The Doctor's Secret Son

by Janice Lynn

  “If you think I haven’t noticed how you watch me, you’re wrong.”

  Okay, so maybe she watched him. A lot.

  “You’re a man living in my house uninvited. Of course I watch you. Trying to make sure you don’t steal the silverware.”

  “Ha,” he snorted. “Real funny.”

  “Despite your claims of wealth, I know nothing about you, Trace. Nothing. So don’t you go making fun of me trying to protect my son and myself.”

  He considered her answer a moment, then said, “You know all you’ve asked to find out.”

  “Fine. Since you keep bringing him up, tell me about your father.”

  “I don’t talk about my dad.”

  Yeah, neither did she, but still, she tossed her hands up in frustration. “Exactly my point. You say one thing and do another. Just as I asked you to tell me what happened to your side and you didn’t.”

  The struggle on his face was real. “What is it you want to know about my father?”

  “Why don’t you get along with him?” She could tell that her question wasn’t one he’d been expecting or that he wanted to answer. The struggle intensified.

  “Because he’s a wealthy businessman who thinks he can control everyone and everything if he waves around enough money.”

  “Can he?”

  “What?”

  “Control everyone and everything with money?”

  Trace shrugged. “Just about.”

  “But not you?”

  “No.”

  A lot of things began to click in her mind. “He’s why you went overseas?”

  “No,” he immediately denied.

  But she knew the real reason was probably yes.

  They sat in silence a moment.

  “What are your intentions, Trace?”

  “Regarding you? I have no intentions. I don’t do relationships or marriage.”

  “Not in regards to me.” Why would he think she was even asking that? Because of his off-the-wall comment in the wading pool? “In regards to Joss. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to stay with him tomorrow to watch him while you go to work.”

  She fought grimacing. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. My mother is planning to watch him. She said she’d come here about ten—that way you could still spend time with Joss, but she’d be here to help.”

  She had called her mother and told her only the basics. When she’d begun asking questions, Chrissie had promised she’d call her at break the following day and fill her in.

  “I do think it’s a good idea. He and I need time to bond.”

  Which came back to that shared power over their son. There she went thinking she got final say, rather than sharing the responsibility with Trace. Guilt and remorse were powerful motivators, but she still couldn’t agree with him.

  “Do you think you’re ready to be alone with Joss all day? There’s a lot to taking care of him, Trace.”

  “I’ve been with him for four days, Chrissie. I won’t claim to have your vast experience with parenting, but I’m a grown man, lived in war-torn countries, and a medical doctor. I think I’ll survive a day alone with my three-year-old son. I don’t need your mother to babysit us both.”

  His barb regarding her having excluded him from gaining parenting experience wasn’t lost.

  She grabbed a sofa pillow and hugged it to her. “Yeah, it’s not you I was worried about.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You think I’d hurt my son?”

  “Not intentionally.”

  “Which means what?

  “That I think you want him to like you so much that it blinds you to being able to think logically around him like a real parent.”

  She regretted her word choice the moment it left her mouth, but couldn’t take the “real” back no matter how much she wished she could.

  His face darkened to an angry red. “I’d say it’s normal for a father to want his son to like him, to be his friend.”

  “It’s not your job to be his friend, Trace. You’re a parent, not a bestie.”

  “I’m not sure I even know what you mean by that.”

  “Which just proves my point.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve only been a parent for four days. Nature didn’t notify me of my pending parenthood four years ago and neither did my son’s mother.”

  He got up and went to the front door. “I’m going for a run, but I will be back and I will watch my son tomorrow. Leave me written instructions on anything you think is vital I know that a ‘real’ father would know about their son.”

  With those sharp emotional digs, he stormed out of the front door and was gone.

  Ha. It would serve him right if she locked him out of the house.

  Not that she would, but the thought made her feel a little better.

  But not much.

  * * *

  With sleeping on Chrissie’s sofa, not waking up as she moved around the house in preparation for leaving for work was impossible.

  Trace had always been a light sleeper, but, since his time overseas, he often felt he slept with one eye open and one ear on guard.

  Not one for pretense, he sat up and was stretching when Chrissie entered the room.

  Her gaze immediately went to his bare chest and a rosy blush stained her cheeks.

  “Um...” she muttered, stopping in her tracks and not seeming to know what to say.

  Trace glanced down at his bare chest. “Something wrong?”

  “You shouldn’t sleep half naked.”

  He laughed. “I’m wearing shorts, Chrissie.”

  Her gaze went back to his chest, then jerked away. “Whatever.”

  “Does my lack of shirt bother you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why,” she snapped.

  Excitement rushed through him. “You like what you see?”

  “You know you’re a beautiful man. You don’t need forced compliments from me.”

  Only maybe he did because her words pleased him more than they should have.

  “My scar doesn’t bother you? You mentioned it yesterday. Some women would find it ugly.”

  Her gaze dropped to where his shorts rode low, revealing the edge of his puckered skin. The pink to her cheeks turned ashen and he wondered what she thought.

