The Secret Heir

by Gina Wilkins

  A stranger’s voice came from Jackson’s mouth when he asked, “Why are you telling me this now?”

  And why the hell haven’t you told me before?

  “I figured it was inevitable that you would start asking more questions about blood types and genetic history. That there was a risk you would figure it out for yourself. And I thought both you and Tyler deserved to know what other medical conditions you might have inherited.

  “I contacted the man who fathered you and asked him about the heart defect. He admitted that he’s had heart problems himself, and that he lost several cousins and uncles to early heart attacks—a couple who were only in their early twenties. He’s going to warn his other children to watch for the condition in their families and to be screened for the defect themselves.”

  His other children. Jackson’s half-siblings. He couldn’t go there right now. “I need to think about this.”

  “I know. But I need to tell you one more thing. You should know who your real father is.”

  For the first time since he’d been a kid, Jackson wanted to yell at his mother. He wanted to shout at her that his real father was Carl Reiss. And he wanted more than he had ever wanted anything in his life for it to be the truth. “I don’t care what his name is.”

  “You need to know,” she insisted. “It’s Jack Crosby.”

  It took him a moment to place the name. And then he scowled. “The computer millionaire?”

  “Yes. He has become a very wealthy, powerful man. He’s almost seventy now, married to his second wife, who’s much younger than he is, of course. And he wants to meet you.”

  “Jack Crosby.” Repeating the name made him almost sick to his stomach. “You named me after him, damn it!”

  She nodded miserably. “At the time it seemed like a way of defying him. Of disputing that horrible letter and proclaiming that you were his son, despite anything he claimed. Carl suggested I might want to give you another name, to spare me the pain and you the embarrassment when the truth came out, but I wouldn’t listen. I was still so angry.”

  “You must have hated him. And me.”

  “I didn’t hate you,” she protested instantly. And then she gave a little cry and added, “Or maybe I did. I was such an emotional mess then that I didn’t know what I felt. Carl helped me get past that anger and I fell in love with you even as I grew to love him. I adore you, Jackson. And so does your dad. Surely you can’t doubt that now.”

  No wonder Carl had always called him Jay. Or son or buddy or pal—anything but his real name. He pressed a hand to his stomach, suddenly afraid he was going to vomit right on his mother’s spotless carpet.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, turning on one heel toward the door. “I need to…”

  What? What could he do to make this any better? “I need to think,” he finished, moving in long, urgent strides. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  His mother didn’t try to stop him. As he let himself out the front door, he thought he heard soft sobs coming from behind him. He didn’t pause long enough to find out for certain.

  It was almost ten o’clock Saturday evening when Laurel called her in-laws’ number. She was relieved when Carl, rather than Donna, answered.

  “Carl, it’s Laurel. Is Jackson there?”

  “No, he’s not here. I— We were hoping he’d gone home.”

  “I haven’t heard from him since he called early this afternoon and told me he was stopping by your house. I’ve tried calling his cell phone, but apparently he’s got it turned off.”

  “He left here quite awhile ago. Maybe he went to the job site or something.”

  He sounded as doubtful as she was about that possibility. Something told her there was more to Jackson’s absence than work. After all, he had told her that he was finished at the site for the day and would be coming home after his visit with his parents. He had planned to spend some time with Tyler before bedtime.

  Tyler had been asleep for more than an hour now. Surely Jackson would have called if he had simply changed his mind.

  “Carl, did something happen there to upset him?” she asked, trying to phrase her words carefully. “When he left, did he seem okay?”

  “I, er, wasn’t here when Jay left. He’d been talking with his mother.”

  Laurel’s hand tightened around the telephone receiver. “Did she say anything about where he was going when he left?”

  “No. But, Laurel, he was upset.”

  “How upset?”

  “Very.”

  She moistened her lips. “Can you tell me why?”

  “I’d better leave that to Jay or Donna. I’m sure he just needs some time alone to think about some things, you know?”

  “I’m worried about him, Carl. It’s not like him just to disappear this way. Not when he isn’t working, anyway.”

  “He’ll show up.” Carl was obviously trying to reassure himself as well as her. “Just give him some time.”

  As she hung up the phone, Laurel wondered just how much time she was supposed to give him. All night? All weekend?

  She thought about calling a couple of his friends, but she suspected the calls would be fruitless. She doubted that Jackson had left his mother’s house in turmoil only to go shoot pool or play a game of pick-up basketball with his pals.

  She paced. Just what had Donna told him? Had Laurel been right about her initial guess that he’d been adopted? She knew that wasn’t easy news for an adult to hear. Family secrets were almost impossible to keep forever, and in her experience, the sooner they were out in the open the better.

  It that was it, maybe she could help him deal with it. It was what she did for a living, right? She could assure him that the adoptive parents she worked with loved their children every bit as much as those who had conceived biologically.

