His Pregnant Texas Sweetheart. Amy Woods

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СКАЧАТЬ Ryan would always love his father, it would be a lie to say he liked the man already seated on the other side of his and Katie’s bench.

      He’d known about the cheating long before his mother found out. Ryan, only sixteen, had been the one to urge his father to tell his mother. The man’s refusal, and the resulting chasm it formed between father and son, was one of the more pressing reasons Ryan had left town so young. It had taken over a year for Ryan to be able to pick up the phone to call his mom, knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance the old man would be the one to answer.

      Ryan felt many things toward him now—anger, betrayal, even disgust—but not the forgiveness his father’s eyes seemed to ask for as Ryan reluctantly reached out to shake his offered hand. He wouldn’t concentrate on how wrinkled it had become, or how the old man’s skin seemed a little looser on his frame since the last time they’d seen each other.

      “Dad,” he said simply, firmly, determined not to let the sudden, unwelcome emotion creep into his words. His father didn’t deserve Ryan’s pity any more than he deserved to be forgiven. This was a business meeting, like the hundreds Ryan had led at his own architecture firm in Seattle, and he would treat it as such. Work was what got him through the last months of his failed marriage to Sarah, and their child’s bewildering death, and it was what he dived into to forget Katie. Surely he could make it through a short meeting with George Ford.

      “Son,” George said, meeting Ryan’s eyes with unmistakable moisture in his own.

      Ryan ignored their tug on his chest, looking away to study the menu. It didn’t take long to notice that it was unchanged, just like the cheery yellow walls and red-checkered tablecloths. Being there felt like stepping out of a time machine into his youth. He wished the same was true for his father; if the man looked as young and sturdy as he had years ago, it would have been a lot easier to maintain animosity. Instead, the pallor of his skin and the slight tremor of his hands made him seem almost ill, but there had been no mention of any such thing when they’d spoken on the phone. Perhaps George had a few more secrets up his sleeve.

      “I’m so glad you decided to come home,” he said in a wavering voice.

      Ryan stopped fiddling with the menu. He would order only drinks so as not to stretch out the meeting any longer than necessary, and then he’d be on his way to tie up some loose ends before the Pumpkin Festival. The thought gave him more pleasure than it should have and Ryan’s mood lifted unexpectedly. A weekend away before the serious building preparation began would be good for him; it would give him time to figure out how he planned to deal with the upcoming months of work with his father.

      He gathered himself, annoyed by his father’s words after being there for less than five minutes. “I’ve said this already, Dad—” he corrected himself “—George. I didn’t come home. I’m here for one reason only, and after that, I’m heading back where I belong.”

      At least part of his statement was true. Heading up a project of that size—a colossal, state-of-the-art cancer treatment center—was an undeniably excellent move for the company he’d built. The deal would ensure the continued prosperity of his young firm, and it would mean bigger and better future projects, all of which guaranteed he could give his employees the very best. He thought of them like family; as the owner, it was his duty to make decisions in their best interests—to care and provide for them so that they could give their own children their dreams.

      Somehow it helped fill the void he felt each time he realized again that he might never have his own kids. It wasn’t a solution, but it took some of the sting away.

      The other reason, though, the one he’d left out, was Katie.

      But his father didn’t need to know that. The old man didn’t need to know anything about Ryan’s life that he didn’t already.

      George cleared his throat and took a sip of the coffee he’d been nursing long before Ryan’s arrival. “Peach Leaf is where you belong, son. This is your home.”

       I’m not your son anymore.

      Ryan bit back the words and the surge of defensiveness they incited. “My home is in Seattle now, with my firm.” He let his eyes burn into his father’s as a waitress headed toward their table. “I’m here on business, as I said, and it would be a good idea to keep that in mind—” he looked up as the waitress approached “—for both of us.”

      He ordered black coffee and orange juice and held his tongue when George’s full plate of bacon, eggs and biscuits with gravy arrived a short time later. They discussed building plans for half an hour while George ate. Ryan barely touched either of his beverages. By the time the waitress cleared their table, they’d managed to set personal matters aside and had made quite a bit of headway. Ryan grabbed the check when it arrived and held up a hand to preclude any argument.

      He slipped a few bills onto the table and was halfway out of his seat when George wrapped fingers around his wrist. “Sit down, son,” George said, his tone firm and authoritative. “We’re not done here just yet.”

      Ryan silently balked but remained calm as he wrenched his hand out of his father’s grip. “I beg to differ. I’m not staying to chat. I was clear when I agreed to come here that it wasn’t to make amends with you—it’s business only.”

      George closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes, you’ve made yourself quite clear.” He held out his hands. “But this isn’t about me.”

      Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

      George motioned to the booth’s bench. “Just...have a seat, will you?”

      Ryan stood motionless for a moment before he acquiesced.

      “There’s something we need to talk about.”

      He glanced at his watch, then eyed his father across the table. “I’ve got to go soon, but if it’s important...”

      George looked down into his coffee cup. “It’s about Annabelle.”

      Ryan’s ears perked up at the sound of his mother’s name. They’d spoken on the phone every Thursday night since Ryan moved away, and had met annually, away from both of their homes, to vacation together, always at Ryan’s expense, per his insistence. Those getaways with Mom were his favorite part of the year. He hadn’t noticed any change in her at the most recent one, and he didn’t recall her mentioning anything out of the ordinary. They’d had a lovely time in Athens, Greece, only a few months prior, both commenting that it would be a wonderful place to return on a future trip.

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