Chapter 4

      Two days later, Simon swung the bat, connected with the baseball and felt the zing of contact charge up his arms. The ball sailed out into the netting strung across the back of the batting cage and he smiled in satisfaction.

      “A triple at least,” he announced.

      “Right. You flied out to center,” Mick Davis called back from the next batting cage.

      Simon snorted. He knew a good hit when he saw it. He got the bat high up on his shoulder and waited for the next robotic pitch from the machine.

      While he was here, Simon didn’t have to think about work or business deals. The batting cages near his home were an outlet for him. He could take out his frustrations by slamming bats into baseballs and that outlet was coming in handy at the moment. While he was concentrating on fastballs, curveballs and sliders, he couldn’t think about big blue eyes. A luscious mouth.

      Not to mention the child who was—might be—his son.

      He swung and missed, the ball crashing into the caged metal door behind him.

      “I’m up two now,” Mick called out with a laugh.

      “Not finished yet,” Simon shouted, enjoying the rush of competition. Mick had been his best friend since college. Now he was also Simon’s right-hand man at the Bradley company. There was no one he trusted more.

      Mick slammed a ball into the far netting and Simon grinned, then punched out one of his own. It felt good to be physical. To blank out his mind and simply enjoy the chance to hit a few balls with his friend. Here, no one cared that he was the CEO of a billion-dollar company. Here, he could just relax. Something he didn’t do often. By the time their hour was up, both men were grinning and arguing over which of them had won.

      “Give it up.” Simon laughed. “You were outclassed.”

      “In your dreams.” Mick handed Simon a bottle of water and after taking a long drink, he asked, “So, you want to tell me why you were swinging with such a vengeance today?”

      Simon sat down on the closest bench and watched a handful of kids running to the cages. They were about nine, he guessed, with messy hair, ripped jeans and eager smiles. Something stirred inside him. One day, Nathan would be their age. He had a son. He was a father. In a few years, he’d be bringing his boy to these cages.

      Shaking his head, he muttered, “You’re not going to believe it.”

      “Try me.” Mick toasted him with his own water and urged him to talk.

      So Simon did. While late-afternoon sunshine slipped through the clouds and a cold sea wind whistled past, Simon talked. He told Mick about the visit from Tula. About Nathan. About all of it.

      “You have a son?”

      “Yeah,” Simon said with a fast grin. “Probably. I’m getting a paternity test done.”

      “I’m sure you are,” Mick said.

      He frowned a little. “It makes sense, but yeah, looking at him, it’s hard to ignore. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it myself. Hell, I don’t even know what to do first.”

      “Bring him home?”

      “Well, yeah,” he said. “That’s the plan. I’ve got crews over at the house right now, fixing up a room for him.”

      “And this Tula? What’s she like?”

      Simon pulled at his ice-cold water again, relishing the liquid as it slid down his throat to ease the sudden tightness there. How to explain Tula, he thought. Hell, where would he begin? “She’s…different.”

      Mick laughed. “What the hell does that mean?”

      “Good question,” Simon muttered. His fingers played with the shrink-wrapped label on the water bottle. “She’s fiercely protective of Nathan. And she’s as irritating as she is gorgeous—”

      “Interesting.”

      Simon shot him a look. “Don’t even go there. I’m not interested.”

      “You just said she’s gorgeous.”

      “Doesn’t mean a thing,” he insisted, shooting a look at the boys as they lined up to take turns at the cages. “She’s not my type.”

      “Good. Your type is boring.”

      “What?”

      Mick leaned both forearms on the picnic table. “Simon, you date the same woman, over and over.”

      “What the hell are you talking about?”

      “No matter how their faces change, the inner woman never does. They’re all cool, quiet, refined.”

      Now Simon laughed. “And there’s something wrong with that?”

      “A little variety wouldn’t kill you.”

      Variety. He didn’t need variety. His life was fine just the way it was. If a quick image of Tula Barrons’s big blue eyes and flashing dimple rose up in his mind, it was nobody’s business but his own.

      He’d seen close-up and personal just what happened when a man spent his time looking for variety instead of sensible. Simon’s father had made everyone in the house miserable with his continuing quest for amusement. Simon wasn’t interested in repeating any failing patterns.

      “All I’m saying is—”

      “Don’t want to hear it,” Simon told him before his friend could get going. “Besides, what the hell do you know about women? You’re married.”

      Mick snorted. “Last time I looked, my beautiful wife is a woman.”

      “Katie’s different.”

      “Different from the snooty ice queens you usually date, you mean.”

      “How did we get onto the subject of my love life?”

      “Beats the hell outta me,” Mick said with a laugh. “I just wanted to know what was bugging you and now I do. There’s a new woman in your life and you’re a father.”

      “Probably,” Simon amended.

      Mick reached out and slapped Simon’s shoulder. “Congratulations, man.”

      Simon smiled, took another sip of water and let his new reality settle in. He was, most likely, a father. He had a son.

      As