Little Secrets--His Unexpected Heir Page 3

  At last, though, she reached up to push her hair back out of her face, smiled again and said, “I should be getting back to the hotel. It was nice meeting you.”

  “But we didn’t,” he interrupted quickly, suddenly desperate to keep her from leaving. “Meet, I mean. I’m Jack.”

  “Rita.”

  “I like it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you really have to get back, or could I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  She studied him for a long minute or two, then nodded. “I’d like that, Jack.”

  “I’m glad, but you sure are trusting.”

  “Actually,” she said quietly, “I’m really not. But for some reason...”

  “Yeah,” he answered. “There’s something...”

  He walked toward her and held out one hand. She took it and the instant he touched her, he felt a hot buzz of something bright, staggering. He looked down at their joined hands, then closed his fingers around hers. “Come with me, Rita. I know just the place.”

  “Excuse me.”

  The tone of those words told Jack that it wasn’t the first time the woman standing beside his table had said them. It was the redhead. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Rita says to tell you this is on the house,” she said, setting a plate with two cannoli on it in front of him.

  He frowned a little.

  “Yeah, she told me you wouldn’t look happy about it,” the woman said. “I’m Casey. Can I get you more coffee?”

  “Sure, thanks.” She picked up his cup and walked to the counter, but Jack stopped paying attention almost immediately. Instead, his gaze sought out Rita.

  As if she was expecting it, she turned to meet his stare and even from across that crowded room, it felt to Jack as it had that first night. As if they were alone on a deserted beach.

  Well, damn it.

  Casey was back an instant later with a fresh cup of coffee. Never taking his eyes off Rita, Jack leaned against the wall behind him and slowly sipped at his coffee. They had a lot to talk about. Too bad it wasn’t talking on his mind.

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, the customers were gone and Rita was closing up. He’d already seen the sign that advertised their hours—open at seven, closed at six. Now as twilight settled on the beach, he watched Rita turn the deadbolt and flip the closed sign. Jack had had enough coffee to float one of his cargo ships and he’d had far too long to sit by himself and watch as she moved through the life she’d built since he’d last seen her.

  “Why did you stay here all day, Jack?” She walked toward him. “This is borderline stalking.”

  “Not stalking. Sitting. Eating cannoli.”

  Her lips twitched and he found himself hoping she might show him that wide smile that he’d seen the first night they met. But it didn’t come, so he let it go.

  “Should you be on your feet this much?” he blurted.

  Both of her eyebrows lifted as she set both fists on her hips. “Really?”

  “It’s a reasonable question,” he insisted. “You’re pregnant.”

  Now her big brown eyes went wide with feigned surprise. “I am?”

  Jack sighed at the ridiculousness of the conversation. “Funny. Look, I just found out about this, so you could cut me some slack.”

  She took the chair opposite him, sitting down with a sigh of relief. “Why should I? It’s not my fault you didn’t know about the baby. You could have been a part of this from the beginning, Jack, if you had written to me.” She reached over and plucked a dry leaf off the closest potted plant. Then she looked at him again. “But you didn’t. Instead, you disappeared and let me think you were dead.”

  Yeah, he could see this from her side, and he didn’t much care for the view. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d done what he thought was necessary at the time. He’d had to put her out of his mind to survive when he went back to his duty station. Thoughts of her hadn’t had any place in that hot, sandy miserable piece of ground and keeping her in his mind only threatened the concentration he needed to keep himself and his men alive.

  Sure, at first, he’d thought that having her to think about would get him through, remind him that there was another world outside the desperate one he was caught up in. But two weeks after returning to deployment, something had happened to convince him that images of home were only a distraction. That keeping her face in his mind was dangerous.

  So, he’d pushed the memories into a dark, deep corner of his brain and closed a door on them. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d been convinced that it was the right thing to do.

  Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “Why?” she asked, folding her hands on top of the small round glass-topped table. “You could at least tell me that much. Why did you never write, Jack?”

  His gaze locked on hers. “It really doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s done. We have to deal with now.”

  Shaking her head, Rita sat back in the chair, and tapped the fingers of her right hand against the tabletop. “There is no we, Jack. Not anymore.”

  Beside him, a wide window overlooked Main Street. Late afternoon sunlight shone on the sidewalks, illuminating the people strolling through the early evening cool. It looked so normal. So peaceful. Yet seeing even that small crowd of pedestrians had Jack’s insides going on alert. He didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t really relax around a lot of people anymore, but he had to accept that fact. So he turned away from strangers to look at a woman he’d once known so well.

  “As long as there’s a baby, there’s a we,” he told her. “If you think I’m going to walk away from my own kid, you’re wrong.”

  Instinctively, she dropped her hands to the curve of her belly and he realized she made that move a lot. Was it something all women did, or was Rita feeling threatened by seeing him again?

  “Jack—”

  “We can talk about it, work it out together,” he said, interrupting her to make sure she understood where he was on this. “But bottom line, I’m here now. You’re going to have to deal with it.”

