“What about the father?” Derrick’s voice warbled slightly over the word father .
Wariness filled Brianna, and she rocked the baby, trying to soothe him. “He’s not in the picture.”
Derrick’s broad jaw tightened. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” Brianna said, trying to stick as close to the truth as possible. “Natalie never told me.”
Surprise registered on Derrick’s face. “I thought you two shared everything.”
At one time they had. But Natalie had glossed over the details of that night with Derrick. And the last few weeks she’d acted strangely, secretive, even shut her out.
Because Derrick was the father of her son? Because she knew it would hurt Brianna even more to know that Natalie shared a child with the only guy she had ever wanted?
“W HAT IS THE BABY ’ S NAME ?” Derrick asked.
Brianna licked her lips, snowflakes dotting her silky shoulder length hair. “Ryan. It was Natalie’s father’s name.”
He nodded. The Cummings family had been a surrogate to Brianna.
A stiff wind picked up, swirling snow, leaves and dried pine straw around them. Brianna shivered, the baby’s cries escalating.
“I’d better get him out of the weather,” she said. Then she gave a pointed look at the flowers. “And I’ll leave you alone to speak to Natalie.”
Cuddling the crying infant to her, she dashed past him, picking up her pace and practically running toward her vehicle. He frowned, a knot gathering in his stomach.
Brianna had always avoided him, but for a moment, he thought he’d detected fear in her eyes.
No, not Brianna. She was as sweet as they came.
Too sweet for his badass ways back then, and too sweet now.
Don’t trust a woman, his inner voice warned. Didn’t you learn your lesson before?
He walked over and knelt at Natalie’s grave, then laid the spray of flowers on the top. “Natalie, is that little boy mine? And if he is, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
He turned and watched as Brianna sped away, and anger began to simmer inside him. He’d never considered having a family, especially a child. Had never thought he’d be any good at it.
But if that baby boy was his, he’d find out.
B RIANNA WAS SHAKING AS SHE drove back to her house, but with the snow thickening, she forced herself to drive slowly and to avoid the dangerous patches of black ice.
What if Derrick was Ryan’s father?
Would he want the baby?
An ache rolled through her chest at the thought of having to give up the little boy she’d come to think of as her son. Yet at the same time, guilt pressed against her chest.
She loved Ryan and as his adoptive mother, she had to think about his future, to put him first. She’d never known her own father.
Didn’t Ryan have a right to know his, especially if the man wanted to be in the picture?
She parked, gathered Ryan from the backseat, rocking him as she rushed to her house and unlocked the door.
The wind sent the chimes into a soft musical symphony, her front porch swing swaying in the breeze. The wreath she’d hung on the door reminded her of the upcoming holiday, that this was a special time of year. Natalie had loved Christmas.
For Brianna, it had meant lonely nights, holidays without gifts, a reminder that her mother had dumped her on the doorstep of an orphanage and never looked back.
But Natalie had treated her like family, and her parents had included her in their family celebrations, making memories that had changed her life. She and Natalie had decorated cookies together as kids, had created handmade ornaments and strung popcorn for the tree.
Natalie would be missed.
Brianna would carry on those traditions with Natalie’s son, and make sure he knew his mother’s love.
Ryan’s cries escalated. She flipped on a light and rushed to get him a bottle. He calmed as he ate, and stared at the twinkling Christmas tree lights as if mesmerized by the bright colors. She had bought a crib for the spare bedroom, so she changed his diaper and settled him into the baby bed.
Exhausted herself, she went to her room across the hall, then pulled on warm flannel pj’s and climbed in bed.
But worry kept her tossing and turning for hours, her nights filled with memories of the orphanage and the friend who’d left her behind.
Then other images taunted her. Derrick’s big masculine body. Derrick looking at her with desire. Touching her. Wanting her. Making her his.
Finally she fell into a deep sleep, but a noise jarred her awake.
The baby crying…. He was probably hungry again.
She shoved the covers aside, jammed her feet into her slippers and pulled on her robe, then knotted it at the waist and shuffled across the hall.
Night shadows streaked the walls, then suddenly the silhouette of a man bled into view, and her heart pounded. He was in the nursery, leaning over the crib.
Panic shot through her. He was going to take Ryan!
Lunging into the room, she shouted at him to stop, but he scooped up the baby and turned toward her. He wore all black and a ski mask, the only visible part of him was his eyes. Dark eyes that bored into her like lasers.
“Put him down,” Brianna said. “Please just leave him alone. He’s just a baby….”
He stalked toward her, his hulking form menacing as he shoved her aside. She grabbed his arm to stop him and get Ryan, but he swung his fist up and slammed it into her face. Her head snapped back, but she sucked in a sharp breath, terror streaking through her as she ran after him.
He raced toward the stairs, and she clawed at his back and shoulders, but he jerked her arm and flung her down the steps. She hit the wall, bounced over the ridges of the staircase and landed in a puddle at the bottom of the steps, the room spinning.
Clutching the baby to him, he vaulted over her. Panicked, she grabbed wildly at his ankle, determined not to let him escape.
“Let go, you bitch.” With a snarl, he swung his foot back and slammed it into her nose. Blood spurted, pain rocked through her and the room swirled.
Choking on a sob, she struggled to crawl after him. But he kicked her again, and she lost the battle and collapsed into the darkness.
Her last thought before she passed out was filled with pure terror—she’d just lost Natalie’s son.
Chapter Two
Derrick jerked awake, sweating and panting for breath. Images of that last case had haunted him all night. He could still see that tiny grave, hear the father’s choked cry, the mother’s scream of denial.
That dream had blended into another—memories of his own father tormenting him as a kid, beating him to a bloody pulp, making him feel worthless.
He stood, wiped the sweat from his brow and went to the window. Daylight was barely dawning yet it was always night in his mind, night filled with dark thoughts of that case and the mess he’d made of it.
All because he’d let his past get in the way. Let himself believe the mother’s story that the kid’s father was abusing him. Easy to believe. It happened every day.
But in the end, he’d been wrong. The mother had been the abuser.
Her