would subject him to the stress a truthful revelation would trigger at this point in his life. She might have spent the last eight years on the east coast, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t worried about her dad. That’s why she’d come home, to be with him, to talk to his doctors. To protect him, just as he’d always protected her.
Thomas Reynolds might seem to be an overwhelming brute at times, but that was because he was a successful businessman. Rumor had it that he wasn’t a man to be crossed, especially when it came to real estate sales and property development. And maybe there was some truth to that. There’d been a few lawsuits that she’d been aware of, litigations that her father had won, causing the financial ruin of at least one company. But that was business.
There was so much more to Thomas Reynolds than met the eye. He was Kristin’s father—the man who adored her. The man who lugged a video cam to every school function and sat in the front row, sometimes blocking the view of others when he stood to film his daughter’s attempts to perform. The man who created a goofy-looking butterfly costume for her to wear for the spring pageant, who listened over and over to her recite a poem in preparation for the elementary school speech meet.
The gentle giant who tucked her into bed each night and listened to her prayers. The brokenhearted husband who tried to compensate for his daughter’s loss of her mother.
If it took the rest of Kristin’s life, she wanted to make up to her father for the pain and disappointment he’d suffered because of her misplaced love and trust in Joe Davenport.
Joe touched her arm, chasing prickles of heat along her skin and jump-starting her heart. “We need to talk.”
“If you’re suggesting we discuss the past, there’s nothing to say.”
Joe looked down at her son, then back at her. “I think we have a great deal to talk about.”
No way would she get into a discussion with Joe about the past, their past. Not here. Not now.
Not ever.
“I’ll pay for any damages my son has caused,” Kristin said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get back home. I left the potatoes on the stove, and unless you want to be called to a kitchen fire, I’d better go check on them.”
She took Bobby by the hand and started the long walk up the driveway that led to her father’s estate, intent on escaping the rugged fireman’s perusal and getting her son home before too many questions arose.
As she neared the house, a white three-story Victorian home built more than a hundred years ago, her lies came back to haunt her.
You’re what? her father had bellowed into the phone when she called him from college to break the news.
I’m pregnant.
The day she’d intended to tell Joe that she suspected she might be carrying his child, he’d beat her to the punch by saying he didn’t love her anymore. As far as she’d been concerned, there was nothing for her to do, other than leave for college a couple of months early. By Christmas break, her pregnancy had been impossible to conceal.
Who is the father? If it’s that Davenport kid, I’ll tear him limb from limb.
That’s when her first lie went into effect, the lie she continued to perpetuate.
The baby’s father is a guy I met here, Daddy. A member of the water polo team. But it was just a fling on my part. And I’m not going to marry him, no matter how hard he begs.
Her father had roared his disapproval and disappointment, but continued his financial support until she graduated with honors and took a teaching job on the east coast. Whenever her dad had suggested she come home to visit, Kristin gave him one excuse or another, prompting him to fly back east in order to see her and the grandson he’d grown to adore.
As they neared the gates that led to the house, she gave Bobby’s hand a little squeeze. Not having a man around had been tough on the boy. On his mother, too. But they were doing okay. And soon Dylan would step into the paternal role. She didn’t need Joe Davenport in her life.
But had he suspected the truth? She could have sworn he had. Was he still trying to sort things through? Or had he gone about his business? Put his questions aside, as she hoped he would?
Like Lot’s wife, Kristin turned around, unable to hold her curiosity at bay.
Was Joe still watching?
He was.
Her feet slowed like blocks of salt, and her heartbeat reverberated in her ears. She could read the suspicion in his eyes, the questions.
Kristin’s days of lying were over. But how could she tell Joe the truth without revealing the secret she’d kept from her dad for years? If her dad found out, the stress might trigger the coming heart attack that would kill him.
Maybe, she tried to convince herself, Joe would thank his lucky stars not to be strapped with child support payments and the responsibilities that came with being a parent. Maybe he’d just let his unanswered questions die a slow and easy death.
She would cling to that hope.
As Joe watched Kristin walk away, he cursed under his breath.
Was he Bobby’s father?
It was definitely possible.
“That’s some woman,” the rookie beside him said. Then he blew out a long, slow whistle. “She sure doesn’t look like any of the mothers I ever knew.”
“She’s pretty, but definitely out of your league, Dustin,” Joe told his younger buddy. “When a guy falls for a woman like that, the future is bound to be rocky and steep.”
And there’d never been a relationship facing a more uphill battle than the youthful affair he and Kristin had innocently embarked upon.
Growing up, Joe had often been referred to as “that Davenport kid,” a reference he’d tried hard to shake. Trying to live down his dad’s reputation hadn’t been easy. And if Harry Logan hadn’t stepped into Joe’s life, God only knew where he might have ended up.
The night of the fire, Harry had found Joe huddled near a Dumpster, scared out of his socks, but ready to defend his action to the death. He’d only meant to start a fire in the old warehouse, not cause a roaring blaze that would threaten other buildings on the block. But Harry had seen through the surly display of anger and zeroed in on the fear in Joe’s eyes, the pain in his heart. And instead of hauling his sorry ass to juvie, as many cops would have done, Harry took Joe aside. Put him in his patrol car, but not as a suspect or criminal.
Harry had sensed that no one had ever given a damn about Joe, no one had ever listened to him. And for the next hour or so, he just sat there, nodding in understanding. Asking questions when appropriate. Listening intently, and then letting a kid who’d tried so damn hard to be tough bawl his eyes out.
And when the tears and sobs had finally stopped, Harry offered Joe something no one had ever offered him before. A sturdy shoulder to lean on. Hope for the future. A friendship with one of the greatest guys in the world. A family that included him in holiday dinners, barbecues and touch football games on the lawn. And a brotherhood of terrific guys who’d once been hell-bent misfits and now had a purpose.
