Necessary Secrets. Barbara Phinney

air, warmed by the sun streaming in the window above the sink, stuck hard in her throat. She could read so very easily the warning in Jon’s expression. He will be a part of her baby’s life. Get used to it, his eyes added.

      But also, a suggestion of what he’d not said seemed to linger in the air. Who the father of her baby was.

      Time stalled. Was he going to tell her father? She wished, however briefly, she’d told him the truth back there in the clinic. Every last detail that would have seen him storming out of Trail and straight to a good lawyer. The military could use a good lawsuit for all they’d done to Rick. Unless Jon chose to sue her, instead.

      Sylvie tore her gaze from Jon, catching her father’s raised eyebrows and questioning smile.

      “What do you think, Sylvie? It’s your ranch, now. If he can do the work, there’s no reason why we can’t hire him for the summer.”

      There were a thousand reasons why they shouldn’t hire Jon Cahill. He wanted the truth from her about Rick, the details of Rick’s last hours, not a sterilized military version.

      All those shameful details.

      And he wanted to be a part of her baby’s life.

      No. This baby was hers, not his. She would give it life, love it and raise it all by herself. She’d managed a career in the military by herself, and she’d managed to grow up without her father being around when she needed him. She would manage her new career as mother equally fine.

      Without Jon Cahill, thank you very much.

      “Well, Sylvie?” her father prompted.

      Sylvie dared another look at Jon, half-afraid his intensity and tenacity might snare her. Those blue eyes seemed stronger, reflecting the determination he practically exuded from every pore on his strong body.

      “Do I have the job, Sylvie?” As if purposely designed to contrast his powerful stare, his tone turned quiet, persuasive.

      There was that silky version of her name, too.

      This was insane. But to protest too much would be akin to suicide. Jon Cahill’s suspicions would soar through the roof if she kept refusing to hire him when she so obviously needed help.

      “All right,” she found herself saying. He wanted the job, well, he could have it. She’d keep him so busy this summer, he’d ache to return to the easy life in Toronto. And every night when his head hit his pillow—out in the bunkhouse with the rest of the men—he’d be out like a light, forgetting, or regretting, that he’d ever told her he wanted to be a part of his brother’s child’s life.

      A smile grew slowly on his face. It wasn’t much, but it did reach his eyes.

      Her skin warmed and tingled in a subtle primitive answer, and those damn horrid hormones prickled under her skin again. For one stunning moment he did look just like Rick.

      What had she got herself into? One night of fear and she’d broken her cardinal rule of never getting involved with another soldier.

      She’d admired Rick, liked him, and had wanted him to excel in his career. But she hadn’t wanted an intimate relationship with him.

      So why did you? Because of that you got him killed. The words arced across her brain, firing up another horrible wash of memories.

      “Excellent.”

      Mercifully, Jon’s words cut through her thoughts, and she blinked up at him. The smile, however, had slid from his eyes, leaving only cool, smug resolve.

      He’d won, and he knew it, the bastard. He indicated the chair in front of her father. “Let’s get you something to eat. Then while you’re showing me what to do, you can tell me all about Rick.”

      Chapter 3

      “So, where are you staying?” Sylvie asked Jon before biting into the sandwich she’d thrown together. Her father had headed back out to Andrea and all the primitive campers. She’d given him a brief kiss and short hug, complete with a reassuring smile. Then she’d practically dived into the refrigerator.

      Expressionless, Jon answered her question. “I’m not staying anywhere. As soon as I pulled into town, I headed into the nearest building to see if I could find out where you lived.”

      Her stomach settling and accepting food now, Sylvie swallowed her bite. “Which was the medical center, right? How convenient I should have just left there.”

      He lifted his eyebrows. “It’s the first thing you see when you enter town. And it’s big enough to service the whole community. I took a gamble that you might have gone there to find a doctor for yourself when you retired.”

      She took another hearty bite of her sandwich. He was right about her needing a doctor. Being in the military had meant all her medical needs had been taken care of. “Good guess.”

      Jon took the pitcher of milk and poured a large glass for her. “I never guess. I study people and use common sense.”

      She grimaced at the milk. “Then you should be fully aware how I feel about people pampering me. I can pour my own milk, thank you.”

      One corner of his mouth lifted up. “No need to get in a snit. I’m just being polite. I was hoping to get a cold drink, too.”

      “Help yourself.” With one finger, she shoved the untouched glass toward him. “I guess now that you’re working here, you’re expecting to stay in the bunkhouse. Right?”

      He shoved her glass of milk back in front of her. After helping himself to one of the glasses drying on the rack by the sink, he poured himself the rest of the milk. “Absolutely. Does that pose a problem for you?”

      “What if I said the bunkhouse was full?”

      “I’d buy a tent and stay at the campground.”

      Of course he would. “I’ve told you all I can about Rick. So what do you hope to achieve here? It’s not to earn any extra money. Your job in Toronto must pay five times what I can pay you.”

      “I told you I want to be a part of Rick’s baby’s life. But you don’t want me around. If I work here all summer, maybe I can convince you I’m sincere.”

      She laughed, despite herself. “I knew that much. I can see you’re sincere at everything you do.”

      He didn’t share her laugh. Which was just as well. Her sarcasm hadn’t meant to be one of those cute, tension-breaking quips.

      He drained his milk. “Sylvie, your baby needs a father in its life. Its own father is dead, your father could do the job, but a child needs more than a grandfather who likes to camp and is ready to retire with his younger wife. I want the chance to prove to you I can be that father figure for your baby.”

      She gaped at him. A father? The idea of a cozy trio bombarded her, smashing the comfortable discussion. She swallowed down her latest bite. Jon, a father to her child? He didn’t have a clue what he was saying, or the extent of what had happened to bring him here. He wouldn’t be offering if he did. “How are you going to do that? You’re the uncle who lives in Toronto. And what makes you think I can’t provide a father figure for this baby?”

      His eyes narrowed. “How, by scouring the high school for another kid Rick’s age?”

      She shoved back her chair and stood. “You’re talking yourself out of a job, Cahill.” She swung away from him, snatching her plate as she went. Only when she’d reached the sink and had fired the plate into it, did she count to ten.

      Every swear word she’d ever learned rose in her, but she continued counting. Eight, nine…

      “I’m sorry.” Jon walked around the table and stopped beside her at the sink.

      She looked at him, battling the fury roiling inside her.

      “I was out of line.”

      She