Billionaire Biker's Secret Baby_A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense Page 19

  “How about you and your grandma order a pizza,” I say, patting Lex’s shoulders. “You can get double pepperoni.”

  The corner of Lex’s lip twitches upward, and her cheeks regain a little color. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I say, releasing her and picking up my bag. “I’m going to go have that conversation now. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  I can tell my mother wants to discuss the matter further, but I leave with a firm nod. As I walk to the car, I berate myself for not having a come to Jesus moment with the teacher sooner. I know I’ve been distracted with Mom’s health, and the job, and my own loneliness, but that doesn’t excuse me.

  I know I’m no candidate for Mother of the Year, but I really thought I’d done better than this. I climb into the car and hold my breath when it takes a minute to start. But soon it does, and I throw it into gear and head out of the driveway.

  As I drive, I make a litany of my crimes. I haven’t paid enough attention to my daughter. Haven’t been able to give her the time she deserves. I have never given her all I want to, as money is stretched tight. I suppose some would blame me for not going after some Craven money. But the thought has made me sick for ten years.

  My daughter is my responsibility, and I take care of her on my own. We might not live in a mansion with a butler and brunch on the terrace, but we have each other. And our dignity.

  Dignity. Is that what it all boils down to? My own stupid pride?

  Should I have told Ax earlier? When I was pregnant? When I had the baby? When he came back to Cape Craven after the military?

  I’d convinced myself that there were too many good reasons not to. I didn’t want to worry Ax when he was in training or on missions overseas. I didn’t want him to give up the future he wanted bad enough to go against his father’s wishes just because of one night of passion.

  But, more than that, I didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t take care of myself. Sure, I had to give up a prestigious scholarship, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t raise my daughter up right. It’s hard to admit this to myself, but my pride played a bigger role in the secret than I liked to admit.

  It isn’t just pride in my self-reliance, but an unwillingness to be seen as someone who’d have a rich man’s baby to set herself up for life. A gold digger. A woman who uses her body, not her brains. One who’s too lazy to do little more than lie on her back. And shop.

  So I hid the identity of Lex’s father from everyone. Even Lex and her father. Maybe I’m a selfish asshole after all.

  I feel so hopeless, which feeds into my anger. I channel that anger as I leave the town limits and head down the forested road. “Miss” Samantha lives out of town a ways, and by the time I pull down the gravel road that leads to her place, I’m grinding my teeth.

  I park in her driveway and turn off the engine, hearing the hound dogs baying behind the fence out back of her house. I unclench my fingers from around the wheel, and I realize my knuckles are white. Taking a deep breath, I climb out of the car and start up the walk to the house.

  Samantha answers the door on my second time knocking. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a sports bra and yoga pants. Her eyes widen when she sees me. “Sabrina. Lex’s mom. What are you doing here?”

  “Can I come in?” I ask, lifting my chin. “We need to talk.”

  Her mouth flattens. “I’m right in the middle of something,” she says, and I realize that she’s sweating. Miss Perfect, er, Samantha has been exercising it seems. “You should make an appointment with the school secretary for some time next week.”

  When she starts to shut the door, I stick my foot out to block it. “I’m afraid this is somewhat urgent. We need to talk about my daughter Lex. And her father.”

  Samantha’s eyes narrow, and she lets the door loose but doesn’t move to let me in. “Her father? Is this the super spy? Or the son of the richest man in the state? Let me guess, next week he’ll be a famous movie star or a billion-dollar athlete.”

  I force myself to remain calm. “I know Lex has been having some trouble lately. Life isn’t always easy when you’re a kid. But she was telling the truth today about her father, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call her a liar in front of the class.”

  Samantha’s mouth drops open. “You expect me to believe that Lex’s father is Alexander Craven?”

  “I don’t expect you to believe anything,” I say, my temper bursting out of its cage. “I’m telling you a fact. Alexander Craven is my daughter’s father. So the next time the class is tormenting her, maybe you should make them sit at their desks during recess while Lex enjoys the playground.”

