Peekaboo Baby (7 page)

He took a few steps closer, but he didn't actually enter the room. He stayed in the doorway. It was best to keep some physical distance between them, since he wasn't doing well in the emotional-distance department.

“You look shell-shocked. Did you get bad news with that phone call?” she asked.

“Not really.” And since that was a lie, Ryan regrouped. “I did get
some
news. The New Hope clinic was located in the hospital where my son died.” Thankfully, he'd managed to lay that out there without too much emotion in his voice.

Delaney made a sound of contemplation. Paused.
And made another sound. A decidedly uneasy one. “It doesn't prove anything.”

However, Ryan barely heard the words he'd already anticipated, because, at that exact moment, the baby shoved the blanket from his face. Delaney quickly covered her breast, sliding her stretchy top back in place.

Patrick turned his head in Ryan's direction, and just like that, their eyes connected.

His hair was blond. Light-colored wavy hair that haloed around his head. There was a tiny creamy white milk bubble at the corner of his mouth. He kicked his chubby legs and grinned. Just grinned. Showing his dimples. That grin made it all the way to his blue eyes.

Ryan's breath froze in his lungs.

Everything froze.

He couldn't move, couldn't speak. But he could feel. God, he could feel. The flood of emotion nearly brought him to his knees.

Because he knew.

Ryan just knew.

That this child was his son.

Delaney made sure her top and nursing bra were fixed so she wasn't flashing Ryan. Of course, Patrick didn't cooperate. He continued to bat at the blanket and her clothes, probably giving their visitor a peep show in the process.

She glanced at Ryan to see if he'd been embarrassed by the exposure, but her glance turned into a stare. That wasn't an embarrassed look on his face. He was stunned, truly stunned. So much so that he grabbed each side of the door frame and held on.

“What—” But that was all Delaney managed to say. She followed Ryan's wide-eyed gaze and saw what had captured his attention.

Patrick.

Delaney's eyes widened, as well.

And she didn't have to ask what was going on in Ryan's head. She knew. It was no doubt the same reaction she'd had the night she'd seen his son's photo.

“There's a resemblance,” she said.

That was all she could manage. And it was a weak attempt to defuse what was happening. It was like an avalanche, coming right down on top at her.

Ryan wasn't faring much better. He stood there, holding on to the door until his knuckles turned white, while he blew out quick, frantic breaths.

Since Patrick no longer seemed interested in nursing, Delaney got up and eased him back into his crib. When he made a few sounds of protest, she turned on his overhead mobile. He immediately settled once the music started to play and the cartoon figures began to circle around.

“A thousand things are going through my head right now,” she confessed. “And very few of those things are good.”

Ryan just nodded. That didn't do much to steady her suddenly raw nerves. The tears were threatening, too, but Delaney choked them back.

“I can't lose my baby.” Her whispered admission cut through Patrick's cooing and the cheerful music coming from the mobile.

But she immediately regretted her fear-induced confession, because it was a stark reminder that Ryan had already lost his son.

Or had he?

Judging from his reaction, he no doubt believed his child was in the crib.

Unfortunately, she couldn't challenge that. Dr. Keyes had claimed that the cloning was only a possibility, but it wasn't a mere
possibility
that was causing Ryan to experience this turmoil. Patrick was the cause of it. His blond hair. His blue eyes. And his uncanny resemblance to the man standing in the doorway of the nursery.

Why hadn't she realized that there was some resemblance before now?

Why?

Probably because she hadn't wanted to see it.

As long as the experimentally cloned embryo was just a rumor and without a shred of proof to back it up, she was safe. Her son was safe.

However, nothing was safe any longer.

The perfect life she'd so carefully planned was coming apart at the seams, and she couldn't even blame Ryan for that. He'd had no part in making this happen. But then, neither had she. They weren't at fault, but both of them—and Patrick—would no doubt have to deal with the consequences.

“I need to know what you're thinking,” she said when she could no longer stand his silence. She edged closer. Small steps. Afraid to get too near.

Ryan groaned softly, readjusted his position so that he was leaning against the nursery wall, probably for support. He definitely didn't look steady yet. “I'm thinking we need to do that DNA test.”

That was it. No veiled threats about challenging her for custody of Patrick. No shouts or accusations that she should have told him that he and Patrick looked so much alike. Just those calmly spoken words that hit her as hard as a heavyweight's fist.

