The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret. Sarah M. Anderson

damned zipper zipped until the prenup was signed.

      Besides, there was that little issue of her making him guess what the hell was holding her up. What did she mean, she wanted to know he’d be there? How was he not showing her that? He didn’t get it.

      Percy fussed and she got up to get him. One thing was clear. Byron was going to have to figure it out—and fast.

Twelve

      Leona tried to focus on choosing a font for the restaurant’s name while Byron got Percy changed and read him a story, but it didn’t work. Byron had figured out the bedtime routine in only a few short days, really. He could probably handle Percy on his own now, except for the nursing part. Which was great. Really, it was.

      But whenever she thought that, it made her sad, too—and she wasn’t sure why. All she knew was that the words on her computer screen kept blurring together.

      Byron was involved. Byron was helping out. Byron was making all sorts of wonderful-sounding promises.

      But did he really need her? Would he keep his word or would he disappear again? Could she trust him—or any Beaumont—not to take her son and leave her behind?

      She kept thinking back to the way Frances had reacted to finding Leona in the kitchen. Was it a huge stretch of the imagination to think that, when Byron wasn’t with Leona, his family was trying to convince him not to marry her—to just take the baby instead?

      She didn’t think so. And that made it hard to take Byron at his word. Once, he’d believed her father and his poisonous lies instead of trusting that Leona would come to him.

      He could be perfect right now and she’d still be afraid that he’d kick her out of his life a second time.

      Her head was such a wash of emotions that she couldn’t form a single, rational thought. The house was huge and lovely, it was true. By any objective measure, it was perfect. So what bothered her about it?

      She’d once dreamed of Byron asking her to marry him, of settling down with him and raising a family. A year after she’d given up on that dream, it was suddenly happening. She wouldn’t have to worry about money or doctor’s bills or making rent. Moving in with Byron would solve so many problems. She should be happy.

      And yet, what price would she pay for stability? Or even just the illusion of stability?

      She would have to give up her independence to a man who didn’t want her—who only wanted a mother for his son.

      It was a damned high price to pay.

      She wiped her eyes again when she heard Byron finishing his story. This part of the nightly ritual—and the morning companion—was something that had always been hers and hers alone, and right now she needed the reassurance of the routine.

      She walked into Percy’s room and stood there, watching. Byron hummed something low as he rocked Percy back and forth. The whole thing—the baby boy with bright red hair in his father’s arms, a look of peace on both of their faces—it was almost too much for her. Her eyes began to water again.

      “Ready?” Byron asked in a quiet voice.

      “Yes.” She had to be, after all. This was for her son.

      Byron stood and Leona took the glider. He carefully lowered Percy into her arms. “Good night, little man,” he whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he looked at Leona. “I’ll wait for you, if that’s okay with you.”

      She nodded. He had never left while she was nursing Percy—usually he did something in the kitchen, even if it was just the dishes.

      She lifted her shirt and Percy latched on. For the next few minutes, she didn’t have to think about moving and marriages and work and Byron. This was her time with her son. He still needed her. She hoped Byron realized that, too.

      She might have dozed off while Percy was nursing because the next time she looked down, he’d fallen asleep with a trickle of milk running down the side of his face. She wiped him up and carried him over to his crib.

      Surprisingly, Byron was not in the kitchen. And he wasn’t in the living room. He wasn’t in the bedroom, either, and she highly doubted he’d gotten anywhere near May’s room.

      Then she realized that the door to the patio was open. He was outside? She grabbed a cardigan to fight off the evening chill and headed out.

      Byron was in one of the two sad little deck chairs that May had found at a thrift store, staring out at the night sky. The apartment faced the east, so they could actually see some of the stars over the Great Plains. “What are you doing out here? I’d have thought you’d be elbow deep in a soufflé or something.”