The Texan's Contract Marriage - By Sara Orwig Page 0,2

just stepped back out of the way,” Marek said stiffly. He still harbored a kernel of doubt that this was Kern’s baby and expected her to make an effort to pull him back into being part of the baby’s life.

“I hope you’ll come see him. Of course, what you do now is your choice. And I’ll take the best care of him I possibly can. If you ever want to see him, you’ll be able to contact me.”

“That’s good to hear. Do you have parents who are living?”

“Yes. My parents live in Saint Louis.” She smiled, remaining poised. “Your brother told me how different the two of you were. I supposed I’d hoped you would react the way Kern did, but you’re not Kern.”

She reached into her purse to withdraw a piece of paper. She held it out to him. “Your brother sent me an email, and I printed it out. This is a copy of it. I’ve made an effort to preserve it for Noah.”

For the first time, Marek began to believe what she had told him. He was reluctant to read the email. He was certain his life was about to take another unexpected turn. Drawing a deep breath, Marek quickly scanned the message.

Camille:

When I return from Denver, we’ll go to dinner. I want to be with you when Noah is born. Perfect name. I can’t get used to the fact that I’m going to be a dad. Super-mega-duper! I’m overwhelmed, overjoyed. I want to be a big part of his life. Already love him. I want to be with you. My deepest gratitude for telling me. I’ll call tomorrow night. We didn’t plan this. Miracles happen. I’m overjoyed.

Kern

Marek felt weak in the knees. This was Kern’s message. Marek looked up at Camille, who gazed back steadily. He was certain now that she had given birth to Kern’s baby. There was another Rangel in the world. Until this moment, Marek hadn’t fully believed the baby was Kern’s. Now he couldn’t doubt it.

Marek felt another tight squeeze to his chest, this time as if his heart had been grabbed by a giant fist. He missed Kern terribly, and this brought back all the incredible pain of his loss. With thoughts of Kern came remembrance of Jillian. He hated the knot in his throat. Making an effort, he struggled to get his emotions under control before he looked up or spoke. Finally, he raised his head and handed back the letter.

“That definitely sounds like my brother. Super-mega-duper—one of his favorite expressions. Thank you for showing me the message.”

“That’s fine. That’s a copy. If you want it, keep it.”

“Thanks,” he said, dropping the paper on his desk. “I’ll take it to show my sister. I would like a paternity test just to settle any questions that would ever arise. This is Kern’s baby. That message is Kern talking. There’s no mistake.”

Smiling, looking happier, she nodded. “We can do a paternity test. I expected you to request one.”

“This has been almost as big a shock as if you told me I have a son. My brother and I were close. I assume you haven’t contacted my sister because I would have heard from her.”

“No, I didn’t because in what little time we were together, your brother talked far more about you.”

“She’s seven years older than I am. Kern and I were closer, but she’ll want to know about Noah.”

“If you and your sister decide you want to see him, we can arrange that.”

He nodded. He felt as if his breath had been knocked out of him. He needed to think about the baby and make decisions about what he wanted to do.

“You won’t always live in Dallas, will you?” he asked.

“I’ve only been in Texas three times in my life. I’ll leave here the end of June. I’ll be singing in New Mexico in August, so I’ll stay there.”

“And you’ll take the baby with you.”

“Yes, of course, but I still hope that he can get to know you and your family as he grows. If he does, you would be a good father figure for him, I’m sure. Kern would have been a wonderful one.”

“You could have gone on with your life and never told me,” Marek said, looking into her wide crystal-blue eyes. “There’s no way I would have found out. Now you’ll have to share Noah.”

She studied him intently. “It wouldn’t have been right. I couldn’t do it. I thought about doing that because it would have been infinitely easier,