The Real Father (Twins) (Harlequin Superromance No. 927) (16 page)

“Liza—” Molly began.

“I have an idea,” Jackson interjected. “How
about if I tuck you in, and instead of telling you a bedtime story, I tell you all about Tommy?”

“You don't have to do that, Jackson,” Molly said quickly. He looked tired himself, and he probably needed to get home. Or back to Annie's house… “Now that we know he's all right, Liza can wait until tomorrow to find out—”

“Mom!” Liza's voice was horrified. “I can't. I really can't.”

“It's okay, M. I'd like to.” Jackson stood, and he gave Molly a small smile over Liza's head. “It's been a tough day. We could all use a little extra TLC tonight.”

 

I
T WAS THE
longest hour of her life.

She scrubbed the dishes. She folded laundry. She sent an unnecessary fax to her partner in Atlanta, and she paid seven bills that weren't due until next month. She straightened the cushions on the living room sofa, and she stared blindly at her Everspring plans.

But through it all, her heart was in the bedroom with Jackson and Liza. She heard the sounds of laughter, and she longed to know what the joke had been. She heard the murmur of voices, and she yearned to know what secret had been shared.

As she put away laundry, she passed Liza's room more times than were strictly necessary, just for the bittersweet pleasure of seeing Jackson sitting on the edge of her daughter's little bed.

She tried to stop herself. What kind of fantasy tableau was this? Had she grown as unrealistic as
Liza? But Jackson looked so right there, with the restless Cuspian moons throwing golden sparks across both sets of silken blond hair.

So right to see Liza chattering merrily, Jackson listening with a smile. He was so perfectly at ease. So comfortable. Just like a father. As if he tucked nine year olds into bed all the time.

Which, she reminded herself, forcing herself to move away from the door, was quite possibly the case. For all she knew, he tucked Tommy Cheatwood in bed with stories and laughter every night of the little boy's life.

And then…did he join Annie in her bed?

Though the thought had crossed Molly's mind at least a hundred times before, this time it took root, like some poisonous weed. It crowded out all other thoughts. No matter how she tried, she couldn't dislodge it.

She didn't really care that Jackson and Annie shared a past. She didn't even mind about Tommy, though it was obvious that Jackson was his father. She had faith in Jackson, and she had seen the work he put into caring for Tommy. He was doing his best. Someday perhaps he would trust her enough to explain, but until then she would trust him.

No, the
past
wasn't what bothered Molly. What Molly dreaded was the present. She hated the idea that today, tonight, tomorrow night…Jackson might
still
be Annie Cheatwood's lover.

She didn't want him to belong to someone else. Their episode in the nursery hadn't been some strange aberration caused by the seductive scent of
flowers. It had been the moment of truth. The moment at which she had to admit she desperately wanted to make love to Jackson Forrest.

Why had it taken her so long to face it? It was perfectly natural, perfectly human. Jackson was not only a breathtakingly attractive man, he was a good man, as well. And Molly was a woman. Though she had, for the sake of her daughter, pretended for the past ten years that she was a mother and nothing else, Molly knew it was not true.

In Jackson's hands, she was once again a woman.

And so, abandoning all pretence of busy work, Molly sat silently on the couch, waiting for him to return to her.

He entered the room softly, as though reluctant to disturb Liza's slumber. He must have forgotten what Molly had told him the last time he was here. Once Liza was unconscious, a Broadway chorus line could tap dance across her headboard, and she would sleep through it.

Molly had hoped he would sit beside her on the sofa, but he didn't. With his hands in his pockets, he leaned against the door frame, like a well-mannered guest, comfortably poised to exit before he overstayed his welcome. He looked wonderful, she thought. His green-and-gold-plaid flannel shirt was unbuttoned over an ivory T-shirt, and his jeans were dark and soft.

“Liza seems fine,” he observed. “How about you, M? Are you okay?”

