The Baby Bet: His Secret Son (The Baby Bet #5)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  Andrew stood still, hardly breathing, his heart pounding so wildly it was actually painful as it echoed in his ears. He stared at the newspaper and saw the full-color picture of a large group of people.

  As though watching himself from a far distance, he saw his body bend, his shaking hands reach out and grasp the newspaper, then he straightened, his gaze riveted on the photograph.

  Don’t do it, Malone, his mind hammered. Don’t read the caption. Don’t find out your father’s name. Think about your mother’s wishes. Sally didn’t want you to know. She had always said that it would serve no purpose. Damn it, Malone, don’t do it.

  Andrew drew a shuddering breath, then folded the newspaper, blocking the photograph from view.

  “He should rot in hell!” Clara yelled, then sobbed. “He doesn’t deserve to have what he does. He owes you, Andrew. It’s time for Robert MacAllister to pay up.”

  Andrew jerked as though he’d been struck.

  Robert MacAllister.

  His father’s name was Robert MacAllister.

  Robert…MacAllister…

  Andrew forced himself to move, to step back, to shut the door, then to walk into the living room. He had to tell himself to put one foot in front of the other, to inhale, then exhale for each breath he took.

  He opened the newspaper again, then gripped the edges so tightly they crumpled in his hands. Then slowly, so slowly, he lowered his gaze to read the caption beneath the photograph, to put the name with the proper face among the multitude of people in the picture.

  And there he was.

  Robert MacAllister.

  His father.

  The man who had broken the heart of a young and innocent girl so many years before. The man who had abandoned her when she needed him so desperately. The man who had shattered the hopes and dreams of Sally Malone.

  Clara was slouched in one of the chairs, her head rocking back and forth.

  “Not fair,” she said, her eyes beginning to close. “All those children. Big family. Loving him, jumping at his command, thinking he’s so wonderful. The mighty and powerful Robert of MacAllister Architects, Incorporated. So many people loving him. Not fair. I’m all alone…all alone…always alone.

  “No, no, no, this isn’t about me. I’m finally telling you who he is for you. You, Andrew. Make him pay for what he did to you and Sally. Make…him…pay…for…” Clara’s head dropped forward and she fell asleep, her legs sprawled in an unlady-like fashion.

  A bark of laughter escaped Andrew’s lips, a rough, bitter-edged sound.

  MacAllister Architects, Incorporated? he thought incredulously. He’d built more than one project following plans drawn by them for the contracting out-fit. MacAllister Architects was a top-of-the-line company, highly respected and sought after.

  Just as Malone Construction was.

  Hey, hey, what a team they were. MacAllister Architects drew up the plans, and Malone Construction built the dynamite structure with perfection.

  Oh, hell, yes, what a dynamic duo they were. Two pieces of a puzzle coming together, each with their hard-earned expertise.

  The father. The son.

  The son of Sally Malone, who had been swept off her feet by a young Robert MacAllister, given him her heart and her innocence, then was abandoned as though she never existed when she discovered she was carrying his child.

  Andrew crushed the newspaper into a jagged ball and threw it across the room.

  Well, he fumed, Sally Malone had existed, had mattered, had been a warm, loving, wonderful human being, the best mother any child could ask for.

  He wanted nothing from Robert MacAllister for himself. Not a damn thing.

  But for his mother?

  Robert was going to stand before that large family, who no doubt worshiped the ground he walked on, and tell them what he’d done so many years before.

  Robert was going to acknowledge that Sally had been a living, breathing person, who had deserved far better than what MacAllister had done to her.

  Robert was going to be made to own up to what he had done forty years ago and admit that he had been wrong, a heartless uncaring slug, who had walked away from the responsibilities resulting from his reckless actions.

  Robert MacAllister was going to reveal his feet of clay to the entire MacAllister family.

  “Clara,” Andrew said gruffly, “wake up. Wake up, damn it.”

  Clara’s head snapped upward and she opened her eyes. She blinked several times, straightened in the chair, then smoothed the skirt of her suit.