“And then what?” Delaney continued before he could answer. She
had
to make him understand. “My parents got married because my mom was pregnant with me. They divorced just a year later. It probably won't come as a surprise to hear that we were dysfunctional. Lots of custody squabbles. Plenty of arguments. Both of them used me, always pulling, always manipulating until I swore that wouldn't happen to my child.” Delaney paused. “Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Ryan's eyes darkened, and he seemed on the verge of shouting out the accusations she'd anticipated. But then something happened. Something changed. He stared at her, his eyes softening.

And then he reached out to her.

Delaney almost retreated, but Ryan hadn't reached out to her in anger. He skimmed his index finger down her right cheek, collecting the tear she didn't even know was there.

“Do you understand that I can't lose my son again?” he asked.

Definitely not a thunderous accusation. No anger whatsoever. But there was pain. Delaney could feel it.
In him. In her. It was thick and real, unreachable, and yet it was there. Right there. And she had a sickening fear that it would get a lot worse before this was over.

There was also an equally sickening feeling that this would
never
be over.

“I nearly died when I lost them,” he said, the grief all through his voice. “I
did
die.”

With a sound of pure agony, Ryan stepped toward her. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. At first, Delaney couldn't figure out why he'd done that. Like the tear on her cheek, she hadn't been aware that she was actually wobbling. Probably on the verge of falling flat on her face. His grip prevented that from happening.

“I can't walk away from this,” he whispered. “I can't pretend he isn't here.”

“I know.”

And she did know. Still, that didn't stop her heart from breaking. God, she could lose Patrick.

She could lose him.

Her breath shattered, a hoarse sob she couldn't stop. It came with the flood of fear and emotion.

“Shh,” she heard Ryan say. He repeated it, his warm breath brushing over her hair and cheek.

He was actually comforting her. Or rather trying to. Although there wasn't much chance of his succeeding, she welcomed anything that wasn't this awful agony she was feeling.

Surprised by his tender gesture, she looked up at him.

And Delaney immediately realized that was a huge mistake.

Ryan looked down at the same time, and their gazes connected, met and held. Truly held. As they were staring at each other, at least a dozen things passed between them. Unsaid. But understood. There it was. All their uncertainties. Their concerns.

Shared emotions.

That created a camaraderie between them that Delaney was sure neither of them welcomed. But it was undeniably present.

“You should have never told me about the pocket watch,” she whispered, figuring it wouldn't make any sense to him. But it made sense to her. She could totally understand his need to purchase something to recreate a past, a life that he'd never had.

The need to make things right.

She had that same need, and that was part of the reason she'd so desperately wanted a child.

“You shouldn't have told me about the butterfly.” His voice barely had any sound, but she heard every word.

She shook her head, trying to clear it. It didn't help. It seemed as if the world turned on its axis. Everything moved a little off-kilter.

And so did Ryan.

So did she, for that matter.

His head dipped down, moving closer toward her.
Stunned, unable to prevent what was happening, Delaney just stood there as his mouth came to hers.

Barely a touch.

And yet, it was much more than that.

So much more.

A rough sound rumbled in his throat. A protest, and one she definitely understood, because there was no logical reason for this to be happening.

But it
was
happening.

Their lips met. Warmth against warmth. Again, not a real kiss, but it suddenly seemed as if it were the most real kiss she'd ever experienced. Not born of passion. Well, not entirely anyway. But it was there.

Passion that she shouldn't be feeling.

That was a much-needed jolt that brought her back from this kiss-induced fantasy to the real world. She and Ryan had huge problems to work out, and those problems shouldn't involve kissing.

Ryan must have realized what she had at the same moment. He let go of her and stepped away.

Delaney did some retreating of her own. “I can't,” she managed to say.

“I know. I can't, either.”

Okay. So they were in agreement.

Good.

It was the only logical decision they could make. Yes, there was a weird attraction between them. Something sexual. But it was only a by-product of the intense
emotion created by all the other issues they were dealing with. Nothing more. Just a normal response to the stress.

And Delaney was
almost
certain she believed that.

“We'll do the DNA test,” she said, to end the silence between them and also prevent a discussion of the kiss.

He nodded, and he looked past her to the crib.

