His Secret Son. Stacy Connelly

parents had warned her that the house would need serious work before they could put it on the market, and she had to tread carefully—both about the quality of the work Ellie’s late husband had done and about selling the house Ellie loved.

      Her grandmother was far too smart not to have figured out the reason behind Lindsay’s visit, once the phone calls from Lindsay and her parents failed to do the trick. So far, Ellie had changed the subject anytime Lindsay so much as discussed all the benefits of moving to Phoenix. Even the best, most convincing argument Lindsay could think of—“you’ll get to see more of me and Robbie”—had been met with Ellie’s patented smile.

       “Something I could do right here if you and my great-grandson would move back home.”

      Stubborn, Lindsay thought with a sigh. But so was she.

      “Just needs a bit of elbow grease,” Ellie said, and for a split second, Lindsay thought her grandmother was talking about what might be needed to get her to move from the home she loved.

      Still, Lindsay grabbed at the opening while she could. “You’re right, Gran. A little bit of elbow grease and some TLC. I know it’s been hard for you to keep up with everything since Granddad died,” she added gently.

      Ellie sighed as she shut off the mixer. “Your grandfather loved puttering around the place. He was always happier when he had a project to work on.”

      “Like you’re always happier when you have someone to cook for,” Lindsay said as she reached out to set the skillet on the stove and steal a handful of blueberries on the way back.

      “Those are for the pancakes,” Ellie scolded as Lindsay knew she would. “And you’re right. Upkeep on this place was your grandfather’s love, not mine.”

      Lindsay carefully swallowed the juicy bite-size fruit, almost afraid of ruining the moment. Was her grandmother starting to see things her way? “It’s a big house, Gran. A lot of work for one person.”

      Ellie nodded as she wiped her hands on her apron. “That’s why I’ve made a decision.”

      Pinpricks of tears stung Lindsay’s eyes. How hard it must be for her grandmother to realize she couldn’t stay in her own house. The place where she’d lived with her husband and young children. The place where she’d raised her family, grown old and said goodbye to the man she loved after over fifty years of marriage.

      A pang hit her chest as Lindsay admitted she, too, would miss the old house where she’d spent some of the best parts of her childhood. She loved her parents, of course, but going to Grandma and Grandpa’s had always been such a treat.

      But a house was just a house, and once Ellie moved to Phoenix, their family would see each other far more often. “It’s the right thing to do, Gran.”

      “Oh, I know. It’s time,” Ellie said, her voice cheerier than Lindsay might have expected. But then again, once Ellie made up her mind, there was no going back.

      The ringing of the doorbell interrupted before Lindsay could get too emotional, and she quickly blinked back tears as her grandmother turned toward the sound. “Can you watch these pancakes while I get that?” Ellie asked, already stripping off her apron and passing the spatula to Lindsay.

      She could hear the low sound of voices—her gran’s familiar sweet tones and a lower, undeniably masculine murmur—as she watched the pancakes, waiting for the bubbles to rise to the top.

      She’d flipped the first, somewhat successfully, when the voices grew louder. Her grandmother wasn’t— Oh, yes, she was. Ellie was leading whoever was at the door straight to the kitchen.

      Lindsay didn’t need to look around to know there was no escape. She was still in her pajamas, for goodness’ sake! She didn’t even want to think about her hair or her glasses.

      Panic started to build despite the deep breaths she took. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. This isn’t me anymore!

      Bookworm Brookes—the geekiest girl at Clearville High.

      But it was too late to do anything but grin and fake it. To put the best spin possible on the situation. A situation that grew so much worse as her grandmother stepped into the kitchen with a smile...and Ryder Kincaid following on her heels.

      A nightmare, Lindsay thought. It had to be. Like the ones where you were naked in front of a crowd. But instead of naked, she was in her cartoon pajamas and thick-framed glasses. Which, as she met Ryder’s amused grin, was almost worse.

      “Lindsay, dear, you remember Ryder Kincaid, don’t you?” Ellie asked as she slid the spatula from Lindsay’s nerveless fingers and took over at the stove.

      “I, um, yes. I remember.” And though there was nothing remotely suggestive in her voice or in the moment, Lindsay swallowed as her gaze locked with Ryder’s. In an overwhelming, soul-stealing rush, she remembered...everything.

      She’d been so nervous and yet so eager when Ryder kissed her that first time. Her heart had pounded so hard she was half-afraid it was going to leap right out of her chest. Every kiss, every touch had felt like magic, and she’d known her life would never be the same...

      And oh, hadn’t she been right about that even if she’d been so wrong about everything else?

      “Hey, Lindsay.” Was it her imagination or did Ryder’s voice sound a little deeper, a little rougher around the edges, as if he, too, was suffering from some flashbacks of his own? “Good to see you again.”

      Her stomach twisting into knots, she asked, “What...what are you doing here, Ryder?”

      His familiar grin was back, and Lindsay resisted the urge to slap herself. Hadn’t he proved time and again that that night had meant nothing to him? He’d hardly spoken to her in the weeks that followed, striding through the high school halls with Brittany Baines on his arm. Prom king and queen, the school’s golden couple. He’d forgotten all about her in the time it took to drop her back on her front porch and drive away.

      “Your gran invited me.”

      “What? Why?” For a split second, the room spun as her world tilted. Her grandmother couldn’t possibly know—no one knew about her and Ryder. No one except for Tony Pirelli, the boy—man now, though Lindsay hadn’t seen him since the summer after she graduated—whom everyone believed to be Robbie’s father. And even then, Lindsay hadn’t mentioned Ryder’s name when she confessed her terrifying secret.

      Only that she’d been so, so stupid and was so, so scared...

       “I don’t know what to do, Tony. I can’t tell the father. I just...can’t.”

       “So don’t.”

       “What?”

       “Don’t say anything. Anyone asks about the father, tell ’em it’s none of their business.”

       “But you know people will think—”

       “People can think whatever the hell they want. The trick is learning not to give a damn.”

       It was a trick Tony Pirelli could give lessons in. He’d already angered his parents, first by dropping out of college midway through his second semester and more recently with his intention to join the marines.

       “But what...what will you tell your family?”

       He’d grinned at her—his typical indolent, almost insolent smile. “That’s easy. I’ll tell ’em the last thing they’d ever believe.”

       “What’s that?”

       “The truth.”

      His plan had worked. The more he protested his innocence and hotly denied responsibility, the guiltier he sounded. Before long, everyone