The Secret Father

She reached for the phone to circle the family wagons for support.

THE MOON BARELY LIT his way as he got out of his car in front of the Dogwood, his uncle Patrick and aunt Eliza’s bed-and-breakfast. His cousin Molly erupted from the front door, flying as fast as one of her roguish kindergarten students. On seeing his truck she stopped short. As she waited for him to climb out her smile bent the other way into a frown.

“What’s up, Zach? Something bugging you?”

“Sort of.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, at ease with being Molly’s hero. No matter what he did, he’d maintained his status with her since Patrick and Eliza had made her their foster child. No small feat, considering the neglected life she’d endured until they rescued her. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

“Parent-teacher conferences at school tonight. I have to change clothes.” She slapped her jeans. Molly, the hellion Aunt Eliza had saved from reform school liked to appear demure in front of her students’ parents.

“You’d better go,” he said, laughing, “if you plan to reach your classroom before midnight.”

“Ha ha ha.” She caught his arm as he tried to pull away. “That was homage to your lousy sense of humor. Now explain your problem.”

“I have no problem.” He had to talk to Olivia. His mom would cover the family bases for him.

Molly’s smile faded again. “You’re scaring me.”

Calverts large and small had treated him as if he were on the verge of a breakdown since the accident. Maybe if he’d managed a happier marriage, maybe if he and Helene could be civil to each other… “I’m fine, but I have to talk to one of your mom’s guests before she goes to bed.”

“Ah.” She glanced at a second-floor window bordered with Victorian gingerbread that their cousin Sophie’s father had carved during Patrick and Eliza’s restoration of the old building. “Olivia. I just took her fresh towels and bath oil.” Molly slipped him a sidelong, sisterly glance. “Or was that for you, too?”

He looked away from her, as distracting, erotic pictures of Olivia formed in his head. “I hope the parents and the other teachers don’t know you talk like that.” He ruffled Molly’s hair, but she surprised him with a hug rather than the karate chop she usually dispensed for such a gesture.

“If you don’t explain, I’ll only ask your mom.” She headed for her car, waving goodbye over her head. “I’ll bet she needs firewood.”

“I already carried in enough for the whole winter.”

“I’ll paint her kitchen.”

“If you can persuade her to give up that classic wallpaper.”

Molly tossed a condescending glance over her shoulder, but he only grinned. Crazy Molly. Early on, trying to survive after her natural parents had pretty much abandoned her, she’d damn near destroyed the school where she taught now. Aunt Eliza and Uncle Patrick had transformed her from a dangerous punk into family. Still, it was a good thing his mom had plenty of leftovers. Molly could eat her weight in homemade chili.

Zach climbed the steps a few at a time and pushed through the B&B’s front door. His aunt looked up from the registration desk, sliding her hand through salt-and-pepper hair that brushed her shoulders.

“Evening, Zach. Beth said you were on your way.”

“That was fast work, even for Mom. Which room, Aunt Eliza?”

“Top of the stairs, immediate left.”

“Thanks.”

“Better hurry. Molly just took her some bath oil.”

He ran up the stairs. At Olivia’s door, he paused, his hand raised to knock. Even through the thick wood, he heard water running. He banged with extra force.

A moment later, Olivia opened the door, black hair flying, eyes wide. She opened her mouth in a throaty gasp. “Zach.” Her hands went to the pale pink lapels of her robe.

It was hardly sexy attire, but he found himself imagining the warm body that curved beneath the terry cloth. By the time he met her gaze, a glacier had formed in the icy gray eyes that were quickly becoming his obsession.

“I want to meet Evan,” he said.

The ice melted. She seemed to reach for him without lifting a finger. “Do you want to know Evan?”

“I’m his father. He’s my son.”

“That’s not good enough. I’ve kept him safe—and happy enough—for five years. I need to hear plain talk.”

“I want to be Evan’s father for the rest of my life. I want to hear him call me dad.”

Smiling, she let the robe go. He noticed the swell of lightly tanned flesh between the open lapels, but he was man enough to know their son mattered more than lust.

“We’re in this together,” he said. “I want to know Evan.”

She grabbed his hand—to shake it of all things. He stared at her small, strong fingers. It was an odd way to start a relationship with your son’s mother.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE NEXT MORNING, Zach followed Olivia back to the airport in Knoxville. All the way down the mountain road his heart hammered. Sweat beaded on his lip again and again. His body’s natural response to an unnatural fear was about to reveal one of his most humiliating secrets to Olivia. Zach Calvert, former Navy pilot, was terrified of flying.

Forcing himself to ignore the fact he had to get on a plane, he concentrated on Evan waiting at the other end of the flight. Meeting his son was worth a couple of hellish hours.

At the airport, Olivia veered off to return her rental car while Zach parked in a lot. They’d agreed to meet at the ticket counter. Tall and confident as ever, she was easy to spot. Too easy.

They checked in without talking to each other and then headed for their gate. Walking at her side, he noticed how the other travelers stared.

Her poise and her flawless face, an aristocratic, elegantly drawn nose, and her intelligent gaze vied with the tousled confusion of long black hair. She drew attention partly because she didn’t seem to know she was suck-the last-breath-from-your-lungs gorgeous.

Zach had nothing to set on the security conveyor belt, but he waited while Olivia pushed her briefcase and her purse through.

Her poise made him more aware of his Achilles’ heel. A smart guy would have rejected her offer to arrange for seats together. A smart guy wouldn’t let a self-assured woman who’d been in sole charge of his son for the past five years discover he was afraid of flying.

They cleared security with more than an hour to wait for their flight. Olivia was already fishing work out of her briefcase as they closed in on their gate. Zach held back. He couldn’t sit there for sixty minutes without throwing up.

“I’m going to look for a paper,” he said. “And a coffee. Want one?”

“Sure. With cream and sugar.” Sitting, she pushed a pen behind her ear. “Wait— Will you make that half-and-half?”

Nodding, he turned, breathing easier the more distance he put between them. How was he going to pretend to be normal on the plane?

He took his time and passed the coffee shop twice before he turned in. A teenager in a cap and acne came to the counter and threw him a look that asked for his order.

“A bottle of water.” Last thing he needed was caffeine. “And a large coffee. With half-and-half.”

“The milk and stuff’s over there,” the kid said. “That’ll be seven-fifty.”

“Thanks. Do you have newspapers?”