She knew he wanted to go closer for a better look at Patrick. But despite the strange intimacy that had just occurred between them, she couldn't make the offer of allowing him to see her son.

Of course, she wouldn't stop him, either.

And Ryan took that noninvitation. He did venture closer. But he only made it a few steps before the loud pounding at the front door.

“Open up, Delaney!” someone called out.

But not just someone.

Her father.

Ryan's shoulders stiffened. “Is that who I think it is?”

She hated to confirm it, but she knew Ryan had probably recognized the voice. After all, they'd had their share of encounters. “Yes.”

Ryan mumbled something and immediately stepped around her, obviously headed for the door.

Definitely not a good idea.

She caught his arm. “If we don't answer it, he might go away. I don't know about you, but I'm not ready for another emotional upheaval right now.”

Ryan stopped, obviously debating what to do. But his thoughts were interrupted and overshadowed by the shouts, profanity and constant pounding.

“I know he's in there,” her father yelled.

That comment did a thorough job of robbing Delaney of what little composure she'd managed to regain.

“McCall?” Richard Nash challenged. “Get out here now, or I'll break down the damn door.”

Her grip on Ryan's arm wasn't enough to hold him back. He broke free and headed straight toward what would almost certainly be an ugly, and possibly violent, confrontation with her father.

Ryan hadn't thought that this particular visit could get any more difficult, but he'd obviously been wrong. The man at Delaney's door would definitely complicate things at a time when they needed no more complications.

What he should be doing was convincing Delaney to have the DNA test done right away, before she could change her mind. He should be trying to soothe the pain that was in her eyes. And finally—he should be introducing himself to the little boy cooing and babbling in the baby bed. Instead, he was apparently on a familiar collision course with a man who seemed determined to make his life a living hell.

Ryan stormed toward the front door, Delaney right behind him. She was pleading with him to go back into the nursery, a place he truly wanted to be. But there was no way he could let Delaney face her mentally unstable father alone. Especially since Richard Nash's latest threat didn't seem to be aimed only at Delaney but at him.

Get out here now, or I'll break down the damn door.

Ryan saved the man the trouble of doing that. While Nash was still making threats, Ryan yanked open the door and faced an obviously enraged man.

“McCall,” her father said, barely sparing Delaney a glance. Everything about the man exuded anger. His narrow, light green eyes. The rigid muscles in his face. His soldier-stiff posture. He was obviously primed and ready for a fight.

Ryan positioned himself in front of Delaney in case there
was
a fight. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that he and Nash had come to blows. It'd happened the day after Ryan had gained control of Nash's company. Nash had confronted him in the parking lot and had even managed to connect his right fist with Ryan's jaw. Ryan had stopped the fight from escalating, restrained him so that security could haul the man away. And then hours later, Nash had attempted suicide.

Since he and Delaney had more important issues— Patrick—Ryan didn't intend for things to go in a violent direction today. He somehow needed to defuse the situation quickly so that they wouldn't waste precious time.

“You have no right,” Nash snarled.

Ryan was about to ask for clarification on that all-encompassing accusation when Delaney stepped around him. “What are you doing here?” Not exactly a snarl like her father's. More like a plea that he leave immediately.

But Nash showed no signs of moving, or even re
sponding to his daughter's question. He stayed firmly planted on the porch. Planted and imposing.

It didn't matter that the man was in his mid-fifties, Richard Nash was still a formidable foe. Other than threads of gray in his dark brown hair, there were few signs of age. He was well over six feet tall and at least two hundred and fifty pounds. His body hadn't gone to fat, either. Nash was in better shape than most men half his age. And Ryan had no doubt that Nash would be willing to use all that physical strength against him.

Or even Delaney.

“Why am I here? I could ask your
guest
the same thing,” Nash countered. “How could you have done this to me, Delaney?
How?
You know what he is. You know what he did to me. And yet he's here, in your house.”

With each word, the veins in Nash's neck became more visible. Practically bulging. And that was Ryan's cue to get Delaney out of the line of fire. He stepped between them again. However, that didn't stop Delaney from asking her father another question.

“How did you know Ryan was here?”

It was a good question, too, one that Ryan wished he'd thought of. Unfortunately, he didn't like any of the answers that came to mind.

