The Vicar's Daughter. Betty Neels

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      Of the group of people who’d rushed back into the room, a tawny-haired woman laughed while a blond-haired man snorted derisively.

      Parker’s brother’s eyes widened in horror, and he glanced from Ethan to her. “I’ve never seen her before.”

      “Neither have I.”

      Sharon flinched. They had met a few times, albeit a while ago. How did he not remember her at all?

      “You took one heck of a hit on the head,” his brother reminded him. “The doctor said you might have some memory loss because of the concussion.”

      “Short-term memory loss,” Parker clarified. “That means I might forget what happened minutes or hours ago, not months ago.”

      Sharon should have realized that a man like him wouldn’t remember a woman like her. She had spent her life trying to be quiet and unobtrusive, so there was no wonder that so few people ever noticed her.

      But then the older woman glanced up at Sharon, her brown eyes full of warmth and wonder. Her hair was auburn, with no traces of gray, so she didn’t look old enough to have three thirtysomething-old sons, let alone a grandson. “How old is he?”

      “Nine months.”

      Ethan turned back to her and reached up his free hand toward her hair. Because he loved to pull it, she always bound it tightly and high on the top of her head. But a tendril must have slipped out of the knot because he found something to yank, the fine hairs tugging on her nape. She flinched again over the jolt of pain.

      Mrs. Payne chuckled. “The boys always pulled my hair, too,” she said. “May I hold him?” She held out her arms as she asked, and the baby boy leaned toward her, almost falling into her embrace.

      Panic flashed through Sharon at how easily he had been taken from her. That was what would happen when these people learned the truth. She would be cut out of Ethan’s life as though she had never been a part of it.

      “Mom.” Parker drew the older woman’s attention briefly from the baby she held with such awe. “Can you bring him out into the hall?” He turned toward the others. “And the rest of you leave with her. I need to talk to Ms. Wells alone.”

      Sharon’s panic increased, making her pulse race. She lifted her arms to reach for Ethan, to take him back, but the woman was already walking out the door with the sweet baby. And Parker grabbed her outstretched arms, holding her back, as all the others left.

      She hadn’t really been alone with him before. She’d had Ethan. Even though he was a baby, he had been protection from Parker’s wrath. He had to be furious. And he had every right to be. His son had been kept from him, and someone was trying to kill him.

      But he wasn’t the only one someone was trying to kill.

      * * *

      HOURS BEFORE, the explosion had knocked Parker on his ass, literally. Sharon Wells’s announcement, that the baby was his son, had knocked him on his ass, as well, although he would have rather blamed it on the concussion. But he’d recovered quickly.

      Sharon was the one trembling now, as he held her arms. A diaper bag hung heavily from one of her thin shoulders, bumping against her side. She stepped back and jerked free of his grasp; apparently she was stronger than she looked.

      “I shouldn’t have come here,” she said. “This was a mistake....”

      “Trying to pass that kid off as mine?” he asked. “That was a mistake.”

      And why had she done it? What had she hoped to gain? If she had been hoping to force someone to marry her, Cooper or Logan would have been the better bet; they cared more about honor than he did. But, damn his short-term memory, they were already married.

      “He is yours,” she insisted. She held his gaze, her strange light brown eyes direct and sincere. “You can get a paternity test to prove it. Since we’re at the hospital, maybe they can rush the results.”

      He dropped his hands from her arms and stepped back. “You’re serious....”

      “It’s just a cheek swab,” she said. “It won’t hurt him or else I wouldn’t have suggested it.”

      Because she loved her son...

      Their son?

      He scrutinized her face. The women he usually dated wore makeup and dressed in clothes that flattered their figures. But with her enormous, unusual eyes and delicate features, she didn’t really need makeup. She was actually quite beautiful. And his pulse quickened as attraction kicked in, tempting him to see just what her figure was like beneath her baggy suit.

      Because of those eyes and that face and his sudden attraction to her, he knew he’d never met her before—much less been with her.

      “There is no way that I am the father of your baby,” he insisted. “I would not have forgotten you if we’d ever been intimate.”

      He wasn’t the careless playboy everyone thought he was. He didn’t have a slew of conquests whose faces he couldn’t remember.

      Her gaze dropped from his, and her face flushed. “But—but you have a concussion....”

      He shook his head, and pain from making the motion overwhelmed him. But he kept his legs under him this time and remained conscious. And finally the confusion from the concussion receded, leaving him angry.

      “There is no way that your child is mine.”

      “Take the paternity test,” she urged him. “Ethan is your son.”

      Like everyone else, she must have believed that he was such a playboy that he wouldn’t remember every woman he’d ever slept with, but his reputation was grossly exaggerated and mostly undeserved. Even with the women with whom he was involved, he always used protection. He couldn’t have gotten anyone pregnant. So she had to be playing some angle with him, running some scheme.

      Why? That paternity test she was urging him to get would only prove him right. So was she just buying some time? Was she just trying to distract him? What did she hope to gain? Did she want to collect the payout for his murder? From what Garek Kozminski had said, it sounded like a substantial amount.

      Maybe he needed to search that diaper bag and make certain that she didn’t have a weapon concealed. Or maybe a bomb. He reached for the strap of the bag, but his hand grazed her breast instead.

      Her already enormous eyes widened with shock.

      She wasn’t the only one surprised. Her baggy suit hid some curves. Parker was as intrigued as he was suspicious of her.

      “What—what are you doing?” she asked, her voice all breathy and anxious.

      “You’re trying to convince me that I made a baby with you and the concussion made me forget.” No wonder she had taken the opportunity to show up now after hearing the news reports about his condition. “The effects of this concussion aren’t going to last,” he continued.

      She nodded, either in agreement or because she was humoring him.

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