The Soldier's Forever Family. GINA WILKINS

about Joanna. The woman who’d drifted on occasion through his memories had been confident, animated, flirty. If there was, indeed, a husband waiting for her, he could understand why she wasn’t flirting now, but he couldn’t figure out why she seemed so stiff and nervous. The only explanation that made sense was that she was concerned he might interfere with her current relationship.

      He made a sudden decision. “I’ve got a few vacation days built up.” More than a few, actually. Despite his employer’s encouragement, he hadn’t taken more than a handful of days off in the past three years. “I’m thinking about taking a week off. If I don’t run into you before I leave, it was nice seeing you again, Joanna.”

      Though he’d have to scramble to make arrangements, maybe things would be easier for her. It was for a similar reason he’d slipped away after their long-ago weekend together, to save her—okay, to save them both—from awkward partings. At least this time he’d said goodbye.

      He started to turn, but paused when Simon ran up to him again, another shell clutched in his hand. The boy gazed up at him eagerly, his steel-gray eyes squinting against the brightness of the rising sun. “Do you know what this one is?”

      Man, there was just something about this kid’s eyes...

      “That’s a banded tulip,” Adam said automatically. “Got a little chip out of it, but it’s still a nice shell for your collection.”

      Simon repeated the name under his breath as if committing it to memory, then asked, “Will you help me look for a starfish?”

      “Um—”

      “It’s time for breakfast, Simon. We need to go back to the suite and get dressed for the day.”

      The boy heaved a huge sigh but didn’t argue. Probably didn’t want to push his luck after sneaking out earlier. “Can we come back after breakfast?”

      “Yes, we will.”

      Simon held out both hands toward Adam, a shell displayed on each little palm. “Banded tulip. Lettered olive,” he recited slowly, nodding to each in turn. “Right?”

      “Very good.”

      “I still want to find a starfish. And a Scotch bonnet. My friend Liam found a Scotch bonnet once and I want to find one, too.”

      Once again, Adam was impressed by how well Simon expressed himself for being such a little guy. Was he small for his age? “How old are you, Simon?”

      “Five years and three months. Have you ever found a Scotch bonnet?”

      So, a little older than he’d first thought. “I have, yes. I hope you find one during your stay. There are lots of shells in the gift shop. You can buy them there or study them to learn the names.”

      “Okay. But I want to find my own.”

      “Of course.”

      “Simon, let’s go, please.” Joanna sounded as though she was losing patience quickly.

      “Okay. But...just one more second. I think I see another shell over there.” Without waiting for permission, Simon dashed a few yards away and bent down to dig in the wet sand.

      Joanna made a low, strangled sound of frustration.

      Cute kid, Adam thought. She must have had him soon after...oh, damn.

      He’d always been good at math, but it didn’t take a CPA to figure out that adding nine months of pregnancy to five years and three months took him back exactly six years. Feeling suddenly like the world’s biggest idiot, he realized why he’d thought the kid—Simon—had looked so familiar.

      It had been like looking at a childhood photo of himself.

      * * *

      JOANNA ZIELINSKI WAS aware of almost the exact moment when the truth hit Adam. His head snapped back, his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as if against a blast of overbright light. He must have felt as though he’d just been poleaxed.

      She knew the feeling. Seeing Adam here on this beach talking with Simon had stunned her into near incoherence—an uncharacteristic response from a trained psychologist used to giving lectures to college students. She always prepared thoroughly for those presentations. She couldn’t have practiced for this. She’d had no clue that the man who’d slipped out of her bed six years earlier now worked at the very resort where they’d accidentally conceived a son.

      “Simon,” he said, his voice a taut growl now.

      It wasn’t a question, but still her first impulse was to shake her head. To lie about her son’s parentage. Her second, and almost overwhelming, instinct was to snatch up her child and run back to the happy home she’d created for him on her own.

      Her last encounter with Adam had turned her meticulously outlined, fiercely pursued life plan upside down. Something told her this unexpected reunion would have similarly far-reaching and life-changing consequences. For her, for Adam and for Simon.

      She banked down her seething emotions and squared her shoulders. She’d always taken pride in her integrity, and she wasn’t going to abandon her principles now.

      “Yes,” she said in answer to the question he hadn’t uttered. She kept her voice low so her words wouldn’t carry to Simon. “I didn’t know it for a couple of months afterward, but I was pregnant when I left here six years ago.”

      “By me.”

      That didn’t seem to be worthy of a response, so she let it pass.

      He pushed his left hand through his hair, and she thought she detected a slight unsteadiness in his fingers. This was obviously hitting him hard. Understandably.

      Suddenly self-conscious, she smoothed the hem of the purple tank top she wore with purple-and-green plaid shorts. It certainly wasn’t the first time Adam had seen her rumpled from sleep, but that seemed like another lifetime now.

      She noted Adam wasn’t wearing a ring, which didn’t mean he wasn’t married or otherwise committed. Was he thinking of the awkward discussions he might need to have with his wife? Did Simon have siblings? If so, how would this development affect them? How was she going to explain all this to her son?

      Adam moved his hand to the back of his neck. His tousled dark-coffee hair was longer now. Thick. Touchable. He’d gained a few pounds in the ensuing years, but they looked good on him. Really good.

      It shook her again when their eyes met. His were the same smoke-gray as Simon’s. Exactly as she’d remembered, though she’d always pictured them gleaming with a smile. He wasn’t smiling now.

      “Did you even try to find me?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

      Her chin rose. “You didn’t leave me an address, if you’ll remember.” Or even a goodbye, she added silently, her chest clenching with the memory of waking up and realizing he was gone. That the fantasy was over.

      She couldn’t do this now. She needed time to gather her thoughts, to get her nerves under control. She took a quick step backward on the damp sand. “Simon needs his breakfast. If I don’t see you again before you go on vacation...”

      His eyes narrowed sharply. “I’m not going anywhere. We have to talk. You owe me that much.”

      Six years of emotions flooded through her—shock, stress, joy, exhaustion, wistfulness, laughter and tears. Her voice was barely audible even to her over the wind and waves and seagulls when she responded, “I don’t owe you anything.”

      With that, she turned and hurried to her son’s side, taking his hand to lead him back to their suite. Simon cooperated without protest, probably sensing this wasn’t the time for rebellion.

      She doubted she had completely avoided a painfully awkward conversation with Adam. She’d postponed it, at best. But at least he wasn’t trying to detain her, which would give her a chance to prepare for whatever was to come.

      *