A Time to Forgive and Promise Forever (19 page)

Her soft mouth tightened. “I suggested tomorrow, and he said he'd think about it. I'd like to let him agree without pressuring him.”

Was she trying to get out of it? “I have a business to run, Miranda. Tomorrow after school. I'll be here.”

Her head came up, and she glared at him, then jerked a nod. “I'll talk to him about it.”

“Tomorrow after school. I'll see you then.”

He pushed away from the railing. He'd gotten what he'd come for. He had no reason to linger.

Miranda took a quick step, stopping him. “I said I'd talk to him, Tyler. I'm not going to force him to do something he doesn't want to, just because you're in a hurry.”

He swung toward her, and they stood only inches apart. He could read the expression in her eyes—she was wishing for distance between them. He reached out and caught her wrists in his hands, feeling smooth, warm skin and a pulse that thundered against his palms.

“It's already been his lifetime, Miranda. I won't wait.”

“Fine.” She jerked her hands free, and fierce
maternal love blazed in her face. “Just you be careful of what you say to him. If you hurt Sammy, I promise you, I'll make you regret you ever heard of Caldwell Cove.”

 

“Chocolate, vanilla or something more exotic?” Tyler lifted his eyebrow as he asked the question, and Miranda tried not to let that simple movement affect her. She was immune to Tyler Winchester's charm—she'd gotten there the hard way.

She concentrated on the list of flavors posted behind the counter in the ice-cream shop. “I'll have the peanut-butter ripple.”

Taking a walk through town with Sammy after school had been her idea. It seemed so much less intimidating than pushing the boy into a face-to-face interview with a father he didn't know.

She'd suggested to Sammy that they show Tyler around Caldwell Cove, not that there was much to see. The village still lay in a sedate crescent along the inland waterway, anchored by the inn at one end and Uncle Jeff's mansion at the other. The spire of St. Andrew's Church bisected the village. Little had changed since Tyler was here last, except for the new resort hotel down near the yacht club.

She had an ulterior motive for this walk. She wanted Tyler to understand that Sammy belonged here. Sammy's happiness didn't depend on anything his father could give him. Maybe when Tyler realized that, he could go away with a clear conscience.

Tyler handed Sammy a chocolate cone, then took a small vanilla for himself. Conservative, she thought. When had Tyler become conservative?

When he'd been drawn back into the Winchester way of life, probably. He'd slipped into his father's place as CEO of Winchester Industries, apparently forgetting that he'd ever had other dreams.

Concentrate on the present, she ordered herself. Don't succumb to the lure of the past.

They stepped onto the narrow street bordered by the docks, and she looked for an inspiration to give them something to talk about.

“Sammy, why don't you tell your father about the boatyard.”

Her son didn't seem too enthusiastic about his role as tour guide. He licked, then pointed with an ice-cream daubed finger toward the docks and storage sheds lining the quay.

“That's Cousin Adam's boatyard. He fixed Grandpa's fishing boat when the motor died.”

“Adam took all of us on the schooner for Pirate Days, remember?” she prompted.

Enthusiasm replaced the caution in Sammy's face as he turned to Tyler. “That was really cool. I got to help put up the sails and everything. Cousin Adam's going to give me sailing lessons this summer. He says me and Jenny are big enough to learn.”

“Jenny is Adam's little girl,” she explained. “You must remember Adam, don't you?”

“I remember Adam.” His expression suggested the memory wasn't a happy one. “As I recall, he,
um—” he glanced at Sammy “—suggested it would be better if I didn't see you.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm and hoped he'd attribute it to the March sunshine. “I didn't know that.” It made sense. Adam, Uncle Jefferson's older son, belonged to the rich branch of the family, the one that sometimes frequented the yacht club. He would have heard the rumors that his little cousin, who was supposed to be waiting tables at the club, was instead dating a wealthy summer visitor.

“Your ice cream is dripping.” Tyler reached out with a napkin and dabbed at her chin just as she ducked away from his touch. His fingers brushed her cheek instead, and her skin seemed to burn where they touched.

“I'll get it,” she said hurriedly, hoping the napkin she raised to her lips hid her confusion. She couldn't be reacting to Tyler. She was immune to him. Remember?

