given the situation. Obviously his months in a military hospital out of the mainstream were having an effect.
That was unacceptable. He was here for one reason only, to find his child. And even if he weren’t, he’d been betrayed by women too many times to jump in blindly again. A man who had been betrayed by his mother, his first love and his wife should have learned his lesson by now.
I have, he thought. Women were out, at least in any meaningful way.
So he concentrated on being as silent as Colleen, trying not to knock his cane against anything. The baby was asleep in the depths of this rambling house. This very old, and in need of repairs and paint, rambling house, Dillon noted, as Colleen came to a stop outside a door.
“Here,” she whispered, touching her finger to her lips.
Dillon came up close behind her. The light soap scent of her filled his nostrils. He ignored his own body’s reaction and stared into a room unlike the others he’d passed through. The walls were a robin’s egg blue. Clouds and stars and moons were stenciled on a border that circled the room just below the ceiling. A sturdy white crib with a mobile of dancing horses hanging above it sat in the corner, and in the crib lay a chubby little child in a pale yellow shirt and diaper, his skin rosy and pink, his fingers and toes unbelievably tiny.
Toby Farraday, Dillon thought. His child. His heir. He had had many people in his life, but none, not even his parents, certainly not his wife, who had truly been his.
He glanced down at Colleen, who, despite the fact that she had been living with Toby for months, seemed totally entranced by the sight, too. She glanced up at Dillon. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” she whispered.
Her voice was soft and feminine and the way she had looked at the baby, the fact that they all seemed to be closed up in this cozy, warm, safe cocoon…
Was an illusion, Dillon knew. Safety and security of that type weren’t real. He couldn’t afford to fall into that kind of thinking, not now when he had someone other than himself he was responsible for. Reality was key to avoiding disillusionment for his son…and for himself.
“Is that one of your questions?” he asked.
She blinked. “Pardon me?”
“You told me you had many questions. Is asking me if my son is beautiful a test? If I should say no…”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Then you’d be a liar.”
“Ah, so it was a test,” he said, his tone teasing. “Yes, he’s beautiful, Ms. Applegate.”
She grimaced. “No one calls me that.”
He had the distinct impression that the last time someone had called her that, it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.
“Then yes, he’s beautiful, Colleen. And I’m not lying.”
“Good. I’m glad you feel that way because…” Those deep brown eyes filled with concern again.
“What?”
“I hate to even bring this up…but before I completely turn him over to you, there’s something that has to be asked. There’s a potential problem.”
Still she hesitated. He was pretty sure he knew why. Given the fact that there was nothing in the public history she had read that could have caused her to worry, there could be only one thing remaining that was making her this uncomfortable.
“Ask,” he demanded, the single word clipped and cold.
Colleen took a deep, visible breath and looked right into his eyes.
“What if Lisa…there might be a chance…I wouldn’t ordinarily even bring up something so painful and so…not my business, but as I mentioned, I have to make sure Toby’s okay, and…what if he isn’t your biological son?”
Anger pulsed through Dillon even as he told himself that her question was a valid one for a woman who saw herself as the sole protector of an innocent baby.
“If you think I haven’t heard that my wife had…intimate friends even before we divorced, then you’re wrong. If you’re suggesting that I would take out my displeasure on a baby, then you haven’t really done your research on me after all and you haven’t been listening to me. And if you think for one second that this changes things, then let me tell you that it doesn’t. Whether Toby is my biological son or not, he’s legally mine. I was married to Lisa when he was conceived, and the law is clear on my claim to him.”
His words and tone would have cowed most people. But Colleen didn’t drop her gaze even one bit. She was, he conceded, acting like the proverbial mother bear, even if Toby wasn’t hers.
“I’m not the type of guy who would let that make a difference. I no longer have a wife, so what Lisa did or didn’t do doesn’t matter to me. What I have is a son. He’s not responsible for his parentage. No one ever is.” Thank goodness.
Colleen visibly relaxed. “Thank you. Some men wouldn’t feel that way.”
“I’m not those men.” His last words may have been uttered a bit too loudly. Toby made a small, unhappy whimpering sound.
Faster than light, quieter than the dawn, Colleen was across the room. She reached down and gently stroked the baby’s arm. “Shh, you’re safe, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I’m here. No one will hurt you.”
Almost instantly, the baby calmed. He pulled one fist up to his mouth and began to suck his thumb. He slept, his long lashes fluttering back down over those pale, pretty cheeks. Colleen gazed down at the baby with what looked like true affection. Had any of his nannies ever looked like that when he was growing up? Dillon wondered. No, some of them had been decent, but not even close to being that involved. He hadn’t expected them to, hadn’t even known it was possible. Still, this was…nice, even though her attachment to the baby was clearly going to be a problem.
Colleen looked up into Dillon’s eyes, that naked pain evident again. Dillon wanted to look away. He forced himself not to.
She stood straight and tall, proudly defying him while she still could. For an Amazon she didn’t look even slightly out of place in this room full of small things. He noted the stuffed animals in a sunyellow crate, the changing table with diapers and lotions, the piles of baby clothes on top of a childsized dresser, the toys and books. A night-light shaped like a lamb. Now, he remembered that he’d passed a stroller on the way in, a bright blue playpen in the living room. Where had all these things come from?
As if she’d read his mind, she moved toward him. “We need to talk,” she said.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“We have about thirty minutes before Toby wakes up in earnest. He’s like clockwork and then he’ll want to be fed.” She ushered Dillon toward the living room, where she perched on a chair that had a lot more years on it than anything in the nursery. Dillon sat down on a tired old sofa.
With the playpen taking up a lot of the space, the room seemed small, tight, not quite big enough for two adults. Dillon looked at Colleen, and now, without the foil of Toby to concentrate on, she looked nervous, rubbing her palms over her jeans.
Dillon’s
