Honest Illusions

  “Well, maybe just a passing acquaintance.”

  He was smiling again, shaking his head. “Roxy, Roxy, you can’t con me. You thrive on being in charge. The plum doesn’t roll far from the tree.”

  She chuckled, kneeling beside him again. “Okay, maybe. But I wouldn’t mind being told what to do—now and again.”

  “You’d still do what you want.”

  “Sure.” Swamped with love, she threw her arms around him. “But it’s more satisfying if someone tries to tell me what to do first.”

  “Then I’ll tell you this. Grudges are bridges with faulty spans. Falling off one is a lot more rewarding then getting stuck on the other side.”

  “Free lesson?” she murmured and, with a sigh, pressed her cheek to his.

  Roxanne was a little wobbly when she left her father sleeping and started back downstairs. He’d been so tired, and with his encroaching fatigue she’d all but been able to see the clouds rolling in again. When she’d tucked him into bed much as she would do for her son, he’d called her Lily.

  She had to accept that he might remember nothing in the morning when he awakened. The hour she’d had with him would have to be enough.

  Weary and weepy, she paused at the base of the stairs to straighten her shoulders. She owed her family a solid front, a show of strength. As she walked toward the kitchen, she fixed an easy smile on her face.

  “I could smell the coffee all the way . . .” She fumbled to a halt as her tumbling emotions took one more roll. There, gathered with her family, was Luke, leaning back against the kitchen counter with his hands tucked in his pockets.

  Once again, everyone spoke at once. Roxanne only shook her head and marched to the stove to pour coffee. “He’s sleeping. Talking all this time tired him out.”

  “Maybe he’ll be fine now.” Lily twisted the beads she wore around and around her fingers. “Maybe it’s all going to go away.” The look in Roxanne’s eyes had her glancing away. It was so hard to bury hope, then unearth it again only to feel it die. “It was so good to talk to him again.”

  “I know.” Roxanne cradled the coffee cup in both hands but didn’t drink. “We can schedule more tests.”

  Lily made a tiny sound of distress and immediately began to fiddle with the cow-shaped creamer on the kitchen table. They all knew how difficult and disorienting the tests were for Max. How wrenching they were for those who loved him. “We can hope that the new medication is helping,” Roxanne continued. “Or we can leave things as they are.”

  It was LeClerc who spoke, laying his spindly hand on Roxanne’s shoulder to knead out some of the tension. “What do you want to do, chère?”

  “Nothing,” she said on a half sigh. “What I want to do is nothing. But what I think we should do is agree to whatever tests the doctors recommend.” She took a deep breath, scanning faces. “Whatever the outcome, we had this evening. We’ll have to be grateful for that.”

  “Can I go sit with him?” Mouse stared down at the toes of his shoes. “I won’t wake him up.”

  “Of course you can.” Roxanne waited until Mouse and Alice had left before she turned to Luke. “Why are you here?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “We agreed you wouldn’t drop by for casual visits,” she began, only to have the fury in his eyes stop her cold.

  “This isn’t casual. If you’d like to discuss why, here and now, I’d be glad to.” She could still blush, he noted. It was fascinating to watch the color rise, blooming high on her cheeks while her eyes showed temper that had nothing to do with embarrassment. “Added to that,” he continued blandly, “when Lily called about Max I wasn’t about to sit home marking cards.”

  “Honey.” Lily reached out a tentative hand. “I think Max would want Luke here.”

  “Max is asleep,” she snapped back. “There’s no need for you to stay. If he’s up to it in the morning, you can have all the time you want with him.”

  “Damn generous of you, Roxanne.”

  The weakness showed through only briefly when she pressed her fingers to the thudding in her left temple. “I have to think of Max first. No matter what’s between us you have to know I wouldn’t keep you from him.”

  “Just what is between us?”

  “I’m hardly going to discuss that now.”

  Whistling quietly between his teeth, LeClerc began to wipe the stove. He knew he should leave, give them privacy. But it was much too interesting. Lily didn’t bother with a diversion. She clasped her hands and watched avidly.

  “You climbed out of bed with me and walked away.” He pushed away from the counter. “There’s no way I’m leaving this unresolved.”

  “Unresolved?” The irony of it was so sharp she was amazed it didn’t slice him into little pieces. But that was fine. She’d do the cutting herself. “You have the nerve to talk to me about leaving something—anything—unresolved? You walked out to do a job one night and never came back. A real clever variation on the old going-out-to-buy-a-pack-of-cigarettes, Callahan. But damn if I can claim to be impressed.”

  “I had reasons,” he tossed out while Lily shifted her eyes from face to face with the eagerness of a tennis buff at Wimbledon.

  “I don’t give a shit about reasons.”

  “No, all you care about is making me crawl.” He advanced another step and gave serious consideration to strangling her. “Well, I won’t.”

  “I’m not interested in seeing you crawl. Unless it’s naked, over broken glass. I went to bed with you, okay?” She pinwheeled her arms to make her point. “It was a mistake, abject stupidity, a moment of mindless lust.”