“Mine's getting away from me, too.” Tyler licked around the top of the cone, where the ice cream had begun a slow trail toward his fingers. “I'd forgotten how hot it can be on the island in March.”

“Summer's on its way,” she said, then regretted that she'd mentioned the season. Tyler wasn't to know it, but summer always brought back memories of him. She glanced at his face involuntarily, then wondered how often this adult version of her first love indulged in something as simple as an ice-cream cone.

Tyler licked a froth of vanilla from his lips, drawing her gaze. He'd always had a well-shaped mouth. He didn't smile as easily now as he had when
she'd known him, and she didn't think that was entirely due to current circumstances. Maybe Tyler didn't find much to smile about anymore.

It probably would be an excellent idea to stop looking at Tyler's lips. Next she'd be remembering how they felt on hers, and things could only get worse from there.

They strolled along the tabby sidewalk, uneven from the shells that formed part of the concrete, worn by a century or two of foot traffic. Live oaks shaded them, and Sammy hopped carefully over a crack in the walk.

Concentrate on what you're doing, she commanded herself. “Don't you want to tell your father about your school?” she asked.

Sammy flicked a faintly rebellious look toward her. “That's it.” He waved at the white frame building, set in its grove of palmettos, that had served the island's children for over a hundred years. “I'm almost done with second grade.”

“Looks as if the building's been there a hundred years.” Tyler said just what she'd been thinking, but it didn't seem complimentary when he said it.

“It's a good school.” She hoped she didn't sound defensive. What if Tyler thought his son should go away to some private academy? The idea turned her ice cream to ashes.

“Equipped with the latest in chalkboards, no doubt.”

She felt diminished by his sarcasm, and that angered her. “Our classrooms have computers. We're not exactly living in the dark ages here.”

“I like my school.” Sammy stopped, frowning at Tyler with an expression so like his father's it nearly stopped her heart. “You shouldn't put it down just because it's not new and fancy.”

Tyler looked baffled, and little wonder. He probably hadn't expected Sammy to pick up on the byplay between adults.

She was tempted to let him stew, but she couldn't. If she didn't take pity on Tyler's efforts with Sammy, she would only hurt her son.

“Why don't we have a game of catch.” She nodded toward the playground where island children had played under the spreading branches of the live oaks for years. “I brought the ball.” She pulled it from her bag and tossed it to Tyler, stepping onto the grass.

He caught it automatically. “I don't think…”

She frowned him to silence. Didn't he see she was trying to help him? “Sammy wants to play T-ball this summer. I'll bet he could use some practice.”

“Sure. Right.” He swallowed the last of his cone and threw the ball to Sammy, then patted an imaginary glove. “Throw it in here, Sammy.”

Sammy lobbed it to Miranda instead. She didn't miss the quick flare of irritation on Tyler's face. Well, he couldn't expect this to be simple, could he?

Temptation whispered in her ear again. It would be so easy to be sure Sammy didn't warm up to his father. So easy, and so wrong. Even if it insured that Tyler would go away, she couldn't do it.

Her throw went a little high, and Sammy had to
reach for it. He wore a surprised look when he came down with the ball.

“Good catch, Sammy.” Tyler's voice had just the right amount of enthusiasm. Sammy responded with a cautious smile.

Tyler blinked, his face softening with the effect of that smile. Her eyes stung with tears, and she was grateful for the sunglasses that shielded them. Tyler didn't need to know that it moved her to see Sammy playing with his father.

That wasn't the purpose of this little excursion, remember? You're supposed to be showing Tyler what a happy life Sammy has here so he'll soothe his conscience and go away.

Tyler's comments about getting back to his business had confirmed what she'd already suspected—he'd turned into the same driven businessman his father had been. She'd known that would happen when he'd insisted they move back to Baltimore after his father's death.

Their dreams of settling down on the island and starting a small business had vanished like the mist. Tyler hadn't had time for that. Now the CEO of Winchester Industries probably didn't like to take time for a simple game of catch.

“Try it this way.” Tyler walked over to Sammy, reaching toward him to correct his throw.

Sammy jerked away. “I don't want to.”

