Lovers' Lies (22 page)

"I was the adult, Victoria."

"And I wasn't?"

Her father fiddled with the menu card on the table. "Had you taken my advice this situation would never have arisen."

She sucked in a ragged breath through her teeth. This was an old argument and one that never ceased to stir her to anger.

"I've never once regretted my decision to keep Connor. You had no right to keep me ignorance. And any decision over Connor was mine and Keir's alone."

He leaned back in his chair and gave her a fulminating look.

"There was no Keir, Victoria," he said very quietly. "The man never gave you his name, so I figured rightly or maybe wrongly, that there was no future for you with him." He looked past her towards the door leading into the cafe. "What the hell sort of trouble have you stirred up this weekend, Vic?"

"Don't call me that," she said bitterly, too aware of the heat flooding her face. "And why think I've caused trouble?"

Her father's ruddy complexion deepened. He leaned across the table and gripped her hand so tightly she winced. "Maybe because that's what you do."

"You're the one who slugged Keir."

"I was entitled. That man ruined your life."

"Neither Connor nor Keir have ruined my life. How can you say that?"

"Time will tell." Her father glanced towards the door. "You've made your bed, girlie. I hope like hell you don't find it too damn uncomfortable to sleep in."

His words saw her anxiety ratchet up a notch.

"And here comes your next headache, so take a word of advice from your old man and drop this subject. Now."

Victoria was only too glad to obey.

As Keir set the tray on the table, she was keenly aware of his shrewd glance.

Her father's words kept echoing through her mind far too often during the long vigil they kept at Connor's bedside.

You've made your bed. I hope it's not too damn uncomfortable to sleep in.

Too often she stole a look at Keir's shuttered profile, trying to guess at his thoughts only to find his attention was cantered on the still figure of their son.

He would make one hell of a poker player.
 

Connor was so small, so helpless lying there, his stillness so alien.
 

The white sheets washed out his normal robust color, making his lashes dark smudges on magnolia pale cheeks.

His intelligent and often mischievous eyes remained closed. Lips, miniature versions of Keir's, hung flaccid and loose.

On his head, the white bandage covering the area shaved for the operation, a stark contrast to his sable hair.

She stroked his limp hand, trying to focus her attention.

Connor's doctors had stressed the importance of talking to him. They insisted the familiar sound of her voice would pull the little boy toward consciousness.

Her heart was slowly breaking.

Nurses and doctors came and went. Connor never roused.

The longer he remained unresponsive, the greater the chance of an unfavorable outcome.

At first she’d been self-conscious, too aware of Keir's silent presence. But as the weary hours passed, one jumbled on top of the other, she forgot Keir.

She recounted their familiar, every day routines. She talked about his friends, about school, about trips to the beach, the zoo, riding horses at her father's stables, going shopping, and his playroom in her florist boutique where he'd spent many hours at her side.

She talked about anything and everything that came to mind, all the while silently praying something would strike that elusive spark and jolt Connor back to consciousness.

She talked until she was hoarse, her voice was little more than a husky rasp.

"Do you want me to take over for a while?"

Victoria glanced up at Keir, despair etched in her voice and her heart.
 

Will my darling baby never wake up?

"It's worth a try." She was prepared to try anything, anything at all if it would help rouse Connor, bring him back to consciousness. "Let me explain who you are. Connor— Connor—"

She stroked her baby's limp hand with trembling fingers. Tears burned at the back of eyes gritty with fatigue.

"Connor, you asked me to find your daddy, remember? I've found him for you, darling."

Guess what kiddo; he was hiding behind an alias. All this time I've been searching for the wrong man.

She forced down the bitterness, trying not to let it leach into her voice.

"Your daddy's here, Connor. Your daddy's here and wants to talk to you."

She relinquished her seat to Keir.

Those pesky tears blurred her vision as he picked up Connor’s hand and held it.

The contrast between Connor's tiny hand in Keir's so much larger one brought a lump of emotion to her throat and tears to her eyes.

Anger gained a stranglehold on her battered emotions, anger with her father and with Keir. Each in their own way had deceived her, and deprived Connor of his birth right, knowing his father.
 

Damn my father. How could he do this to us? What gave him the right to think he could play God with our lives?

Keir spoke quietly, with that same authoritative tone he'd used with her earlier. It had steadied her panic then, and now it brought her even more reassurance.
 

Reaction made her tremble so badly she didn't really hear him. Tears splintered her vision.

Father and son.

So often she'd wondered if this meeting would ever take place. But never in her wildest imaginings, had it been in a situation like this.

With both of them sharing a vigil over their unconscious child.

Once again, all she’d learned of Keir's childhood, when he was no bigger than Connor, made her disgust and outrage deepen. How could any family treat a small child as they treated him?

"Victoria! He's coming round!" Keir’s imperative whisper shocked her into awareness.
 

The breath caught in her throat.
 

Ever so slowly Connor's eyelids flickered. Once, twice and then they lifted and opened fully.

His pupils were wide and unfocused but his eyes
were
open.

"Mommy?" It was the merest whisper.

"I'm here, sweetheart."

As she bent closer, joy and relief crowded her senses as she watched recognition gradually animate his features.

"Mommy?"