  He took a fistful of her sweatshirt. “It may have been stupid and it may have been lust, on both parts, babe. But it wasn’t a mistake.” His voice had risen to a boom that made her aching head reel. “And we’re going to settle this, once and for all, if I have to gag you and cuff you to get you to listen.”

  “Just try it, Callahan, and all that’ll be left of those hands you’re so proud of is bloody stumps. So take your threats, and your pitiful . . .”

  But he wasn’t listening to her anymore. Fascinated, Roxanne watched the color drain out of his face until it was as white and lax as melted wax. The eyes that were staring over her shoulder darkened to cobalt. “Oh, God,” was all he said, and the hand gripping her shirt went limp.

  “Mama.”

  Roxanne’s heart stopped, simply stopped at the sound of her son’s voice. She turned, certain she heard her bones creak like rusty hinges with the slow, dreamlike movement. Nate was standing in the kitchen doorway, knuckling sleepy eyes with one hand and dragging his battered stuffed basset hound with the other.

  “You didn’t come kiss me good night.”

  “Oh, Nate.” Cold, she was suddenly so cold, even as she bent to scoop her child into her arms. “I’m sorry. I would have come up soon.”

  “I didn’t hear the end of the story Alice read, either,” he complained, yawning and tucking his head in the familiar curve of her shoulder. “I fell asleep before the dog party.”

  Go Dog Go, Roxanne thought, dazed. Nathaniel did love his Dr. Seuss. “It’s late, baby,” she murmured.

  “Can I have ice cream?”

  She wanted to laugh, but it came out perilously close to a sob. “Not a chance.”

  Luke could only stare, stare at the small boy through eyes that were dazzled and hot and gritty. His heart had dropped to his knees and trembled there, leaving a raw, ragged hole in his chest. The child had his face. His face. It was like looking into a telescope lens, and seeing himself at a distance. In the past. In the past he’d never been given.

  Mine, was all he could think. Oh, sweet Jesus. Mine.

  After another wide yawn, Nate stared back, all curiosity and sleepy confidence. “Who’s that?” he wanted to know.

  In all the scenarios that had twisted through Roxanne’s mind, introducing her son to his father had never been quite like this. “Ah—he’s . . .” A friend? she wondered.

/>   “This is Luke,” Lily piped up, rubbing a hand up and down Luke’s rigid arm. “He was kind of like my little boy when he was growing up.”

  “Okay.” Nate smiled. All sweetness, no guile. What he saw was a tall man with black hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail and a face as pretty as a prince in one of his story books. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” It amazed Luke how calm his voice sounded when his heart had vaulted back from his feet to lie lodged and swollen in his throat. He needed to touch, was afraid if he tried his hand might pass through the curve of the boy’s cheek as in a dream. “You like dogs?” he said and felt incredibly stupid.

  “This is Waldo.” Always friendly, Nate held out the stuffed toy for Luke’s inspection. “When I get a real dog I’m going to name him Mike.”

  “That’s a pretty good name.” Luke did touch, just the tips of his fingers to Nate’s cheek. The boy’s flesh was warm and soft against his.

  More sly than shy, Nate cuddled his head against his mother’s shoulder and beamed at Luke. “Maybe you’d like some ice cream now.”

  Roxanne couldn’t bear any more—not the pain or the wonder in Luke’s eyes or her own terrified guilt. “Kitchen’s closed, smart guy.” She tightened her grip possessively on her son. The urge to turn and run with what was hers was so cowardly it shamed her. “Lights out, Nate. You have to go to bed before you turn into a frog.”

  He giggled at that and made respectable frog noises.

  “I’ll take him up.” Lily held out her arms for Nate before Roxanne could protest.

  Nate twisted one of Lily’s curls around his finger and poured on the charm. “Will you read me a story? I like it best when you read them.”

  “You bet. Jean?” Lily cocked a brow, amused to note that LeClerc was still wiping the sparkling surface of the stove. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “As soon as I finish tidying up.” He sighed when Lily narrowed her eyes at him. Too often discretion was a bitter pill to swallow. “I’ll come along now.”

  Never one to let an opportunity pass, Nate began to negotiate as they trooped down the hall. “Can I have two stories? One from you and one from you?”

  As Nate’s voice faded away, Roxanne stood facing Luke, trapped in the silence.

  “I think . . .” She cleared the tremor out of her voice and tried again. “I think I want something stronger than coffee.” She started to turn, but Luke’s hand whipped out snake-quick and gripped her arm. She felt his fingers press down to the bone.

  “He’s mine.” His voice was low, deadly, terrifying. “Good Christ, Roxanne, that boy is my son. Mine.” The force of it struck him so viciously that he shook her. Her head snapped back so that she had no choice but to stare into his ice-pale face. “We have a child, and you kept it from me. Goddamn you, how could you not tell me I had a son?”

  “You weren’t here!” she shouted, swinging out. The crack of her hand against his cheek stunned them both. Appalled, she pressed her fingers to her lips, then let her arm fall stiffly to her side. “You weren’t here,” she said again.