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” she said. “I was just resting my eyes, giving you a chance to come to grips with what you’ve just learned.”

  “Yeah, right,” Andrew said. “I hope you came here in a taxi, that you weren’t driving your car.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact,” Clara said, holding one hand out before her and examining her nails, “I didn’t feel like dealing with traffic, so I called a limo service. I don’t use smelly taxis. I prefer a private company. My driver is waiting across the street.”

  “Fine, then go home.”

  Clara looked up at her nephew. “Not until you tell me what you plan to do about Robert MacAllister. I broke my promise, my vow of silence, that I made to my poor dear sister. I did it on your behalf, Andrew. I put your needs before my own guilt for revealing the identity of your father.

  “The least you can do is inform me what steps you plan to take to obtain what is due you from Robert MacAllister.”

  “Your mind is so twisted by booze, Clara,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “Didn’t you hear what you were saying when you were off on your tangent? You’ve got some sick idea that if MacAllister acknowledges me as his son, then you’ll be welcomed into the MacAllister fold.

  “You won’t be alone anymore. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re scared to death of being old and alone, with no one to love you. You brought that newspaper over here tonight for your own selfish reasons, Clara, for what you hoped to gain for yourself.”

  Clara got to her feet, swaying unsteadily for a moment.

  “How dare you speak to me like that? Who took you in when Sally died and you were fifteen years old? Who put a roof over your head? Fed you when you ate more than three grown men at every meal?

  “You would have been in foster care if it hadn’t been for me, Andrew Malone. You owe me. Are you listening? You owe me.

  “MacAllister won’t be able to deny that you’re his son. When you become a member of that enormous family, you will take me with you. Do you understand? Do you?”

  “I don’t want anything to do with MacAllister’s family!” Andrew yelled. “There’s only one thing I intend to get from that man. One thing.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s none of your business, Clara.”

  “Money? No, that doesn’t make sense. You have tons of money. His name? Yes, of course. You want to be recognized as a MacAllister, reap the rewards of his power, his status in society.”

  “Oh, Clara, give it a rest,” Andrew said wearily. “You just don’t get it. I’m Sally Malone’s son and I’m very proud to be able to say that. I’m a Malone, will always be a Malone. What I want from MacAllister is for my mother and…Ah, hell, forget it.”

  “Your mother is dead!” Clara hollered. “What can MacAllister possibly do for her now? You’ve got to think of yourself, and think of me. Look at that photograph again, Andrew. We deserve to be included in that group. We’re part of that family, don’t you see?”

  “Clara, please, just go,” Andrew said quietly. “I need to be alone. I have to think about all of this. Go home. Get some rest, something to eat. Don’t drink any more tonight, either.”

  “Yes, of course, you need to think,” Clara said, nodding. “Yes, yes, you do that. You’ll sort it all through and realize that I’m right. The time has come for us…for you to take your well-deserved place among the MacAllisters. I know you’ll do the proper thing, Andrew.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, a s
teely edge to his voice, “I fully intend to do the proper thing, exactly what needs to be done.”

  “Good, that’s good,” Clara said, starting toward the door. “Plan it all out with that detail-oriented mind of yours. I’ll speak with you soon and you can tell me what you are going to do. We’re in this together, Andrew. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget me. We’re a team, have been ever since my dear little sister died. Don’t forget me, Andrew.”

  Clara left the apartment and a heavy silence fell over the large expanse. Andrew drew a breath that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, then he crossed the room and picked up the wadded newspaper from the floor.

  Sinking onto the sofa, he spread the paper out on the coffee table, smoothing it with his hands.

  He stared at the tall, smiling gray-haired man in the center of the color photograph, saw his arm around the shoulders of the attractive older woman who was tucked close to his side.

  Andrew shifted his gaze and read the entire article that told of the many accomplishments of the MacAllisters, the honors they’d received over the years.

