Shattered. Joan Johnston
into the baggage compartment. He wondered what was holding her up.
He’d taken off his suit jacket and tie, loosened the top couple of buttons on his shirt and folded up the sleeves. He was standing slightly hunched near the cockpit door, so his head didn’t hit the 6’2” ceiling. It was the only thing he didn’t love about the sixty-million-dollar jet, which had actually taken him to China and back several times over the past six months. Unfortunately, the next size up jet with the headroom he needed was a Boeing 737.
Kate suddenly appeared in the doorway. She glared at him—a far cry from the yearning look he’d been remembering—then glanced over her shoulder at Bruce, who was bringing up the rear, a massive obstacle Wyatt had put there to keep her from grabbing the boys at the last minute and making a break for it. Now that he knew Jack McKinley was the man Kate had expected to protect her, it was even more important to keep her behind high stone walls. Jack had already proved his willingness to kill for Dante D’Amato by eliminating a snitch.
“Mom, wait’ll you see this!” Lucky said from the aft section of the 550. “There’s a whole kitchen. And a bathroom with a counter and a mirror and a closet for clothes.”
“The kitchen on a plane is called the galley,” Wyatt said.
“Mom, come see the galley.” Lucky scampered back to grab Kate’s hand and tugged her all the way inside the plane, then got behind her and literally shoved her down the aisle so she could see the galley, which was designed for hot meal service. For the very short flight, Wyatt had stocked hot Papa John’s pizza and ice-cold Cokes for the kids and chilled Cristal Champagne he planned to offer Kate.
“Lucky, look!” Chance exclaimed as he spotted several screens mounted near a tabletop. “A computer! And a DVD player!”
Lucky pounded back down the center aisle between the couch and a row of two facing seats with a table between them, to the front of the jet. He looked up at Wyatt, his blue eyes bright with excitement, and said, “Do you have any games we could play or movies we could see, Mr. Shaw?”
“I have both,” Shaw said. “They’re in that cupboard.” Wyatt pointed to a cupboard built in along the wall near the tabletop above which the DVD screen was mounted. “I think there might be a few movies in there you’d like.” He’d picked them out himself, based on what he remembered liking as a kid and what the reviewers said were appropriate movies for young children.
The two boys dropped to the carpeted floor, yanked open the cupboard door and riffled through the games and DVDs.
Wyatt was entranced by their exuberance. He glanced up and met Kate’s stark gaze at the opposite end of the plane. He saw the flicker of panic in her eyes and followed her gaze to where Bruce was locking the door to the Gulfstream, barring Kate’s last avenue of escape before they landed at the private airstrip near his compound north of Houston.
“Folks, we’re cleared for takeoff,” the pilot drawled over the intercom in a thick East Texas accent. “Please take your seats and buckle your seat belts.”
The twins ignored the announcement.
“You boys need to buckle in so we can take off,” Wyatt said, tapping each boy on the shoulder. “The pilot will let us know when it’s safe to move around again.”
The twins each had a handful of DVDs when they stood.
“I’ll hold those for you.” Wyatt held out both hands.
Lucky looked to his mother, who nodded, before he handed over his loot. Chance followed suit. Wyatt stowed the DVDs they’d selected in an overhead compartment.
“Where should we sit?” Lucky asked Wyatt.
“I want you both where I can see you,” Kate said, pointing to facing seats on the same side of the plane as the couch. Each boy grabbed one of the seats on opposite sides of a table and reached for the seat belt. Kate helped Chance, while Wyatt helped Lucky.
Kate shot him an aggravated look but didn’t say anything.
She took a seat across from the twins. Wyatt took the seat opposite her, with a table separating them.
Bruce headed to the back of the plane, where he sat on one of the four club seats around what would be the dining table near the galley.
Wyatt tried to meet Kate’s gaze, but she turned her face toward the boys and ignored him. She’d barely spoken a word since he’d given his ultimatum at her home, except to explain to the boys that they were going on a little vacation. Which suited him fine. At least she wasn’t saying or doing anything to make Lucky and Chance dislike him.
Once they were at altitude, he got the boys settled watching WALL-E, where they were quickly engrossed. Bruce was in the galley fixing plates of pizza and handed Wyatt a can of soda for each of the boys.
Kate stepped into the aisle and intercepted him close to the galley. “I don’t allow them to have carbonated beverages.”
Wyatt grimaced. “What do they drink?”
“Water. Or lemonade, if you have that.”
“It’ll have to be water. Even with pizza?” he asked.
“Water is the perfect beverage, Mr. Shaw.”
He set the Coke cans down on a nearby table and stuck his hands on his hips. “Mr. Shaw?”
She flushed. Her voice was low and intense and full of resentment. “How about Mr. Kidnapper? That fits.”
“Look who’s talking,” he shot back, keeping his voice equally low, fighting the rage that rose every time he thought of all the years he’d lost with his sons. “You’re the one who kept my children hidden from me.”
She didn’t excuse herself again. Or argue the point. “What am I supposed to call you?”
“Wyatt. It’s my name. Or Shaw, if it suits you.”
“All right, Shaw. There, is that better?”
“Much. And I’d like my sons to call me something besides Mr. Shaw.”
“Please, Shaw, don’t tell them you’re their father,” she pleaded. “Not yet. They’re too young to understand all of this.”
“I don’t want the twins upset or frightened any more than you do. I can wait.”
“Thank you.”
He saw another flash of resentment before she lowered her gaze. Before he could express the resentment he was feeling at her resentment, she raised her eyes to his and said, “Why not have them call you Shaw, too, without the mister?”
He supposed that was a good compromise. “All right,” he said grudgingly. At least until they knew the truth. By then he hoped they would want to call him Dad or Papa or Daddy. Because he was planning to spend the rest of his life being their father.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said to Kate, indicating one of two seats on either side of the table near the galley. He waited until she sat, then traded the Cokes for bottled water, crossed back to the boys, took off the caps and dropped the bottles into the recessed glass holders on each side of the table between them.
“Pizza’s ready, Boss,” Bruce called from the galley.
Kate rose. “Can I help?”
“Bruce and I can handle it,” Wyatt said, returning down the aisle and putting a hand on her shoulder to encourage her to sit again.
She jerked away from his touch, crying out as she hit her hip against the table.
Lucky turned around in his seat. “Mom, are you all right?”
“Just bumped into the table,” she called back in a falsely cheerful voice.
Wyatt was amazed that the boy was so aware of his mother. Not nearly so surprised that Kate had kept her injury from her sons. She was still obviously in pain, holding