Confessions: He's The Rich Boy / He's My Soldier Boy

“Of course you’re not, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that!” He pulled himself up, dusted off his jeans and kicked angrily at the ground. His eyes filled with tears and dirt streaked his face. “John’s just a big...a big jerk!”

This time Nadine had to agree, but she kept her opinion to herself, and hugging her youngest son, asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” But his hazel eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“You sure?” Nadine asked, though she suspected little more than his pride had been bruised. “How about a cup of cocoa, with marshmallows and maybe some cookies?”

“You got some at the store?” he asked, brightening a bit.

“Sure did.”

He blinked and nodded, sniffling as he tagged after his mother into the house.

Nadine heated two cups of water in the microwave while Bobby climbed into one of the worn chairs at the scratched butcher-block table. When the water was hot, she measured chocolate powder into one cup and said, “And as for Santa Claus, I still believe in him.”

“Do you?”

“Mmm-hmm. But Oreos won’t do for him. No siree. You and I’ll have to bake some special Christmas cookies and leave them on the hearth.”

Bobby sent her a look that said he didn’t really believe her, but he didn’t argue the point, either. “Thanks,” he muttered when she handed him a steaming cup and a small plate of Oreos. “John can’t help us make the cookies, neither.”

“Well, if he has a change of heart—”

“He won’t. He’s too...too...dumb!”

Nadine blew across her cup, not wanting to condemn her eldest quite yet, but needing to placate Bobby. “Look, honey, I know how tough it can be with John. I’m the youngest, too, you know,” she said, thinking of Ben and Kevin. A knot of pain tightened in her chest at the memory of Kevin, the eldest of the Powell siblings, a golden boy who’d once had it all, before his dreams and later his life had been stolen from him. Now there was just her and Ben, she thought sadly, then, seeing her son’s expectant face, she forced a grin. “Remember Uncle Ben?” She dunked a tea bag into her cup, and soon the scent of jasmine mingled with the fragrance of chocolate, filling the cozy little kitchen.

“Is he a creep?” Bobby asked, his little jaw thrust forward as he dunked an Oreo into his hot chocolate.

“Ben?” She laughed, her melancholy dissolved as she stared at the hopeful eyes of her son. “Sometimes.” Nadine wished that Ben were still around. He’d be home soon, after ten years in the army and she couldn’t wait to have him back in Gold Creek. Ben was the only member of her fractured family to whom she still felt close.

Bobby seemed placated slightly. “Well, John doesn’t know anything! I saw Santa Claus and I’m not gonna say I didn’t!” he stated with a firm thrust of his little chin. He dropped a handful of marshmallows into his cocoa and watched them slowly melt.

To her son’s delight, Nadine broke open an Oreo and ate the white center first, licking the icing from the dark wafer. “And what was Santa doing last year—when you saw him?”

Bobby lifted one shoulder. “Dunno,” he muttered. “Prob’ly tryin’ to figure out which present was mine.” His brow puckered again. “I hope he gives John a lump of coal!”

“I don’t think that’ll happen,” Nadine said as he gulped his cocoa then wiped one grubby hand across his mouth.

“Sure it will. Santa knows when John’s lying. He knows everything.”

“I think it’s God who knows so much,” she corrected.

Her son lifted a shoulder as if God and Santa were one and the same, and she didn’t see any reason to start another argument. Obviously Bobby’s imagination was working overtime. But she loved him for his innocence, his bright eyes and that mind that buzzed with ideas from the moment he woke up until he fell asleep each night.

“Come on, you,” she said, touching him fondly on the nose. “You can help me dig out all the Christmas decorations and wrapping paper. I think most of the stuff is in the closet under the stairs—”

“Mom, hey, Mom!” John’s voice echoed through the small house.

Bobby rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. “Oh, great. He’s back.”

“Hey—there’s someone here to see you! Says you left somethin’ at his place,” John yelled.

Nadine glanced out the window to see John, riding his old bike as if his tail were on fire. Hershel galloped beside him, barking wildly.

Nadine froze for an instant when she recognized the reason for all the commotion. Her back stiffened to steel. Behind the boy and bike, striding purposefully up the path to the house, his angled face a mask of arrogance, was none other than Hayden Garreth Monroe IV.

Chapter Six

BRACING HERSELF, SHE walked onto the front porch, arms crossed over her chest. In his beat-up jacket, flannel shirt and faded jeans that fit snugly around his buttocks and rode low on his hips, he didn’t look much like the multimillionaire he’d become overnight. He was still too damned sexy for his own good. Or hers.

“I think you forgot something,” he said as he strode up the slight incline to her house. His gait was a little uneven, but that was probably due to the rocky ground rather than the result of his boating accident years before.

“Forgot something?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Believe me, Hayden, I haven’t forgotten anything.” She glared at him, and all the bitter memories of her youth washed over her in a flood.

His eyes narrowed and his anger was visible in the hard angle of his jaw. Digging into the front pocket of his jeans, he withdrew a ring. Her ring. Instinctively she touched her fingers, assuring herself that the band with its imitation stone was really missing. “Yours?” he asked as he climbed the two long steps of the porch.

“Oh.” She felt suddenly foolish. And trapped. He was too close. Too threatening. Too male. Squaring her shoulders, she managed to find her voice. “Thanks. I didn’t realize I’d left it.” She took the ring from his outstretched hands, careful not to touch him. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I would’ve been back for it tomorrow.”

His eyes held hers for a heart-stopping second and her lungs squeezed. Quickly he glanced away. “I wasn’t sure you’d be returning.”

“I said I would—”

“You’ve said things before, Nadine,” he pointed out and the comment cut her as easily as the bite of a whip. He was insulting her, but why? She’d never done anything to hurt him. Or his family.

“Hey, mister, is that your boat?” John’s eyes were round with envy as he stared at the dock where a speedboat—shiny silver with black trim—was rocking on the waves.

“It is now.”

“Oh, wow!”

“You like it?”

John was practically drooling. “What’s not to like? It’s the coolest.”

“Is this your son?” Hayden asked.

Was it her imagination or was there a trace of regret in his question? Reluctantly, she made introductions. “Hayden Monroe, my oldest son, John,” Nadine introduced, and spying Bobby peeking through the window, waved him outside. Bobby came cautiously through the door. “And this is my baby—”

“Don’t call me that,” Bobby warned.

“Excuse me.” Nadine smiled and rumpled his red-blond hair. “This is my second son. Bobby. Or are you Robert today?” she asked, teasing him.

“Hello, Bobby. John.” Hayden shook hands with each of the boys, and Nadine wondered if the shadow that stole across his summer-blue eyes was a tinge of remorse.

“Are you the guy who owns the sawmill?” John asked, and Nadine’s polite smile froze on her face.