Their Child?: Lori's Little Secret / Which Child Is Mine? / Having The Best Man's Baby. Christine Rimmer
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category labeled, If he doesn’t ask, I’m certainly not going to tell.
She sensed rather than heard his approach. The chair beside her gently scraped the tiles. He dropped down next to her, close enough that she got a faint hint of his aftershave. His tanned bare arm—he wore chinos and a cream-colored polo shirt—brushed hers. She felt his warmth.
Acutely.
She lifted her head and looked at him. He seemed to be studying her bare feet. Slowly, his gaze tracked upward, over her legs and her light summer skirt, over her belly and her breasts, in a slow once-over that undressed her as it went.
He met her eyes. “Except for the black eye and the bandage, you’re looking pretty healthy.” The remark was heavy with innuendo.
She decided to ignore the innuendo—and go strictly with the words themselves. “Yes, I’m feeling pretty good, thank you. And you’re right. We’re going to Disneyland in late July. Or Brody is, with one or the other of us.”
“Yeah. That’s what Brody said.” He looked at her steadily. Kind of hungrily, really—or maybe that was just a trick of the shadows, an illusion created by the waving light cast upward from the depths of the pool. Yes. A trick of the shadows…and her own yearning heart.
She found her mouth felt a little bit dry. She swallowed. “I had to do some convincing, to get him to come and stay here.” She watched his brows draw together and rushed to explain herself. “Not that he didn’t want to come. He did. But he had a lot of other plans, stuff lined up that he was looking forward to.”
Tucker nodded. “Soccer camp. A tree house. Friends in San Antonio—and Disneyland. Or did I already mention that one?”
“You did. And I’m guessing he’s laid it all out for you?”
“Pretty much. I got the idea he wanted me on the right page about his agenda, since he would be staying here.”
“He’s a smart guy.”
“That he is.”
“And are you—on the right page?”
“Yeah. I’d say I am.”
“Well, good.” She leaned her head back again. “I’ll have to look into changing the plane reservations to California. And maybe you could see about ordering the boards and nails for the tree house.”
“No problem. I’m thinking we’ve got what we need for the tree house already in one of the outbuildings by the stables.”
“Great. I’ll see if I can get the scoop on the local soccer camp, too.”
He said, “I let Fargo sleep in his room.”
She shut her eyes. “I can tell by your voice. That dog’s in Brody’s bed.”
“I should have said no, then?”
She sighed. “A boy and a dog. What can you do?”
“That was pretty much how I saw it.”
A pause. The chorus of cricket-song swelled all the louder. Somewhere in the trees, a bird trilled out, high and sweet. The song trembled on the air and then ended, the last note impossibly high, plaintive and lonely-sounding.
She could feel him watching her. His silence had a taut, breath-held quality. She dared to turn her head and look at him.
His dark eyes gleamed. He almost smiled—but no. He caught himself. He braced his hands on the chair arms. “Well. Good night, then.” He rose and loomed above her.
“Good night,” she said.
He turned for the brick path. She shut her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see him go.
Saturday, Tucker and Brody started building the tree house in one of the oaks that rimmed the back lawn. Lori left them to it. She went into town and had lunch with her mother, who was sweet and affectionate—and wanted to know how things were going out at the ranch. Lori told her that Brody was having a great time.
And Enid asked the thousand-dollar question. “Does my grandson know, then, that Tucker’s his dad?” Lori sighed and shook her head. “Honey, he has a right to know.”
“I agree, but…” She blew out a breath and let the sentence finish itself.
Enid didn’t look happy. “That boy needs to know.”
“Mama. I’m aware of that.”
“You’d better have a talk with Tucker, don’t you think? We can’t all just dance around the truth forever. It’s not good. You, of all people, ought to know that by now.”
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