His Unexpected Heir

But as pretty as it was, it wasn’t home. Not really. She was alone in the dark but for a slender thread of connection to her big sister.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, “because I don’t know what he’s planning.”

“Whatever it is, you can handle it.” And, as if Gina had read her mind, she added, “You’re not alone, Rita.”

Her mouth curved slightly. “Not how it feels.”

“You still love him, don’t you?”

Rita laid her hand on the glass, letting the cold seep into her skin, chilling the rush of heat Gina’s question had awakened.

“Why would I be foolish enough for that?” she whispered.

Three (#u9409c86c-b21e-52c5-98a5-86a8650e3065)

“What’s going on with you?”

Jack looked up. His father walked into the office that, up until four months ago, had been his. Thomas Buchanan was a tall man, with salt-and-pepper hair, sharp blue eyes and a still-trim physique. Though he’d abdicated the day-to-day running of the company to his oldest son, Thomas maintained his seat on the board and liked to keep abreast of whatever was happening. That included keeping tabs on his son.

“Nothing,” Jack answered, lowering his gaze to the sheaf of papers on the desktop. “Why?”

“Well,” Thomas said, strolling around the room, “you nearly bit Sean’s head off when he couldn’t get the shipping schedule up on the plasma fast enough.”

“It’s his job,” Jack said, being perfectly reasonable. “He should be able to accomplish it when asked.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jack knew that tone. He glanced at his father, saw the wary curiosity-filled expression and looked away again. He wasn’t in the mood for a chat and couldn’t satisfy his father’s curiosity. He knew that ever since he’d returned to civilian life, his family had been worried about him and no one more than his father. There didn’t seem to be anything Jack could do about it, though. He didn’t need therapy or sympathy and didn’t want to talk about what he’d seen—what he wanted to do was forget about it and pick up his life where he’d left off. So far of course, that wasn’t happening.

Rather than try to explain all of that to his dad, Jack chose to ignore the man’s questions, even though he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. The worry would remain, along with the questions, whether spoken or not. After a few seconds of silence from him, though, Thomas seemed to understand that it was a subject Jack wasn’t going to address.

“Still don’t understand why you changed the office furniture around,” his father said, surprising Jack with the sudden shift of topic. “My father’s the one who put that desk in front of the windows. I don’t think it’s been moved since then. Until now.”

Jack squirmed slightly in his oversize black leather chair. He’d made a few changes since he’d stepped into his father’s shoes. The main one being that he had moved the old mahogany desk across the room so that he could have his back to a wall and not be outlined in a window.

Yes, he knew it was foolish without anyone pointing it out to him. He didn’t have to worry about snipers here, but it was hard to shake ingrained habits that had kept him alive.

“I like it where it is,” Jack said simply.

“Yeah.” His father gave a resigned sigh, then admitted, “I wish you could talk to me.”

His father’s voice was so quiet, so wistful, Jack’s attention was caught. He looked up and found his dad watching him through concerned eyes.

He didn’t enjoy knowing that his family was worried about him. In fact, it only added to the guilt and the pain that were crouched on his shoulders every day. But he couldn’t ease for them what he couldn’t ease for himself.

“We do talk,” Jack said.

“Not about anything important,” his father answered. “Not since you got back. It’s like you’re still too far away to reach.”

“I’m right here, Dad,” he said, trying to help, knowing he was failing.

“Part of you is,” his father agreed, “but not all of you. I wonder every day when my son will finally come home.”

So did Jack. It was as if a piece of him had been left behind in the heat of a desert and he didn’t know when or if he’d find that part of himself again. Jack sat back and let a long breath slide slowly from his lungs. “I’m doing my best here, Dad.”

“I know that.” Thomas stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and rocked uneasily on his heels. “I just wish there was something I could do to help. That you would let me do. I thought that stepping down, having you take over here, would make a difference. Drop you back into the world and, all right, force you to find your life again. But you continue to shut yourself off. From me, from your sister and brother. Hell, you haven’t even been on a date since you got back, son.”

“I don’t want to date.” Lie. Everything in him wanted Rita, but he wouldn’t give in to it. He was in no shape to be in her life and he knew it.

“Right there should tell you that there’s something wrong.”

“I’m fine,” Jack said, hoping to head his dad off at the pass. He’d heard this before. Knew that his father had the best of intentions. But Jack couldn’t give the older man what he wanted most.

Thomas shook his head, then nodded. “You’re not, but you will be. I wish you could believe me on that.” He walked toward his son, laid both hands on the desk and leaned in. “I know you don’t. Not yet. But someday you will, Jack. Just give yourself a chance, all right?”

“I am.” He looked into his father’s eyes and lied again. “Everything’s good. I swear.”

Nodding, the older man pushed up from the desk. “Okay. We’ll leave it there for now.”

Thank God, Jack thought in relief.

“On another subject entirely,” his father said, “I’m headed down to San Diego tomorrow. Sam and I are taking the boat out fishing for the weekend. Want to join us?”

The Buchanan Boys, as his mother used to call the three of them, had gone on hundreds of fishing weekends together. And in the old days, there had been nothing Jack liked more than getting away with his younger brother and his father. But now, the thought of being caged on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a too-curious father and brother sounded like a nightmare. They’d hammer him with questions, he’d resent being prodded and they’d all have a crappy time.

Besides, he told himself, there was Rita. Decisions to be made.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got plans I can’t get out of.” Not that Rita knew of his plan to corner her into talking with him about their baby.

“Plans?” Thomas gave him a pleased smile. “That’s good, son. Really good. To prove how happy that makes me, I won’t even ask you what you’re going to be doing.”

“Thanks,” Jack said wryly.

“All right, then.” His father slapped his hands together then gave his palms a good scrub. “I’ve got to go by the house, pick up my fishing gear. Then I’m headed to San Diego. I’ll have my phone with me if you need to contact me.”

“I won’t,” Jack assured him. “But thanks. And say hi to Sam.”

“I will.”

Once his father was gone, Jack took a long, deep breath and willed the tension out of his body. It didn’t work, so he got up, walked across the well-appointed office without even noticing the familiar furnishings.

Beige walls, dark red carpet, thick and plush enough to take a nap on, and twin couches facing each other across a low wood table. Windows were on two walls and Jack had moved the desk out of the line of sight of both of them.

Now, though, he walked to a far window and looked out over the sea. He didn’t look at the beach below or the crowd of early-summer sun worshippers spread out on the sand. Instead, he watched the steady rise and fall of the water as wind and its own weight formed ripples and waves that seemed to go on endlessly.

It was quiet in the office and normally he treasured that. But now, that silence tapped at the edges of his mind like a persistent knock on a closed door. As that door opened, images of Rita flooded his brain, from before, from yesterday, until he half expected her to simply appear physically in the office. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Rita would never come to him, she was too angry and he couldn’t blame her for it. But that wouldn’t stop him from doing what he had to do. She was pregnant with his child and damned if he’d ignore that.