His Secret Son

by Brenda Jackson

  The man smiled. “Culpepper. Steven Culpepper. And the reason I sound certain is because I know Bristol. We are well acquainted.”

  “Obviously. So what’s her last name?” He tilted his Stetson back to stare down at the man, wondering why Steven was giving him a hard time.

  “What’s the name of the woman you’re looking for? Just in case you haven’t noticed, you’re drawing attention.”

  And he was supposed to give a damn? Laramie drew in a deep breath, tired of playing this cat-and-mouse game. The man was probably right, it wasn’t the same Bristol, but there was something about this man’s attitude that rubbed Laramie the wrong way. “Lockett. Her name is Bristol Lockett.”

  The man smiled. “Lockett? Then I was right all along. Her last name isn’t Lockett.”

  “So what is it?”

  Evidently tired of this conversation as well, the man said, “It’s Cooper. Bristol Cooper.”

  Laramie frowned. He and the woman had the same last name? What a coincidence. But then there were a lot of Coopers out there. “You’re right. It’s not the same woman. Sorry I took up so much of your time.”

  “No problem. Let me see you out.”

  “No need. I know my way.” Laramie had made it to the door when he heard it. That laugh.

  It was a distinctive sound that could only come from one woman. He turned and glanced around the room. He didn’t see her. Had he only imagined hearing her laughter?

  “Is anything wrong?”

  That Culpepper guy was back. Laramie looked at him. “Not sure. However, I’d like to meet the artist, Bristol Cooper, after all.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  Laramie was about to tell the man that with him anything was possible, when he heard the sound again. His gaze sharpened as he looked around the room. The sound had come from another part of the gallery. He was certain he hadn’t imagined it twice.

  He began moving toward the sound, not caring that people were staring at him.

  “Wait a minute! You need to leave now.”

  When Laramie kept walking, he heard the Culpepper guy call out, “Mr. Jazlyn, I suggest you call for security.”

  They could call for security all they wanted. He wasn’t leaving until he made sure...

  He entered another area of the gallery and immediately felt it...that undisguised pang of longing and desire he hadn’t felt in three years. He swallowed hard against the deep yearning in his throat as his gaze swept around the room.

  And then he saw her.

  Her back was to him. She stood beside an older gentleman as the two of them studied a landscape. Laramie knew without even seeing her face that the woman was his Bristol.

  He’d only spent three days with her, but he knew that body, even if it was now draped in a beautiful gown. There were a few curves that hadn’t been there before, but he was certain everything else belonged to Bristol Lockett, right, front and center. Especially that shapely backside.

  He remembered the feel of his hand on that backside as well as the brush of his fingers along her inner thighs. He felt an immediate tightening in his gut at the memory.

  Every muscle in his body tensed as he quickly moved in her direction. When he came within a few feet of her, he inhaled her scent. It was the one he remembered from Paris. Hurried footsteps were headed in his direction. Security was coming. Let them come. But not before he made his presence known.

  “Bristol?”

  She must have heard her name but she seemed almost afraid to face him. And when she slowly turned, she looked as if she was staring at the face of...a ghost?

  She took a step forward. She whispered his name. And then she crumpled.

  Four

  Laramie managed to grab her before she passed out on the floor, sweeping her into his arms. People were staring, some had begun moving in their direction, no doubt wondering what the hell was going on.

  “Put her down!”

  He recognized Culpepper’s voice. Laramie turned to see Culpepper flanked by several security guards and the owner of the gallery. Then suddenly a woman pushed through the crowd. “What happened?”

  Laramie thought it was obvious but answered anyway. “She fainted.”

  “Fainted? How? Why?” She then narrowed her gaze at him. “Who are you?”

  “Laramie Cooper.”

  “Laramie Cooper?” The woman gasped.

  He wondered why hearing his name had such an effect on the woman. “Yes, Laramie Cooper. I need to take Bristol somewhere to lie down. And I need someone to get a wet cloth.”

  “Wait a damn minute,” Culpepper was saying. “He has no right to be here. Who is he supposed to be?”

  He heard the woman whisper something to the bastard that sounded like “He’s her husband.”

  Laramie wondered why the woman would make such an outlandish claim. He wasn’t anyone’s husband. Then he recalled what Culpepper had told him earlier. Bristol’s last name was Cooper. Now he was more confused than ever and confusion was something he didn’t deal with very well.

  Suddenly, the older gentleman Bristol had been talking to said, “Will someone do as this man asks and get a wet cloth? Jazlyn, where is your office?”

  “Right this way, Mr. Kusac.”

  “Kusac?”

  Laramie ignored the flutter of whispered voices repeating the man’s name as if it meant something. Even the woman who was moving ahead of them stopped to look at the man in awe. Who was this guy Kusac? Was he a celebrity or something?

  Laramie moved quickly toward the back of the gallery while carrying Bristol in his arms. He recalled the last time he’d carried her, from her kitchen to her bed.

