His Secret Son. Stacy Connelly
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he heard she’d gotten pregnant. But he’d always figured the shy, studious girl he’d known would grow up to be a librarian or a computer whiz or an accountant, where she’d be somewhat behind the scenes, using her brain to problem-solve.
Not that PR work didn’t require serious problem-solving skills. He’d seen on a professional level how his in-laws’ used their PR team to divert and deflect any negative publicity away from the firm and also on a personal level as Brittany put so much spin on their divorce that the truth had become an indecipherable blur.
Not that he cared. At least, not all that much. He’d rather be the jerk who walked out on his marriage than the schmuck whose wife had been lying to him for years.
“My mom’s been on TV and everything.”
Robbie offered up that information, pulling Ryder from the past and bringing his focus back to what really surprised him about Lindsay’s career choice. “On TV and everything,” he echoed. She certainly had looked television-ready the day before, and that was while picking up pizza at a fast-food joint.
The old Lindsay would have blushed at his teasing, but the new Lindsay met his grin with a wry smile of her own. “Local news and a cable television talk show,” she said, dismissing it as no big deal, though her son was obviously impressed.
So was Ryder, since as far as he knew, Lindsay’s only less than stellar grade in high school came after she bailed in the middle of an oral history presentation. She’d stuttered, words tripping one over the other, until she simply froze, horrified, her face pale as her mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, no air going in, drowning in humiliation—
Another memory stabbed at him. Lindsay standing beside his locker, waiting for him on the Monday morning following that fateful weekend. Standing beside his locker and looking even more horrified, more humiliated, more hurt.
Suddenly, despite the delicious food still on his plate, Ryder couldn’t swallow another bite.
He’d felt bad about it, but hell, maybe he was the one who should have gone into the spit-and-polish world of PR. Hadn’t he glossed over what he’d done, justifying his actions with the best of them, until he’d convinced himself his own BS was the God’s honest truth?
He was protecting her by keeping what happened a secret...
It would only make matters worse if the truth came out...
Lindsay might not understand, but he was doing what was best for everyone...
He’d believed every line he told himself, because at the time, he hadn’t known what it felt like to suffer that kind of betrayal, that kind of manipulation.
He knew now.
Thanks to Brittany, to the secret she’d revealed during their final fight—“I did it for us!”—he knew the shock and pain of having the world pulled out from beneath his feet.
Maybe it was ten years too late, and maybe Lindsay no longer gave a damn, but he owed her an apology. And if fixing up the house meant Lindsay and her folks didn’t have to worry about Ellie stumbling on the uneven front steps or losing her balance when leaning too hard on rickety railing—two of the problems he’d noticed on the way inside—well, that was the least he could do.
But there was something Lindsay needed to know, something her grandmother evidently hadn’t told her...
“Can—may I be excused?” Robbie asked. At his mother’s nod, he added, “And go play video games on your tablet?”
“Sure.” Lindsay exhaled the word on a sigh, her shoulders relaxing a bit for the first time since Ryder had stepped foot inside the kitchen.
“Really?” The boy popped up from his chair as though he thought she might change her mind any second. “Cool!”
“Clear off your dishes first, and thank your Grandma Ellie for breakfast.”
“Thanks, Gran,” the boy parroted before he grabbed his plate and glass, carried them to the sink and ducked out of the kitchen, his feet pounding the stairs as he raced upstairs.
“Kid sure likes his video games, huh?” Ryder asked, remembering how the boy had cried out in excitement before nearly running him down in his haste to get to the games at the pizza parlor.
Lindsay’s gaze cut from the kitchen doorway her son had disappeared through to lock on to his. “The kid’s name is Robbie.”
“Right. Sure. Robbie. He seems like a great kid,” he said, cringing a little even as he said the word, half expecting Lindsay to go all mama bear again even though he didn’t have a clue why she’d gotten so defensive in the first place.
“He is. He’s smart and sweet and funny and—” Her words broke off as she turned her focus back to her plate and the food she’d barely touched.
Ellie made a sympathetic sound as she explained, “Robbie’s a bit on the shy side, and Lindsay worries people won’t see him for the amazing boy he is.”
“I’m not worried,” Lindsay argued.
“Of course you are, dear. You’re a mother. It’s your job to worry. But I have the feeling this trip is going to do him a world of good. You’ll see.” Before Lindsay’s puzzled frown had time to set in, Ellie waved a hand at the spread still in front of them. “So, are either of you up for seconds?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Brookes. But that’s gotta be the best meal I’ve had in ages.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. And please call me Ellie.”
He rose as Lindsay’s grandmother did and reached for his own plate. “Let me give you a hand with the rest of these.”
“Aren’t you a sweetheart!”
If he thought he’d gain any points with his offer, he’d have been bound for disappointment as Lindsay rolled her eyes at Ellie’s effusive comment.
Waving aside his attempt to help her clean up, Ellie said, “I can handle things in here if you two would like to get started.”
“The two of us...” Lindsay echoed.
“You’re the one always going on about the work that needs to be done around here. Who better to show Ryder around?”
“Right.” Lindsay sighed. “Because this was all my big idea.”
With Ellie once again waving them out of the kitchen, Lindsay led the way back into the living room. Her messy ponytail bobbed in time with her steps, and Ryder couldn’t keep his gaze drifting from her slender shoulders, to her narrow waist and curving hips. She turned quickly, but not so quickly, he hoped, that she caught where his eye had wandered.
“Look, just because my grandmother invited you over, that doesn’t mean we’re hiring you.”
“Fair enough. After all, you still have those references to verify.”
“That’s right.” Her shoulders straightened as she met his gaze. “And I want to consider other bids, as well. I’ve already done some checking around. I saw an advertisement for Parker Remodeling—”
“Travis Parker.” Ryder scowled at the man’s name. “You don’t want to hire him.”
“Why not? You’re not afraid of a little competition, are you?”
“Parker isn’t competition. What he is is a first-class womanizer with a reputation for not taking no for an answer.”
Lindsay blinked in surprise, taken aback by his warning tone. “Well, I can take care of myself. I have been for a long time now.”
Ryder knew that was probably truer than he could imagine. But that didn’t mean he liked the idea of her having to fend off a guy like Travis Parker. Not that he was entirely sure why the thought of the notorious player hitting on Lindsay bothered him as much as it did.
He