“No. She thanked Aunt Megan for finding us a good home.” Lana recited the little note, picturing the block lettering in her mind’s eye. “It was printed, as though she wanted to disguise her handwriting. As if she didn’t want us to have that small a hint of who she was.”
“Where was it mailed from?”
“Here in the city. I don’t know which post office. Garrett’s going to try to find out.”
“Garrett?”
“My older brother. There are four of us, you know?”
“No, I didn’t know.” He took the bottle out of Greg’s mouth and put him over his shoulder. He patted him on the back, gently, the way she had taught him. The baby burped and immediately began demanding the rest of his bottle.
“Abandoned on the doorstep of Maitland Maternity twenty-five years ago. We’re triplets, Shelby, Michael and I. Garrett’s the oldest. Shelby owns a diner on Mayfair, near the clinic. Austin Eats. Have you heard of it?”
“No, ’fraid not.”
“We’ll go there for lunch someday.”
“Sounds good.”
“Michael’s head of security at Maitland. Garrett owns a ranch outside the city. I have the store. We’ve got cousins scattered around the country here and there, but since Mom and Dad died there are really just the four of us. What about you?” She didn’t want to think of the way her family had changed in the past few hours. She had felt the earth move under her feet when Garrett and Michael squared off about searching for their mother. She didn’t want to think how deep a rift it might eventually cause in their relationships.
“One brother, one sister. Both married with kids. Both living out of state. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. We didn’t have much but family growing up. It was a bust time then.” Lana nodded. Texas’s economy had had a lot of booms and busts during the years it had been so dependent on the oil industry. “My dad nearly lost the business more than once. I joined the Marines when I got out of high school because he wouldn’t let me work for him, and I didn’t have the money to go to college. I ended up in Saudi.”
“You were in Desert Storm?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it.”
For a moment she thought he would refuse, but then he began to talk. He told her of the weather and the vast expanses of sand. Of nights in the desert beneath a sky filled with stars, days spent readying themselves for combat. He talked of his friend Greg, his son’s namesake. Dead of cancer at twenty-seven. He didn’t mention his wife or how they had met, but surely it must have been through his late friend.
Dylan’s voice was low and rough, but soothing, too, like whiskey and honey mixed. She wanted him to go on talking, and she was afraid he would stop if she broke the spell with a question about Greg’s mother. The baby watched him and listened, too, his big blue eyes focused on Dylan’s face. It must have filled his world.
Greg finished the bottle, and Dylan burped him again. The little boy snuggled his face into Dylan’s neck and fell asleep. Lana wished she could do the same. “You’re getting very good at that,” she said. “He’s much more comfortable with you already.”
His mouth tightened. “I’m trying.”
“You’re a natural. Greg’s lucky to have you. Even if he has lost his mother he still has family. It will mean a lot to him in the future. I know. I don’t have any real roots of my own, only grafted ones. I loved my parents dearly, but sometimes it’s a little lonely inside.” She didn’t know why she was telling him this. It was late. She was tired. She didn’t like the sudden darkness that drained the softness from his eyes and hardened his face.
“I’ll do my best to give him that, if I can.”
“If you can? I just told you you’re doing great at this daddy business. He’s lost his mother. It’s tragic, but he still has you. You’re his father—”
Dylan cut her off. “That’s where you’ve got it wrong. I have every reason to believe Greg is another man’s son.”
CHAPTER FIVE
DAMN IT, had he really said the words aloud? He looked at Lana. Her eyes were dark with an emotion he couldn’t read.
“Are you sure?” she asked quietly.
He raked his free hand through his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent night’s sleep. Greg had been fussy all evening. Dylan had felt tied in knots trying to soothe the little one. She had said Greg could sense when he was angry or frustrated. As if to prove her right, the baby stirred and frowned in his sleep. Dylan began jiggling him gently, holding him close so he could hear his heartbeat and be reassured. Except his heart was hammering in his chest, thundering in his ears. He didn’t think that could be reassuring. He settled Greg a little lower in the crook of his arm.
She was waiting for an answer. “Yes. No. Look, will you just forget I said anything?” He should never have started talking to her. It was late. He was tired. She was too damned good a listener. He’d thought it was safe enough to talk about Saudi. After all, they’d both made it through without a scratch. But memories of his friend Greg and the months of pain and suffering before his death had crowded in.
And with that breach of his defenses came memories of Jessie. Young. Scared. Alone. So pretty. So needy.
“It’s not easy to forget a statement like that.”
He’d expected an automatic assurance that his words were instantly forgotten. A meaningless gesture, maybe, but one that would get him off the hook for tonight. That’s what Jessie would have done. What most women would have done. But not Lana Lord.
“No, I suppose it isn’t.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I never intended to say the words aloud.”
“And what about your son?”
“What about him?”
“Will you let it keep on affecting the way you feel about him?” He wondered if she was as good a shot with a gun as she was with words.
“I can’t answer that.”
She looked away. She folded her hands on the counter and stared at them. The overhead light picked out streaks of cinnamon and gold in her hair. He could smell her perfume, light and flowery. If he leaned a few inches closer he would feel the warmth of her skin radiating through the space between them. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t want Greg to suffer what I did as a child.”
“Suffer? I don’t understand.” But he thought he did, a little, anyway.
“Wondering why my mother left us on the doorstep of the clinic. Wondering what we’d done wrong that she would leave us all that way.”
“You said your adoptive parents loved you.” He didn’t love Greg. Couldn’t love him as a father should, and that ate at him. She was right. Kids could sense that kind of thing, no matter how hard you tried to hide it.
“They did. And it helped me put those doubts aside. But it never completely made them go away. I would hate for Greg to have those same doubts.”
“I told you I never intended to speak of it to a living soul.” Her adoptive parents had learned to love her. Maybe that was the key. Maybe he could be taught to love his son.
“You will try not to let it come between you and Greg.”
“I try every day of my life.”
She wasn’t looking at him, but at the baby he was holding. Her thoughts were all for Greg. For a moment Dylan was jealous of the sleeping infant. Lana was a woman who knew her mind and her heart, not like