  Samantha closes her mouth and crosses her arms over her narrow chest. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I remember you from high school. You were obsessed with Craven then, attached to his hip. I never understood what he saw in you.”

  I frown, trying to calm down enough to figure out where this is coming from. We were in high school together, but I barely remember her. She’s a couple of years younger than me, and we never had a class together. Sure, it’s a small town, but I never hung out with Lex’s teacher, not in high school and not after.

  “Yes. I dated Alexander Craven in high school. And since you’re likely familiar with biology and human anatomy, at least I hope you are, as my child’s educator, you can likely figure out how my daughter relates to this.”

  “So you had Craven’s baby, and you never told anyone?” Her tone manages to mix cold aloofness, disbelief, and loathing.

  “Yes. I don’t think it’s anyone’s business but mine and my daughter’s.”

  “And Craven? Is it his business?”

  I resist cussing her out. “I know whose business it’s not. Yours.” She opens her mouth to retort, but I talk over her. “Stop calling my daughter a liar, or I will take this to the school board. And if your little cousin and his buddies don’t stop bullying my daughter, I’ll call the damn sheriff.”

  “My cousin is a bully?” she screeches, and I turn away. I’ve said what I came to say. Whatever happens now, it’s out of my hands. “Your daughter is the bully. And it’s clear where that comes from. A classless mother and a criminal father. No wonder she’s so fucked up.”

  I freeze, my muscles rigid. It takes everything inside me not to run back and punch that bitch in her haughty face. But my daughter doesn’t need me opening a can of whoop-ass on her teacher. I need to be the adult here. So I walk back to my car and get in it.

  I pray to Jesus and all the angels for my car to start, and they finally bless me with a miracle. I drive away, working hard on controlling my breathing and fighting down the anger coursing through me.

  I focus my thoughts on driving home. I hope the pizza is there by the time I get in because after a few days of an absent appetite, I think I could finally eat something. I make a mental note to pull out Lex’s favorite cartoon for a special after-dinner viewing party. I could even rustle up some kettle corn and let her stay up an hour late. Anything to make her feel better.

  The sun is sinking behind the trees, and a wind kicks up, making the branches start to shake. I press the accelerator and turn on the headlights, a small smile creeping onto my face.

  It felt good to take my frustration out on the smarmy Miss Samantha. Standing up for my daughter will never make me feel bad, even as terrible as that conversation went. And I’m serious about going to the school board. And the sheriff.

  The thought of Tommy, Tonya’s cousin, heading out to Samantha’s house in his police car and handcuffing her for being a snobby bitch who takes out a decade-old grudge against a mother on her daughter made the smile grow wider.

  Suddenly the headlights start to flicker, and the smile fades. The lights disappear, and I realize that my car’s engine is sputtering as well. The interior lights fail, and the car’s engine cuts out. I wrestle with the wheel as it locks and manage to
pull the car over to the side of the road before it rolls to a stop on its own.

  “Great. Exactly what I need right now.”

  I grab my bag and pull out my phone, pressing the button and waiting for it to activate. The battery image flashes on the screen in red. Shit. The phone fades, and I realize that it’s dead.

  Goddammit. I’m still a good four miles from home, and the sky is rapidly fading to black. Pulling the flashlight out of my glovebox, I step out of the car and make sure it’s locked.

  There’s no reason to sit on this empty road and wait for someone to rescue me. I’m not that kind of girl. If it’s four miles to home, then I need to get walking because it will likely take me almost two hours to walk there.

  The trees sway around me as the dust at the side of the road kicks up. I shiver, then look at the sky, realizing it’s turned a sickly dark gray color. Damn. I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it means.

  I’ve only gone a quarter of a mile or so when I feel the first fat raindrop hit my shoulder. Another hits my head, and then suddenly there’s too many to count. It’s raining, and then it’s pouring, in the space of a couple of breaths.

