Книга - His Secret Son

His Secret Son
Stacy Connelly


That was Then…Bookish student Lindsay Brookes couldn’t believe it when football star Ryder Kincaid finally noticed her ten years ago. Back then, one magical night left her with a precious secret. Now, the single mum knows it’s time to come back to Clearville and track down the man she’s never forgotten.Could This be Their Now?When Ryder Kincaid spots the stunning brunette with the shy nine-year-old in tow, he can’t believe it’s Lindsay. Now he just has to prove that he can be the husband and father he always dreamt of becoming… with the woman he’s never stopped wanting.







“I’d like a chance for us to start over.”

“As friends?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up in a wry smile. “We were more than friends.”

For one night, they’d been lovers. One night that had changed both of their lives more than Ryder could possibly know.

Lindsay swallowed. “Ryder, I—I can’t. We can’t go back. It’s not possible.”

“And what about going forward? Is that impossible, too?” Reading the answer in her gaze, he came to his own conclusion as he eased far away from her on the crowded bench. “Because you can’t forgive me for what happened.”

“It’s not that,” Lindsay protested quietly. “It’s—”

That when I tell you the truth about what really happened that night, I don’t know how you’ll ever be able to forgive me.

* * *

The Pirelli Brothers: These California boys know what love is all about!


His Secret Son

Stacy Connelly






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


STACY CONNELLY has dreamed of publishing books since she was a kid, writing stories about a girl and her horse. Eventually, boys made it onto the page as she discovered a love of romance and the promise of happily-ever-after. When she is not lost in the land of make-believe, Stacy lives in Arizona with her three spoiled dogs. She loves to hear from readers at stacyconnelly@cox.net (http://stacyconnelly@cox.net) or www.stacyconnelly.com (http://www.stacyconnelly.com).


To Cindy Kirk and Vicki Lewis Thompson-Even though this book is set in the fictional town of Clearville, California, for me it will always be my “Tucson” book.


Contents

Cover (#u7d991a7c-8440-50b7-9af4-20a1fecc1c5e)

Introduction (#uff1f3990-4cf0-5497-8245-6a3f7398d9f4)

Title Page (#u30eee183-360a-51f0-ac02-775e639976e2)

About the Author (#u425492d5-7efe-5d3d-9a89-0d1e5f8f41b0)

Dedication (#uf70f01f1-df69-5baa-99c9-51a881f681e6)

Chapter One (#ua4028cb9-da4d-5daf-aa55-7bd3854612d1)

Chapter Two (#u21ca4061-1ddc-56f9-8236-00f14f3a44d7)

Chapter Three (#u43ee9303-5464-58b7-9599-5aaf47e07fa3)

Chapter Four (#u0449c75b-e0ac-544b-a1de-0861f6682c4e)

Chapter Five (#u05313eff-43e3-5190-965b-fce13cc0abbf)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_913586ae-b93f-5a3b-8a87-31454a8705f5)

The place hadn’t changed, Lindsay Brookes thought with a touch of nostalgia as she drove her SUV down Main Street. The tiny Northern California town where she’d been born and raised seemed caught in a time warp. The Victorian buildings that housed eclectic shops and restaurants had stood proudly for well over one hundred years, surviving the passage of time and even the occasional earthquake. Had she really thought they would undergo some sort of drastic modernization in the mere decade since she’d been gone?

Just because she’d worked so hard to make over the shy, awkward girl who’d graduated from Clearville High didn’t mean the town had changed, too. Didn’t mean the people who lived there would see how much she’d changed.

Shoving away the old insecurities, she sucked in a deep breath and tightened her hands on the wheel. She had her reasons for returning to her hometown, and the faster she accomplished her goals, the sooner she’d be back in Phoenix, where she belonged. Where people only knew her as the strong, confident woman she was now and had no memory of the painfully shy, desperately lonely girl she’d once been.

As she glanced in the rearview mirror at one of her reasons for coming back, her heart filled with love—and yes, concern—at the sight of her son with his ever-present tablet in hand.

“Robbie? Robbie?”

“Huh?” He blinked as he looked up through his too-long blond bangs, his eyes slightly unfocused behind his Harry Potter–frame glasses.

It worried her a little, how fixated he was with his video games though she strictly limited them to ones she thought appropriate for a nine-year-old boy. She tried to monitor the time he spent playing them, too, but that was more of a challenge.

You were the same way at that age, she reminded herself even if it had been books and not games that had captured her imagination and led her away into the land of make-believe. But as much as she loved her son—his sweet shyness, his quirky humor, his sometimes scary intelligence—she didn’t want him to follow so closely in her footsteps. She wanted him to have fun that didn’t involve a high-definition screen and make friends who lived outside a computer-generated world.

“What do you want on your pizza?” she asked even though she already knew the answer.

“Pepperoni and peppers.”

Lindsay didn’t know where her son’s craving for spicy foods came from. She could barely handle more than a few shakes of black pepper. Had to be from being born and raised in Phoenix, where Mexican restaurants dominated the landscape along with palm trees and cacti.

A sudden image teased the edges of her memory—a brown-haired boy with laughing green eyes popping jalapeño slices into his mouth like candy—but she shoved the thought away. “Okay, pepperoni and peppers, but only on half, okay? You know Grandma Ellie and I don’t like hot stuff.”

Lindsay found a parking place on the street outside the pizza parlor and cut the engine. Lowering the visor, she took a moment to check her hair and makeup. Not that she expected a fashion disaster to have taken place during the fifteen-minute ride from her grandmother’s house, but it never hurt to check.

Her honey-brown hair was still caught back in a clip at the nape of her neck despite Robbie’s request to ride with the back window down and her daytime makeup—a soft brown eyeliner to highlight her blue-green eyes, mascara and a touch of lip gloss—was still in place. She took a moment to wipe a small smudge from the inside corner of one eye and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

In her job working at a PR firm, she’d learned how much appearance mattered. And though she was on vacation, she saw no reason not to look her best. Especially when she never knew who she might run into...

Her stomach trembled at the thought, and she ran her suddenly damp palms down her beige slacks. As she climbed from the vehicle, the late-afternoon sunlight warmed her face and she took a moment to enjoy a cool breeze blowing in from the ocean.

The summer temperatures rarely rose above seventy, a refreshing change from the scorching heat they’d left behind. Back home, she’d already dug up all but the hardiest of flowers she’d planted during the mild winter and early spring, but here towering red and yellow snapdragons, purple petunias and snow-white alyssum flowed from brick planters. The green-and-white-striped awnings above the plate-glass windows waved in welcome, as did the open doors along the street—few of the buildings needing or even having the air-conditioning that was an absolute necessity living in the desert.

She wasn’t alone in taking a moment to appreciate the gorgeous late-May day. Tourists strolled along the sidewalks and posed for pictures on benches outside the small shops. Families walked hand in hand—some heading toward the pizza parlor, others for the ice cream shop across the street. A group of laughing, roughhousing teenagers jostled by—all talking over each other in an almost indistinguishable babble—but Lindsay overheard one remark loud and clear.

“I can’t believe we’ll be starting college in three months!”

She did a quick double take at the trio. They all looked so young, sometimes it was hard for Lindsay to believe she’d ever been that age. Hard to believe that by the time she graduated, she’d already been—

“Oh, awesome! They have video games!” Robbie’s voice cut into her thoughts.

As if he hadn’t been playing a game the entire ride into town, she thought wryly.

Caught up in his excitement, he charged toward the restaurant doors.

“Robbie, wait! Watch—” Lindsay saw the accident waiting to happen but was too far away for her words to do any good as her son barreled into a man exiting the pizza joint. “—where you’re going,” she finished weakly, relieved when the man reached out to steady her reeling son with one hand without dropping the large pizza boxes balanced in his other.

“Whoa there, bud! No need to hurry. There’s still plenty of pizza left inside.”

No need to hurry.

The words—the voice—slammed into Lindsay’s gut. She might have gasped, but the blow knocked the air from her lungs. Bright flashes of memory assaulted her, and she wanted to close her eyes, but she knew from too many sleepless nights that only made the images so much more intense.

“No need to hurry... We have all night.”

So she steeled herself to face Ryder Kincaid for the first time in a decade—the familiar green eyes, rich brown hair, the sexy half smile that had stopped almost every girl’s heart in high school—including her own. He’d always been undeniably gorgeous, even back then, and now... Lindsay swallowed. Now those good looks had been magnified by ten years’ worth of distance, ten years’ worth of maturity as he’d grown from a boy to a man.

That sexy smile was still there as he met her gaze. A dimple flashed, somewhat at odds with the five o’clock shadow defining the planes and angles of his sculpted cheekbones and rugged jawline. Her heart pounded as he stepped closer, the moment she’d at once dreaded and anticipated for all these years, finally at hand.

She’d pictured it a hundred times—his heartfelt apology for the way he’d treated her following that one warm spring night their senior year. Her cool dismissal as she proved once and for all how much better off she was without him.

How much better off they were without him.

But time, as it turned out, didn’t change everything.

Not Ryder’s smile or the casual nod he tipped in her direction before he walked by without a word.

