Their Secret Son

“Stuffy?” Joe asked.

“That’s what Megan, my sitter, says. I’m not sure what it means, but I think it’s because he reminds her of my stuffed walrus.”

Kristin choked on a fry—uncomfortable with the table topic?—then cleared her throat. “Looks like I’m going to have to talk to Megan. I don’t think Dr. Dylan looks like Wally the Walrus.”

“He has that funny mustache,” Bobby reminded her. “And his chest and neck get all poochy when he talks.”

“You’ve always liked Dr. Dylan,” Kristin said. A blush on her cheeks suggested the conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn.

“I do.” Bobby looked at Joe and laughed. “I like Wally the Walrus, too.”

Joe couldn’t help but chuckle. He wondered whether he should correct the kid, but for what? Being honest? Having an opinion? Heck, he didn’t need to lay eyes on the guy to share the stuffed-walrus opinion.

Bobby pushed the remnants of his burger aside. “Can I go play now?”

“One more bite,” Kristin responded.

The boy complied, then dashed toward the multicolored climbing structure, leaving Joe and Kristin alone. Joe took the opportunity to learn more about Dr. Dylan, to find out how Kristin felt about the man. How deep their relationship went.

But only because the man might become his son’s stepfather, Joe told himself. That was the only reason. Yet he couldn’t ignore a tinge of envy.

“So, tell me about Dr. Wally.”

Kristin clicked her tongue. “Stop that. His name is Dylan. And he doesn’t look like a stuffed walrus.”

“Okay. Tell me about Dr. Dylan.”

She arched a brow. “Why do you want to know about him?”

“Just curious.”

She scrunched her nose, and Joe assumed she felt awkward discussing her new lover with her old one.

He supposed it felt kind of weird to him, too, but like a puppy with a brand-new slipper in his mouth, he couldn’t seem to leave it alone. “Is he good to you?”

She nodded. “And he’s good to Bobby, too. Although he says I’m too easy on him.”

“Are you?”

“Bobby seems to get into a lot of trouble, but sometimes I find it kind of funny. Or clever. The other day, he took the closet doors off the runner, leaned them against the shelf and made a slide in the bedroom.” She fiddled with the straw in her drink. “I scolded him, of course, but didn’t give him time-out.”

Joe’s old man would have found that reason to bounce Joe across the room. Kristin’s method of discipline seemed in line with his own.

“Dylan thought Bobby was being destructive. But the doors had already been broken, and I was waiting for the handyman to fix them. I thought Bobby was just bored. And a little creative.”

“I agree.” Joe reached across the table, took her hand in spite of his resolve not to get too touchy-feely. “Bobby’s a great kid, Kristin. You’ve done a good job raising him by yourself.”

He didn’t mention being sorry that he couldn’t have been there for her. Or that he placed a lot of the blame on her dad.

It was all water under the bridge now, he supposed, but the fact was, Joe didn’t like Thomas Reynolds any more than Thomas liked him. And Kristin would have eventually resented Joe for coming between her and her father.

As they nursed their chocolate milkshakes, drinks they’d shared in the past, Joe couldn’t help wondering how their lives would have turned out had he not buckled to her father’s demands and let Kristin go.

Would she have told him about the baby? Would they have run away and gotten married? Lived in a crummy apartment, the only place he would have been able to afford?

He shook off the curiosity. Kristin, who’d only known wealth and privilege, wouldn’t have been happy with the simple life Joe could provide. And even though his paycheck was now considerably larger than what it would have been eight years ago, what they once had was over and done.

His only concern was Bobby. For the boy’s future. And making sure he got to spend as much time as possible with his son.

“How long will you be in town?” Joe asked her.

“For the summer, I think. Assuming my dad’s health improves, I’ll return to the east coast when the new school year starts.”

That gave Joe some time to bond with his son, time to get to know him. Time to introduce him to the people who’d become his family. “The Logans are having a barbecue on Saturday. And I’m not working. Would it be all right if I took Bobby?”

“Of course,” she said. “The Logans are nice people. And I know how much they mean to you.”

“Great. I’ll pick him up about noon, if that’s all right.”

She cleared her throat. “I’ll bring him to your house, if you don’t mind.”

Joe crossed his arms and leaned back in the red vinyl seat. So that’s where she was coming from. Obviously, she still didn’t want Joe at her house, still didn’t want to chance him running into her dad.

Had time with his son not been at stake, Joe would have told her just what he thought of that damn suggestion to meet him. As it was, he swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and wrote the directions to his condominium complex on a napkin.

Her keeping things a secret wasn’t going to last for long. Joe wouldn’t let it. One of these days he’d force the issue and insist they tell their son the truth. Tell Bobby that Joe was his father. And that, from now on, his dad was going to be a big part of his life.

Then they’d tell Thomas Reynolds.

The blustery old goat might get red in the face and cuss a blue streak, but he didn’t scare Joe. Not anymore.

Joe didn’t want to see Thomas Reynolds suffer a heart attack but, quite frankly, the man should have learned to control his temper and his blood pressure years ago.

Bobby was a Davenport.

And as far as Joe was concerned, Kristin’s father could put that in his fancy pipe and smoke it.

Chapter Four

K ristin sat behind the wheel of her father’s white Town Car and glanced at the directions Joe had written on a crumpled napkin.

“How long will it take to get there?” Bobby asked from the back seat.

“Just a few more minutes, I think.” Kristin spotted the Playa del Sol condominiums up ahead and turned into the complex. She followed the roadway until it forked, then turned left, as Joe had instructed, and parked the car in one of the few visitor spaces she could find. “Well, this is it.”

She studied the white stucco building, the red, Spanish tile roofs.

“Which one is his?” Bobby asked.