The Secret Child & The Cowboy CEO (12 page)

 

Trent pulled the edge of the quilt around the sleeping woman in his arms and checked his watch. The minutes ran away from him like rivulets of water on a rain-soaked windowpane. He wanted to preserve this slice of time, keep it pristine in his memory. But the moment of reckoning was fast approaching and it might be very ugly indeed. No matter how much he wanted to protect Bryn and her son from pain, his efforts might be futile.

He closed his eyes, feeling the sun burn into the skin of his eyelids and face.

He stroked her hair, abashed to realize that he was no longer jealous of his dead brother. Jesse had held Bryn like this…had made love to her. The knowledge was painful. But he loved his brother. Would always love him. And Jesse's premature death was a tragedy that would forever mark their family.

He was hard again. It seemed to be a perpetual, inescapable condition in her presence. He shifted her gently onto her side so they were face-to-face. Carefully, he lifted her leg across his hip. Breathing hard, he probed gently at her swollen entrance.

Bryn murmured, and the ghost of a smile teased her lips as her eyelids fluttered and opened. He pushed until he was seated fully in her still-slick passage. He moved slowly, savoring the way her body grasped his shaft. She
felt small and fragile in his embrace, but she was strong in ways he could never match. She'd made a home for her son as a single mother.

Beverly had been a source of strength…true. But Bryn was a good mother, a woman of backbone and grit, much like the pioneer females who helped settle the wild and dangerous West.

She kissed him and murmured soft words of pleasure. He gritted his teeth as his climax bore down on him. He'd taken her like a crazy man less than a half hour before, and already he was at the edge again.

He slowed his strokes, relishing the position that enabled him to kiss her as he moved in and out with deliberate thrusts. Dark smudges beneath her eyes tugged at his heartstrings. Sleepless nights. Endless worry. But her smile was pure sunshine.

When he thought of the way he and Mac had thrown her out six years ago—a naive, pregnant eighteen-year-old—he was sickened. He'd never be able to make that up to her, but God knows, he could try.

He shuddered as his brain ceded control to his baser instincts. Tremors shook him. The base of his spine tightened.

“Bryn…” He spoke her name urgently, needing to see her forgiveness, wanting absolution.

She caught her breath. “Trent…ohh…”

Their position was intimate, sensual. He put his hand on the soft curve of her bottom and pulled her in to his downstroke. Her back arched. Her eyes closed. She was so beautiful, he was blinded. He told himself it was the sun.

But it was her. It was Bryn. Until she came back to the ranch, he'd had no clue his life was an empty shell. But she had shown him the truth. And all she'd had to do was be herself…pure, generous, charming.

He'd been lost from the first moment, though he'd fought hard to believe she was a liar and a cheat. It was much easier that way.

He brushed a kiss across each of her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids. The urgent need for climax had retreated to a muted simmer. His primary emotion at the moment was quiet contentment. And for a man unused to examining something as hazy and insubstantial as feelings, it was a significant shock to realize that the woman in his arms was as necessary to him as breathing.

The knowledge was exhilarating and scary as hell.

He pushed her over onto her back and urged her legs around his waist. Her skin was soft and luminous in the unforgiving light of day. What would it have been like to be her pioneer husband, bound inside a tiny log cabin for weeks at a time as blizzards howled?

Isolation. Nothing to diffuse the interaction between male and female. Nothing to run interference when one of them was in a bad mood. Nowhere to escape when tempers flared.

He'd have taken her night after night, wrapped in a world of only two. And it would have been as close to heaven as a man like him was liable to get. He'd said Jesse didn't deserve her, but the truth was, neither did he.

She smiled at him, a secretive curve of soft pink lips that made him shake. Her gaze was slumberous.
The look of a woman who had been well loved. Any man in his right mind would move heaven and earth to make her his. He'd grown up believing that everyone and everything had a price. But not Bryn. She had never asked for a single thing.

And he wanted to give her the world.

He moved in her, wanting to imprint his touch on her heart so that she could never forget him.

She dug her heels into his lower back. “Whatever happens, Trent, I'll always remember this.” Her gaze was solemn, melancholy.

He nuzzled her neck. “I'll work it out. Trust me.”

A slight frown appeared between her perfectly arched brows. “Work what out?”

