Their Secret Son (Bayside Bachelors #2)

by Judy Duarte

  “Mine?” Had her voice shrieked like a fishmonger’s wife? Surely not.

  “That’s what Bobby told us,” Joe said. “He needed some glue for a model car that was broken.”

  “Bobby,” she said, squatting to meet her son at eye level. “I can’t let you play with Superglue.”

  “Lighters aren’t a good idea, either,” Joe said. “He tried to weld the plastic together.”

  Having a bright and inquisitive child who was prone to mischief provided her once predictable life with one adventure after another. She could only wonder what other troubles were sure to come. Her instinct told her Bobby was just an active little boy, although her fiancé suggested she’d spoiled him by being too lenient.

  “Bobby, we’ll talk about this at home,” Kristin said. Then she looked at Joe, caught the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the bad-boy smile that used to make her heart go topsy-turvy.

  Used to? That was an understatement.

  But she couldn’t allow those adolescent obsessions to interfere with her life plans. Not anymore.

  For the first time in years, she’d found peace and contentment, not to mention a fiancé eager to marry her. And not just any fiancé.

  Dylan Montgomery was a man who understood relationships, people. Children. He was a man who’d made a name for himself in the self-help market and was entering the realm of talk shows, the kind of man her father always dreamed she’d marry.

  And speaking of her dad, she had his feelings to consider, as well as his health. A smoker for years, his idea of cutting back was to switch to a pipe, but his lungs were a mess and he had signs of emphysema. The overweight diabetic needed open-heart surgery, but his health complications prohibited the lifesaving procedure.

  There was no way Kristin would subject him to the stress a truthful revelation would trigger at this point in his life. She might have spent the last eight years on the east coast, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t worried about her dad. That’s why she’d come home, to be with him, to talk to his doctors. To protect him, just as he’d always protected her.

  Thomas Reynolds might seem to be an overwhelming brute at times, but that was because he was a successful businessman. Rumor had it that he wasn’t a man to be crossed, especially when it came to real estate sales and property development. And maybe there was some truth to that. There’d been a few lawsuits that she’d been aware of, litigations that her father had won, causing the financial ruin of at least one company. But that was business.

  There was so much more to Thomas Reynolds than met the eye. He was Kristin’s father—the man who adored her. The man who lugged a video cam to every school function and sat in the front row, sometimes blocking the view of others when he stood to film his daughter’s attempts to perform. The man who created a goofy-looking butterfly costume for her to wear for the spring pageant, who listened over and over to her recite a poem in preparation for the elementary school speech meet.

  The gentle giant who tucked her into bed each night and listened to her prayers. The brokenhearted husband who tried to compensate for his daughter’s loss of her mother.

  If it took the rest of Kristin’s life, she wanted to make up to her father for the pain and disappointment he’d suffered because of her misplaced love and trust in Joe Davenport.

  Joe touched her arm, chasing prickles of heat along her skin and jump-starting her heart. “We need to talk.”

  “If you’re suggesting we discuss the past, there’s nothing to say.”

  Joe looked down at her son, then back at her. “I think we have a great deal to talk about.”

  No way would she get into a discussion with Joe about the past, their past. Not here. Not now.

  Not ever.

  “I’ll pay for any damages my son has caused,” Kristin said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get back home. I left the potatoes on the stove, and unless you want to be called to a kitchen fire, I’d better go check on them.”

  She took Bobby by the hand and started the long walk up the driveway that led to her father’s estate, intent on escaping the rugged fireman’s perusal and getting her son home before too many questions arose.

  As she neared the house, a white three-story Victorian home built more than a hundred years ago, her lies came back to haunt her.

  You’re what? her father had bellowed into the phone when she called him from college to break the news.

  I’m pregnant.

  The day she’d intended to tell Joe that she suspected she might be carrying his child, he’d beat her to the punch by saying he didn’t love her anymore. As far as she’d been concerned, there was nothing for her to do, other than leave for college a couple of months early. By Christmas break, her pregnancy had been impossible to conceal.

  Who is the father? If it’s that Davenport kid, I’ll tear him limb from limb.

  That’s when her first lie went into effect, the lie she continued to perpetuate.

  The baby’s father is a guy I met here, Daddy. A member of the water polo team. But it was just a fling on my part. And I’m not going to marry him, no matter how hard he begs.

  Her father had roared his disapproval and disappointment, but continued his financial support until she graduated with honors and took a teaching job on the east coast. Whenever her dad had suggested she come home to visit, Kristin gave him one excuse or another, prompting him to fly back east in order to see her and the grandson he’d grown to adore.

  As they neared the gates that led to the house, she gave Bobby’s hand a little squeeze. Not having a man around had been tough on the boy. On his mother, too. But they were doing okay. And soon Dylan would step into the paternal role. She didn’t need Joe Davenport in her life.

  But had he suspected the truth? She could have sworn he had. Was he still trying to sort things through? Or had he gone about his business? Put his questions aside, as she hoped he would?

  Like Lot’s wife, Kristin turned around, unable to hold her curiosity at bay.

  Was Joe still watching?

  He was.

