“It shouldn’t matter, but I need to know. I was so convinced you loved me…”
She needed all her self-restraint to keep from blurting out the truth.
He turned away and, as if in shock and functioning by rote, began gathering files she’d abandoned on the floor when she discovered her address book missing. Her heart stopped when he picked up the folder containing Chip’s medical records.
“I’ll take that.” She attempted to snatch it from him, but he stepped beyond her reach, flipped the folder open and began to read.
If she lived to be a thousand, she would never forget the fleeting expressions of joy and pain that crossed his face. He glanced up from the doctor’s records and gaped at her.
“Chip is his nickname?”
Clasping her arms around her midriff in a futile attempt to stop trembling, she nodded.
“His legal name is Dylan Wade Taylor?” He stumbled to the bed and sank onto it as if his legs had given way.
Oh, God, after all I’ve suffered, and all for nothing, she cried silently.
She nodded again, numbly.
Awe filled his face, and she longed to touch the strong curve of his jaw, so like Chip’s. “He’s my son?”
She surrendered to the inevitable. “You’re listed as his father on his birth certificate.”
His awe changed to outrage. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had a right to know.”
Her mind froze again. Her reasons for secrecy now were the same as they’d been two years ago, and just as strong. She couldn’t think fast enough to make up an answer, and she refused to tell him the truth.
Before he could repeat his demand, Chip, awakened by Dylan’s angry shout, wailed in the living room. Hardening her heart against the man she loved, she started toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
She paused in the doorway. “I’m going to my son. As for your rights, this is my house, he’s my child, and the sooner you leave us alone, the better off we’ll be.”
FEELING AS IF HE’D BEEN poleaxed, Dylan sagged on the bed and watched her go. Two facts pummeled him until he could hardly breathe.
Chip was his son.
Heather hadn’t loved someone else.
Her walking out on him, especially knowing she was carrying his child, made even less sense than before.
Maybe she hadn’t loved him and had feared he would insist on marrying her if he’d known about her pregnancy. She obviously didn’t want him around now. That fact pained him more than he wanted to admit.
But she couldn’t just send him away. Chip was his son. The boy changed everything.
Righteous indignation propelled him into the living room. The sight of Chip, cradled in his mother’s arms as his sobs ebbed, almost distracted him from his purpose. He searched for traces of himself in the boy’s face before allowing his anger to pull him back on course.
“You’re not going to a hotel.”
She jerked up her head. “What?”
“I’m responsible for the safety of my child, and I’m not handing that duty over to some hotel dick.”
She flushed and anger flashed in her eyes. “I’ll make the decisions—”
“Don’t argue.” He softened his tone. “Chip’s been through enough trauma without having to endure our squabbling.”
Panic joined the fury in her eyes. “But—”
“If you don’t want me around, I’ll honor that, but I will make certain Chip, and his mother, are safe. I’m taking you both back to my parents’ house.”
Emotions flitted across her face, and he visualized thoughts churning behind her moss-green eyes. He feared she would refuse, until her shoulders drooped with defeat and she thrust Chip into his arms.
“I’ll finish packing.” She left the room.
With a mixture of uneasiness and relief, he shifted his son in his arms.
“Dyl!” Chip squealed happily, and patted Dylan’s cheeks with his chubby hands.
Dylan clasped the boy close, amazed at the love blossoming in his heart until it threatened to explode. He was holding his son in his arms. Powerful feelings almost overwhelmed him, and he wondered why a love of such magnitude couldn’t fill the chasm Heather’s rejection had furrowed in his soul.
Suddenly a thought struck him, so horrifying it almost knocked him off his feet. In his years on the force, he had arrested dozens of dirtbags and slime-balls. Did someone else know that Chip was his son? Had one of them discovered Dylan was Chip’s father and tried to harm Heather and the boy for revenge against the officer who’d locked him away?
If someone was striking at him through Chip and Heather, would they be safe, even at his parents?
He pushed those doubts away. If anyone else knew Chip’s paternity, surely Dylan would have heard the rumors, too. And he hadn’t had a clue.
Convinced Chip would be safest with his grandparents, at least for now, he hugged his son. The police motto, To Protect and Serve, had just taken on a whole new dimension.
HEATHER CARRIED CHIP toward her car and started to open the back door.
“Leave it,” Dylan ordered. “We’ll take mine.”
“I’ll need my car—”
“Whoever’s looking for you knows your car by now. You don’t need to advertise where you are by parking your car at my parents’. As long as it’s here at your house, maybe the kidnapper will believe you’re here, too.”
With a leaden heart, Heather removed Chip’s car seat from the Taurus and turned toward Dylan’s Jeep. She had given in to his unyielding refusal to allow her to take Chip to a hotel and agreed to return to his parents’ house. If he kept his promise to leave her alone, she wouldn’t have to face him again, wouldn’t have to deal with his knowing the secret she’d guarded for the past two years.
She couldn’t argue with his logic about her car, but she hadn’t counted on the long ride back to Dolphin Bay, confined with him for thirty long, torturous minutes. To keep Chip safe, however, she would abandon her vehicle and stomach Dylan’s anger awhile longer.
