The Rancher's Secret Child. Brenda Minton

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      Her gaze dropped, but not before he saw the sheen of moisture. “I was with her at the hospital, and she told me to find you, and if you had your life together, then I should bring Oliver to meet you.”

      “You waited a year.”

      “I had to find you. I also had to keep my promise that I would make sure you had changed.”

      “You waited a year,” he repeated, more angry than he’d been in a long time.

      “I won’t let anyone or anything hurt Oliver,” she informed him. “And you haven’t exactly been a model citizen.”

      That wasn’t untrue. He gave her a steady look and wondered if she would back down. She didn’t. He gave her points for that—most people didn’t hold up under the glare he’d perfected since childhood.

      “The kid is out there alone. You should go get him. And you should leave.”

      “The kid has a name. His name is Oliver and he’s your son.”

      His son. He gave his head a quick shake. He had a son. The kid out there who had looked up at him with a mixture of fear, awe and concern was his. And he was the last person that boy needed in his life.

      Lissa cleared her throat, gaining his attention.

      “We have to finish this. And just because you go all angry cowboy on me doesn’t mean I’m leaving. Sammy had a will. She gave me custody of Oliver. She wanted you in your son’s life. But she had stipulations.”

      “I’m not good at ultimatums.”

      One shoulder lifted in a casual shrug. “I told her you wouldn’t be happy about this.”

      She walked back to the door of the barn and peeked out.

      “I think saying I’m not happy is an understatement. She kept my son from me. I’ll admit I’m not looking to have a family, but I think a man should know when he has a child. At the very least I should have been helping out, supporting him.” A light came on as those words left his mouth. “Oh. Is that why you’re here?”

      “For money?” In her defense, she looked pretty insulted. “I don’t need your money. I brought Oliver to meet you because Sammy had some misguided notion that you would maybe grow up. I guess you told her often enough while you were dating that you didn’t plan on being a husband or a father, but she thought you might change your mind.”

      He grabbed the brush out of a bucket and opened the stall door. The horse moved to his side, and he snapped a lead rope on the halter and led the animal to the cross ties in the center of the barn. He needed something to focus on, something other than the obvious. He was a father. The role he least wanted in life was now his.

      He pretended it was anger he felt, but a good dose of fear got mixed up in the emotion. Fear of failing a child. Fear of being like his own father.

      “I’m not responsible. I doubt I ever will be. So I guess you ought to take the kid and go.” If he acted as if he didn’t care, maybe she would believe him and leave. Maybe she would take the boy and give him a chance at a happier, healthier life than either Sammy or Marcus had known growing up.

      “Go where?” the boy asked from the open door of the barn.

      Marcus stroked the brush down the gelding’s neck. Once. Twice. Three times. With each stroke of the brush, he took a deep breath. And then he eased around to face the little boy. Oliver. His son.

      Because of his own father, he recognized himself in that little boy. He saw a kid who was unsure. He saw fear. He saw uncertainty. He had been that kid. And now he was the dad. He hadn’t planned on being a parent because he’d never wanted to see that look in a kid’s eyes.

      His attention shifted from the boy to the aunt. She didn’t believe in him. The fact that he cared what she thought was his third surprise of the day and none of those surprises had really been pleasant.

      * * *

      Lissa Hart held out her hand and Oliver hurried to her side. His small hand tucked into hers and she gave it a gentle squeeze. She didn’t know what else to say to Marcus Palermo. While she certainly hadn’t expected this to be easy, she found it even harder than she’d imagined.

      Something about this man made her uneasy. Not afraid. She didn’t think he would hurt Oliver. He seemed rough and unfeeling, but she’d seen something in his expression, in the depths of his dark eyes, that told her he felt plenty.

      Sammy had fancied herself in love with Marcus, but she’d ended the relationship because he was too broken, too angry to be the kind of person she could count on. Still, her sister had wanted him to heal, and she’d wanted him to have a chance with his son.

      He’d stopped brushing the horse and he focused on Oliver, his dark gaze studying the little boy, a miniature version of himself. His mouth twitched, as if he might have found humor in something. The movement drew her attention to the jagged scar across his left cheek. That scar did nothing to detract from his looks. His too-long hair curling at his collar gave him a youthful appearance. But the firm jawline, the not-quite smile on his lips—those belonged to a man. A man who had lived a hard life and seen a lot of pain.

      He shifted his focus from Oliver to her, and one brow arched in what could only be a challenge. She didn’t flinch or look away. Neither did he, but then he dismissed her and returned his attention to Oliver. He squatted, holding out the brush.

      “Do you want to brush him before you leave?” he asked quietly.

      Oliver nodded because he was a little boy and of course he wanted to stand by this cowboy and brush the horse. He looked up at Lissa, seeking permission. He didn’t know yet that this man was his father. She hadn’t known how to tell him, and she hadn’t wanted him to be disappointed. The odds had been good that Marcus would reject his child or not be able to be a parent to him, and her main goal was to protect Oliver. Sammy had entrusted her with his care.

      With Marcus watching, Lissa let go of Oliver’s hand and the boy slipped away from her. Her heart clenched in agony as she realized this might be the beginning of losing the child she loved so very much.

      Oliver took the brush and Marcus lifted him, telling him to run the brush down the horse’s neck.

      “Put pressure on it,” he said, in that gruff whisper of a voice, “or it tickles and horses don’t like to be tickled.” Oliver grinned at that and pushed the brush down the horse’s neck.

      Marcus continued to hold Oliver. He spoke quietly to his son, words that Lissa couldn’t hear.

      Tempted as she was to move closer, she stood there, waiting. He seemed content to ignore her and focus on Oliver. The two looked like father and son, dark heads together as Oliver leaned close to hug the horse.

      “I think we can turn him out to pasture,” Marcus said as he returned Oliver to the ground.

      “And we should finish our discussion,” she inserted.

      “There’s an old tire swing,” Marcus told Oliver. “Want to try it out?”

      “Is it safe?” Lissa asked.

      “It’s СКАЧАТЬ