The Doctor's Secret Son

by Janice Lynn

  “Agnes is biased. She’s my godmother.”

  Chrissie’s eyes widened. Obviously Agnes hadn’t told her that part.

  “Her husband, Bud, and my father grew up in the same neighborhood and were best friends. Somehow, that friendship survived my father’s personality all these years.”

  “Something wrong with your father’s personality?”

  Ha, now there was a tricky question if ever there was one.

  “Most people would say he’s near perfect.”

  Her eyebrow arched. “But not you?”

  Not a subject he wanted to discuss any more than he wanted to discuss Sudan or Yemen or Kerry. Maybe less so.

  “So, about those Braves...”

  He watched emotions play across her face, but she let any further questions she had go. How many times had he closed his eyes and recalled her face? How many times when the whole world seemed to have gone crazy had he closed his eyes and just remembered everything about her?

  “Yeah, well, apparently you don’t recall, or maybe you never knew—” her chin tilted upward “—but I’m not a fan of baseball.”

  Well, no one was perfect even if in his mind she was close.

  “That’s un-American,” he teased.

  She shrugged. “Overpaid bunch of men who never grew up as far as I’m concerned.”

  His lips twitched. “I’ll have you know those guys work hard.”

  She gave him an accusing look. “You sound as if you’re one of them. Former player or just a wannabe?”

  He laughed and it felt good. Foreign, but good. He’d not had many reasons to laugh over the past four years. It hadn’t all been bad. Some parts had been wonderful. He’d been helping people who desperately needed help. But overall there hadn’t been nearly enough laughter.

  For all the craziness, he’d felt as if he was doing something positive in the world, had felt alive and needed.

  “Nope, never been much of a baseball player,” he admitted. “But I have a few friends on the team.”

  “On the Atlanta Braves baseball team?” She sounded incredulous.

  He nodded. His father handled more than one of the players’ finances, was a real-estate mogul, and prior to Trace leaving the country they’d moved in the same social circles. These days, all the parties and hoopla seemed pointless when there were people starving and being killed for their beliefs or place of birth.

  Shaking off the memory, he focused on the petite blonde staring up at him and drank her in like a breath of fresh air.

  Chrissie’s brows pinched. “Just who are you, anyway?”

  Determined that he was going to keep the past four years at bay, not think about pending decisions that needed making about his future, Trace grinned. “That’s right. You forgot my name.”

  For the first time, a smile toyed on her lips.

  A guilty smile.

  That she’d pretended not to remember him was as telling as her comment about his not asking for her phone number.

  He stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Trace Stevens. I’m a volunteer in the medical tent. I’ll be working closely with you over the next couple of days.”

  “Not that closely.”

  It occurred to him that just because his life hadn’t moved forward, a lot could have changed in hers.

  He’d just assumed she was single, available.

  His gaze dropped to her left hand and specifically to her empty third finger.

  “No wedding ring,” he mused out loud. “Boyfriend?”

  “I’m not married.” Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth. “But I date from time to time.”

  He let her answer digest, not liking the green sludge making its way through his veins. He had no claims on her. He never had. When he’d spotted her across the tent he hadn’t even considered that she might be involved with someone else. He’d just seen her and wanted her.

  Four years had come and gone. It wasn’t as if he’d have expected anyone to have waited on him.

  And to wait for what? A weekend fling every few years when he came home?

  He had nothing to offer beyond that and never would.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHRISSIE NEEDED TO get away from Trace. Quickly. Being around him made her insides mush.

  “So,” she said as a way of moving the conversation away from anything personal. “What can I do to help get things set up?”

  “Bud and Agnes are so organized they have most everything taken care of. The bins of donated supplies are over here and are labeled. We can set the area up along the lines of what we did four years ago.”

  Chrissie’s face heated, which told her way too much about her state of mind.

  “A triage area and a treatment area?” Had her voice been several octaves higher or was that just her imagination?

  “Yes.” How dared he sound so calm? “We’ll set one treatment area up to be a bit more private, just in case.”

  No. No. No. There went her naughty imagination again to places it shouldn’t go. To memories of a former private treatment area where her body had been quite ravished.

  She couldn’t prevent her blush.

  Hoping he didn’t notice, or that he’d think it the result of the Georgia heat, she nodded. “That works for me. How many volunteers do we have in the medical area this year?”

  The more the better. She hoped they were so over-staffed that being alone was impossible.

  “Around a dozen, I think.” He pulled out a list and began reading it. “We have a couple of doctors, a couple of nurses, a paramedic, a few nurse practitioners, and a few techs, and then some med and nursing students. It should run smoothly.”

  “Trace Stevens, is that you?” a female voice with a light accent called out from the other side of the tent.

  Trace and Chrissie both turned. A pretty brunette with long sleek hair pulled into a ponytail headed their direction. A huge smile was on her face and Chrissie wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d broken into a run to close the gap between her and Trace quicker.

