Authors: Barbara McCauley

Secret Baby Santos (2 page)

BOOK: Secret Baby Santos

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Nick Santos, with his heart-stopping smile and his take-your-breath-away eyes. He'd been in countless magazine articles, photographed at celebrity parties, hounded by the tabloids in search of dirt outside the motorcycle racing track.

But there was one article she remembered above all the rest. The paternity suit he'd been involved in five years ago. There'd been pictures of him beside a beautiful blonde and a caption that read: Santos Soon to Be a Daddy? The Courts Will Decide.

He'd eventually won that case, his lawyer proving that the woman had lied and was simply looking for some easy money. But the battle had been nasty, as well as highly publicized, and no stone in Nick's life had been left unturned: his alcoholic mother who'd abandoned him when he was ten, an abusive stepfather, his year at Wolf River's County Home for Boys when he was fourteen, and his close, lifelong friendship with Lucas Blackhawk and Killian Shawnessy. Nick's life had been an open book to the world.

And still he'd smiled through it all, refusing to talk about his past or the court case with reporters, but dazzling them nonetheless with his wit and charm. He was smooth, but rough enough around the edges to make women sigh with pleasure and men grunt with approval.

And he was back. God help her, he was back.

She drew in another long, slow breath and stepped out of the car. Her knees still felt shaky, but she was determined not to let her parents see that anything was wrong. When she let herself in the front door, the smell of roast beef filled the house. If there was one thing her mother loved to do besides talk it was cook.

“Margaret, you're back so soon.” Her mother came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishrag. In spite of her compulsive need to feed everybody who entered the house, Angela Smith was trim herself, a pretty brunette with warm brown eyes and a flashing smile. “Did you find everything all right? That new
stock boy George hired has moved everything around so that my head spins just looking for a loaf of bread. Last week it took me ten minutes to find the prune juice. Which reminds meâ” she turned toward the living room “âBoyd, have you had your glass today?”

Maggie's father grunted from behind the newspaper he was reading. Bandages circled the knee of one swollen white leg, which he'd propped up on the ottoman of his easy chair, but his blue-plaid bathrobe sufficiently covered the rest of him.

Maggie realized she hadn't bought one thing. How could she have gone grocery shopping after seeing Nick? “I...lost the list you gave me. I'll have to go back.”

“Never you mind, honey. There's nothing that won't keep till tomorrow. Dinner's almost ready.” Her mother frowned. “You look a little pale, dear. Is anything wrong?”

“No, nothing. Of course not. I'm fine, just fine.”

Not wanting her mother to see the lie, Maggie turned away quickly and set her purse on the entry table. Angela Smith knew everything that went on in Wolf River. Hadn't her mother told her, in detail, about Helen Burnette's divorce? About Susan Meyers's argument with Phyllis White over her poodle's constant barking? About Ralph Hennesy's fender bender with Walt Johnson?

How could she tell her all those things and never once mention that Nick Santos was living here again? The man was a celebrity, for God's sake.

Maybe Nick wasn't really living here, Maggie reasoned. Maybe he was just visiting Lucas Blackhawk. Maggie knew that Lucas had married Julianna Hadley
a few months back and that Nick had been the best man. Her parents had been invited to the wedding reception, almost everyone in town had been. Her mother had talked endlessly about Lucas and Julianna and what a wonderful couple they made. But when she'd made a fuss over how handsome Nick had looked in his suit, how charming he'd been when he'd asked her to dance, Maggie had quickly made an excuse and hung up the phone. She couldn't talk to her mother about Nick. She couldn't.

She couldn't talk to anyone about Nick. Ever.

“Sweetheart, are you sure you're all right?”

Maggie realized that she'd been staring blankly into the mirror over the entry table, and that her mother was watching her now, her eyes narrowed with concern.

“Just a little jet lag, Mom.” She turned and gave her mother a hug. “I'll go check on Drew, then put the potatoes on.”

“Drew hasn't budged from the video you put on before you left, and the potatoes are already boiling. Oh, and that reminds me. Miss Perry, the preschool director from the elementary school called. They have an opening if you'd like to take Drew in on Monday.”

Thank goodness for that, Maggie thought. A fouryear-old with too much time on his hands was like a tornado waiting to touch down. He'd be much happier playing with other children, and she'd be more sane. At least, she'd thought she would be, until she'd run into Nick. Keeping her sanity now was going to be much more difficult.

“You go rest up.” Her mother was already scooting her toward her old bedroom. “I'll call you when dinner is ready.”

