A Forever Kind of Family

“I grew up in a home filled with drama,” she told him. “And as if it wasn’t enough that I had to live in it, I got to read about it in the headlines of the tabloids, so forgive me for wanting to spare Oliver that.”

He knew some of her family history from Darren and Melissa—and yes, because he’d seen some of those same headlines—but he hadn’t thought about how her parents’ very public breakups and reconciliations had affected her. Until now.

“There are no photographers lurking in the bushes outside,” he assured her.

She sat back in her chair and sighed, toying with Oliver’s spoon as he played with a chunk of banana. “I know. Or at least the logical part of my brain does. And then I remember being blindsided when I walked out of school one day to find a reporter demanding to know how it felt to know that Peter Ross was claiming he wasn’t my father.”

“Jesus, Harper—I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Apparently the tear-streaked face of a ten-year-old love child on the cover of a magazine helps to sell a lot of copies. Eventually, the test results proved that he was my father, but that wasn’t worthy of mention.”

No wonder she’d learned to hide her feelings.

Ryan was angry at the reporters who hadn’t seen her as anything more than a juicy headline, sick for the child she’d been and frustrated that the woman she’d grown into was so determined to keep him at a distance. While he understood a little better now why she kept such a tight rein on her emotions, she needed to understand that they were a team and that they needed to work together to do what was best for Oliver. And it would be a lot easier to do that if he wasn’t continuously running up against the walls she kept putting up between them. But her confession about her past gave him hope that she was starting to open up to him, at least a little.

Oliver had finished his snack, so Harper gave him his two-handled sippy cup. He raised it to his mouth, one-handed, and sucked back milk like a man taking a swig of beer.

Ryan couldn’t help but smile, thinking about the countless brews that he’d tipped back over the years with Darren. “Like father, like son,” he noted.

Harper’s lips started to curve. Then her smile wobbled and her gaze shifted away.

He could guess what she was thinking, because his mind had gone in the same direction. His offhand comment had reminded both of them that the little boy wouldn’t have the chance to learn anything else from either of his parents.

Grief made his chest feel tight, and that was before he saw the tears precariously balanced on Harper’s bottom lashes.

Oh, crap.

He’d practically demanded proof of her emotions, but he hadn’t wanted to see her cry.

What was he supposed to do now?

Ryan didn’t have a lot of experience dealing with emotional females. It was rare for him to get so deeply involved with a woman that she’d feel comfortable crying on his shoulder, and even when he ended a relationship, he was careful to ensure there was no cause for tears.

Of course, this situation was completely different, and he knew he shouldn’t be surprised by Harper’s grief—it had been a hellish few weeks for both of them. Truthfully, he was a little surprised she hadn’t broken down before now.

Not that she was breaking down now. Despite the shimmer of tears in her eyes and the quiver of her chin, she was valiantly fighting to hold it together. Obviously she didn’t want him to see her cry any more than he wanted to see her cry.

Blindly, she unbuckled the belt around Oliver’s tummy and lifted him from his high chair.

“Harper.” He touched a hand to her shoulder, not sure what else he was supposed to say or do.

She shrugged off his touch. “Don’t. Please.”

“Don’t what?” he asked helplessly.

“Don’t be nice to me.” It was as much a plea as a statement. “I’m barely holding on by a thread here, and if you show any understanding or compassion, you’re going to have your arms full of blubbering female.”

Then she thrust Oliver at him so his arms were full of squirming baby instead and fled from the room.

He stood there for a minute, not quite sure of his next move.

“Baff,” Oliver said.

“You’re right.” He shifted the little guy onto his hip and headed toward the stairs, grateful for an assignment that he could handle. “Let’s go get you into the bath.”

* * *

A few days after she’d almost melted down in front of Ryan, Harper was feeling more in control of her emotions and a little more comfortable with Oliver. She was cutting Oliver’s grilled cheese sandwich into strips so they were easier for him to pick up when her cell phone rang.

A quick glance at the display revealed that it was Adam McCready, the executive producer of Coffee Time. She ignored it. Whatever her boss’s reason for calling, it probably wasn’t as urgent as he thought.

As she reached into the cupboard for a sippy cup, she felt Oliver tug on her skirt. He pointed to the jar on the counter. “Kee! Kee!”

“You can have a cookie after you have your sandwich,” she promised, removing the lid to pour milk into his cup.