  “You don’t get to give me orders, Jack.” She gave him a sad smile. “I live my own life. I run my own business. I raise my own child.”

  “And mine.”

  “Since your half and mine are intertwined,” she quipped, “yes.”

  “Not acceptable.” And this conversation was veering into the repetitive. It was getting him nowhere fast and he could see the flash of stubborn determination in her eyes that told him she wasn’t going to budge. Well, hell. He could out-stubborn anyone.

  “I really think you should go, Jack.” She stood up, rubbing her belly idly with one hand.

  He followed that motion and felt his heart trip-hammer in his chest. His child. Inside the woman that had been his so briefly. Damned if he’d leave. Walk away. It probably would have been better for all of them, but he wouldn’t be doing it.

  “I’ll take you home,” he said, standing to look down at her.

  She chuckled. “I am home. I live in the apartment upstairs.”

  “You’re kidding.” He frowned, glanced at the ceiling as if he could see through the barrier into what had to be a very small apartment. “You live over a bakery.”

  She stiffened at the implied insult. “It’s convenient. I get up at four every morning to start the baking, so all I have to do is walk downstairs.”

  “You’re not raising my kid above a bakery.”

  When her eyes flashed and one dark eyebrow winged up, he knew he’d stepped wrong. But it didn’t matter how he’d said it if the end was the same. His kid was not going to live above a bakery. Period.

  “And, the circle is complete,” she said, walking to the front door. She unlocked it, opened it wide and waved one hand as if scooping him out the door. �
�I want you to leave, Jack.”

  “All right.” He conceded on this point. For now. He started past her, then stopped when their bodies were just a breath apart. When he caught her scent and could almost feel the heat shimmering off her body. Everything in him twisted tight and squeezed. Giving in to the urge driving him, he reached out, took her chin in his hand and tipped her face up until her eyes were locked with his. “This isn’t over, Rita. It’s just getting started.”

  * * *

  Sitting on her couch in her—all right, yes, tiny apartment—Rita curled her feet underneath her as her fingers tightened on her cellphone. “What am I supposed to do, Gina?”

  Instead of answering, her sister called out, “Ally, do not pour milk on the dog again.”

  “But why?” A young, loud voice shouted in response.

  In spite of everything going on in her life at the moment, Rita grinned. Ally was two years old with a hard head, a stubborn streak a mile wide and a sweet smile that usually got her out of trouble.

  “Because he doesn’t like it!” Gina huffed out a breath, came back on the line, and whispered, “Actually he does like it, idiot dog. Then he spends all night licking the milk off himself, my floor is sticky and he smells like sour milk.”

  It was times like these that Rita really missed her family. Her parents. Her sister. Her two older brothers. All of her nieces and nephews. They were all in Ogden, working at the family bakery, Marchetti’s. Rita’s family was loud, boisterous, argumentative and sometimes she missed them so much she actually ached to be with them.

  Like now, for instance.

  “Michael and Braden Franco!” Gina shouted. “If you ride your skateboards down the steps and one of you breaks another bone, I will burn those boards in the fire pit—”

  The five-year-old twins were adventurous and barely containable. It’s what Rita loved best about them.

  Gina broke off with a satisfied sigh. “Another crisis averted. Sorry sweetie, what were you saying again?”

  Back to the matter at hand. “Jack. He’s alive. He’s here.” Rita bit down hard on her bottom lip and blinked wildly to keep the tears filling her eyes from falling. Though there was no one there to see her cry, she didn’t want to give Jack the satisfaction.

  Hadn’t she already cried rivers for Jack? After two months had passed without a word from him, Rita had known that he was gone, no doubt killed in action somewhere far away. What other reason, she’d told herself, could there have been for him not to write her?

  They’d had such an amazing connection. Something strong and powerful had grown between them in one short week. She’d loved him fiercely even after so short a time. But then her mother had always told her that time had nothing to do with love. If you knew someone five days or five years, the feelings didn’t change.

  It had taken Rita much less than five days to know that Jack was the one man she wanted. Then he was gone and the pain of loss had crippled her. Until she’d discovered she was pregnant.

  “He’s there?” Gina whispered as if somehow Jack could overhear her. “At your apartment?”

  “No,” she said, though she tossed a quick look toward the door at the back of the building that opened onto a staircase leading to a small parking lot. She half expected Jack to show up on her landing and knock. Shaking her head, she said, “No, he’s not here, here. He’s here in Seal Beach. He came into the bakery today.”

  “Oh. My. God.” A moment or two passed before Gina continued. “What did you do? What did he say? Where the hell has he been? Why didn’t he write to you? Bastard.”

  A short laugh shot from Rita’s throat. She heard the outrage in her sister’s voice and was grateful for it. How did anyone survive without a sister?

  “I nearly shrieked when I saw him,” Rita confessed. “Then I hugged him, damn it.”

  “Of course you hugged him,” Gina soothed. “Then did you kick him?”

  She laughed again. “No, but I wish I’d thought of it at the time.”