  I duck between the trees and watch as the downpour commences. When it rains, it pours.

  27

  Ax

  I’m congratulating myself on wearing my waterproof gear in anticipation of the storm as the rain settles into a steady downpour.

  Today I ventured out to a pharmacy in the next county over, determined to find out exactly what pills my father is being given.

  The pharmacist there had listened to my manufactured story with a blank face. I explained that I’d recently returned home to assist with the care of my father who’s begun experiencing episodes of dementia. He has a bunch of pills in various containers but none in their original prescription bottle. Could he tell me what I had?

  The pharmacist might not have bought my story, but it hadn’t taken him long to identify the pills I handed him. “You’ve got a statin here,” he said, pointing to a small pink pill, “which is common for older folks. But you’ve also got a fibrate.” The pharmacist picks up a round yellow one. “It’s known to interact with statins, causing muscle fatigue.”

  Then he holds up two blue pills. “These are benzos. They’re used to treat anxiety, and at this dose, they must be close to knocking your dad out or at least keep him lethargic. And this,” he says, holding his finger on a cream-colored pill. “It’s a sleep aid. Make sure he doesn’t take it with the blue ones, or he’ll get confused and may experience memory loss and impaired judgment.”

  I frowned. “So he shouldn’t be taking all of these pills together.”

  “God, no,” the pharmacist said, shaking his head. “No credible doctor would suggest anyone take all of these together.”

  On the drive back home, I wonder what to do about the information I learned. Then the rain begins, and I turn my attention more fully to the road. When a storm hits on the highway, hydroplaning becomes a real danger on a bike. I steer Delilah off the main highway and onto the rural road that runs parallel, weaving through the forest. The trees should create a bit of a natural defense against the worst of the rain.

  Or so I think until I see the poor soul who’s walking along the roadway in the rain. The figure is small, hunched over in a sweater that’s soaked through, and I realize it has long hair. A female.

  My worries about my father and his jumbled medication are pushed away as I slow the bike down. I can’t leave a woman stuck out here in the rain. I pull Delilah over in front of her and lift the visor on my helmet.

  Then I get another surprise.

  “Sabrina?” What the fuck is she doing out here?

  She raises her head, and the look in her eye says she’s not happy to see me. The thought annoys me. I’m about to rescue her from the great deluge, and she’s not happy to see me?

  Fuck it.

  Tearing off my jacket, I toss it to her, then open the motorcycle’s compartment and pull out the extra helmet. “Get on,” I say, and when I see her hesitate, I grab her arm and pull her over. “It’s too fucking wet for you to be walking to God knows where. I’m taking you home.”

  She acquiesces without saying a word, and soon she’s behind me, her hands clutching my shirt. It’s another three miles into town so I set out on Delilah, feeling unsettled. I’m still beyond pissed at her, but a strange excitement at having her on my bike runs through me. I can feel her behind me, and it’s like my body knows her, recognizes her.

  Wants her.

  Has been starved for her.

  Stupid fucking body.

  I grit my teeth as the rain continues to pound us. Although she’s doing her best to avoid touching me more than she has to, I can feel her start to shiver as the wind and wet assail us. When the turn into Cape Craven comes along, I don’t make it. Instead, I drive the half mile to my cabin.

  I’m already telling myself it’s a bad idea when I pull down the driveway. It’s too late to argue with myself, however. I turn Delilah off and toss my keys to Sabrina, jerking my head toward the house. She doesn’t hesitate this time but runs to the door, her soaked shoes squelching in the mud that’s now become my front yard.

  I walk Delilah to the shed and make sure she’s safely stowed away before I enter the cabin. Sabrina is standing there, her arms wrapped around herself, her hands rubbing up and down to try and chase away the cold.