And not Lindsay’s shock as memories grabbed hold, dragging her back to the stupid, naive and lonely girl Ryder had used and tossed aside.

For a split second, the rich, tangy scent of pizza and whistles from the video games inside changed. Transformed into the slightly musty smell of a high school hallway and the peal of the morning bell from over a decade ago...

After years of silently, hopelessly loving Ryder Kincaid from a distance, she had finally, finally gotten noticed. More than noticed. So much more than noticed, and Lindsay had known her life would never be the same. She’d waited—heart pounding with excitement and anticipation—as she stood by his locker. A few fellow students glanced her way, as if wondering what she was doing in an area where the cool kids hung out, but she held her ground. Because soon everyone would know that she and Ryder Kincaid—Ryder Kincaid—were a couple.

She caught sight of him as he walked down the hallway, his hair falling over his forehead in a casual tousle, his green eyes laughing, his easy stride all loose-limbed confidence. He was surrounded by a group of friends, but then he’d always been so popular. Quarterback and captain of the football team, he had several scholarship offers. Everyone wanted Ryder.

Excitement soured into nervousness, but Lindsay pushed the feeling back. Everyone wanted Ryder, but he wanted her. Last Friday night had proved that. And so she waited for him to notice her, for his eyes to light up the way they had at Billy Cummings’s party. Waited for him to pull her into his arms, to kiss her the way he had done only a few days ago. This time in front of all his friends so the whole high school would know that she was his girl...

Waited and watched in stunned, sickened disbelief as he walked right by her.

With a smile and a nod.

This isn’t high school. This isn’t high school. Lindsay repeated the words again and again. You’re not that same girl.

Jerking her shoulders back, she held her head high as she marched toward the restaurant. She caught sight of Ryder’s image in the large window as he strolled away, his broad shoulders, narrow hips and long denim-clad legs on display even in a wavy reflection. She watched as he jerked to a stop and slowly turned around. Saw the puzzled frown on his handsome face and thought maybe, just maybe, she heard him call out her name.

Lindsay kept going without breaking stride.

At least this time, she’d been the one to walk away.

* * *

Ryder Kincaid had known when he moved back to his hometown that he would have to eat more than a little crow.

Okay, so he had left town as the golden boy, the kid with the magical arm who’d taken their high school to the championship game and won it three out of four years. He’d been the captain of the football team, he’d been prom king and he’d dated the head cheerleader. He’d had scholarship offers from several colleges, and he’d chosen the biggest and best school to come knocking—even if that scholarship had only paid for part of his education.

After all, he’d been the big man on campus and all the best things in life were yet to come.

Big man on campus, he thought wryly. Big man in a small, small school in a small, small town.

He hadn’t realized how small until he left. Until he spent his college career riding the bench—except for one magical fourth-quarter comeback he’d engineered his junior year—backup to a kid who’d gone on to be drafted by the NFL and was enjoying the professional career Ryder had only dreamed about.

Still, he’d made the most of his college years, taking part-time construction jobs to pay for all his scholarship didn’t cover and earning a degree in architecture. He’d gone on to work at one of the most prestigious firms in San Francisco. A firm owned by his wife’s—now ex-wife’s—family. A job more than a few people around Clearville seemed to think he’d gotten on nepotism alone since the end of his marriage had also signaled the end of his career.

So, yeah, he’d had to grin and bear it when people jabbed him with the glory days of high school—“Peaked too soon, didn’t you, Kincaid?”—and when they rubbed in the loss of his career—“You know what they say, never a good idea to work for family”—even though he really didn’t think he deserved all that.

He’d had big dreams in high school—all centered on a game and a girl he loved. How did he end up the bad guy, the failure, when they had been the ones to betray him?

Ryder pushed aside the bitterness as he climbed the front steps to his brother’s house. His family, at least, had welcomed him back with open arms, though they, too—or his mother at least—still looked at him with the question in her eyes. Where had it all gone wrong?

Marriage in the Kincaid family was supposed to be forever. His and Brittany’s had barely made it to the six-year mark.

He balanced the pizzas in one hand, the hot crust warm even through a layer of cardboard, as he gave a quick knock and opened the front door. The sounds of kids playing—his nephews and whatever friends they might have invited over—rang out from the back of the house, and for an instant, Ryder thought of the boy at the pizza parlor. The one who’d barreled into him on his way out.

He’d gotten a quick glimpse of blond hair, glasses too big for a narrow face and a skinny body. After that, Ryder’s attention had been claimed by the woman trailing behind.

After his marriage to Brittany and their turbulent on-again, off-again relationship spanning back to high school, Ryder had learned to keep his awareness when it came to the opposite sex well under wraps.

That didn’t mean he didn’t notice beautiful women. Hell, he was still a guy. And the woman who’d been standing on the sideway was definitely a beautiful woman. Her dark blond hair had been pulled back from her delicate features and wide blue-green gaze. At first glimpse, her eyes had widened with concern, then surprise as her warning to the boy died on her lips. Pale pink lips that had glistened with a hint of expertly applied makeup.

She hadn’t had the look of a local picking up pizza for the family. Jeans and T-shirts were the typical dress code for almost every eating establishment in town, and her beige linen slacks and pale green blouse guaranteed she’d stand out—as if her beauty alone wasn’t enough to set her apart from the crowd.

His instant attraction had caught him off guard. The ink on his divorce papers was barely dry, so even looking at another woman felt as smart as hitting himself in the head with a hammer. For the second time.

Only as he’d walked away did he realize that the woman looked familiar. Something in the not quite blue, not quite green of her eyes. In the expressive eyebrows a shade darker than her hair. In the heart-shaped contours of her face.

If the woman had indeed been Lindsay Brookes and if she’d ignored him as he’d called out her name, well, that was one smackdown he definitely deserved.

When he thought of the way he’d treated her after that one night their senior year, Ryder cringed. He tried hard not to think about the way he’d so pointedly dismissed her. He’d had his reasons at the time, good reasons, though Lindsay couldn’t have known that. She couldn’t have thought anything other than the obvious—that he’d slept with her on the rebound during another breakup with Brittany, used her and tossed her aside.

“Hey, why the frown?” his older brother, Bryce, asked as Ryder stepped into the kitchen. “Don’t you know pizza’s happy food?”

“It’s...nothing really.” He set the boxes on the granite island as he accepted the bottle of beer Bryce handed him with a nod of thanks. He couldn’t help smiling as his brother moved around the kitchen with an ease that caught him a bit off guard.

Sure, all Bryce was doing was chopping a quick salad to add some veggies to their “guy night” dinner, but it was still strange to see him in his role as a dad. At times, when one of the boys called out “Dad,” Ryder still expected his own father to be the one to answer, not his brother.

Though Ryder had tried to visit once or twice a year, getting together with Bryce’s family over the holidays or taking a trip over summer break to Disneyland hadn’t clued him in to how hands-on his brother was in his day-to-day dad duties. Since moving back the previous fall, Ryder had gotten a real chance to see Bryce, and his wife, Nina, in action.

The couple worked well together, their conversation filled with lighthearted teasing, respect and a love that had stabbed him with a sense of envy—even before his divorce.

“Do you remember Lindsay Brookes?” he asked. “She was in my grade in school.”

“Think so. Real bookworm, right? Kind of a know-it-all?” Bryce asked as he made quick work chopping a green pepper.

“Yeah, but she wasn’t like that. Not really.”

“I don’t recall the two of you being friends back then.”

“She helped me out our senior year.” He’d always prided himself on getting decent grades, despite his jock status, but that year he’d done more partying than studying and his test scores had started to reflect that. “She tutored me in calculus.”

“Sounds like a brain to me.”

“Oh, yeah, she was supersmart.” Ryder gave a short laugh. “And she couldn’t seem to stop herself from pointing out when someone made a mistake. She thought she was being helpful. She never seemed to get that the other kids didn’t see it that way.”

“Right after graduation...she surprised everybody when she started hanging out with that Pirelli cousin, right?” Bryce asked over his shoulder as he opened the fridge and pulled out a small carton of tomatoes.

“Yeah, I guess they’d gotten to be friends over the years when he came to town to visit his family, but then that summer...” Everyone else might have been surprised to see the shy, quiet girl hook up with the brooding Tony Pirelli, but all Ryder had felt was relief. He couldn’t have broken her heart too badly if she’d immediately fallen for another guy. Lindsay and Tony had been inseparable that summer.

“I don’t know what a hunk like that sees in a book-brain like her,” Brittany had scoffed when the two couples ran into each other at the Fourth of July picnic in the town square.

Ryder had made some sound of agreement, but he’d known then that he’d done the best thing—if not the right thing—in breaking things off with Lindsay. Though he and Brittany had broken up during that brief period when he slept with Lindsay, his girlfriend would have made Lindsay’s life a living hell had she found out about the two of them.

“That’s right. And then—” Bryce cut off, and he made a face as he put down the knife. “When did we turn into a couple of women gossiping in the kitchen?”

“Probably about the same time you put on that apron,” Ryder said with a tip of his beer bottle in his brother’s direction.

