Redemption (30 page)

Oh God,
thought Claire. At any moment, Tripper—or one of his newfound cousins—could log on and discover the news of his parentage.

She couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to be told.

Swallowing her dread, Claire picked up the phone and punched the number to check her messages. Work was something she could handle.

Motherhood, on the other hand, had suddenly become more complicated than the most intricate corporate merger.

In the end, it was Tripper himself who brought the discussion to a head.

The three of them were seated at the pine table having lunch when Tripper recounted his conversation with Ben.

“Ben’s pretty lucky. He’s got a pet rat
and
a horse.”

Claire hid a smile. But Tripper’s next words erased all urge to laugh.

“He thinks I’m deprived or something. I mean, not only do I not have any pets,” he explained, “but I don’t even have a dad. He thinks that’s really weird.”

Claire’s heart flipped. “But, Tripper, honey,” she reminded him gently, “you do have a dad.”

“I know, but—”

She took a deep breath, and then the words came as if washed ashore. “Matt is your father.”

Tripper’s eyes grew wide, and then a grin dawned on his face. “You mean you guys are going to get married?” he said, a hopeful expression lighting his eyes.

“No. I mean Matt is your real father. Your biological father.”

Tripper stared at her for a moment, then his gaze slid from his mother’s face to Matt’s. What he read there confirmed her words, yet Claire could still see his confusion.

She knew the questions were piling up in his mind. Bracing herself, she attempted to answer them. “You see, Matt and I met a long time ago. Before you were born, and even though we only knew each other a short time—”

But Tripper didn’t let her finish. “You mean Matt is my dad? And you knew all this time? And you didn’t tell me?” His voice rose as tears threatened.

Matt spoke up. “Tripper, there were a lot of reasons—”

“Did you know?” his son demanded. “Did you know I was your kid?”

Matt met his son’s gaze squarely. “No, I didn’t know. Not until I met you a few weeks ago. But—”

His words were lost as Tripper bounded up from his chair, shouting at his mother, “How could you do this to me? You never even told me! You—you took my father away from me!” He gave her an accusing look that stabbed at her heart, robbed her of words.

“How could you be so mean?” His face crumpled, his eyes red with tears. The confusion on his face ripped Claire in two.

But then the confusion solidified into anger. The green eyes focused on her filled with rage. In a voice ragged with tears, he shouted, “
I hate you, I hate you!”
and then ran from the room, leaving behind the echoes of his screams.

Claire stared blankly at the spot he had vacated. Her son had meant every word he threw at her. She understood all too well the anger a helpless child felt against an all-powerful parent.

She ached for him, for herself, knowing the relationship she had valued more than anything on earth was permanently damaged.

She wanted to cry, but a familiar numbness was settling over her, insulating her from the pain.

Matt tried to reassure her. “I’ll go talk to him. I’ll explain.”

But Claire knew this wound could never be healed by words. Her son had good reason to hate her. No explanation would make it easier for him to understand why she had deprived him of a father, of a family, all these years.

She had prepared herself for this all along, and now she knew, in her heart, that she had just lost her son.

In the barn, Matt followed the muffled sound of sobbing and found Tripper huddled between two bales of hay, his head pillowed in his arms. Matt knelt down, put out a hand, and stroked his son’s head, hoping he didn’t blow this first official test as a father.

“Hey, buddy,” he said. “Don’t you think you were a little hard on your mom?”

“No! She should have told me!” he cried, his head still buried. “I didn’t even know you! I thought my father was some creep.”

“Listen, Tripper, she had her reasons. Reasons you don’t know anything about right now.”

His head poked up, his face wet with tears. “There’s not any reason for not telling me about my father! I never even saw you before! Not in person, anyway.”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that—”

“It’s not your fault! It’s hers!”

“Maybe it’s not, Tripper. There were things I should have done—”

“She still should have told you! And I’m her son—she should have told me.”

In his mind, there was only black and white, Matt realized. Discerning this particular shade of gray was beyond the ability of a ten-year-old. Hell, it had even been beyond his own ability at first, hadn’t it?

Claire had been right. Explaining to their son all the complexities of their relationship would be impossible.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed. He’d give it a shot, anyway. “You see, Tripper, when I met your mother, she had just arrived in Hollywood, for a bit part she had been given in a movie, and didn’t know anything about making films. I got the impression she didn’t even want to be there.” He carefully chose the words, glossing over the past. “Even though I was involved with someone else, I was attracted to your mother…but I should have broken off my relationship with Hayley, before—before doing what I did.”

In the nearby stall, Jenny’s horse snorted, agreeing with him.

Tripper wiped his face on his sleeve, his sobs quiet now.

“Your mom was scared, son. Scared for both of you. Those things they said about her…even though she didn’t deserve them, it still hurt. And she didn’t want to see you hurt…the way you’re hurting now.”

Tripper lifted his tear stained face, and Matt’s heart nearly cracked. “But I wouldn’t have even known you!”

Matt didn’t have an answer for that. The thought that he wouldn’t have known his son if it hadn’t been for a twist of fate still kept him awake at night.

No, sometimes there weren’t any answers, Matt thought. He wrapped his arms around his son and held him for the first time in his life while he sobbed all his misery and bitterness onto his dad’s denim shirt.

Chapter Twenty-One

M
ATT
C
OULDN’T
S
LEEP
T
HAT
N
IGHT
. He lay awake, staring at the fire glowing in the big stone fireplace, wishing he could be with the two people he cared about most in the world. But they weren’t speaking to each other. Tripper had made it obvious he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as his mother. Matt knew better than to try to force a reconciliation, though the bruised look in Claire’s eyes nearly drove him mad.

