A Family Man Read online

  “You’re assuming an awful lot based on a single encounter,” she hissed, careful to keep her voice steady and low so J.T. wouldn’t hear. She didn’t have to worry on that score. J.T. was already scrambling off after the frog.

  “It was one hell of an incredible encounter, lady. That little catch in your voice and the way those green eyes of yours keep wandering over my jeans tells me your memory’s just as good as mine.”

  He stood, bringing all six foot two of virile masculinity into perfect view. Josie’s entire being reacted to that aggressive stance. She knew what his dark hair felt like slipping through her fingers, recalled the way his skin stretched taut over his high cheekbones during the height of arousal, the way his mouth could tip with the barest hint of amusement one second and administer mind-shattering pleasure the next. His chest, hidden now beneath a light cotton shirt, was strong and wide, his belly washboard flat. And his thighs were so very powerful and erotic, like his sex.

  Oh, God. What in the world was she thinking? A wave of shame heated her skin. She scooped J.T. into her arms and walked toward the porch steps.

  “Excuse me. I need to give J.T. a bath.”

  Chase blocked her way and laid a hand on her arm. Invisible sparks shot all the way up her shoulder and across her breasts, tightening them beneath the snug tank top.

  “Running, Josie? You’re good at that. But I won’t go away. I want some answers.”

  “Not now.”

  “Is your husband due home soon? Is that it?”

  Josie shook her head and edged toward the door. He let her go. The fact that he did caused her to pause. She didn’t want to answer his questions. How could she explain to him that Bobby wouldn’t be coming home? Not now. Not ever. Her childhood sweetheart, the guy who’d been her best friend in all the world had died six days before J.T. was born. It didn’t quite seem fair that Bobby was gone and that Chase was standing here on her porch, a specter from the past, very alive and very vital.

  Memories of the dark stranger had surfaced throughout the years, causing a guilt she’d been hard-pressed to hide. That one impulsive decision to sleep with a stranger had haunted her days. And nights.

  Impulsive or not, her heart had been in the right place, she’d assured herself over and over throughout the years. She’d loved Bobby, would have moved heaven and earth to give him what he wanted. And what he’d wanted most was a baby. Their baby. In the end he hadn’t lived to even hold J.T.

  Josie was human enough to admit she had some regrets, but she’d never regretted the baby. Or the joy her pregnancy had brought to her husband. She consoled herself that he had died in peace, happy that a part of his life would live on, through their son. The baby had meant so much to both of them. She didn’t consider what she’d done an act of adultery. It had been an act of love. Love for Bobby.

  She wouldn’t tarnish or betray that memory, no matter what emotions that one night of passion stirred in her.

  “Josie?” he prompted softly.

  “I’m a widow, Chase. My husband died.”

  A strange look came over his face, one she couldn’t decipher. Given the state of her own emotions, she didn’t have the energy to dwell on that haunted expression.

  He didn’t budge when she opened the screen door. Short of bodily throwing him off her property, which she had to admit was a ridiculous notion, there wasn’t much she could do. Despite his laid-back demeanor, he struck her as a man who didn’t give up easily.

  Josie sighed. “You can stay or you can go, but right now I’ve got to take care of my son.”

  As invitations went, that one was certainly ungracious, but Chase figured he’d take what he could get. Letting himself in through the screen door, which moments ago had banged in his face, he stopped just inside the living room to look around. The old farmhouse was spacious. He’d expected opulence—hell, she was an Alexander wasn’t she? Instead, he encountered simple country charm. Some of the furnishings looked like antiques, but not the showy, priceless kind he’d expect a rich bitch to own.

  Which went to show that he was jumping to a lot of conclusions. The biggest one was whether that little boy in there was his son.

  Over the fireplace mantel stood a grouping of photographs. With more anticipation than he’d like to admit, Chase went to study them. He looked at the picture closest to him. Josie, pregnant and smiling into the face of a man. Chase’s jaw clenched, and as he picked up the frame, his knuckles whitened from the tense grip he held it in. So this was Bobby. Finally he saw what the man looked like. He looked older than Chase, but it was hard to tell. The guy was way too thin, his skin pale. His eyes were shining though, happy, gazing with indisputable love at the woman whose arms were wrapped securely around his thin frame. Chase’s chest tightened, with an undefinable emotion. Was it envy?

