Susan Mallery Fool's Gold Series Volume One: Chasing Perfect\Almost Perfect\Sister of the Bride\Finding Perfect (44 page)

Ethan chuckled. “I'm sure she did.”

“Sometimes moms are complicated.”

“It's not just moms. It's all women. Just when you think you've got them figured out, they surprise you.”

Tyler continued to look up at him. The smile faded. “Do you have other kids?”

Ethan felt a tightness in his chest. Without thinking, he put his hand on Tyler's shoulder. “No. I don't.”

“So it's just me?”

Ethan nodded.

“I wouldn't mind a brother, but I sure don't want a sister.”

Liz was sitting on the front porch when they got back to her place. Tyler raced toward her and threw himself in her arms.

“We had the best time,” he said. “The Mountaineers won and the manager got mad at the umpire and got thrown out of the game.”

“That can't be good,” she replied, releasing her son. She looked over his head toward Ethan. “Sounds like everything went well.”

He nodded, determined not to react to her in a T-shirt and shorts. Nothing about the clothes was special—it was the woman inside the clothes that made him take notice.

Her legs were long and toned, the skin smooth. Her bare feet made her look vulnerable. His instinctive reaction was to protect. Then he had to remind himself that Liz was the bad guy here, which made him uncomfortable.

“I'm gonna tell Melissa and Abby about the game,” Tyler announced and ran inside. The screen door slammed behind him.

“I'm glad you had a good time,” she said.

Ethan let his anger take over. “There shouldn't be anything to be glad about. I shouldn't have to get to know my son. I should be a part of his life. You didn't have the right, Liz. You didn't just screw with my life, you screwed with Tyler's.”

She didn't say anything for a long moment, then she
reached behind her and picked up a letter. The envelope was smudged and had the look of paper that had been handled a thousand times. She held it out to him.

He didn't want to take it. Because in that second, looking into her eyes, he knew she'd been telling the truth. That five years ago she
had
tried to tell him about Tyler.

His fingers closed over the envelope. The date on the postmark confirmed her story, as did the handwritten address. The writing wasn't his—he could see that immediately. But it was close enough that someone else could be fooled. After all, it wouldn't have occurred to Liz that someone was trying to mislead her.

He pulled out the single sheet of paper. The message was brutally clear. “I know about the kid you claim is mine. What we had ended years ago. I have my own family now. My own responsibilities. I don't want anything to do with him or you. Stay away from me and from Fool's Gold.”

The letter didn't excuse her running away and not telling him about her pregnancy, but it explained a lot. Suddenly his anger wasn't as hot or bright as it had been. He was the one left feeling played by a woman who had claimed to love him.

Rayanne had known, he thought, shaking his head. She'd known for months, had gone into labor knowing he had another child out there and hadn't said a word. She'd kept the truth to herself, even as she died in his arms.

While theirs might not have been a love match, he'd thought he'd known her. Had understood her. But he'd
been wrong. She hadn't been willing to take a chance that he might want Liz's child more than he wanted hers. He knew Rayanne well enough to believe that.

The deception changed everything, he thought grimly, although he couldn't say how. It wasn't just the act of omission—she'd deliberately lied to Liz. What if Tyler had needed him? Liz would never have contacted him. Not after reading those words.

“I'm sorry,” Liz murmured.

He returned his attention to her, saw the sympathy in her green eyes. “What have you got to be sorry about?”

“You were married to her. She's gone. You can't ask her why she did it or know if she ever regretted what she did.”

He already knew the answer to both. The only real question was how he could have been so wrong about the woman he'd married.

He put the letter back in the envelope and handed both to her. “I guess I owe you an apology.”

“I'll remind you of that the next time you're mad at me. I expect that to be in about fifteen seconds.” She gave him a slow smile. “You've become emotionally volatile in my absence. It's a little surprising.”

“Maybe I'm exploring my feminine side.”

“Maybe you need medication.”

He leaned against the railing. “You really did try to tell me about Tyler.”

She nodded.

There were still the first six years of Tyler's life to deal with, but that was for another time. A few words on a page had changed everything.

“Can we start over?” he asked.

Her expression turned wary. “While I appreciate the offer and don't mean to sound ungracious, it's really just a matter of time until you're pissed at me again.”

“Don't you want to take advantage of my good mood?”

She grimaced. “No, thanks.”

“You should. Have dinner with me. We can talk logistics.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I'm not ready to be exposed to the questionable society of this town. Eating out, with you, in a restaurant, isn't my idea of a good time.”

“At my place. Tomorrow night.”

“You cook?”

“I have many talents.”

A light wash of color stained her cheeks. “Yes, well, I have three minors I have to worry about. Melissa is fourteen and plenty old enough to be left on her own, but under the circumstances, I'm not sure I want to leave her in charge. She's had enough responsibility for a while.”

“My mom can come over and watch them.”

Liz winced. “I'm sure she's a lovely woman, but I'm not up to another encounter with the soul that is your mother.”

“Then I'll ask one of my sisters.”

Liz considered that. “If Montana will stay with the
kids, I'll go. I ran into her today and she doesn't hate me. In your family, that's practically a miracle. Of course she doesn't know about Tyler and it's possible finding out will change everything, but a girl can dream.”

“Montana it is,” he agreed. “She'll be here at six tomorrow.”

“How do you know she doesn't have plans?”

“I don't, but she owes me.”

“Typical male.”

He grinned. “Is that a yes?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

She sighed. “Yes.”

* * *

L
IZ HAD ALMOST TWENTY-FOUR
hours to regret her decision and she did her best to make use of the time.