The question was polite, too. Nothing more. It
was as if they, who had once been the best of buddies, had become courteous strangers.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Really I am.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“I'm glad you came tonight, Jackson,” she said, hastening to begin, before she lost her nerve. “I've been wanting to talk to you. There's something very important I need to tell you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”

She drew in her breath. “I just wanted to say that I know why you were angry with me, back at the nursery. You thought that my choosing the orchid meant I was still thinking about Beau, longing for Beau. Even after we—”

“Yes. Even after we.” He shifted. “But that's okay, M. I should have known it would be like that. It always has been, hasn't it?”

“No. That's what I'm telling you. You were wrong, Jackson. You were completely, one hundred percent wrong. I wasn't thinking about Beau. I was thinking about you.”

He gazed at her, unblinking. “I would like to believe that,” he said neutrally. “But experience argues against it.”

“Well, you
can
believe it,” she said. “You
must
believe it, because if that woman hadn't arrived like that, I would have—”

Somehow she stopped herself. Before she could admit how much she wanted him, she had to ask about Annie. She couldn't enter into a relationship with him if he had given another woman any kind of vow.

“But I'm glad we were interrupted. Before we begin anything that serious, we have things that need to be discussed. I need to know—I need to be sure—” She started over carefully. “Is there any reason why we shouldn't be together that way?”

He tilted his head stiffly. “What do you mean?”

“I want us to be honest with each other, Jackson. I don't want to take you away from…anyone.” She looked down at her hands. This dancing around the subject was ridiculous. She was an adult, and so was he. It was time to speak frankly. “You don't have to tell me everything. I know that Tommy is your son, and I know that you love him very much. I'm glad of that, and I would never want to interfere with it. But what I don't know is whether you and Annie—whether she might think—whether she might hope—”

And abruptly, midsentence, she ran out of courage. There simply was no good way to say such things. She looked up, hoping that he understood.

For a moment, he looked completely blank. His eyes were just a shadowed emptiness. And then, to her astonishment, he began to laugh. It wasn't, somehow, a very happy sound.

“What is it?” She drew her arms across her chest instinctively, as if his strange laughter were some kind of weapon, as if the sound could hurt her. “What have I said that's funny?”

“You know Tommy is my son?” He threw his head back and laughed that black laughter one more time. When he lowered his head, his face was a cold collage of inexpressible disappointment and disgust.
“You
know
Tommy is my son? How exactly do you
know
that, Molly?”

“I—” She had expressed herself badly. She hadn't meant to accuse him of anything. She had only hoped to get the fact out in the open. She had merely wanted to start their new relationship with as few secrets and lies as possible.

“I don't really
know,
of course. But it's hardly much of a secret, Jackson. You couldn't be closer to him. And it would be obvious anyhow. Anyone can see—”

“Anyone can see what?”

This was foolish. Was he really going to deny the evidence of those extraordinarily green Forrest eyes, that arrogant Forrest profile? That long-limbed, bright and beautiful little boy might as well have his heritage printed on a sign and hung around his neck.

“For heaven's sake, Jackson,” she said softly. “Be reasonable. Look at him. Look at his eyes. That particular shade of green is—”

“Ahh. His eyes.” Jackson's smile was bitter, his tone icily sarcastic. “My God, to be convicted by one minute, utterly random spin of the color wheel.”

“It's not random,” she said stiffly. “That particular shade of green might as well be a fingerprint, and you know it.”

He made one mirthless, scoffing sound. “Can you honestly tell me, Molly, that I am the only man in Demery, South Carolina, with eyes that ‘particular' shade of green?”

She lifted her chin. She didn't like being lied to,
especially in that nasty tone of voice. “Yes,” she said flatly. “As a matter of fact, you are.”

He stared her across the ever widening gulf.

“But what about ten years ago, M?” His smile was as deadly as winter. “How many of us were there then?”

“I
T WAS REALLY
thoughtful of you to bring my little darling a nice, wholesome vampire video game,” Annie said, putting her feet up on her scarred patio table and taking a noisy sip of hot cinnamon tea. “But somehow I'm getting vibes that this little visit isn't entirely a mission of mercy. Somehow I just get that feeling, you know?”