  “That was Bobby.”

  Chase nearly jumped at the sound of her voice. Carefully, he placed the picture back on the mantel and turned around. “How’d he die?”

  “Leukemia. He had a rough time in the end, but Bobby never let anything—not even death—get him down. He was always so positive, so up. Sometimes I think it was his strength that kept me going rather than the other way around.”

  Chase had a hard time keeping his mind on her quiet words. His mind kept conjuring the face of the man in the photo. “You loved him,” he stated.

  “Very much.”

  “Then why—?”

  “Don’t. Not now, Chase. Please.”

  Chase looked at the pajama clad little boy she clutched so protectively in her arms. She was right. Now wasn’t the time to get into the whys and wherefores of a one-night stand. Besides, she’d just used his given name and the sound of it rolling off her tongue in that smoky, almost fearful voice did something to his insides. He inclined his head, letting her know she’d won this round and watched as she visibly relaxed.

  She tried to set J.T. down, but the boy was tired and cranky. He started to fuss and cling to her.

  “J.T., honey, don’t you want to play with your trucks so Mama can get supper?”

  “No!” He whimpered and clung harder.

  “Will he let me hold him?”

  Josie looked at Chase. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She had an irrational fear that if she handed J.T. over to this man, she might not ever get him back. It was a dumb thought. And right about now she could use an extra pair of hands. J.T. was a strong-willed child and as tired as he was, she knew he’d kick up a ruckus if she put him down.

  She shrugged, but stood still as Chase approached. “He probably will. This kid’s not afraid of anybody and he likes to get his own way.” Just like someone else I’m coming to know, she thought.

  Chase held out his arms and J.T. fairly jumped into them. “There you go, sport. Let’s let your mama get you a meal.”

  Josie had to turn away. The sight of the two dark heads so close together caused a lump to form in her chest. J.T. was hers. He had been from the beginning and she didn’t want to share him.

  Hoping a little distance would ease her inner turmoil, Josie headed for the kitchen. J.T. might be an amiable little boy, but he wouldn’t be distracted for long.

  The bread was still warm from the oven and the soup steaming since it had been simmering most of the day. It was a meal better suited for a cold rainy night rather than the hot muggy heat of June, but she’d needed to use up the leftovers before they spoiled.

  Reaching for bowls and silverware, Josie hesitated. She could hear J.T.’s high-pitched giggle coming from the next room, as well as the deep rumble of a masculine voice. Country manners dictated that she offer Chase Fowler a meal. It was the right and proper thing to do, and Josie had always been known to do the right thing. Smile, Josie. You’re a good girl, Josie. You mustn’t make waves, Josie. Do such and such, Josie, or folks will talk.

  Well, she’d certainly done something that’d make folks talk. How in the world would she ever survive a scandal the likes of which Chase’s prese
nce could very well create?

  She turned when Chase carried J.T. into the kitchen. His brow raised in a silent question as he glanced toward the extra place setting. It was just a simple look, Josie told herself. A quirk of the brow. An expression. There wasn’t any call for the way her stomach and heart exchanged places, the way every body part from north to south went all fluttery.

  “We’re having leftovers—a stew of sorts. Nothing fancy.” Her words sounded like an apology so she shut her mouth. Plucking J.T. from his arms, she strapped him into the wooden high chair and snapped the tray in place.

  Chase sat down at the table, caught a little off guard. He hadn’t expected her to invite him to supper. Judging by her actions so far, he wondered if he ought to check his bowl for arsenic. He watched Josie hurry around the kitchen, tying a bib around J.T.’s neck, pouring milk into a Micky Mouse cup with a plastic lid.

  She didn’t look like a woman who belonged on a farm. Although he didn’t normally go for stereotyping, he found himself thinking that she didn’t strike him as the typical image he had of a mother, either. Her nails were manicured and polished, not a jagged edge in sight. Her skin had a dewy, healthy glow as if she’d spent a day at a fancy salon. A skillful blending of shadow made her green eyes exotic, her cheekbones prominent. Her full lips were glossy with color, sending his imagination into orbit.

