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Recently single, the family patriarch had moved back home. How long he stayed this time depended on how long it took for his next conquest to come along. That coupled with the fact the entire Bennett family was home for Jane’s wedding meant the house was overflowing with people. Large, tall, sometimes very loud people.
Not that that was anything new.
The Bennett household had always been a full one, but Rafe had grown used to living by himself in the quiet confines of his city apartment.
By moving home permanently, he’d seemingly given up that solitude, exchanged it for kookaburras laughing outside his window at the butt-crack of dawn and trying in vain to block out the sounds of his sister and future brother-in-law “trying to be quiet” as they went at it hammer and tongs at all hours of the day and night.
I need my own place.
“Last I checked, this was your house, not hers,” Rafe said. Even so, he toed off his boots, carried them to the back door and stacked them neatly on Abby’s exquisite wrought-iron shoe rack. His sister’s skill with the metal rivalled that of his brothers, Oliver and Henry, and they were widely regarded as being at the zenith of the art form.
Turning back the way he came, Rafe saw what his father had and realised the old man was right. Abby would pitch a fit if she saw this mess. With a ragged sigh, he pulled his soggy T-shirt off and used it to clean the floor. His father watched him, amusement etched across his face.
“So,” Ulysses said when Rafe joined him by the fire, “is the kid yours?”
His gaze darting to meet his father’s, Rafe wondered exactly how much the old man knew. “How do you know about that?”
“I have nine children,” Ulysses said. “You think I don’t know what a pregnant woman looks like?”
Rafe swore. “Who else knows?”
“After the fiasco at the church, I think it’s safe to say the whole town will know she’s pregnant by tomorrow,” his father said, scratching his chin. “The fact Sam Lyndon may not be the father? Well, your sister assures me only a handful of people know about that. Of course, that handful includes Mary and Alec.”
Rafe closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Greaaat,” he said, drawing the word out. Jane’s parents already hated him, and he could only imagine which level of Hell they were cursing him to this time.
“So, is it?”
Rafe sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Jane says it is.”
“You think she’s lying?”
“No. I thinkshethinks the baby is mine, but….”
“But?” his father urged.
“But that may just be wishful thinking on her part.”
Ulysses raised a brow at him. “That seems a tad arrogant. Even for a lawyer.”
“Not when you consider her alternatives: an arsehole who left her broke and humiliated, or some random sleazebag she hooked up with at one of those stupid swinger parties the arsehole took her to. Any way you look at it, I’m the more respectable option. Even if I am a Bennett.”
Ulysses threw back his head and barked a laugh at the ceiling. “Respectable and Bennett don’t usually go hand in hand in this town, my boy.”
“Why do you think I left,” Rafe grumbled.
“I thought you left to protect the woman you love.”
“Same thing. And I don’t love Jane,” he said, shifting uncomfortably as he did. “Not anymore.”
“Uh-huh.” His father slid him a sideways glance and watched him. Rafe tried not to fidget—he was a grown man, for fuck’s sake—but Ulysses Bennett had a way of making people talk, of breaking down barriers and getting to the truth underneath. It’s what made him such an amazing artist.
And a formidable parent.
The Queensland Police should be so lucky to have interrogators as good as his father. “Are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you?”
Rafe crouched down to feed more wood to the fire, debating how much to tell the old man. By the time he stood up again, the decision was made. He’d know soon enough anyway. But remembering Jane’s insistence on secrecy had Rafe spitting out his next words like poison.
“Jane doesn’t want anyone to know I’m the father. Says she’s been humiliated enough.”
