"Because I love them. But learning the flute just isn't as much of a priority as paying the bills—or playing with Ashley."
He couldn't argue there.
"How'd she do at dance class yesterday?"
"She didn't cry."
"That's an improvement. Did she participate?" Kyle couldn't understand why, after the first futile attempt when Ashley had refused to go into the class without her mother, Jamie insisted on taking Ashley back. Two years old was obviously a little young for dance lessons.
"You should've seen her, Kyle."
The enthusiasm in Jamie's voice got to him, as it always did when she forgot herself enough to go on about her daughter. The love she had for the child was unmistakable. Kyle had very mixed feelings about that. While he fell deeper in love with her
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every time he heard it, he was also just a little jealous. If she'd hung around five years before, that child would very likely have been his. He could've been sharing these moments with her instead of just hearing about them.
Spending the next five minutes hearing about every move Ashley made in dance class, right up to the star sticker she got at the end, Kyle could only blame himself for being on the outside looking in. If he hadn't been such an ass, hadn't taken advantage of an emotionally charged situation five years before, Jamie wouldn't have thought, even for a second, that he'd left her high and dry the next morning.
"Sounds like she had a great time," he said, when she finally took a breath.
"She loved it, Kyle."
"Margot Fonteyn better watch out, eh?" These conversations with Jamie had quickly become the favorite part of his day. Talking with her about every little happening in their lives was an intimacy he'd hardly dared hoped for six weeks ago.
"Margot Fonteyn has nothing to worry about," Jamie was saying, laughing. "For one thing, she's dead. For another, Ashley's a horrible dancer. She's got two left feet."
"But you said she did so well!"
"I said she loved it, and she tried," Jamie told him, laughter still in her tone. "But she couldn't step to the beat if her life depended on it."
"No future in ballet, huh? When you going to break the news to her?'' he asked solemnly.
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"I'm not." Jamie didn't surprise him. "As long as she's enjoying herself, I'll take her to class."
"Good for you."
"You'd do the same, wouldn't you?" she asked.
Those were the times Kyle liked best. When she included him, when she asked his opinion. Especially about Ashley. "I would."
"You busy tonight?" Her tone was different somehow.
"Just grading papers."
"Brad's essay?"
"Among others." She'd finally confessed to him that she'd overheard the conversation between him and Brad about Huckleberry Finn. The only thing he'd never understood was why she'd left without letting him know she was there.
"How do you think he did?"
"I don't know. Haven't looked at it yet." But he was afraid the boy still hadn't passed.
"Can you spare an hour tonight?"
"Of course," he said, sitting forward, pulling his calendars out of his briefcase. He had a faculty meeting in—he glanced at his watch—five minutes, but other than that, he was free for the rest of the day.
"Say around eight? It'll give me time to get Ashley to bed."
Disappointed that he still wasn't going to be allowed to meet the child, Kyle agreed to be at her house at eight.
"Is something up?" he asked, suddenly uncom-
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fortable. It wasn't like Jamie to invite him over for no reason.
"No!" she said.
And he knew instantly that there was.
Ringing off with one minute to spare before his meeting, Kyle was no longer in a good mood. In fact, his whole being was filled with dread.
Whatever Jamie had to tell him, the news was going to be bad. And the only thing that could come between them was Ashley's father. If the man had come back, if Jamie still loved him, there was nothing Kyle could do. Except hurt.
Probably because he was driving himself crazy with worry, Kyle was right on time that night. He'd stayed on campus all evening, not wanting to face the loneliness of his empty house, and his corduroy jacket was showing the day's wear. At least it was one of his newer ones and didn't have patches on the elbows. His blue jeans were fairly new, too. He might not have been at his best, but if he had to measure up to another guy, he wasn't at his worst, either. Not wanting to rush things, Kyle stood on the doorstep, waiting for the minute hand on his watch to reach the twelve. He brushed his hand through his thick mop of hair and wondered if he'd made an appointment to get it cut. If not, he needed to.
"Were you ever going to knock?" Jamie threw open the front door.
"Eventually." She looked beautiful. Her black slacks molded her hips and thighs before flaring down to the floor, and the blousy thing she was
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wearing tucked in at the waist showed off her proportions to perfection.
She motioned him in and shut the door behind him. "Why were you standing out there in the cold?"
Kyle shrugged, his unusual lack of confidence discomfiting. "It wasn't quite eight."
Jamie's smile seemed forced. "Since when has a minute here or there been a big consideration with you?"
He couldn't work up any humor. "I wasn't sure whether or not you were alone."
"Why wouldn't I be alone? I asked you over." She was frowning—and obviously nervous.
Which only increased Kyle's anxiety. If he hadn't been so certain they were meant to be together, he'd have given up on her long ago—and he wouldn't have been here tonight. As it was, her tension made him feel as though he'd been transported to the world of Poe's story, "The Cask of Amontillado." He didn't figure being trapped in a tomb could be any worse.
There was a fire in the fireplace. A couple of wineglasses sat on the coffee table with a chilled bottle of wine in a cooler beside them.
