“You got married.” Nate’s gaze was gentle.
She didn’t want his gentleness. She wanted his anger. She wanted to argue and shout and have him argue and shout back. “You think I’m married because...”
A small crease appeared between Nate’s brows, only for a moment. “Well...this little guy...”
A surge of satisfaction shored up sagging dreams of revenge. “You think a woman has to be married to have a child?”
The crease returned, deeper this time. “You’re a cop. Female cops don’t—”
“You’re a police officer?” asked the woman who’d been putting up a stink at the podium. She’d stopped at Julie’s pew. Doris didn’t smile. She didn’t coo over Duke. She eyed the pair like a cattle rancher at a bull auction.
Julie didn’t put much stock in the woman’s claims. Nate was many things, but he was a good cop. And Julie wasn’t keen on being sized up. But she wasn’t here to cause a ruckus about it either, so she said, “Yes, ma’am,” and ground her teeth at the interruption in her attempted takedown of Nate the Unflappable.
The woman stored that information with a brisk nod, and then moved toward the door.
“Mama.” Duke crooned softly.
Nate glanced around, perhaps catching on to where this was going, perhaps assessing how much privacy they had. Or how much they’d need.
The more public his humiliation, the better.
“I’m not married.” Julie’s smile felt the way it did when guys on the force made a crude remark and deserved reproach. “And Duke isn’t my child.”
AND DUKE ISN’T my child.
The bottom dropped out of Nate’s world and his stomach plunged to the center of the earth.
“Who...” He washed a hand over his face and planted his feet more firmly on the church planks. “Whose child is he?”
“Look at him.”
Nate had been looking at Julie, at the delicate lines of her face and the stubborn tilt to her chin. She’d dressed as if she was prepared for a SWAT maneuver—a long-sleeved dark blue utility shirt, belted black utility pants and sturdy boots. But she held a toddler.
She should have been wearing faded blue jeans and a soft T-shirt. Her blond hair should have had bounce, not hung limply to her shoulders. The skin on her face should have glowed, not been washed-out. And the bags under her eyes... Had she spent too many nights on duty?
“Look at him,” Julie commanded.
Nate obeyed.
A roaring filled his ears. His heart began to thump faster than it had at the sight of Julie.
The little boy had the Smiths’ gray eyes and wide smiling mouth. Like most kids his age, he had thin, lanky legs. His sprouted from a pair of khaki shorts. The friendly sparkle to his eyes was all Smith. But the dark, unruly hair was hard to mistake as anything other than a Landry gift. And as for those ears...
Nate tugged one of his own.
The kid would grow into them.
The kid. His kid.
Nate felt as if he’d been shoved from behind, a blow that threatened to topple him. The only things holding him upright were the curled toes in his boots.
“You’re saying he’s mine,” he whispered.
“I’m saying he’s April’s.” If Julie had been born a man, she’d have been a fighter. Her chin jutted, daring him to take a swing, to pick a fight, to defend himself for leaving April at the altar when she’d obviously been pregnant with his child.
Take a swing? He could barely draw a breath. “How old are you, Duke?”
The boy—his son!—held up two fingers.
Nate breathed in. Breathed out. Fought a torrent of emotion—guilt, joy, anger—that further weakened his knees.
The guilt... Guilt was familiar. It rode in his back pocket every day, like his wallet. He had a past, one not suited to fatherhood. Then joy... Joy was a rare emotion for him. It tried to dance through his veins with the virility of being a father. But he wasn’t a dancer. And the anger... It was anger that plowed past guilt and joy. Anger that marched behind his eyes with pounding steps, prickled his skin and straightened his backbone. “The chemo sent April into early menopause. The doctor said she’d never have children.” The doctor had said no birth control was necessary.
“A miracle.” So smug. Julie had been waiting for this.
“It’s been three years.” News of miracles usually traveled faster than that.
Every step he’d taken. Every vow he’d made. Nate set his feet in a wider stance, straddling the abyss filled with shattered expectations. It was all he could do not to shout, not to shake the back of the pew, not to reject fatherhood because he’d never aspired to the job. “Where’s April? Why didn’t she say anything?”
“April didn’t want you to know until...” Julie’s jaw clenched and for the first time since he’d turned around, there was a crack in her bravado. “April passed away three months ago.”
Nate’s heart plunged to the floor and into the tilting abyss that had sucked normal from his world. No one had told him that either. And by no one, he meant Julie. “I’m sorry about April.” She’d been in remission on their wedding day. “Was it—”
“Yes, a brain tumor. Yes, cancer. She...” Julie swallowed, squeezing his son as if the boy was a beloved teddy bear. “It wasn’t easy.”
But she’d been there. Of that, Nate was certain. While he...he hadn’t been. Not for April. Not for Julie. Not for his son, who’d asked for his mother a few minutes ago.
Nate washed a hand over his face again, staring at Duke. “You should’ve told me. April should’ve told me.”
“Why are you so upset? You always said you didn’t want kids.” The fight was back in Julie’s tone and the flash in her gray eyes. “Besides, you lost the right of parenthood when you jilted April.”
Nate’s hands fisted at his sides. “A man has a right to know.”
“Why? You said you don’t want—”
“No mad words.” Duke put his small hand over Julie’s mouth.
Nate and Julie’s gazes locked.
No mad words.
It was something April used to say when Julie’s good-natured bickering with anyone turned into hot debates.
Nate shoved his hands in his back pockets. “Why are you here? Why did you come? Why now?”
Julie’s mouth formed the kind of hard line that made speeders like Doris sweat. “April wanted you to have custody, but I have the right to challenge if I can prove you’re unfit to be his father, which is where the Daddy Test comes in.”
A test. One he didn’t have to pass. Nate should feel relief. He should thank Julie for the information, reiterate his position about children and tell her to keep his son safe. He’d send monthly checks for Duke’s care, for birthdays and holidays. In the once-bumpy road that was his life, this could be smoothed over with the right words.
The right words didn’t come to mind. Nate leaned forward, hands gripping the back of the pew. “My parental rights won’t be judged by a bitter sister-in-law.”
“I