He withdrew almost completely and chuckled when she said an unladylike word. He dropped his head forward, resting his brow against hers. “Mac. Jesse. Allen. The letters. You'll see.”

She tightened her legs around his waist with surprising strength. “Less talk. More action.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out as a groan. He let it snap…the cord he'd bound so tightly around his need, his control. Again and again, he entered her, holding back until he heard her sharp cry and felt her body spasm around his rigid flesh. And then he buried his face in her neck and leaped into the unknown, feeling only the soft pillow of her breasts and knowing that there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

Sweat dried on their skin. The sun moved lower, brushing the mountains with gold and lavender.

He came so close to blurting out his love for her. But
the habits of a lifetime were deeply ingrained. Never operate from a position of weakness. Make a plan. He'd get everything worked out in his head, and then he'd tell her. When the time was right.

Bryn was so silent and still beneath him, he felt panic tighten his throat.

He sat up and gathered her in his arms, warming her skin with his hands. The words rushed from his mouth, shocking the hell out of him. “Marry me, Bryn. Make Allen my son.”

O
ver the years Bryn had entertained dozens of fantasies in which Trent declared his everlasting love for her, went down on one knee to offer her a ridiculously extravagant ring and begged her to marry him. None of those scripts bore any resemblance to what had just happened.

She stood up awkwardly, painfully aware of her nudity, and scrambled to pick up her clothes and put them on. In one quick glance she saw that Trent was frowning. No less magnificent and commanding in the buff than he was fully clothed, he stood with his hands on his hips.

When she was ready, she folded her arms across her waist and made herself look at him. She managed to swallow against a tight throat. “Thank you for asking,” she said quietly, “but, no.” He hadn't technically asked
her at all. It had been more autocratic than that. An order. The mighty Trent Sinclair telling a minion what to do.

She hated that she was suspicious of his motives, but her instinct for self-preservation had kicked into high gear. She couldn't be one of his
acquisitions.
Her heart couldn't bear it.

Trent's scowl was black enough to make a grown man cower, but Bryn held her ground. His jaw was clenched so hard, the words bit out in sharp staccatos. “Why the hell not?”

The naive Bryn grieved for the ashes of fairy-tale romance. But practical Bryn had more to consider than hurt feelings. “If Allen is a Sinclair, then of course I want him to get to know his grandfather and you and Gage and Sloan and the ranch. But if it turns out that he's
not,
I'll take him back to Minnesota with me and we'll make a good life there with Beverly.”

His eyes narrowed. “You said that whether or not to show Mac the letters was my decision. I say we destroy the damn things and move on…as a family.”

The temptation to give in was overwhelming. She would be Trent's wife. Allen would be his son. There might be other children.

She bit her lip and shook her head. “I was wrong. I've had all night to think about it. Secrets are never the best course of action. Mac needs to know the truth. And afterward…”

He shoved his legs in his pants and buttoned his shirt. “And afterward, your son will either be very rich, or
just another illegitimate kid being raised by a single parent.”

She flinched. His deliberate cruelty shocked her. Was this his response to not getting his own way? “It's about more than the money,” she whispered, her throat raw from the effort not to cry. “You know that.”

He faced her, barefooted. Most people would appear vulnerable in that condition. Not Trent. “The world revolves around money, Bryn. And if you don't realize that, you're more of an innocent than I thought.”

She was chilled to the bone though the day was warm. “Why are you being so hateful?” What had happened to tender, caring Trent? Had the gentler, kinder man been no more than a ruse to get her into bed?

He shrugged, the smile on his face mocking. “If I'm not in the best of moods, Brynnie, you'll have to take the blame for that. It's not every day I get a marriage proposal tossed back in my face. Forgive me if I'm not so cavalier about it as to go on with life as normal.”

For the briefest flash of a second, she thought she saw hurt flicker in his cold gaze, but then it was gone. She couldn't hurt Trent. He was impervious, thick-skinned. That was the only way to make it to the top.

She bit her lip. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

He propped his foot on a stone and bent to put on the left boot, then the right…. Was he hiding his expression deliberately? His voice was muffled. “We owe you. Maybe not Gage and Sloan, but certainly Jesse and Mac and I. You suffered at our hands, and that can't be erased. Sinclairs always repay their debts.”

