Dad By Choice

“The Maitlands all like to read, sir. Some of the books here are over two hundred years old,” Harold told him. “About the refreshments?” A gray brow rose.

Kyle shook his head, still looking around. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

Harold remained standing where he was. “It might be a while, sir.”

Kyle looked at the man, feeling as if he had been given a subtle hint. “In that case, make it a scotch. Neat.”

A small smile played along the very thin lips. “We’re never messy here, sir.” With that, Harold turned and discreetly faded, more than walked, from the room. He closed the doors behind him.

Was that for privacy, or to seal him in? Kyle had a feeling it was the latter.

Over the years Kyle had found that the kind of books people kept on their shelves gave him useful insight into the people themselves. So, with nothing else to do, he began reading the lettering along the leather spines.

CHAPTER FOUR

ABBY EASED THE DOORS shut behind her. “Sorry I’m late, everybody.” She went no further with her excuse. There was no point, for the moment. Kyle McDermott’s presence in the house had no bearing on this meeting.

Her mother was on the sofa, with Beth and Ellie on either side of her. Like a tribunal, Abby thought, amused at the image. Both girls looked like a younger version of their mother. Photographs of Megan Maitland at twenty-five bore that out.

Crossing to her mother, Abby bent and kissed Megan’s cheek. “So, did I miss anything?” She purposely infused her voice with a cheeriness she didn’t quite feel.

“Nothing more than the rest of us,” R.J. told her tersely. His glass empty, he turned toward the decanter on the bar for a refill.

He was drinking his whiskey straight tonight, Abby noted. R.J. rarely drank at all. Was the unexpected appearance of this baby responsible? Or was it just, as in her case, general tension that forced him to seek any kind of relief?

Anna, the oldest of the Maitland daughters, came up behind her to hand her a glass of wine.

Abby shook her head, passing. “I have that and I’ll fall asleep before anyone says anything.”

“I doubt that.”

Nonetheless, Anna set the glass down on the bar and picked up her own goblet of wine. She looked around the room, her eyes coming to rest on Megan. Though they didn’t share the same blood, no daughter could love a mother more, Abby thought.

Though obviously worried about how this would all effect Megan, Anna struggled to force a brave smile to her lips. “I doubt any of us will get much sleep for at least the next few days to come.”

Megan drew herself up, bracing for the unpleasant task before her.

“I think we should get to the heart of this matter as quickly as possible, and I felt it was something we needed to do in person.” Her eyes swept over her children. They were a close unit, and nothing was going to change that. “As uncomfortable as this is for me to ask, is either one of you responsible for this child?”

Her gaze came to rest on R.J. and Mitchell. She’d always liked to believe that she was a good mother, a kind mother, with an endless supply of love, understanding and support for all her children. Because of this, she required—and got—nothing but the truth from them.

She wanted the truth now.

R.J. cleared his throat and regarded his drink. The slight hint of color that rose to Mitchell’s face aroused Megan’s curiosity. Older than Abby by two years, Mitchell had gone into science. Now a fertility specialist, he had, like his siblings, dedicated his talents to the clinic.

Megan began with him. “Mitchell?”

He shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips, a touch of embarrassment in his eyes. “Not me, Mother. In fact, this isn’t the kind of thing that a fertility specialist would like to have get around, but I haven’t been with a woman for over a year.” He took the last sip of his drink, then put the glass down. “The only way that baby is mine is if there’s been another case of divine intervention.”

Megan shifted her gaze to R.J.

He looked more than mildly uncomfortable, Abby thought. Just as he had earlier this morning. Was that guilt, or only R.J.’s displeasure at having the family name dragged through the mud?

“It’s not mine,” he finally said. But his voice didn’t carry its customary conviction.

Beth exchanged a look with Ellie, but neither said a word. And then Mitchell said aloud what they were all thinking. “That leaves us with Jake.”

“If the baby really is a Maitland, then Jake’s the most likely candidate,” Abby reluctantly agreed. Jake was her younger brother and she loved him dearly, but there was no denying that he’d distanced himself from the family. He was the only one—other than Anna, who was a wedding planner—who didn’t work for the family in some capacity. “Nobody knows where he is.”

“Or what he does for a living,” Anna added. Jake was the family’s man of mystery, slipping in and out of their lives like an evening breeze.

“No,” Megan pointed out, “that doesn’t leave us with only Jake.” The others all turned to look at her. “Of course, he’s a strong possibility, but there are other Maitland men to consider, if in name only.”

R.J.’s expression brightened a little, and if Abby hadn’t known any better, she would have said he looked almost hopeful.

“You mean Connor, don’t you?” he asked.

They all knew about Connor O’Hara, though not even their mother had seen him since he’d been a boy of three. Connor was the adopted son of their father’s sister, Clarise, and her husband, Jack. The O’Hara family had become estranged from the rest of the Maitlands after a petty misunderstanding between William and Jack some forty-three years ago. Since then, there had been no contact between the families, not even after William’s death.

Megan inclined her head. “Yes, and there’s one more possibility.” It pained her to bring this up because she wasn’t sure how the reminder might affect R.J. and Anna, but they had to be aware of all avenues and take them into consideration. “We don’t know what became of your father’s brother, Robert. He might have remarried or at least had more children—we just don’t know.”

Tactfully, she refrained from saying that he was actually R.J. and Anna’s father. Younger than William and far less stable, Robert had abandoned his two children after the death of his wife. William, with his large heart, had taken them in. R.J. and Anna became their first two children, to be followed by five more.

“So, why don’t we hire a detective?” Beth suggested. “Start finding things out?”

Megan thought of the secrets that might be uncovered, secrets that would make them even more vulnerable to the invading press. She really didn’t want to go that route—not yet. Not until it was absolutely necessary.

“I’ll look into it,” she promised evasively, temporarily calling a halt to that line of conversation. At the moment there was something even more important to consider. “All right, for the time being, let’s proceed as if this baby actually is a Maitland. We’ll keep him at Maitland Maternity for as long as possible.”

“Which won’t be too long,” Abby pointed out. “Ford said the baby is in perfect health.” Her mother knew as well as she did what that meant. “Social services will be coming for him.”

Unconsciously, Megan straightened her shoulders. “Leave social services to me.”

They all knew their mother was more than equal to taking on any agency and coming out on top, never deviating from the rules of fair play. Unfortunately, the social agency wasn’t the immediate thorn in their side.

“But how do we stop people like that Markum woman?” R.J. asked.

“We don’t stop them,” Megan told him. “We ignore them. Breeding will win out in the end.”

Abby wished that the situation were as simple as it seemed to her mother. She exchanged glances with her twin sisters. She could see they were of like mind. “In a perfect world, Mother.”

Megan remained unfazed. “Honesty and discretion will work in any situation, Abby.”

Anna raised her brow in feigned amusement. “Littering doorsteps with unwanted babies is hardly honest or discreet.”

Abby took exception to Anna’s choice of words. “I don’t think the baby isn’t wanted. Otherwise, the mother wouldn’t have written ‘Please take care of him until I can again.’ She would have just written, ‘Here, take care of him, I can’t.’”

“Abby has a point,” Ellie agreed.