Bryce looked down before defensively saying, “Hey, these tomatoes are juicy.”

Ryder’s grin faded away as he thought of what his brother hadn’t said.

And then Lindsay got pregnant.

He and Brittany had already moved into their dorms by then, but the Clearville grapevine traveled long-distance. When he first heard the news, for a panicked, “what the hell am I going to do?” moment, he’d wondered even as his brain rejected the very idea.

Couldn’t be mine.

It was just one time.

We used protection.

No way. There’s no way...

And then Brittany had quickly filled him in on the details—how everyone knew Tony Pirelli was the father, how his family was in an uproar because Tony refused to marry Lindsay, how Lindsay’s family had left town in disgrace. All of it as juicy as Bryce’s vine-ripe tomatoes.

“Why the trip down memory lane anyway?”

“I heard she’s in town for a few weeks to help out her grandmother, and I thought I might have seen her when I was picking up the pizzas. She looked...good.”

“Her grandmother?” Bryce asked, an incredulous note filling his voice.

“No, not—” Ryder caught sight of the smirk his brother was trying to hide a split second too late and tossed a nearby towel into Bryce’s grinning face. “Very funny.”

Catching the towel with ease, he draped it over one shoulder. “I’d say Lindsay’d have to look spectacular to catch your eye. Haven’t you sworn off all women since the divorce?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Although the hell of it was, Lindsay had looked spectacular. But more than that, she’d had an air of confidence, of success. A woman who’d found her place out in the big wide world and a far cry from the girl who’d struggled to fit in at tiny Clearville High. “I was glad to see that she’s doing well.”

In a small way, it eased the burden of that old guilt he’d been carrying around. Sure, he’d been a stupid, horny teenager, but that was no excuse for treating Lindsay the way he had. He owed her an apology and an explanation at the least and, maybe if he was lucky, a way to make up for his behavior at best.

Thanks to the phone call he’d received earlier that day, he knew he’d get his chance soon enough.


Chapter Two (#ulink_e493db00-6025-587f-a366-a9a9480340ad)

She’d survived.

Her first run-in with Ryder Kincaid on only her second day back in town, and she’d survived.

Lindsay blew out a breath, still more shaken by the split-second encounter than she liked to admit. Ten years. Ten years! She was supposed to be over him. She was over him. Just not quite over the shock of seeing him, that was all.

Glancing around the pizza parlor play area, she felt her heartbeat settling as her gaze landed on Robbie. She’d quickly agreed to his request to play the video games while they waited for their order. She needed a moment to herself, and she’d hoped he might have a chance to talk with some of the other kids racing between newer video games and older throwbacks from when she was a kid—foosball, air hockey, even a tiny basketball hoop and net. But Robbie had locked in on conquering alien invaders and had barely done more than lift a skinny shoulder in a halfhearted shrug when one of the other boys stopped to talk to him. Within a few seconds, the boy wandered off and Robbie hunkered down over the joystick, his bangs falling over the frames of his glasses.

Her heart ached for her son. For the all-too-familiar shyness that made something inside him shut down when he tried to talk to kids his own age. Lindsay remembered the feeling so well. The fear, the panic of doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing. And the self-consciousness that made it seem that no matter what she did or what she said, it was always wrong.

She knew she couldn’t expect too much. She and Robbie would be in town for a few weeks—just long enough for her to convince her grandmother that it was time to sell the house and move to Phoenix to be closer to Lindsay and her parents. But during that short time, she hoped Robbie would find some kids to hang out with. Clearville was a tourist town, always filled with summer visitors—most of them families with children. It would do him so much good to make new friends, and maybe the short time frame would help him be more open to the possibility. It was something she’d encouraged on the trip up from Phoenix, not that her suggestion was well received.

“I already have a best friend,” Robbie had insisted stubbornly.

“I know, but would it be so bad to meet some new friends?” she’d asked, careful not to bring up the reminder that his best friend had recently moved across the country.

Scott Wilcott and his family had been their next-door neighbors for the past three years—a lifetime for little boys. The two had bonded instantly, and Lindsay had been so grateful, not only for Robbie’s friendship with Scott, but also for the time her son got to spend with Scott’s father. She knew how important it was for her son to have a male role model in his life. Gary Wilcott had helped fill that void by including Robbie in their family outings and making the boy feel as welcome in their home as he was in his own.

With the Wilcotts moving away, Lindsay worried as much about Robbie missing Gary as she did about him missing Scott.

“Lindsay? Lindsay Brookes?”

Starting at the sound of her name being called out amid kids laughing and bells and whistling going off in the gaming area, she turned in the small booth to see a short, curvy blonde woman heading in her direction.

“Cherrie... Been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Ten years!” the other woman agreed.

And yet not nearly long enough, Lindsay thought as she kept her smile firmly locked in place. Along with Brittany Baines, Cherrie Macintosh and a handful of other girls had ruled the school back in the day. The popular kids who could make life hell for anyone not in their small circle. As a shy bookworm, Lindsay had mostly escaped their noticed.

Mostly.

“Did you hear Lindsay Brookes got herself knocked up?”

“I’d have thought that girl would die a virgin!”

“They always say it’s the quiet ones who surprise you.”

“She must have done it on purpose to trap Tony Pirelli.”

“Well, it’s not like a guy that hot is hanging out with her for her brain!”

“Goodness,” Cherrie remarked, “if I hadn’t heard you were coming to town, I don’t think I would have even recognized you. I mean, you were such a mousy little thing back then, weren’t you?”

Yes, she had been. But that was a long time ago, and she wasn’t that girl anymore. She had five years under her belt working for a high-profile PR firm in Phoenix. She could put on a smile and spin the truth with the best of them. Reminding herself of that, she slid from the booth.

In high school, she’d hated her above-average height. Hated anything that might make her stand out in a crowd, and she’d spent most of those years hunched over—even when her nose wasn’t buried in a book. But she’d learned—heck, studies proved—that tall people were often seen as smarter and more successful than people of a lesser stature. And even in low-heeled sandals she’d chosen to wear to run for pizza, she towered over Cherrie. “You’re right. I was. Thank goodness we aren’t all still the people we were back in high school.”

Cherrie blinked as if trying to figure out the subtle dig behind Lindsay’s words. “Oh, sure. I mean, that was, like, forever ago, right?”

Was it Lindsay’s imagination or had a hopeful note entered the other woman’s voice? As if Lindsay might have forgotten the cruel gossip that had shadowed her those last weeks before she and her parents left town.

Without Brittany and the rest of the squad around her, Cherrie didn’t look all that intimidating. If anything, she appeared a bit needy and eager to please. Someone who would have gone along with the other kids as a way to fit in.

Lindsay wouldn’t have expected to feel sorry for anyone in that old group from high school, but maybe that also proved how much she had changed. “You’re right. All water under the bridge now.”

“Yeah, sure. It is. And it will be great to catch up with everyone at the reunion next month. You’ll still be here then, won’t you?”

Lindsay could think of few things she wanted to do less than attending her ten-year reunion. Reminiscing over four years of pure hell? Yeah, that sounded fun. “I’m not sure if I’ll make it or not,” she said to Cherrie.

“Oh, well...” The other woman gave a small laugh. “It’s funny, though, if you’d been here a few seconds earlier, we could have had our own minireunion. You just missed seeing Ryder Kincaid. You know he’s moved back, right?”

“I’d heard something about that.” Under the bridge or not, Lindsay wasn’t about to churn up that water by admitting to Cherrie—who still seemed to enjoy spreading a bit of gossip—that Ryder’s presence had prompted her own return to their hometown.

Leaning forward, Cherrie said, “He left Brittany, you know. Out of the blue. Total surprise. Brittany and I, we’re still, like, best friends, though we don’t see each other much. I had hoped she’d come back for the reunion, but she said it would be too hard. All those memories of her and Ryder together, you know? She’s trying to be strong, but you can tell she’s devastated.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Lindsay said, the words not entirely untrue even if her concern wasn’t so much for Brittany.

“I mean, they were together forever,” Cherrie stressed, “the perfect couple and the marriage everyone thought would last!” Lowering her voice a bit more, she added, “Ryder’s not talking, but what can he say? To just walk away like he did...”

The buzz of her words blended in with the laugher and sirens from the play area. What did Lindsay really know about Ryder? In all truthfulness—despite what her teenage heart had believed back then—she’d hardly known him as a boy. She didn’t have any idea what kind of man he was now. What kind of father he might be...

When she heard about his divorce and that he’d moved back to Clearville, Lindsay had taken it as a sign—after a decade of secrets, half-truths and out-and-out lies—it was time to come clean. But this couldn’t be simply about doing the right thing. Telling the truth had to be about doing the best thing for Robbie. Her son mattered most, more than the guilt she’d carried for so long, more than Ryder’s rights as a father. Robbie came first.

Every story had two sides, and while Brittany’s still-best friend, Cherrie, would know Brittany’s side, Lindsay needed to hear Ryder’s. She needed to know the kind of man she was letting into her son’s life. Needed to know that he wouldn’t turn his back on her son the way he apparently had done on his wife and marriage.

