Margaret nodded, her gaze riveted on Andrew. The color drained from her face and her breath caught.
“You have his eyes,” she whispered. “The MacAllister eyes and…and your features…Oh, God, it’s true. You’re Robert’s son.”
“Yes,” Andrew said, “but please believe me when I say how sorry I am about what I did at that restaurant. I’d give anything if I could turn back the clock. I don’t expect you to accept my apology, to forgive me, but I am truly sorry about what happened.”
Margaret nodded slowly. “Yes, I believe you are, but the clock can’t be turned back. What’s done is done. Many lives will never be the same again.”
“I know,” Andrew said, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I can’t embrace any emotions about you, Andrew,” Margaret said. “Not now, not yet. I need to concentrate completely on Robert. The doctors decided he was strong enough to run tests this afternoon, and I came over to this little park for some private time. I never expected to see you here.”
“I’ll leave you in peace.”
“Peace?” Margaret said. “I wonder if I’ll ever have that again. It depends, I suppose, on what Robert tells me about him and your mother.”
“I—”
“No,” she said, raising one hand. “Don’t say anything and, please, I beg of you, don’t tell me how old you are. I need to hear all this from my husband.”
“I understand,” Andrew said, nodding.
“How strange it is, so very strange, to be looking at you, someone I don’t even know, and see my Robert’s eyes, his features. You’re a MacAllister and I don’t know…I don’t yet know how to deal with that.”
“I shouldn’t have come to Ventura. There was no purpose to be served by the rest of you being made aware that I existed. Robert knew, has always known about me, but…it felt right at the time, seemed so important that I…But I’ll be leaving as soon as I’m certain that Robert will be all right. You can forget that I was ever here.”
“Oh, Andrew, if only that was true,” Margaret said with a sigh. “You can’t be erased like chalk on a blackboard. You exist. You’re Robert’s son. You’re also obviously very angry about something. That was apparent at the restaurant when you spoke to Robert.”
“Yes, I was angry, have been for many years, but now I realize that it was misplaced anger. I wish I could disappear without your ever knowing that I’m alive.”
Margaret smiled slightly. “So do I, as cruel as that sounds, but it’s too late for that. Just remember, Andrew, there are two sides to every story. You’ve only heard the words spoken by your mother. You have yet to hear what your…what Robert has to say. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go sit down and be alone for a while.”
“Yes, of course,” Andrew said, then watched until Margaret disappeared from view around the bend in the sidewalk.
He started off again in the direction of the hospital, Margaret’s words echoing in his mind.
You’ve only heard the words spoken by your mother.
No, he thought, that wasn’t true. The only thing that Sally Malone had ever said on the subject was that she had loved deeply but had not been loved in return.
The ugly details of Robert’s abandonment of pregnant Sally, of turning his back on that frightened and desperate young girl, had come from Clara.
He’d overheard so many arguments between his mother and Clara as his aunt hammered away at his mother, telling her how foolish she was not to demand child support from her son’s father, how gullible and unsophisticated she had been in the first place to have been taken in by that smooth-talking liar.
After he’d moved in with Clara following Sally’s death, he’d heard it all over again, time after time. Sally had been deserted, discarded like yesterday’s newspaper, by a man who had used Sally for his own selfish purposes.
She’d been disowned by parents who were furious and ashamed that their teenage daughter had gotten pregnant, had forced Sally to leave the house, declaring that they never wanted to see her again.
Clara would sneak out to visit her sister in the shabby room where she was barely managing to exist, telling her each time that it was asinine to live hand-to-mouth as Sally was. Make him pay up, Clara told Andrew she had urged Sally. Make him be accountable for what he had done.
Just remember, Andrew, there are two sides to every story.
Again, Margaret’s words echoed in Andrew’s mind, and a headache began to throb painfully in his temples.
What other side to this story could there be? Andrew asked himself. Facts were facts. Sally had gotten pregnant the summer she had been with Robert and had raised her baby alone with no financial or emotional assistance from Robert MacAllister, who had walked away from Sally and their child.
There just wasn’t a flipside of the coin to examine.
Yes, he’d learned the gory details from his aunt, not his mother, but that didn’t change the truth of what had taken place so long ago.
So long ago.
That was the kicker. That was what he should have focused on before working himself into a rage and driving down to Ventura. He should have let the past lie as it was, leave it alone, let his mother rest in peace.
But it was too late for that.
Now he had to wait and be certain that Robert would be all right.
And he had to figure out how to free himself of the unsettling hold Kara MacAllister had on him.
Andrew pulled himself from his troubled thoughts as he approached the hospital. He saw several reporters standing by the front entrance chatting with one another. He’d heard a nurse say that the press had been banned from going farther than the lobby in search of MacAllister news to feed to the public, a public always hungry for a scandal connected to people with power and money.
Andrew stopped walking and stayed by the side of the building, out of view of the reporters.
What if he walked right up to them, he thought, and told them that he’d been out partying on New Year’s Eve, had been drunk when he’d crashed the MacAllister party and everything he had said in that ballroom wasn’t true, was simply the product of his having had too much to drink?