  A fire will do much better, I figure, so I quickly stoke one, then pull my wet shirt over my head. Sabrina moves closer to the fire, and I enter my room to find some dry clothing for her. I know that whatever I have will be much too large, but it’s better than catching cold from the wet things she’s wearing now.

  I strip off my pants and pull on some sweats before locating something for Sabrina. Coming back out of my room, I approach her and hand her one of my old flannel shirts. She cocks a brow at me as if to ask what I’m doing, but she doesn’t say anything. I hold back a sigh. “Put that on and give me your wet stuff. We’ll set it out to dry in front of the fire.”

  Sabrina bites her lip, and I can see she’s considering non-compliance, but she takes the shirt and heads into my bathroom. When she returns, she’s swimming in the oversized flannel. I pull a chair close to the fire, and she arranges her things on it to dry.

  I sit in an armchair and look at her. She’s trying to arrange her sodden hair but finally gives up, blowing a strand out of her face. I try not to find it adorable and concentrate on my anger.

  Yes, I’ve brought her here so she can dry out, but even more, I brought her here so we can talk. When she approached me at the general store, I wasn’t ready to face what happened, but I’ve realized that I can’t ignore it forever. I’ve tried to deny it for days, tried to comfort myself with revenge, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her and my daughter.

  Taking a deep breath, I ask the question that’s been circling my brain like I circled the exercise yard on my brief forays outside while locked up in Tabor. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Why did you keep her hidden?”

  Sabrina sits on the couch. Well, it’s more like she falls onto the couch, her legs giving way under her. Her face is tight, her eyes darting around the cabin. She resembles an animal caught in a trap, and for a second I feel a tinge of regret for putting her on the spot.

  But this isn’t something we can pretend doesn’t exist. It’s a child, my fucking daughter, and I can’t ignore her or her mother. We have to talk about this, and now is the perfect time.

  Sabrina, it seems, doesn’t agree. She remains silent, her hands clenched on her legs. Staring straight ahead, she flinches when I speak again.

  “I’m not going to let this go. There’s no putting this particular skeleton back into the closet.”

  Still, she says nothing. I stand, feeling my anger rising. “Now that I’m back in town, I will be involved in my daughter’s life.” I hadn’t thought about the words before they came out of my mouth, but I realize now
that I do want to be in Lex’s life. I want to start making up for the things I missed.

  The silence is oppressive. Why won’t she speak? “Unless that’s what you intended all along?” I say, my anger and fear mixing into a potent brew that quickly overwhelms my good sense. “You never wanted me to know about my daughter because you never wanted me to be a part of her life.”

  The last sentence comes out close to a snarl, and my breathing turns heavy. The thought of Sabrina purposefully keeping my daughter from me because she doesn’t want me around her makes me physically ill. “Answer me, goddammit!”

  “Stop!” she shouts, then covers her face with her hands. Hands that are shaking.

  I feel a momentary wash of guilt, but my temper overrides it. I kneel in front of her and grab her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. “Sabrina, so help me God, you can’t shut me out of her life now. If that was your plan, to cut me off, I have to say I expect better from you. What kind of a woman keeps her baby a secret from the father?”

  She tries to pull her wrists away, but I don’t let her. I don’t even realize how hard she’s struggling, I’m so fucking enraged. “What kind of woman lies to my face?”

  Sabrina manages to yank out of my grip and stands up, but before she can get even a few steps away, I’m there, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Answer me, Sabrina? What kind of a woman would do that?”

  “The terrified kind!” The words are full of emotion and hit me like a blow. “The kind who questions every decision she’s made in the past ten years. The kind who keeps trying not to hurt anyone and ends up doing worse damage.” Her words trail off, and then in a small voice, she finishes. “The tired kind, who’s close to giving up.”

  I frown, her words deflating some of my anger, but she hasn’t answered my questions, not really. “Tell me this,” I say, finding the words difficult to say. “Are you trying to keep me out of Alexa’s life?”