  Her feet slowed like blocks of salt, and her heartbeat reverberated in her ears. She could read the suspicion in his eyes, the questions.

  Kristin’s days of lying were over. But how could she tell Joe the truth without revealing the secret she’d kept from her dad for years? If her dad found out, the stress might trigger the coming heart attack that would kill him.

  Maybe, she tried to convince herself, Joe would thank his lucky stars not to be strapped with child support payments and the responsibilities that came with being a parent. Maybe he’d just let his unanswered questions die a slow and easy death.

  She would cling to that hope.

  As Joe watched Kristin walk away, he cursed under his breath.

  Was he Bobby’s father?

  It was definitely possible.

  “That’s some woman,” the rookie beside him said. Then he blew out a long, slow whistle. “She sure doesn’t look like any of the mothers I ever knew.”

  “She’s pretty, but definitely out of your league, Dustin,” Joe told his younger buddy. “When a guy falls for a woman like that, the future is bound to be rocky and steep.”

  And there’d never been a relationship facing a more uphill battle than the youthful affair he and Kristin had innocently embarked upon.

  Growing up, Joe had often been referred to as “that Davenport kid,” a reference he’d tried hard to shake. Trying to live down his dad’s reputation hadn’t been easy. And if Harry Logan hadn’t stepped into Joe’s life, God only knew where he might have ended up.

  The night of the fire, Harry had found Joe huddled near a Dumpster, scared out of his socks, but ready to defend his action to the death. He’d only meant to start a fire in the old warehouse, not cause a roaring blaze that would threaten other buildings on the block. But Harry had seen through the surly display of anger and zeroed in on the fear in Joe’s eyes, the pain in his heart. And instead of hauling his sorry ass to juvie,
as many cops would have done, Harry took Joe aside. Put him in his patrol car, but not as a suspect or criminal.

  Harry had sensed that no one had ever given a damn about Joe, no one had ever listened to him. And for the next hour or so, he just sat there, nodding in understanding. Asking questions when appropriate. Listening intently, and then letting a kid who’d tried so damn hard to be tough bawl his eyes out.

  And when the tears and sobs had finally stopped, Harry offered Joe something no one had ever offered him before. A sturdy shoulder to lean on. Hope for the future. A friendship with one of the greatest guys in the world. A family that included him in holiday dinners, barbecues and touch football games on the lawn. And a brotherhood of terrific guys who’d once been hell-bent misfits and now had a purpose.

  Thanks to Harry, Joe had turned his life around. Still, he supposed there might be some people who couldn’t forget his parentage or his shabby roots, particularly Kristin’s father. But that was too bad.

  Early on, Joe Davenport had made up his mind to ignore those people who couldn’t quite forget who his daddy had been. And he damn sure wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life proving that he was good enough for Kristin Reynolds. For one thing, her dad would never be convinced.

  But things were different, now.

  There was a child involved. A child Joe hadn’t known about. A towheaded boy who might be his son.

  If Joe was Bobby’s father, he’d do right by the boy.

  No matter what Kristin or her dad had to say about it.

  Chapter Two

  The next day, after his twenty-four-hour shift ended, Joe stood on the front stoop of the Reynolds house, preparing to knock on the carved oak door that boasted a fancy stained-glass window.

  His excuse, which he hoped didn’t sound lame or reveal another, more pressing reason for being here, was to talk to Bobby about fire safety and give him a junior fire marshal badge. From personal experience, Joe knew the extra effort and personal touch would help Bobby be more mindful about playing with fire.

  Harry Logan and George Ellison, the fire chief who’d dealt with Joe as a kid, had used the same approach. They’d taken him to the fire station and made him feel like one of the guys. It was an experience that had turned his crappy life around and given him a purpose, not to mention a station house full of friends and, eventually, a job he loved.

  Joe would have come by to talk to any other kid who’d started a fire, but the semiofficial visit wasn’t his primary motive. He wanted to see Kristin again, to ask her point-blank whether he was Bobby’s father.

  Because if the boy was his son, Joe was prepared to be the kind of dad he’d always wished he had. He might not be able to make up for the lost years, but he could certainly take an active part in the future—no matter what Thomas Reynolds had to say about his involvement.

  He rang the bell, then rapped on the door for good measure.

  Moments later, Kristin answered, wearing a simple green dress and her hair pulled into a ponytail. She looked young, much like the teenage girl she’d once been. The girl he’d once loved.

  When she saw him, her emerald eyes widened and her mouth dropped. Obviously, she hadn’t expected him to follow her home.

  He never had before.

  Mostly because she hadn’t wanted him to.

  But things had changed, now that they’d grown up and gone their separate ways.

  “Joe,” was all she said, her voice soft, wispy. She blanched for a moment, then seemed to recover.

  “I came to talk to Bobby.” And you.

  “Bobby went on a picnic to Oceana Park with the family who lives next door. They won’t be home until later this afternoon.”

  “I’m sorry I missed him.” Joe’s words weren’t entirely true. What he and Kristin had to talk about was best done in private, out of Bobby’s hearing range.

  “Thank you for stopping by,” she said, as though wanting to send him on his way.

