Man...Mercenary...Monarch. Joan Elliott Pickart
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you were kidnapped as an infant and believed, by your family, to be dead. You were left at The Sunshine Home for Children, and adopted by the Coltons.”
John narrowed his eyes but didn’t speak.
“As unbelievable as this may sound, we strongly suspect you are Prince James Wyndham of Wynborough, the biological son and heir of King Phillip and Queen Gabriella. There. I did it. I told you.”
A grin slowly began to appear on John’s face, then grew bigger. He slid his hands to the back of his head and chuckled.
“Mitch cooked this up, right?” he said. “He decided I’d been away too long and was due to visit the old homestead. Man, he really outdid himself with this nonsense. Where is he? I want to tell him to his face that I didn’t buy into this for a second. A prince, huh? That’s rich. My big brother has a hell of an imagination.”
“John,” Laura said quietly, “every word I’ve said is true. I swear to you that it is. You are Prince James Wyndham of Wynborough.” She paused. “We recently learned of a blanket that was with you when you were left at The Sunshine Home, a blanket with the royal crest on it and—”
“Wait a minute,” John said, raising one hand from behind his head. “A crest? What kind? What does it look like?”
“I’ll show you,” Laura said, getting to her feet. “I have some stationery with the Wyndham crest embossed on the top.”
Laura hurried to her room and returned with a sheet of expensive paper, which she handed to John. She sat back down, her gaze riveted on John as he stared at the crest on the paper.
After a few tension-filled moments, he pulled the chain he wore around his neck free of his shirt and looked at the tiny ring attached. He shifted his eyes to the paper, then back to the ring.
Laura felt a warm flush stain her cheeks as she remembered grasping that small ring while making love with John. She’d held in her hand the proof that John Colton was Prince James Wyndham.
“No,” he said, lunging to his feet. “Mitch knows I was wearing this ring when I was abandoned. He’s seen it often enough to have this stationery printed up as part of the joke.”
Laura sighed. “Call around. Discover for yourself if there is a place named Wynborough, if the heir to the throne was kidnapped as a baby, and ask what the Wyndham family crest looks like. Go ahead, John, do it. You obviously aren’t going to believe me”
John sat back down in the chair and propped his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together loosely. He stared at Laura, studying her intently, as though he was attempting to peer inside her head. She met his gaze directly as she lifted her chin.
“John,” she said finally, splaying one hand on her chest, “this is me, Laura. I’m the same woman I was last night, the one who shared…shared so much with you. I wouldn’t lie to you, John. Somewhere, deep inside you, you know that.”
Several seconds ticked by in heavy silence, then John shook his head and leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling.
“No,” he said, “you wouldn’t lie to me.” He looked at Laura again. “All right, I believe you, but it’s just too much to deal with. I have enough on my plate with finding out that I’m a father. Jeremiah comes first. What you’ve told me has to go on the back burner for now.”
“But—”
“No, I don’t want to discuss it any further at the moment. Don’t push me on this, Laura. I can only handle so much at once.” He paused. “Where’s Mitch?”
“Oh, dear,” Laura said. “Well, Mitch married Alexandra Wyndham, the eldest princess of Wynborough, your…your sister. They’re expecting a baby. The whole family is in Wynborough for the marriage of Elizabeth, another one of your sisters, to Rafe Thorton, who is actually Prince Raphael of Thortonburg. I stayed here on The Rocking C to wait for your return home.”
“Oh, man,” John said, shaking his head. “I’m Prince James of wherever. Mitch has married a princess, who is actually my sister and—well, forget it. My brain is on overload and I’ve had enough of this.”
Thunder rumbled across the sky.
John got to his feet. “I have to unload Jeremiah’s stuff from the back of the truck before it starts to rain.” He started toward the door, then stopped. “Watch Jeremiah, will you?”
“Yes. Yes, of course, I will.”
As John disappeared out the front door, Laura moved to sit on the end cushion of the sofa, a soft smile forming on her lips as she stared at the sleeping baby.
His hands were splayed on either side of his head and his lips were slightly parted. He was dressed in blue corduroy overalls, a faded red jersey and a pair of white socks with a hole in one toe.
“Hello, Jeremiah,” Laura whispered.
Oh, she wanted to scoop him up, she thought wistfully. She’d inhale his special baby aroma as she held that sturdy little body close and safe. He’d done nothing more than sleep in baby innocence and he was already staking a claim on her heart.
John made numerous trips between the house and the truck, producing a dismantled white crib, mattress, a tattered car seat, high chair, several cardboard boxes and two paper sacks.
As he slid the last box into place, it skidded into the pieces of the crib that were propped against the wall, causing them to slide down onto the hardwood floor with a loud crash.
Jeremiah jerked, opened his eyes, took one look at Laura and cut loose with an earsplitting wail.
John spun around. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing,” Laura said, jumping to her feet. “It was you, making all that racket. You woke him up out of a sound sleep and it frightened him.” She looked at the baby. “Shh, shh. It’s okay. Don’t cry.”
John strode to the back of the sofa, reached over and picked up Jeremiah, nestling him against his broad shoulder. The baby quieted, then stuck his thumb in his mouth.
Laura smiled. “Well, look at that. You have a father’s touch.”
“Yeah, right,” John said, frowning.
Jeremiah popped his thumb out of his mouth and grabbed John’s nose. The baby gurgled happily.
“Like my nose, sport?” John said, smiling. “It’s a handy toy, huh? Sticking right out there for you.”
“He’s so adorable,” Laura said with a sigh.
“Yep, he’s cute.”
“He looks exactly like you, John.”
“Think so?” he said, obviously pleased with the statement.
“Oh, heavens, yes. He’s a miniature…you.” Laura paused and frowned. “Where’s his jacket?”
John frowned again as Jeremiah continued to pat, then grab, his daddy’s nose.
“He doesn’t have a jacket,” John said. “He doesn’t even have a pair of shoes. His crib is a piece of junk and…I feel so damn guilty that he doesn’t have decent stuff.”
“I don’t think you should swear like that in front of him, John. He’s at the age where he’ll start parroting what he hears.”
“Oh. Right. No swearing. But, hell—I mean, heck—he needs a new crib, clothes, toys. Look at the car seat. It’s a mess, probably wouldn’t even pass the safety codes.” He paused. “Uh-oh.”
“What’s wrong?” Laura said.
“He may be beating my nose to death, but it still works. Jeremiah needs his diaper changed.”
“That’s nice,” Laura said pleasantly. “Go for it.”
“Me?”