Lindsay swallowed hard even as nerves swirled through her stomach. After more than a decade of loving and at times hating Ryder Kincaid from afar, it was time to get up close and personal.

* * *

“Now, there’s the granddaughter I know and love! I was wondering when she might show up.”

Lindsay rolled her eyes at her grandmother Ellie’s teasing as she stepped into the kitchen and self-consciously ducked her head. She pushed her heavy glasses farther up her nose, wishing she’d had time to shower and do her hair and makeup, not to mention put in her contacts before coming down for breakfast.

Back home, Robbie would fix himself a bowl of cereal and some fruit during the week and was content to play video games or watch television on the weekends, giving Lindsay the time she needed to get ready in the morning. But as she’d learned on her first day, Ellie didn’t believe cold cereal and a banana was an adequate meal for a growing boy.

By the time Lindsay came down, her grandmother had fixed a spread worthy of an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. And while Ellie insisted she loved to cook, Lindsay was there to help take care of her grandmother, not to be taken care of.

So on this morning, as soon as she heard sounds coming from the kitchen, she’d hurried from the bedroom after doing no more than brushing her teeth and putting on the glasses she needed to keep from killing herself on the way down the stairs. She smiled wryly as she saw the vast ingredients her grandmother had already compiled in that short amount of time.

Flour, eggs, sugar and blueberries for homemade pancakes, potatoes for hash browns, a thick slab of presliced bacon, a kettle of fragrant chamomile tea already brewing on the stove and in the middle of it all, her grandmother. Ellie Brookes was a tiny woman with the type of petite build Lindsay had always envied. Her silver-streaked blond hair was pulled back into a short ponytail at the nape of her neck and she wore a ruffled apron over her beige capris and pale blue T-shirt.

Anyone who mistook her grandmother’s small stature as a sign of fragility would quickly change their minds when they witnessed her sharp wit disguised behind a sweet smile on her round, slightly lined face.

“This isn’t the real me, Gran,” Lindsay said with a glance down at the pink pajama bottoms decorated with shoes and a matching T-shirt that read If the Shoe Fits, Buy It! “Not anymore.”

“Of course it is, dear. You’re hiding the real you behind those fancy clothes of yours, same way you used to hide behind all those books back in high school.”

Lindsay’s jaw dropped a little even as she stepped up to the worn Formica counter and reached for the loaf of bread. “That’s not— Those fancy clothes as you call them are the real me. I’m a professional now. I have an image to maintain. It’s an important part of my job.”

A job that was still hers—at least for now. With the PR firm going through a buyout by their main competitor, she’d heard plenty of rumors that no one was safe.

“An image,” her grandmother murmured beneath her breath as she expertly cracked eggs into the mixing bowl. “You are more than an image.”

“I’m not saying that’s all I am. Only that—”

“It’s all you allow people to see,” Ellie interrupted before flipping on the mixer to punctuate her statement and have the last word.

Lindsay shook her head at her grandmother’s undeniable hardheadedness. Had she really thought this would be easy? she asked herself as she bent toward the lower cabinets for a skillet. She pulled at the cupboard door once, then again and almost lost her balance and tumbled backward when it finally gave way.

“Careful, dear,” Ellie called out over the high-pitched whirl of the mixer. “That door sticks.”

“So I noticed,” Lindsay muttered but not so loudly that her grandmother could hear. She’d also noticed the uneven brick path out front, the sagging porch steps, the crooked outlets, the cracking grout on the bathroom floors. She shuddered slightly to think of all she couldn’t see. What about the wiring, the plumbing, the actual structure holding up the charming but aging Victorian?

With such an old house, maintenance was a full-time job—one her grandfather had gladly taken on after retiring from the local post office. But while Robert Brookes had been a wonderful man, loving husband, doting father and grandfather, a handyman he was not. As his various attempts proved to Lindsay’s untrained eye.

Her parents had warned her that the house would need serious work before they could put it on the market, and she had to tread carefully—both about the quality of the work Ellie’s late husband had done and about selling the house Ellie loved.

Her grandmother was far too smart not to have figured out the reason behind Lindsay’s visit, once the phone calls from Lindsay and her parents failed to do the trick. So far, Ellie had changed the subject anytime Lindsay so much as discussed all the benefits of moving to Phoenix. Even the best, most convincing argument Lindsay could think of—“you’ll get to see more of me and Robbie”—had been met with Ellie’s patented smile.

“Something I could do right here if you and my great-grandson would move back home.”

Stubborn, Lindsay thought with a sigh. But so was she.

“Just needs a bit of elbow grease,” Ellie said, and for a split second, Lindsay thought her grandmother was talking about what might be needed to get her to move from the home she loved.

Still, Lindsay grabbed at the opening while she could. “You’re right, Gran. A little bit of elbow grease and some TLC. I know it’s been hard for you to keep up with everything since Granddad died,” she added gently.

Ellie sighed as she shut off the mixer. “Your grandfather loved puttering around the place. He was always happier when he had a project to work on.”

“Like you’re always happier when you have someone to cook for,” Lindsay said as she reached out to set the skillet on the stove and steal a handful of blueberries on the way back.

“Those are for the pancakes,” Ellie scolded as Lindsay knew she would. “And you’re right. Upkeep on this place was your grandfather’s love, not mine.”

Lindsay carefully swallowed the juicy bite-size fruit, almost afraid of ruining the moment. Was her grandmother starting to see things her way? “It’s a big house, Gran. A lot of work for one person.”

Ellie nodded as she wiped her hands on her apron. “That’s why I’ve made a decision.”

Pinpricks of tears stung Lindsay’s eyes. How hard it must be for her grandmother to realize she couldn’t stay in her own house. The place where she’d lived with her husband and young children. The place where she’d raised her family, grown old and said goodbye to the man she loved after over fifty years of marriage.

A pang hit her chest as Lindsay admitted she, too, would miss the old house where she’d spent some of the best parts of her childhood. She loved her parents, of course, but going to Grandma and Grandpa’s had always been such a treat.

But a house was just a house, and once Ellie moved to Phoenix, their family would see each other far more often. “It’s the right thing to do, Gran.”

“Oh, I know. It’s time,” Ellie said, her voice cheerier than Lindsay might have expected. But then again, once Ellie made up her mind, there was no going back.

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted before Lindsay could get too emotional, and she quickly blinked back tears as her grandmother turned toward the sound. “Can you watch these pancakes while I get that?” Ellie asked, already stripping off her apron and passing the spatula to Lindsay.

She could hear the low sound of voices—her gran’s familiar sweet tones and a lower, undeniably masculine murmur—as she watched the pancakes, waiting for the bubbles to rise to the top.

She’d flipped the first, somewhat successfully, when the voices grew louder. Her grandmother wasn’t— Oh, yes, she was. Ellie was leading whoever was at the door straight to the kitchen.

Lindsay didn’t need to look around to know there was no escape. She was still in her pajamas, for goodness’ sake! She didn’t even want to think about her hair or her glasses.

Panic started to build despite the deep breaths she took. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. This isn’t me anymore!

Bookworm Brookes—the geekiest girl at Clearville High.

But it was too late to do anything but grin and fake it. To put the best spin possible on the situation. A situation that grew so much worse as her grandmother stepped into the kitchen with a smile...and Ryder Kincaid following on her heels.

A nightmare, Lindsay thought. It had to be. Like the ones where you were naked in front of a crowd. But instead of naked, she was in her cartoon pajamas and thick-framed glasses. Which, as she met Ryder’s amused grin, was almost worse.

“Lindsay, dear, you remember Ryder Kincaid, don’t you?” Ellie asked as she slid the spatula from Lindsay’s nerveless fingers and took over at the stove.

“I, um, yes. I remember.” And though there was nothing remotely suggestive in her voice or in the moment, Lindsay swallowed as her gaze locked with Ryder’s. In an overwhelming, soul-stealing rush, she remembered...everything.

She’d been so nervous and yet so eager when Ryder kissed her that first time. Her heart had pounded so hard she was half-afraid it was going to leap right out of her chest. Every kiss, every touch had felt like magic, and she’d known her life would never be the same...

And oh, hadn’t she been right about that even if she’d been so wrong about everything else?

“Hey, Lindsay.” Was it her imagination or did Ryder’s voice sound a little deeper, a little rougher around the edges, as if he, too, was suffering from some flashbacks of his own? “Good to see you again.”

Her stomach twisting into knots, she asked, “What...what are you doing here, Ryder?”

His familiar grin was back, and Lindsay resisted the urge to slap herself. Hadn’t he proved time and again that that night had meant nothing to him? He’d hardly spoken to her in the weeks that followed, striding through the high school halls with Brittany Baines on his arm. Prom king and queen, the school’s golden couple. He’d forgotten all about her in the time it took to drop her back on her front porch and drive away.

“Your gran invited me.”

“What? Why?” For a split second, the room spun as her world tilted. Her grandmother couldn’t possibly know—no one knew about her and Ryder. No one except for Tony Pirelli, the boy—man now, though Lindsay hadn’t seen him since the summer after she graduated—whom everyone believed to be Robbie’s father. And even then, Lindsay hadn’t mentioned Ryder’s name when she confessed her terrifying secret.