“You do?” Molly flushed uncomfortable. She leaned back in her chair. “God, I must be the world's most transparent liar.”

Annie chuckled. “Well, yeah, actually you are.” She crossed her feet at the ankles, balanced her teacup in her lap, and grinned at her guest. “But also I had a little help. My good buddy Jackson called last night.”

“Oh.” Molly stared at Annie, at a loss to decide what the appropriate response was at such a moment. But she should have expected this. It was so like Jackson to know what she would do long before she did it. “What did he say?”

“Just that you might be paying me a little visit. And that you might have a few minor questions about the statistical probability of inheriting eyes in a particular shade of green.”

Molly stirred her tea carefully, finding its warmth bracing. As though Annie had anticipated that they would need privacy for this conversation, she had led Molly out to a small patio behind her apartment. Unfortunately, the weather this morning was chilly, more kin to winter than to spring. Molly had been up at dawn, checking the park plants for frost damage. But then, she hadn't been to sleep all night anyhow.

“And did he tell you why I'd be asking those questions?”

“Yeah, he told me why.” Annie laughed. “Because he's a sorry son of a gun who can't keep his mouth shut, that's why. He could at least have warned me before he started spilling the beans.”

“Annie,” Molly said, distressed and embarrassed almost beyond endurance. “I'm so sorry. I know this is a dreadful intrusion. I know I'm asking a lot. But I just have to know…”

Annie's eyebrows went up, and Molly paused, struggling to be totally honest. “No, I don't
have
to know. And you don't have to tell me. But I
want
to know. I want very much to know the truth, and I'm hoping you will help me.”

She met Annie's sardonic gaze somberly. “I understand that you don't want the identity of Tommy's father to be public knowledge. I want you to know I will respect that. I will never tell another soul anything you—”

“Enough, enough.” Annie waved Molly's protestations away with both hands, as if she were shooing
out a roomful of annoying pests. She leaned her head back and sighed loudly.

“Aw, heck, what's the use?” She twisted her mouth wryly. “I'll be honest with you, Molly. I don't mind that you've found out. I actually thought you should be told, given the situation. But I had hoped to keep this from Tommy as long as possible. I didn't see any point in letting him get an attitude, you know—letting him get above himself, thinking he's something special. But hell, apparently Forrest men are born with attitude. Nothing you can do to stop it.”

She grinned. “Besides, obviously we aren't really fooling anybody. No offense, kiddo, but you're probably the only person in town who hadn't figured it out already.”

“No offense taken,” Molly said humbly. “I'm aware that I've been almost unbelievably dense.”

“Yeah, well, you can blame Jackson for some of that. I kept telling him he ought to let you in on the joke, but he's got this whole too-noble-to-live thing going. He seemed to think it wasn't quite kosher for him to stick a pin in your little fantasy Beau bubble, seeing as he had an itch for you himself.” She rolled her eyes. “Not to mix my metaphors or anything.”

Molly sat very still, very stiff, as if she were holding the pieces of herself together. “So it really is true, then?” She put her teacup carefully on the table. “Tommy and Beau—? I mean, you and Beau—?”

“Yeah,” Annie said, her voice suddenly just a
tone softer. Her eyes were softer, too. “Me and Beau.” She shrugged. “Sorry, kiddo.”

“It's okay.” Molly stood, suddenly unable to sit quietly any longer. “Really. It's okay.”

But even after hearing it straight from Annie's mouth, she still could hardly believe it.
Annie and Beau.

And Tommy.

She had been up all night, doing the calculations again and again like some overheated computer. Even allowing for slight errors, it always added up the same. Tommy had been conceived no more than a few short weeks before Molly had given herself to Beau out on the soft, green Everspring lawn.

For some reason, that was the most difficult element of this whole travesty.
God.
It made her out to be such a fool, all gussied up in her yellow silk dress, racing across town with her tears and her terror.

And the most beautiful memory of her life… What had that become? A joke. A dirty joke—one that, except for the intervention of fate, would have provided Beau with some great locker room smut. Her prissy virtue had been notorious among their friends. How he would have loved to boast of her surrender!

