it had been to glean information from HW Industries about her sister and her coworkers. “No. She died in, um, in childbirth.” Her mouth felt dry as she gave him the barest of explanations. “With Chloe.”
His eyes were already a sharp blue. But his gaze went even sharper. “I thought you were her mother.”
“I am.” She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Legally.” Emotionally, too, which was something Mallory truly hadn’t expected when everything she’d planned for her life had taken a ninety-degree turn courtesy of a four-pound, twelve-ounce infant. “But she’s my niece by birth. She…well, Chloe knows Cassie was her birth mother. I’ve never kept that a secret from her.”
“Her birthday is soon.”
“Next Saturday,” she confirmed.
“She’s going to be seven?”
Her throat tightened even more. She nodded silently. Willing him to get to the finish line before she did, but afraid in a way, too, that he would.
“I worked with Cass nearly eight years go.”
“I know.” Her sleeve was beginning to unravel. She shoved the long thread up inside the knit and folded her hands together, only to pull them apart again. “She mentioned it.” Only his first name, though, which had added to her challenge considerably.
He was watching her closely, his face oddly pale. “What else did she mention?”
The muscles in her abdomen were so tight they ached. “She said you…that you worked together once. That you were friends. And that you were a good man.”
But his lips twisted at that. And his eyes were suddenly consumed by a hollowness that was painful to witness. “And did she tell you that we slept together, too?”
Lying was out of the question. “Yes.”
Even beneath the dark, unshaven haze blurring his jaw, she could see a muscle flex there as he absorbed that. “Why, exactly, are you here in Weaver, Dr. Keegan?”
Mallory pulled in a steadying breath. He already knew. She could see it in his face.
But it had been a long haul for Mallory to reach this point. A journey that had taken years and more turns than she could have dreamed of.
She had to say the words.
She looked up at him. Meeting that shocked, hollow gaze with her own. “So that my daughter can meet her father.”
Chapter Three
Even braced as Ryan thought he was, hearing Mallory’s husky words was like taking a blow straight to the solar plexus. “No,” he said flatly. “Can’t be.”
He and Cassie had slept together—what? A handful of times? His brain searched through memories. Sifting. Discarding.
Even less than a handful, he thought.
Twice.
The first time when she’d gotten his tail out of a sling by maintaining his cover that had been about to blow during an identity-theft sting, and the second time a few weeks later after they’d shared a few drinks following a debriefing they’d both attended.
“Obviously, without Cassie, I’ve had to speculate some,” Mallory allowed. “But a test would confirm—”
“No,” he said again. He stretched out his arm. Some portion of his mind recognized that he was backing away from her, as if to keep her and her impossible claim at bay. “I don’t need any tests. I’m not—you don’t want me to be her—” Christ. He couldn’t even say it.
Her eyebrows were pulling together but the only thing he could see in her amber eyes was concern. And—oh, hell. Compassion.
He didn’t want it. Didn’t deserve it. “I’ve got to go.” He turned on his heel and was halfway down the stairs before she could react.
“Ryan, wait. I’m not expecting anything. But please stay.” Her shoes sounded on the stairs behind him. “Let’s at least discuss it.”
He passed Kathleen, who was holding a round tray filled with mugs, and Chloe, who was carrying a plate of Christmas-tree-green frosted cookies. He took in the details as he reached the door, even though their faces were almost a blur.
A second later he was outside. On the porch. Down the snow-covered walkway that bore dozens of footprints heading both to and from the house. This time, his were spaced more widely apart.
He knew he’d left his coat inside but he didn’t hesitate. Just yanked open the squeaking door of the pickup truck and twisted the key that he’d left in the ignition. He gunned the engine and shot down the narrow street.
Yeah, he was running.
So what?
If the women in that house knew what he was—who he was—they’d thank him for it.
With only a bare regard for the stop sign at the corner, he turned at the end of the street. The Sleep Tite parking lot was half-full when he passed it. The parking lot lights that were draped with metal Christmas tree figures were just flicking on to glow against the lengthening afternoon.
He had no destination in mind, other than away, but when he passed the hardware store, an oath blistered his tongue and he swung the truck around and parked it.
The Christmas shoppers were out in force. Even the aisles of the hardware store were crowded when he went inside. It was either the expression on his face or the purpose in his stride that fortunately kept the more familiar faces from trying to stop him to shoot the breeze. He found the repair clamps, bought a couple and headed back out to his truck.
“Ryan!”
He jerked to a stop, recognizing his father’s voice even before he turned to see Sawyer Clay walking along the sidewalk, Ryan’s mother on his arm.
Another downside of small-town living.
Running into people when you weren’t prepared, every time you turned around.
“Dad. Mom,” he greeted when they reached him.
“Where’s your coat?” his mother asked, after she’d tugged his head down to plant a kiss on his cheek.
He had no intention of explaining that one, so he just held up the small plain brown paper sack from the hardware store. “Was just running in and out.” It wasn’t a lie, so meeting his gray-haired father’s gaze wasn’t entirely impossible. “What are you two doing in town?”
“What everyone else in town is doing,” Sawyer drawled. “Taking their wives shopping. It’s either Christmas presents or a dress for that shindig in a few weeks.”
Rebecca made a face at him and batted his arm with her leather-gloved hand. “You said you wanted to come with me.”
“Only to keep your spending in check.” But there was a smile in his voice and an amused tick at the corner of his
