Cowboy's Secret Child. Sara Orwig
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She tried to get her breath and fight the dizziness that threatened. The stranger hadn’t said a word, yet his dark eyes said everything. Determination, anger— there was no mistaking his feelings.
He towered over her, and his broad shoulders were as formidable as his height. Yet it wouldn’t have mattered if he had been slender and lightweight—he would have carried the same dreadful threat. More than a threat. The end of her world.
Her stomach constricted as if he had slammed his fist into it, and her head swam. Clutching the door, she gulped deep breaths of air, but words wouldn’t come. She had to invite him into her house. From his expression, she knew he would get inside whether or not she invited him, but for Kevin’s sake she needed to be civil, even though everything in her screamed to slam the door and run. Grab Kevin and keep running.
“Come in,” she whispered.
He opened the screen, and the hinge squeaked as he swung it wide while she stepped back. When he walked inside, he seemed to fill the hall. Dressed in a white shirt, jeans and western boots, he was rugged and handsome and an overpowering presence.
He turned to face her. “I’m Jeb Stuart. Cherie’s ex-husband.”
While Amanda fought a knot in her throat, her tears welled up. Nodding, she closed her eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes,” she said, opening her eyes, thinking he looked as if he would like to lock his hands around her throat and squeeze. She tried to gather her wits and catch her breath, but she failed. She reminded herself that he gave up all rights to his child a long time ago.
Feeling shaky, she closed the door and moved ahead of him. As she ushered him into her small living room, she heard his boot heels scraping the oak hardwood floor.
“Have a seat,” she said, perching on the edge of a walnut rocker while he sat on a dark blue wing chair facing her. Looking at him, she became aware that he was very handsome, with riveting dark eyes, sexy, thick lashes, broad shoulders and long legs. When he glanced around the room, she wondered if he thought her home adequate for his son.
She looked at her simple furniture in maroon and navy, her plants, the books on the shelves and the prints that hung on the walls. Kevin’s little books were on the oak coffee table. Whether Jeb Stuart liked it or not, this was Kevin’s home. She locked her fingers together in her lap while the silence became thick and tense.
“I guess you already know that I’m Amanda Crockett, Cherie’s cousin.”
“Yes. I’ve talked with my lawyer and I hired a private detective—that’s how I found you.”
Amanda struggled against the ridiculous urge to beg him to leave her alone. And then she thought about all Cherie had told her about her ex-husband and anger mixed with fear. She would get her own lawyer; she would fight for Kevin.
“What changed your mind about your son, Mr. Stuart?”
“Changed my mind?” he asked, frowning, a note of incredulity in his voice. She noticed that he gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles were white. He leaned forward slightly, narrowing the distance between them. “Look, lady, you’ve got my child. I’m his father and I’m entitled to my son.”
“You abandoned him, Mr.—”
“Abandoned!” The word was snapped like the crack of a whip. His face reddened, and even though his voice grew even quieter, it was laced with fury. “I did not abandon my son.”
“You may say that now, but at the time—”
“Oh, no,” he interrupted, rage blazing deeper in his dark eyes. “I didn’t abandon him,” he said slowly, with emphasis. “I didn’t know Cherie was pregnant with our child. She kept that from me when we got divorced.”
Amanda’s head reeled again, and the worst of her suspicions were turning out to be the truth. Every word he said was a knife thrust into her heart. Was he lying or telling the truth? If he was lying, he was a good actor. His gaze was direct and his tone held conviction. Amanda’s stomach churned. Deep down she had always wondered if her cousin had lied to her.
“She said you didn’t want your child and you left her and joined the army. Where have you been these last three years?”
“I’ve been in the army,” he answered stiffly. “But when I left for the army, I didn’t know I had fathered a child. We divorced in October 1997. I haven’t seen Cherie since right after our divorce. In January 1998, I went into the army and got out in January of this year. In April I learned about Kevin.”
“Who was born the twenty-second of May three years ago.” With her anger and fear growing, Amanda wondered who was the truthful one. She knew Cherie wasn’t always truthful, but she didn’t know whether Jeb Stuart was truthful, either. After all, he married Cherie. What kind of man would marry her cousin? As swiftly as that question came, Amanda knew that most men would be drawn to Cherie.
“Cherie told me that you abandoned her and that you didn’t want your child. She didn’t want the baby and she knew that I would. She asked me if I would adopt him when he was born. So I went to court and adopted Kevin. I’m his legal mother.”
“Legal adoptive mother,” Jeb reminded her. “I didn’t know about my son. I found out through a friend who knew Cherie and me. Three months after I got out of the army, I just happened to see her. She knew Cherie had been pregnant, but she didn’t know Cherie didn’t keep the baby.”
“Look, I’ve raised Kevin as my son. You’ll tear his life to pieces if you try to take him from me now,” Amanda said, growing more certain of the rights she had and angry that he would barge in and expect her to hand over her child.
“Lady, I’m his father.”
“I have a letter from Cherie saying that you abandoned her when she was pregnant and you knew she was pregnant. Any judge will look at that. I can get Cherie to testify.”
“We both know what her testimony is worth!” Jeb’s anger surfaced again at the lies Cherie had told.
“You’re not going to take my son,” Amanda said defiantly.
“Yet you want to keep my son from me,” Jeb shot back. He wanted to reach out and shake her and tell her that he had missed his son’s babyhood because of her and her cousin.
“Mama?”
At the sound of the soft voice, Jeb turned. A small boy holding a blue blanket stood in the doorway. Dressed in a green T-shirt and jeans, he was barefoot. His thumb was in his mouth.
As Jeb looked at the child standing across the room, he felt as if a fist had clamped around his heart. The rest of the world vanished, leaving only the child. Awe and love and uncertainty filled him. He wanted to touch his child, just touch him. And he saw why Amanda Crockett had recognized him when she opened the door. The resemblance deepened Jeb’s awe. This was his son! He wanted to take the boy’s hand and say, “I’m your dad, and you’re coming home with me,” but he knew it was not going to be that simple. The child was wide-eyed, looking from one adult to the other.
“Come