Only that she’d been so, so stupid and was so, so scared...

“I don’t know what to do, Tony. I can’t tell the father. I just...can’t.”

“So don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t say anything. Anyone asks about the father, tell ’em it’s none of their business.”

“But you know people will think—”

“People can think whatever the hell they want. The trick is learning not to give a damn.”

It was a trick Tony Pirelli could give lessons in. He’d already angered his parents, first by dropping out of college midway through his second semester and more recently with his intention to join the marines.

“But what...what will you tell your family?”

He’d grinned at her—his typical indolent, almost insolent smile. “That’s easy. I’ll tell ’em the last thing they’d ever believe.”

“What’s that?”

“The truth.”

His plan had worked. The more he protested his innocence and hotly denied responsibility, the guiltier he sounded. Before long, everyone accepted he was the father of her baby—including his family. And for all these years, for the sake of their friendship, Tony had carried the weight of their disappointment so that she could keep the true identity of Robbie’s father a secret.

“Didn’t you know, Lindsay?” Ellie was asking. “Ryder moved back last year.”

“Yes, I’d heard. But that doesn’t exactly explain why you invited him over for breakfast,” Lindsay answered back in an aside that must have been loud enough for Ryder to hear, judging by the way one side of his mouth kicked up.

Ellie laughed. “I didn’t invite him for breakfast—though you’re welcome to join us,” she called over her shoulder to the man in question.

“Love to.”

Of course he would, Lindsay thought as she drew in a breath. Nightmare. Really, really had to be a nightmare. “Then why did you invite him over, Gran?” she asked even as habit kicked in and she reached for the plates to set the table.

“To take a look at fixing up the house. Isn’t that what you and your parents have been trying to get me to do for months now?” Ellie’s expression seemed a shade too innocent, but Lindsay was too caught off guard by her words to focus on the meaning behind them.

“But Ryder—” Her protest died on her lips as she realized she didn’t know exactly what Ryder had been doing for a living since he returned home. He’d worked at his in-laws’ firm in San Francisco, building billion-dollar, award-winning high-rises. Not something there was much need for in Clearville.

Still... “You’re...you’re a handyman?” Lindsay asked as she carried the plates toward the eat-in nook.

A very small nook she couldn’t get to without stepping way too close to Ryder. She tried to squeeze by, but he moved directly into her path and reached for the plates. “I do like to consider myself handy.”

Lindsay didn’t want to remember all the places those skilled hands had once touched while standing in her grandmother’s kitchen. Didn’t want to remember—ever. But she did. She remembered every touch, every kiss, every mistaken belief that what she was feeling—what they were both feeling—had to be love.

And that Ryder seemed to want her to remember was just...cruel. Like tossing her foolishness for falling for him, for thinking making love with him meant something, back in her face.

The stoneware plates, still caught between both their hands, rattled as her hands shook. “Hey, Lindsay,” Ryder said softly, his eyebrows pulling low. But whatever else he might have said was lost by the thump of footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Mom, what’s—”

Robbie’s typical question of “what’s to eat?” cut off as the boy slid to a stop in the kitchen doorway, his gaze shifting between his mother and Ryder. Lindsay jerked back so quickly only Ryder’s fast reflexes saved the plates from crashing to the tile floor.

“Hey, honey.” Reaching out, she restrained herself from pulling him into her embrace. Instead she took small comfort in resting a hand on her son’s narrow shoulder. He wasn’t big on hugs anymore, at least not when other people were around. And she no longer had the power to kiss an owie and make the hurt go away. It was all part of growing up, she knew. Part of changing from boy to man, a transition she knew nothing about.

And seeing the two of them—father and son standing side by side for the first time—she felt a wave of dizziness rock her. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds and blurring the edges of her vision until she could see nothing else but her boy and the man in front of her.

Everyone had always told her how much Robbie took after her. But then again, everyone also thought dark-haired, dark-eyed Tony Pirelli was her son’s father, and he and Robbie looked nothing alike. So little wonder people saw the resemblance between mother and son in their dark blond, wavy hair, blue-green eyes and slender builds. It was all Lindsay ever saw—until now.

But now, with Robbie and Ryder together, wasn’t there a similarity in the shape of their chins, their wide foreheads, the arch of their eyebrows? Even, heaven help her, the cowlick at the part of their hair, far more noticeable in Ryder’s short style than in her son’s too-long bangs.

Not a mirror image by any means. More of a time progression of what Robbie might look like in another twenty years...

“Who’s that?” Robbie murmured, his head lowered so far he might have been asking the question of the racecar speeding across the front of his shirt.

“Robbie, this is...”

Your father.


Chapter Three (#ulink_5c2903ae-8a78-507e-8a5b-16cce99c40a5)

For that split second, Lindsay nearly blurted out the truth she had kept secret for so long. The promised relief from the weight that had settled in her chest from the time Robbie was a toddler and started calling her own father “Dada” was almost overwhelming. But this couldn’t be about her. She had to think about her son...and about Ryder and the kind of father he might make.

She had no idea how Ryder would react to the news. He could turn his back on Robbie the same way he’d turned his back on her. Or—and wasn’t this her greater fear?—he could try to take Robbie away. He had nine years’ worth of visitation rights. Lump that altogether and he could steal the boy she loved more than her own life away from her for a long, long time. Not that joint custody worked that way, but the words joint custody filled her with a fear no amount of truth telling could free her from.

No, she had to get to know Ryder much better than she did now—much better than she’d even known him in high school—before she would tell him about Robbie.

So she said, “Robbie, this is Ryder Kincaid.”

“Hey, bud,” Ryder said, sticking his hand out. He had his fist closed and Robbie somewhat cautiously reached out to bump knuckles. His arm skinny, pale and still little-boy smooth; Ryder’s well-muscled, tanned and covered with a light sprinkling of masculine hair. His tone more relaxed than Lindsay would have expected, he added, “Your mom and I used to be friends back in school.”

“Really?” Robbie glanced sidelong from behind his glasses at Lindsay as if waiting for her to verify a truth he couldn’t quite believe.

Yeah, well, she’d always known her son was smart. Smarter than her teenage self, who’d actually believed she and Ryder had something more than friendship.

Still, she faked a smile and agreed, “That’s right. We started hanging out while I was tutoring Ryder in math.”

It was a bit of a low blow. Robbie had never needed any kind of help in school—not from her and certainly not from another student. Pointing out that Ryder had was more than a little immature.

But Ryder merely grinned. “That’s right. Your mom was the smartest girl I knew.”

Not smart enough to keep from being totally fooled by him. But Lindsay swallowed her anger the same way she had a decade ago—by focusing on Robbie. “Why don’t you finish setting the table?” she suggested with a nod at the stack of plates Ryder had already placed on the table.

“Set it for four, sweetie,” her grandmother called out from her place at the stove, proving she’d been listening in all along. “Mr. Kincaid is joining us for breakfast.”

Ryder grinned at Robbie. “Call me Ryder. Mr. Kincaid is my dad.”

The boy muttered something beneath his breath that might have been Ryder’s name, but Lindsay could barely hear over the words echoing through her head.

“Mr. Kincaid is my dad.”

But with Robbie gathering silverware from the kitchen drawer and her grandmother flipping the bacon popping in the skillet, Lindsay took the opportunity to ask, “What are you doing here, Ryder?”

“Like your gran said. She called looking for a quote to fix up the house. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

He lifted his eyebrows in challenge, bringing back the memories of the dares she hadn’t had the will to resist. Yes, she’d tutored him in calculus, and yes, Ryder had gone on to pass the class. But more often than not, he’d convince her to slip away from the library and sneak off to the square or the rocky, secluded beach not far from town.

It hadn’t been much of a risk, really, as they’d never done anything more than sit on a shady park bench or walk on the beach and talk. So perfectly harmless if she didn’t count falling headlong in love with him.

And while Lindsay wanted to believe she’d outgrown such foolishness, this was one challenge she couldn’t refuse. She didn’t dare admit she had a problem with Ryder taking a look at the house—not without giving him cause to wonder why. And hadn’t she been looking for a way to get to know him? A better opportunity wasn’t likely to fall in her lap, and yet—

I don’t want him here. Not so close to Robbie. Not where their every move would be under her grandmother’s watchful eye...

“I don’t suppose it would hurt to get a quote,” she said finally. “But I’m going to need references.”

“Of course,” he agreed with mock seriousness. “You wouldn’t be the girl I remember if you didn’t do your homework first.”

“The girl you remember,” she muttered beneath her breath with a sarcastic scoff. “Right.”

She turned to head back to the kitchen, but Ryder caught her arm. Lindsay nearly gasped at the unexpected contact even though it was nothing more than a split second before he let go. Had he sensed her reaction? Or make that overreaction? She didn’t dare look him in the face. Good Lord, could this morning get any more humiliating?

“I’m sorry about yesterday. Seriously, Lindsay, when I first saw you...I didn’t recognize you. You looked so different.”

