to prove it.
“I’ll consider what you’re saying, Ross.” She absolutely would not. “But I can’t make any pro—”
“Mama.”
A light patter of rapid footsteps followed the plaintive, soft and utterly sweet voice calling out to her. Chubby arms wrapped around her lower calf, and in spite of the dread pumping through her veins like a freight train and flooding her mouth with the metallic taste of fear, she knelt to the floor and pulled her son into her arms. His arms wound around her neck, and he burrowed close. Her heart hammered against her ribs, threatening to break each of them, but she still placed a gentle kiss on top of Ben’s thick, light brown curls, breathing in his precious scent. She squeezed her eyes against the sting of tears that suddenly pricked her eyes. Not just because one day he would lose that sweet baby smell.
The abrupt rush of overwhelming sadness and dismay was due to the silent man who loomed several feet away from them. The man whose gaze seared her like a flaming hot brand.
The Sword of Damocles that had hung over her life—over Ben’s life—had suddenly fallen.
And there was nothing she could do to sweep them out from under its crashing, lethal weight.
“How’re you feeling, baby boy?” she asked, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and then to his cheek. Relief was a soothing balm inside her at the coolness of his skin. No fever. Thank God. No mother ever felt as helpless as when her child was sick.
“Good,” he mumbled, crowding closer to her, his arms tightening as he notched his head under her chin and tried to crawl up her torso. In spite of the bile churning in her belly and burning an acidic path toward her throat, she smiled. Ben was a friendly, bubbly child with seemingly endless energy—except when he fell ill. Then he clung to her, not wanting to let her out of his sight. Not that she minded. Holding him, having his small, sturdy body pressed close, and listening to him breathe were just small things to reassure her that her baby was okay. “Eat,” he demanded. “Hungry.” Even though the order sounded more like “hungwy,” she fully understood it.
“You want banana pancakes?” she asked, suggesting his favorite breakfast. Okay, so sue her. She was spoiling him this morning.
He nodded, his tawny curls brushing her chin. “’Nana ’cakes. Juice.”
“You got it.” She pressed another kiss to the top of his head. “Can you go play with your trucks for a minute while I finish talking to this nice man?” She fought to maintain her soft, even tone, but with her heart lodged in her throat, it was becoming more of a struggle.
For the first time, Ben turned his head and looked at Ross. Shy with strangers, he didn’t say anything, but the panic crackling inside her, dancing over her skin like a live wire, ratcheted to a higher, dissonant level. Her son stared at his father for the first time, although he didn’t know it. It was a surreal moment. Father and son studying one another... Especially Ross, with that narrowed, enigmatic scrutiny...
Part of her wanted to thrust Ben behind her, shield him from Ross. Protect him and yell that she wouldn’t allow him to hurt her son.
But the other half... That proud, almost smug half yearned to stand Ben before him, let Ross get a good, long look and brag that this was the precious, brilliant and perfect boy that he’d wanted her to get rid of. That he’d wanted nothing to do with.
That vindictive, ugly part of her wanted him to soak, fucking drown in regret.
Did that make her a bitch? Probably. Still, the primal need to protect Ben superseded any petty desires.
“You play for a few, then we’ll eat banana pancakes.” She stood and, taking his tiny hand in hers, led him to the corner of the living room with a trunk full of his toys. After removing a couple of trucks and making sure he was entertained, she inhaled a deep breath that did absolutely nothing for her nerves and turned to face Ross. Jerking her head toward the foyer, she said, “Over here.”
She didn’t wait for him to agree but strode out of the living room and returned to the small entryway. There would be questions; one glance in his glacial gaze and she could practically see the suspicion crowded there. But she wouldn’t have this conversation within earshot of her son.
“I thought