Maybe she would rest a little, Maggie thought. A
few minutes alone would give her enough time to pull herself together again. Seeing Nick had been a fluke, an unfortunate coincidence. He was probably just passing through town and stopped to say hello to Lucas. And even if he did stick around for a few days, Wolf River wasn't all
that
small. The odds of running into him again were practically non-existent.

That thought eased the tightness in her shoulders. She could only imagine what he must think of her after her insane behavior in the market. No doubt he thought she was a crazy lady escaped from the funny farm.

Fine. Let him think she was crazy. As long as she didn't have to see him again, he could think whatever he wanted.

On her way to the bedroom, Maggie leaned over and brushed her father's whisker-rough cheek with her lips. He'd retired only six months ago from his foreman construction job and he'd had way too much time on his hands. Even after thirty-six years of marriage, her mother, who had the patience of a saint, was ready to murder the man. And if he'd been a pain-in-the-behind before, since his surgery, he'd been twice as gruff. As far as patients went, he was somewhere between Oscar the Grouch and Attila the Hun. “Can I get you anything, Daddy?”

“Sneak me a shot of whisky and a cigar,” he said in his deep gravelly voice without looking up from his paper. “There's cash in it for you.”

“Money won't do me any good if I'm dead. Mom says no alcohol or tobacco while you're recuperating, and if she so much as catches a whiff of either on your breath, she'll bruise both our behinds.”

His response was something between a growl and a grunt. He simply snapped his paper and mumbled
something about overbearing wives and ungrateful children.

At the sound of the doorbell, she straightened.

“Would you get that for me, Maggie?” her mother called from the kitchen. “Jim Becker's stopping by with a set of crutches for your father. He's supposed to be up walking by the end of the week.”

Maggie smiled when her father only buried his head deeper into his paper. Getting a six-foot, two-hundredpound, stubborn man walking was no stroll in the park, but if anyone could do it, Maggie knew her mother could.

Other than running into Nick at the market, it felt good to be home. The scent of a roast baking, the sound of her mother's humming from the kitchen, even her father with his nose in the paper. She missed all that. Life had gotten too crazy these past few years. She hadn't even realized it until this minute just how crazy.

She was going to enjoy her time here, she resolved. Enjoy her time with Drew and her parents. She'd put the past behind her a long time ago; it no longer existed. There was only here and now.

The doorbell rang again and when she opened the door the past she'd put behind her stood on her parents' doorstep, staring back at her with eyes as black and deep as a forest at midnight.

Two

N
ick couldn't remember when he'd ever seen eyes so deep green before. Eyes so big and wide and... nervous?

So she
was
still shy, he thought, and realized that he found it charming. Most of the women he knew always seemed so sure of themselves, confident almost to the point of intimidating. He liked a little hesitation in a woman, a little uncertainty. He especially liked the fact that he was the cause of it.

Smiling, he pulled her credit card out of his pocket. “You lost this at the market. I thought you wouldn't mind, so I booked us a Jamaican cruise. We leave next week.”

She stared at him, then blinked and snatched the card out of his hand. “Thank you.”

Then she slammed the door in his face.

This wasn't going exactly as he'd planned.

Nick raised his brows and stared at the closed door. The Maggie Smith he remembered might have been shy, but she'd also been sweet.

But then, the Maggie Smith he remembered had also been skinny and drab.

Damn if he wasn't intrigued.

He noticed Mrs. Potts, the Smiths' next door neighbor, watering the bushes that separated their properties. She'd been the dean's secretary the six months he'd spent in Wolf River County Home for Boys, and she'd been old then. When he nodded at her, the frail woman quickly looked away, pretended she hadn't seen that Maggie had just slammed a door in his face.

Maybe Maggie still thought of him as some kind of convict, even though his “visit” at the county boys' home had been twenty years ago. His “offense,” a short joy ride with Linda Lansky on her older brother's new scooter, had been harmless, but Bobby Lansky hadn't been the understanding type. Neither had the judge, unfortunately.

But he really hadn't minded going to the home. Lucas and Ian had both been there at the same time, and at least he got fed regularly, and no one ever punched him in the stomach for leaving a jacket on a chair or playing the stereo too loud. Hell, it had been more like a vacation.

But that was a long time ago. He couldn't imagine that was the reason Maggie was so nervous around him.

Frowning, he stared at the front door. Whatever her reason, he should walk away. He had more work than he could handle, and he didn't have time for a timid, high-strung female, even if she was drop-dead gorgeous.

