Their Secret Son. Judy Duarte

her father was home, no doubt.

      Would Thomas Reynolds always stand between them like an armed sentry? Or a rottweiler with eyes glazed and teeth bared?

      Joe crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze snagging hers and demanding the truth—the real reason why now wasn’t a good time to talk. “What’s the matter, Kristin? Afraid your father will see me on his property and come running with his shotgun?”

      “No, of course not.”

      Joe didn’t believe her. The lie she’d uttered had brought a blush to her cheeks and a splotch to her throat and neck. She was afraid her dad would raise hell.

      Well, he would just cut to the chase. “All right, Kristin. I’ll go. For now. But answer one question. Am I Bobby’s father?”

      Her lips pursed, and she crossed her arms in a defensive stance. “Bobby isn’t your concern.”

      “If he’s my son, he is.”

      She stood there, silent and cool as a Grecian statue, yet Joe had the feeling an unexpected gust of wind would blow her over and smash her to smithereens.

      For some insane reason, he felt an urge to comfort her, to wrap her in his arms and pull her close. Tell her she could depend on him for support.

      But Kristin Reynolds, soft and gentle as she was on the outside, had an inner strength Joe had always admired. So instead of giving in and offering the protective gesture, he held firm. “I want some answers. And I’m not going away until I get them.”

      She turned her back, as if to stomp off, but her feet remained rooted to the driveway. Was she crying? Considering a response? Trying to decide on how to tell him the truth?

      Or was she merely going to recite the trespassing laws? Remind him that he’d never been welcome on Reynolds property?

      Trying to gain control of her emotions, Kristin brushed a tear from her eye and stared at the front porch of the house in which she’d grown up, the home that had offered her refuge, comfort and safety over the years.

      As much as she’d hoped Joe wouldn’t show any interest in her son, she knew the cocky, take-charge firefighter wouldn’t be put off.

      What a sticky wicket she’d found herself in now.

      She'd told Joe that she wasn’t afraid her father would come chasing after him with a shotgun. And she wasn’t. Her father wasn’t a violent man, although he’d been known to raise his voice loud enough to cause people to tremble when he’d been crossed.

      But Joe’s presence and the subject he wanted to discuss would cause Thomas Reynolds to rant and rave, which, God forbid, could trigger the heart attack that might kill him.

      Joe took her by the hand, turned her to face him. “I want a blood test to establish paternity.”

      Kristin blew out a weary sigh. The stubborn fireman was taking this too far. She had to tell him something. The truth, she supposed. But not until she could get his promise. His promise to keep her secret until it was safe to reveal.

      She swiped at a loose strand of hair that had slipped free of her ponytail and tickled her cheek, then gazed at the angular face of the man who had such power over her—power to turn her knees to jelly, her heart to mush. Power to turn her life upside down and blow her relationship with her father to hell.

      “Slow down, Joe. There’s a lot you don’t know, a lot you don’t understand. I’ll discuss it with you—in private—if I can get your word about something.”

      “What’s that?”

      “You’ll have to promise to keep our discussion a secret until I say it’s okay.”

      Joe had a stubborn pride and a sense of honor. If he gave her his word, he’d keep it. She doubted the years had changed that about him.

      She watched him contemplate what she'd said, the stipulations she’d lined out. And she wondered what would unfold if he accepted her terms.

      After what seemed like ages, but was probably only a minute or so, he dragged a hand through his wheat-colored hair. “All right. I’ll play it your way.”

      Relieved, Kristin slowly let out the breath she’d been holding. “Okay. But I don’t want to discuss this subject here.”

      “How about we talk about it over dinner tonight?”

      Dinner? That wasn’t what she had in mind. It seemed too much like a date. Just the idea of being alone with Joe Davenport again brought forth a rush of heated memories. Shared chocolate shakes at Dottie’s Diner, hands entwined under the table. Slow dancing under the strobe lights at the Spring Fling. Stolen kisses behind the dugout at the baseball field.

      She tried to focus on the day he’d broken her heart, the day he stopped loving her. All the nights she’d cried herself to sleep. Anything but the attraction she still felt for a guy who’d thrown her heart back in her lap.

      Joe slid her a grin. “I know a quiet little out-of-the-way place where even James Bond would feel comfortable spilling his secrets.”

      Secrets. She’d kept hers so close to the vest that she wasn’t sure she could share them with anyone.

      What did Joe expect from her, after all these years?

      The truth, she supposed. Lord knew she was tired of the lies, the deceit. But not tired enough to risk her dad’s health.

      “Give me the directions,” Kristin said, “and I’ll meet you there.”

      “You don’t want me to pick you up?” Joe’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “Your dad always stands between us, doesn’t he?”

      Yes, he probably always would, but there was no need to get into that discussion now. “You never did like to play by anyone else’s rules.”

      “I still don’t.” He withdrew a notepad from the dash of his Tahoe, then scratched out an address. “I’ll meet you at four-thirty. Before the dinner crowd shows up.”

      She nodded, then stood in silence as he climbed into his SUV and drove away.

      At four-fifteen that afternoon, Kristin borrowed her father’s Lincoln Town Car and drove to Harbor Haven, a small seaside enclave twenty miles north of town.

      As a teenager, she’d had to sneak out many times to see Joe Davenport. And it seemed as though history were repeating itself. She’d told her dad that she wanted to meet an old friend, which was true. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked for a name.

      Other than the secret she’d kept for years, Kristin hadn’t lied to her dad since she and Joe had broken up. She’d always valued honesty. And the deceit clawed at her heart and conscience. But she didn’t know how to backpedal now; the lie seemed to hold her firmly in place.

      She looked in the rearview mirror, checking her appearance in spite of her resolve not to do so. An hour earlier, she’d actually found herself primping before the bathroom mirror, trying to look her best.

      A glance at the bed, where several different dresses and outfits lay, had made her realize the foolishness of her girlish behavior.

      She and Joe were merely old friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And she certainly didn’t want him to think she still had the hots for him.

      The memory of their breakup was still etched deeply in her mind. It still haunted her dreams. Still brought a familiar ache to her heart, a watery blink to her eyes, if she’d let it. For the most part, the past was over and done. She had a rosy future in front of her, and risking another broken heart wasn’t in her game plan.

      After putting aside any romantic misconceptions, she’d finally chosen a pair of black jeans and a yellow sweatshirt. This was a casual meeting by the beach, not a date. And she wasn’t about to give her old lover the impression that she thought it was anything else.

      She gazed