  As she stretched to get ice cubes out of the freezer, Chase nearly groaned aloud. More than anything, he wanted to go to her, slip his arms around her trim waist and press himself against that firm derriere. God Almighty, he remembered the shape and feel of that bottom—as well as every other square inch of her from top to toe. The memories made him hot.

  It’d be wise to focus his attention elsewhere, he decided, like on the mess little James Troy was making out of a slice of buttered bread.

  “Wouldn’t it have made better sense to bathe him after he ate?”

  Josie handed J.T. a child-size spoon, then placed two steaming bowls of stew on the table. “That’s what the bib’s for. Besides, he’s pretty tuckered out. I’ll be lucky if he stays awake through supper.”

  Chase tasted the stew. Leftovers or not, the lady could cook. “This is good. Thank you.” He noticed that she mainly toyed with her meal. The child, on the other hand, was digging in. It awed Chase just to watch the little boy. The enthusiasm, the energy, the pleased grin upon making a new discovery, no matter how small. He’d never really yearned for domesticity or father-hood, yet he suddenly found the prospect exciting. Frankly, it scared him how much he hoped this little boy was actually born of his genes.

  “He wields that spoon pretty good.”

  Josie smiled and reached over to wipe a stray piece of carrot off J.T.’s chin. “He’s always been highly coordinated. People often mistake his age because he talks so well.”

  That didn’t surprise Chase. He’d been a gifted child himself. “He comes by it rightly.”

  He saw her stiffen and decided to give her a break. A cornered animal would usually hurt itself rather than give up, or come out fighting against impossible odds. He didn’t want Josie in that position. He wanted her gentled so she’d open up to him.

  They finished the meal in silence. As she’d predicted, J.T. was practically falling asleep in his plate. When Josie had him cleaned up and announced her intention to put him to bed, Chase stood. “Mind if I tag along?”

  He saw the immediate protest she wanted to voice. Noticed, too, the weary set to her shoulders, the darkening circles forming under her eyes. Finally, she shrugged, as if she just didn’t have the energy to fight. “Suit yourself.”

  He did, and followed her through the house.

  “Man alive, this is something.” His enthusiasm was genuine as he entered the little boy’s room. The walls were papered with airplanes, just about every conceivable model. Toys were sticking out of an old crate that had been decorated with decals of monster trucks and more airplanes. The crib and dresser were of sturdy maple. It was a room right out of his deepest childhood fantasies.

  “Look at this.” He moved forward to take a closer look at the wallpaper. “There’s even an old 450 Stearman.”

  “J.T.’s crazy over planes.” Josie smiled at the baby who had one hand wound in her hair, his thumb stuck in his mouth. “And trucks and tractors—actually anything mechanical.” She shifted him on her hip and jiggled the crib railing in an effort to lower it. The grip she had on J.T.’s pajama shirt pulled the material off his shoulder.

  Everything within Chase went still at what he saw.

  All night he’d been wondering about this baby’s paternity, admittedly playing possum with Josie, taunting her and gauging her reaction. Well, he thought, as he felt his blood pump with renewed vengeance, he didn’t need to bluff anymore.

  The proof was staring him straight in the face.

  Josie struggled with the crib railing, yanking at it without success. The spring mechanism was sticking again, as usual. She felt Chase move up behind her, felt his heat, the touch of his hand at her waist. She was so rattled, she nearly dropped her son.

  “Here, let me help.”

  “Thanks.” She cleared her throat and stepped back. “He’s really outgrown the crib, but I haven’t had a chance to haul the regular bed down from the attic.”

  “I’ll get it down for you tomorrow.”

  “No, that’s—”

  He glanced up at her with a look that spoke of determination. “The spring on this crib has had it. I’ll get the bed down tomorrow.”

  For just an instant, there was something so intense in his deep blue eyes, she had an urge to wrap her arms around her son and run for her very life. Lord, she must be more distraught than she’d thought. Without further argument, she allowed him to deal with the faulty spring.

