The Love Child

by Catherine Mann

  So yeah, while he had hours more face time with a slew of exhausting people, this event could make or break the newly merged company’s image.

  Shifting in his freshly shined boots—grateful Isabeau had relented on him wearing dress shoes—he smiled at the senator. The formal event called for a tuxedo, which seemed to restrict his range of motion. But Isabeau had picked out the clean-lined article of clothing, telling him he looked sharp.

  In truth, he didn’t see it. Isabeau, however, looked enchanting in her fit-and-flare gold gown.

  In the crystalline chandelier light, she seemed to be of another time and place. She moved past him, catching his eye. She leaned a slender hand on the champagne-colored tablecloth, complementing the elaborate pale rose centerpiece.

  Her strapless dress accented her bare collarbone. Red hair upswept in loose ringlets, mingling with the gold chandelier earrings. And damn. That smile on her perfectly pink lips turned him inside out.

  She’d never looked more elegant.

  Or more a part of this world.

  Memories of their night together still seared through him. Their first encounter in the boathouse had rocked him, no question. But lingering over her, exploring each other? That surpassed anything he’d experienced.

  He wanted more time with her, not just hours, but much more. Which he would have if she was pregnant. However, he wanted her to be with him because she wanted that as well, not because a baby tied them to each other.

  Despite her anxiety, she worked the room with a glittering smile, Paige keeping close watch. He’d wondered how the attendees at this black tie event would react to the dog. But apparently the addition of service animals must be common enough among this set that no one paid other than passing attention.

  Although he imagined it was also a nod to Paige’s excellent training and Isabeau’s seamless handling that allowed the animal to work without creating any sort of distraction.

  He also felt somewhat at home here in the opulent penthouse ballroom of the Mikkelson Enterprises building. Unlike the Steeles’ sleek and swanky office tower filled with conference rooms, the Mikkelson structure had a stately, refined presence absent of the contemporary fixation on chrome and clean lines. Both buildings were magnificent, but served vastly different purposes. The key to Alaska Oil Barons’ success would be to use the appropriate location for each situation. When wining and dining needed to happen, the Mikkelson Enterprises ballroom on the top floor was the clear winner. Part of the merger plan involved keeping both properties and capitalizing on the strengths of each one’s appeal.

  The harpist and string quartet on a large elevated stage provided a lilting melody, the notes seeming to complement the twinkling boat lights bobbing below in the harbor made visible through the window. A creamy white marble dance floor sported a few well-heeled couples leaning against each other.

  Both families had showed up in full force—with spouses and significant others. All doing their part to engage the politicians and social elite. Even the head of their major competitor, Johnson Oil United, had attended. Cal Johnson loomed in the corner, sipping a glass of champagne.

  A long shadow stretched over Trystan—the Steele patriarch and his soon-to-be stepfather, Jack Steele. “Senator, do you mind if I have a moment with my future stepson?”

  “Of course, of course,” the senator agreed, reaching for another glass of champagne from a silver tray being carried by waitstaff. “Great party, great party,” he said in that conversational way some people had of repeating themselves. “I’m going to double my donation in honor of your incredible recovery from that riding accident.”

  Trystan eyed his future stepfather warily. Whatever he had to say must be important to break up a conversation with a political bigwig.

  Jack pumped the senator’s hand. “We’re very grateful. Thank you.” He gestured across the room. “I would steer you toward my lovely fiancée, Jeannie, and our media coordinator, Isabeau Waters. You’ll be in good hands.”

  The senator clapped Trystan on the shoulder. “Nice job getting the message out, young man. Hope we’ll see more of you.”

  With a nod, the man turned in search of Jeannie and Isabeau, Cal Johnson close on his heels. Having the competition on hand this evening could be concerning to some, but Trystan perceived a frustration in Johnson as the man saw the unity and great show of professionalism from the Mikkelson-Steele team.

