She couldn’t let her voice choke. “In a minute.”
She watched him disappear into the house. He’d taken it quietly, as he did everything, but this was a bigger crisis than he’d ever had to cope with in his young life. And she was to blame.
Had it really been for Sammy’s sake that she’d hidden his existence from Tyler? She struggled to say the truth, at least to herself.
She’d been so distraught when she’d come home from Baltimore, her marriage in tatters, that she hadn’t even realized what was happening to her body. By the time she did, she’d already been served with the divorce papers. The trek she’d made to Baltimore in a futile effort to see Tyler and tell him had only convinced her that their marriage was over.
She crossed her arms, hugging herself against the breeze off the water. She’d made her choice. This was the world for her son—the secluded island, the patient pace of life, the shabby inn, the sprawling Caldwell clan who’d accepted him without question as one of them.
Now Tyler was back, with his money and his power and his high-pressure life. He wanted to see his son.
What if he tried to take Sammy away? The question ripped through her on a tidal wave of panic. She wasn’t as naive now as she’d been at eighteen, but she still knew that power and money could sometimes overcome justice.
The Winchester wealth might dazzle Sammy. She couldn’t compete with all the things Tyler could give him.
Worse, Sammy could risk loving him, as she had. What were the chances Tyler would walk away again, leaving broken hearts behind?
Tyler pulled into the shell-covered driveway of the Dolphin Inn that evening, his lights reflecting from the eyes of a shaggy yellow dog who looked at him as if deciding whether to sound an alarm. His son’s dog?
That was one of the many things he didn’t know about his child. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to stay in his room at the island’s only resort hotel.
He’d never intended to start a family. The example his parents had set would be enough to sour anyone on the prospect of parenthood. It was too late now. He’d fathered a child.
Deep inside a little voice said, Run. Go back to Baltimore, forget this ever happened.
Tempting, but impossible. Would he eliminate those days with Miranda if he could, even knowing how their relationship would end?
Of course. Their marriage had been a mistake, pure and simple, born out of sunshine and sultry breezes.
He got out of the car, his footsteps quiet on the shell-encrusted walk. The dog, apparently deciding he wasn’t a threat, padded silently beside him. He rounded the building and had to force himself to keep walking.
Miranda’s family waited on the wraparound porch, at least the masculine portion of it. She’d told them.
Tension grabbed his stomach. They had no reason to welcome him. They couldn’t stop him, but they could make this more difficult if they chose.
“Evenin’.” Clayton Caldwell didn’t offer his hand, but at least he didn’t seem to be holding a shotgun.
“Mr. Caldwell.” He stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. “Is Miranda here? I’d like to talk with her.” Has she told our son about me?
Miranda’s youngest brother shoved himself away from the porch railing. “Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
The kid’s name floated up from the past. Theo. Theo had the height of all the Caldwell men, even at seventeen or so. Dislike emanated from him.
“That’s enough, Theo.” Clayton’s soft Southern voice carried authority. He eyed Tyler for a moment. “Miranda’s down at the dock.”
Tyler jerked a nod, then spun away from their combined stares. He walked toward the dock that jutted into the channel between Caldwell Island and the mainland, aware of the men’s gazes boring into his back.
Miranda stood with her hands braced against the railing, her jeans and white shirt blending into a background of water and sky. She must have heard his footsteps crossing the shell pathway, then thudding onto the weathered wooden boards. She didn’t turn.
Caldwell boats curtseyed gently on the tide on either side of the dock as he approached Miranda. Her slim form was rigid.
Slim, yes, but there was a soft roundness to her figure. The bronze hair that had once rippled halfway down her back brushed her shoulders.
It’s been eight years, he reminded himself irritably. Neither of us are kids any longer. If they hadn’t been kids, fancying themselves Romeo and Juliet when their families tried to part them, maybe that hasty marriage would never have happened.
Then there’d be no Sammy. The thought hit him starkly. That would be a harsh trade for an untroubled conscience.
Miranda turned toward him, her reluctance palpable. He looked at her without the anger that had colored his image of her earlier.
Her shy eagerness had been replaced by maturity. She probably had a serene face for anyone but him.
That serenity had been the first thing that attracted him to her. She’d worn her serenity like a shield even while she waited tables at the yacht club, taking flak from spoiled little rich kids. Like he had been.
Just now her body was tight with apprehension, her face wary. She stood outlined against the darkening sky, and the breeze from the water ruffled her hair.
One of them had to break the awkward silence. “Should I have called before I came over?”
She shook her head, the movement sending strands of coppery hair across her cheek. “It’s all right. I thought you’d probably come back tonight.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “We have things to settle, I guess.”
“Yes.” He bit back the horde of questions he wanted to throw at her. Why didn’t you tell me? She still hadn’t answered that one to his satisfaction. “I take it you’ve told your family.”
“I didn’t have a choice. You can’t come back to a small place like Caldwell Cove after all these years and not cause comment. You must remember what the grapevine is like.”
“We were summer people. The island never included us.”
Her face shadowed, and he almost regretted his words. Summer people. The wealthy visitors who owned or rented the big houses down by the yacht club had always maintained a clear division between themselves and the islanders.
“I guess not,” she said carefully.
“Did you tell Sammy?”
She rubbed her arms, as if seeking warmth. “I told him.”
“How did he take it?” He didn’t know if he wanted his son to be glad or sorry he was here.
“He was upset. Confused.” She shook her head, and he saw the stark pain in her eyes. “I tried to explain.”
“I hope you did a better job of explaining it to him than you did to me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Funny, but I don’t feel too much like being fair, Miranda.” The anger he’d thought he had under control spurted out. “It isn’t every day I find out a girl from my past had a baby she never bothered telling me about.”
“I tried to tell you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Tried how? I wasn’t that hard to find. A letter or phone call would have done it.”
Some emotion he couldn’t identify flickered across her face. Once he’d known the meaning of her every look, every gesture. At least he’d told himself he did. Maybe that had been an illusion.
“I came to Baltimore,” she said slowly,