"What's up?" he asked. He was too tense to sit. Too wary to take hope from those wineglasses.
She sat, if you could call it sitting, perched on the very edge of the couch. "Come sit down." She picked up a little pillow, playing with the lacy edge, and laughed nervously.
It occurred to Kyle that this could simply be a
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poorly executed seduction scene. His blood thrumming through his veins, his eyes met Jamie's—and he saw the fear. This was no seduction scene. Jamie knew full well she had no reason to be afraid on that score.
"Mommy?"
Kyle wasn't sure who reacted first as they heard the voice accompanied by little footsteps pattering down the hall. Jamie's eyes filled with horror at the same time Kyle turned in anticipation.
"I'm not asleep, Mommy," the child called just before she came tumbling into the room.
Rushing for the door, blocking his view of the child, Jamie cried sharply, "Ashley! No! Go!"
Kyle was shocked at her tone. So, it seemed, was Ashley. She stood frozen in the doorway and burst into tears.
"Oh, baby, I'm sorry," Jamie said, instantly contrite. "Mommy didn't mean to yell at you." She bent, pulled Ashley into her arms—and that was when Kyle got his first look at the child he'd been so eager to meet.
Something wasn't right. He stood there in a fog, staring at the little girl. She looked just like her mother, only in miniature. Her wavy auburn hair was Jamie's, though the way hers fell over Jamie's arms, he figured it must hang all the way down to her waist. Her eyes were like her mother's, too. Big and gray. Kyle had to think, had to figure out what was wrong.
"She doesn't look two." That was it.
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Ashley pulled her thumb from her mouth, all trace of tears gone. "I'm not. I'm four."
Four? But he'd thought… He glanced at the picture on the end table. Considered the conclusion he'
d drawn. Jamie had done nothing to dispel his assumption that the picture was recent. Why would she want him to think…
Jamie's back was stiff, her head held at an unnatural angle as though awaiting a blow. She didn't turn around.
"You're four?" Kyle asked, because the child was looking at him, not because he hadn't understood her the first time.
' 'Yes—but I'm a little more than four because my birthday came by a while ago."
If he hadn't been so numb, he'd have smiled at that. He was sure he would have. Now all he could manage was a nod.
"Do you have a birthday month?" she asked him, apparently not at all daunted to have a strange man in her mother's living room. "Mommy says everyone has a birthday month."
"I do," Kyle said. Though at the moment, he couldn't recall what it was.
"Mine's 'vember."
"November?" he asked.
Still crouching, holding the child, Jamie hadn't moved.
Ashley nodded, slid her thumb back in her mouth and stared at him. Apparently she'd said all she was going to say.
But it had been enough. Kyle was sure it had. He
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wasn't completely sure why. Couldn't even begin to contemplate the significance of the last minutes.
''Let's get you back to bed, okay, punkin?" He barely heard the hoarse words through the roaring in his ears.
And did absolutely nothing when Jamie took the child from the room. He just let her go. Though a part of him knew he shouldn't have. That he needed that little girl right there with him. But the other part, the part that was strangling the air from his lungs, the thoughts from his brain, had too much control of him. Holding him senseless. In shock.
He had no idea how long he stood there, how long Jamie hid out in her daughter's room—away from him. But slowly, insidiously, awareness came to him. The room. The fire. The wineglasses.
The truth.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Out of breath, every nerve in his body singed, Kyle sank to the couch. But he couldn't stay there. Driven by the emotions raging through him, he jumped up almost immediately and paced the small room.
He'd never been so angry, so excited, so scared in his life. He'd never hated, or loved, so intensely. And he had no clue how to handle any of it. Adrenaline pushed him, forcing activity, yet he had nothing to do. Couldn't have left that room, that house, if he'd tried.
So agitated he probably wouldn't have noticed an earthquake, he missed Jamie's reappearance. He turned from the fireplace and she was there, perched on the couch again, pillow in hand, picking at the lace edging.
She looked terrible, her eyes dry but red, no trace of makeup. Hair hung in her face with no apparent discipline whatsoever. And she'd pulled an old gray sweater over her blouse.
The seduction, such as it was, was over.
Tenderness welled up inside him, prompting him to take her in his arms, assure her that everything was going to be okay.
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Except that he couldn't. And it wasn't. Tumbling through his mind were a thousand angry words. A blast of accusation, of blame.
And he couldn't say them. Because she was Jamie. His chin trembled with the effort it cost to restrain himself.
"She's mine." The words were torn from him.
Jamie looked up at him silently, neither denying nor confirming his bold claim. But her eyes told him the truth.
He shoved trembling hands into the pockets of his jeans. "When were you going to tell me?"
"Tonight." The word was strong, sure.
Kyle swore. "You expect me to believe that?"
"It's true."
He didn't know if it was or not, and he had too much else to think about. Whether or not she'd really meant to tell him this evening—did it matter?
"She's mine." He came closer to her, figuring in some illogical way that if he concentrated on the mother, the daughter's existence wouldn't torment him. "Say it." He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I want to hear you say the words."