  Trystan nudged Jack. “Do you think we should rescue them from Johnson?”

  Jack laughed, a deep rumble of sound. “Jeannie can more than hold her own with him. You should know that about your mother.”

  “I do, but I’m also her son, and you’ll understand that Chuck and I have felt especially protective of her since our father died.”

  “I’m glad to know that. She’s had a difficult time, and even realizing she’s a strong person doesn’t stop me from wanting to look after her.”

  “She deserves some peace.” Trystan shifted uncomfortably.

  “Having some trouble with the wedding still though, are you, boy?”

  “I think we’re all still surprised. Decades of animosity between our families can be tough to sweep aside—or rather it is for some of us.”

  “Understandable. We’ve slung some harsh words around over the years,” Jack conceded. “I’m hoping we can put that behind us. Maybe someday you’ll even join us for a family breakfast at Kit’s Kodiak Café. It’s a tradition I started with my brood when they were young. I would bundle them up quietly so their mother could sleep in...” His voice faded off at the mention of his dead wife.

  “That doesn’t sound like the Jack Steele my father told me about, the Jack Steele who fed small children to bears.”

  Jack laughed, full out and loudly. “You’ve got spunk in you. We’ll find our way just fine.”

  “Good to know.” And since Trystan wanted his mom to be happy and didn’t have any choice but to accept this man in her life, he said, “I’ll take you up on that breakfast when you get back from your honeymoon. But you’re paying.”

  “Deal.” Jack nodded curtly, then stopped Trystan from leaving by gripping his arm. “I want you to know that I love your mother.”

  “You’ve told us.” Still he couldn’t dodge the blindsiding swipes of memories of his father fuming in frustration over Jack Steele’s business tactics. No tuxedo and profession of love could sweep away the fact that the guy had undercut his father, ruthlessly filching clients.

  That history was a huge part of why Trystan had insisted on stepping into this business void for the month, rather than giving it over to one of the Steele offspring.

  “And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it,” Jack said brusquely. “I appreciate you all putting on a good face for the merger.”

  Trystan half smiled, snagging a glass of champagne. This conversation was awkward as hell. “We don’t have much choice.”

  “You could walk away. You have quite a portfolio of your own, more than enough to take over the ranch.”

  Trystan bristled. He refused to be shuffled aside when his mother needed him now more than ever. He was part of the family, and that wasn’t something he would ever take for granted. “I owe my parents better than to turn my back on their legacy.”

  “That sort of loyalty is golden. You’re my kind. For what my opinion is worth.”

  “Your opinion is important because you’re important to my mother.” He finished off his champagne and set the glass aside, his gaze straying briefly to Isabeau. “Although if you hurt her, my loyalty to you ends.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less.” Jack tugged at his tuxedo tie. “This thing almost has me yearning for the neck brace again.”

  The man’s lighthearted way of referencing his near-death accident took Trystan aback, but also made him admire Jack a bit.

  Jack Steele was as tough as his reputation.
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  And Trystan completely agreed on the tie issue. “I would suggest you ditch the tie and rest, but I suspect that would fall on deaf ears. So I’ll just say, thanks for taking the time to reassure me about my mother.”

  “You’re a good son.” He squeezed Trystan’s shoulder. “And I’m a perceptive old man who knows when a fella is distracted. Go dance with the media consultant.”

  A smile tugged at Trystan’s mouth as he weaved around the elegant dinner tables, heart pounding as he made his way to Isabeau. Her arms crossed, highlighting her curves even more. She schmoozed with Miles, the owner of a fairly large news station. The wiry thirty-something-year-old leaned in close to Isabeau, scraping back his wheat-colored hair.

  Trystan set his jaw, nodding as he closed the distance between them. “Thank you for attending tonight, Miles.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. The Mikkelson-Steele merger is big news around here. Our readers are pinning a lot of hope on the job creation of Alaska Oil Barons versus Johnson Oil.” He cut his gaze to the side. “Although I’m surprised you invited Cal Johnson, him being the enemy and all.”

