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She sank into a chair, her expression cautious.
“I realize that you were telling the truth all along about Jesse. Your son is Jesse’s boy.”
Her smile was watery. “Yes. Thank you for believing me.”
He shrugged. “I still think we need to do some testing. For legal reasons. But Mac seems reluctant. Do you have any idea why?”
She shook her head. “I really don’t know. He’s admitted that he believes me, too. But I get the feeling there’s something he’s not telling me.”
Trent took a deep breath. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
Her unmistakable hesitation sent an arrow of astonishment to his gut followed by a painful shaft of disappointment. He knew her well enough to see the little flash of guilt…the way her gaze shifted from his. Well, hell.
The sense of betrayal he felt was crushing. He could persuade himself to believe her response was nothing important, but even his increasing desire for her couldn’t make him ignore her telling reaction.
He clenched his jaw. “Bryn?”
She was pale, and her eyes implored him to understand. “There is something we need to talk about…but not in Mac’s hearing.”
“Well, that’s convenient. When were you going to tell me this big secret?” Acid churned in his stomach.
She bit her lip. “It’s not that simple. People can be hurt.”
“People?”
“You. Mac. Your brothers.”
His blood pressure spiked. His hands fisted. “Tell me. Now.”
She held her ground, though she was trembling all over. “I will. I swear. But now is not the time.”
“Dammit, Bryn.” He slammed a fist on the unforgiving wood of the railing.
“Your family destroyed my world,” she cried. “And I’ve managed to forgive you all. But I won’t let you boss me around. Your money has spoiled you, Trent Sinclair. It’s turned you into an arrogant jerk. You think you can make everything and everyone dance to your tune. But you can’t. Not me, anyway.”
When she stood up, he took her arm, halting her progress. “Tell me.”
She nodded slowly. “I will. Soon.”
They maintained an unspoken truce throughout the afternoon and during the evening meal. Trent’s frequent absences from the house made things a lot easier, though he did show up at the dinner table on time and carried his end of the conversation.
Bryn avoided looking at him, her attention fixed on Mac. But she was hyperaware of Trent sitting only a few feet away. He was rumpled and weary, his jeans stained, his white dress shirt no longer crisp. But in a room of tuxedo-clad men, he would still command attention.
He was an alpha male, and he had the confidence of twenty men. She wondered bleakly what it must be like to always be so self-assured. She’d second-guessed herself a hundred times as a new mom, and even now, she often worried at night, when sleep came slowly, if she could give Allen everything he needed.
Not so much things. Between her and Aunt Beverly, they had a nice life of modest means. But sooner or later, Allen would need a father figure to guide him. Someone to toss a football with, to go on Scout outings, to learn what it meant to be a real man.
Mac might fill that role in part, if he were willing. But he was getting older, and his heart attack pointed out the reality that he would not always be around. Bryn couldn’t bear to think of the Crooked S without him.
It was a relief when the two men left her to her own devices and headed off to the study. Bryn decided to make her evening phone call a little earlier than usual. She missed Allen fiercely, and she wanted to listen to his high-pitched voice telling her all the silly inconsequential things that made his day special.
In her bedroom, she shut the door, not wanting to be overheard. Her throat was tight, and if she got emotional talking to her son, she didn’t need any witnesses.
Before she could dial the number, her phone rang, and the caller ID was Beverly’s. Bryn smiled to herself. Great minds think alike….
“Hey, there,” she said, her heart lifting. “What’s up?”
Beverly’s voice was solemn. “Don’t freak out, my love. Little Allen is in the hospital.”