  “Alexis,” he greeted the woman, who wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big hug. “I just saw your name on the list.”

  Chrissie was beginning to think she was going to have to peel the woman off to get her to let go of Trace, but eventually, and with obvious reluctance, she stepped back and brushed her hands down her white shorts and turquoise top.

  “I heard you were back in town—” Alexis’s smile was so big and bright she could be a toothpaste ad “—and would be here this weekend, but thought it too good to be true.”

  “You heard right.” Trace grinned easily at the beautiful woman.

  No wonder. She was a Greek goddess, had a husky voice that held a light accent and was downright sexy, and she was looking at Trace with obvious interest in her dark eyes.

  She was looking at him the way Chrissie had, no doubt, looked at him four years ago.

  Thank goodness she wasn’t looking at him that way now. Okay, maybe a little.

  I am not jealous, she told herself over and over. It does not matter that another woman is batting her lashes at him as if he is coated in chocolate and she’s just come off a strict diet.

  It didn’t matter. He meant nothing to Chrissie. Just a stranger she’d had an amazing weekend with years ago.

  A stranger who she’d made a child with.

  She grimaced. Yeah, there was that. Which explained why she couldn’t bear to watch their interaction a moment longer. It had nothing to do with anything other than a natural instinct because of Joss.

  “Um...I’ll go unpack bins while you two catch up,” she offered, not even sure if either of them remembered she was there as the woman caught him up on a few mutual acquaintances and their recent activities.


  At Chrissie’s words, the woman gave a horrified look. “Did I interrupt? I’m sorry. I saw Trace and had to immediately say hello and then, as always with this man, I got carried away.” She winked at Chrissie as if they shared a secret. “He has that effect on women, so be careful.”

  Chrissie didn’t need Alexis to point out the effect Trace had on women. She knew. She forced a smile, tight though it was, to her lips.

  “I’ll take note.”

  “Chrissie’s immune to whatever effect I have,” he told Alexis, although Chrissie had no idea why.

  The woman’s perfectly shaped eyebrow arched.

  Chrissie frowned, but didn’t respond to his comment.

  Trace’s gaze darted back and forth between the gorgeous brunette and Chrissie. No doubt he saw the stark contrast. It was hard to miss.

  “Chrissie, this is Dr. Alexis Gianakos,” Trace introduced the woman. “One of the best cardiologists I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.”

  A doctor? Beautiful and smart it would seem.

  “As you may have figured out from our conversation, she and I worked at the same hospital prior to when I joined DAW,” Trace continued. “She’s volunteering this weekend.”

  Will you be working closely with her, too? Chrissie wanted to ask, but somehow managed to keep her tongue in place.

  Ugh. She hated feeling jealous. Hated it.

  But she was. Denial didn’t make reality any less true.

  “Nice to meet you,” she greeted, holding out her hand and forcing the corners of her mouth upward.

  The woman took her hand. Hers was smooth, strong, feminine. Well-manicured.

  Chrissie couldn’t help but look down at her own as she pulled away from the woman’s. A bit rough, nails cropped short and unpainted, and no jewelry.

  None on the horizon, either.

  She’d dated, but found she quickly tired of the men who had come into her life. They either thought because she was a single mom that that meant she was easy for the taking or they didn’t understand that Joss came first and always would. None had lasted beyond a couple of dates.

  Her best friend, Savannah, was always pushing her to date, especially now that Savannah was so over the moon, happily married to cardiologist Dr. Charlie Keele. Just because Savannah had found the right man for her it didn’t mean Chrissie had to do the same. Or that she even wanted to. She was quite happy with just her and Joss. Fabulously so.

  “You’re also an old friend of Trace’s?” Alexis’s accent came out a bit thicker than previously.

  “We aren’t old friends, just acquaintances who met here a few years ago.”

  “Ah,” Alexis said as if gaining insight. This time it was her dark gaze going back and forth between Chrissie and Trace.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get started,” Chrissie said, feeling more and more awkward.

  She walked away before either could say anything. She didn’t want to listen to the beautiful woman chat up Trace and she sure didn’t want to listen to whatever response he made to the woman’s obvious interest.

  Had they been an item when Trace worked with her? The woman was so beautiful that no doubt they’d made an attractive couple.

  He was free to do whatever he wanted. Whomever he wanted. But she didn’t want to know about it. Or see it.

  What she’d really like to do was block it completely from her mind. Forever. She began organizing supplies and forcing a smile to stay on her face.

  Attitude was everything and she was going to have a good attitude this weekend even if it killed her.

  * * *

  Chrissie was jealous.

  She had no reason to be jealous, but the fact that she was made Trace happier than it should have.

  Alexis was still chatting about the hospital and his former coworkers, but Trace’s attention followed Chrissie to where she began opening bins with a vengeance and a smile that didn’t fit. He’d already helped volunteers set up tables and chairs in their tent, so, other than however they opted to organize their supplies, there wasn’t a lot more to do. Many of their items would stay boxed up until needed.

