Almost Perfect. Сьюзен Мэллери

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СКАЧАТЬ you think Dad will come live with us in San Francisco?”

      If she’d been standing she would have fallen on the spot. “Gee, ah, probably not. Your dad’s life is here, in Fool’s Gold. He has a big family. I don’t know who still lives here. Probably his mom and I would guess a few of his sisters.”

      Tyler stared up at her. “There’s more?”

      There was an entire herd, she thought grimly. Because Ethan’s relatives were also Tyler’s. The thought made her a little nervous. How could she compete with an entire family? Not that it was a competition, she reminded herself. But still…

      “You have two uncles, three aunts, who are triplets by the way, and a grandmother.”

      “Cool!”

      “I know,” she said with false excitement. “You’ll have so much family, you won’t know what to do with everyone.”

      “Anyone my age?”

      “I don’t think so. I don’t know for sure. You can ask your dad.”

      There could be dozens, she reminded herself. Any of his siblings could have married. Ethan might have children from his marriage to Rayanne, although they would be younger.

      She shook her head to force out the thought of her encounter with his late wife. There was enough going on without that messing with her mind.

      Tyler spun away and pumped his arms. “This is the best, Mom. I have a dad. We’re a family.”

      They were a lot of things, but Liz didn’t think family qualified. Not with how much Ethan hated her.

      “It’s going to be interesting,” she admitted. Perhaps not in a happy way, but that wasn’t Tyler’s problem.

      “May I use the computer so I can send an e-mail to Jason?”

      She nodded.

      He ran out of the room. Seconds later, she heard the loud thundering of his steps on the old and creaking stairs.

      At eleven, life was simple. A new dad was a great thing. There weren’t any complications, no ambivalence, no worries about the future. While she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about everything that could go wrong.

      “Probably the reason I write what I do,” she murmured as she rose and walked to the sink to tackle the morning dishes. Some days murder and mayhem suited her mood. She would work out her frustrations on a deserving victim, then have her character find justice in the end.

      But this wasn’t fiction—this was real life. And she had a feeling things weren’t going to be tidied up quite so easily for her.

      Chapter Four

      ETHAN DID HIS BEST TO WORK BUT by ten in the morning he’d given up on the pretense. He wasn’t fooling anyone, especially not himself. His sister Nevada had asked him twice if everything was all right. He’d told her that he was fine, but after spending twenty minutes doubling an order for lumber, only to realize it was for a job they’d completed two weeks ago, he knew he had to get out and clear his head.

      “I’ll be back in an hour,” he yelled over his shoulder as he left the office.

      “Don’t hurry back,” Nevada muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

      Normally he would have gone inside and called her on it, but not today. Not when he was still having trouble wrapping his mind around what had happened the night before.

      He had a son, he thought, getting in his truck and starting the engine. A child. For eleven years and he’d never once known or imagined or guessed. All because Liz Sutton had kept the truth from him. Deliberately.

      The rage that had poured through him the night before ignited again, burning hot and bright. He forced himself to focus on his driving, to pay attention to little things like stop signs and other traffic, as he steered the truck through town.

      Rather than go to his place, he went back to the house where he’d grown up. If anyone could talk him down, it was his mother. Denise Hendrix had raised six kids, surviving the loss of her husband, Ralph, nearly a decade ago. She was the heart of the family, the one everyone turned to when there was a problem. She was rational, thoughtful and would be able to give him a perspective other than his own. Because right now all he wanted was to take his son and bolt.

      Not a smart plan, he told himself as he drove through the familiar neighborhood, then turned into the driveway.

      He checked the clock on the dashboard of his truck. With all six kids out of the house, his mother had a lot more free time these days. Time she filled with classes and her friends. If he remembered correctly, his mother should be between the gym and whatever lunch date she might have lined up.

      He crossed to the front door, but it opened before he could knock.

      “I saw you drive up,” his mother said with a smile, looking fit in a T-shirt and flared cropped pants. Her feet were bare, her toes painted pink. Although she’d always worn her hair long, a few years ago, she’d cut it off and every time he saw her, it was shorter still. Now it barely came to the bottom of her ears.

      “Hey, Mom,” he greeted, bending down and kissing her cheek. “You going to get your head shaved next?”

      “If that’s what I want,” she declared, stepping back so he could enter. “I’m working out more and short hair is easier. Today was my yoga class. I seem to be missing the bendy gene. I swear, the positions some of the women get in defy me. I push, but I can’t help thinking that at some point, I’ll simply snap a bone. I’m at that age, you know. Shrinking and brittle.”

      “Hardly.”

      Denise was in her early fifties and could easily pass for ten years younger. Despite the years she’d been alone, she’d never dated. Intellectually he knew it would be nice for her to find someone. But speaking as the oldest son and the one responsible for her, it wasn’t anything he wanted to deal with. Beating up some old guy for making moves on his mother wasn’t Ethan’s idea of a good time.

      “Sweet of you to say so.” She studied him for a second, her dark eyes seeing more than most people’s. “What’s wrong?”

      “Maybe I came by just to see you.”

      “This time of the morning, midweek? I don’t think so. Besides, I can tell. What is it?”

      She moved to the kitchen as she spoke and he followed automatically. Everything big was discussed in the kitchen. All revelations, celebrations, announcements.

      She poured them each a cup of coffee, then picked up hers and leaned against the counter.

      Her gaze was watchful, her expression neutral. She would wait as long as it took. As a teenager, he hated her patience. It had made him squirm and writhe until he eventually confessed to whatever it was he’d done wrong. Today he was grateful she didn’t try to distract him with small talk.

      “I have a son. His name is Tyler and he’s eleven.”

      His СКАЧАТЬ