Byron was exactly like all the other Beaumonts, realizing her father was right, keeping Percy far away from any Beaumont, long nights worrying how she was going to make it all work—it’d all happened.
Without Byron.
When she got to ten again, she sat Percy up. He was half on her lap, half on Byron’s lap, safely stuck in the space between them. He looked up at Byron and smiled a drooly smile.
Byron managed a weak grin and then stroked Percy’s hair. “How old?”
“Almost six months. I was three months pregnant when...” She couldn’t bring herself to say, “when you left.” At least, not out loud.
“I don’t— You didn’t—” He took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, I could have helped out. I could know him.”
She sighed. She’d long since put the events of that night behind her—or so she’d thought. But the pain felt as fresh as it ever had.
“He’s a good baby,” she said, desperate to avoid the hurt of remembering. “He’s teething and that leads to a lot of ear infections, but that’s about the only problem. He’s happy and he eats well. And we...we do all right. He’s got his own room here.” Which was why they were so far out on the edge of Denver. The rents were cheaper, so they could afford a three-bedroom apartment. “I work for Lutefisk Design and May is finishing up college. She watches him when she doesn’t have classes, but when she does, we have him in a day care. He likes it there,” she added.
Percy squirmed against them. “It’s his bedtime,” Leona explained when Byron tensed. “You could help me get him ready for bed. If you want.”
“Yeah,” Byron said. “Sure.”
She picked Percy up and carried him into the small bedroom. They’d found most of the furniture at resale shops. They had a crib, a glider and an old dresser that doubled as a changing table.
Leona laid Percy out on the changing table. With Byron watching, she changed the baby’s diaper and got him into a clean set of footie jammies. Then she lifted him up. “Sit,” she told Byron. To his credit, he sat in the glider and held out his hands for the baby. He didn’t look less shell-shocked, but she appreciated the effort.
Leona leaned over the small basket that held the books. “How about...” Percy reached his hands out for the worn copy of Pat the Bunny. “All right,” she agreed. “Can you read to him while I wash my hands?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
She hurried to the bathroom, which was on the other side of May’s room. In the distance, she heard Byron’s deep voice read the simple story.
May’s door opened and she popped her head out. “He’s not staying, is he?”
“May,” Leona said in a quiet whisper. “No, I don’t think he’s staying.”
May shot her a disbelieving look. “You don’t think? Leona, you know what he’s like. He’s a Beaumont. What if he wants to take Percy with him?”
Leona washed her hands in the bathroom. That was the question, wasn’t it? Byron had the weight of the Beaumont name and family fortune behind him. And what did Leona have? She had May and Percy. She knew what lawyers could do to a woman. Her own father had regaled the family with tales of how he’d left his first wife penniless after she’d been seduced by Byron’s father.
“I don’t think he’ll do that,” she told May, who hovered in the doorway as if she expected to have to bolt at any second. Once, Leona would have said yes, Byron would take the boy and she’d never see her baby again.
But now? At dinner tonight he’d been the Byron she’d once thought she’d known. Caring, attentive, thoughtful. Heck, he’d even apologized for Frances’s behavior. Those were not the actions of a man out to destroy her.
Of course, that had been before he’d seen the car seat. She had absolutely no idea what he was thinking now.
“I’m sorry,” May said. “I’m just worried.”
“I know.” Leona dried her hands and gripped May by the shoulders. “I won’t let him take Percy. I promise.”
May’s eyes watered. “I don’t want him to hurt you again.”
Leona pulled May into a tight hug. “I won’t let him,” she promised.
“Leona?” Byron called out. “We’re done. Now what?”
At the sound of Byron’s voice, May hurried back to her bedroom and shut the door.
Leona paused to take a deep breath. She couldn’t let Byron break her heart again. She couldn’t lose her son. And if they could keep her father out of it, that’d be great, too.
Sure. No problem.
Byron was rocking Percy, whose eyes were half closed. “Hi,” he said when she entered the room.
Despite it all, she smiled at him. To see him holding Percy—she had dreamed of this moment.
This was what she’d wanted before that horrible night when it’d all fallen apart. For the months they’d been seeing each other, she’d thought about Byron being a father—being a husband. Helping with the babies, because of course they’d have children together. She and Byron were different than their families. Better. Electric. They were going to love each other for the rest of their lives.
Then he’d left before she’d gotten the chance to tell him she was pregnant and Leona had put those old dreams away.
She couldn’t help it. Part of her still wanted those dreams, even knowing how much of a Beaumont he was.
But that vision of them growing old together was just that—a vision.
It could never happen.
Byron’s head was a mess as Leona took the boy—his son!—from him. No, mess was too generous a word for the muddle of emotions and thoughts all struggling to be heard.
He had a son—that was the first thing he had to make sense of. He had a son and Leona hadn’t told him. She had lied to him again—maybe he shouldn’t be so damned surprised. After all, she’d had no problem hiding her family from him before. Why was it so shocking that she would hide his son from him now?
It was obvious she loved the boy. She’d been sweet and gentle with him and this thing right now—nursing—was obviously something they did every night.
Byron walked back into the main part of the apartment. The place wasn’t fancy—a standard apartment with beige walls, beige carpeting and beige countertops in the kitchen. A set of patio doors indicated that there was a small deck outside. There were a few pictures on the wall, all of May and Leona and Percy. Mostly of Percy. None of Byron. But then, why should there be?
He realized he was standing in the kitchen, opening the cabinets, drawers and the fridge, looking for something to cook. He always retreated