  Of course, she wouldn’t be able to help him if he didn’t first admit that he needed help. There was little she could do if he went all quiet and macho on her—which he seemed to be doing even now—hiding his feelings, insisting he could deal with everything on his own, sublimating his own insecurities by being even more determined to be the strong man in charge of his household.

  She hated to think that this latest crisis could drive the final wedge between them, but she knew it very well could unless they both made every effort really to communicate this time.

  She would do her best, she vowed. Whatever the problem turned out to be. But she couldn’t do anything if he didn’t come home.

  Another half hour passed. She thought about calling Donna, demanding to know what had gone on between her and Jackson. She thought about calling local hospitals to make sure he wasn’t hurt, or worse. She thought about calling the police. She actually had her hand on the phone, though she didn’t have a clue whose number she planned to dial, when she heard the back door open.

  Exhaling in relief, she moved away from the phone, hurrying toward the kitchen, which connected to the garage. “Jackson?”

  She found him standing in the darkened kitchen, his expression that of a man who had wandered into the wrong house by mistake. “Jackson?” she repeated, turning on the light and making him blink. “Are you all right? Where have you been?”

  “I, uh, I’ve been out. Driving,” he added, sounding as confused as he looked.

  She frowned. “Have you been drinking?”

  She’d never known him to drown his problems in alcohol, a crutch Carl had taught him to avoid. She certainly didn’t want to think of him driving under the influence, endangering himself and everyone else on the roadways. But he didn’t sound like himself.

  He moved then, tossing his keys on the table and shoving a hand through his hair. “No, I haven’t been drinking. Just driving.”

  “Have you had anything to eat?”

  He seemed to make an effort to remember before replying, “No.”

  “I made dinner. I’ll put a plate in the microwave for you.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She opened the r
efrigerator door. “You need to eat.”

  “Maybe something to drink.”

  “There’s iced tea,” she said, setting a covered plate of pot roast and vegetables in the microwave. Maybe the aromas would make him hungry, she thought as she poured tea into a glass. “Sit down. Your dinner will be ready in two minutes.”

  Automatically following instructions, he sat, lacing his fingers on the table in front of him. He didn’t move when she set his tea beside his hands. She hesitated a moment, then turned to get out silverware and a napkin.

  As often as she had wished Jackson would let her see him in his vulnerability, she found herself shaken by the lost look in his eyes. Maybe she had come to depend on a strong Jackson more than she had realized.

  He still hadn’t moved when she brought his reheated dinner to him. “Move your hands, Jackson,” she said quietly.

  He pulled them off the table, allowing her to set the plate in front of him.

  “Now eat.”

  He looked at the plate as if he couldn’t remember exactly how to begin.

  Her heart in her throat, she picked up his fork and put it in his hand. “Eat.”

  She watched as he complied again. She suspected that he might as well be swallowing chalk for all the enthusiasm he showed. Sitting across the table, she waited until he’d eaten enough to satisfy her before asking, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The clipped tone didn’t encourage any further questions. She tried again, anyway. “Maybe we should call your parents and let them know you’re okay. Your dad sounded a little worried when I talked to him earlier.”

  He didn’t look up from his plate. “Did he?”

  “Yes. He, um, said he thought you were upset after your talk with your mother.”

  “He was right.”

  “Are you going to tell me about it?”

  “I’ll have to, eventually. But I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  “Is your mother all right?”

  “Oh, yeah. She’s just fine.”

  Anger, she thought, analyzing his tone. And pain. Jackson wasn’t merely upset. He was devastated. “Please talk to me.”

  Pushing the remains of his dinner away, he reached for his tea glass. He downed half of it without stopping for breath, then set the glass down with a thump. “How’s Tyler?”

  “He was a little cross this evening. I think his incision was bothering him. I gave him some Tylenol and read to him until he fell asleep.”

  Jackson made a sound of self-disgust. “I told him I would be home in time to play with him before bedtime.”

  “I told him you wanted to be here, but something came up. You’ll have time to play with him tomorrow.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Maybe you and your dad could take him for ice cream?” she suggested tentatively. “He always likes hanging out with Daddy and Gampy.”

  Because she was watching his face, she saw his jaw clench. “Maybe.”

  She was growing more frustrated with him by the minute. After all his big talk about working as a team during Tyler’s hospitalization, now that Jackson was the one in crisis, he refused to open up to her. Once again he had shut her out, relegating her to the silent-partner role she had always chafed against before.

  If she were the one in trouble, he would be nagging her to talk to him, demanding to know what he could do to fix everything, because that was what he saw as his duty in their marriage. But that image of protector and defender didn’t allow for revealing his own weaknesses, or turning to her for help or even sympathy. He couldn’t see that love was a two-way street, and that he was deliberately putting barriers across the path to his heart.

  With a sigh of surrender, she stood. If this was really the marriage Jackson wanted—polite, distant, lonely—then maybe it was time for her to decide once and for all if she was willing to settle for that.

  “I’ll go check on Tyler,” she told him. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

  She didn’t expect him to need anything else from her, of course. Or at least nothing that he would admit to.