  Entering the gallery owner’s office, Laramie laid Bristol on the sofa. The man who’d been identified as Kusac closed the office door, only admitting the three of them along with the woman. Laramie couldn’t determine who she was studying more, him or Kusac. There was a knock on the door and Kusac opened it. Wet cloths were handed to him and he passed them over to Laramie.

  “Is she all right?” the woman asked nervously.

  “Yes” was Laramie’s response as he began wiping Bristol’s face with a cloth.

  “By the way, Mr. Kusac, I’m Margie Townsend, Bristol’s manager. I appreciate you coming out tonight and giving your support. You and Bristol seem to know each other.”

  “We do. I was a close friend of her father’s.”

  “Oh.” And then out the corner of his eye, Laramie noted the woman moving closer to him. “And are you really Laramie Cooper?” she asked.

  He didn’t take his gaze off Bristol as he continued to wipe her face. She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. Her chocolate brown skin was smooth and soft. He’d always liked the shape of her lips. They had the perfect bow. He recalled kissing them. How he’d licked them with his tongue.

  Bristol was three years older now. Twenty-five. But you couldn’t tell it by her features. It was as if she hadn’t aged at all.

  She still was the most beautiful woman he had yet to meet.

  He switched his gaze to the woman who’d introduced herself as Bristol’s manager and who’d asked him a strange question. “Yes, I’m Laramie Cooper.”

  “B-but you’re supposed to be dead.”

  Laramie frowned. Bristol must have told her that. But then, how had Bristol known?

  Deciding he would get all the answers he wanted from Bristol when she came to, he said, “Yes, I’d been captured, and they presumed I was dead.”

  “And you decided to show up after all this time?” the woman snapped. “Fine husband you are!”

  Before he could ask her what in the hell was she talking about, Bristol made a sound. She whispered his name just moments before her eyes fluttered open.

 
And then she stared up at him. Tentatively, she reached up and touched his face, as if to make certain he was flesh and blood. Tears fell from her eyes when she whispered, “You’re alive.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I’m alive.”

  “But they told me you were dead.”

  He nodded. “They thought so for a while, before I was rescued.”

  “Rescued?”

  “Yes. Almost a year later.”

  From the look in her eyes, he saw something was bothering her. Maybe it was the fact that she was using his last name and claiming they were married.

  “We need to talk privately, Laramie,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  She was right. They needed to talk. He nodded and then glanced at the other two people in the room. Before he could say anything, Kusac said, “We heard.” He opened the door. When Margie Townsend hesitated, Kusac said, “They need time alone.”

  Margie nodded. “Yes, of course.” She then said to Bristol, “If you need me I’ll be right outside the door.”

  When the door closed behind them, Laramie helped Bristol sit up. She drew in a deep breath and stared at him. “I can’t believe you are alive.”

  Laramie didn’t say anything. He was trying to make sense of what he’d learned and was failing miserably. He needed answers to help him understand. “How did you know I was supposedly dead?” he asked, sitting beside her on the sofa.

  She nervously licked her lips. “I tried to find you. I sent you a letter, through the navy, and it was returned. A friend of mine knew someone who worked in the State Department. They checked into it and that’s what I was told.”

  “When was this?”

  “A few months after I last saw you.”

  He nodded. “I was presumed dead, so the person was right. I was rescued just days before Christmas the following year.”

  “That was a long time.”

  “Yes, it was.” Only his close friends knew about the nightmares he’d had for months following his rescue. Nightmares he still had at times. His enemies had tried to break him and he’d refused to be broken. But their attempts had become lasting scars.

  “Why were you trying to reach me, Bristol?”

  * * *

  Bristol drew in a deep breath, not believing that Laramie was alive, not believing that he’d shown up here tonight. How had he known where she was? Had he been looking for her? If he had, that would make what she was about to tell him easier. But what if he hadn’t been looking for her? What if he had forgotten all about her and moved on? For all she knew he could be married, although there was no ring on his finger.

  She studied his features. He was even more handsome than she remembered. He looked slightly older and there was a hardness in the lines of his face that hadn’t been there before. Instead of taking away from his striking features, the hardness defined them even more. And the look in his eyes reflected experiences she couldn’t come close to imagining.

  Even if those experiences had changed him, it didn’t matter. He still had a right to know about her son. His son. Their son.

  He could accept it or question whether Laramie was truly his, but he had a right to know. How he handled the news was up to him.

  Drawing in another deep breath, she met his gaze and said, “The reason I tried reaching you was because I wanted to let you know I was pregnant.”

  Five

  Laramie froze. He stared at Bristol. He’d heard what she’d said but he needed to verify it. “You were pregnant?”

  “Yes,” she said in a soft voice. “And you’re free to order a paternity test if you need to confirm that my son is yours.”

  He had a son?

  It took less than a second to go from shock to disbelief. “How?”

  She lifted a brow, indicating she’d found his question as stupid as he had, but she answered nonetheless. “Probably from making love almost nonstop for three solid days.”

