What Happens in Charleston...

by Rachel Bailey

  The door to the anteroom opened behind him and he turned to see Alan Sinclair’s dark blond head pop around the door frame.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” he asked, with an easygoing smile.

  Momentarily surprised, Matthew hesitated before remembering a call his personal assistant had taken a few days ago from Sinclair. Matthew had given permission for Sinclair to visit, though he couldn’t see why he’d want to. Nonetheless, he appreciated being asked. Basic respect. Jack Sinclair had simply assumed he’d be given access to Flynn, but Alan’s courtesy confirmed the opinion Matt had been developing—Alan was twice the man Jack was.

  He covered the ground to the entrance and offered his hand to Alan. “You just caught us. We’re taking him home today.”

  “Glad I didn’t come this afternoon.” Alan glanced over at Flynn who was watching the exchange from Susannah’s arms. “Who would I have given this teddy to if you’d already gone home?”

  Flynn’s face lit up when he saw the chocolate-brown bear with large blue eyes. Susannah had moved closer so Flynn was within reaching distance but still kept a protectively firm hold on him.

  Having backup was as novel as it was nice, but Matt knew he couldn’t allow himself to rely on it, so he reached for Flynn and held him on his hip.

  “This is your—” grandfather’s mistress’s son “—Uncle Alan.”

  “Hello, Flynn,” Alan said warmly, handing over the bear. “Do you like bears?”

  “Yes.” With wide eyes, Flynn surveyed the bear from all angles, obviously pleased with what he found by the grin that stretched his face. Matt put him down on the bed so Flynn could play with his new toy.

  “And this is Susannah, a friend of ours.” Matt turned to Susannah. “This is Alan Sinclair. You met his brother, Jack, a few days ago.”

  Alan offered his hand to Susannah. “Pleased to meet you, Susannah.”

  Matt watched Alan as Susannah took his hand. Did he notice the similarities between her and Flynn, putting two and two together the way the nurse had? Did others in his family suspect the truth about Flynn’s parentage? He sighed and retrieved Flynn’s empty bag from the cupboard. Maybe no one noticed how much Flynn resembled Susannah and he was getting paranoid.

  Through the glass, a nurse held up some papers and Matt nodded. She’d obviously finished the discharge forms.

  He turned back to Alan. “I hate to rush you, but we’re just on our way home.”

  “Not a problem,” Alan said with an easy smile. “I just wanted to drop this off. Nice to meet you, Flynn.” He turned to Susannah. “And you, too, Susannah.”

  After Alan left, they packed Flynn’s bags to the soundtrack of Flynn detailing which of his toys would be played with on his return to his own bedroom. Susannah glanced up and their eyes met in a moment of shared humor and optimism. It was balm to his soul to hear his son’s enthusiasm—such a turnaround from the lethargic boy he’d brought into hospital not too long ago.

  They were ready in minutes, and Matt carried Flynn’s bags while Susannah pushed Flynn in a child’s wheelchair the nurses provided, stopping to sign the forms on the way out. They left the wheelchair at the front door and Susannah lifted his son into her arms.

  Seeing the nurse again brought her mistake about them being a couple to mind. Yet, watching Susannah and Flynn chatting away on the short walk to the car, he couldn’t help observing how right the three of them looked together. How easily Susannah had slipped into their lives. Into Flynn’s heart. Into Matthew’s own bed.

  Maybe this was all falling into place so easily because it was meant to be?

  Could it be that easy—or was he fooling himself with a convenient half-truth?

  They reached his car and, after stowing the bags in the trunk, Matthew took his son and strapped him into his seat before depositing a kiss on the top of his head. Then he turned to the woman who was causing his confusion.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said. As they passed behind the car where Flynn couldn’t see, he slipped his hand around hers for an illicit two-second touch. “Flynn liked having you here.”

  “I was glad to do it,” she said, but he saw the same confusion, the same doubts that were pursuing him, reflected in her eyes.