Nash's mouth tightened, and he volleyed acidic glances between the two of them. “Someone called me and said they saw McCall pull up in front of your house.”

Delaney made a sound to indicate she didn't believe him. Ryan didn't, either. Nash was apparently as inept at business as he was at telling a lie.

“You were watching Delaney,” Ryan accused.

His accusation caused Nash a few moments of debate before he finally challenged Ryan's icy gaze with one of his own. “Maybe. Didn't you think I'd find out you were seeing her? That car accident was all over the newspapers.”

“Seeing her?”
Ryan repeated.

Okay. So that's what this little visit was about.

Or was it?

Was that particular assumption meant to distract them from the point that Nash had obviously been keeping tabs on his daughter? And if so, how long had Nash been doing that? Since the car incident that'd nearly killed them?

Or even before that?

If so, Richard Nash could have been the driver of the vehicle.

It was a reasonable concern, especially since Nash hadn't even bothered to ask Delaney if she'd been hurt. That was something most fathers would have wanted to know. Not Nash, though.

“There's nothing going on between Ryan and me,” Delaney explained.

That shakily delivered denial obviously didn't please her father, probably because she'd used Ryan's given
name. Or maybe Nash was simply riled because Delaney and he were side-by-side and facing down the man who had nothing but hatred in his eyes.

Hatred for both of them.

Delaney shook her head. “We're not involved. Not like you think.”

“He's here, isn't he? Standing right next to you. God, you even smell like him.” Nash cursed. It was raw and vicious. Then, with his teeth together, his focus still on his daughter, he said. “I'd rather see you dead and in hell than involved with the likes of Ryan McCall.”

That did it. Ryan didn't intend to stand there any longer while the man threatened Delaney. “It's time for you to leave,” Ryan warned. He'd back up the warning with force if necessary.

Nash turned in Ryan's direction. Nothing quick. But a slow, calculated turn. Like the reaiming of a lethal weapon. It didn't deter Ryan. He was the master at staring people down. And he'd do whatever was necessary to get Richard Nash out of there. The man obviously posed a threat to Delaney and therefore to Patrick.

That kind of threat wasn't unacceptable.

It fed the emotions and the rage that Ryan battled with daily. The rage over losing his wife and son. He wouldn't just stand by and let that happen again. Even if Delaney wasn't his wife, she was someone he felt compelled to protect.

Ryan walked closer to Nash and ignored Delaney
when she clamped her fingers on his arm.
“You're leaving now,”
Ryan said to her father.

Despite his obvious size advantage, Nash actually dropped back a step. No surprise there. Ryan's threat wasn't a bluff. It was as real as the dangerous energy bubbling inside him. An energy that threatened to break free.

“This isn't over,” Nash said.

But he took another step back.

“Yes. It is,” Ryan countered.

Another step. And another. Until Nash nearly stumbled off the porch. He tossed out more profanity, most of it aimed at Delaney, and some of it just a generic blast of verbal anger directed at life in general. Finally he turned and hurried toward his car parked in front of Delaney's house.

Ryan never took his attention from the man. He stood in the doorway and watched until Nash drove away.

“That wasn't necessary,” he heard Delaney say.

Because Ryan was still caught up in the adrenaline of the battle he'd just fought, it took him a few seconds to realize she wasn't pleased.

He shut the door, locked it and looked at her. “He threatened you.”

“So?” She lifted her hands, palms up, in the air. “He threatens me a lot, about everything. And about nothing. Besides, it's better to have him direct his anger at me than you.”

Ryan had to work hard to keep his mouth from dropping open. “And how do you figure that?”

“He's never acted on those threats.”

“There's always a first time. And maybe that first time has already happened.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

Ryan hadn't intended to bring this up now. But even though it wasn't an ideal time, Delaney had to know what he suspected. “Your father could have been responsible for the road incident. He could have seen us driving together, and he might have wanted to show his
disapproval
by putting us in that ditch.”

She was shaking her head even before he finished. “He wouldn't hurt me.”

“He already has, Delaney. You're a nervous wreck.” To prove his point, he took her hand and showed her that her fingers were trembling.

“That reaction's not solely because of my father.” She pulled her hand from his, turned and headed back toward the nursery.

Ryan filled in the blanks. He was partly responsible for what she was going through. In fact, perhaps more so than her father. Because if her father often threatened her, she might be immune to it.