  “Who is she?”

  Alexis’s question didn’t surprise him. Right or wrong, he hadn’t attempted to hide his interest in Chrissie.

  “I met her here four years ago.”

  “You stayed in touch?”

  Still watching Chrissie work, he shook his head. “I’ve not seen or spoken to her since until today.”

  Surprise registered on Alexis’s face. “That must have been some meeting four years ago.”

  “Must have been,” was all he said, then, “I’m going to help her set up. You coming?”

  * * *

  Chrissie was one of those people who liked event-opening ceremonies. She liked knowing the history of whatever was taking place, of who the funds were going to help, of who they had already helped. Tonight’s was no exception.

  Listening to Bud and Agnes talk about their daughter who’d died with cancer at such a young age, of the heartbreaking prevalence of childhood cancers, listening to how they had formed the Children’s Cancer Prevention Organization and how the charity had grown, and their hope it would expand further into more cities, filled her heart with warm emotion.

  She simply could not imagine something happening to Joss or how she would react if it did. Like Bud and Agnes, she’d like to think she’d deal with her grief in a way that would make the world a better place for others.

  She wasn’t sure she’d be able to function at all.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Chrissie jumped at Trace’s question. “I didn’t see you.”

  “Obviously.” His gaze was on her rather than the stage where Agnes spoke. “You were lost in your thoughts.”

  “I was marveling at how Bud and Agnes turned something so personally tragic into something so positive.”

  “They are good people who live to give to others.”

  “Some would say a man who gave up four years of his life to help others was a good person, too.”

  His expression tightened. “On my best day I don’t measure up to the man and woman on that stage.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t say I meant you,” Chrissie assured him, grateful when his serious expression lightened at her comment, as she’d intended.

  There was something darker about him than she remembered. No doubt the things he’d seen over the past four years had changed him.

  Was there anyone in Trace’s life that made it better? Someone who helped him deal with the no doubt tragic situations he’d encountered while working overseas?

  “Is Alexis an old girlfriend?” That wasn’t what she’d meant to ask when she’d opened her mouth.

  “We went out a few times.”

  His smile was quick and too cocky for her liking. He knew she was jealous of the woman. Great.

  “Which is more than you can say about me, so I guess that answers my question.” Which probably only made her sound jealous and bitter and judgmental. Ugh. She should keep her mouth shut.

  “What question would that be?”

  “Whether or not you’d slept with her.” She fought to keep the image of him with the woman from her mind. An image she’d fought for four years. She’d just never had a face to put with her thoughts of what he’d been doing while she’d been raising their son.

  “I haven’t.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  “I said she and I went out a few times. I didn’t say we had ‘stayed in’ a few times.” At her continued doubt, he added, “I have no reason to lie to you.”

  He had a point. He owed her nothing, least of all a defense of whether or not he’d had sex with someone.

  “No, I guess you don’t,” s
he admitted, trying to hide the fact that she was happy he hadn’t slept with the beautiful Alexis.

  “Would it matter if I had?”

  Good grief. Could he see inside her head or what?

  “No.” But she was lying. It would have mattered. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it would have. Because of Joss, she told herself. That was why she cared who he’d slept with and who he hadn’t. Because she’d given birth to his child that made her more possessive, more concerned. At least, that was what she was going to keep telling herself, as she conveniently ignored the fact he’d been out of the country for four years.

  Hoping he hadn’t realized she’d lied and that if he had, he wouldn’t call her on it, Chrissie focused on the stage.

  Agnes was still speaking and Chrissie did her best to take in each word. With Trace standing so close, she couldn’t focus on the woman on stage. She was surrounded by people. How was it possible to be so physically aware of one man that she could smell his spicy scent, hear the call of his body?

  “I don’t believe you,” Trace whispered close to her ear, further sensitizing her nerve-endings.

  His breath tickled her skin. She could feel his heat and would swear he’d just nuzzled her hair.

  “It really doesn’t matter what you believe,” she said, stepping back. “I’ll see you in medical.”

  With that she pushed through the crowd to get away from him.

  But mainly to get away from her unwanted reaction to everything about him.

  * * *

  Later that evening in the medical tent, Trace lifted the fifty-year-old woman’s foot and examined her swollen ankle.

  “Yep.” He glanced at her name tag on the lanyard around her neck. “Ms. Perez, you have definitely done a number on your ankle.”

  “I shouldn’t have been quite so vigorous dancing in the bubbles, eh?”

  “Apparently not.” He had her turn and rest on her knees while he squeezed her calf, watching carefully as it triggered the appropriate movement in her foot. “There’s no evidence that you’ve torn your Achilles’ tendon, but you’re definitely out of commission for the rest of the weekend.”

  The woman’s face fell. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Can’t you give me a quick-fix pill?”