  He opened her door and after she was in, he closed it and made his way around to the driver’s side. As he slid into his seat, he turned to survey his passengers. “Ready to go?” he asked them.

  “Yes,” Flynn replied, beaming.

  He met Susannah’s eyes in a moment of pure understanding—the elation of bringing Flynn home, healthy and happy. The second time this morning she’d given him the simple pleasure of sharing a parenting moment. He’d missed that beyond measure. Yet it was shadowed by the knowledge that they were playing with explosives, perhaps letting themselves be lured in too deep.

  He turned the key, ready to drive this imitation family home.

  Seven

  Two hours later, Susannah was sitting with Matthew and Flynn around a garden setting in the glass conservatory eating banana and chocolate-chip muffins. Before sunrise, she’d been up baking an assortment of food she hoped might tempt a three-year-old. So far, given Flynn’s enthusiastic reaction to the brunch picnic, it seemed she’d succeeded. Matthew had eaten more than she’d expected, and the fact that father and son were happily devouring her food made a contended joy rise higher than it should.

  The phone rang, and Matthew reached for the cordless he’d brought with him and handed it to Flynn. “That will be Grandma.”

  Flynn’s face beamed and he eagerly took the handset. “Grandma?” he asked into the receiver. The reply must have been affirmative, because then he was off, a stream of chatting, telling all his news about his hospital stay.

  Matthew leaned over, his warm breath brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. “Grace’s parents. They ring every Sunday at ten o’clock.”

  Even with her body’s predictable response to his nearness, something she couldn’t define twisted painfully in her belly. “That’s great they take an interest in him.”

  “They adore him,” he said, watching his son. “Grace was an only child, so now she’s gone, Flynn is the only grandchild they’ll ever have. They come and stay often, and never miss a Sunday call.”

  He didn’t have to say the rest. It hung in the air between them—Grace’s parents were another reason he could never disclose that Susannah was Flynn’s biological mother. If he was the only grandchild they would ever have, then how could he tell them they had no genetic connection to the little boy? Rob them of their remaining link to the daughter they’d tragically lost? And she wouldn’t want him to—it would be too cruel.

  “Daddy,” Flynn said, his face serious, obviously with an important mission.

  Matthew turned to him, a gentle smile on his face. “Yes?”

  “Grandma wants to talk wif you.” He passed the phone to his father then turned to Susannah. “Can I have ano’ver muffin, please?”

  “Sure, sweetie,” she said.

  She handed him one, and while he ate, she watched Matthew talking to his mother-in-law, her heart unexpectedly sinking. They were obviously on familiar and friendly terms—laughing and chatting casually. The scene zoomed out in her mind, leaving her dizzy then came into clear focus.

  This was Grace’s family. Grace’s parents on the phone, who’d rung Grace’s little boy. They were in Grace’s house, and she was sleeping with Grace’s husband.

  Her vision swam and she dug her nails into her palms.

  This wasn’t her life—she’d simply slotted into a Grace-shaped hole in Flynn and Matthew’s life.

  At least there was a time limit—in a week she’d be back in her own life in Georgia and Grace’s family would go back to functioning without her. The thought wasn’t as comforting as she’d hoped.

  The next morning at breakfast, Matt was on top of the world. His son was home and on the mend, and he’d spent half the night making sweet, glorious love to Susannah. Things were looking
up.

  “Does anyone want more pancakes?” Susannah asked, glancing over to where he and Flynn sat at the kitchen table.

  “Me!” Flynn called gleefully.

  Matt took their plates to the stove where Susannah was making another batch of her blueberry-and-oat pancakes, pausing to admire how good she looked in his kitchen. He couldn’t be here with her and not think of making love to her, her sumptuous curves draped over the table, clinging to him as she found release. His body heated now, not nearly sated enough even after the night they’d shared.

  Drawing her into his arms wasn’t an option when Flynn was in the room, but he’d be sure to make up for it the moment they had some privacy. Make up for it and then some.