Dinner with Ethan? What had she been thinking? More alone time so he could yell at her again? Not her smartest move. But now, as she got ready to walk over to his place, she knew she wasn't going to back out. She and Ethan had too much they had to talk about—mostly practicalities when it came to him getting to know Tyler. With a little luck, and proof that she had tried to contact him five years before, they might be able to have a normal, regular conversation. Like adults.

Maybe.

Montana arrived right on time, as bubbly and gushing as she had been the day before.

“I brought books for you to sign,” Ethan's sister
spoke as she entered the house. “Not tonight. I'll just leave them and you can get to them when it's convenient. And Pia told me I'm not supposed to bug you about the book festival, but offering my babysitting services in exchange for you coming to the festival isn't exactly the same as bugging, right?”

Liz couldn't help laughing. “Do you drink a lot of coffee?”

Montana grinned. “I get that question all the time.” She glanced around, as if checking to see if they were alone, then lowered her voice. “I heard about Tyler and that you tried to tell Ethan before. That Rayanne kept it from him. I know we're not supposed to say anything bad about someone who's dead, but I'm not even surprised she did that.”

Liz wanted to ask her why, but the three kids came down the stairs just then.

Introductions were made, the pizza ordered and rules for the evening established. Liz made sure her cell number was written down. She'd already talked to Melissa about Montana coming over to watch the younger kids and the teen had agreed she was happy not to have to take on more responsibility. Just before she left, Liz checked to make sure the pizza money was on the dining room table.

But the two twenties she'd left were gone.

“Did somebody take the pizza money?” she yelled toward the living room.

The kids and Montana were already engrossed in
picking out their movies for the evening. A mumbled “I didn't see it” drifted back to her.

Liz checked under the table, to see if the money had fallen. But there weren't any bills tucked behind chair legs. Maybe she'd only planned to put out the money.

She removed two more twenties from her wallet and handed them to Montana.

“Have fun,” she called. “I should be back by ten, but if I'm not, everyone goes to bed then. Bye.”

“Bye, Aunt Liz.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“Have a good time,” Montana told her. “Get Ethan to tell you about the book festival.”

“You're relentless,” Liz said as she walked to the door.

“One of my best qualities. It marks me as a Hendrix.”

CHAPTER SIX

E
THAN'S HOUSE WAS ON THE OTHER
side of town, which meant it was a fifteen-minute walk. With the longer days, the sun was still out, the sky blue. She distracted herself by naming the flowers she passed. As she knew little more than the basic rose/carnation/daisy types, it wasn't a totally successful diversion.

Instead she questioned her choice of clothing for the evening. She'd wanted to be casual but not too casual, settling on a cap-sleeve T-shirt in light green and a white denim skirt that showed off her spray-tanned legs. With her red hair, real tanning was impossible and only promoted sunburn and freckles.

Maybe she should have simply worn jeans. Did a skirt imply a date? She didn't want him thinking she thought this was more than it was.

Before she could make herself totally insane, she turned on Ethan's street and paused to admire the house. It was relatively new, craftsman style with a wide porch and plenty of wood. Cream shutters contrasted with the deep green of the main house.

There was plenty more to appreciate, but she had a
feeling that if she stood in front too long, she wouldn't have the courage to go inside. Eventually the neighbors would notice her frozen on the sidewalk, assume she was crazy and call the police. From there it would all be downhill, proving that going inside was probably the safest and best plan.

She made her way to the front door, which opened before she could knock. Ethan stood there, looking tall and masculine and sexy in jeans, boots and a soft white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His hair was slightly mussed, his expression both welcoming and expectant. For a second she felt a very different kind of tension—one that began low in her belly and worked itself all over her body. While it was better than nerves or annoyance, it wasn't any safer.

She'd loved Ethan once, she reminded herself. That made her vulnerable. Just because they'd worked through a few things didn't mean she could relax now. Noticing that he was a good-looking guy who made her insides sigh with appreciation wasn't anything she had time for.

“You made it,” he noted.

“Amazing but true.” She stepped inside. “Great house. Did you build it?”

“A few years ago.”

“With Rayanne?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“No. I sold that house.”

Because of the memories? Probably, she thought,
telling herself not to ask questions if she didn't want to hear the answers.

“Come on in,” he said, motioning her to the left.

The entryway was large and open, with a two-story ceiling and dark wood floors. She crossed the space and entered a huge living room with a fireplace at one end and a view of the mountains through big windows.

The furniture was masculine but comfortable, the artwork conservative. Rugs covered enough of the hardwood floor that sound didn't echo. On the far side was an opening to a dining room.

He led the way into the kitchen which was filled with cherry cabinets, miles of granite and large south-facing windows. Two bar stools had been pulled up to the counter. There was a bottle of red wine and two glasses, along with a plate of appetizers. Delicious scents of garlic and spices drifted from one of the two stainless steel ovens.

“I'm impressed,” she said.

“Don't be. I know a great caterer. I call, food arrives, I heat it.”

He waited until she took one of the seats before reaching for the wine.

“The perfect bachelor lifestyle?” she asked.

“Some days.” He opened the bottle with an easy, practiced motion. “You're not married, either. Want to talk about it?”

She took the glass of wine he offered and shook her head. “Not really.”

“Because of the guy or because we should stick to safer topics?”

“I think safer topics are a better idea,” she answered cautiously.

“You sound wary.”

“I'm prepared to practice my duck-and-cover skills.”

He gave her a smile. “Because I may start using you as target practice again?”

“Absolutely.”

The bar was high enough that with her sitting and him standing, they were practically at eye level. She could see all the shades of brown that made up his irises, the long, thick lashes that took her three coats of mascara to achieve. If she inhaled deeply, she would catch the scent of soap and man. A scent she remembered, even now.

“Tonight we've called a truce,” he declared, touching his glass to hers. “Remember?”

“And I can trust you?”