No, of course he wasn’t Robert MacAllister’s son. Get real. He was just a man named Malone, who owned a construction company upstate and had over-indulged in liquor on a holiday. Sorry, folks, but there really wasn’t a juicy story here, after all, so why not pack it up and shuffle off to Buffalo?
The idea had merit—to a point—but it would never work.
Because every one of those reporters had a camera hanging around his or her neck. Every one of them would probably take a picture of him. Every one of them would examine that photograph very very carefully.
And he had been told by Kara and now by Margaret that he had the one feature that could not be denied in regard to his identity.
He had the MacAllister eyes.
Chapter 6
Much to Andrew’s frustration, he was unable to get Kara alone after he reached the hospital. Each time he caught a glimpse of her, she was with one or more of the MacAllisters, who were there in force again while Robert was undergoing his tests.
Some people, he supposed, would consider him a coward for skulking in the shadows and making certain that he didn’t come face-to-face with any of the MacAllister family.
In actuality he was attempting to avoid what would undoubtedly be a nasty and loud confrontation, perhaps even a physical one, between him and the MacAllister men.
A hospital was not the place for that to happen, nor did the press need any more juicy tidbits to serve to the gossip-hungry public.
So for now he would remain out of sight and hope he could somehow speak to Kara alone.
As three of the MacAllister wives he’d come to recognize emerged from the elevator, Andrew pushed open the door leading to the stairs and made a hasty exit from the floor where Robert’s private room was. Robert was somewhere else in the building being put through the battery of tests the
council of doctors had agreed was necessary.
Andrew sighed and leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest.
He’d never run from a fight in his life, he thought. He’d taken on the bullies in school who’d singled him out on occasion for reasons only they knew. He’d learned early on how to defend himself with his fists, and once he’d grown to his full height and filled out, there were none left who wished to take him on.
In the business arena he stepped up and presented bids on projects right along with the big outfits while Malone Construction was hardly more than a hope and a dream. Little by little he’d established himself as a force to be reckoned with, a man owning a competitive company that would always produce what it promised.
He’d earned the respect he had. He’d earned the money he possessed. He’d earned his place in the high-society scene in Santa Maria. What he had not earned, and never would, was a place in the MacAllister family.
To have Robert MacAllister’s blood running through his veins meant nothing. The MacAllister family had been built on a foundation of years of love, loyalty and dedication. He knew, somehow just knew, that each one of them would be willing to lay his or her life on the line for one of their own.
He couldn’t appear in their lives at nearly forty years old and expect to receive the warmth and caring they willingly gave to each other.
No, he was a Malone, and his entire family consisted of an alcoholic aunt named Clara and his gentle mother, Sally, who was now only a memory. That was it. That was all there was.
Man, Andrew thought, shaking his head. He was doing it again—feeling sorry for himself. Ridiculous. He’d only known he was a MacAllister for a handful of days. He didn’t belong in the loving embrace of that family. Hell, no. He hadn’t paid his dues, hadn’t earned the right to be there.
Besides, he reasoned, he’d go nuts in a family that big. They probably popped into one another’s homes without warning, dropped off cakes and kids, and delivered opinions about every aspect of their lives.
Considering the total number of children, which he didn’t remember, plus the adults, there was probably a birthday party for someone on the calendar every time they turned around.
They’d storm the gates of one of the MacAllister houses, and it would be bedlam—kids running everywhere, babies crying, balloons to be blown up and a pile of presents to be opened and gushed over.
They’d barbecue. Yeah, that would be the best way to handle a mob like that. Everyone would bring a dish or two, do a potluck thing, then have a picnic dinner in the backyard.
They might play horseshoes, or volleyball, or maybe touch football. Yeah, touch football. The MacAllister men were good-size guys, would play a rough game of ball, while the wives and kids and grandparents cheered from the sidelines.
They’d take that game seriously, give it their all, and when it was over they’d slap one another on the back and compare scrapes and bruises as trophies. They’d slug down cold beer, laughing and talking as they wiped the sweat from their faces with their grass-stained shirtsleeves.
The wives would shoo them off to clean up before hamburgers and hot dogs were placed on the grill, creating a mouth-watering aroma that would float through the air, tempting the neighbors to wander over and join the boisterous party.
As dusk crept in, a tired whining child would be scooped onto the nearest lap and hugged in loving arms, which that kid would welcome without question, knowing he was safe there even though it might not be his own mother or father who held him.
When there was a crisis in the MacAllister family, as there was now, everyone would drop what they were doing, put their lives on hold and rally around. They would comfort one another, know when to listen and when to keep silent, were prepared to do whatever was needed.
Despite the huge number of bona fide MacAllisters, they apparently felt there was always room for more. Beneath the photograph in the newspaper, the caption had listed a guy named…what was it? Oh, yeah, Sharpe. Ted Sharpe, his wife, Hannah, and a couple of kids, one being a cute baby of Asian descent.
He’d seen Ted Sharpe earlier that day when the man had arrived with Ryan MacAllister for what had been a brief stop at the hospital. Both men had been wearing police uniforms and, Andrew guessed, had ducked into the hospital while on duty to check on Robert.