He moved with a quick, efficient grace, stowing their luggage, then Chip’s car seat, in his Jeep. She locked the front entrance to her house, buckled Chip in his carrier and slid onto the seat next to Dylan. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but his death grip on the steering wheel and the tension in his body transmitted his fury without words.
After wrenching the car into gear, he turned around in her driveway and headed toward the interstate. Chip babbled contentedly in the back seat, oblivious to the strained atmosphere.
Heather leaned against the headrest, closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Her ploy worked for the first ten minutes of the trip.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question exploded from Dylan like a star going nova.
Confined in the car, she couldn’t avoid answering, but she chose her words carefully. She wouldn’t allow his anger to cancel the good she’d done them both.
“If I’d told you, you would have insisted on doing the honorable thing and marrying me.” She colored her words with contempt. The effort scalded her like acid, but she couldn’t let him guess the truth. If he knew how she really felt, she’d find herself neck-deep in the trap she’d worked long and hard to avoid.
His anger vanished, and the stiffness in his bearing yielded to sorrow. “You didn’t want to marry me.”
His statement required no answer. Even if it had, she would have lied and said she didn’t, despite the fact that since the day they’d met, marriage to Dylan had loomed as the height of her happiness.
But he had never felt the same. They’d dated an entire year before he’d confessed his love for her, and even that assurance had had its limits.
The longer she had known him, the more aware she’d become of his aversion to commitment. One conversation in particular had burned into her memory. A day after their first lovemaking, Dylan had arrived at her house for dinner. From the gloom on his face, she’d feared at first that someone had died.
�
��Are you okay?” she’d asked.
“Sure.” He roused himself from his blue funk long enough to kiss her as if he meant it.
Later, after a too-quiet dinner of chicken he’d grilled while she made salad, his contemplative mood deepened. They sat in the living room to watch the Magic game, and his preoccupation consumed him. When he didn’t react to a referee’s incorrect call, she withdrew from the circle of his arm and switched off the television.
“What’s wrong?”
He inhaled, as if preparing for an ordeal. “I want to apologize for last night.”
“Apologize?” His words shocked her into deeper uneasiness. “Why?”
Gazing at the dark TV screen, he avoided her eyes. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
“I thought you enjoyed making love as much as I did. I guess I was mistaken.”
He turned to her with dark eyes blazing. “I did enjoy it. That’s the whole point.”
She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m not following you.”
“I’m not cut out for commitment.” Agony filled his voice. “Loving you like that—I don’t want to spoil our friendship by sending you the wrong signals.”
“Signals that you love me?” Anger battled with heartbreak within her.
“You know I love you,” he said, with such intensity she couldn’t doubt him.
“Then what’s the problem?”
His sweet, sad smile tugged at her heart “Have you ever watched a friend go through hell and felt powerless to help?”
“You mean like now?” She lifted her eyebrows in irony. “I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s eating you.”
Avoiding her gaze, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clenched. “In the last month, three guys in the department have been hit with divorce papers. Today, it was Larry.”
“Larry Shelton?” At a cookout at Dylan’s a couple of months earlier, Larry, his wife, Joanie, and their adorable twin girls had presented a picture of the perfect family. Larry and Joanie were obviously in love and unashamedly proud of their daughters. “That doesn’t seem possible.”
“Believe it. Six weeks ago Larry almost bought the farm when he cornered a fleeing bank robber. Larry was wearing Kevlar, but if the perp had shot a few inches higher, the vest would have been useless.”
“I don’t understand. Joanie’s leaving Larry because he almost got himself killed?”
“They’ve been married eight years. Every day, when Joanie kissed Larry goodbye, she didn’t know if he’d walk in the door at the end of his shift or be carted to the morgue in a body bag. When she learned how close he’d come to dying in that bank robbery, she cracked.”
Heather understood. She’d felt the same way many times, knowing Dylan was on duty, praying he’d make it through his shift unharmed. But she couldn’t imagine not wanting to be there when the danger had passed and he came home.
In fact, she wanted to be there, had hoped he’d ask her to marry him. For the past year, although he’d said he loved her, had proved it with the fervor of his kisses and in a hundred more subtle ways, he had never once mentioned marriage.
Sadness darkened his eyes. “Joanie couldn’t take it any longer. She said the stress was killing her and that her anxiety was beginning to infect the twins. She’s taking the girls and moving back to Ohio to live with her folks.”
“Poor Larry.”
“He’ll only see his girls a few weeks in the summer and at Christmas. He’s been walking around the station like a zombie ever since the papers were served.”
“And the other two divorces?”
“Jeb Greenlea and David Arden.” He leaned back and fixed her with a look that tore at her heart. “Being married to a cop is no picnic. Weird hours, the constant risk of death or injury, not to mention the possibility some creep might take revenge against an arresting officer’s family.”
“But what about love? Doesn’t that count for something?”
His jaw had settled into a hard, unyielding line. “If a cop loves a woman, the best thing he can do for her is keep his distance. Why put someone you love though that kind of hell?”
“You don’t think cops should marry?”
“Damn right.”