  “‘This marvelous family,’” he read aloud, “‘includes the senior MacAllister brothers, Ralph and Robert, who are now retired, and two generations, beginning with the eldest son, Michael, who is thirty-eight and a member of MacAllister Architects, Incorporated.’”

  Andrew had leaned back and rested his head on the top of the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

  “Oh, guess again, Daddy dearest,” he’d said, his voice raspy with emotion. “Your eldest son isn’t Michael. Your firstborn son is going to be forty in the spring and is the child you conceived with Sally Malone.

  “I’ll hear you say her name, MacAllister. You will acknowledge that she lived, that she loved you, that she mattered.

  “And then? Then I never want to see you again. Never.”

  A noise in the corridor of the hospital jerked Andrew back to the present and he lunged to his feet. He began to pace the waiting room, while he attempted to push the memories of that fateful evening in his apartment from his mind.

  If only…his mind echoed. If only Clara hadn’t brought him that newspaper. If only he hadn’t allowed himself to examine the caption beneath the photograph. If only he hadn’t driven to Ventura with his plan etched in stone, ready to be carried out.

  But all those events had happened, and now Robert MacAllister hovered near death because of them.

  Andrew stopped and hooked one hand on the back of his neck.

  What had Kara MacAllister said? If it wasn’t for a MacAllister, then Andrew wouldn’t exist. What a strange, rather disconcerting thought. And, he had to admit, it was true.

  And what had Kara meant by that other weird statement she’d made? He was more of a MacAllister than she was? That didn’t make sense. Robert MacAllister was her uncle. She was Dr. Kara MacAllister. Why would he be more of a MacAllister than she was?

  Andrew spun around and strode out of the waiting room. He had every intention of getting the answer from Kara MacAllister.

  Chapter 3

  Margaret MacAllister sat in a chair next to Robert’s bed, her hand covering one of his. Various machines surrounded the head of the bed, humming, blinking, showing a jagged line on a green screen, all of them having wires that were attached to Robert’s inert body.

  Oh, Robert, Margaret thought, her eyes once again filling with tears. He was so still, hadn’t regained consciousness since he’d collapsed at the party hours before.

  Margaret glanced down at her full-length evening dress and shook her head.

  It seemed like an eternity since they’d been celebrating New Year’s Eve and the final event of the MacAllister reunion. It had been such a festive party and everyone there had been having a wonderful time.

  And then?

  That young man, that Andrew Malone, had appeared out of nowhere and shattered her world, destroyed her serene existence. Her beloved Robert was now hanging on to life by a thread, by the power of his will to survive the devastating heart attack he’d suffered when he’d heard what Andrew Malone had to say.

  Dear heaven, Margaret thought, was Andrew Malone truly Robert’s son? Who was Sally Malone in regard to Robert? And even more important, how old was Andrew?

  Margaret closed her eyes, tears spilling onto her cheeks.

  Oh, please, let Andrew be older than Michael. Let whatever had transpired between Robert and Sally have taken place before she and Robert were married. She couldn’t bear the thought of Robert being unfaithful to her, having an affair after they had repeated their vows to each other, before their friends and families…and God.

  Margaret opened her eyes and shook her head in disgust.

  How selfish she was being. She was thinking only of herself, of how brokenhearted she would be if it came to light that Robert had actually been unfaithful to her.

  She didn’t know if Robert was going to live or die, and she was centered on her fears of learning the truth about him and Sally, instead of focusing on Robert, willing him to hang on, to live, to fight this catastrophe and win.

  “I’m so sorry, my darling,” she whispered. “I’m behaving badly. Oh, Robert, please, don’t die. I need you, love you so much. We have so many wonderful years left to spend together, so many memories to make.”

  Margaret dashed her tears away, then shifted so she could layer both of her hands on top of Robert’s hand, which lay so still on the pale-green bedspread.

  “Can you hear me, Robert?” she said. “Perhaps you can. I’m here for you and always will be.” She paused. “I’m not going to dwell on what happened at the party. I’ll just wait until you wake up and explain it all to me. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

  “So! Let’s relive lovely memories, shall we? How about Christmas? Yes, that’s perfect. It seems so long ago, but it has only been a week since we were all opening gifts at Jillian and Forrest’s house. Oh, my, it was noisy, wasn’t it? The children were so excited and…well, so were the adults.”