  Trystan cocked his head, sizing up Miles. “Is that a dig for a statement?”

  “One can hope.” Miles slid an arm around Isabeau in a way that felt a bit too familiar. “Your media maven here has been doing fine work sharing news about the conservation efforts of your company. That’s going to cut into your revenue, though, and put you behind Johnson.”

  Trystan wasn’t wading into that boggy interview territory—and besides, he wanted the bastard’s arm off her. Now. “Isabeau works too hard. She’s more than earned a dance.”

  In a swift motion, Trystan swept his hand into the small of Isabeau’s back, hand sinking into the silky dress. Ushering her forward as the string quartet segued into a new piece...a Brahms waltz, too damn familiar from one of Alayna’s long-ago violin recitals. With practiced ease, he spun Isabeau into his arms, her full-length gown swirling around her ankles.

  Trystan folded Isabeau’s hand into his, placing his palm on her waist. Having her in his arms again felt good, right, easing some of the awkwardness that had crept between them when they woke up in the hotel the next morning. Awkwardness made worse when he’d tried to broach the subject of her seeing a doctor.

  She’d changed the subject and taken her dog for a walk.

  He opted for neutral territory now. “How am I doing tonight?”

  She squeezed his hand lightly, smiling. “You’re acing everything and you know it.”

  “I haven’t hit anyone. That’s a bonus. Although I was hard-pressed when that news producer put his hands on you.” He drew her closer than the waltz stance dictated.

  “I appreciate your restraint. And the board of directors and investors will be pleased. Any jitters should be quelled. You’ve all presented a unified front. The wedding next weekend will only solidify that.”

  Her every word was perfect. Her dance moves smooth. But now that he held her closer, he could see a distance in her eyes, a distraction.

  Something was wrong. And if the past was any indication, getting her to open up wouldn’t be easy. Not that he was the poster boy for baring his emotions.

  Except right now he wanted to know what she was thinking more than he could remember wanting...anything.

  Just as he lined up the right words, the music ended and with a tight smile, Isabeau stepped back to walk away.

  Fading into the crowd.

  * * *

  Contrary to her carefully chosen outfit and permanent smile, Isabeau felt the cool hands of panic wrench around her heart and she had no recourse for relief. She’d sent Paige with a driver a half hour ago as the party ran long. Luckily, the Steele stable hands that looked after Kota had taken to Paige. Her dog had already worked a full day, and Isabeau thought she was holding her own.

  Apparently not.

  The Herculean task of keeping it together frayed her nerves. A scene from earlier today played on repeat in her mind, drifting through her mind’s eyes in flashes. The waiting room, the doctor handing her information about what to expect when you are expecting.

  The test was positive. They’d even done an ultrasound because of her diabetes, along with a slew of other tests.

  She was healthy. And her concerns about anxiety medication had been discussed. She hadn’t taken much since the night she’d slept with Trystan, and the two times she had, the medication was on the approved list.

  The doctor had mapped out a health care plan for her to take with her when she left. And didn’t that thought launch a fresh wave of nerves and her first hint of nausea.

  Focus. Breathe.

  She tried to take comfort in the fact that she knew, deep in her heart, that Trystan was not even remotely like her stalker ex-boyfriend. But she was just so damn scared of ending up like her mother, in a relationship with a man who would walk away from her.

  She had to admit the truth to herself. She already loved this baby.

  And she was starting to care for the baby’s father.

  Isabeau needed a breather from the whole party. How ironic that Trystan was mastering every obstacle, and she was on the edge of losing her cool. Her life had been turned upside down so often since she’d met Trystan, she wasn’t sure yet how to right herself.