  “How I find you doesn’t matter, Trace. What matters is that you take care of our son today. My mom will be here not too long after Joss wakes.”

  He sighed. She was right.

  “You have my cell-phone number,” she reminded him, determined to be all business. “I’ve written down my mother’s number and my friend Savannah’s number in case you need anything before Mom gets here. I left the paper on the kitchen countertop. If you can’t reach me, call either of them.”

  “It’s ridiculous for you to have your mother come here. I’ve got this.”

  “But she will be here. Promise you’ll call if you need anything,” she insisted.

  “If I run into problems, I’ll call.” He stood, noting that her gaze followed the descent of the blanket as it dropped to the floor, then her eyes traced back up to meet his.

  How his body could respond to her when he was so aggravated at her lack of confidence in him, he wasn’t sure, but, same as always, his body responded.

  “Um...that’s good,” she muttered, dragging her gaze away.

  Trace stepped from the sofa, yawning, then raking his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, but Joss and I are going to have a good day, despite having your mom looking over my shoulder, so I won’t be calling.”

  He was still telling himself that an hour later when Joss refused to eat. He’d awakened earlier than Chrissie
had thought he would as it was still almost an hour before her mother would arrive. After a while of cajoling him, answering Chrissie’s second text asking how things were going, Trace decided Joss would eat when hunger hit him.

  But when the boy started crying for his mother and Trace couldn’t get him to stop, he realized he was going to have to get them out of the house so he could distract him from Chrissie’s absence. Either that or have her mother walk into the house with Joss upset. Then Chrissie really wouldn’t trust him with their son.

  “Joss, before you woke up this morning, I was researching some of the things we could do. I’d like to go to the train station to ride in a train. Would you like that?”

  Joss didn’t look overly excited. “I like trains.”

  Not that liking trains improved his flat-tire attitude much. Every movement seemed to be a chore. Joss complained of his stomach hurting and still refused to eat.

  Trace let out a big sigh and went in search of the bag Chrissie had brought with them each time they’d left the house. A bag from which she’d magically pulled out anything Joss had needed when they’d been away from her home.

  He searched through the bag, checking contents, doing his best to figure out what might be missing from what Chrissie packed. He grabbed a couple of juice boxes from the fridge, and filled a plastic container of dry cereal. He shouldn’t need more than that as he’d buy his and Joss’s lunch at The Chattanooga Choo-Choo hotel where the train would leave from.

  He’d buy anything else he might have forgotten.

  He’d gone the night before and bought a car seat so he and Joss wouldn’t be trapped at the house all day. No doubt, Chrissie wouldn’t want him going anywhere with their son as she hadn’t mentioned leaving a seat for him to use and surely she knew he wouldn’t have taken his son out without a seat. Joss’s safety and well-being was everything. On that, he and Chrissie agreed.

  Unfortunately, Joss seemed back into his uncooperative state and sat down in the gravel, saying he wanted his mommy, while Trace figured out how to securely fasten the car seat into the back seat of his SUV.

  “Your mommy is at work, but she will be home this evening.” Patience, he reminded himself. He had to be patient. Joss would grow to love him, too. Would eventually accept him as his father. Maybe not before he had to leave, though. “You and I are going to go ride a train and have some boy fun.”

  “I don’t want to have boy fun,” his son whined. “I want Mommy.”

  Yeah, Trace didn’t blame him. Given the option of hanging with Chrissie or himself, he’d choose Chrissie, too.

  “Mommy is at work,” he repeated. “You and I are going on an adventure. It’ll be great,” Trace assured him. Definitely more fun than them staying home and him trying to figure out what to do all day long with Chrissie’s mother casting a critical eye. What had she even told her mother about him? Had she been honest and admitted that Trace hadn’t known about Joss or was he the villain in her eyes? “Your mom will be home tonight when she gets off work.”

  In the meantime, he wanted to bond with Joss and believed their being alone was the best way of achieving that. He’d shoot Chrissie’s mother a text once they reached the Choo-Choo.

  “My stomach hurts,” Joss complained.

  Trace sighed. Today would get better, just as it had at the aquarium. He and Joss would have a good time. Once he got Joss to the trains, he’d get excited about their trip. This would be a good day.

  “I brought you some juice and cereal. I’ll give it to you once I get you fastened into your car seat.”

  Was Joss allowed to eat while in his car seat? Surely. He was three years old and fed himself his meals and snacks.

  Trace battled getting the car-seat strap properly fitted through the appropriate part of the car seat. Joss watched him conquer the car seat, but didn’t look nearly as impressed as Trace felt he should.

  He picked Joss up and put him in the seat, letting Joss help him fasten the seat’s buckle into place.

  “Great job,” he praised, hoping for a smile.

  Looking quite miserable, Joss asked, “Can I have my juice?”

  Counting to ten, Trace dug into the bag and pulled out one of the juice boxes. “Here ya go, pal.”

