had apples. Byron could make applesauce. There—that was a good plan. That was him taking care of his son. Everyone had to eat.
He peeled the apples and got them simmering in the pot. Then he debated the ingredients—would Percy like cinnamon or would it be too strong for him? Would Leona want the applesauce to be unsweetened? In the end, Byron went with a little lemon juice to brighten the flavor.
As he cooked, he tried to think. Why hadn’t she told him? It wasn’t as though he’d gone off the grid. Yes, he’d been in Europe but he’d been findable. Frances, at least, had always known where he was. He’d kept his email address. He hadn’t disappeared. Hell, even a birth announcement would have been okay, but there’d been nothing. Just another lie.
He needed answers—and while he was thinking about it, he still needed to know why she thought he’d left her and what did she mean, she and her sister had “gotten away from” their father?
She’d gone with her father. Leon Harper was her father and she hadn’t told Byron that truth. And when Harper had demanded Leona come with him, she had. She’d left Byron standing on the sidewalk, in the rain, his heart in shards at his feet.
If she’d dumped him, he could have dealt with it. He might have still wound up in Europe, but if she’d said “Gee, Byron, this just isn’t working, we should see other people, it’s not you, it’s me and we can still be friends” or whatever, he’d have moved on.
But she’d lied to him. She was the daughter of the man who was hell-bent on destroying Byron and his entire family. By all accounts, the man was doing a hell of a job at it, too. The brewery—a hundred and sixty-six years of Beaumont history and ownership—was gone, all because of Leon Harper. And his daughters.
Byron knew what betrayal looked like. He knew his father had cheated on his wives. He knew that at least one of the ex-wives had cheated on Hardwick. Byron knew there was always a risk that any relationship could go wrong. The Beaumonts didn’t have exclusive rights to dysfunctional marriages.
But when he’d been with Leona, he’d managed to convince himself that he was different. That they were different. Byron and Leona had loved each other.
Or had they?
She’d lied to him before. Twice. Was she lying again? Even if she was, would he be able to tell the difference?
Apples were not going to solve that mystery. He had more pressing issues to deal with.
Percy was his son. Byron wanted to be there for the boy, to let Percy know that Byron loved him in the big ways and the little ways. All the ways Byron’s own father had never loved Byron.
But how was that going to happen? He was still living in the mansion—he didn’t even have his own place. And getting a restaurant off the ground wasn’t a nine-to-five job, that was for damned sure. Not now, not ever. How could he make sure he was a part of Percy’s life?
The sauce was halfway done when Leona came into the kitchen. She was wearing leggings and a T-shirt but there was still something about her. There’d always been something about her.
“Ah,” she said when she saw the bubbling apples. She gave him a small smile. “I should have known.”
“Applesauce. For Percy,” he explained. “Just apples and a little lemon. I didn’t know if cinnamon would be too much for him.”
“It smells wonderful. He loves apples.”
They stood there silently for a minute.
“It’s not a big batch. Do you have a container for it?”
Leona dug out a plastic bowl and Byron moved all the dirty dishes to the sink. Yes, he needed answers. But honestly? He had no idea where to start. So he didn’t. He did the dishes instead.
The uncomfortable silence lingered for a few more minutes as he washed the knife and the cutting board. Leona dried. Finally, she broke the silence.
“We should come up with a plan, I guess.”
“A plan?”
“Yes. If you’re really going to stay—”
“I am,” he interrupted, stung by the insinuation that he’d bolt.
“Then we need a plan.” She swallowed, her gaze focused on the sink. “A custody plan. I know I can’t keep Percy from you, but I’m not going to just give up custody.”
“You already kept him from me.” She winced but he refused to feel bad for her. “And I didn’t say you had to give up custody. But why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “Why did you keep this from me?”
“I thought...” She dropped the dish towel on the counter and turned away from him. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. Your phone was disconnected and you were in Europe—pretty damned far away from here.”
That was true. But it was the way she said it that confused him. He looked at the back of her head as if he could peer inside and find the answers he was looking for. “You could have sent an email.”
“I could have,” she agreed. Her shoulders heaved with a massive sigh. “I should have. But I was afraid.”
“Afraid? Of what?”
She turned to him, her wide eyes even wider. “Of you, Byron. Of all the Beaumonts.”
He gaped at her. Before he could remind her that he was not the one who’d lied, she went on, “And we left home with only as much as we could carry, and I had to get a job. Being pregnant wasn’t as fun as it seems on television and May had classes and...and you weren’t here. And I guess I convinced myself that you weren’t coming back and it was just me and May and Percy on our own. It was better that way. We didn’t need anyone else.”
He dried off his hands and placed them on her shoulders. “I could have helped. Even if...even if I didn’t come back, I still could have helped. Child support or whatever. You shouldn’t have had to do this on your own.”
She dropped her head and he heard her sniff. “Well, you’re here now. I can’t change what happened in the past but if you’re going to stay—”
“I am,” he told her again.
“Then, yes. Child support and custody visits. But I can’t lose him, Byron.” Her voice broke over this last bit. “Please don’t try to punish me by taking him.”
The anguish in her voice—her assumption that he’d exact some sort of twisted revenge... He spun her around and lifted her chin until she had no choice but to look him in the eye. Child support and custody visits were all very clinical-sounding things, like the few hours a year that he was shipped off with Frances and Matthew to visit their mother, who’d then spend most of the visit trying not to cry.
That’s not what he wanted. He was not his father, for God’s sake. He was better than that.
Except, was he? He’d gotten a woman pregnant and then left her in the lurch, completely alone with no other resources. Yeah, he’d thought her father would still be paying the bills and yeah, she’d rejected him, but when
