The Secret Child & The Cowboy CEO (6 page)

I
n that terrifying moment Bryn was desperately grateful that Sinclair wealth meant having access to a helicopter. A 911 call ensured that medical staff at the hospital would be waiting and ready.

Getting in touch with Trent was trickier, and she felt terrible that she was disrupting his important meeting, but she had no choice. She drove herself to the hospital and waited.

Mac was still in emergency when an ashen-faced Trent arrived. “What the hell happened? He was fine earlier. He drank his coffee while I had breakfast, and he was his old self.”

Her eyes burned with tears. “I asked about Jesse's mother, and Mac went berserk.”

Trent paled. “Dear God. Mac never speaks of her.
Surely you knew that. You lived here for most of your life. Etta's defection wasn't exactly dinner-table conversation. Are you
trying
to kill my father? Dammit, Bryn. What were you thinking?”

The accusation in his eyes was made all the worse by the knowledge that he was right. She should have waited.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “But I wanted to get to the truth. This family has too many secrets.”

In Trent's gaze, she saw not one whit of the man who had held her so intimately only hours before. He'd come straight from his meeting, and he was wearing an expensive dark suit, perfectly tailored to fit his tall, virile frame. His shoes were Italian leather. The thin gold watch on his wrist could have paid for several semesters of her schooling.

On the ranch, she had allowed herself to think of him as a normal man. But now he wore his wealth and power with a careless confidence that only underscored the gap between them.

She watched as Trent paced the drab waiting room like a caged lion. Her legs wouldn't hold her up. She picked a hard plastic chair in a far corner, sat down and stared blindly at her trembling fingers linked in her lap. Last night she had touched Trent intimately with those same hands. It seemed like a fairy tale now.

The wait was agonizing. What if Mac died? What would happen to all of them? Trent would never forgive her, much less admit that Allen was entitled to part of the estate, if indeed he was. And poor Trent…to lose
his brother and father so close together.
Please, God. Let Mac be okay.

When a young doctor came out, Bryn leaped to her feet, but Trent got there first. She had the impression he might have jerked the poor man to him by the collar if it hadn't been socially unacceptable.

Trent's hands were fisted at his sides instead. “How is he? Was it another heart attack?”

The doctor shook his head. “He's going to be fine. It was an anxiety attack. When his pulse rate skyrocketed, it probably scared him, which merely exacerbated the situation. A frightening cycle, but not life-threatening. Do you know what precipitated this?”

Bryn took a deep breath, trembling uncontrollably. “I asked him a question about his wife. She left the family eighteen years ago. I never dreamed it would still be such a sensitive subject.” She stopped, choked up. “Has he suffered any lasting damage?”

The doc shook his head. “No. I want to keep him overnight for observation, but that's merely a precaution. We did a number of tests, and everything looks great. He's a strong old boy, and I predict he'll be around to aggravate you both for a long time. The two of you can go in to visit him now. Room 312.”

The doctor excused himself. Trent glared at Bryn. “You stay here. I can't take the chance that seeing you will set him off again.”

“But the doctor said—”

“No.” He was implacable.

She waited until he took the elevator and then followed him up on the next one. Hovering in the hall,
she listened anxiously to hear Mac's voice. Thankfully, he sounded a thousand times better.

Trent's deep, resonant voice was so tender and loving, she almost burst into tears.

“How are you feeling, Dad.”

“Embarrassed.” Mac's querulous reply might have made her smile if she hadn't been so fatigued and overwrought.

Trent spoke again. “I'll stay with you tonight. The doctor says he'll release you in the morning. Apparently you passed all the tests with flying colors. Your ticker's healing beautifully.”

“Aren't you going to ask me what caused all this?”

There was a bite in Trent's reply. “No need. I already know.”

“Bryn told you?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

“I wouldn't let her come in.”

“Oh, for God's sake, boy. Don't be a complete ass. This wasn't Bryn's fault.”