  Joss took the juice box, staring at it expectantly, then back up at Trace. Did Chrissie open the boxes? He hadn’t noticed her doing so, but Joss was waiting for him to do something and putting the straw in seemed the most likely.

  “Can I get that for you?” he asked, not wanting to offend if he was misreading his son.

  Joss nodded, then shook his head. “I’m not thirsty now.”

  Trace wasn’t going to argue. He took the box and put it back into the insulated side pocket of the bag. “Fine. You can have it later.”

  He wanted to take the top off his car, but decided he’d save that for another day. A day when Joss was showing a little more excitement regarding riding with him. Today, the boy looked two steps away from crying.

  He probably was.

  He’d asked for Chrissie more than a dozen times and had looked devastated when he’d realized she had gone to work and left him alone with Trace.

  He’d even asked about going to his nanna’s and had looked disappointed when Trace had said they’d be spending the day together and would see his nanna later that afternoon.

  Apparently, despite the gains made the previous day, Trace still wasn’t worthy of spending the day alone with.

  Maybe that was to be expected. He was still essentially a stranger and Joss wasn’t used to staying with him. No problem. They were going to have a great first father-son day. They had to start somewhere and that somewhere was today.

  Only Joss didn’t seem as eager to get things going.

  Nor did he want to walk when Trace got him out of the car at the hotel where he’d buy the tickets for their train ride.

  “Fine, I’ll carry you.” After all, that was what Chrissie had done when the boy had clung to her. He’d enjoy a little Joss clinging to him.

  Not that Joss planned to give him the opportunity.

  “I don’t want you to carry me. I want to go home.”

  “We’re going to ride the train, then we’ll get some lunch, then, if you still want to go home—” and he hoped the boy wasn’t in a rush by that time “—then we’ll go home.”

  Looking on the verge of crying, Joss let his lower lip droop. “My belly hurts.”

  Lord, help me, Trace prayed. Help me do and say the right things to make this child trust me and care for me.

  “That’s what happens when you don’t eat,” Trace reminded him gently. “Would you like some of your juice and cereal now while I buy our tickets? You’ll feel better after you eat something.”

  Joss looked hesitant, but nodded. Trace dug out a juice box and container of dry cereal and handed them to his son.

  Joss stared up at him in confusion.

  Oh, yeah, he needed to pop the straw into the juice box. He did so, then handed it back to his son.

  Joss frowned, handed him the container of cereal back, then took the juice container with both hands.

  After he’d taken a drink, he handed the juice box back to Trace.

  “Thank you,” the boy said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

  Trace took the drink box. Which left the bag draped over Trace’s shoulder and the juice box and cereal in his hands. He dropped the cereal back into the bag, held onto the juice, then reached for Joss.

  He’d text Chrissie’s mother in a few, after they got the tickets.

  “You want me to carry you?” he offered, hoping his eagerness didn’t come through to the point of scaring Joss.

  Joss’s lower lip disappeared between his teeth and he shook his head.

  Trace would have been better off
carrying the boy though, because Joss moved at the slowest speed Trace had ever seen him move. He kept a hold on Joss’s hand and tried not to say too much when Joss wriggled.

  Tried to focus on the fact that, although Joss wouldn’t let him carry him, the boy was holding his hand, something he wouldn’t do just a few days ago.

  Besides, they still had a good thirty minutes to explore the trains before theirs took off so what did it matter if they took a little longer getting their tickets?

  Things went downhill fast once they were actually on the train and moving, though.

  Joss began to cry, repeatedly asking for Chrissie. No doubt the other passengers wondered if he was some pervert having kidnapped Joss as he refused to be consoled.

  “Joss, we’ll go see your mommy when we’re through with the train ride.”

  Joss’s tears didn’t let up and his little body shook with his distress.

  Trace shouldn’t have been surprised when the juice Joss had drunk came back up, splattering over the hem of Trace’s T-shirt, soaking his shorts, and running down his legs and splattering onto Joss’s T-shirt and shorts as well.

  Good grief. He hadn’t realized Joss had drunk that much of the juice.

  Joss’s little face looked horrified at what he’d done, almost fearful of how Trace was going to react as his gaze lifted.

  Protectiveness surged through him, making him want to hug the boy to him and reassure him.

  “It’s okay, buddy. You threw up because you got so upset crying. Try to calm down. I’ll get you and this mess cleaned up. No big deal.” He had the package of wipes in the bag, plus he’d seen a change of clothes in the bag when he’d rummaged through it that morning.

  Joss sucked in a sobbing breath, the tears still flowing.

  “Shh, it’s going to be okay,” Trace repeated, gently touching his son’s face in hopes of comforting him.

  His skin felt on fire and a cold, cold fear gripped Trace.

  One that the last time he recalled feeling was when a bomb had gone off and he’d awakened from a nightmare where coworkers and innocent people had senselessly died and many more, including himself, had been injured.

  Joss grabbed hold of his right lower abdomen and cried out as if in intense pain.