Untamed

Rourke’s heart skipped. “And...?”

K.C. looked proud, embarrassed, happy. “You really are my son.”

“Damn!” Rourke started laughing. The joy in his eyes matched the happiness in his father’s.

K.C. just stared at him for a minute. Then he jerked the other man into his arms and hugged him. Rourke hugged him back.

“I’m sorry...about the way it happened,” K.C. said heavily, drawing back. “But not about the result.” He searched Rourke’s face. “My son.” He bit down on a surge of emotion. “I’ve got a son.”

Rourke was fighting the same emotion. He managed a smile. “Ya.”

K.C. put a hand on Rourke’s shoulder. “Listen, it’s your decision. I’ll do whatever you want. I was your legal guardian when you were underage. But I would like to formally adopt you. I would like you to have my name.”

Rourke thought about the man who’d been his father, who’d raised him. Bill Rourke had loved him, although he must have certainly thought that Rourke didn’t favor him. Bill had been dark-haired and dark-eyed. The man he’d called his real father had been good to him, even if there hadn’t been the sort of easy affection he’d always felt for K.C.

“It was just a thought,” K.C. said, hesitating now.

“I would...like that very much,” Rourke said. “I’ll keep my foster father’s name. I’ll just add yours to it.”

K.C. smiled sadly. “Your father was my best friend. It tormented me to think what I did to him, to your mother. To you.”

“I think it tormented her, too,” Rourke said.

“It did. She loved me.” His face hardened. “That was the worst of it. I had nothing to give her. Nothing at all. She knew it.”

Rourke’s one good eye searched his father’s. “Nobody’s perfect,” he said quietly. “I have to confess, I wished even when I was a boy that you were my real father.” He averted his eye just in time to miss the wetness in K.C.’s. “You were always in the thick of battles. You could tell some stories about the adventures you had. I wanted so badly to be like you.”

“You’re very like me,” K.C. said huskily. “I worried about letting you work for the organization. I wanted to protect you.” He laughed. “It wasn’t possible. You took to it like a duck to water. But I sweated blood when you left me and went with the CIA.” He shook his head. “I agonized that I’d let you get US citizenship, even though you kept your first citizenship.”

“It was something I wanted to do.” Rourke shrugged. “I can’t live without the adrenaline rushes.” His good eye twinkled. “I must get that from my old man.”

K.C. chuckled. “Probably. I still go on missions. I just don’t go on as many, and I’m mostly administrative now. You’ll learn as you age that your reaction time starts to drop. That can put your unit in danger, compromise missions.”

Rourke nodded. “I’ve had so many close calls that I’ve been tempted to think about administrative tasks myself. But not yet,” he added with a grin. “And right now, I have another priority. I want to get married.”

K.C. smiled warmly. “She’s really beautiful. And she has a kind heart. That’s more important than surface details.”

Rourke nodded. His face hardened. “It’s just, the idea of those other men...”

“You’ve had women,” K.C. replied quietly. “How is that different?”

Rourke looked vaguely disturbed. He turned away with a sigh. “Not so very, I suppose.”

“Tell Emilio hello for me,” K.C. said. “I knew him, a long time ago. Always liked the man. He’s not what you expect of a revolutionary.”

Rourke chuckled. “Not at all. He could make a fortune as a recording artist if he ever got tired of being President of Barrera. He can sing.”

“Indeed he can.”

Rourke turned at the door and looked back at the man who was the living image of what he’d be, in a few years.

He smiled. “When I get back, maybe you could take me to a ball game or something.”

K.C. picked up a chair cushion and threw it at him. “Get stuffed.”

Rourke just laughed. He picked up the cushion and tossed it back.

“You be careful over there,” K.C. added. “Sapara has friends, and he’s slippery. If he ever gets out of prison, you could be in trouble. He’s vindictive.”

“He won’t get out,” was the reply. “Just the same, it’s nice that my old man worries about me,” he added.

K.C. beamed. “Yes, he does. So don’t get yourself killed.”

“I won’t. Make sure you do the same.”

K.C. shrugged. “I’m invincible. I spent years as a merc and I’ve still got most of my original body parts.” He made a face as he moved his shoulder. “Some of them aren’t up to factory standards anymore, but I get by.”

Rourke grinned. “Same here.” He searched K.C.’s hard face. “When?”

“When, what?”

“When do you want to do the paperwork?”

“Oh. The name change. Why not get it started tomorrow? Unless you’re leaving for Barrera early?”

“Not until Thursday,” Rourke replied. His face softened. “I’d like that.”

K.C. nodded.

Rourke went back to his room to start packing.

* * *

The paperwork was uncomplicated. The attorney was laughing like a pirate.

“I knew,” he said, glancing from one to the other. “It was so damned obvious. But I knew better than to mention it. Your old man,” he added, to Rourke, “packs a hell of a punch.”

Rourke fingered his jaw, where there was only a faint yellow bruise to remind him of his father’s anger when he’d accused him of being Tat’s real parent. “Tell me about it,” he laughed.

K.C. managed a bare smile. “I need to have a few classes in anger management, I guess,” he sighed.

“No, Dad,” Rourke said without realizing what he’d said, “you’ll do fine the way you are. A temper’s not a bad thing.”

K.C. was beaming. Rourke realized then what he’d said and his brown eye twinkled.

“Nice, the way that sounds, son,” K.C. said, and his chest swelled with pride.

“Very nice.”