  “I’m here now.” He shoved her away before he did something he’d never forgive himself for. “I’ve been here for two weeks. ‘Don’t come by for casual visits, Callahan,’ ” he ground out, and there was more than fury in his eyes now, there was torment. “You weren’t doing that for Max. You were setting up rules so I wouldn’t see our son. You weren’t going to tell me about him.”

  “I was going to tell you.” She couldn’t catch her breath. Never in her life had she feared him, physically. Until now. He looked capable of anything. Of everything. Unconsciously she rubbed the heel of her hand between her breasts as if to force the air in and out again. “I needed time.”

  “Time.” He lifted her off her feet with that quick, baffling strength that both frightened and aroused. “I lost five goddamn years, and you needed time?”

  “You lost? You lost? What did you expect me to do, Luke, when you came back into my life? Oh, hello, nice to see you again. By the way, you’re a daddy. Have a fucking cigar.”

  He stared at her for one long frozen moment. Violence leaped through him, a deep, dark need to destroy, to inflict pain, to scream for revenge. He dropped her back on her feet, watched the fear jump into her eyes though she didn’t flinch. On a vicious oath, he turned and yanked the door open.

  Outside, he dragged in hot, thick air. The scent of flowers spun in his head, seemed to cling to his skin like sticky pollen though he rubbed his hands hard over his face. The pain was so sharp, so sudden, a rapier thrust through the heart that left him shocked and disbelieving while the blood drained.

  His son. Luke pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and uttered a sound that was raw with grief and rage. His son had looked at him, smiled at him and thought him a stranger.

  She followed him out. Odd, she was calm now. It wouldn’t have surprised her to have him turn on her, strike out at her. There had been that kind of danger in his eyes. She would defend herself if the need arose, but the time for fear had passed.

  “I won’t apologize for keeping it from you, Luke. I did what I thought best. Right or wrong, I’d do it again.”

  He didn’t turn to look at her, but continued to stare out across the courtyard toward the fountain that played its quiet, liquid song.

  They’d made that miracle together, he thought. Conceived the boy in love and laughter and lust. Was that why he’d been so beautiful, so perfect, so incredibly lovely? “Did you know you were pregnant when I left?”

  “No.” She caught herself rubbing her hands together and made herself drop her arms to her sides. “Right after, though. I was sick that afternoon, remember? It turns out that I was having my morning sickness a little late in the day.”

  “Trust you not to do the conventional.” He jammed his hands in his pockets, struggling, struggling to be calm, to be reasonable. “Was it difficult?”

  “What?”

  “The pregnancy,” he said between his teeth. But he didn’t turn to look at her yet. Couldn’t. “Was it difficult? You were sick?”

  Of all the things she’d expected him to ask, this was the last. “No.” Off balance, she pushed a hand through her hair. “I had the nausea for a couple of months, then I breezed through the rest. I’ve probably never felt better.”

  In his pockets, his hands curled to fists. “And when he was born?”

  “It wasn’t a walk on the beach, but I don’t feel as though I strolled through the valley of the shadow of death either. Little over eighteen hours, and out popped Nathaniel.”

  “Nathaniel.” He repeated the name in a whisper.

  “I didn’t want to name him after anyone. I wanted him to have his own.”

  “He’s healthy.” Luke continued to stare at the fountain. He could almost see the individual drops as they rose, fell and rose again. “He looks . . . healthy.”

  “He’s fine. He’s never sick.”

  “Like his mother.” But he has my face, Luke thought. He has my face. “He likes dogs.”

  “Nate likes most everything. Except lima beans.” She let out a shaky breath and took a chance. “Luke,” she murmured, touching a hand to his shoulder. He whirled on her so quickly she fell back a step. But when he grabbed her, it wasn’t to punish.

  His arms simply came around her, bringing her close. His body shuddered once as it enfolded hers. Unable to deny either of them this, she stroked a hand through his hair and returned the embrace.

  “We have a son,” he whispered.

  “Yes.” She felt a tear sneak past her defenses, and sighed. “We have a terrific son.”

  “I can’t let you keep him from me, Roxanne. No matter what you think of me, what you feel for me, I can’t let you keep me from him.”

  “I know. But I won’t let you hurt him.” She drew away. “I won’t let you become so important to him that you leave a hole when you go away.”

  “I want my son. I want you. I want my life back. By God, Roxanne, I?
??m taking what I want. You’re going to listen to me.”

  “Not tonight.” But he already had her by the hand. She swore ripely when he dragged her across the courtyard toward the workroom. “I’m not going through any more emotional wringers tonight. Now let me go.”

  “I’ve lived in an emotional wringer for five years.” To simplify matters he hauled her off her feet. “You’ll just have to tough it out for another hour.” Yanking open the door he carried a struggling Roxanne inside.

  “How can you do this? How can you behave this way?” She let out a grunt when he dumped her, butt first, onto a workbench. “You just found out about your son, and instead of sitting down and having a calm, adult conversation, you’re tossing me around.”

  “We’re not going to have a conversation, calm, adult or otherwise.” He snatched up handcuffs and snapped one end over her wrist. “A conversation means two or more people are talking.” Quick thinking had him dodging her fist the first time, but it was only a