  With his dark head bent over his task, Josie found herself shamelessly studying him, wondering about that fleeting emotion she’d seen, an emotion that seemed to say, “you can run, little girl, but you can’t hide.” Her heart pumped just a little harder at the fanciful image.

  Lamplight shone on his high cheekbones, accenting the hollows in his cheeks and the hint of dark stubble around his jaw. His shoulders were so broad, his hands large and capable. He ought to look out of place in her son’s room, yet he didn’t.

  The minute she thought it, she felt like a traitor. Then the side of the crib came down with a crash and Josie jumped.

  “Well, that did it. You won’t be able to put it back up.” Chase’s voice was sharp, his words clipped, as if he’d suddenly run out of patience. “Will he be okay sleeping with the side down? If not, I’ve got some tools in the truck to fix it.”

  “No. That’s okay. He’s ready to be in a regular bed anyway.” She’d been alone for so long, it was hard to even think about sharing the load, allowing a man to take care of all the repairs that needed doing, repairs that seemed to be piling up faster than any one person could keep up with. She found herself dreaming about the possibilities, though, then immediately chided herself for the fantasy. No matter how enticing the dream, she couldn’t allow it to continue. Especially not with this man.

  Chiding herself for the foolish thoughts, she eased her son into the crib. After tucking him in with a light blanket and stuffed animal, she recited a little prayer then switched off the lamp. Chase hesitated by the crib and Josie wanted to jerk him away from the bedside, insist that he leave and never come back.

  But J.T. was a wonderful little boy and, as much as she hated to admit it, Chase had every right to get to know him. Could she tell him the truth, though? The repercussions of that admission would be enormous. And not just for her. For her son, too.

  Feeling cooped up and restless, Josie led the way back down the hallway, through the living room and stepped out on the porch. Heat lightning flashed off in the distance.

  “He’s a neat kid,” Chase said, his voice deep with an underlying thread of tension.

  “Yes. He means the world to me.” Josie turned and
looked at him, then sat down on the porch swing.

  “I wish you’d told me about him.”

  She stiffened. “What do you mean? There was nothing to tell.”

  “And no one to tell?” he taunted.

  The tenuous control she had on her emotions threatened to snap. All night Chase had been making leading comments, comments that no doubt were meant to entice a reaction from her. She’d tried her best not to take the bait but she was tired now and her resolve was crumbling. She struggled to steel herself. She raised her chin and looked him right in the eye. “Look, Mr. Fowler, I don’t know what you’re implying. Why should I have to tell you anything?” The simmering look she saw on his face now was the same as the one he wore that night four years ago. “If you’re talking about that night…Well, I was dealing with some pretty heavy emotions…and what we did has nothing to do with J.T.”

  “Stop right there, sugar. About the only claim I have to really knowing you is in the biblical sense. But you don’t strike me as a one-night stand sort.”

  Josie was horrified by his words. They made her feel cheap, a feeling she’d studiously avoided every time thoughts of that night had cropped up. Her heart twisted and her stomach tightened. She had an idea this man was about to take her on a guided tour of hell.

  Clenching her fingers around the chain of the porch swing, she looked at Chase, her gaze steady and direct in contrast to the turmoil wreaking havoc on her insides. He’d propped himself against the wood railing, his arms folded across his chest, ankles crossed. For all his relaxed attitude, she knew that he, too, was walking a very fine line.

  “Bobby and I had been married for five years. He’s the only man I’ve ever made love with.”

  His brows lifted, mocking her words. “I see. You made love with your husband and had sex with others. Then you ended up pregnant, but lucky you, there was no one around to challenge the baby’s paternity. Until I came along.”

  Josie wanted to slap him. She tried to put herself in his place, to understand his feelings of anger, the feelings that caused him to want to strike out. But for once in her life, she wasn’t feeling a bit charitable to another human being. All thoughts of admissions or heartrending explanations scattered like seeds in the wind. She was holding all the cards. He had no proof, no basis for his assumption. As far as she was concerned, he could just go right on assuming.