  In a dimly lit back corner, Isabeau found something that looked like salvation. A secluded spot where Naomi sat on a chaise lounge, putting her feet up. Her dark hair had been styled pin straight, evoking the unearthly beauty of Cleopatra. She looked the part, lying on the chaise in her high waisted Egyptian-style, green satin gown, the hem trailing off the side. The gown was clingy and exotic, and somehow the pregnant woman carried it off beautifully. Even in her second trimester—with twins.

  Jeannie was sitting beside Naomi, chatting, keeping her water glass full.

  Isabeau backed up a step. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

  Naomi set aside her glass. “Not at all. Jeannie’s been a love to keep me company—lounging here is as much excitement as the doctor will allow me. While I’m glad to be out of my suite, this certainly isn’t the most fascinating part of the party.”

  Jeannie patted her hand. “Those are Jack’s grandbabies. It’s a delight to talk to you about plans. And hopefully the doctor will give the okay for you to have a baby shower.”

  Naomi scratched her nose. “I can’t believe I need a doctor’s approval to open a few presents. I would offer to send Royce in my place, but as you can see from his ghost act a half hour into the event, crowds are not his thing. Quite frankly, I was surprised he didn’t stay to hover—which attests to how really pegged out he was.”

  Isabeau sat at the foot of the chaise, perched on the end. “Trystan doesn’t care for them, either. There’s no shame in that.”

  Naomi pointed toward the party. “But Trystan showed up and, judging by what I can see from here, he’s making the best of the night.”

  Jeannie followed her gaze, smiling fondly. “I have to say I’m proud of the way my son has come through for us. Due in no small part to you, Isabeau.”

  Isabeau smoothed her dress along her knees, the reality sinking in that this woman was the grandmother of her child. “You did a wonderful job bringing him up and giving him the tools to work with. I fully expected to have to teach him about classical music and how to dance. But, well, he surprised me.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Jeannie said, pride shining from her smile, and then she reached to clasp Naomi’s hand. “It’ll work out, for you, Naomi. You and Royce are different, but it’s clear you love each other.”

  Naomi twisted her engagement ring round and round. “He loves the babies so much, which trust me, warms my heart. He thinks of them as his own even though he’s not the biological father. And he’s already lost one child...”

  Jeannie leaned in closer, patting her shoulder. “Honey, are
you saying you don’t love him? Because if you are, you can’t stay with him for the children.”

  Those words certainly chilled Isabeau to the core.

  Naomi smoothed her hands over her pregnant belly. “I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore, and I’m not sure he does, either. Everything moved so fast with us. We barely know each other, and what we do know seems less and less compatible now that, um, now that we’re not relying on sex to smooth over the rough patches.” She glanced up. “Isabeau, I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable.”

  Her worry about her own situation must have shown in her face. She smoothed her features into sympathy. “I’m the soul of discretion, and I’ve become quite fond of your family. While I don’t have advice to offer, I can always lend an ear.”

  Naomi played with her dark hair, looking at her future stepmother through the strands. “Jeannie? Do you have thoughts?”

  “I think you have to decide what’s in your heart.”

  “You have to know me well enough to realize I’m not the vulnerable type to go around asking for help. I have opinions on everything. Usually.” Naomi glanced at her hands, then looked up with a hint of embarrassment in her eyes. “I wish I could ask my mother.” Then she rushed to add, “I hope that doesn’t hurt you to hear.”

  Jeannie’s eyes grew soft. “Of course not. That’s a logical wish, especially now.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m not your mother and I can’t begin to guess at where your feelings should or shouldn’t land. But I can say this. If you’re going to make a break, it’s better to do so before the twins get attached.”

  Tears leaked down Naomi’s cheeks and Jeannie gathered her into a hug.

  The wisdom in Jeannie’s words scared Isabeau to her toes, while also making her next move crystal clear. She needed to decide about a relationship with Trystan now. For the sake of her future, for her child. She didn’t have the luxury of time to wait and see how things played out, risking a horrible breakup later when there was a baby in the picture.