“Sammy,” she began, but what could she say? Be polite to the father you've never seen before didn't seem to cover it.

Her son frowned, first at her, then at Tyler. “Why do you want to play ball now? You never even wanted to see me before.”

Miranda's heart thudded. There it was, the question she didn't want to answer. But she didn't have a choice.

She couldn't look at Tyler. She didn't even want to meet her son's eyes, but she forced herself to. “Sammy, that's not fair.”

“It is, too.” His fists curled. “He could've come, but he didn't.”

“No, he couldn't.” She felt Tyler's gaze on her.

“Why not?” Sammy demanded.

Truth time was here, and she wasn't ready for it. She had to be. “Your daddy didn't know about you.”

Her son stared at her.

She licked dry lips. “I never told your father about you.” She reached a hand toward Sammy, but he took a step back. “Sugar, I thought it was best.”

The words sounded feeble to her own ears. Hurt and accusation battled in Sammy's face. As for Tyler…she could almost think that was pity in Tyler's eyes.

“I
have a proposition for you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Miranda realized she could have phrased it better. Standing in the doorway to Tyler's hotel room that evening had rattled her so much that she didn't know what she was saying.

“A proposition?” Tyler looked as startled at her words as she probably did. “In that case, I guess you'd better come in.”

Clutching her bag with cold fingers, she stepped inside. They could hardly discuss Sammy's relationship with his father at the house, where her son would wonder what they were talking about. Any public place was out of the question.

Tyler crossed the room to switch on another lamp against the darkness that pressed against the sliding glass balcony doors, giving her a moment to collect herself. She took in the sweep of plush, sand-colored carpet, the pale walls and the cream furniture with
pastel floral upholstery. Dalton Resorts knew how to treat their wealthy guests.

“I haven't been in the hotel before. It's quite…elegant.” It was certainly the antithesis of the Dolphin Inn, but people who could afford this wouldn't be staying at the inn anyway.

Tyler looked at her, hand still on the cream pottery lamp. He had traded the casual shirt and khakis he'd worn for the meeting with Sammy for a white dress shirt, open at the throat, and dark trousers. Maybe the dining room in the hotel required formal attire. Or maybe that was just how he felt comfortable now.

“I thought your brother-in-law worked for Dalton.”

“Luke did start out with Dalton, and he helped pick the site for the hotel.” Her brother-in-law had been a driven businessman, too, before her sister, Chloe, brought out a different side to him. “He and Chloe are running the youth center in Beaufort now.”

“That's quite a change.” He strolled toward her, and she had the sense that he wasn't in the least interested in what Chloe and Luke were doing. He was wondering what had brought her here tonight.

“Yes, well, they're happy.” Chloe and Luke's love was so bright that it almost hurt to look at them.

Tyler stopped, a bit too close for comfort, and she glanced past him. He'd converted an oval glass-topped table to a makeshift desk. It was littered with papers and centered with a sleek laptop computer.

“I see you've been working.”

He followed the direction of her gaze, frowning.
“Business doesn't stop just because I'm out of the office. We have an important deal coming up soon.”

The fact that he couldn't even get away from Winchester Industries for two days gave her a surge of confidence. Her plan to deal with this situation was dangerous, but it would work. It had to.

Tyler turned to her, still frowning. A lock of dark brown hair had fallen over his forehead, the only thing even faintly disarranged about his appearance. Had he run his hand through his hair in frustration over being tied here when his business was in Baltimore?

“How is Sammy?”

She took a breath, trying to think of Sammy without pain. She'd let him down so badly.

“He's doing all right,” she said carefully. “All this has been hard enough on him, without finding out—” She stopped, started again. “I should have told him the truth about you long ago. I was wrong.”

She waited for him to say she should have told him, too, but he didn't. She could almost imagine she saw sympathy in his eyes.

“Do you think he understands why you didn't?”

“I don't know.” Sammy's small face appeared in her mind's eye. “As much as an seven-year-old can, I guess. He forgives, even if he doesn't understand.”

He studied her face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You wanted…” His tone made it a question.

She looked at him blankly, realizing that she'd been staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. Or as if she'd never see him again.

