The Tycoon's Secret Daughter

He’d thrown it all away for the contents of a bottle.

He cleared his throat. “Kate.”

She motioned with her coffee. “I … um … I need to get this up to my mom.”

This time when his heart up-ended it was with fear for her. “Your mom is here? As a patient?”

“No. No. She’s fine.” She glanced around nervously. “Daddy had a stroke.”

Was that any better? “Oh, my God. I’m sorry.”

“He’s okay.” She looked to the right again. “The stroke was reasonably mild. Prognosis is good.” She tried to smile. “I’ve really gotta go.”

It was the worst moment of his life. Eight years ago, she would have turned to him in this kind of tragedy. Today, she couldn’t stand to be around him. In some respects, he didn’t blame her. But he’d changed. He’d been in Alcoholics Anonymous for seven years. He was sober. And he did realize what he’d lost. But more than that, apologizing, admitting his faults, was part of his twelve-step program.

When the elevator pinged, he caught her arm to prevent her from turning. Electricity crackled through him.

Their gazes caught. His heart swelled with misery. God, how he’d loved her.

She swallowed. “I’ve really gotta …”

“Go. I know. But I need a minute.”

Hospital employees walked out of the elevators behind them. The gathering crowd waiting for the elevator loaded inside.

She glanced around nervously.

Pain skittered through him. She couldn’t even stand to be seen with him. He thought back to the times he’d embarrassed her and the pain became a familiar ache. He’d disappointed so many people.

But that was seven years ago.

And today was today.

He pulled her a few feet away from the elevators. “I have to tell you that I’m sorry.”

Her face scrunched with confusion. “Have to?”

“Yes. It’s part of the program.”

Her eyes lit with recognition. “Oh, twelve steps.”

“Yes.”

She looked at him differently now, closely. “You’re sober.”

He finally let himself smile. He’d wanted to be able to tell her that for seven long years. “Yes.”

Her voice softened. “I’m so glad.”

His chest loosened a bit. Breathing became easier. “I am, too.”

An awkward silence stretched between them. He understood. There really wasn’t anything for them to say. He’d ruined their marriage. She’d left him to save herself.

She showed him the two cups of coffee again. “I should get this to my mom before it gets cold.”

Pain radiated out from his heart to his entire body. He’d had this woman. She’d loved him and he’d loved her. She’d been everything to him and he’d driven her away.

Don’t dwell on the past. Focus on the future.

He stepped back. “Yeah. Sure. I’m sorry.”

The bell for the second elevator pinged. The doors swooshed open. Kate turned to get inside, but a little girl raced out.

“Mom! Grandma sent me to find you. She thinks you’re making that coffee.”

Mom?

His knees that had already been weakened began to shake. The little girl’s hair might have been the same sable color as Kate’s, but those blue eyes … they were Montgomery eyes.

Pain morphed into shock. Could this be his child? His daughter?

“And who is this?”

Kate’s gaze flicked to his. Her hand fell protectively to the little girl’s shoulder. “This is Trisha.”

His body went stock-still. “Short for Patricia?” His beloved grandmother’s name? Why name the little girl after his grandmother if she wasn’t his?

She smiled weakly. Her eyes filled with tears. She whispered, “Yes.”

Damn it.

He had a child. A daughter. And Kate had kept her from him?

He looked at the little girl again. Pain, wonder, curiosity simultaneously burst inside him. Everything in him wanted to touch her. To examine her. To see the beautiful child he’d made.

But anger warred with longing and both of them were wrapped in confusion. Was this why she’d left him? Because she was pregnant? Because she didn’t want him to know his child?

Fury rose, hot and eager for release, but thank God his common sense had not deserted him. With this beautiful little girl standing so sweetly innocent in front of him, he couldn’t out-and-out ask Kate if this was his daughter.

Kate wanted to grab her baby girl and run away. Not because she feared Max. When he was sober, he was a great guy. And right now he was sober. But drunk? He had never hurt her, but he’d ranted and raved, smashed dishes, broken windows. The night she’d made the choice to leave rather than tell him she was pregnant, he’d smashed their television and thrown a vase through their front window. She’d known she couldn’t bring a child into that world.

But she’d also realized it wouldn’t be good enough to merely leave him. He had money. He had power. After she had their baby, he’d get visitation, and she wouldn’t be able to control what happened. If he drank around their little girl, or drove drunk with her in the car, he could kill her. And there would be nothing she could do to stop it, if only because every judge in the county owed his election to the Montgomerys.

That frightening night, standing amid the evidence that his bad behavior was escalating, she’d made the only choice she could make. She’d disappeared.

She swallowed, motioned to the elevator. “We’ve gotta go.”

He hesitated. His gaze slid to their daughter, then returned to her. “Okay.”