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She was so afraid that her best friend had somehow told him. But they were so close and she knew how important it was to Cristina that Blake not learn about her son.
“You didn’t tell him? Or my mother?”
“No, I’ve not told anyone because I knew that would hurt you so bad,” she said. “Honestly.”
So who could have found out?
They had met in a bar. Could someone in that bar have learned that she slept with him and then became pregnant?
“Did you tell your mother that you met him?” Lauren asked.
“Yes, but I never insinuated that we were together. His family was mentioned on television one night. His brother had made the announcement that he was engaged and Mother made a comment about the family. I said I had met Blake once and he seemed very nice.”
There was silence on the phone.
“Cristina, Wyatt has the Landry blue eyes. If you look at Blake and you look at Wyatt, it’s pretty obvious that they’re related. Your mother will figure it out if she meets him.”
With a groan, she feared that Lauren was right.
“All I said was that I had met him. I didn’t say we had one wild night of rambunctious sex. I didn’t mention anything about him. Only that I had met him. I could have met him flying.”
Lifting her hand to her forehead, she sighed. Her mother had the nose of a bloodhound. Had she really gone out and found a photo of Blake and then determined he was the father?
Oh dear.
“I knew it wasn’t you, but I never dreamed she would be so conniving.”
Lauren laughed. “Are you kidding me? This is the woman who when we were teenagers, eavesdropped on our conversations. This is the woman who would drive by my house to make certain you were really there. This is the woman who while you were in college made certain you were not doing drugs or alcohol by giving you a urine test.”
A smile crossed Cristina’s face. “Thanks for the reminders. I’d forgotten all about that.”
Cristina glanced about her apartment. Her easel still sat in the corner where she once painted on her days off. But now her paints were all carefully stowed away. Was she even still the same woman who once wanted to paint for a living?
“Are you certain she doesn’t have a spy at your apartment complex who lets her know when you bring a man home?”
Oh dear, God. She did have a nosey older woman living a couple of doors down that she often helped her carry in her groceries.
“Hmm, there is Mrs. Anderson. A widow that I sometimes help. But that would mean she either saw Blake come home with me at midnight or she saw him leave early the next day. But would she know who he was?”
There was laughter on the other side of the cell phone. “Don’t know, but think about it. What does the woman have to do all day, but sit there by her window and watch the comings and goings on in the apartment complex.”
That was true. Her chair was right next to a large window where she could look out and see everything.
“And Blake was here tonight. We were talking in the parking lot. He helped carry in Wyatt’s baby bag.”
Oh no. Would she have told her mother? Or would she send the letter herself? What if she sold the information to the tabloids?
No one cared about Cristina, but how many gossip rags could they sell with this information about Blake and Wyatt?
“Now, I’m worried,” she told Lauren.
“First, find out if it was your mother who sent the letter and how she found out. Then you might want to talk to Blake about the nosey neighbor in apartment twenty-seven A.”
Something else to worry about. She’d thought that by keeping Wyatt’s father a secret, she wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of thing, but somehow this secret was out and it was probably only a matter of time before the world learned the truth.
“Girl, you have talked me right out on a ledge. I’m ready to jump to escape this nonsense.”
“No, that would mean that Blake would get custody of Wyatt,” Lauren said. “He’s your son.”