But then, Nick Santos was not a man to walk away from a challenge. And
this
Maggie Smith, whoever she was, was definitely a challenge.

Besides, he was certain that incredible smell emanating from inside the Smith house was roast beef.

What the hell. He rang the doorbell again.

The door flew open, this time with Angela Smith on the other side. “Nicholas Santos! What a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in.” She took hold of his arm and tugged him into the entryway. “I haven't seen you since the wedding. Maggie, sweetheart, look who's here. It's Nick!”

From the corner of his eye, behind him, Nick caught a flutter of hands, a waving motion, but when he turned, Maggie stood perfectly still, a tight, thin smile on her lips.

“We ran into each other at the store,” he said with a grin, and watched her cheeks flush at his choice of words.

“Why, Margaret Jane, you didn't even tell me. Shame on you.” Angela closed the door. “Well, now that you're here, you're staying for dinner and I'll not take no for an answer. I'm sure you like roast beef and mashed potatoes, don't you, Nick?”

Maggie's head snapped toward her mother. “I'm sure Nick already has other plans, Mom.”

“I love roast beef.” Nick kept his eyes on Maggie, fascinated by the small twitch of distress at the corner of her jaw. A delicate, enticing jaw, that gave way to a long, slender, enticing neck.

She wanted him gone in the worst way. Which only made him want to stay all the more.

He turned back toward her mother and handed her the grocery bag in his hand. “Bud and Joe's was having
a special on these. I thought maybe you could use some.”

Angela took the bag and looked inside. “Green beans. How thoughtful of you, Nick. I actually sent Maggie to the store for some, but she forgot the list.”

He glanced back at Maggie. The blush that had brightened her cheeks only a moment ago now colored her entire face. “Try them with a can of mushroom soup and cheese,” he said. “They make a great casserole.”

“You cook?” Angela beamed at Maggie. “He cooks, Maggie. Isn't that wonderful? Boydâ” Angela stuck her head into the living room “âNicholas Santos stopped by to say hello. He's going to have dinner with us. Oh, heavens, I've got to check on the biscuits. Maggie, sweetheart, take Nick out to say hello to your father.”

Nick watched Maggie squirm when her mother left them alone in the entry hall. She stood stiff as a fence post, and he could see her battle between good manners and tossing him out of the house.

Whatever was going on here with the woman, Nick had the distinct feeling it went beyond shyness.

A challenge
and
a mystery. Now if only he could get the lady to talk to him, he just might stand a chance. “I heard you got married.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward her father. “Yes, I did.”

Nick frowned. That wasn't the right answer. She was supposed to tell him she was divorced. “I also heard you got divorced.”

Surprise lit her eyes as she looked back at him. “Did you?”

Not exactly an answer, but Nick never gave up easily.
“I also heard you're a journalist for a New York newspaper. With your own column even.”

That brought a lift of one finely arched eyebrow. “You heard all that.”

“So are you?”

“A journalist?”

“Divorced.”

“Oh. Yes.”

He took a step closer. Damn, but she smelled good. “Maybe we could go out for dinner sometime. Catch up on what we've been doing for the past twelve years.”

She took a step back. “I don't think so, Nick. I'm just here to help take care of my dad for a few weeks. I won't really have much time.”

“Coffee, then.” He moved in closer again, drew the scent of her deep into his lungs. “Tomorrow night.”

Something caught her ear, the faint sound of laughter, Nick thought. She paled, then grabbed hold of his arm and nearly dragged him into the living room. “Why don't we go say hello to my father?”

Her abrupt change of behavior surprised him, but since she was actually touching him, he decided they were making progress. “How's the leg, Mr. Smith?” Nick asked the back of the sports page.

The paper came down. Boyd Smith still looked the same, though he was bald now over a rim of silvergray hair. He still had the same scruffy eyebrows and penetrating stare. “You still riding those motorcycles, Santos?”

“Only for pleasure now, sir.”

“Got any whisky?”

“Not on me.”

âHow 'bout a cigar?'

“'Fraid not.”

“Next time you come over, see that you bring both.”

“Yes, sir.”

The paper went back up, and Nick assumed that their talk was over. Not exactly a long conversation, but a productive one. He'd already been invited back. He grinned at Maggie, but she merely frowned. When she realized that she was still holding his arm, she quickly dropped her hand.