Sharpe wasn’t a MacAllister; he was obviously Ryan’s partner on the police force. But Sharpe and his family were welcomed into the fold, the circle, and had no doubt earned their place there.
And Kara. Kara had been a foster child, who hadn’t been a cuddly little baby when she’d gone to live with Mary and Ralph MacAllister. No, she’d been sixteen years old. Most teenagers were tough enough to deal with, let alone one who had been through heaven only knew what.
Yeah, there was always room for one more in the MacAllister family.
But not for him.
“Hell, Malone,” he said, dragging both hands down his face, “give it a rest.”
His overloaded mind was taking him all over the map, into territory where he didn’t even want to be.
He’d feel smothered in a family like the MacAllisters. He’d never be able to handle all those people being in his face, minding his business.
Caring what happened to him.
Showing up at his door with chicken soup when he had the flu.
Listening to him, really hearing him, when he shared what was going on in his life.
Singing “Happy Birthday” to him when he blew out the candles on his cake on his special day.
Making him part of the team when they played touch football.
“Malone, damn it, knock it off,” Andrew said, pushing himself away from the wall.
He stiffened as the door leading to the stairs opened suddenly. Then his heart seemed to skip a beat when Kara appeared and allowed the door to close behind her with a hush.
“Hello, Andrew,” she said, smiling slightly. “I saw you come out here. This is the first chance I’ve had to get away so I could speak to you.”
“I know,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “The whole family, your family, seems to be here again.”
“They’re your family, too,” she said softly. Andrew closed the distance between them and framed her face in his hands. A frisson of heat slithered down her back at the feel of Andrew’s strong, callused, but gentle hands on her soft skin.
“No, they’re not,” he said. “I’ve just been thinking about that, about how I’m not a MacAllister, not really, and never will be.”
“But you are. You’re Robert’s son.”
“Technically I’m a MacAllister. DNA testing would prove that I’m a MacAllister. But, Kara, it takes more than that to belong, really belong, to a family like yours. You’re not just a bunch of people getting together once in a while to go through the motions of celebrating a holiday.
“The MacAllisters are an unbeatable force, a unit, a seamless circle that is bonded together, ready to take on whatever comes—good, bad, in between. Each one of you has earned your place within that circle. Me? I’m the cause of one of the members of that family nearly dying. No, I’m not a MacAllister.”
“But—”
“Hey, it’s okay. It really is. I could never measure up, anyway, wouldn’t know how to act, what to do. I’m a loner, a private solitary man and…and I prefer it that way. My life as it is suits me just fine. It does. I…ah, hell, forget it.”
Andrew lowered his head and captured Kara’s mouth in a kiss that was nearly rough in its intensity. In the next instant the kiss gentled, as he drank in the sweet taste of Kara, allowed the very essence of her to push aside the turmoil raging in his mind.
He just wanted to feel, to savor, to fill his senses with her.
Kara returned the kiss in total abandon, splaying her hands on Andrew’s muscled chest, feeling the rapid tempo of his heart beating beneath her palm.
It had been an eternity since he’d last kissed her. She’d missed him. She�
�d missed this ecstasy, this acute awareness of her own womanliness compared to Andrew’s blatant masculinity.
Oh, she felt so vitally alive and feminine. The heat of desire was swirling within her, growing hotter, pulsing low in her body. She wanted him. She wanted to make love with Andrew Malone.
What was happening to her? And why? She didn’t know. She just didn’t know.
Andrew broke the kiss as he reached the edge of his control, then slowly and so reluctantly dropped his hands from Kara’s face and took a step backward.
“Do the MacAllister men,” he said, his voice raspy with passion, “play touch football at birthday parties?”
Kara blinked, bringing herself back from the sensual haven she’d floated to.
“Pardon me?” she said.
“Never mind,” Andrew said, then drew a much-needed breath. “It was a dumb question, wasn’t important.”
“Touch football? Do the guys play touch football at birthday parties?” Kara said, frowning. “It’s not a dumb question, just a strange one. But the answer is yes, they do. It’s a tradition at all family gatherings, birthday party or not. Andrew, why did you ask that?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “Please, just forget it.” He paused. “Do you have any news about Robert yet?”
“Yes. Uncle Robert is going to have double-bypass surgery tomorrow morning. The doctors don’t want to wait any longer because there’s too great a chance of him having another heart attack if they do.”
“I see,” Andrew said, frowning. “How’s Margaret holding up?”
“She’s frightened, but she knows Robert is in the best of hands. I guess that sums up how everyone is feeling at the moment.
“The doctors said that Uncle Robert can’t have any visitors between now and the surgery. He’s very tired from going through the tests, and they’re going to keep him slightly sedated until morning.
“Aunt Margaret isn’t happy about that, but she has no voice in the matter. Everyone is getting ready to leave for home.”
Andrew nodded.
“I have patients scheduled at my office tomorrow who I must see,” Kara went on. “I’ll be calling over here for updates, and I’ll come as soon as I can. I’m not quite certain how to keep you informed tomorrow, Andrew, because I won’t be here at the hospital until at least the middle of the afternoon.”
The Baby Bet: His Secret Son (The Baby Bet #5) Page 7