Their Child?. Karen Rose Smith

      “That’s a lot of family,” she agreed.

      “And it’s not all, believe me, not by a long shot. I have a great-uncle, James, who had seven sons. And Blake had more children. Tate and I and our half brother, Marsh, are almost certain of that.” He looked so pleased with himself.

      She found his enthusiasm contagious. “You love it,” she said, grinning along with him, the nagging truth she hadn’t told him almost—though never completely—forgotten. “You love having all that family.”

      “I do,” he told her. “Tate had some problems with it at first, with the whole idea that the dad we never knew was a two-timing con man, and worse. But not me. It meant the damn world to me, to finally know who I really am, to know I’ve got people all over the good old U.S. of A. Makes me feel…I don’t know. Connected, I guess. Tuned in to the real reason we’re all here in the first place.”

      She couldn’t help chuckling. “Which is?”

      He tipped his head to the side—and she saw her son in him, saw Brody, saw what he would look like, when he was a man. The sight stole her breath.

      And stopped her heart.

      Tucker’s brown-gold brows drew together. “Lori?”

      He said her name and the frozen moment broke wide-open. Her heart found its rhythm. Sweet night air filled her lungs.

      “Tell me,” she said. It came out low, kind of breathless. And she didn’t care—not right then. She didn’t care that she was enjoying herself far too much, didn’t care that she shouldn’t do this, that the secret she kept stood firmly between them, that until she revealed the truth to him, she had no right to do this, no right to be sitting there, taking pleasure in his company under what could only be called false pretenses.

      Right then she cared only that she was sitting there, beside Tucker, in the new darkness, with their son laughing out on the lawn and the pool lights making everything glow in a misty, star-dusted kind of way.

      She prompted, softly, “What’s the real reason we’re all here?”

      He canted toward her. And she found herself leaning toward him, too. He looked at her mouth and then up into her eyes. “I came back to town last year to find something—something I’ve been looking for my whole damn life.”

      “And that something was…?”

      “Don’t rush me,” he whispered. “I’m getting there.”

      She made a face. “Oh, well. Excuse me.”

      He leaned closer still. “You’re forgiven.”

      Warmth curled through her. “Thank you. Go on.”

      And he did. “It’s only been in the last couple of years that I began to see that wandering the world wasn’t getting me anywhere, that what I was looking for had to be right here, where I started out.”

      She couldn’t keep herself from prompting a second time, “But what was it?”

      One side of his mouth lifted. “You really want to know, huh?”

      Did she? She wasn’t sure. Still, she nodded.

      And he said, “I didn’t have the slightest idea.”

      “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You came back home to look for something—but you didn’t know what it was.”

      “You got it. I only knew that if I came home, I would find it at last.”

      “And you knew this, how?”

      “Lori. It’s that I knew, not how.”

      “Ah. One of life’s deep mysteries, then?”

      “Exactly.”

      “You just knew.”

      “That’s right.”

      “And did you find it? Whatever it is?”

      “That’s an excellent question.”

      “Well, duh.”

      He laughed, then grew more serious. “It’s meant so much to me, settling in at my granddaddy’s big old house, finding out who I really am, learning of all the family I’ve got…” The words trailed off. He slowly shook his head and he looked at her in that soft, admiring way, his gaze moving from her eyes to her nose to her mouth to her chin, then back up to meet her eyes again.

      Another sweet thrill shivered through her. She laughed low, partly from nerves. And partly from pure feminine excitement. “You still haven’t answered the main question. Did you ever find it?”

      “Do you realize, all those years ago, when we were kids, I never really saw you? Right now, I find that just about impossible to believe. How could I have been such a damn blind fool?”

      Through the magic of the moment, Lori finally heard warning bells.

      Too far, she thought. I’ve let this go way too far.

      She made herself sit back from him and reminded him carefully, “Well, um, don’t forget, all those years ago there was Lena…”

      He shook his head. “Crazy. I’m not kidding. Crazy and impossible.”

      She didn’t dare ask what, not that time. He just might tell her. And then what would she do?

      He went on, “But then, after all these years, there you were. Getting out of that silver Lexus at the Gas ‘n Go. And when I saw you, I thought—”

      “No.” She got the word out just in time.

      He blinked. But he did fall silent. His dark eyes were suddenly filled with questions—questions she knew she wasn’t going to answer. Not that night, anyway.

      Oh, it was too much—much too much—and she knew it. She’d let things get totally out of control. She never should have leaned so close, never should have teased him, never should have begged to know about that mysterious something he’d been looking for.

      She had absolutely no right to hear what he’d almost said.

      Not tonight. Maybe never.

      Tell him the truth. Tell him Brody’s his son. Do it now, a stern voice inside her head commanded.

      But she refused to hear that voice. Instead, she put out a hand and warned him softly, “Don’t say any more. Please.”

      He captured her wrist, the movement so swift, she had no chance to jerk away. For a frozen moment, they only looked at each other, a look so deep, she felt as if she was falling.

      Falling…

      She tensed, drawing her hand into a fist.

      And then, with slow care, he brought that fist to his mouth and brushed his warm, soft lips across the top of her clenched knuckles.

      Heat went rolling through her, spinning up her arm, outward and downward, melting her midsection, bringing out the goose bumps on every inch of her skin.

      And then, before she could collect her scattered wits and pull away, he let her go. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I’m moving a little too fast, here.”

      She started to protest, to say, It isn’t that, but stopped herself. He’d only ask, What is it, then? And there they’d be, back with the one thing she couldn’t quite tell him. “We really do have to go. Brody!”

      Out on the lawn, her son sat up. “Yeah?”

      “Come on. We have to go.”

      “Aw, Mom…”

      “I mean it. Now.”

      Brody rose and came toward them, dragging his feet the whole way, Fargo trotting