And the act that she had believed was a sacred experience, a shared moment of rare bliss and mutual commitment… It had merely been another studly roll in the hay for her beloved Beau.

“Don't let it hit you so hard, sweetie.” Annie
sounded affectionately amused. “Take it from me. The boy didn't deserve you.”

Molly just shook her head, unable to speak without fear of breaking into tears, which she absolutely refused to do. Not in front of Annie. Not ever, if she could help it.

“I'll tell you what a louse he was,” Annie continued. “When he first started coming around, he was pretending to be Jackson. I think he did that a lot. Guess he figured Jackson's reputation was already shot to hell, and a few more sins would hardly even show.”

Molly looked at her, incredulous. “Did you believe it? Did you really mistake him for Jackson?”

Annie shrugged. “For the first few minutes, maybe. Those boys really were two peas in a pod, you know. And of course he was always careful to leave the Forrest ring at home—that would have been a dead giveaway. But I'd seen that trick before. Married guys do it all the time, hoping you won't notice the little tan-free line on their ring finger. They must think girls are really dumb.”

Molly smiled. “Some girls are, I hear.”

“Yeah, well, not this girl.” Annie patted her chest emphatically. “I knew what was going on.”

“So, if you knew it was a charade, why did you let him—”

Annie grinned sheepishly. “Well, now, sweetie, I may be smart, but I'm still human. You know how sinfully sexy those Forrest boys were. I'm not sure there was a female on the entire eastern seaboard who would have said no to either one of them.” She
wrinkled her nose. “Well, except for you. But frankly we weren't ever sure you
were
human.”

Molly laughed softly. “Gee, thanks,” she said. “That makes me feel
much
better.”

“Well, you're laughing, aren't you?” Annie patted her shoulder. “And you should laugh, kiddo. You should just give that memory one big bellyaching laugh goodbye. The boy didn't treat you right, and that's a fact.” Her gaze sobered for a fleeting second. “I didn't treat you right, either. I'm sorry about that, Molly. I really am.”

“I know,” Molly said gently. “I know.”

After that, there didn't seem to be much to say. Molly bent to gather up her purse and keys. “I guess I should get back out to Everspring,” she said awkwardly. “There's a lot left to do before Saturday.”

“Okay.” Annie didn't try to stop her. Maybe she realized that Molly needed time alone. That she needed time to adjust to this new view of the past.

“But if you decide you want to talk some more, I'll be around. I can't go to work, because His Highness in there needs someone twenty-four-seven to tote and fetch. At least until he gets used to his crutches.”

“Thanks.” Molly knew that Annie was right. The time might well come when she would want to know more. How often had Annie and Beau been together? Where? When?

But not yet. Right now she had all she could absorb.

“Thanks, Annie. I mean that sincerely. I appreciate your honesty.”

Annie lifted her cup in a wry salute. “Well, better late than never, I guess, huh?”

At the last moment, Molly turned back from the door. “You know,” she said slowly, “the ironic thing is, it never once crossed my mind that you—that you and Beau…” She lifted her shoulders wearily. “Even back then I always thought Jackson was more your type. I thought you had kind of a—a weakness for bad boys.”

“I did, God help me. I did.” Annie gave her a small half smile, and for the first time Molly glimpsed the wounded vulnerability beneath the brassy facade. “Don't you get it yet, sweetie? Boys didn't come any badder than Beau.”

 

L
IZA WAS SO EXCITED
she could hardly concentrate on her math. But her mom had a very strict rule about weekend homework: do it first thing after school Friday, or there would be no Saturday adventures.

So Liza pulled out a piece of scrap paper and doggedly began scribbling her first long division problem—415 divided by 72… She wiggled her pencil and thought hard.

This weekend, of all weekends, she couldn't let anything go wrong. So many cool things were happening. The grand opening of the park began at noon tomorrow and went on all day, right up until dark, when there were going to be fireworks. Liza loved fireworks. On the Planet Cuspian, the sky just naturally erupted in golden fireworks every single night.