  “Well, if you need me, Jimmy can watch the kids for a few days. I’ll fly out there and kick him for you.”

  Rita sighed and smiled all at once. “I can always count on you, Gina.”

  “Of course you can. So where’s he been?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why didn’t he write?”

  Rita frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  Rita picked up her cup of herbal tea and took a sip. “He only wanted to talk about the baby.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  “Exactly.” Sighing more heavily now, Rita set the cup down on the coffee table again. “He was...surprised to find out I was pregnant and he didn’t look happy about it.”

  “We don’t need him to be happy. But why wouldn’t he be? Who doesn’t like babies? Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

  While she waited, Rita’s head dropped back against the couch. Her apartment wasn’t tiny, it was cozy, she thought in defense as her gaze swept over the space. A small living room, an efficiency kitchen, one bedroom and a bathroom that, she had to admit, was so small she regularly smacked her elbows against the shower door. But the apartment walls were a soft, cheerful green and were dotted by framed photos of the beach, the mountains and her family.

  “There,” Gina said when she was back. “I took the baby to Jimmy. I have to pace when I’m mad.”

  Rita laughed. “Gina, I’m okay, really. I just needed to talk to you.”

  “Of course you did, but we’re Italian and I need my hands to talk as much as I need to move around. Besides, I just finished feeding Kira. Jimmy can take her for a while.”

  Her sister had four gorgeous kids, the youngest only eight months old and a husband who adored her. A small pang of envy echoed in Rita’s heart. Then to ease the hurt, she rubbed the mound of her baby with slow, loving strokes, and reminded herself that she had a child, too. That she wasn’t alone. That it didn’t matter that Jack had walked away from her only to suddenly crash back into her life.

  “So,” Gina said a moment later, “what’re you going to do about this? How are you feeling?”

  “I’m not sure, to both questions.” Pushing up off the couch, Rita walked to the window overlooking Main Street and smiled, thinking Gina was right. Italians thought better when they could move around. Looking down on the street, she enjoyed the view that was so similar to the one she grew up with. Historic 25th Street in Ogden also had the old-fashioned, old-world feel to the buildings, the lampposts and the bright, jewel-toned flowers spilling out of baskets.

  But as pretty as it was, it wasn’t home. Not really. She was alone in the dark but for a slender thread of connection to her big sister.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, “because I don’t know what he’s planning.”

  “Whatever it is, you can handle it.” And, as if Gina had read her mind, she added, “You’re not alone, Rita.”

  Her mouth curved slightly. “Not how it feels.”

  “You still love him, don’t you?”

  Rita laid her hand on the glass, letting the cold seep into her skin, chilling the rush of heat Gina’s question had awakened.

  “Why would I be foolish enough for that?” she whispered.

  Three

  “What’s going on with you?”

  Jack looked up. His father walked into the office that, up until four months ago, had been his. Thomas Buchanan was a tall man, with salt-and-pepper hair, sharp blue eyes and a still-trim physique. Though he’d abdicated the day-to-day running of the company to his oldest son, Thomas maintained his seat on the board and liked to keep abreast of whatever was happening. That included keeping tabs on his son.

  “Nothing,” Jack answered, lowering his gaze to the sheaf of papers on the desktop. “Why?�
��

  “Well,” Thomas said, strolling around the room, “you nearly bit Sean’s head off when he couldn’t get the shipping schedule up on the plasma fast enough.”

  “It’s his job,” Jack said, being perfectly reasonable. “He should be able to accomplish it when asked.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jack knew that tone. He glanced at his father, saw the wary curiosity-filled expression and looked away again. He wasn’t in the mood for a chat and couldn’t satisfy his father’s curiosity. He knew that ever since he’d returned to civilian life, his family had been worried about him and no one more than his father. There didn’t seem to be anything Jack could do about it, though. He didn’t need therapy or sympathy and didn’t want to talk about what he’d seen—what he wanted to do was forget about it and pick up his life where he’d left off. So far of course, that wasn’t happening.

  Rather than try to explain all of that to his dad, Jack chose to ignore the man’s questions, even though he knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. The worry would remain, along with the questions, whether spoken or not. After a few seconds of silence from him, though, Thomas seemed to understand that it was a subject Jack wasn’t going to address.

  “Still don’t understand why you changed the office furniture around,” his father said, surprising Jack with the sudden shift of topic. “My father’s the one who put that desk in front of the windows. I don’t think it’s been moved since then. Until now.”

  Jack squirmed slightly in his oversize black leather chair. He’d made a few changes since he’d stepped into his father’s shoes. The main one being that he had moved the old mahogany desk across the room so that he could have his back to a wall and not be outlined in a window.

  Yes, he knew it was foolish without anyone pointing it out to him. He didn’t have to worry about snipers here, but it was hard to shake ingrained habits that had kept him alive.

  “I like it where it is,” Jack said simply.

  “Yeah.” His father gave a resigned sigh, then admitted, “I wish you could talk to me.”