“Look at your mom and dad. They’ve been happy.”
“They had their rough times, but it’s worse for today’s cops, with more violent criminals, more guns on the streets.”
At his explanation of his opposition to marriage, a tiny inner voice badgered her with doubt. If he really loved her, wouldn’t he want to marry her and work together to deal with the job stress?
She longed to ask which was his greater worry, causing her pain or the fear she’d walk out on him, but she never had the chance to pose the question. Apologizing for spoiling her evening with his foul mood, he’d left immediately.
For several weeks, their relationship returned to what it had been before their lovemaking—until the day she discovered she was pregnant For her own sake, she had seen him one last time, to sear the memory of him in her heart. If she’d had any doubts about what she planned, recalling his withdrawn and distant behavior the day after Chip was conceived had convinced her.
Dylan viewed marriage and commitment as a prelude to catastrophe. Often she had wondered, if she hadn’t become pregnant and removed herself from his life, how long it would have been before Dylan ended their relationship himself.
Affirming the decision she’d made two years ago, she refused now to push him into the very thing he most wanted to avoid. He was so damned honorable. If she let him believe she had the slightest feeling for him, he’d insist on marrying her and they’d both end up miserable.
If honor was his hang-up, hers was pride. She loved him with an intensity that robbed her of sleep and breath, but she would never marry him unless he asked her of his own free will, unencumbered by his sense of duty or honor.
Sure, Chip needed a father, but not one alienated and resentful because he’d been forced into marriage by his own high principles.
“We’re here,” Dylan announced.
With a start, Heather looked up to find the Jeep parked in the Wades’ driveway. If Margaret and Frank hadn’t already guessed, they wouldn’t take long to realize their son was Chip’s father. “What will you tell your folks?”
“That Chip’s their grandson. They have a right to know.”
Heather said nothing. She couldn’t argue with the truth.
The screen door opened, and with a welcoming smile, Margaret descended the front steps. She greeted Heather and Dylan and reached for Chip. “Hello, Chipper.”
At Margaret’s heels, Mame the terrier yapped happily and circled her as she held Chip. Toting luggage, Heather and Dylan followed them inside to the guest room.
Margaret set Chip down and looked at Heather. “Dylan told me on the phone what happened at your house. You poor girl, you’re welcome here until things get sorted out and it’s safe to return, however long that is.”
“Thanks.” Heather had always liked Dylan’s mom, who had always treated her like one of the family.
“You settle in,” Margaret said, “then join me in the kitchen. I made a cake after Dylan called. It’ll be coming out of the oven soon.”
Her warm hospitality chased away some of Heather’s foreboding. “Thank you, Mrs. Wade—”
“Call me Margaret, just like old times.” After an encouraging smile, the older woman left the room.
Heather glanced at Dylan, who stood inside the door, studying his son. “You can set my luggage on the bed, please.”
As if awakening from a trance, he wrenched his gaze from Chip and lifted the heavy bag onto the quilted coverlet.
Dylan avoided her eyes. “As soon as I’ve explained to Mother about Chip, I’ll leave.”
“You’ll keep your promise to stay away?” If he didn’t, her resolve might shatter, making her years of sacrifice all for nothing.
This time he faced her, and his
expression was undecipherable. “I’ll keep out of your way.”
Shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, she reached for her luggage and lifted the lid. When she turned toward the closet with an armload of clothes, he was gone.
Relieved he hadn’t insisted on more answers about her leaving him, she returned to her unpacking with deliberate slowness, giving him ample opportunity to depart before she carried Chip into the kitchen.
Margaret’s blue eyes lit up like Christmas when she saw Chip. “Come to Gramma, sweetheart.”
Heather expelled her pent-up breath. “So Dylan told you.”
Margaret nodded and lifted Chip into the high chair. “I had already guessed, first time I set eyes on the boy. He may have your eyes and nose, but in every other way, he’s a carbon copy of Dylan at that age.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. I wouldn’t blame you for being angry—”
“Don’t be silly.” Margaret stepped closer and enveloped her in a spontaneous hug. “You did what you thought was best. How can anyone argue with that?”
The short, plump woman smelled of lilacs and sunshine, reminding her of her own mother. “Thank you, and thanks for taking us in again.”
“Anytime. After all, you’re family.” Margaret released her and reached into a cabinet above the counter for blue willow plates. “Now, how about a piece of chocolate cake while it’s still warm?”
Margaret’s accepting attitude and the sunny kitchen’s homey atmosphere provided a buffer against the terrors and anguish of the past two days. Heather sat at the bleached oak table and pushed thoughts of the bearded stranger, her ransacked house and Dylan from her mind. For the first time since her frantic flight to Dylan’s house, she believed that maybe things would work out all right.
She and Chip would remain with the Wades until the police caught the kidnapper. If she was lucky, they could return home without encountering Dylan again. Being near him was too dangerous. He stirred the same overpowering emotions in her he always had. If she intended to protect them both from his honorable motives, the sooner she severed all connections, the better.
Margaret’s next words fractured her hopes. “Dylan said he’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning. I told him I’d watch Chip while you’re gone.”
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