His Secret Son

Underneath Lindsay’s relief, though, was a niggling concern. Shouldn’t her son be more curious? Years ago, she had explained that his father was an old friend from Clearville who wasn’t a part of their lives. But Robbie had always been an inquisitive kid, the type to keep asking “why?” long after Lindsay had run out of answers.

At an age when Lindsay had braced herself for more questions, Robbie remained silent. Of course, he had plenty of classmates with divorced parents or who lived in single-parent homes. Maybe Robbie had simply accepted that it was just the two of them.

But as Lindsay skipped down the stairs, a low masculine murmur reminded her that it wasn’t just the two of them. At least not right now. How had she missed Ryder’s arrival? Easily enough, she figured, deciding her grandmother had probably told him to let himself in. No need to knock and who bothered to lock their doors in little ol’ Clearville?

Chalk it up to living in Phoenix too long, but she was adding installing a dead bolt to Ryder’s list of things to do.

“And see here?” Ellie was asking. “My Robert installed these lovely wall sconces. Sometimes you have to jiggle them a bit before they work...”

Oh, shoot. She’d wanted the chance to warn Ryder that the “shoddy craftsmanship” another contractor had kept pointing out to her over and over had been done by her grandfather. It would break her grandmother’s heart to hear the work her grandfather had taken such pride in described that way.

Ryder and Ellie were standing beneath the somewhat gaudy gilded and glass lamps—her gran in a pair of sea-foam-green capris and a beige T-shirt with floral appliqués across the front, Ryder towering over her in jeans and a navy T-shirt. Lindsay swallowed hard, her plan to interrupt their conversation stalling as the words—and her very breath—lodged in her throat at the sight of him.

He’d braced his hands above the tool belt hanging low on his lean hips, the muscles in his arms flexed beneath tanned skin. The masculine stance emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, flat stomach and long legs. His posture spoke of confidence—maybe even a bit of cockiness—and Lindsay waited, dreading the moment when he would say—

“I can see by all the work your husband did around here that he must have loved this place very much.”

Lindsay sucked in a soft breath even as unexpected tears stung her eyes. She would have instructed Ryder not to say anything about the workmanship, but the words he’d chosen were far better than a telling silence. He’d been completely honest and yet, at the same time, had managed not to criticize her grandfather.

Lindsay didn’t know if he’d heard the sound she’d made, but he glanced over his shoulder. He shot her a quick, conspiratorial wink as if the two of them were in this together. Both of them out to preserve the wonderful old Victorian as well as her grandfather’s memory. The press of tears gathered behind her eyes along with a pressure in her chest, and Lindsay sucked in a deep breath before all that emotion could build up into a soft sob.

Together. Working as a team. She...and Ryder.

It was almost overwhelming, and Lindsay steeled herself against the weakness. A split-second shared moment wasn’t enough to close a ten-year gap or give her insight into the man Ryder was now. And it certainly wasn’t enough of a foundation to build a father-son relationship on.

You’re not a silly teenager anymore. It’s going to take more than a sexy wink and a teasing smile.

She was a mother now, not some starry-eyed girl. She was a responsible adult. She was...a healthy, young woman who hadn’t been on the receiving end of a sexy wink in far, far too long. Or at least that was what her body seemed to say as Ryder’s appreciative gaze swept over her. Her stomach trembled ever so slightly and it was all she could do not to give away the telling reaction by crossing her arms at her waist. As if she could keep the suddenly wild butterflies there from busting out and filling the room with their colorful, fluttering wings.

“Oh, yes,” Ellie was saying. “And it was so good for him to have something to keep him busy after he retired. I know when you’re young, retirement sounds like this wonderful, long vacation, but it’s not always easy to realize the work you’ve taken such pride in for so many years is going on without you and that, well, you simply aren’t needed anymore.”

The tremor in her grandmother’s voice snapped Lindsay’s focus back in place like a quick head slap. She had a reason for coming to Clearville, and it wasn’t to start mooning over Ryder Kincaid. Ellie was needed, and her grandmother would realize how much life still had to offer once she’d moved to Phoenix with her family.

“Morning, Gran,” she said brightly as she stepped into the living room.

“Oh, Lindsay. There you are, dear. I was telling Ryder you would have been down sooner if you didn’t dress like you expect to be on television every day.”

Heat flooded her face as she met her gran’s smile. Ryder’s grin grew even bigger as he whispered in a not so subtle aside, “All that fame went to her head, huh?”

Ellie sighed. “She may well be too good for us both.”

“Okay, stop. Both of you,” Lindsay argued even though she couldn’t help giving a little chuckle.

