Michael's Father. Melinda Curtis

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СКАЧАТЬ the belt on her son’s car seat. His little face was scrunched up, his eyes tightly shut. But Cori knew Michael considered himself awake. The sooner she freed him, the less likely Blake was to experience one of Michael’s tantrums.

      “It’s okay, baby.” He’d only fallen asleep about thirty minutes before they arrived, which was one reason why she’d postponed braving the mansion. Cranky didn’t begin to describe Michael when he hadn’t slept a full hour.

      Cori pulled him out and into her arms, guiding his head to her shoulder, away from Blake’s view. Michael settled easily against her, relaxed and content to be free. She rubbed his little back and kissed the crown of his head, familiar gestures meant to reassure her son.

      “He’s yours?” Blake frowned at her, his eyes dipping to her legs.

      “All thirty-five pounds of him.” Realizing her dress was riding up, she held Michael’s bottom away from her with one hand and smoothed her skirt with the other.

      Cori blushed. Actually blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Of all the ways she’d imagined seeing Blake Austin again, flashing her panties hadn’t made the list.

      “I heard about someone named Michael. I just…” His frown deepened.

      “I’m not married. Never was, if that’s what you’re asking.” Where had that come from? Blake certainly wasn’t asking, much to her heart’s dismay.

      She wasn’t ready for this. Granted, Michael was small for his age, so Cori didn’t think Blake would suspect the boy was his son. Heaven knows, he would be furious if he guessed the truth before Cori had a chance to tell him. She just wanted to tell Blake when things were right. Looking at his disapproving frown, she didn’t think this was the time.

      Blake’s expression became closed and unreadable as the moment turned excruciatingly awkward. “And the kid…” Blake stepped to his left, craning his neck to see Michael’s face.

      “Michael.” Cori stepped slightly back and away, her hand on Michael’s head as she shielded him from view. She didn’t like Blake referring to Michael as the kid.

      Blake paused. Scratched his head.

      Cori hadn’t been prepared for this kind of reception. So much for her fantasy of Blake seeing Michael and claiming them. Hugging Michael tighter, Cori fought back the tears. Only Michael mattered. And Mama. “Your point?”

      Blake looked as if someone had sucker punched him, as if he didn’t know what to say. Then he blurted, “I wasn’t expecting a kid, that’s all.”

      “His name is Michael,” Cori said through a throat so tight she struggled for air. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see my mother and get settled.”

      Cori stepped past Blake and marched with as much dignity as she could muster on high heels while holding thirty-five pounds of angel. She was practically bent over backward to keep her balance.

      “Who is that man, Mommy? I don’t like him.”

      “No one we need to worry about, Peanut.” Half of her wished Blake had heard her words.

      How could Blake not recognize his own son?

      BLAKE REACTED to Cori’s walking away instinctively. He hurried around her and opened the front door, ignoring the blank, unwelcome look from the kid and getting a hesitant “thank you” without a smile from Cori. She’d always been unfailingly polite, inspiring the best behavior in him.

      Cori Sinclair had come home. With a kid in tow. Blake’s heart stumbled every time he looked at Cori, dropped to his gut every time he laid eyes on her kid.

      He should have called her. They’d shared one unbelievable night together, argued and never spoken again. Stubborn, wounded pride had kept him from contacting her. And she hadn’t come back. Until now.

      Despite years of service to Messina Vineyards, it was clear Blake was still an outsider. The Messinas were such a private family, they made the Kennedys look like chatterboxes. Blake respected their silence and hadn’t asked about Cori when she hadn’t returned from school. About a year or more after Cori’s graduation, when it seemed the Messinas had accepted Blake, he’d started accompanying Mr. Messina to award dinners, charity events and the like. Only then did he hear snippets of conversation about Cori and Michael. Sophia, especially, was quick to point out to Mr. Messina and Luke, Cori’s brother, how good Michael was for Cori.

      All this time, Blake had assumed Michael was Cori’s lover, not her child. He felt so stupid. At least now, he could lay to rest that nagging suspicion that he’d been the reason Cori had never returned to her family.

      As Blake watched, Cori made a beeline for the steep, sweeping staircase without slowing to take in the bronze and burgundy opulence that still impressed Blake. Of course, she’d grown up in this house and probably took the mix of antique furnishings, original artwork and oriental carpets for granted.

      Blake realized she meant to climb the steps in those neck-breaking high heels while holding the kid. So he followed her up the stairs to make sure she wouldn’t fall. Then he had to knock on Sophia’s door for Cori and open it, as well. His mother was undoubtedly praising his manners in heaven.

      Blake felt more like the butler—one more reason why he hadn’t called her.

      “Mama,” Cori said in a heart-wrenching whisper as she swept past him.

      Sophia smiled brilliantly, her expression lighting up the room, and making Blake believe for just a moment that she wasn’t terminally ill, losing a second battle with breast cancer.

      Not stopping to put down her son, Cori rushed to her mother’s side despite her heels sinking into the thick taupe carpet. She hung on to the boy as if he were her lifeline.

      Blake had once thought he could fill that role. Resolutely, he tugged the door closed, shutting away the scene, and his memories.

      “I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE HERE.” Mama’s voice came out in a breathy whisper as she patted the edge of the bed in invitation.

      Trying her best to bury her unsettled emotions toward Blake, Cori sat on the rose-patterned brocade bedspread, carefully watching her mother for any sign of pain the jostling might cause. When she didn’t see any, Cori lifted Michael onto her lap so that he could see his grandmother. She took her mother’s thin hand and gave it a tender squeeze. Mama looked terrible, with no luster to her once dark hair, and eyes that were sluggish. Her pale pink satin nightgown was the brightest thing about her appearance.

      “You remember Grandma, don’t you, Michael?”

      Michael nodded and tucked his head under Cori’s chin.

      “Well…” Cori floundered for something to say. She’d stayed in touch with her mother, but only by telephone and over the occasional dinner when Mama came to Los Angeles. They usually filled the time exchanging news and avoiding the issue of Michael’s parentage. Idle chitchat seemed inappropriate now. She glanced around the room, noting the same rose curtains, pine paneling and Queen Anne furniture. Other than a plastic water pitcher, cup and straw on the bedside table, nothing seemed to have changed in the room except her mother’s health.

      To keep the conversation from lagging, Cori fell back on good manners. “Can СКАЧАТЬ