Disappointment and grief tangled in her stomach, destroying any last hope that Trent felt something for her beyond simple lust. “I absolve you,” she said dully. “There's plenty of blame to go around. I kept Allen away from you all for five years. So let's call it even.”

She picked up the quilt and rolled it with jerky motions. “I need to get back to the house.”

 

The hours until Bryn and Trent could meet with Mac in private passed like molasses on a cold day. Allen's high spirits frayed Bryn's nerves, yet finally, by nine o'clock, Allen was sound asleep. Bryn didn't waste any time. She retrieved the box of letters and made her way to Mac's study.

The two men were already there.

Her heart thumping, she entered hesitantly, searching out Trent with her gaze to see if his face gave any indication of what was to come. What had he said to Mac? Anything? She sat down and waited.

Trent ran a hand over the back of his neck, looking uncustomarily frazzled. “How are you feeling, Dad?”

Mac frowned. “I'm great. What's all this about?”

At Trent's almost imperceptible nod, Bryn smiled wanly. “We have some things to tell you, but we don't want you to get upset.”

Mac snorted and rolled his eyes. “I may have a contrary ticker, but I'm not some damned pansy who's going to wilt over a little bad news. For God's sake, spit it out. You're making me nervous. You and Trent look like you've swallowed bad fish. Tell me what it is. Now.”

Bryn gripped the box in her lap. When she looked at Trent, he was no help at all. He simply shrugged.

She stood up and moved to where Mac sat in the leather chair that was his version of a throne. “I found these,” she said. “When I was cleaning Jesse's room. They're letters. From Etta. Did you know Jesse's mother had been writing to him?”

“God, no.” Mac paled.

Bryn winced. “I was afraid of that. They're bad, Mac. She tried to poison his mind. And her deliberate mischief-making may have contributed to the drugs. Jesse would have been confused. And hurt.”

“Let me see.” He tried to take the box, but she held on to it for a moment more.

“That's not all.” She was surprised she was able to speak. Her throat spasmed painfully. “Jesse may not be your son.”

Mac's big hands trembled. He jerked the box away from her. “Damn it, girl, quit coddling me.”

The room was silent when Mac tossed the last letter in the box and replaced the lid. He set the innocent-looking cardboard container on the desk and laid his head against the back of his chair. His eyes were closed. Bryn was not in the mood to indulge him.

She got to her feet and paced. “Talk to us, Mac. Please.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face and turned his head in her direction. His entire body had deflated. He looked like an old man.

Trent exhaled an audible breath. “Dad. Come clean with us. What's going on?”

Mac sighed. “I didn't know about the letters, but I've known where Etta was every day since she left.”

Trent looked thunderstruck.

Bryn managed to speak. “I don't understand. I thought she ran away. Left her kids. Left you.”

Mac nodded. “She did that for sure. And I checked her into a mental facility, because she had a complete, devastating breakdown. She split with reality. Etta has been a patient at the Raven's Rest Inpatient Facility in Cheyenne for almost two decades.”

Trent gaped. “For God's sake, Dad. Why did you never tell us? Why did you let us think she ran away?”

“She did run away. At first. But when I found her, she was cowering in a bus station like a wounded wild animal.” Mac's voice broke, and Bryn saw that even after all the years that had passed, he still loved her.

He continued, his voice thick. “I took her to the hospital. And she was never able to come back home. She was a danger to herself and others. There were a few good days here and there, but for the most part, she lives in an alternate world. I'm honestly shocked that she was able to remember Jesse well enough to be able to write to him.”

“You think Jesse inherited some of her mental instability, don't you?” Trent's face had paled, as well.

Mac nodded slowly. “I wanted him to see someone…to get help…medication. Anything that he needed. But he never gave me an inch. Denial was his friend.”

Bryn leaned forward. “So the other men she talks about in the letters? Did they exist?”

Mac's silence dragged on for tense moments. He was
suddenly the epitome of an elderly man. “Yes.” His tone was flat. “She never leaves the facility now. But before…when she was still living on the ranch…there were a couple of episodes. Jesse is probably not my biological son. I'd been gone for a few weeks to a cattle show. The timing…well…let's just say the odds are against it. But it doesn't matter anymore. Jesse is dead.”

He got to his feet, almost stumbling, and leaned a hand on the back of the chair. “You were right to show me the letters. I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth about your mother, Trent. But when you were all boys, I didn't want you to know. And by the time you were old enough to understand, I'd kept the secret so long, I couldn't bring myself to expose the truth.”

