In His Brother's Place. Elizabeth Lane
“No. You needn’t worry on that account, Jordan. I have no claim on your family’s precious money or anything else. So go away and leave us alone.”
She studied his face for some sign that her words had made an impact. But his expression could have been chiseled in basalt.
“You might have told us,” he said. “It would’ve meant a lot to my parents, knowing Justin had left a child.”
“Your parents hated me! How could I expose my innocent baby to those ugly feelings?”
“I want to see the boy.”
No! Angie’s heart slammed. She’d had no warning, no time to prepare Lucas for this.
“I don’t think—” she began. But it was too late. She heard the opening of the bedroom door and the cautious tread of small sneakers. Evidently, Lucas had grown tired of waiting and decided to check things out for himself.
Short of lunging for her son, there was little Angie could do. She watched in mute horror as Lucas emerged from the hallway and caught sight of their visitor.
His brown eyes opened wide. Then his face lit with joyous wonder. “Daddy!” he cried, racing across the room. “Daddy, you came back!”
Daddy?
It was the last thing Jordan had expected—this pint-size bundle of energy hurtling toward him, flinging eager arms around his knees. A sense of helplessness crept over him. Lord, did the boy think he was Justin?
He lifted his gaze to meet Angie’s. She looked as if she’d been punched hard enough to break a rib. With visible effort she found her voice. “He has Justin’s picture. I’ve told him that his daddy’s in heaven, but he’s so young …” The words trailed off. Her eyes pleaded for Jordan’s understanding.
With a firm hand, Jordan peeled the boy off his legs and boosted him onto the edge of the coffee table. The investigator had included some pictures in his packet, but they’d all been from a distance, at skewed angles as the photographer tried to avoid attention and stay out of sight. This was his first good, clear look at the boy.
If he’d had any doubts the child was Justin’s, they vanished at once. Lucas had his mother’s vivid Latina coloring, but aside from that he was all Cooper. The straight nose, the dimpled chin and unruly cowlick at the crown of the head mirrored Justin’s features—and Jordan’s.
Identical twins were genetic copies of each other. This boy could be his own son.
Lucas regarded him with adoring eyes, but his lower lip quivered, as if he sensed something was wrong. Maybe he was wondering why his long lost father wasn’t happier to see him.
Jordan suppressed the urge to jump up and leave. He’d never spent much time around children, didn’t understand them or even like them much, truth be told. But the situation called for some kind of response. He cleared his throat.
“Listen to me, Lucas. I’m not your father. I’m your uncle Jordan, your father’s brother. We look alike, that’s all. Do you understand?”
A single tear welled, then trickled down Lucas’s cheek. Jordan glanced toward Angie. Pain was etched on her lovely, sensual face. From the moment he’d met her, he’d found himself wondering how it would feel to kiss those lush, moist lips. Then he’d found out … to his everlasting regret.
“Come here, Lucas.” Angie gathered her son close. Clasping him fiercely, she glared at Jordan over the boy’s head. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” she said in a glacial voice.
Jordan exhaled. Where to start? He’d rehearsed his speech in the car. The words he’d chosen struck him as stuffy and arrogant now, but nothing better came to mind.
“I have a duty to my brother,” he said. “Justin would want his son to have all the advantages money can buy—a home to be proud of, a quality education, social and cultural opportunities—advantages you can’t afford to give him.”
She pulled her son closer. “I can give him love. And when my business picks up I’ll be able to give him other things, too. If you think I’d accept one cent of your money—”
“Money isn’t what I had in mind, Angie.”
Her eyes flashed in unmistakable horror. Did she think he was plotting to take the boy away from her? Picking up on his mother’s distress, Lucas whimpered.
“Hear me out,” Jordan said. “I’m inviting you and Lucas—both of you—to come and live at the ranch. There’s plenty of room in the house. You could have as much privacy and independence as you need. You could even continue with your web design business, if you choose to. As for Lucas—”
“Stop right there! It’s out of the question.” Angie had gone rigid. Lucas squirmed in her arms, looking as if he were about to cry.
“I said, hear me out. When I’m finished you can make up your mind.”
With a sigh she boosted Lucas off her lap. “Go back in your room and play,” she said. “If you’re good, we’ll make popcorn and watch cartoons tonight.”
As the boy scampered away, she turned back to face Jordan. “What were you thinking when you came up with this idea?” she demanded. “Your mother would barely speak to me when Justin was alive. Having me in the house now, even with Lucas, would be miserable for her—and for us.”
Jordan shook his head. “Two years ago, after my father died, my mother moved to a retirement condo in town. She says she’ll never go back to the ranch. Too many memories.”
“So you’re there alone?”
Jordan wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. The two of them alone together in the house at night with Lucas asleep…. He squelched the idea before his imagination could seize on it and run off to forbidden places. He had every reason to despise this woman. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t relish having her in his bed. Not that that would ever happen. She hated him for that single, amazing, train wreck of a kiss just as much as he hated himself.
“The ranch is never lonely,” he said. “You’d be there with the housekeeping staff and the stock hands, and of course, you’d have a car. You’d be free to come and go as you like.”
She glanced down at her hands. In the awkward silence, he read her unspoken question.
“You wouldn’t see that much of me,” he volunteered. “I spend three or four days a week at my office in town. And I do a lot of traveling. Even when I’m home, I don’t wander around looking for company.”
The only sign she’d heard him was the rise of color in her cheeks. He knew what she must be thinking. Hell, he’d been thinking the same thing from the moment he saw her.
He took a slow breath. “Let me make this clear. If it’s me you’re worried about, know that I won’t lay an improper hand on you or do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. All I want is what’s best for my brother’s son.”
Her head came up. “If you want what’s best for him, you’ll go away and leave us alone.”
Jordan squelched the impulse to reach out and seize her shoulders. “Blast it, woman, look around you. In this neighborhood, your boy can’t even go outside to play. Think of the life he could have on the ranch—open spaces, animals, caring people to look after him—”
“No!” She flung the word at him. “I’m not going to sit here and let you tell me that I’m not capable of raising my son on my own, with my own resources. This apartment may not be the lap of luxury, but we’re doing just fine here without the help of you or anyone else. Listen to me, Jordan. My parents were migrant farm laborers. They worked in the fields from sunup to dark so their children could have a better life. Sometimes we slept on the ground. Sometimes we barely had enough to eat. But the one thing we never did was accept charity.