments.” He offered her a tight smile, and though his aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, she imagined they had a dash of mischief in them.

  “Perhaps you are. I should know better than to prejudge.”

  “So, the name Paige?”

  Tucking her feet beneath her, she turned in her seat. Inspired by the conversation. By the willingness to open up. She needed him to do that if she was going to turn him into the perfect mouthpiece of the company. “How about a trade? I’ll tell you more about Paige if you’ll tell me the story behind one of your horse’s names.”

  “Fair enough.” He nodded once, keeping his gaze forward. “I assume from the tone of your voice, I’m supposed to go first.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “You’re tougher than you appear, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Your horse?” Leaning forward, she awaited his answer. Probably something gruff and manly. Perhaps named for a skill or attribute. Like Rocky.

  “Jerome.”

  She laughed, then bit her lip. Not what she’d expected at all. “Seriously? Jerome?”

  “Absolutely serious. I named my first horse Jerome.”

  Curiosity nipped as she pictured him as a child naming a horse such a serious name. “How old were you?”

  “Eleven.”

  Scratching along her hairline, she frowned. “You got your first horse at eleven? I assumed in your family you would have started riding much younger.”

  “I did ride earlier—as a guest.” He touched the back of his neck, his jaw tense. “I’m an adopted Mikkelson. I visited when I was younger but didn’t live with them until they took me in officially.”

  He’d mentioned something like that before, but somehow this full revelation caught her unaware. “That’s nowhere in your bio.”

  “I’m a cousin, actually. My biological mother and Jeannie are sisters. I spent a lot of time with the Mikkelsons growing up, when my parents would disappear. My mother was going to put me into foster care. My aunt—Jeannie—stepped in and adopted me.”

  “That had to be such a hurtful, confusing time for you. I’m sorry.”

  “I was—am—lucky. Things could have turned out much worse for me. I’ve led a privileged life. I owe the Mikkelsons more than I can ever repay.”

  Realization dawned. “And that’s why you’re working so hard to help the company.”

  “The business means the world to them.”

  Silence fell between them, thick and heavy as Alaska snow. Every bit as chilly too.

  “And the reason you named that first horse Jerome?”

  “That first week I was at the Mikkelson place, the week my parents made it clear they weren’t coming back this time—my biological father took a job in Australia and my mother didn’t want to parent alone. Anyhow, my uncle gave me a young Tennessee walker horse and had me choose the name. I picked Jerome, the patron saint of orphans.”

  His words touched her heart, shifting her image of him ever so slightly. “Trystan, I’m—”

  “No sympathy. Now your turn. Tell me the story behind your dog’s name?”

  After what he’d shared, she was almost embarrassed to explain how her dog was named. “I feel like I’m coming up short. My story isn’t anywhere near as insightful as yours.”

  “Tell me anyway and let me be the judge.” His voice held that teasing tone again that smoothed the edges of his gravelly timbre.

  “Paige was named at the training facility. She came there as a puppy and spent two years learning the skills to be a service dog. The organization has a fund-raiser where people make a large donation to the group in exchange for naming rights to a puppy. Paige was named from a collection by a church youth group who wanted to honor one of their classmates who died in a car wreck.”

  “That’s very moving...”

  “Those donations make the service dogs more affordable for people who don’t have the twenty to thirty thousand dollars it takes to complete the training.”

  “Two years of training?”

  She nodded, lifting a hand to block the light of the sun. “Training, feeding, vetting by paid professionals, who also rely on assistance from volunteers. Paige started learning all the basics and then over time the staff saw where she would fit best. Once a dog ‘graduates,’ he or she is paired with an applicant who best matches the dog’s skill set.”

  “And they know a dog’s potential even from when they’re a puppy?”

  Her nerves eased as she settled into explaining the more factual aspects of a service dog. Facts were so much easier than emotions. Facts could ground her.

  “Different groups work in different ways, but usually groups either know the lineage of the dogs or it’s a dog under two years old that has had extensive temperament and health testing. A dog can still wash out of training for any number of reasons.”

  “What happens to those dogs?” He guided the plane to the right with a smooth turn of the yoke, the wing outside her window dipping ever so slightly.

  “Sometimes there’s another type of task they can do. And if not, the dog goes up for public adoption. The waiting list for those dogs is usually long.”

  “I had no idea so much went into it. I thought you trained too.”

  “I did have to go to training classes, and I go to brush-up classes, as well.”

  “I’m impressed by the whole process.”

  She looked down at Paige. The yellow Lab raised her head, those wide, brown, knowing eyes staring straight into her soul. Life without Paige...an impossible thought now. Tears pulled at her, a knot in her throat almost obscuring her words. “Thank you, but it’s a huge help to have her in my life. I’m very lucky we were partnered up.”

