table littered with remote controls and TV listings, and an entertainment center complete with big-screen television, VCR, DVD player and an array of stereo equipment that Keely thought she’d need a six-month training course to operate.
“Have a seat, Keely Gilhooley,” he suggested.
Keely ignored the teasing repetition of her name and chose the overstuffed chair to sit on while he perched on the closest arm of the sofa, angled in her direction.
“Now, tell me why you ‘sort of’ came looking for me,” he said, using the words she’d said to him.
“I was looking for you, but not on my own behalf,” she qualified.
“And on whose behalf were you looking for me?” he asked as if this were all nothing more than an amusement to break up an afternoon.
“On behalf of Clarissa Coburn.”
Devon Tarlington didn’t find that name so amusing. His face sobered into a full-out scowl and his blue eyes clouded with instant anger.
“Clarissa Coburn and I have nothing to say to each other,” he said flatly, definitively, devoid of any of the warmth that had been in his voice a split second earlier.
“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple,” Keely said. She was no longer worried that Devon Tarlington might be the kind of man who would strike out at her. She could tell he wasn’t. But that still didn’t make what she had to say any easier.
“It seems pretty simple to me,” he said. “Clarissa Coburn is history and there isn’t anything—anything—to do with her that I’m interested in.”
“She has a son,” Keely said, dropping the bomb to halt what she could see was about to turn into her eviction. “An eight-month-old baby. Harley. And he could be yours.”
She felt bad. The poor guy was so shocked the color drained from his face.
But he rebounded in a hurry and, in a louder voice, said, “Mine? You have to be kidding.”
“I’m not, believe me. This isn’t something I would joke about.”
He shook his head, staring at the floor now rather than at her as if he were replaying something in his mind or trying to get a grip on her announcement. In the process, several things flashed across his expression. Disgust. Disbelief. Denial—or at least the urge to deny. Finally, what looked like anger.
His jaw clenched a few times and his gaze returned to Keely. “Did you say this baby could be mine? Does that mean he might not be?”
The next part was even harder to say. “He could be yours or he could belong to a man named Brian Rooney,” she said quietly.
But for some reason that didn’t come as the additional shock she’d thought it would. It almost seemed to relieve him somewhat.
“Of course,” he said caustically.
So he’d already known there had been someone else with Clarissa at the same time he was with her. Keely had wondered.
But then it registered that the reason he was relieved by that fact was because he hoped Harley was the other man’s child and she couldn’t help feeling protective of the baby who was now in her charge.
She tamped down on that, though, just as she kept having to tamp down on noticing how amazingly handsome Devon Tarlington was. Her own emotions were not relevant in this. She was merely the outsider facilitating what needed to happen from here on.
With that in mind, she continued. “Clarissa has disappeared and left Harley behind. But not before arranging with a lawyer to have custody of him relinquished to his father. As soon as it’s determined which of you is his father.”
That seemed to dissolve whatever small amount of relief Devon Tarlington felt, and every remarkable angle, every chiseled plane of his face tensed all over again.
“So she’s bailed on her own baby, too,” he said through a tight jaw.
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
That simple question and the concern it showed went a long way in redeeming him.
“Harley is with my sister Hillary. Clarissa had us appointed his temporary guardians until paternity is established and then we’re to turn him over to his father. He’s a great baby, though. Adorable. Even-tempered. As sweet as he can be….”
Okay, she was letting her own emotions rise to the surface again. She had to stop that.
“I’m sure you’ll like him,” she finished feebly.
“Clarissa didn’t have any idea which of us is the father?”
“None.”
Devon Tarlington’s expression was still like a storm cloud and Keely knew she’d tapped into something that was deep and dark for him. But she had to admire the control he was exhibiting. And she appreciated that he didn’t seem to be confusing the message with the messenger the way she’d been afraid he might.
Still, for another long moment, he didn’t speak. He stared off into the distance, pensively, apparently working to absorb this turn of events.
Then he said, “So what now?”
“You were easy to locate. But I haven’t found Brian Rooney yet.”
Devon’s jaw pulsed yet again. Then, in a stilted voice, he said, “Both Brian and I are from a small town out on the eastern plains—Dunbar. You might start looking there. That’s where his family is and they’re bound to know something about him.”
So the two men knew each other. They were even from the same place. A small town. Had they merely been acquainted with each other, or had they been friends? Keely wondered.
But she didn’t pry.
“Is there any chance Brian knew Clarissa was pregnant?” Devon asked then.
“Clarissa said in the letter she left that neither of you knew. Which means that once I locate this other man I’ll have to go to him in person because I don’t think it’s news that should be given over the telephone, especially by a stranger. Plus I’ll need to get some blood from him for typing and DNA comparison—if the blood type alone isn’t conclusive. So really, I’m at the very beginning of this.”
“You’ll need blood from me, too, then, right?”
“Right.”
Devon Tarlington shook his head again, his disgust blatant now. “I can’t believe this.”
“I know it’s a lot to digest,” Keely said softly. “But honestly, it isn’t a joke.”
“Yeah, at the end Clarissa wasn’t quite as many laughs as she started out to be,” he said wryly, more to himself than to her. “So what do you want me to do? Go to my doctor or what?”
“I’ve made arrangements with an independent lab to do