Because she’d changed, she reminded herself. And not only on the outside. She was a new person. A stronger, smarter, more confident person. So she forced herself to meet his gaze.

Sincerity filled his expression as he said, “I didn’t realize it was you.” A faint smile curved his lips. “Seeing you today, I’d have recognized you in a heartbeat.”

And then that mossy gaze traveled from her sleep-tousled hair caught back in its mousy ponytail, her thick glasses and makeup-free face, down her cutesy and by no means sexy pajamas, all the way down to her feet. Heat rose over her skin every inch of the way.

Embarrassment. Pure and simple embarrassment.

“Gotta tell you, I’m digging the doggie slippers.”

Lindsay glanced down, and two pairs of googly eyes stared back up at her. The beagle slippers Robbie had given her for her birthday as a not so subtle reminder of the dog he wanted.

I really need to wake up before this nightmare gets any worse.

Muttering an excuse about helping her grandmother, Lindsay ducked away. When no convenient hole opened up to swallow her, she joined her grandmother at the stove and reached for the plate of hash browns. “You could have warned me you’d invited someone over this morning.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. But really, I thought you’d be happy. Isn’t this what you and your parents have wanted?”

Lindsay exhaled as she reminded herself that this wasn’t only about her. Her grandmother had made a tough decision about selling the house, and if getting the repairs over and done with made things easier on Ellie, then Lindsay could certainly give her gran a break. “You’re right, of course. And I am glad. It’s for the best, you’ll see.”

“Oh, I have no doubt. Just think, once the repairs are made and everything’s back in shape, I’ll have no reason not to stay right where I am.”

With a satisfied smile, Ellie grabbed the platter loaded down with pancakes, crispy bacon and scrambled eggs and turned toward the eat-in nook. “Now, who’s hungry?”

Robbie and Ryder both called out, but Lindsay’s own appetite disappeared as her stomach dropped. Stay in the house? So much for convincing her grandmother to sell. Instead she’d given Ellie reason to dig in her heels even further.

Looking over at the table in time to see Ryder cajole a laugh out of her typically shy son over spearing the same piece of bacon with their forks, Lindsay swallowed her own, slightly hysterical laughter as she tried to figure out how everything had slipped so far from her control.

* * *

In San Francisco, client breakfasts were held in towering high-rises with multimillion-dollar views overlooking the bay. Often those meetings were catered by some of the best restaurants around, but Ryder could honestly say the food couldn’t compare with the simple, home-cooked dishes Lindsay’s grandmother prepared. The bacon was exactly how he liked it—crisp but not too crisp—and the pancakes so light and fluffy and flavorful he’d waved aside Ellie’s offer of maple syrup.

If this was a typical breakfast in the Brookes’ household, well, he’d be tempted to stop by every morning.

And not just for the food...

Ryder wanted to ignore the sly voice that sounded far too much like his big brother’s, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from sliding toward Lindsay, seated diagonally across the table from him.

Her appearance was a far cry from the sophisticated woman he’d seen the day before. Her pajamas were sleep-rumpled, her tousled hair caught up in a crooked ponytail, her face free of even a hint of makeup. Ryder had no doubt she was more than a little embarrassed, but all he could think was how fresh-faced and natural she looked. How real...

And after life with Brittany, the masks she wore and the games she played, nothing was more appealing than a woman with nothing to hide.

He had to swallow a smile every time Lindsay self-consciously adjusted the glasses she hadn’t worn the day before. She’d clearly switched to contacts and was uncomfortable in the thick tortoiseshell frames that seemed too big for her delicate features. But the more she messed with the glasses, the more he noticed them, and the more he had to fight that smile.

Ryder still wasn’t sure what it was that had drawn him to her when they were teenagers. To say they didn’t run in the same circles was an understatement. He’d spent his days in the limelight, surrounded by kids in the cool crowd, while Lindsay blended into the shadows. It wasn’t that the other kids disliked her. More that no one really got the chance to know her. He couldn’t count how many times he’d smiled or said hi to her in the halls, but she’d duck her head and all but run away.

Just as she had earlier that morning.

But this Lindsay, the grown-up Lindsay—despite the throwback glasses, cartoon pajamas and fuzzy dog slippers—was stronger than the girl he remembered. She could have disappeared into one of the bedrooms upstairs.

Instead she’d taken her place at the table, but her nerves still showed in her rigid posture. Her gaze kept cutting over to her son every few seconds, though Ryder wasn’t sure what she expected the boy to do. The kid—Robbie, wasn’t it?—was far more reserved than his nephews, who’d talk anyone’s ear off. Maybe it was being an only child. During his own childhood with his older brother and younger sister, there was always someone to talk to, talk over or argue with. Meals were always a noisy, rambunctious affair, a far cry from the polite conversation at the Brookes’ breakfast table.

“Use your napkin, Robbie,” Lindsay instructed as the boy lowered his glass to reveal a milk mustache.

Miss Manners, Ryder thought, oddly pleased that aspect of Lindsay’s personality hadn’t changed. Her automatic corrections and know-it-all attitude had led some kids to believe she was something of a snob, but he’d always gotten a kick out of how smart she was.

Which made him wonder...

“So, what kind of work do you do, Lindsay?”

“I work for a PR firm in Phoenix.”

“Really?”

He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice, and judging by the way her chin rose, Lindsay heard it. “Yes, really. I’ve been there for five years now.”

Ryder had always known Lindsay would succeed at whatever she chose to do even after he heard she’d gotten pregnant. But he’d always figured the shy, studious girl he’d known would grow up to be a librarian or a computer whiz or an accountant, where she’d be somewhat behind the scenes, using her brain to problem-solve.

Not that PR work didn’t require serious problem-solving skills. He’d seen on a professional level how his in-laws’ used their PR team to divert and deflect any negative publicity away from the firm and also on a personal level as Brittany put so much spin on their divorce that the truth had become an indecipherable blur.

Not that he cared. At least, not all that much. He’d rather be the jerk who walked out on his marriage than the schmuck whose wife had been lying to him for years.

“My mom’s been on TV and everything.”

Robbie offered up that information, pulling Ryder from the past and bringing his focus back to what really surprised him about Lindsay’s career choice. “On TV and everything,” he echoed. She certainly had looked television-ready the day before, and that was while picking up pizza at a fast-food joint.

The old Lindsay would have blushed at his teasing, but the new Lindsay met his grin with a wry smile of her own. “Local news and a cable television talk show,” she said, dismissing it as no big deal, though her son was obviously impressed.

So was Ryder, since as far as he knew, Lindsay’s only less than stellar grade in high school came after she bailed in the middle of an oral history presentation. She’d stuttered, words tripping one over the other, until she simply froze, horrified, her face pale as her mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, no air going in, drowning in humiliation—

Another memory stabbed at him. Lindsay standing beside his locker, waiting for him on the Monday morning following that fateful weekend. Standing beside his locker and looking even more horrified, more humiliated, more hurt.

Suddenly, despite the delicious food still on his plate, Ryder couldn’t swallow another bite.

He’d felt bad about it, but hell, maybe he was the one who should have gone into the spit-and-polish world of PR. Hadn’t he glossed over what he’d done, justifying his actions with the best of them, until he’d convinced himself his own BS was the God’s honest truth?

He was protecting her by keeping what happened a secret...

It would only make matters worse if the truth came out...

Lindsay might not understand, but he was doing what was best for everyone...

He’d believed every line he told himself, because at the time, he hadn’t known what it felt like to suffer that kind of betrayal, that kind of manipulation.

He knew now.

Thanks to Brittany, to the secret she’d revealed during their final fight—“I did it for us!”—he knew the shock and pain of having the world pulled out from beneath his feet.

Maybe it was ten years too late, and maybe Lindsay no longer gave a damn, but he owed her an apology. And if fixing up the house meant Lindsay and her folks didn’t have to worry about Ellie stumbling on the uneven front steps or losing her balance when leaning too hard on rickety railing—two of the problems he’d noticed on the way inside—well, that was the least he could do.

But there was something Lindsay needed to know, something her grandmother evidently hadn’t told her...

“Can—may I be excused?” Robbie asked. At his mother’s nod, he added, “And go play video games on your tablet?”

“Sure.” Lindsay exhaled the word on a sigh, her shoulders relaxing a bit for the first time since Ryder had stepped foot inside the kitchen.

“Really?” The boy popped up from his chair as though he thought she might change her mind any second. “Cool!”

“Clear off your dishes first, and thank your Grandma Ellie for breakfast.”

“Thanks, Gran,” the boy parroted before he grabbed his plate and glass, carried them to the sink and ducked out of the kitchen, his feet pounding the stairs as he raced upstairs.

“Kid sure likes his video games, huh?” Ryder asked, remembering how the boy had cried out in excitement before nearly running him down in his haste to get to the games at the pizza parlor.

Lindsay’s gaze cut from the kitchen doorway her son had disappeared through to lock on to his. “The kid’s name is Robbie.”

“Right. Sure. Robbie. He seems like a great kid,” he said, cringing a little even as he said the word, half expecting Lindsay to go all mama bear again even though he didn’t have a clue why she’d gotten so defensive in the first place.

