Sweet Child of Mine. Jean Brashear

stopped and toyed with his glass of iced tea, skimming wet circles on the table. She tried not to notice his long fingers, his capable hands. Then he looked at her squarely. “He wants badly to see me settled, wants to see me happily married and building a future like the one he’s always wanted for me.”

      “But I can’t—”

      He shook his head vigorously. “Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen. That’s not my future. I like my life just fine as it is.”

      “So what is this, Michael? Why are you talking to me about—”

      “I could give him the illusion. That’s little enough for me to do. I can’t do anything else for him anymore, but I could do this. I could give him a reason to think that the future he’s convinced I need is within reach. He won’t last long enough for me to give him a grandchild, but I could give him the hope, if you’d help me.”

      “What about Bobby? I couldn’t stay married too long. I wouldn’t want Bobby to get attached to you.”

      “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. He’s young enough not to care about the legal issues. I’ll just be a friend. I actually like kids a lot.” There it was again, that swift stab of pain in his eyes. “But I won’t try to win your son over. And as soon as permanent custody is granted and my dad is gone, we can get a painless divorce. I’ll pay child support—I can afford it. I wouldn’t want your son to suffer because of any of this.”

      She stiffened. “You aren’t going to buy me off. I’m through with rich boys buying their way out of things.”

      “I’m not the rich boy who hurt you, Suzanne. If monthly support isn’t acceptable, then let me give you a settlement for his college education.”

      “This isn’t about money. If we did this crazy thing, I’d be responsible for all my expenses and Bobby’s.”

      A tiny smile flickered on that too-handsome face. “I doubt you make enough to pay my electric bill.”

      “I’m not going to be indebted to you for money.” Just as she felt temper flaring, she beat it back. He was being decent, and her pride was striking out.

      Suzanne reached across the table for his hand. The feel of his skin jolted her, made her very aware of the reality of what she was doing. But she was also deeply grateful. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to leaning on other people. I can’t lean on you. If I could do this alone, I would, but you’re right. It’s a godsend. I don’t want your money, though. It’s enough—more than enough—that you’d do this to help me get back my son.”

      She could feel tears threatening, but she couldn’t give in. In the morning they’d probably both decide that the whole idea was insane. But just in case, she had to set the ground rules.

      “Separate bedrooms. If my money won’t go far enough, we’ll keep an account. I’ll pay you back somehow. I’ll play whatever part is needed to convince your father.” She drew a deep breath. “And no settlement at the end.”

      A muscle in his jaw jumped. “You can’t tell me what to do with my money. If I want to set up a college fund for the boy, I’ll damn well do it.”

      “You will not—” She exhaled in a gust and fell back against the booth. “This is hopeless. It would be worse for Bobby to go into a home where there’s fighting than to be with Jim’s cousin.”

      “I never took you for a quitter,” he said, settling back against the booth. But his eyes bored into her. “It’s not hopeless unless you let it be. Difficult, yes, but not hopeless. We’ll put on a great show in public and give each other wide berth in private.”

      “And what will Bobby think? He’ll be there in private with us.”

      “We’ll keep things very civil and pleasant. You can restrain yourself enough to do that, right, Suzanne?” His gaze dared her to admit she lacked self-control. “I’ll be good to the boy, I told you that. You’ll give him the love he needs. You’re the expert on children, and you want to raise him alone anyway. If he doesn’t get attached to me, it will make things easier in the long run. But that doesn’t mean he and I can’t be friends.” His smile was wry. “Believe it or not, any number of people seem to think I’m pretty good at being a friend.”

      Shame washed over her. He was making her a very generous offer, giving her a path to a dream she’d held so long that it had woven itself into the fiber of her soul. She could have her son back, and all she had to do was to pretend to be happily married to Michael when they were out in public.

      He wasn’t an ogre. He never had been. They didn’t see eye to eye on politics, but he’d never been unkind to her. There was more than a little truth in his assessment—she led with her heart, always had. Just because he didn’t wasn’t wrong, it just wasn’t her way.

      “What if you’re wrong?” she asked. “What if you’re crazy about Bobby and don’t want to let me have him?”

      “That—” his voice grew tight “—will not happen.” He huffed out a breath. “Look, Suzanne, if you want me to put it in writing, I will. I don’t want a family. I don’t need one.”

      “Why not?” She’d often thought him some sort of Casanova, some perpetual playboy with an Ivy League mind. Now she knew she’d judged him too quickly. There was a story here, and she wanted to know it.

      “I had a family I loved very much. They’re gone. End of story.”

      She’d heard once that he’d been a widower for years, but no details. “What happened?”

      She was shocked to see his eyes hollowed out by grief. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

      Shame washed over her again. “I’m sorry, Michael.” She reached for his hand, but he jerked it away.

      There was pain here, and it was deep. Why had she never suspected? He’d perfected his cover, that was why. She had bought the fiction of a man who was everyone’s friend, whose life was a breeze.

      “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I’m fine. It’s over.”

      He was dead wrong. He’d erected barriers fathoms deep and oceans wide, but he hadn’t dealt with his grief, merely buried it.

      His demeanor made it abundantly clear that the topic wasn’t up for discussion. And truthfully, he’d just given her the best assurance she could have that he wouldn’t want to claim her son. He had a child of his own who still resided in his heart, alive or not.

      She should accept this boon for what it was—a very generous gift. He had reasons to need this marriage and so did she. They were reasonable people. And it was only for a little while. Only temporary. She’d lived with a hole in her heart for ten years. She’d have her child back, the child she’d never quit missing. She could play her part in the charade that would make that possible.

      “All right. I think we understand each other and what we need and don’t need, what we want and don’t want. You’ll help me get my son, and I’ll help you make your father happy. As soon as possible, we’ll go our own ways, but in the meantime, we’ll deal together as reasonable people and try to make it as easy on each other as we can. Deal?” She held out her hand.

      His mood lightened. His mouth quirked in a grin. “You won’t strain something trying to be reasonable, will you?” He closed his large, warm hand over hers, and she felt the jolt again.

      “It depends. Do you leave wet towels on the bathroom floor?”

      He laughed then, dimples winking, his even white teeth flashing. For one second, something inside her shivered as his very maleness swamped her.

      “No. I have my faults, but that’s not one of them.”

      She pulled her hand away, but she could still feel the heat of him buzzing beneath her skin. “Have we lost our minds, trying this?”

      “Probably.