  Silence came again, less oppressive than before. Not quite comfortable though.

  The skyline began to reveal more pronounced dips in the Alaskan topography. Enchanting to take in from this perspective. Almost as mesmerizing as the man beside her.

  Turning to glance at him, she noticed the furrow in his brow, fine lines digging deep.

  Her stomach dipped with a sense of foreboding she could not shake.

  “I hadn’t thought about it until now—” Trystan leveled a glance at her over the top of his aviators, his eyes full of concern “—but how does your diabetes play into possible health problems if you’re pregnant?”

  Five

  Trystan steered his Range Rover along the winding drive through the trees toward his ranch home.

  He intended to do right by his family with the press, on social media and at business appearances this month, but for him personally, things were more complicated now. He needed to prepare for the possibility that Isabeau could be carrying his child. She hadn’t answered his question about her diabetes and possible complications in pregnancy.

  Time here at his house would give him the opportunity to learn more about her, to strategize contingencies. At his house. On his turf.

  The charcoal
-colored roof peaks of his sanctuary crested above the tall, impossibly green pine trees. Unlike his mother’s sleek home, Trystan’s property spoke to the Alaskan wilderness. Maybe not in the same rough-hewn way as the Steele complex. But still, his craftsman ranch house sat amidst trees, overlooking a crisp lake stocked with fish.

  His place was part of the family estate, but Trystan had been far more interested in working with the land than the rest of his family. Another mark of his outsider status. He’d invested in horses and property. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a buckskin galloping away from the paddock behind the wooden barn that sat off to the back left corner of his house.

  Isabeau shifted in her seat next to him, seeming to respond to the bumps in the rough, pebble-littered road. Her eyes darted to the back seat where she’d secured Paige with a seat belt harness. “The photos of your ranch don’t do it justice. This is beautiful, especially the way stones in the structure echo the landscape. You have a slice of heaven here.”

  “Thank you,” he said simply, moved by her admiration, more so than he wanted to admit even to himself. “We can take a tour of the stables and land tomorrow, once you’ve had a chance to settle in.”

  “I would like that.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a yawn. “Sorry about that. It’s been a long day.”

  “I’ve heard pregnancy makes women tired.”

  “So does travel.”

  “That it does.” He draped a hand over the steering wheel. “You never did answer the question about if your diabetes could be of concern if you’re expecting. Is that something you’ve ever discussed with your physician?”

  “I’ve been in a doctor’s care since my teenage years, and yes, I asked once, wondering if I would be able to have children at all.” She nibbled at her bottom lip. “My imagination had concocted all sorts of scary scenarios. But my doctor allayed my fears. She said an obstetrician would monitor my blood sugar levels and blood pressure more closely. That I would need to be more stringent in my dietary choices. They’d use ultrasounds to check the baby’s size, since diabetes can make the infant larger. It’s manageable. Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes, thank you.” A surge of protectiveness swept over him with every item she listed, and he made fast work of parking his car.

  He employed a couple in their fifties to oversee housekeeping and the stables. Dedicated and with a sense of humor he enjoyed, they’d helped him growing up, neighbors of his deadbeat parents. And now he was grateful to be able to help them in return. He introduced Isabeau to Gena and Lou knowing they would help her settle in faster than he could.

  Isabeau was in safe hands, and quickly on her way up to her suite—freeing him to move forward with some business of his own.

  Leaving Isabeau to rest in one of the guest rooms, he moved toward his own sleeping quarters, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. And to check on the state of his family. Especially his brother. Since the blowup at the wedding, he hadn’t heard from Chuck. He and his wife, Shana, had left shortly after things ignited between Trystan and Isabeau. Chuck’s marriage had been strained by their trying for a child. Years of infertility had them tense and grieving.

  How would they feel if Isabeau was expecting? Would they be able to celebrate or would it bring more pain?

  The door to his room opened with a slight creak, revealing a sun-soaked private space.

  Home.

  No doubt about it. Here, on the outskirts of Juneau, this was his element. Cathedral ceilings characterized by exposed, crisscrossed wooden beams. He took a moment in the door frame, appreciating this life. This simple moment that he wouldn’t have again for a while since he’d be serving as the face of the merged businesses.

  From here, his eye roved past the massive wooden sleigh bed decorated in burnt orange and mustard yellow. Instead of focusing on the decor, he let the view of the mountain settle him, thankful for the massive windows that provided an uninterrupted view of the wild that whispered to his restless soul.

  Striding into the room, he closed the distance to the leather sitting area for the best view of the snow-topped mountain. Stepping over the deerskin rug, the same deerskin rug he’d made with his father and Chuck many, many years ago, he searched for his silver laptop.