“It sure as hell was. If that's the kind of loving care she has to offer, we might as well go back to hiring strangers out of the phone book.”

“You know the doctor said I don't really need anyone to take care of me anymore.”

“So send her home.”

Mac snorted. “You'd like that, wouldn't you? You're gonna have to face facts, Trent. I'm ninety-nine percent sure Jesse lied to us.”

Trent's voice was icy. “Then we need to get the kid
out here, do a DNA test as soon as possible and find out once and for all.”

A nurse, bustling to enter the room, jostled Bryn's shoulder and apologized swiftly. “I apologize, ma'am. I need to go in and take Mr. Sinclair's vitals.”

Now Bryn would never know what Mac's reply might have been. The conversation at the bedside turned to medical details.

Bryn slipped away and pulled paper from her purse to jot a note to Trent. She passed it to the nurse's station. “Would you mind to give this to the visitor in 312 as he leaves? Thank you.”

Outside, the fresh air was a welcome relief. She was appalled at her own lack of judgment when it came to Mac. Why couldn't she have left things alone?

She checked in to the small hotel around the corner from the hospital. Trent would know where she was. She'd left a note, after all. She wasn't running away.

With no luggage or toothbrush, settling into her standard issue room was a short process. After a long call home to talk to Beverly and Allen, she eyed the beds. She was running on adrenaline and about five hours of sleep total. Wearing only her blouse and underwear, she climbed into the closest clean, soft bed and was comatose in seconds.

 

Trent prowled the hallway while an orderly gave Mac a sponge bath. The old man was at full speed already, bossing everyone around, and cranky as hell. But the episode had scared Trent badly.

He owed Bryn an apology. In his fear and upset, he
had been harsher with her than she deserved. She had made a mistake. So what? It might have just as easily been Trent who blundered into a stressful conversation. He and his father butted heads often.

A nurse at the desk handed Trent a folded slip of paper.
I'm at the hotel. Bryn.
The doctor appeared at his side. “I'm going to give your father a light sedative so he'll rest this afternoon. Why don't you go get something to eat and come back around four? We'll call you if anything changes, but he's really doing very well, I promise.”

Trent spent a few more minutes chatting with his father, but the medicine in the drip was already doing its job. When Mac's eyes fluttered shut, Trent exited the room and left the hospital.

In a small town like Jackson Hole, the long-timers all knew each other. The woman at the hotel desk was a classmate of Trent's. He gave her a tired smile. “Hey, Janine. Bryn checked in a little while ago, right? And she told you Dad's in the hospital?”

“She sure did. Poor thing looked beat. And you don't look so hot yourself.”

He shrugged. “We're going to take turns sitting with him. If you'll give me another key to the room so I won't bother Bryn, and a take-out menu from anywhere—I'm not picky—I'll owe you.”

He made his way down the hall and around the corner to the room Janine had indicated and swiped the key in the lock. The curtains in the room were closed, and in the dim light, he could see a Bryn-shaped lump in one of the beds. His body tightened. He was determined to
have her, even if she had lied. But it would be on his terms. He would be in control. With a low curse for his own conflicted emotions, he kicked off his shoes, collapsed on top of the covers in the opposite bed and closed his eyes.

 

Bryn awoke to the smell of pepperoni pizza. Her stomach growled.

Her eyes snapped open when Trent's unmistakable voice sounded from close at hand. “The doctor said we could come back at four. I left you a few slices.”

She sat up, carefully keeping the sheet at a decorous height, and brushed the hair out of her eyes, deeply regretting the fact that her pants were three feet away on a chair. The covers on the adjacent bed were rumpled, indicating that Trent had napped, as well.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, she had been naked and panting in this man's arms. Now she could scarcely meet his gaze.

She licked her lips, faint with hunger. She had only picked at her breakfast before Mac collapsed. “Close your eyes.”

“No.”

His answer took her by surprise and she looked at him head-on. Dark smudges under his eyes said he was in no better shape than she was, but he no longer looked furious.

