His Secret Christmas Baby

He turned and watched as Brianna sped away, and anger began to simmer inside him. He’d never considered having a family, especially a child. Had never thought he’d be any good at it.

But if that baby boy was his, he’d find out.

B RIANNA WAS SHAKING AS SHE drove back to her house, but with the snow thickening, she forced herself to drive slowly and to avoid the dangerous patches of black ice.

What if Derrick was Ryan’s father?

Would he want the baby?

An ache rolled through her chest at the thought of having to give up the little boy she’d come to think of as her son. Yet at the same time, guilt pressed against her chest.

She loved Ryan and as his adoptive mother, she had to think about his future, to put him first. She’d never known her own father.

Didn’t Ryan have a right to know his, especially if the man wanted to be in the picture?

She parked, gathered Ryan from the backseat, rocking him as she rushed to her house and unlocked the door.

The wind sent the chimes into a soft musical symphony, her front porch swing swaying in the breeze. The wreath she’d hung on the door reminded her of the upcoming holiday, that this was a special time of year. Natalie had loved Christmas.

For Brianna, it had meant lonely nights, holidays without gifts, a reminder that her mother had dumped her on the doorstep of an orphanage and never looked back.

But Natalie had treated her like family, and her parents had included her in their family celebrations, making memories that had changed her life. She and Natalie had decorated cookies together as kids, had created handmade ornaments and strung popcorn for the tree.

Natalie would be missed.

Brianna would carry on those traditions with Natalie’s son, and make sure he knew his mother’s love.

Ryan’s cries escalated. She flipped on a light and rushed to get him a bottle. He calmed as he ate, and stared at the twinkling Christmas tree lights as if mesmerized by the bright colors. She had bought a crib for the spare bedroom, so she changed his diaper and settled him into the baby bed.

Exhausted herself, she went to her room across the hall, then pulled on warm flannel pj’s and climbed in bed.

But worry kept her tossing and turning for hours, her nights filled with memories of the orphanage and the friend who’d left her behind.

Then other images taunted her. Derrick’s big masculine body. Derrick looking at her with desire. Touching her. Wanting her. Making her his.

Finally she fell into a deep sleep, but a noise jarred her awake.

The baby crying…. He was probably hungry again.

She shoved the covers aside, jammed her feet into her slippers and pulled on her robe, then knotted it at the waist and shuffled across the hall.

Night shadows streaked the walls, then suddenly the silhouette of a man bled into view, and her heart pounded. He was in the nursery, leaning over the crib.

Panic shot through her. He was going to take Ryan!

Lunging into the room, she shouted at him to stop, but he scooped up the baby and turned toward her. He wore all black and a ski mask, the only visible part of him was his eyes. Dark eyes that bored into her like lasers.

“Put him down,” Brianna said. “Please just leave him alone. He’s just a baby….”

He stalked toward her, his hulking form menacing as he shoved her aside. She grabbed his arm to stop him and get Ryan, but he swung his fist up and slammed it into her face. Her head snapped back, but she sucked in a sharp breath, terror streaking through her as she ran after him.

He raced toward the stairs, and she clawed at his back and shoulders, but he jerked her arm and flung her down the steps. She hit the wall, bounced over the ridges of the staircase and landed in a puddle at the bottom of the steps, the room spinning.

Clutching the baby to him, he vaulted over her. Panicked, she grabbed wildly at his ankle, determined not to let him escape.

“Let go, you bitch.” With a snarl, he swung his foot back and slammed it into her nose. Blood spurted, pain rocked through her and the room swirled.

Choking on a sob, she struggled to crawl after him. But he kicked her again, and she lost the battle and collapsed into the darkness.

Her last thought before she passed out was filled with pure terror—she’d just lost Natalie’s son.

Chapter Two

Derrick jerked awake, sweating and panting for breath. Images of that last case had haunted him all night. He could still see that tiny grave, hear the father’s choked cry, the mother’s scream of denial.

That dream had blended into another—memories of his own father tormenting him as a kid, beating him to a bloody pulp, making him feel worthless.

He stood, wiped the sweat from his brow and went to the window. Daylight was barely dawning yet it was always night in his mind, night filled with dark thoughts of that case and the mess he’d made of it.

All because he’d let his past get in the way. Let himself believe the mother’s story that the kid’s father was abusing him. Easy to believe. It happened every day.

But in the end, he’d been wrong. The mother had been the abuser.

Her tears had fooled him.

Never again.

He had to stay detached.

The snow dotting the tree branches reminded him of Brianna holding that baby at the graveyard the night before. Of the question nagging at him.

Could that little boy be his son?

Hell, if he is, he’s probably better off without you. What do you know about fatherhood?

Zilch. Except that he didn’t want to be like his old man. And he didn’t want some kid thinking he’d deserted him, either.

What kind of mental scars would that give him?

Hissing in frustration, he strode to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes looked bloodshot, worry lines fanning around his mouth, the remnants of the nightmares still in his gaunt expression.

No, if that baby was his, he wouldn’t hurt him like his father had hurt him.

Dammit. He’d find a way to be the man, the father, the kid deserved, even if he had to take lessons to do it.

And damn Brianna. If she knew the baby was his son, why hadn’t she contacted him and told him?

Another woman—another deception. It seemed to be par for the course. Women liked to play games. But he was no player.