  “Here you go.” Susannah flipped two pancakes onto each plate. Her cheeks were faintly flushed from the heat of the stove and all he could think about was how they took on the same flush when he was inside her.

  He cleared his throat and hauled himself back into the present. “Have I mentioned these are the best pancakes I’ve tasted?” He put Flynn’s plate in front of him and poured some more maple syrup over the golden creations.

  “You might have,” she said, winking at Flynn, “but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

  The doorbell went, and Matt threw her a grin before heading out to answer it. When he pulled the front door open, his mother stood there and, without bothering with a greeting, he pulled her into a bear hug. She’d been great while Flynn was in the hospital—no, since Grace had passed—so it was good she was here now for Flynn’s first breakfast at home.

  When he let her go, she smoothed down his hair. “How’s Flynn this morning?”

  “Better,” he said, closing the door behind her. “And eating like a trouper.”

  “Your omelets?” she asked with a dubious expression.

  “Hey, he likes my omelets.” He frowned in mock annoyance. “But, no, Susannah’s still here. She made pancakes.”

  Her eyes were instantly alert. “That friend of Grace’s?”

  “That’s the one.” Before she could ask more questions, he ushered her through to the kitchen.

  “Nanna!” Flynn called when he saw her. “Sudi made pancakes wif oats in them!”

  “Did she?” His mother looked curiously at Susannah and back to her grandson then him. “That sounds marvelous.” She walked over and deposited a kiss on Flynn’s sticky cheek.

  “You’ve already met Susannah?” he asked, wary of what was going on in his mother’s mind. Perhaps it had been too much to hope that his family wouldn’t question the story he’d fed them about Susannah’s presence. At the time, helping out an old friend of Grace’s while she looked for work back in Charleston had seemed a good enough reason to explain her stay. He hadn’t worried too much about their reaction, which, in retrospect, could have been a mistake.

  “Yes,” his mother answered. “We met in the hospital.”

  Susannah turned and smiled brightly. “It’s lovely to see you again, Mrs. Kincaid. Have you eaten breakfast, or can I offer you a pancake?”

  Her smile hit him squarely in the chest, so to cover he headed for the coffeemaker. “And I was just about to make coffee.”

  He reached around Susannah for the jar of coffee grounds then glanced up at his mother for her answer, and found her watching him with that curious expression on her face again.

  She started, as if realizing she’d been staring then smiled. “I’d love a coffee. And if you have a few minutes, Matthew, there’s something I’d like to discuss.”

  Susannah moved around him with synchronicity as she put the empty pan in the sink and he continued with the coffee. “Flynn and I’ll be okay on our own if you want some privacy.”

  “Thank you, dear,” his mother said with a strange touch of self-satisfaction. “That’s very thoughtful.”

  He finished the coffee, left one mug for Susannah, then took the other two and followed his mother into the parlor. She had far too much swing in her step for his peace of mind. She was planning something. They sank into facing couches and he handed her a cappuccino.

  “You and Susannah,” she began.

  He rolled his shoulders back, ready to nip whatever she was thinking in the bud. “Are just friends.”

  She took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the brim. “Somehow I expected you’d say that, yet why don’t I believe you?”

  “She was a—”

  “Friend of Grace’s. I’ve heard the story,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But there’s something more between you.”

  He opened his mouth to deny it, then changed tack and decided to pump her for information instead of the other way around. Casually he leaned back and rested an arm along the back of his couch. “Why do you say that?”

  “A mother knows,” she said, her tone flippant.

  He leveled a sardonic stare at her and held it. It was a ploy that usually worked on her and he wasn’t disappointed this time, either.

  She shrugged and tried to hide her grin. “How about we say that when you look at each other, the sparks that fly are strong enough to light the whole of Charleston.” Her expression sobered into an expression of pure parental reprimand. “However, I won’t lie and say I’m happy that she’s here under your roof. How about she comes to stay with me and—”

  “Not going to happen,” Matthew said, cutting that idea off before it was fully voiced. Susannah was staying right here with him for however many days she had left in Charleston. “Do you think anyone else has noticed?”