“He is. He’s smart and sweet and funny and—” Her words broke off as she turned her focus back to her plate and the food she’d barely touched.

Ellie made a sympathetic sound as she explained, “Robbie’s a bit on the shy side, and Lindsay worries people won’t see him for the amazing boy he is.”

“I’m not worried,” Lindsay argued.

“Of course you are, dear. You’re a mother. It’s your job to worry. But I have the feeling this trip is going to do him a world of good. You’ll see.” Before Lindsay’s puzzled frown had time to set in, Ellie waved a hand at the spread still in front of them. “So, are either of you up for seconds?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Brookes. But that’s gotta be the best meal I’ve had in ages.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. And please call me Ellie.”

He rose as Lindsay’s grandmother did and reached for his own plate. “Let me give you a hand with the rest of these.”

“Aren’t you a sweetheart!”

If he thought he’d gain any points with his offer, he’d have been bound for disappointment as Lindsay rolled her eyes at Ellie’s effusive comment.

Waving aside his attempt to help her clean up, Ellie said, “I can handle things in here if you two would like to get started.”

“The two of us...” Lindsay echoed.

“You’re the one always going on about the work that needs to be done around here. Who better to show Ryder around?”

“Right.” Lindsay sighed. “Because this was all my big idea.”

With Ellie once again waving them out of the kitchen, Lindsay led the way back into the living room. Her messy ponytail bobbed in time with her steps, and Ryder couldn’t keep his gaze drifting from her slender shoulders, to her narrow waist and curving hips. She turned quickly, but not so quickly, he hoped, that she caught where his eye had wandered.

“Look, just because my grandmother invited you over, that doesn’t mean we’re hiring you.”

“Fair enough. After all, you still have those references to verify.”

“That’s right.” Her shoulders straightened as she met his gaze. “And I want to consider other bids, as well. I’ve already done some checking around. I saw an advertisement for Parker Remodeling—”

“Travis Parker.” Ryder scowled at the man’s name. “You don’t want to hire him.”

“Why not? You’re not afraid of a little competition, are you?”

“Parker isn’t competition. What he is is a first-class womanizer with a reputation for not taking no for an answer.”

Lindsay blinked in surprise, taken aback by his warning tone. “Well, I can take care of myself. I have been for a long time now.”

Ryder knew that was probably truer than he could imagine. But that didn’t mean he liked the idea of her having to fend off a guy like Travis Parker. Not that he was entirely sure why the thought of the notorious player hitting on Lindsay bothered him as much as it did.

He was looking out for her. Protecting Lindsay— Hell, protecting her in a way he hadn’t protected her from himself ten years ago. He owed her that much, though judging by the way she lifted her chin a stubborn notch, she wasn’t going to make it easy on him.

“Still, I’m sure there’s another handyman in town.”

Handyman. Right. “Look, Lindsay, about that...I’m not exactly a handyman. I was hired by a contracting company to work on remodeling projects—like what you probably have in mind for updating this place.”

Her brow furrowed at the warning in his voice. “Okay.”

“The thing is—the company I work for—it’s Pirelli Construction. Drew Pirelli’s company. I wanted you to know in case you thought it made things, you know, too complicated.”

* * *

“Too complicated.”

Lindsay blinked as Ryder’s words sank in, and that hysterical laughter rose in her throat again. Complicated? What could possibly be complicated about hiring the father of her child, who worked for the cousin of the man everyone thought was the father of her child?

Not to mention fixing up the house so her grandmother would be even more convinced she should stay in the old Victorian when the entire goal had been to get the place ready to sell?

Oh, no. No complications there at all.

“It’s a solid company, Lindsay, and I do good work,” Ryder vowed. “You won’t be sorry.”

But she already was, wasn’t she? Seeing Robbie and Ryder together for the first time had hit her harder than she’d imagined. From the moment her son was born, it had just been the two of them. Her parents and grandparents had supported her, and Lindsay didn’t know what she would have done without them. But she had been the only parent Robbie had known. She’d never faced the thought of sharing him. Of letting him go, even the smallest amount, because he’d always been hers alone.

The fear and uncertainty churning inside her were almost enough to make Lindsay want to grab Robbie and race back to Phoenix. And then Ryder stepped closer, and something...more was added to the mix of emotions. Something that held her in place despite that urge to run.

His gaze searched her face, and there was no sign of the teasing grin he’d flashed her way earlier. If anything, his expression was more serious than she’d ever seen, guilt and regret pulling at his handsome features. “I know with everything that happened between us, I don’t really have the right to ask. But all I’m looking for is a chance to prove I’m not the same guy I was in high school.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_125e4b5d-bf47-5cbb-8a86-731cf750c07e)

A few days later, Ryder’s words were still playing through Lindsay’s mind. That was what she wanted, too, wasn’t it? For Ryder to prove himself. Not to her, because this couldn’t be about her and it certainly couldn’t be about that something she’d felt when he stood so close to her in grandmother’s living room. No, this had to be about Ryder proving he could be someone Robbie could trust, someone he could count on.

Even if their relationship would be a long-distance one, even if—heaven help her—that relationship would be limited to a few weeks over summer vacation, spring break, and joint custody for every other holiday, Lindsay couldn’t deny that Robbie needed a father in his life.

And Ryder deserved a chance to show her that he could be that father.

Which was why she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. “Stop it!” she hissed at her own reflection. “This isn’t a date.”

Despite the warning, Lindsay’s pulse jumped at every sound coming from downstairs, though so far she heard nothing more than her gran making breakfast. She’d go down to help but only after getting dressed and making sure every strand of hair was perfectly in place. Ryder Kincaid was not catching her with her beagle slippers on again.

As promised, he’d left her with a list of references as well as his initial quote once Lindsay showed him the work that needed to be done. She cringed when she thought of all the additional problems Ryder had found. She’d called around checking those references, relieved to have found names on the list she didn’t recognize. Word would get out soon enough that she had hired Pirelli Construction, but Lindsay wasn’t looking forward to explaining.

Another point for life in Phoenix, where she didn’t have to explain. Where people accepted that she was a single mom and rarely bothered to ask questions that couldn’t be waved away with nothing more than a simple “it was a long time ago” response.

Even Robbie had stopped asking questions about who his father was...

Underneath Lindsay’s relief, though, was a niggling concern. Shouldn’t her son be more curious? Years ago, she had explained that his father was an old friend from Clearville who wasn’t a part of their lives. But Robbie had always been an inquisitive kid, the type to keep asking “why?” long after Lindsay had run out of answers.

At an age when Lindsay had braced herself for more questions, Robbie remained silent. Of course, he had plenty of classmates with divorced parents or who lived in single-parent homes. Maybe Robbie had simply accepted that it was just the two of them.

But as Lindsay skipped down the stairs, a low masculine murmur reminded her that it wasn’t just the two of them. At least not right now. How had she missed Ryder’s arrival? Easily enough, she figured, deciding her grandmother had probably told him to let himself in. No need to knock and who bothered to lock their doors in little ol’ Clearville?

Chalk it up to living in Phoenix too long, but she was adding installing a dead bolt to Ryder’s list of things to do.

“And see here?” Ellie was asking. “My Robert installed these lovely wall sconces. Sometimes you have to jiggle them a bit before they work...”

Oh, shoot. She’d wanted the chance to warn Ryder that the “shoddy craftsmanship” another contractor had kept pointing out to her over and over had been done by her grandfather. It would break her grandmother’s heart to hear the work her grandfather had taken such pride in described that way.

Ryder and Ellie were standing beneath the somewhat gaudy gilded and glass lamps—her gran in a pair of sea-foam-green capris and a beige T-shirt with floral appliqués across the front, Ryder towering over her in jeans and a navy T-shirt. Lindsay swallowed hard, her plan to interrupt their conversation stalling as the words—and her very breath—lodged in her throat at the sight of him.

He’d braced his hands above the tool belt hanging low on his lean hips, the muscles in his arms flexed beneath tanned skin. The masculine stance emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, flat stomach and long legs. His posture spoke of confidence—maybe even a bit of cockiness—and Lindsay waited, dreading the moment when he would say—

“I can see by all the work your husband did around here that he must have loved this place very much.”

Lindsay sucked in a soft breath even as unexpected tears stung her eyes. She would have instructed Ryder not to say anything about the workmanship, but the words he’d chosen were far better than a telling silence. He’d been completely honest and yet, at the same time, had managed not to criticize her grandfather.

Lindsay didn’t know if he’d heard the sound she’d made, but he glanced over his shoulder. He shot her a quick, conspiratorial wink as if the two of them were in this together. Both of them out to preserve the wonderful old Victorian as well as her grandfather’s memory. The press of tears gathered behind her eyes along with a pressure in her chest, and Lindsay sucked in a deep breath before all that emotion could build up into a soft sob.

Together. Working as a team. She...and Ryder.

It was almost overwhelming, and Lindsay steeled herself against the weakness. A split-second shared moment wasn’t enough to close a ten-year gap or give her insight into the man Ryder was now. And it certainly wasn’t enough of a foundation to build a father-son relationship on.