He hugged his son, and Bryn was relieved to see that Trent gave as good as he got. She had feared he'd be furious. But whatever his emotions, he kept them in check for now.

Mac hugged Bryn, as well. “I love you, Brynnie, my girl. And you've always been family to me, with or without Jesse.”

She kissed his cheek. “Sleep well, Mac. I'll check on you before I go to bed.”

 

When it was just the two of them, Bryn studied Trent's face. He wasn't doing well. She could see it in his eyes, though he stood as proud as ever, his spine straight and his broad shoulders squared off against the world. She took his hand. “Come to the kitchen with me. I'll fix you something to drink. And I'll bet Beverly tucked away some of those sugar cookies.”

He cocked his head, pulling his hand out of her grasp and stepping backward behind an invisible fence. “You don't have to pamper me. I'm not dying. But I guess you were smart to say no to my proposal. Who knows what crazy genes are rattling around inside me? I don't know which is worse—a mother who will abandon her children on a whim, or a raving maniac.”

His sarcasm made her flinch. “Don't do that, Trent,” she said urgently. “Give yourself time to process this. You've had a shock.” She turned to Mac's desk. He'd been known to keep a flask for emergencies. “I'll pour you some whiskey. You deserve it after the day you've had.”

Trent's laugh held little amusement as he took the tiny shot and tossed it back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes bleak. “There's not enough whiskey in the world to fix this.”

“It will be okay,” she said, trying to believe it.

It was as if he never heard her. “I'm going to have to be the one to call Gage and Sloan. I can't make Mac do it. He could barely tell me. Damn it to hell.” Trent hurled the small glass against the wall and smiled with grim satisfaction when it shattered into a dozen pieces.

“You don't have to do anything tonight,” she insisted. “It can wait until morning. When you've calmed down.”

“I'm perfectly calm,” he said, his tone blistering. “Go to bed, Bryn. This doesn't concern you.”

“
You
concern me,” she said. He was trying to hurt her…and he succeeded. But her own concerns had to be pushed aside temporarily for his sake. He needed
to let go, let the anguish out, and hang on to someone else for a few minutes. But such perceived weakness wasn't in his repertoire. He was a Sinclair male. That particular animal was trained not to show weakness. Not to anyone.

She knelt to clean up the mess, and Trent barked at her.

“I said…go to bed.” His eyes blazed in a white face.

She finished her task and dropped the pieces into the trash can. “I don't want to leave you right now. You need me.”

He went still, and in that split second, she knew she had made a mistake. His lip curled. Any tenderness she'd ever imagined in his steely gaze had been obliterated by fury and suffering that was painful to witness.

“I don't
need
anyone, Brynnie. So leave me the hell alone.”

 

Bryn gave herself and her son one last, precious twenty-four-hour period to enjoy the ranch. Their return flights, along with Beverly's and the nurse's, were booked for the following day.

She did her best to make her mind a blank. All that mattered now was ensuring that Allen and Mac spent time together and that Allen had one last opportunity to explore the ranch. She was the one making a decision to leave this time, but the end result was the same. She had to say goodbye to the two men she loved. And to the home where she had grown up with so many happy memories.

Allen ran circles around her when she lagged behind on their walk. Her sleepless night was catching up with her. She held up a hand. “Mommy needs to rest a minute.” They were climbing a slight rise, and the two or three hours of sleep she'd had during the long, bleak night weren't enough to give her any energy at all.

She spied a boulder up ahead near the trail, one of many left behind when the glaciers retreated, and made a beeline for it. They were in sight of the house. Their trek had taken them in a big circle.

They sat down and Allen put his head in her lap, a move that said louder than words that he wasn't entirely back to normal. She stroked his hair. “I have something to tell you, sweetheart.”

He yawned and swiped at his nose with a dirty hand. “Okay.”

She hadn't expected it to be quite so hard. “You know how I told you I lived here when I was growing up?”

He nodded.

“Well, Mac had a son, Jesse, who was my age. I fell in love with him and that's how you were born.”

“But my daddy died.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't we live with him?”

This was the tricky part. Allen sat up and looked at her with big curious eyes. She bit her lip. “Ah, well…your dad was very sick and he couldn't help take care of a little boy.”