  But Joe wasn’t about to be put off. “Like I said before, Kristin, you and I have some things to discuss. And I thought now might be a good time.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and, before Joe could broach his main question, she took his arm and led him across the manicured lawn to the silver Chevy Tahoe he’d parked in the drive. “Now’s not the right time.”

  Because her father was home, no doubt.

  Would Thomas Reynolds always stand between them like an armed sentry? Or a rottweiler with eyes glazed and teeth bared?

  Joe crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze snagging hers and demanding the truth—the real reason why now wasn’t a good time to talk. “What’s the matter, Kristin? Afraid your father will see me on his property and come running with his shotgun?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Joe didn’t believe her. The lie she’d uttered had brought a blush to her cheeks and a splotch to her throat and neck. She was afraid her dad would raise hell.

  Well, he would just cut to the chase. “All right, Kristin. I’ll go. For now. But answer one question. Am I Bobby’s father?”

  Her lips pursed, and she crossed her arms in a defensive stance. “Bobby isn’t your concern.”

  “If he’s my son, he is.”

  She stood there, silent and cool as a Grecian statue, yet Joe had the feeling an unexpected gust of wind would blow her over and smash her to smithereens.

  For some insane reason, he felt an urge to comfort her, to wrap her in his arms and pull her close. Tell her she could depend on him for support.

  But Kristin Reynolds, soft and gentle as she was on the outside, had an inner strength Joe had always admired. So instead of giving in and offering the protective gesture, he held firm. “I want some answers. And I’m not going away until I get them.”

  She turned her back, as if to stomp off, but her feet remained rooted to the driveway. Was she crying? Considering a response? Trying to decide on how to tell him the truth?

  Or was she merely going to recite the trespassing laws? Remind him that he’d never been welcome on Reynolds property?

  Trying to gain control of her emotions, Kristin brushed a tear from her eye and stared at the front porch of the house in which she’d grown up, the home that had offered her refuge, comfort and safety over the years.

  As much as she’d hoped Joe wouldn’t show any interest in her son, she knew the cocky, take-charge firefighter wouldn’t be put off.

  What a sticky wicket she’d found herself in now.

  She'd told Joe that she wasn’t afraid her father would come chasing after him with a shotgun. And she wasn’t. Her father wasn’t a violent man, although he’d been known to raise his voice loud enough to cause people to tremble when he’d been crossed.

  But Joe’s presence and the subject he wanted to discuss would cause Thomas Reynolds to rant and rave, which, God forbid, could trigger the heart attack that might kill him.

  Joe took her by the hand, turned her to face him. “I want a blood test to establish paternity.”

  Kristin blew out a weary sigh. The stubborn fireman was taking this too far. She had to tell him something. The truth, she supposed. But not until she could get his promise. His promise to keep her secret until it was safe to reveal.

  She swiped at a loose strand of hair that had slipped free of her ponytail and tickled her cheek, then gazed at the angular face of the man who had such power over her—power to turn her knees to jelly, her heart to mush. Power to turn her life upside down and blow her relationship with her father to hell.

  “Slow down, Joe. There’s a lot you don’t know, a lot you don’t understand. I’ll discuss it with you—in private—if I can get your word about something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll have to promise to keep our discussion a secret until I say it’s okay.”

  Joe had a stubborn pride and a sense of honor. If he gave her his word, he’d keep it. She doubted the years had changed that about him.

  She watched him contemplate what
she'd said, the stipulations she’d lined out. And she wondered what would unfold if he accepted her terms.

  After what seemed like ages, but was probably only a minute or so, he dragged a hand through his wheat-colored hair. “All right. I’ll play it your way.”

  Relieved, Kristin slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. “Okay. But I don’t want to discuss this subject here.”

  “How about we talk about it over dinner tonight?”

  Dinner? That wasn’t what she had in mind. It seemed too much like a date. Just the idea of being alone with Joe Davenport again brought forth a rush of heated memories. Shared chocolate shakes at Dottie’s Diner, hands entwined under the table. Slow dancing under the strobe lights at the Spring Fling. Stolen kisses behind the dugout at the baseball field.

  She tried to focus on the day he’d broken her heart, the day he stopped loving her. All the nights she’d cried herself to sleep. Anything but the attraction she still felt for a guy who’d thrown her heart back in her lap.

  Joe slid her a grin. “I know a quiet little out-of-the-way place where even James Bond would feel comfortable spilling his secrets.”

  Secrets. She’d kept hers so close to the vest that she wasn’t sure she could share them with anyone.

  What did Joe expect from her, after all these years?

  The truth, she supposed. Lord knew she was tired of the lies, the deceit. But not tired enough to risk her dad’s health.

  “Give me the directions,” Kristin said, “and I’ll meet you there.”

  “You don’t want me to pick you up?” Joe’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “Your dad always stands between us, doesn’t he?”

  Yes, he probably always would, but there was no need to get into that discussion now. “You never did like to play by anyone else’s rules.”

  “I still don’t.” He withdrew a notepad from the dash of his Tahoe, then scratched out an address. “I’ll meet you at four-thirty. Before the dinner crowd shows up.”

  She nodded, then stood in silence as he climbed into his SUV and drove away.