  They had definitely done that. Although he’d used a condom each and every time, he knew there was always the possibility something could go wrong. “And, where is he?” he asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he had a son.

  “At home.”

  Where the hell was that?

  It bothered him how little he knew about the woman who’d given birth to his child. At least she’d tried contacting him to let him know. Some women wouldn’t have.

  If his child had been born nine months after their holiday fling, that meant he would have turned two in September. Laramie recalled that September. Although it had been hard keeping up with the days while being held hostage, somehow he’d managed, by counting each sunrise. He’d been lucky to be held in a cell with a tiny window.

  He hadn’t known that while being a pawn in his enemies’ game of life and death that somewhere in the world Bristol was giving life.

  To his child.

  Emotions bombarded him with the impact of a Tomahawk missile. He’d been happy whenever Mac became a father again and had been overjoyed for Bane at the birth of his triplets. And now Laramie was a parent, which meant he had to think about someone other than himself. But then, wasn’t he used to looking out for others as a member of his SEAL team?

  “Have you gotten married, Laramie?”

  He frowned at her question. Marriage was the very last thing on his mind. “No, I’m still single.”

  She nodded and then said, “I’m not asking you for anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just felt you had a right to know about the baby.”

  He stared at her while conflicting emotions warred inside him. She wasn’t asking him for anything? Did she not know that her bold declaration that he’d fathered her child demanded everything?

  “I want to see him.”

  “And you will. I would never keep Laramie from you.”

  “You named him Laramie?” Even more emotions swamped him. Her son, their son, had his name?

  She hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure how he would like her response. “Yes. His first name is Laramie and his middle name is Randall, after my father. I thought you were dead and I wanted him to have your name. So I named him Laramie Randall Cooper.”

  He didn’t say anything for a full minute. Then he asked, “So, what’s your reason for giving yourself my name, as well?”

  * * *

  Oh, boy. Bristol wondered why so much was happening to her tonight of all nights. When she’d left home she’d hoped for a great night for the showing of her work at the gallery. She hadn’t counted on a lover—specifically, her son’s father—coming back from the dead.

  And now he wanted answers.

  Although she knew he deserved to have them, she wasn’t ready to tell him any more than she had already. She just wanted to go home and hug her son. Tomorrow, she would tell her son that the father he thought had become an angel was now a mortal.

  She was about to tell him she was tired of talking for now when there was a knock on the door. “I’ll get that,” he said, standing.

  She still appreciated the way he walked. Spine ramrod straight, steps taken in perfect precision with the best-looking tush she’d seen on a man.

  When Laramie opened the door he practically blocked the doorway, but she heard Margie’s voice. “How is Bristol?”

  “I’m fine, Margie,” she said. Thankfully, Laramie shifted aside so Margie could see for herself.

  “Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “No rush. Most of the people have left anyway. But the good thing is that all your paintings were sold. Tonight was a huge success.”

  Was it? As far as her manager was concerned, it had been a successful night. But Bristol saw beyond the money her paintings had earned. She saw the man standing by the door. Her heart slamm
ed against her ribs. Already she was wondering what changes were about to be made in her life.

  “And Steven is worried about you.”

  Bristol saw Laramie’s body stiffen at the mention of Steven’s name and wondered why. She became even more curious when he said, “Tell Culpepper she’s fine and is in good hands. Now if you will excuse us, Bristol and I need to finish talking.” He then closed the door.

  How had Laramie known Steven’s last name? Had the two of them met? If so, when?

  Laramie slowly turned away from the door to stare at her. It was a good thing she was sitting down because her knees began shaking. The intensity of his gaze sent sensuous chills through her body. How was that possible when she hadn’t seen him in three years?

  The sexual chemistry that had drawn them to each other from the first was still there. She wanted to deny its existence, but she couldn’t. She wanted to break eye contact with him and look away, but she couldn’t do that, either. She sat there and endured the moment, hoping it would quickly pass. It didn’t. It seemed to extend longer than necessary.

  She decided to use it to her advantage; checking him out wasn’t a hard thing to do. He wore a pair of jeans, a dark blue pullover shirt, a dark leather jacket, a Stetson and boots. He looked like a cowboy, ready to ride off into the sunset. He seemed to have gotten taller and his body appeared even more fit. Was he still a navy SEAL or had he given it up after that mission that had obviously gone all wrong?

  Her gaze moved to his shoulders. She remembered them well. She could easily recall how she clutched tight to them when they made love. How she would cling to them while he thrust inside her. What she remembered the most was that Laramie Cooper was a very physical man, filled with an abundance of strength and virility.

  She sighed as her gaze returned to his too-handsome face and stared into his eyes. And she saw it again, that hardness. Pain he refused to show. Ravaged secrets. A wounded heart. A damaged soul.

  He probably didn’t want her to see any of those things, but for a quick moment, she’d seen them anyway. She wondered what he’d endured during those months when everyone thought he was dead. Would he share the details of that time with her if she were to ask? Was it any of her business?