  Twelve

  Saying again that she wanted to be close to Tyler, Laurel went to bed in the room upstairs, leaving Jackson sitting in the darkened den pretending to watch a hockey game on TV. She had hung around in the doorway for a few minutes, hoping he might decide to talk to her, after all, but he’d remained silent. Just as Carl had said very little when she’d called him a short while earlier to tell him Jackson was home safely.

  Whatever was going on in the Reiss family, it was being made painfully clear to her that she was not a part of it.

  She lay awake for a long time, thinking of all the things she had done wrong since the beginning of her marriage, and regretting that it was too late to start over. It was well after midnight when she finally fell asleep.

  Less than an hour later, Jackson came to her.

  She roused instantly when he sat on the side of the bed. “What is it?” she asked, not quite fully awake yet. “Tyler?”

  Jackson put a hand on her shoulder. “Tyler’s fine. I just looked in on him.”

  Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, she blinked him into focus as much as possible in the deeply shadowed room. “What—”

  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “That’s all right.” Rising onto one elbow, she pushed her hair out of her face. “Are you okay?”

  He reached out to stroke a fingertip along the line of her jaw. “I missed you in our bed.”

  She had thought maybe he’d decided he wanted to talk, after all. Now she realized that wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind when he had come to her.

  He could admit he needed her physically, so why couldn’t he acknowledge that she could help him in other ways, as well?

  Because this was all she could do for him now, she opened her arms to him. “I miss you, too,” she murmured, her words having a deeper, more wistful meaning.

  It seemed to be all he needed to hear. He gathered her into his arms and crushed her mouth beneath his.

  If there was more than desire in his kiss, a desperation that could not be entirely attributed to lust, this was not the time to confront him about it. Maybe two such stubbornly independent, obsessively self-sufficient people had to learn to communicate the best they could, and maybe words weren’t always the only way to share what they were feeling.

  Considering the turmoil their emotions were in, she might have expected a heated rush to climax, with much more intensity than finesse. She would have been wrong.

  Jackson took his time just kissing her, exploring her mouth from every depth and angle. From soft and sweet to hard and hungry. It had been a long while since he had spent so much time just kissing her, and she was rather surprised by the urgency of her response. Those kisses swept her back to a time when their relationship had been new and exciting, when they had been content to spend hours just holding and enjoying each other. Before pragmatic realities and unreasonable expectations had come between them.

  She speared her fingers into his hair, relishing the thickness and softness of it. He gathered her even closer, and she pressed herself against him, savoring his warmth and his strength. She wouldn’t change one thing about him physically, she thought, as they drifted into another long, lazy kiss.

  She loved so many things about Jackson. His unflinching integrity. His admirable work ethic. His sense of loyalty. Even his devotion to his family, though there were times she thought he went a bit overboard in some respects. When it came right down to it, the only thing she would change about him was how he tried to change her.

  Eventually his kisses moved from her mouth downward, tracing the line of her arched throat, pausing for a while at the soft, pulsing hollow at the base. He knew she’d always loved to be kissed there. Just as he knew that touching her in that other place always made her gasp softly, as she did now.

  When they were together like this, it was just the two of the
m, lost in each other. If only they could carry that closeness with them back into the real world with its outside demands and intrusions, Laurel thought wistfully. And then Jackson took her right nipple into his mouth, and she could no longer think at all….

  Jackson was gone when Laurel woke Sunday morning. He had left a note, so hastily scrawled it barely resembled his handwriting. “Tell Tyler I’m sorry. I’ll see him later. Love to you both.”

  Had he started to sign his name? What might have been a crossed-out J was at the bottom of the page.

  She checked on Tyler, who was still sleeping, but beginning to stir. He wouldn’t sleep much longer. Belting her robe around her, she headed down to the kitchen to start his breakfast. She found the Sunday paper sitting on the table, and a pot of coffee already prepared. A cup of cold coffee sat on the counter. Jackson had apparently poured himself a cup, but hadn’t hung around long enough to drink it.

  She was going through the motions of a typical weekend morning to avoid thinking about Jackson: the stricken look in his eyes when he’d come home the night before, the way he had sought her out during the night, making love to her until neither of them could move another muscle. She was trying not to think about where he might have gone now, or why he hadn’t told her what Donna had said to him.

  She was trying not to give in to the despair of wondering if their marriage could survive another blow, especially if it drove him farther away from her.

  Why hadn’t he talked to her? Why couldn’t he see that she was the one person he should have been comfortable talking to about his problems?

  When Tyler got up a short while later, he didn’t seem particularly surprised that his father wasn’t home.

  “He go work?” he asked as he finished his breakfast. Though he was too young to know where “work” was, he accepted that his father spent a great deal of time there.

  “Yes, he went to work,” Laurel fibbed. “But I’m sure he’ll be home as soon as he can to spend time with you. In the meantime, would you like to color with the new markers Gammy bought you? You can put stickers on your artwork, too. She brought you a whole new book of stickers.”