He lifted an eyebrow, something that might have been amusement flickering in his face. “You have a proposition for me, remember?”

“Oh. Yes.”

He had to be deliberately attempting to make her nervous. There was no other reason for him to be standing so close, taking up all the air in the room.

Concentrate. This idea will work, won't it?
Please, Lord.

“You said this afternoon that you want to be a part of Sammy's life.” It frightened her just to say the words. “You must realize that you have to get to know Sammy before that can happen.”

She expected him to bring up again the fact that it was her fault he didn't know Sammy, but he nodded. “I realize that. I don't want to rush him. But I'm not going to disappear.”

She clasped her hands together, trying to find a core of strength inside. “This can't be a halfway thing, Tyler. I won't let Sammy be hurt by it.”

“I'm not looking to hurt the boy.” He sounded impatient. “So what is this idea of yours?”

Now or never. She had to say it.

“You stay here, on the island, for one month.” She swept on before he could interrupt. “You can move into the inn, so you'll see Sammy every day. Then—” She breathed a silent prayer. “Then we can make arrangements together for you to be a real parent to him.”

“Stay here?” He made Caldwell Island sound like the outermost reaches of the earth, and his firm
mouth tightened even more. “I can't do that. I have a business to run.”

That was what she'd thought he'd say, but even so, the words made her heart clench. Tyler would see how impossible this was, that was the important thing.

“I'm not trying to be unreasonable.” She nodded toward the computer. “You can stay connected, go back to Baltimore for a day or two if you have to. Surely even the CEO gets some vacation time.”

“I can't run a business that way, especially not now.” His dismissal was quick. “Sammy can come to Baltimore to get to know me.”

Fear flared and had to be extinguished. “Sammy isn't a package, to be sent back and forth when you have time for him. If you want to be his father, you have to realize that. You getting acquainted with him needs to happen here, where he feels safe.”

His eyes narrowed. “Suppose I just start legal action. You can't keep me from my son.”

The thought of facing a phalanx of ruthless Winchester lawyers made her quake, but she held her voice steady. “And have our private quarrel splashed all over the papers? I don't think you'd like that. And I don't think a family court judge would look favorably on a father who won't take a few weeks to get acquainted with his son.”

Something that might have been surprise flickered in his eyes. “You've grown up, Miranda.”

“I've had to.”

“What you ask is impossible. You must know that.”

It wouldn't have been impossible for the man he'd
been at twenty-one, but she couldn't say that, and maybe it wasn't even true. Maybe she hadn't really known the man she'd married.

She had to say the hard thing and end this now, before it damaged Sammy. Tyler's sense of duty to the child he'd fathered had brought him here, but his sense of duty to the company would take him away again.

“If you can't get away from your business for something this important, maybe you're not meant to be a father.”

Tyler didn't answer. He couldn't. She had known all along how this would turn out, but still pain clenched her very soul. She turned away.

He grasped her arm, pulling her around to face him. At his touch, her treacherous heart faltered. She forced herself to look at him, her gaze tangling with his. Her breath caught in her throat, and for an instant she thought his eyes darkened.

“I know a challenge when I hear one, Miranda.” His voice lowered to a baritone rumble. “I've managed too many business deals not to know when someone's making an offer they think I won't accept.”

“I don't—”

His grip tightened. His intense gaze was implacable. “Get a room ready for me. I'm moving in tomorrow.”

 

This was certainly a far cry from the elegance of the Dalton Resort Hotel. Tyler tossed his suitcase onto the patchwork quilt that adorned the four-poster bed in the room to which Miranda had shown him. He glanced around, wondering if he'd made a hasty
decision the previous night. Did he really propose to run Winchester Industries from this small room on an island in the middle of nowhere?

He strode to the east window and snapped up the shade, letting sunlight stream across wide, uneven floorboards dotted with oval hooked rugs. Someone had put a milk-glass vase filled with dried flowers on the battered, rice-carved bureau, and the faint aroma seemed a ghost of last summer's flowers.

Well, there was a phone jack, at least. With that, something to use for a desk and enough electrical outlets, he ought to be able to make this work if he wanted to.