He was caught square in the middle, torn by sympathy for Tripper, the son he hadn’t even known two months ago, and for Claire, the woman he had come to love.

Tripper’s anger was understandable. It was a hard thing, to realize your heroine had faults. All his short life, Claire had tried to protect him; in the process, she must have appeared like Superwoman to a young boy—Claire the Invincible, Tripper’s very own Zena the Warrior Princess.

And now, her armor was tarnished.

He wished he could shoulder the blame for this whole mess, but it wasn’t that easy. He felt just a tiny bit angry at Claire himself.

For so long, he had tried to make her feel something—anything, even anger—and she backed away. Her feelings were in a perpetual holding pattern, an orbiting satellite preferring the coldness of outer space to a painful reentry through the earth’s atmosphere. He wished he could show her that they could have a safe landing with him at the controls—but then, he wasn’t so sure himself. They had crashed and burned the last time, hadn’t they?

He sighed and put his drink down. He might as well go to bed, get some sleep. As he went through the hall, he heard a sound over the intercom. A tiny rustling, a whimper, then a louder gasp. His first thought was Tripper—Claire had mentioned he was prone to the occasional asthma attack.

But asthma attacks weren’t accompanied by blood-curdling screams.

The sound sent spikes of fear racing up his spine. It was coming from the bedroom upstairs, where Claire slept.

He took the stairs two at a time, then threw open the door to her room.

“My God, are you all right?”

She was sitting bolt upright in bed, her hand on her mouth, staring straight ahead.

He went to her, took her stiff body in his arms. “Claire…sweetheart, wake up. Are you hurt?” He smoothed her hair, damp with sweat. “You must have had a bad dream. Tripper told me you have nightmares.”

He felt her shudder in his arms.

“You’re okay now; it’s all right.”

“The water…drowning…” she whispered, so low Matt thought he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“You were dreaming you were drowning?” He kept his voice low, soothing, though his own heart still pounded against his ribs.

She didn’t respond, and Matt had a funny feeling she didn’t know he was there. “You’re not drowning, Claire. You don’t even like to swim, remember?”

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” he heard her whisper.

“It’s okay, honey. He’ll forgive you. Tripper knows you love him. You only did it to protect him.”

“No,” she said, her voice clearer now. “I didn’t do it to protect him…” Her body shook in his arms, and he held her tighter. “It was me, Matt. I wanted to protect myself. I was so scared!”

She sobbed, a rusty gasp that almost broke his heart. “It’s okay. You did what you thought was best—for both of you.”

She shook her head. “No, he would have been better off with you. You would have known what to do…”

“Known what to do about what?”

But she didn’t answer, blinking as if she had just realized what she had said.

He could feel her returning to consciousness. Yet that familiar stiffness was gone, her guard down.

She shivered, and he held her tighter. The thin nightgown she had worn to bed was hardly enough to keep her warm in the night chill. He ignored the enticing curves just below the neckline. A woman in distress, he reminded himself, was not a target for lust. “It was just a nightmare,” he said, stroking her back. “After all you’ve been through, I guess that’s not surprising.”

“It was just a—a little one.” Her voice quivered, and he could feel her heart racing against his chest.

“Well, for a little one, it sure got you spooked.” He stroked her hair, tugging a lock away from the scar on her forehead. “I could probably rustle us up some cocoa. Might help you sleep.” His saint-like intentions were rapidly dissolving as he felt her pressed against him.

Her breath grazed the hairs on his chest, left exposed by his partially unbuttoned shirt. “No, don’t bother. I—I’m not really hungry.”

“How about a drink, then? I’ve got some whiskey—one hundred proof, guaranteed nightmare repellent.”

He glanced down and saw her smile against his chest. She seemed content to have his arms around her. Her scent filled his nostrils. Ivory soap? Or some pheromone invented by the gods to drive men wild? Him, in particular…

In his arms, Claire let the sweet relief of consciousness flood through her, bringing life back into her numb limbs. But this time it was accompanied by a warmth, a strong chest, comforting arms. Never before had the presence of another human made her feel so cherished, so loved…but she didn’t want love and all its accompanying complications—did she?

But this felt so good, she couldn’t bring herself to complain. She just enjoyed, letting the feeling creep back into her limbs, stretching into the warmth…letting it suck her down…and the drowning feeling she had had before returned, only this time the arms holding her were salvation, not damnation, and she let herself sink into the safety of Matt’s arms.

She shivered again, and Matt held her tighter. “You’re cold,” he whispered against her hair. “Let me get you back under the covers.”

“No.” She leaned into him, slipping her arms up his chest. Tilting her head back, she looked into his eyes. They were warm with desire, with passion—and caution. He wouldn’t rush her, wouldn’t ask for anything she couldn’t give…but she wasn’t so sure she didn’t want to give him everything he desired…everything
she
desired…especially if that meant an end to her fears.

She realized she had found the perfect antidote: Better than any sleeping pill, more secure than the most advanced security system, Matt’s arms were a life raft, come to save her in the middle of the cold ocean. If the price of this was sex, it was a price she was willing to pay.

Somehow, putting it into terms she could understand made her feel it was the right decision. It wasn’t a case of passion ruling her head, lust overcoming her good sense. This was the right thing to do. The smart thing.

Just to be sure he understood her intent, she raised up and kissed him, ignoring the tiny prick of doubt. She was determined to see this through. She had hidden long enough. No longer would she allow fear a hold on her.