  A soft smile formed on Margaret’s lips as she continued to speak.

  “Remember how the triplets were dressed alike, confusing everyone because they’re almost impossible to tell apart? Jillian and Forrest have never dressed them the same, but the girls wanted matching dresses for Christmas. I guess you’d have to be a five-and-a-half-year-old girl to understand why.

  “Jessica came running over to us, remember, Robert? You played your game with her, pretending you didn’t know which triplet she was, and she was so indignant, informing you that you were the only one who had been able to tell them apart from the moment they were born and you knew she was Jessica. She wasn’t Emily or Alice, she was Jessica.

  “Your brother is finally a grandpa, and Mary is a grandma, because Jack showed up with his new bride, Jennifer, and her son—their son—Joey. My goodness, we were all so surprised. Mary is thrilled and already talking about where and when to have a baby shower because Jennifer is pregnant.”

  Margaret squeezed Robert’s hand gently.

  “I truly believe you can hear me, because you’ve always listened to whatever I’ve said, given me your undivided attention whenever I spoke. Such a lovely gift that has been all these years. I thank you for that, Robert.”

  She drew a shuddering breath.

  “I’m getting gloomy again. Back to nice memories. Oh, I know, remember how Jessica told us on Christmas how Patty had a new six-month-old brother because Uncle Ted and Aunt Hannah had ‘dotted’ baby Ryan from Korea?

  “You told Jessica that baby Ryan was ‘adopted,’ and she informed you that she had just told you that very thing—baby Ryan was ‘dotted.’

  “Oh, we’re blessed with so many wonderful grandchildren. Andrea was such a tomboy while she was growing up, never wanted to play with her dolls. Remember? And now here she is, the mother of two sets of twins. She and John are very busy parents, aren’t they?

  “I forgot to tell you that Jenny confided in me a few weeks ago that she and Michael are
stopping at two children, that our namesakes, Bobby and Maggie, are it. But one never knows. Bundles from heaven sometimes have a way of showing up in our lives when we least expect them.”

  Like Andrew Malone, Margaret thought suddenly, a shiver coursing through her.

  No, no, she wasn’t going to dwell on Andrew, on how old he was—not now. She was concentrating totally on Robert. Her darling Robert, who was going to make it through this, would open his eyes and smile at her. He was going to be fine, just as good as new.

  He had to be.

  Oh, dear God, he just had to be.

  “Aunt Margaret?”

  Margaret jerked in surprise at the sound of a voice and a hand being placed on her shoulder. She looked up to see Kara frowning at her.

  “It’s close to 2 a.m.,” Kara said. “You need to go home, get some rest, Aunt Margaret. Uncle Robert is stable. I’ll call you if there’s any change in his condition.”

  “I can’t leave him, Kara,” Margaret said, fresh tears filling her eyes. “What if he woke up and I wasn’t here? No, I’m staying.”

  “You’ll need your strength to get through all of this,” Kara said. “I just spoke to Michael and he said he’d drive you home. Please. Take a nap for a few hours, at least. You can shower, put on clean clothes, have something to eat, then come back to the hospital. Come on. Michael is waiting for you.”

  “I wonder where Andrew Malone is right now,” Margaret said, “and how he feels about causing Robert to have a heart attack.”

  “Andrew is here at the hospital,” Kara said. “I’ve spoken to him, but he’s staying away from the family. He…he appears to feel very badly about what took place when he announced that he was Robert’s son.”

  “This is all so unbelievable,” Margaret said. “Think of what’s happened because of an article in a newspaper. This is a nightmare.”

  “I know,” Kara said. “But in all fairness, Aunt Margaret, I believe that when tests are run, we’ll discover that Uncle Robert had a problem with his heart long before tonight. I’m not defending Andrew Malone or what he did, but—”