He wanted to hurt her.
"She's your daughter," Jamie whispered. There was fear in her eyes—and more. Her pain tore at him and he turned away.
He needed to yell. Long and loud.
"Why?" The one word was all he dared.
"The way you left—"
She broke off, and Kyle suddenly understood.
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Knew he was partially to blame. But the pain, the sense of betrayal, was stronger.
"You knew my name."
"And I thought you'd paid for your entertainment. ''
Again, he silently acknowledged her point. "How could you think that after the night we shared?" he demanded, facing her.
She looked down, but not before he'd seen the shame in her eyes. And wanted to shoot himself. He'd done this to her. Used her. He'd left her with no choice but to feel cheap, ashamed. Abandoned. Left her alone to handle the consequences.
He should be praising the woman, blessing her, thanking her until he was old and gray. She'd made a good life for her daughter. Taken full responsibility and done an incredible job. He couldn't have done better himself.
Except that he should have had the chance to try.
Ashley was his daughter, too.
As he thought of all he'd missed, the first smile, midnight feedings, the pain of loss was almost unbearable. He'd never see the trusting eyes of his newborn daughter gazing up at him. He'd never hear her first words, witness her first steps. He'd missed dirty diapers and doctor's visits. Discoveries. Guidance.
He had to get out.
Ignoring the woman watching him, Kyle strode from the room. But he didn't leave the way he'd come. Instead, he followed his instincts and walked quietly down the short hallway.
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Her room was the first one he saw. He stepped inside…and found himself in fantasyland. Magic and dreams. Everywhere he looked happy eyes gazed back at him—and down on the sleeping child. Fish and crabs. A dozen mermaids. A merman. A seagull. Even a handsome young sailor. All keeping his daughter safe and protected in Kyle's absence.
His daughter. She was that bundle over there, all curled up and sound asleep in her bed. Completely unaware that he was there. That she belonged to him.
He crept closer. Scared witless. And yet compelled.
An unfamiliar moistness gathered in the corners of his eyes as he finally stood beside her, within touching distance, and faced all that he'd lost. He couldn't ever remember crying before. Hadn't thought he was capable. Until he felt the first tear slide down his cheek.
His baby girl didn't know him. She thought her daddy had deserted her. That he didn't want her. The one thing he'd always promised himself would never happen had happened without his even knowing it. His own daughter knew the same neglect he'd grown up with.
He didn't think it was possible for his heart to ache any more.
As he stood there, full of emotion and yet so alone, a hand stole into Kyle's. Soft, cool, reassuring. Silently, Jamie slid her fingers between his and held on. He couldn't look at her. Couldn't take on her pain, too. Not then. Not yet. He was still too
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angry. Too filled with both love and hate. But he took the comfort she offered. Squeezing her hand, he just stood there, all the while making silent apologies to the little girl he'd hurt with his negligence. And making silent promises, as well.
He was her father. For the rest of her life, she'd not only know that, she'd feel it, too. From that day forward, Kyle was going to help raise his daughter.
Until that moment, Jamie thought she'd already traveled the depths of despair, known fear in its highest form. If asked, she could have named the times: the night of her mother's funeral when John had almost raped her; the day Tom's wife had come to her; the same day, when Tom had shown her just how little she was worth; and the morning she'd awakened in Kyle Radcliff's hotel room to find that wad of bills. The morning sh
e'd discovered she'd truly sold everything she had to give. The morning after the first climax she'd ever had.
But none of that compared to the debilitating terror she knew as she followed Kyle from Ashley's room. He had confrontation written all over him. She had things she could never tell him.
His eyelashes were moist, his eyes red-rimmed. Jamie's heart lurched as she witnessed the evidence of what she'd done. She wanted to apologize, to take away the pain, to promise to make things up to him.
She couldn't do any of it. How could she give him back the years he'd lost?
"I'm going to be an active part of her life," he said in a firm, clear voice.
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Not trusting herself to speak, Jamie nodded. She'd expected nothing less.
"She's to be told immediately."
Again, Jamie nodded.
' 'I intend to be there when we tell her, even if it means I don't leave this house until morning."
Jamie swallowed, loving him even while she hated what he was doing to her life. "You're welcome to stay." She paused, holding back tears. "But it won't be necessary."
He glanced sideways then, studying her, as if measuring her trustworthiness. It hurt that he even had to wonder.
She'd known this was going to happen, had prepared herself all along. She'd always realized there was no chance of a future for the two of them. So why was the pain so intense? Why now, when only Ashley mattered, was she suddenly losing her ability to cope?
"We need to figure out what we're going to say." Kyle's tone left no room for argument. "We're going to start out as we must go on—united."
Jamie's eyes flew to his, her foolish heart taking hope for the brief second before reality intruded.
"For the child's sake," he added, obviously reading the question in her eyes.
Jamie nodded. Of course. She hadn't really thought he'd meant anything else.
"She's to know complete security," he said, pacing slowly as he spoke. "Never are we going to speak ill of each other in her presence."
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Her Secret, His Child: A Little Secret Page 12