Reunited Hearts. Ruth Logan Herne

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СКАЧАТЬ you to be setting up your office in an hour. And I’m hoping you brought another suit.”

      Several, in fact. “Yes.”

      “Then I suggest a shower, shave, coffee and ibuprofen for that headache you’re trying to hide.”

      A hint of warmth stole over him. “I’m not a big pill popper. I don’t have any.”

      Helen opened her purse, withdrew a small bottle and shook two tablets into her hand. “They’re generic, but they do the trick.”

      Trent clenched his fist around the pills. “You’re sure?”

      “Absolutely. Clock’s ticking.”

      It was. Trent gave a brisk nod to the door and headed for the bathroom to get cleaned up. “I’ll see you at nine.”

      Once again a hint of a smile softened her firm jaw. This time he was certain. She headed out, her footfall firm against the utilitarian carpet. “Good.”

      As her footsteps faded along the concrete walk, Trent caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

      Bad. Really bad. With morning breath, besides.

      And yet Helen still wanted him. Saw promise in his ideas, his work ethic. Last night’s startling revelation put his other ethics into question, but she was willing to give him a shot. See if he could help the struggling local economy by procuring defense contracts. Bigger and better military contracts meant more jobs. Heightened production. A trickle-down effect that would help across the board.

      Determined, he intended to do just that. She’d bought him time. Time to get to know his son.

      His son.

      He growled, realizing he didn’t even know the boy’s name. But he would, he promised himself as he went through his morning ablutions. He’d been raised without a mother or father to call his own, a public spectacle.

      His son would have a father who loved him. Cherished him. He knew he couldn’t make up for the years lost. He recognized that. But he could do his best to be a good, strong God-fearing father for the years to come. And Trent had every intention of doing just that.

      Chapter Three

      “Jaden Michael Langley, what are you doing out there with no coat? Your mother will skin you alive if she sees that,” Susan Langley scolded from her back door. “Grab a jacket and put a hat on, for pity’s sake. At least until the thermometer hits fifty.”

      “Grandma, I’m fine,” he insisted. “Too many layers mess up my throw.”

      “And if you catch a cold like your little sister, it messes up my schedule and your grandfather’s recovery,” Susan retorted in a tone that meant business. “Jacket. Now.”

      Huffing with impatience, Jaden dipped his chin in silent agreement, accepted the jacket she suspended from two fingers, tugged it into place without zipping and raced right back to the old shed where circled numbers marked spots for intended receivers.

      “You got him to put a coat on?” Alyssa came down the back stairs, sent her mother a look of appreciation as she overheard the exchange and inclined her head toward the sloping backyard. “I’m amazed.”

      Susan toyed with her coffee mug, her gaze outward, eyes thoughtful. “He doesn’t know me well enough to know I won’t go ballistic if he stands his ground. And Jaden’s eager to please, he likes making people happy. He’s got a lot of his father in him, Lyssa.”

      “That’s for sure.”

      Her tone drew her mother’s attention. Susan turned, questioning. Seeing Alyssa’s face, she stepped forward, concern deepening her features. “What’s happened?”

      Alyssa’s heart clenched, the knot of anger and fear tightening. “Trent saw him.”

      “What?” Susan’s face paled. She set her mug down hard, sloshing coffee onto the familiar oak surface, disbelief drawing her brow. “How?”

      Alyssa hesitated, grimaced and sighed. “He came into the restaurant last night. With Helen Walker and a bunch of her executives.” She shook her head, wishing she’d never approached the table, wishing she could reverse time for those short seconds, wishing…

      “Alyssa.” Susan braced her hands on Alyssa’s shoulders. Her fingers shook, reminding Alyssa she wasn’t in this alone. “He saw Jaden?”

      Alyssa sent up a silent prayer, a plea, hoping and praying she’d wake up and this would all be a bad dream.

      No.

      “Do you think he—”

      “He knows.”

      “No.”

      “Oh, yes.” Alyssa walked to the window, tipped the curtain aside with one finger and studied her son, a beautiful boy who grew to look more like his father with each passing day.

      A father she’d cheated out of his son.

      Trent’s words swept through her, the anger and recrimination emanating from him as he faced her in the small, cluttered office. So different from the boy she’d known, the look of hope and promise he wore when he’d received his congressional appointment, knowing he had a chance to do something, be someone, change the world.

      She felt sacrificial then.

      She felt traitorous now.

      “You talked to him?”

      “Yes.” She leaned her forehead against the cool spring glass, then sighed, sniffed, and shook her head, watching Jaden loft the ball from various angles. The boy’s pinpoint accuracy went beyond his years, reflecting his natural ability to weave a pattern and pick a receiver. Of course his height helped, a combined parental gift. Trent’s height had made Alyssa feel less freakish in high school. At five foot nine she’d towered over half the boys until growth spurts pushed them to equal or surpass her.

      Susan stepped closer and tucked an arm around her shoulders, the show of support inspiring more tears. “You talked with Trent?”

      “He talked. I cringed.”

      “Cringed?” The leap in her mother’s voice made Alyssa regret her choice of words. “Did he touch you?”

      “No. Yes. I—”

      “It’s either yes or no.” Grim-faced, Susan studied Alyssa, her voice defensive and sharp. “Did Trent Michaels lay a hand on you?”

      “Trent Michaels?” Gary Langley’s voice cut in, surprise and disparagement weighting his tone. “You saw him? Here?”

      “At The Edge last night,” Susan confirmed, shifting her look to Alyssa’s dad as he labored his way into the kitchen. Discomfort ruddied Gary’s features and accelerated his breathing, his post-op condition aggravated by forty extra pounds. Susan shook her head, scolding. “But don’t go getting yourself all worked up. You’re just out of surgery and need to rest.”

      Alyssa’s СКАЧАТЬ