She frowned. “Then hand me my pants.”

“No.” A faint grin accompanied the negative.

She crossed her arms over her chest, in no mood for a confrontation. “A gentleman would have gotten his
own room. You're rich enough to buy the whole hotel. So why are you here?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Because this is where you are.” He paused and winced. “I have a temper, Bryn. You know that. But what happened with Dad this morning wasn't your fault. You acted swiftly and responsibly. No one could ask for more. I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

His unprompted and uncharacteristically humble apology should have made her feel relieved. But she didn't deserve his absolution. “It
was
my fault,” she said doggedly. “I never should have mentioned Etta.” She had wanted to find out if Mac was aware of the letters. And she was as much in the dark now as before.

“What made you want to talk about our dearly departed mother?”

The macabre humor made her frown. Did anyone really know if Etta was dead or alive? “Well…” She cast about for an explanation that didn't involve the damning letters. She would have to share their contents with Trent, but not yet. “It occurred to me that some of Jesse's troubles could have stemmed from her leaving you all at such young ages. But you and Gage and Sloan turned out okay.”

His expression hardened. “We were older. We understood what she had done and why. We didn't weave any fairy tales about her coming back. At least not after the first few days.”

“You were
eleven,
Trent. An age when a boy still needs his mother.”

He shrugged. “We had Dad. And if Etta cared so
little about her family that she could simply walk out, we didn't need her or want her.”

Her heart bled for the stoic little child he had been. He wouldn't even refer to her as
Mother.
“And Jesse?”

“Jesse was different. He was only six. He cried every night for a month. We all took turns sleeping with him so that when he had nightmares, we'd be there to comfort him. He liked Gage the best. Gage would tell him stories about places all over the world…about the adventures the two of them would have one day. Jesse loved it.”

“How long was it before he got over her leaving?”

“I don't know that he ever did. But he learned to man up and show he didn't need her to be happy.”

But he did.
Apparently Jesse had needed Etta a heck of a lot, and when he was a teenager, she wormed her way back into his life and drove him crazy. The thought gave her a shiver. She wanted so badly to unburden herself to Trent, to lean on his strength and counsel.

But with the specter that Jesse might not be a Sinclair, she didn't know what to do. It was naive to expect Trent to believe that Allen was Jesse's son without proof. She had wanted Trent to take her on faith, but
her
feelings were not as important as making sure Allen was taken care of.

Anything could happen to Bryn. And Aunt Beverly wouldn't always be around. Bryn had believed for six years that her son was a Sinclair, heir to a mighty empire that would make his life secure. The truth needed to come out. For all of them.

Once again, she eyed her distant jeans.

Trent stood, arms crossed over his chest, and grinned at her predicament.

“Aren't you being a little ridiculous, Brynnie? I've seen it all.”

Her face flamed. “That was different.”

“Different, how?”

“We were in the mood.”

“I seem to always be in the mood around you.”

His self-deprecating smile loosened the knot in her chest. A teasing Trent made her willpower evaporate. “We need to keep track of the time.”

“We have all the time in the world.”

He glanced at his watch, and her stomach flipped…hard.

He handed her the pizza box. “But never say I seduced you on an empty stomach.”

“No seduction,” she said primly as she gobbled a slice of pizza with unladylike fervor. “We have to go see Mac.”

His eyes were like a watchful hawk. “It's only two-thirty. I can do a lot in an hour and a half.”

Every atom of oxygen in the room evaporated as their eyes met. Hunger snapped its bounds and prowled between them. She trembled as each second of the heated moments in her bedroom unfolded in her imagination in Technicolor images complete with scent and sound.

The crust she held fell with a loud thud into the box. Trent took the cardboard container from her numb fingers and tossed it in the trash can. He sat beside her on the bed and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. “We'll figure this all out, Bryn.”

The knowledge that she was lying by omission choked her. “I don't know that we can. Some things can't be fixed.”