He shook his head. Surely he couldn’t seriously be considering the obvious option. He had the solution for both of them right in his hands, but—
He knew he couldn’t rule it out. Fate was a quirky, ill-tempered witch, but every once in a while, she smiled your way. “What would you do with this husband if you found him?” He strove for a casual tone.
“I’d kiss his feet if he’d help me get my son.”
“You only want a man long enough to get custody of your child, is that it?” He didn’t know why that pricked at his temper. It was perfect. All he wanted was a way to make his dad happy for whatever time remained. He had no heart left to give a woman.
But Suzanne didn’t look cynical. Just worn and sad. “My only concern has to be Bobby right now. But it doesn’t matter, anyway. There’s no candidate running around.”
Michael took a quick glance out the window, wondering if he could really do this.
Then he looked back at the woman across from him, and the slope of defeat in her shoulders tugged at his conscience. He could help her out and make his dad happy at the same time. She didn’t want more than he could give. All her love would go to her son. If he were the one dying and having to leave a son behind, he’d want that son to have a mother’s love as fierce as Suzanne’s.
“Maybe there is someone.”
Her head jerked up. Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not funny, Michael. Please…I don’t feel like sparring now.”
“I’m not sparring. And I’m not joking. Maybe I’ve got a solution for you.”
Any hesitation he felt was doomed, once he saw the flare of intense joy in her eyes. Quickly, she banked it, holding herself stiffly as if afraid to trust his words. Her tone was guarded as she responded. “And what might that solution be?”
Here goes nothing. He felt a swift inner clench as he opened his mouth to speak.
“You could marry me.”
Suzanne would have thought despair had dulled her capacity for shock, but obviously not. Dire as her situation was, she felt stunned laughter bubble up in her throat. “You’re kidding, right?”
Eyes the color of moss by a mountain stream never wavered. “I’ve got all the qualifications—money, stability, solid background, good reputation.” He grinned, though it seemed a little forced. “Even got all my teeth.”
Her shocked laughter died out quickly. “I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?”
He clucked his tongue. “Such a cynic.” But she caught the hollowness in his eyes as he glanced away.
“Michael, this is ridiculous.”
His gaze clicked back to hers. “But it solves your problem, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, and unleashes about a zillion more. We can’t even be in the same room without arguing. We’re as different as night and day. You’ve got a different future. One of these days you’re going to fall in love with one of the babes you’ve always got stashed away, have a rich baby or two and live the perfect life in a perfect house.”
“No.” His jaw flexed. “I’m not falling in love again. Not ever. That’s over for me.” For one instant, something dark and wounded peered out from deep inside his eyes. Quickly he shuttered them, so quickly she might have imagined it.
The very thought shocked her. She’d never thought of Michael Longstreet as anything but on top of his game. That was the man everyone knew: easy to laugh, comfortable inside his skin, a confident leader of men. She’d never thought his razor-sharp mind capable of being clouded by the messy emotions real people felt.
“What do you mean ‘again’?”
One sharp glance told her the topic was closed for discussion. He shrugged, then flashed her the old killer grin she’d seen charm any number of women since she’d first met him. She’d never thought of it as hiding anything but idle rich-boy carelessness before.
“Don’t change the subject. It would solve your problem, right?” he asked.
Suzanne blinked, then shook her head. “Why would you do such a thing? Especially for me. You don’t even like me.”
“That’s not true.” His tone was emphatic. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He shoved his plate away and leaned closer. “I like your mind.” When she snorted, he didn’t give. “No, it’s true. I respect your mind and your passion for what you do. I don’t have to agree with your approach in order to respect you or to know that you’re motivated by the best of intentions.”
“Then why are you so often the roadblock for my ideas?”
“Because you’re impulsive and you let your heart rule your head. You go off half-cocked. You can’t expect the whole world to fall in line simply because it feels so right to you. People don’t work that way.”
“You are so wrong.” Suzanne’s temper spiked.
Then she heard him chuckle.
One dark eyebrow lifted as she illustrated his point perfectly.
She shoved her fingers into her hair. “It would never work. We’d kill each other and Bobby would be an orphan again.”
His eyes softened. “I don’t think it would go quite that far, as long as we gave each other wide berth.”
A spark of hope glimmered. “So it would all be a sham? We’d only pretend to be married?”
“We’d have to make it legal. I’d imagine Jim’s cousin would check. You’d have to live with me.”
“Not forever, though. Just until I could adopt Bobby legally. Then she could never take him.”
“We’d have to both adopt him. The courts aren’t going to give custody in a situation where the husband doesn’t want to be involved. As a birth mother who has terminated her rights in order for him to be adopted in the first place, you’re no different in the eyes of the court than Joe Blow off the street.”
She knew it was true, but hearing it from him was like a knife blade to the pain she’d carried around ever since the day she’d signed those papers.
“I don’t understand you at all. Why would you want to do this?”
His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”
“Uh-uh. No dice, Rich Boy. I had to spill my guts, now you start talking, too.”
For a moment his eyes looked hard and cold as ice. He glanced away, then sighed deeply. He studied the scarred tabletop as he spoke. “My father has been ill for many years. Ever since I was twelve and he had a massive heart attack, his health has been precarious and every day was a bonus. For too many years I forgot that, but I’ve tried to make it up to him since I moved back.” He glanced up quickly through thick brown lashes. “He had pneumonia this winter, and it put a terrible strain on his already-damaged heart. His doctor says he’s weakening pretty dramatically lately. I can see it myself.”
He stopped and toyed with his glass of iced tea, skimming wet circles on the table. She tried not to notice his long fingers, his capable hands. Then he looked at her squarely. “He wants badly to see me settled, wants to see me happily married and building a future like the one he’s always wanted for me.”
“But I can’t—”
He shook his head vigorously. “Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen. That’s not my future. I like my life just fine as it is.”
“So what is this, Michael? Why are you talking to me about—”
“I