You’re not a silly teenager anymore. It’s going to take more than a sexy wink and a teasing smile.

She was a mother now, not some starry-eyed girl. She was a responsible adult. She was...a healthy, young woman who hadn’t been on the receiving end of a sexy wink in far, far too long. Or at least that was what her body seemed to say as Ryder’s appreciative gaze swept over her. Her stomach trembled ever so slightly and it was all she could do not to give away the telling reaction by crossing her arms at her waist. As if she could keep the suddenly wild butterflies there from busting out and filling the room with their colorful, fluttering wings.

“Oh, yes,” Ellie was saying. “And it was so good for him to have something to keep him busy after he retired. I know when you’re young, retirement sounds like this wonderful, long vacation, but it’s not always easy to realize the work you’ve taken such pride in for so many years is going on without you and that, well, you simply aren’t needed anymore.”

The tremor in her grandmother’s voice snapped Lindsay’s focus back in place like a quick head slap. She had a reason for coming to Clearville, and it wasn’t to start mooning over Ryder Kincaid. Ellie was needed, and her grandmother would realize how much life still had to offer once she’d moved to Phoenix with her family.

“Morning, Gran,” she said brightly as she stepped into the living room.

“Oh, Lindsay. There you are, dear. I was telling Ryder you would have been down sooner if you didn’t dress like you expect to be on television every day.”

Heat flooded her face as she met her gran’s smile. Ryder’s grin grew even bigger as he whispered in a not so subtle aside, “All that fame went to her head, huh?”

Ellie sighed. “She may well be too good for us both.”

“Okay, stop. Both of you,” Lindsay argued even though she couldn’t help giving a little chuckle.

Too good for Ryder Kincaid. That was actually worthy of a gut-busting belly laugh, but somehow Lindsay lost the humor she’d found in the moment.

“I dress like a professional because I am a professional. Nothing more to it than that.” Last thing Lindsay needed was for Ryder to know how she’d agonized over her wardrobe—far more stressed than when she had dressed to be on television—before finally settling on a pair of ivory slacks and a sleeveless buttery-yellow blouse with rows of ruffles from the high neckline down to the fitted waistline. She’d added a pair of strappy beige sandals rather than her usual heels and kept her makeup and jewelry to a minimum. After all, she didn’t want Ryder to think she was dressing up because of him.

Even if she was.

“You’re on vacation,” her grandmother emphasized. “You should dress like you’re on vacation. You need to relax a little, have some fun. Ryder, maybe while Lindsay is in town, you could take her out a night or two. She really hasn’t—”

“Gran!” The last thing she needed was her grandmother’s matchmaking! “Ryder is here because we’ve hired him to do a job. Taking me out to dinner is not part of his scope of work.”

“No, that would definitely be an added benefit,” Ryder murmured much to her grandmother’s delight.

“Don’t you have breakfast to make for a growing boy who’s going to wake up starving any minute now?” Lindsay asked, ignoring everything she’d told Ellie over the past few days about Robbie’s ability to fend for himself.

“Oh, yes. Ryder, you’re welcome to join us again.”

“Thanks, Ellie, but I think I’d better get started on the work you’re paying me to do.”

“All right, then, but remember the offer still stands.”

Her grandmother gave a small wave as she walked back toward the kitchen, and Lindsay’s relief that she and Ryder no longer had a matchmaking audience faded as she realized the two of them were now alone.

Alone for the first time since that night over ten years ago.

Oh, sure, they’d spoken briefly the other day, but this time Lindsay wasn’t ushering Ryder out the door. He was here to stay. For the next several weeks based on the estimate she’d signed. And she would have to deal with him invading her space, with seeing him every day...

“I wouldn’t worry too much about what your grandmother said. You look amazing.”

Lindsay swallowed as Ryder’s green gaze swept from the top of her head and the hair she’d pulled up in a twist and down to her feet. Every inch in between tingled in awareness, and his familiar smile set those butterflies to fluttering again.

“Even if I do miss the beagle slippers and glasses.”

Flames licked her cheeks at his teasing, but there was something in his voice, something that made Lindsay think—Ryder couldn’t possibly have found her more attractive in her ridiculous beagle slippers, ponytail and pajamas, could he? Couldn’t be hinting that he liked the old version of her—the shy, awkward girl she’d been—better than the new, improved woman she’d fought so hard to become?

She forced the question out of her mind. Ryder’s preference didn’t matter. She hadn’t changed for him. She’d made the transformation for herself and for Robbie. She might have been a young, single mother, but she’d been determined to hold her head high and to let her son know she wasn’t ashamed of him.

Ignoring the beagle slippers comment altogether, she asked, “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“I thought I’d start on the front porch. The stairs—the stringers and the steps—all need to be remade along with the railing. We’re supposed to have some good weather the next few days, so that’s a plus for working outdoors.”

Clearville weather—while far cooler than the summers she’d gotten used to in Phoenix—could be mercurial. In the desert, you could count on long, hot, rain-free days throughout May and June with the monsoon storms holding off until July or August. But the Northern California weather was less predictable with occasional rain and fog rolling in off the nearby ocean.

“I’ll replace the porch fascia, and I want to strip the paint off the floorboards, too.”

Lindsay tried not to grimace at the amount of work—and that was only the outside. “What color were you thinking of repainting?” Her grandfather had gone with a mottled grayish green that she figured must have been on sale but, unfortunately, clashed with the house’s pale blue gingerbread trim.

“I figured I’d stain it. Keep it natural, you know. Why cover up perfection?”

And there it was again. That low murmur and the look in his eyes that set off a trembling in her belly and sudden weakness in her knees. Lindsay swallowed even as she tried desperately to pull her gaze from his. That might have worked if she hadn’t found even more tempting features to focus on—the high curve of his cheekbones, the hint of stubble along his jaw, the sculpted perfection of his lips, so close to hers. Lips that looked so sexy and seductive—

“Of course, I’ll have to tear out any warped or rotted pieces.”

Warped and— Right. The porch. All that talk about keeping things natural. Not covering up perfection. And she’d actually thought he’d been talking about her?

Lindsay Anne Brookes, how big a fool are you?

There didn’t seem to be an answer to that question, so she chose to respond to Ryder instead. “I like the idea of keeping the natural wood on the porch. What about the railing and—fascia, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “I’ll try to match that with the trim on the house or we could add another color if your grandmother would like that.”

“Matching the trim would be best.” Although the painted ladies, as the Victorian houses were called, often had a variety of colors along the trim, eaves and fascia, Lindsay didn’t want to go overboard. She had to keep the new buyer in mind. “I do want to thank you,” she said to Ryder, “for being so...sensitive about my gran’s feelings and the work my grandfather did.”

“Me? Sensitive? Wow. Can you write that down so I can show my mother? I don’t think she’ll believe it without proof.”

“It was a bit of a shock to me, too.”

Because there’d been a time when the way Ryder treated her had been anything but sensitive.

The unspoken reminder of the past swirled around them, obscuring the teasing moment. Ryder’s expression sobered. “Lindsay—”

Her stomach clenched. She didn’t know what he was going to say, but she suddenly didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not when she still had to face seeing him on a daily basis for weeks to come. “Anyway, I appreciate it. My grandfather did love this place and put a lot of hard work into it. Even if his skill didn’t match his determination.”

“Well, there’s no reason for me to go around bad-mouthing the work he did, but you do know that I’m going to have to start over with most of it, right? The porch is only the beginning, but once I’m done, your gran won’t have to worry about uneven steps or a loose railing anymore.”

“I appreciate that, but it really isn’t my grandmother you’ll be fixing the place up for. Once the repairs are complete, we’re going to put the house up on the market. My parents and I think it’s time for Ellie to move to Phoenix to be with us.”

“Really? What does Ellie think about that?”

Lindsay smiled with a confidence she was far from feeling. “You work on the house, and I’ll work on my grandmother. It’ll take some convincing, but in the end, she’ll see that moving to Phoenix is the best thing for her.”


Chapter Five (#ulink_27547dbc-bfe6-5f36-90bc-7c243a7faf5d)

Most days, Ryder loved working with his hands. Crafting something brand-new or better yet, improving what already existed. He had plenty of opportunities remodeling the old Victorians. Craftsmanship that had stood the test of time and Mother Nature—including the occasional earthquake—couldn’t be found in modern, cookie-cutter track homes. Or even in the high-rises he’d designed back in San Francisco.

Yeah, most days he loved building. But other days—he eyed the wobbly railing on Ellie Brookes’s front porch and gave the wood a solid kick. The shock traveled all the way up his spine along with the satisfying crack of splintering wood.

Other days, mass destruction fit his mood.

Not that he had any reason to feel so...angry. Another blow against the banister with his work boot and another split accompanied by the groan from the rusty old nails. Should have used screws, he thought. But if Lindsay’s grandfather had built a sturdier railing, he wouldn’t have been able to kick the thing down. Might not have needed to kick the damn thing down. Which would have been good for the Brookes, but not so good for him. Because he really felt the need to kick something.





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