  Time to call his brother.

  He found his laptop on the rustic antler-and-glass side table by the leather love seat. Leather groaned as he settled into the massive, ergonomic office chair. He turned the computer on and pulled up the video chat application.

  When Chuck answered the call in the sprawling library that he also used as an office, he appeared calm, ever in control, the family leader since their father had died. And clearly working in spite of his insistence that he was taking time off. Fatigue set in his jaw, and the normal fire that danced in his eyes seemed stymied.

  Knowing his brother wouldn’t offer up personal information without being prodded, Trystan cleared his throat. “How’s it going? Everything settle out okay?”

  Sighing, Chuck ran his hand through his flared blond hair. “Sure, temporary peace restored.”

  “Temporary?”

  “Marriage is...complicated.” He shrugged his shoulders, sagging in the ill-lit study.

  Trystan could just make out book spine silhouettes lining the shelves in the background Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaustion stamped on his face.

  “I’ll take your word for that, Chuck.” Sympathy for his brother pushed through his own muddled head over his limbo state with Isabeau. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I appreciate your call. That means more than you can know.”

  “It’s tough to know what to do. I don’t want to butt into your private business.”

  “You’re my brother. And hell,” he chuckled hoarsely, exhaustion in every tone, “you’re saving my ass by stepping in for me as the face of the company. I know this isn’t your gig.” Picking up a nearby bear paper weight, Chuck shook his head. Guilt seemed to settle in the lines of his face. He stopped examining the paperweight to look at Trystan in the camera. The picture of brotherly sincerity. “I owe you.”

  Trystan waved his hand, half grinning. “Hey, you can come shovel out the horse stalls sometime.”

  “Deal.”

  As he thought about the way talking to his brother had helped him, he wondered if maybe he’d been missing an obvious source of assistance in his pursuit of Isabeau. “Is Alyana still staying with you and Shana?”

  “Yes, she is. Do you want me to have her call you? Or I can just bring her here. She’s in the next room.”

  “Please. That would be great if you could get her. And take care, brother. Call me if you need me.”

  “Will do,” Chuck said before disappearing from the screen.

  Trystan questioned the wisdom of this, but he was fast learning from Isabeau that there were arenas of his life where it was prudent to ask for assistance. His younger sister stepped into view, willowy and shy, but sharp, in a way that came as a surprise because it was unexpected from such an unassuming source.

  “Hello, Trystan. I see you made it home. I hope all’s going well with the consultant. She seemed nice at the wedding.”

  “She is very effective and...” He hesitated over what was too mild a word to describe Isabeau, but over-the-top words weren’t his style and would generate more attention among his siblings than this call and his questions already would. “Yes, she is nice. Very nice. And that’s why I’m calling. I need your help.”

  “Before we start, let’s be clear.” A small laugh accompanied Alayna’s raised hand. “I’m not going to take over your appearances.”

  “That’s not why I’m calling.”

  She crinkled her freckled nose. “You’re going to make me feel guilty about not helping, and I hate that.”

  “Because it works. You’re a softie.”
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br />   “I don’t have the luxury of hiding from our hardheaded older siblings.” She toyed with her necklace, no doubt one of the crafts from her small business. “And really, you know I would make a mess of things.”

  “You’re welcome here anytime.” Except now. He was hoping for time alone with Isabeau, which brought him back to the reason for his call. “I just need suggestions.”

  “On what?”

  “Things that will impress Isabeau Waters.”

  A flash of interest sparked in her eyes. “Impress professionally or personally?”

  He paused for only a second. “The latter.”

  She dropped the necklace, suddenly becoming more serious. Focusing on him. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Have I ever been a joker?”

  “Not really...” She scrunched her forehead, studying him for a second before continuing, “Okay, then. Women are all different, so there’s no set gift or date that will appeal to all. My best advice? Listen to her. Really, really listen. You’ll find your clues.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t seriously expect me to sift through that and make heads or tails of it.”

  She shrugged, but didn’t cave. “I can’t do the hard work for you. Women are impressed by men who listen. Men who make an effort to understand them.”

  His temples pinched with a new ache, but he supposed her advice made sense. “And, when I understand her, I’ll know what to do?”

  “When you listen, you’ll discover her passions. The things that are special and important to her.” Alayna heaved a sigh, and he wondered if she’d given that speech to any other rock-headed men before.

  Something about her tone shouted yes.

  As he watched his sister sign off, Trystan wished women weren’t so damn enigmatic. Clues and a million different answers.

  Except he also knew, he’d never been so drawn to a woman the way he was with Isabeau. Which meant...