“Excuse me.” She backed away. “I need to...check on something. Why don't you just have a seat and I'll be back in aâ”

“Mommy, my movie's over!”

The flying tackle from a pair of small arms caught Maggie around the knees from behind, sending her sprawling forward into Nick's arms. He caught her smoothly, fully enjoying the feel of her soft body and full breasts against his chest. Much to Nick's delight, she struggled to disentangle herself, which only increased the friction of their bodies.

Her body still flush with his, Maggie looked up at Nick, a mixture of shock and horror in her eyes. She finally managed to wrench herself free, then turned to face the three-foot-high, dark-haired dynamo who'd knocked her off her feet.

“Drew!” Maggie gasped. “I've told you not to do that.”

“I forgot.” The youngster stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans and glanced down contritely. “Sorry. I just wanted to hug you.”

Nick knew a con job when he heard one. This kid was good, he thought with amusement. And cute, too. Nick knew nothing about children, but he'd guess the
boy to be around five or so, with dark, almost black hair nearly the same color as his big, thickly lashed eyes. His oversize feet were encased in thick-soled tennis shoes, and Nick could only imagine he'd be tall as a doorway by the time he was sixteen.

So little Maggie Smith had a kid. How 'bout that.

He watched her kneel beside her son, saw the struggle on her face to remain stern. “Hugs shouldn't hurt, sweetheart. You have to be more careful.”

The child nodded, then glanced up. His dark eyes turned wary at the sight of a stranger, but he didn't look away or step back.

Maggie stood stiffly behind her son, her hands on his shoulders as she faced Nick. “Drew...” She hesitated, then pulled in a breath and continued, “This is Nick Santos. Nick, this is my son, Drew.”

Nick stuck out his hand, which the child promptly accepted. Nice grip, Nick thought. “How's it going, Drew?”

“You drive a truck?” the boy asked.

Did everyone in this family answer a question with a question? Nick wondered. “Yes, but mostly I ride a motorcycle.”

“Motorcycles are cool,” Drew said with all the authority of a child, “but I want to drive a truck when I grow up.”

“Maybe we can go for a ride sometime, if your mom says it's okay.”

“Really?” Drew's eyes brightened. “On the motorcycle or the truck?”

“Either. Both.”

“Wow. Really? Can I, Mom?”

Maggie had been vigorously shaking her head, but she went still when Drew looked up hopefully at her.

“I don't think so, honey. You're not big enough for motorcycles yet.”

“I'm almost five,” Drew complained. “Tommy Fuscoe rides on his daddy's motorcycle all the time, and he's littler than me.”

“You're not Tommy Fuscoe,” Maggie said firmly. “But we'll see.”

A definite no, Nick realized. But with the two of them working on her, Nick was confident they'd change her mind...one of several things he intended to change her mind on.

“Wanna see my bike?” Drew looked at Nick. “My grandpa got it for me just to have here. Didn't you, Grandpa?”

“Needs new tires,” Boyd mumbled with a flip of his newspaper.

“C'mon.” The youngster sprinted through the front door. “It's in the garage.”

“After you.” Nick swept his hand out and Maggie moved past him, though she was careful not to brush against him. But the warmth of her body where she'd been thrust against him only a few moments ago still lingered on him, and he was anxious to feel that warmth again.

And next time she fell into his arms, he intended that they be alone.

He caught her arm on the porch, took it as a good sign when she didn't immediately pull away. “Cute kid,” he said, wanting a moment alone with her now. “He must look like his father.”

She shrugged, then glanced in the direction her son had run, but not before Nick caught the flicker of pain in her eyes. Damn, he thought. She must still be hung up on the guy.

“You see him much?”

Frowning, she looked back at him. “See who?”

“Drew's father. Your ex.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “He lives in Vancouver.”

He thought of his own father, a man he never knew, then thought of the stepfather he wished he'd never known, and felt an instant kinship with Maggie's son. “That must be hard on Drew.”

“He was only a year old when we divorced. He doesn't remember him.” She jammed her hands into her pockets and sighed. “Look, Nick, I appreciate you stopping by, but I really would ratherâ”

Drew's scream stopped her, and she was off the porch running toward the garage in a space of a heartbeat. Nick took the porch steps in one jump and was rounding the side of the house when he heard the sound of a child's sobs from inside the garage.

He found mother and son kneeling beside the bumper of a white compact. Crushed under the right front tire was the back wheel of a child's bicycle.

“You broke it,” Drew cried. “You broke my bike.”

BOOK: Secret Baby Santos

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