The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret

Byron was rocking Percy, whose eyes were half closed. “Hi,” he said when she entered the room.

Despite it all, she smiled at him. To see him holding Percy—she had dreamed of this moment.

This was what she’d wanted before that horrible night when it’d all fallen apart. For the months they’d been seeing each other, she’d thought about Byron being a father—being a husband. Helping with the babies, because of course they’d have children together. She and Byron were different than their families. Better. Electric. They were going to love each other for the rest of their lives.

Then he’d left before she’d gotten the chance to tell him she was pregnant and Leona had put those old dreams away.

She couldn’t help it. Part of her still wanted those dreams, even knowing how much of a Beaumont he was.

But that vision of them growing old together was just that—a vision.

It could never happen.

Five (#ulink_64587159-c750-5ab8-a348-178d33ca1130)

Byron’s head was a mess as Leona took the boy—his son!—from him. No, mess was too generous a word for the muddle of emotions and thoughts all struggling to be heard.

He had a son—that was the first thing he had to make sense of. He had a son and Leona hadn’t told him. She had lied to him again—maybe he shouldn’t be so damned surprised. After all, she’d had no problem hiding her family from him before. Why was it so shocking that she would hide his son from him now?

It was obvious she loved the boy. She’d been sweet and gentle with him and this thing right now—nursing—was obviously something they did every night.

Byron walked back into the main part of the apartment. The place wasn’t fancy—a standard apartment with beige walls, beige carpeting and beige countertops in the kitchen. A set of patio doors indicated that there was a small deck outside. There were a few pictures on the wall, all of May and Leona and Percy. Mostly of Percy. None of Byron. But then, why should there be?

He realized he was standing in the kitchen, opening the cabinets, drawers and the fridge, looking for something to cook. He always retreated to the kitchen when he was upset, even when he’d been a little kid.

Cooking was predictable. There was comfort in the routine. If he followed the recipe, he knew how the dish would turn out.

Leona had apples. Byron could make applesauce. There—that was a good plan. That was him taking care of his son. Everyone had to eat.

He peeled the apples and got them simmering in the pot. Then he debated the ingredients—would Percy like cinnamon or would it be too strong for him? Would Leona want the applesauce to be unsweetened? In the end, Byron went with a little lemon juice to brighten the flavor.

As he cooked, he tried to think. Why hadn’t she told him? It wasn’t as though he’d gone off the grid. Yes, he’d been in Europe but he’d been findable. Frances, at least, had always known where he was. He’d kept his email address. He hadn’t disappeared. Hell, even a birth announcement would have been okay, but there’d been nothing. Just another lie.

He needed answers—and while he was thinking about it, he still needed to know why she thought he’d left her and what did she mean, she and her sister had “gotten away from” their father?

She’d gone with her father. Leon Harper was her father and she hadn’t told Byron that truth. And when Harper had demanded Leona come with him, she had. She’d left Byron standing on the sidewalk, in the rain, his heart in shards at his feet.

If she’d dumped him, he could have dealt with it. He might have still wound up in Europe, but if she’d said “Gee, Byron, this just isn’t working, we should see other people, it’s not you, it’s me and we can still be friends” or whatever, he’d have moved on.

But she’d lied to him. She was the daughter of the man who was hell-bent on destroying Byron and his entire family. By all accounts, the man was doing a hell of a job at it, too. The brewery—a hundred and sixty-six years of Beaumont history and ownership—was gone, all because of Leon Harper. And his daughters.

Byron knew what betrayal looked like. He knew his father had cheated on his wives. He knew that at least one of the ex-wives had cheated on Hardwick. Byron knew there was always a risk that any relationship could go wrong. The Beaumonts didn’t have exclusive rights to dysfunctional marriages.

But when he’d been with Leona, he’d managed to convince himself that he was different. That they were different. Byron and Leona had loved each other.

Or had they?

She’d lied to him before. Twice. Was she lying again? Even if she was, would he be able to tell the difference?

Apples were not going to solve that mystery. He had more pressing issues to deal with.

Percy was his son. Byron wanted to be there for the boy, to let Percy know that Byron loved him in the big ways and the little ways. All the ways Byron’s own father had never loved Byron.

But how was that going to happen? He was still living in the mansion—he didn’t even have his own place. And getting a restaurant off the ground wasn’t a nine-to-five job, that was for damned sure. Not now, not ever. How could he make sure he was a part of Percy’s life?

The sauce was halfway done when Leona came into the kitchen. She was wearing leggings and a T-shirt but there was still something about her. There’d always been something about her.

“Ah,” she said when she saw the bubbling apples. She gave him a small smile. “I should have known.”

“Applesauce. For Percy,” he explained. “Just apples and a little lemon. I didn’t know if cinnamon would be too much for him.”

“It smells wonderful. He loves apples.”

They stood there silently for a minute.

“It’s not a big batch. Do you have a container for it?”

Leona dug out a plastic bowl and Byron moved all the dirty dishes to the sink. Yes, he needed answers. But honestly? He had no idea where to start. So he didn’t. He did the dishes instead.

The uncomfortable silence lingered for a few more minutes as he washed the knife and the cutting board. Leona dried. Finally, she broke the silence.

“We should come up with a plan, I guess.”

“A plan?”

“Yes. If you’re really going to stay—”

“I am,” he interrupted, stung by the insinuation that he’d bolt.

“Then we need a plan.” She swallowed, her gaze focused on the sink. “A custody plan. I know I can’t keep Percy from you, but I’m not going to just give up custody.”

“You already kept him from me.” She winced but he refused to feel bad for her. “And I didn’t say you had to give up custody. But why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “Why did you keep this from me?”

“I thought...” She dropped the dish towel on the counter and turned away from him. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. Your phone was disconnected and you were in Europe—pretty damned far away from here.”

That was true. But it was the way she said it that confused him. He looked at the back of her head as if he could peer inside and find the answers he was looking for. “You could have sent an email.”

“I could have,” she agreed. Her shoulders heaved with a massive sigh. “I should have. But I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

She turned to him, her wide eyes even wider. “Of you, Byron. Of all the Beaumonts.”

He gaped at her. Before he could remind her that he was not the one who’d lied, she went on, “And we left home with only as much as we could carry, and I had to get a job. Being pregnant wasn’t as fun as it seems on television and May had classes and...and you weren’t here. And I guess I convinced myself that you weren’t coming back and it was just me and May and Percy on our own. It was better that way. We didn’t need anyone else.”

He dried off his hands and placed them on her shoulders. “I could have helped. Even if...even if I didn’t come back, I still could have helped. Child support or whatever. You shouldn’t have had to do this on your own.”

She dropped her head and he heard her sniff. “Well, you’re here now. I can’t change what happened in the past but if you’re going to stay—”