  “I doubt it,” she said soothingly and took another sip of her cappuccino. “You’re my son, and I can’t help but keep an eye on you.”

  Visions rose of his entire family knowing and taking every opportunity to tease him then rumors leaking back to Flynn. He needed to end this now. “She’s leaving soon, so we’d rather this didn’t become public knowledge.”

  “Don’t let her go.”

  The words had been so simply, so starkly delivered that he did a double take. “Pardon?”

  “There’s been something different about you lately. You’ve been worried sick about Flynn, I’ve seen that, but there has also been a…glow from the inside. It’s like you’re waking up from a deep sleep.”

  Matt groaned. His mother was well on her way to creating an epic romance for him with Susannah. He rubbed a finger across his forehead. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Darling,” she said, her tone suddenly more serious, “we have something awful in common. We’ve both lost a spouse to death.” She paused and he recognized the confused flash of conflicting emotions that played across her face from when he’d felt the same. “It’s not something I’d ever wish for one of my children, and I would have done anything to spare you the last twelve months.”

  He put his coffee down on a side table and leaned forward to capture her hands between his. “I know you would. And I love you for that.”

  “Then promise me one thing.”

  “Okay,” he said warily.

  “If you’re in love with her, don’t hide it.” Her voice faltered, but she regrouped then her chin kicked up. “Just promise me you won’t hide it.”

  There was more to what she was saying. He frowned, trying to read her expression. Perhaps she was thinking about his father’s hidden affection for Angela Sinclair?

  “I’m not in love with her, and that won’t change.” He’d given his heart away once and it was decimated when things fell apart with Grace. He’d never offer it again. Whatever was—temporarily—going on between him and Susannah, it did not, would not, involve his heart.

  “If you say so.” There was a resigned affection in her voice that he remembered her using when he was a boy and she hadn’t believed him.

  He released her hands and picked up his mug of coffee again. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  She reached into her handbag and withdrew two tickets. “You’ve been courting Arnold Larrimore from Larrimore Industries
as new business for TKG, haven’t you?”

  “I have.” Getting his business would go a long way to plugging the hole that was created when people jumped ship after the scandal about his father had hit the papers.

  “I happen to know he’ll be at the Barclays’ fundraiser on Sunday.” She waggled the tickets in her hand triumphantly. “I managed to get us invited.”

  His mother’s social connections through her charity work had been of great value to Matt’s role as Director of New Business for TKG. She procured introductions, tickets to events, dinner party invitations and general access to a social scene the family didn’t normally mix in. And since Grace died, his mother had accompanied him to any of the events where he needed a plus one.

  “Great scouting.” He’d do most anything to be able to announce to the board that he’d snared Arnold Larrimore’s account and put TKG back on more solid footing.

  “There’s only one problem,” she said, handing him the tickets.

  He took them, with a sinking sensation in his stomach—he had a feeling where this was going. “Which is?”

  “I don’t think I can make it.” Her face fell—a picture of tragic disappointment. “I’ve turned my ankle, and couldn’t possibly spend an entire night in heels.”

  He glanced down at her perfectly normal ankle and back up again. “It seemed fine when you walked in here.”

  “It’s been a strange injury.” Her eyelids fluttered in feigned distress. “It comes and goes. In fact, I can feel it starting to ache now.”

  He narrowed his eyes. His mother was a good liar, but this had to be the lamest story she’d ever concocted. Obviously she’d created it on the spot. “Perhaps you should stay here for the day with it elevated. I’ll put ice on it now then wrap it later.”

  “I think I’d be better heading for home. Pamela will know what to do. But you really should go to the Barclays’ fundraiser.” She pretended to think. “I know, take Susannah! I can stay with Flynn—a little turned ankle will be fine here with him.”