Maybe that was the question. Did he want to do this? He frowned at what seemed to be a kitchen garden. The small patch of lawn, crisscrossed with clotheslines, couldn't be intended for the use of guests. Beyond it was some sort of shed, then the pale green-gold of the marsh grasses. A white heron stood, knee-deep, waiting motionless for something.

Tyler assessed his options, trying to weigh them as if this were any business deal that had come up unexpectedly. In a business deal, the first step would be to research what was being offered. He grimaced. Miranda wasn't exactly offering him anything. As for research—well, he didn't need a DNA test to confirm what he knew in his bones. Sammy was his son.

He could stay. That meant subjecting himself to the uncertain welcome of Miranda's family and trying to figure out how to be a father under Miranda's no doubt critical gaze. Then, assuming he
could gain Sammy's acceptance, he'd face the tricky task of working out long-distance custody arrangements between Baltimore and Caldwell Cove and he'd commit himself to being a significant part of Sammy's life for—well, forever.

He shoved the window up, letting the breeze that bent the marsh grasses billow the ruffled curtains. The alternative was to leave. Go back to Baltimore, take up life as it had been. He could afford generous child support, the best schools, anything material his son needed. He could satisfy his conscience without getting emotionally involved.

“Is everything all right?” Miranda paused in the doorway, clutching an armload of white towels against the front of a green T-shirt with a dolphin emblazoned on it.

No, Miranda, nothing's been all right since that photo of Sammy landed on my desk. Miranda was undoubtedly talking about the room, not his inner struggle.

“Fine.”

“You looked as if you might be having second thoughts about this, now that you've seen the accommodations.” She put the towels on the edge of the bureau.

“The accommodations are fine.”

“If you want to change your mind—”

“I don't,” he said shortly, trying to ignore the fact that he'd been thinking just that. He'd better concentrate on the room instead of noticing how well those faded jeans fit her slim figure. “I need something to
use for a desk. A table would work, if you have one to spare. If not, I'll go out and buy one.”

“No need. I'll find something.”

She shoved a strand of hair from her eyes. He found himself thinking that its color was nearer mahogany than auburn and then told himself that it didn't matter in the least what color Miranda's hair was. She vanished before he could say anything, her quick footsteps receding down the hallway.

All right, he needed some rules if he were actually going to stay here. The first one had to be no staring at Miranda. And the second one better be no remembering the past.

He heard her coming before he could decide on rule three. Something thumped against the wall. He reached the door to see Miranda backing toward him, holding one end of a rectangular oak table. Her mother, wearing a dolphin T-shirt also, wrestled with the other end. He sprang to help them.

“Mrs. Caldwell, let me take that.”

Sallie Caldwell surrendered her grip, giving him a smile too like her daughter's for comfort. “I'm afraid the table doesn't match the rest of the furniture, but Miranda said that didn't matter.”

Miranda had probably said that if he didn't like it he could lump it.

“It'll work.” He guided the heavy table through the doorway, finding it necessary to remind himself again not to let his gaze linger on Miranda's face. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, either from exertion or because she had indeed said what he imagined.

Miranda helped him position the makeshift desk near the window. Then, as if she thought she'd spent enough time in his company for one day, she retreated to the doorway where her mother waited.

“If there's anything else you need, just let us know.” Sallie Caldwell put her arm around her daughter's waist with easy affection as she smiled at him. She had Miranda's bronze hair, streaked with gray.

“I will.” He tried without success to imagine his mother letting gray appear in her hair or wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt.

“We'll try to make you comfortable while you're here.”

They all knew there was nothing comfortable about any of this. Still, he sensed that Miranda's mother meant what she said. There was no artifice about her—just the same unselfconscious natural beauty her daughter had.

“Thank you, Mrs. Caldwell. The room will work just fine.”

If I stay. The words whispered in his mind as the Caldwell women vanished down the hall.

His cell phone rang, and he flipped it open. Probably Henry, responding to the message he'd left at the office. But it wasn't his assistant—it was his brother.

“Henry's secretary passed your message on to me. He's out of the office. What's going on?” Curiosity filled Josh's voice.

“Out of the office where?” What was reliable Henry doing out of the office when he'd left him in charge?