"I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here." She laid a gentle hand on his cheek, emotion swelled inside her, until she thought she'd explode with wonder. How she loved this little boy.

With a broken laugh she glanced up at Keir. Tears glistened in his dark eyes. And this evidence of his caring warmed the chill his deceit had settled on her soul.

"He's going to be okay," she whispered, fighting the overwhelming impulse to scoop Connor close in her arms and protect him from further harm. "Our baby is going to be okay."

Keir gripped her shoulder and merely nodded.

"You found my daddy?"

Relief vented itself in a small unsteady laugh. "I did indeed and he's right here, Connor."

Her little boy looked past her, focusing on the silent man beside the bed. "You my daddy?"

"Yes, son," Keir's voice was clogged with emotion. "I am."

Tears of relief burned behind her eyelids. Connor was lucid, and appeared undamaged.

But it was my mentioning his father that brought my baby back to consciousness.

Victoria didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

If God was merciful, Connor would recover, fully.

She stole a covert look at Keir.

A small muscle twitched beside his mouth, betraying deep emotion. One hand was clenched into a white knuckled fist at his side and a frisson of apprehension skittered down her spine.

"You won't get lost again?"

"I won't get lost, I promise."

Keir's steady voice reassured the thread of anxiety she heard in Connor's voice and his brown eyes closed.

The doctor monitoring him gave a satisfied smile.

Victoria had been concentrating so hard on Connor; the doctor's presence had barely registered.

Now she watched as he shone a light in Connor's eyes, testing his pupil responses. He pumped the pressure bandage on his arm to read his blood pressure. Then he listened to her baby's heart through his stethoscope.

A nurse moved to his side and handed the doctor a syringe which he inserted into the drip line that was feeding Connor intravenously.

As she watched, Connor's eyelids flickered and then closed, dark crescents on his pale cheeks.

"He'll do, Ms. Scanlan, he's sleeping naturally." He folded his stethoscope, tucking it in his coat pocket before subjecting her and Keir to a thoughtful glance. "Give him a few days and you'll be pulling your hair out trying to keep him quiet."

With a shaky laugh Victoria surreptitiously wiped tears from her cheek.

"Anything would be better than seeing him like this," Keir muttered under his breath.

"You both go home and get some rest. He'll sleep for hours now." The doctor gave them a hard look from under busy brows. "Rest assured, we'll be keeping a very close eye on him."

"Thank God," Victoria echoed Keir's softly spoken words before slumping with the intensity of her relief. He stood up and put an arm around her shoulders. "Home and bed, Victoria."

"Do you want a sedative for her?" The doctor asked quietly.

"An excellent idea," Keir spoke over the murmur of protest she made.
 

The doctor put some pills in an envelope and gave them to Keir. He slipped them into a pocket on the inside of his coat. "Here's my phone numbers if you need to contact us."

He gave the doctor a business card and Victoria saw the man’s soundless whistle. "Of course, Mr. Donovan."

Victoria silently simmered.
 

In the past few fraught hours it was as if she’d ceased to exist, outside Keir's wishes.

Anger grew at his high handed, take charge attitude.

He’d walked into her life and completely taken it over.

Be honest. I'd have fallen to pieces without his strength.

He put a hand under her arm and guided her toward the elevators, pressing a button and escorting her into the lift.

During their vigil, night had come and gone and now the day was far advanced.
 

"Dad has warned me the press is out for blood. Ours." Keir faced her squarely as the lift travelled downwards. "Don't say anything."

"The tabloids?"

"The Strathmore machine is in full cry, and I have no doubt their orders have come from the top."

Victoria reeled.
 

He'd told her they published the three worst scandal tabloids in circulation and now she was about to discover the implications, first-hand.

Her first instinct was to flee, but the strong hand under her arm precluded her taking that cowardly way out.

"What about Connor?"

"There's an embargo on any information about him. And I’ve installed security guards in his room around the clock. However, you can expect no quarter. They'll cut you to pieces so leave the talking to me, okay?"

She nodded but there was no softening of his hard, cynical expression.
 

The bruise on his jaw, dark stubble and disheveled appearance gave him a dangerous, rakish look.
 

"I didn't know," she whispered, horrified.

"Well now you do," he said harshly. "So deal with it."

As the lift reached its destination she was trembling so much, she was grateful for the support of his hard grip on her arm.
 

His prediction proved more than accurate.

Victoria cowered as shrieking pressman and flashing cameras hemmed them in. Keir guided her through the melee, shaking his head in a negative response to the questions bombarding them from all sides.

He shoved her in the open door of a black limousine, before climbing in behind her. The slam of the door enclosed them in the relative privacy of the tinted glass interior as the car sped away.
 

"Do I have to face that every time I want to visit Connor?" she managed to ask after several fraught minutes.

"No. I'll make arrangements."

With that Victoria had to be content. She slumped back against the luxurious upholstery and closed her eyes.

I hope you can cope with the results of your impulsiveness.
 

With a shudder she recalled Caine's warning.

She hadn’t understood his comment before. Now it made appalling sense.

Weary from the stress of the preceding hours she possessed about as much spine as a cooked noodle. With limp acceptance she was content to go where Keir led. When the car finally stopped, Victoria opened her eyes, staring in stunned amazement as she surveyed the impressive mansion.