Necessary Secrets

No. Dad deserved to be told in a more private setting that he was going to be a grandfather.

How would he react? Sometimes, when she was young, he peered down at her after a long day outside, with a tired look that seemed to ask who she was. There was always something more important to do than to listen to his daughter’s endless, excitable chatter.

Old news, she told herself. Dad’s happy now.

She looked at Jon. “This is my father, Allister Mitchell.” She bustled past them as they shook hands across the table, not wanting to elaborate on why Jon was here, or why he’d stormed into the house after her. But she couldn’t let Jon tell her father, especially in the no-nonsense terms in which he seemed to express himself.

“Jon came to Trail looking for me. He wanted to discuss what happened to Rick.”

Allister nodded. When she first arrived home, Sylvie had given him and Andrea the briefest of explanations. Rick and she had been driving to one of the outposts when a slide had stopped them. Rick had been injured and unfortunately he’d died.

She swallowed. No thanks to her.

Her father had the wisdom to let it go at that, and Sylvie was thankful the military had shut up on the details. After reporting on the death and the memorial service, the media had turned its focus on the other hot spots around the world.

“So, Jon,” her father was saying, “how did you find Sylvie? She doesn’t go into town regularly.” He turned to her. “Why did you go in? Lawrence noticed you didn’t take the truck, so it wouldn’t have been for supplies.”

Lawrence was their old ranch hand. A second father to her. She straightened her shoulders and smiled at Allister. Without Andrea at his side, her father seemed much more approachable. Andrea would fuss too much and take over the whole conversation.

She drew in a deep breath. Delaying the inevitable had never been her way. She’d already delayed acknowledging her pregnancy longer than she should have. Besides, if Jon wanted to be part of her baby’s life, then he may as well see his whole, “newly acquired family” in a clear, transparent light, warts and all. She had no idea what her father would say, and a part of her hoped, for Jon’s sake, that her father would show some of that blunt Mitchell candor that Andrea seemed to have smoothed out so effectively.

She stared at her father, steeled her shoulders and said, “Dad, I’m pregnant. I went in to make a doctor’s appointment.”

Allister’s face went blank. “Pregnant? Who’s the father? It can’t be him—” He pointed to Jon. “You only just met, didn’t you?”

With a sigh and a stifled smile, Sylvie shook her head and threw open the refrigerator door. “No, it’s not him.” She realized how foolish she’d been, blurting out her condition. She had no desire to discuss the circumstances of the conception with anyone, especially with Jon avidly eavesdropping. “It happened in Bosnia. I’ll tell you all about it later. We’ve got lots of time for that. Now, why are you here?”

Disoriented for a minute, he took his time answering, “One of the campers got ill. We carried him down on one of the pack horses, till we met the ambulance at the edge of the highway. Oh, he’s going to be fine, just some bug. Andrea stayed up at the site with the rest of them. I was planning to go straight back out, but…”

She caught his speculative stare. “Go! There’s not much to say, at least until I get my first doctor’s appointment. I’m fine.”

“You look like death warmed over, girl.” He shook his head and turned to Jon. “Did you bring her home?”

Jon nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did. Personally, I don’t think she can do too much around here. You may want to stay back.”

She slammed the refrigerator shut. “Wait a minute! I said I’m fine. There’s nothing you can do, Dad, so there’s no reason why you shouldn’t go straight back up to Andrea. I have Lawrence—”

Allister let out a snort. “Oh, Lawrence is busy enough with the campground. And he’s getting too old. Plus, we lost Tyler last month. He was supposed to help you. Can you haul around fence posts and fix up the house by yourself in your condition?”

Oh, dear. She knew where this conversation was heading, and quickly shook her head. “Of course I can’t, but—”

“No, she can’t,” Jon announced. “But I can.”

Sylvie snatched the swear word before it flew from her lips. Instead she glared at him. “You have another job, remember? You’re a cop in Toronto.”

A hint of regret whisked over his features. Regret? Fear? It had happened so fast, she couldn’t be sure.

“A cop?” her father interjected, making Sylvie wish she’d kept her mouth shut and made him think Jon was nothing but a bum off the street. Yeah, in a fine-looking polo shirt and pants that still bore an arrow-sharp crease. Allister Mitchell lived in his own world, but he wasn’t naive. She could no more make Jon Cahill look like a disreputable drifter than she could undo the horror of this past spring.

“I can easily get the summer off,” Jon said. “There are plenty of auxiliary officers looking for extra hours. Remember what I said, back there in the clinic, don’t you?”

The air, warmed by the sun streaming in the window above the sink, stuck hard in her throat. She could read so very easily the warning in Jon’s expression. He will be a part of her baby’s life. Get used to it, his eyes added.

But also, a suggestion of what he’d not said seemed to linger in the air. Who the father of her baby was.

Time stalled. Was he going to tell her father? She wished, however briefly, she’d told him the truth back there in the clinic. Every last detail that would have seen him storming out of Trail and straight to a good lawyer. The military could use a good lawsuit for all they’d done to Rick. Unless Jon chose to sue her, instead.

Sylvie tore her gaze from Jon, catching her father’s raised eyebrows and questioning smile.

“What do you think, Sylvie? It’s your ranch, now. If he can do the work, there’s no reason why we can’t hire him for the summer.”

There were a thousand reasons why they shouldn’t hire Jon Cahill. He wanted the truth from her about Rick, the details of Rick’s last hours, not a sterilized military version.

All those shameful details.

And he wanted to be a part of her baby’s life.

No. This baby was hers, not his. She would give it life, love it and raise it all by herself. She’d managed a career in the military by herself, and she’d managed to grow up without her father being around when she needed him. She would manage her new career as mother equally fine.

Without Jon Cahill, thank you very much.

“Well, Sylvie?” her father prompted.

Sylvie dared another look at Jon, half-afraid his intensity and tenacity might snare her. Those blue eyes seemed stronger, reflecting the determination he practically exuded from every pore on his strong body.

“Do I have the job, Sylvie?” As if purposely designed to contrast his powerful stare, his tone turned quiet, persuasive.

There was that silky version of her name, too.

This was insane. But to protest too much would be akin to suicide. Jon Cahill’s suspicions would soar through the roof if she kept refusing to hire him when she so obviously needed help.

“All right,” she found herself saying. He wanted the job, well, he could have it. She’d keep him so busy this summer, he’d ache to return to the easy life in Toronto. And every night when his head hit his pillow—out in the bunkhouse with the rest of the men—he’d be out like a light, forgetting, or regretting, that he’d ever told her he wanted to be a part of his brother’s child’s life.

A smile grew slowly on his face. It wasn’t much, but it did reach his eyes.

Her skin warmed and tingled in a subtle primitive answer, and those damn horrid hormones prickled under her skin again. For one stunning moment he did look just like Rick.

What had she got herself into? One night of fear and she’d broken her cardinal rule of never getting involved with another soldier.

She’d admired Rick, liked him, and had wanted him to excel in his career. But she hadn’t wanted an intimate relationship with him.

So why did you? Because of that you got him killed. The words arced across her brain, firing up another horrible wash of memories.

“Excellent.”

Mercifully, Jon’s words cut through her thoughts, and she blinked up at him. The smile, however, had slid from his eyes, leaving only cool, smug resolve.

He’d won, and he knew it, the bastard. He indicated the chair in front of her father. “Let’s get you something to eat. Then while you’re showing me what to do, you can tell me all about Rick.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.