Even though God knows how.

But she wouldn't be immune to the questions he'd raised about her son. Those questions no doubt threatened her in the worse way possible.

Feeling lower than dirt for adding to her misery, Ryan followed her to the nursery. She held on to the side
of the crib, gripping it hard, and stared down at Patrick. When Ryan walked closer, he realized the baby had fallen back to sleep. With all the shouting, it was a surprise that Patrick hadn't started crying.

That riled him.

No child should have to go through something like that. The shouting. The fighting. The anger. And he should know. He'd endured years of it living in foster care and with distant relatives who didn't want him around.

“My father doesn't come here often,” Delaney said. “In fact, his last visit was before Patrick was born.”

It wasn't much of a consolation.

Besides, an infrequent upheaval was still an upheaval. Something neither she nor Patrick needed in their lives.

Ryan joined her, and he stared down into the crib. Despite the emotion and turmoil caused by Nash's visit, one look at that face, and Ryan lost his anger and fury.

Talk about a cure for all kinds of things.

Even though he had no proof that this little boy was his son, the bond was already there. Or maybe it was simply a matter of
wanting
to protect Patrick.

And Delaney.

His need to keep her safe was as strong as it was for the little boy who lay sleeping. Ryan wanted to blame it on the kiss that shouldn't have happened.

That shouldn't have felt the way it did.

And it sure as heck shouldn't have been that memorable.

Along with the pleasure from the kiss, he'd also gotten a hefty dose of guilt. Until today, about a half hour ago, he'd considered himself a married man. Ironic, since technically he hadn't been married since Sandra died. However, his heart and soul had never quite grasped that technicality.

Until that kiss.

It had changed everything.

“Should we do the DNA test while he's asleep?” Delaney whispered.

But she didn't wait for him to answer. A good thing, too. Because she'd managed to surprise him yet again.

She reached into his jacket pocket and extracted the kit. Ryan didn't trust his voice to say anything. Not that he would have known what to say anyway.
Thank you
didn't seem nearly adequate.

He watched as she took the swab, slipped it into Patrick's mouth and rubbed it against the inside of his cheek. Patrick stirred a little, making sounds of protest, and his chubby fist swatted at the intrusion. However, the moment Delaney took it from his mouth, he settled back into a peaceful sleep.

She placed the swab back into the plastic bag, but instead of handing it to Ryan, she placed it on the changing table next to the crib. “I'll have the test done, and I'll let you know the results.”

And she would.

Ryan didn't doubt that.

But by doing the test solo, it also meant Delaney had to deal with the outcome—alone. Not his first choice for the way things should happen, but he didn't think she would budge on this.

“The address of the lab is on the bag,” he said. “If you want to use some other place, that's fine.”

She nodded and looked away.

Oh, yeah. This was ripping her to pieces, and after that kiss, Ryan wasn't sure she'd appreciate any attempt by him to comfort her. Besides, he might have succeeded in getting her to do the DNA test, but there was another equally important matter to be dealt with.

“Do you believe what happened the other night was really an accident?” he asked. Hopefully, it was a start to what would be a persuasive argument.

Delaney stared at him. “I want to believe it, but I just don't know.”

Good. She had doubts, and that was progress. Now, for step two. “Even if your father wasn't behind the wheel of that car, someone was. And you know what? It might not matter if the person was out to get you, me, or both of us.”

She frowned. “Is there a point to all of this?”

“Absolutely. I don't think it's safe for you to stay here alone.” Ryan watched his words register. By degrees. Degrees that clearly didn't please her.

“You said you had enemies. If the person is after you, then…” She stopped.

Ryan hoped they'd just made a huge leap of progress.

“That's a huge
if,
isn't it, Delaney?” he asked. “It's also an unnecessary chance to take. A chance I don't want you to take.”

“Because of Patrick,” she finished.

“And because of you.”

Oh, yeah.

That registered all right.

Delaney sank down into the rocking chair. “This is about that kiss, isn't it? Well, it shouldn't be. That was an adrenaline reaction. Nothing more. You hear that?
Nothing. More.
I won't let it cloud my judgment or cause me to do something I shouldn't do.”

Maybe if she repeated it enough, one of them would start to believe it.

Not him, of course.