Too good for Ryder Kincaid. That was actually worthy of a gut-busting belly laugh, but somehow Lindsay lost the humor she’d found in the moment.

“I dress like a professional because I am a professional. Nothing more to it than that.” Last thing Lindsay needed was for Ryder to know how she’d agonized over her wardrobe—far more stressed than when she had dressed to be on television—before finally settling on a pair of ivory slacks and a sleeveless buttery-yellow blouse with rows of ruffles from the high neckline down to the fitted waistline. She’d added a pair of strappy beige sandals rather than her usual heels and kept her makeup and jewelry to a minimum. After all, she didn’t want Ryder to think she was dressing up because of him.

Even if she was.

“You’re on vacation,” her grandmother emphasized. “You should dress like you’re on vacation. You need to relax a little, have some fun. Ryder, maybe while Lindsay is in town, you could take her out a night or two. She really hasn’t—”

“Gran!” The last thing she needed was her grandmother’s matchmaking! “Ryder is here because we’ve hired him to do a job. Taking me out to dinner is not part of his scope of work.”

“No, that would definitely be an added benefit,” Ryder murmured much to her grandmother’s delight.

“Don’t you have breakfast to make for a growing boy who’s going to wake up starving any minute now?” Lindsay asked, ignoring everything she’d told Ellie over the past few days about Robbie’s ability to fend for himself.

“Oh, yes. Ryder, you’re welcome to join us again.”

“Thanks, Ellie, but I think I’d better get started on the work you’re paying me to do.”

“All right, then, but remember the offer still stands.”

Her grandmother gave a small wave as she walked back toward the kitchen, and Lindsay’s relief that she and Ryder no longer had a matchmaking audience faded as she realized the two of them were now alone.

Alone for the first time since that night over ten years ago.

Oh, sure, they’d spoken briefly the other day, but this time Lindsay wasn’t ushering Ryder out the door. He was here to stay. For the next several weeks based on the estimate she’d signed. And she would have to deal with him invading her space, with seeing him every day...

“I wouldn’t worry too much about what your grandmother said. You look amazing.”

Lindsay swallowed as Ryder’s green gaze swept from the top of her head and the hair she’d pulled up in a twist and down to her feet. Every inch in between tingled in awareness, and his familiar smile set those butterflies to fluttering again.

“Even if I do miss the beagle slippers and glasses.”

Flames licked her cheeks at his teasing, but there was something in his voice, something that made Lindsay think—Ryder couldn’t possibly have found her more attractive in her ridiculous beagle slippers, ponytail and pajamas, could he? Couldn’t be hinting that he liked the old version of her—the shy, awkward girl she’d been—better than the new, improved woman she’d fought so hard to become?

She forced the question out of her mind. Ryder’s preference didn’t matter. She hadn’t changed for him. She’d made the transformation for herself and for Robbie. She might have been a young, single mother, but she’d been determined to hold her head high and to let her son know she wasn’t ashamed of him.

Ignoring the beagle slippers comment altogether, she asked, “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“I thought I’d start on the front porch. The stairs—the stringers and the steps—all need to be remade along with the railing. We’re supposed to have some good weather the next few days, so that’s a plus for working outdoors.”

Clearville weather—while far cooler than the summers she’d gotten used to in Phoenix—could be mercurial. In the desert, you could count on long, hot, rain-free days throughout May and June with the monsoon storms holding off until July or August. But the Northern California weather was less predictable with occasional rain and fog rolling in off the nearby ocean.

“I’ll replace the porch fascia, and I want to strip the paint off the floorboards, too.”

Lindsay tried not to grimace at the amount of work—and that was only the outside. “What color were you thinking of repainting?” Her grandfather had gone with a mottled grayish green that she figured must have been on sale but, unfortunately, clashed with the house’s pale blue gingerbread trim.

“I figured I’d stain it. Keep it natural, you know. Why cover up perfection?”

And there it was again. That low murmur and the look in his eyes that set off a trembling in her belly and sudden weakness in her knees. Lindsay swallowed even as she tried desperately to pull her gaze from his. That might have worked if she hadn’t found even more tempting features to focus on—the high curve of his cheekbones, the hint of stubble along his jaw, the sculpted perfection of his lips, so close to hers. Lips that looked so sexy and seductive—

“Of course, I’ll have to tear out any warped or rotted pieces.”

Warped and— Right. The porch. All that talk about keeping things natural. Not covering up perfection. And she’d actually thought he’d been talking about her?

Lindsay Anne Brookes, how big a fool are you?