His Surprise Son. Wendy Warren

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      “Fine. Who do I have to apologize to? The cucumber or the waitress?”

      Hands resting just above his gun belt, Derek got in Jack’s face. “She’s a pickle.”

      Nate shook his head. “Apologize to both of them,” he ordered.

      Face reddening, Jack turned first to Willa. “Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He raised his hand to show off the gold band. “I’m married.” A resounding “ugh” circled through the small group of onlookers. Redder still, he looked at Izzy. “I apologize for making a big deal about the Wallabees. But they are new, and—”

      Nate’s hand clamped down firmly on Jake’s shoulder. “I think you can stop there.” His gaze returned boldly to Izzy. He nodded. “Good to see you, Isabelle.”

      With her heart pounding against the foam costume, she gave a jerky nod.

      He seemed to hesitate a moment longer, which made her nerves flare, then apparently deciding there was nothing else to say, he turned and walked toward the deli’s glass door.

      “Time to get back to work,” she muttered, feeling slightly out of breath.

      Her busboy Leon, and Oliver, the cook, returned to their jobs. Willa hurried after them.

      Derek watched the petite redhead for several seconds, then looked at Izzy. His eyes narrowed. “Explanation, please. Who was that guy? ’Cause your face is as green as that ridiculous costume.”

       Chapter Two

      “Shh.” Izzy waved her hand, indicating that Derek should lower his booming voice. “I’ll tell you later, I promise, but—” She stopped, her breath catching painfully in her throat.

      As Nate and his friend reached the deli’s entrance, a teenage boy pulled open the door.

      Izzy’s heart took off like a startled colt. For perhaps the second time in her life, she understood the term “blind panic.” A cold sweat covered her body.

      She wanted to run to the door, but her bones felt weak and rubbery, and she wouldn’t know what to do once she got there. She watched helplessly as the boy held the door. Nate must have thanked him, because the teen smiled and nodded.

      As Nate walked down the street, he glanced back through the broad window fronting the deli. Could he see far enough into the restaurant to note that she was still watching him? It seemed that he looked right at her before his friend drew his attention and they disappeared down the block.

      “You look like you’re going to be sick.” Derek’s voice boomed beside her. “What the hell is going on here today?”

      “Not now.” Her mouth was so dry, she could barely speak. “I’ll tell you later, but—”

      “Mom!”

      Eli, her beautiful son, nearly as tall as she was now, with the same fair skin and straight brown hair as hers, loped toward them. The sight of his gangly body and broad smile never failed to make her feel as if she’d taken a hit of pure oxygen. Today the sight of him filled her with anxiety, too.

      “Hey, Uncle Derek.” Eli’s speech was somewhat marred by the hearing impairment he had suffered as a baby.

      “Hey, buddy.”

      “I’m staying,” Eli announced, then used his expressive hands to sign the question What’s for dessert today?

      Instead of asking him whether he’d eaten lunch, Izzy both spoke and signed back, “There’s strawberry cheesecake in the walk-in fridge. Help yourself.”

      Eli’s eyes, hazel-green, like his mother’s, widened in surprise. “Cool.” She never offered him dessert before a healthful meal or, at the very least, a snack. Eli taught swim classes at the local parks and rec. She was always harping on him about healthful refueling. Now he trotted toward the kitchen, stopped and looked at her. I had a sub sandwich with lettuce, tomato, spinach and pickles, he signed. In case you were wondering. With a grin, Eli said hello to a waitress, dodged around her, then rounded the counter and disappeared into the kitchen calling, “Yo, O!” to Oliver, the lead cook, who had once bought Eli a set of child-sized saucepans and played “chef” with him for hours.

      Oh, God, how she loved her little family. Nate’s presence here could threaten everything she’d defied the odds to build.

      “I’m on duty tonight,” Derek said, keeping his voice low, “but I’ll see you tomorrow. I expect a full debriefing.”

      He had never asked about Eli’s father. Derek had too many of his own ghosts to request that Izzy dredge up hers, but once, during a vulnerable moment, she had told him a little bit about the summer she was seventeen.

      “Tomorrow?” Derek had been a good friend for years, but would she be ready to tell him—or anyone—the truth by tomorrow night? Not likely. She needed time, time to find out how long Nate was going to be in town...time to figure out how to protect her son, because this wasn’t just about her. “I’m...not sure I’m free tomorrow.”

      “What’s the problem?” Derek asked. “You close at sundown on Friday nights.”

      “Yes, but I’m... I’ve got to... There’s a very important—”

      “Cut it out, Izz. You’re a crap liar.”

      That’s what you think. She chewed the inside of her lip.

      Derek crossed his arms. “You’re making me so curious I might stop by tonight on my shift.”

      “No.” Eli would be home tonight. “Tomorrow,” she relented.

      Reappearing, Eli carried a plate of the deli’s mile-high cheesecake. “This is the bomb,” he said, pointing to it with his fork. Setting the plate aside so he had both hands free, he asked, Mom, is it okay if I sleep at Trey’s tonight? His dad said he’d drive us to Portland in the morning.

      Eli and his friend Trey were attending the same summer camp in Portland. After tonight, she wouldn’t see him for two whole weeks.

      “I can drive you.” Glad to think of something other than Nate, she focused on the plans she’d already made. “I took the morning off. I thought we’d stop at Voodoo Doughnuts for maple-bacon bars.” She smiled, for the moment just another mom trying to tempt her teenager into spending a little more time with her.

      A flash of guilt crossed her son’s features. Typically more comfortable with signing than oral speech when he had more than a few words to say, he used a combination of ASL and finger spelling to explain, Trey’s dad was a counselor for Inner City Project when he was our age. He’s going to introduce us around.

      “Ah.” For the past several summers, Eli had attended a camp for deaf kids. This summer, he’d insisted on “regular camp.” The fourteen-year-old was the one thing in Izzy’s life that had turned out absolutely, perfectly right. Refraining, with difficulty, from telling him he was already way, way better than “regular,” Izzy had spent more money than she should have to register Eli for the camp with Trey.

      “Traveling СКАЧАТЬ