And tonight was going to be wonderful, too. Her mom had somewhere to go, so Aunt Lavinia was coming over to baby-sit. Just thinking about that made Liza feel as if she had breathed in a little bubble of happiness. Aunt Lavinia was so much fun. She had promised to bring over stuff to make Cuspian cookies. Liza could hardly wait to see what a Cuspian cookie would look like.

Best of all, her mom was finally acting happy again. For the past couple of days, Molly had been kind of quiet, a little bit sad. Liza had begun to worry, but Aunt Lavinia had said it probably was just all the pressure from the landscaping jobs, which had to be finished by tomorrow.

Aunt Lavinia must have been right, because today, when Molly came in from her final checkup at the park, she had been smiling in a very special, very Willowsong sort of way.

“Would you mind if Aunt Lavinia came over to play with you tonight, sweetheart?” Molly had been busy peeling off her dirty jeans, as if she were in a hurry, but she had blown Liza a kiss in the mirror. “I need to go out for a while.”

Something wonderful was going to happen. Liza could feel it. And then, a few minutes later, she had heard her mother humming in the shower. That was a very good sign. Liza began to wonder where her mother was going.

When Aunt Lavinia arrived, Liza asked her if she knew.

“Well, she just said she needed to talk to Jackson. That's all I know.”

Molly appeared in the hall doorway, wrapped in her blue terry cloth robe. “Hi, Lavinia,” she said, wrapping a big towel around her wet hair with two quick twists. “Thanks so much for helping out. I won't be late, I promise.”

Lavinia smiled blandly. “I'm sure you won't, dear.” She chuckled and patted her large handbag. “But I brought a toothbrush and my best flannel nightgown, just in case.”

Molly gave Lavinia a stare that was half a frown, half a laugh. “Good grief, Lavinia,” she said, cutting a quick glance in Liza's direction. Liza bent over her long division, trying to look invisible. “What ridiculous ideas you get.”

Lavinia moved toward the kitchen and began depositing her containers of dough and decorations on the counter.

“I don't know what you mean, dear. I just believe in being prepared.” She looked up with a wide-eyed, innocent expression. “And may I say, I hope that's one lesson you've learned in life yourself?”

Molly laughed, a small flutter of surprised amusement. When Liza peeked up at her, she saw that her mother was blushing.

“Lavinia Forrest, you are positively incorrigible,” she said in a funny voice, tightening the belt of her robe. “I'm going to get dressed now.”

Liza looked up at that. “Are you going to wear your Willowsong dress?” Of all her mother's dresses, that was Liza's favorite. It was long and loose and soft, not a party dress really, but kind of
fairy-princessy anyhow. And it was the most Willowsong shade of blue she had ever seen.

Molly paused. “I hadn't planned to,” she said. “I was thinking about my green skirt and sweater.”

“Oh, Mom, no,” Liza pleaded. “You look so pretty in your Willowsong dress.”

“What nonsense,” Molly muttered. “It's much too warm for that dress. You're
both
completely incorrigible.”

Liza wasn't sure what that meant, but after a long while Molly came back out, looking for her shoes, and she was wearing the Willowsong dress. Liza didn't say anything. She just stared at Molly, amazed, as she often was, that such a beautiful, perfect Queen Willowsong could actually be her own mother.

Her hair was pulled back in a soft French braid that fell halfway down her back. She was wearing perfume. When she walked by, lifting the ruffle of the sofa to hunt for her shoes, Liza caught a faint whiff of spring flowers.

Curious, Liza looked more carefully. Molly was even wearing lipstick.
Wow.
Her mother almost never wore makeup. She always laughed and said it was too much trouble, and besides, it clashed with the dirt. But Liza thought it was because her mom didn't need it. Her mom was just naturally beautiful.

So something really, really special must be happening tonight. Liza held her breath as the most marvelous thought occurred to her. Maybe Jackson and her mom were going to go to a dance. Maybe they
would waltz and kiss and fall in love, and then they might start talking about getting married.