The naive Bryn grieved for the ashes of fairy-tale romance. But practical Bryn had more to consider than hurt feelings. “If Allen is a Sinclair, then of course I want him to get to know his grandfather and you and Gage and Sloan and the ranch. But if it turns out that he’s not, I’ll take him back to Minnesota with me and we’ll make a good life there with Beverly.”
His eyes narrowed. “You said that whether or not to show Mac the letters was my decision. I say we destroy the damn things and move on…as a family.”
The temptation to give in was overwhelming. She would be Trent’s wife. Allen would be his son. There might be other children.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I was wrong. I’ve had all night to think about it. Secrets are never the best course of action. Mac needs to know the truth. And afterward…”
He shoved his legs in his pants and buttoned his shirt. “And afterward, your son will either be very rich, or just another illegitimate kid being raised by a single parent.”
She flinched. His deliberate cruelty shocked her. Was this his response to not getting his own way? “It’s about more than the money,” she whispered, her throat raw from the effort not to cry. “You know that.”
He faced her, barefooted. Most people would appear vulnerable in that condition. Not Trent. “The world revolves around money, Bryn. And if you don’t realize that, you’re more of an innocent than I thought.”
She was chilled to the bone though the day was warm. “Why are you being so hateful?” What had happened to tender, caring Trent? Had the gentler, kinder man been no more than a ruse to get her into bed?
He shrugged, the smile on his face mocking. “If I’m not in the best of moods, Brynnie, you’ll have to take the blame for that. It’s not every day I get a marriage proposal tossed back in my face. Forgive me if I’m not so cavalier about it as to go on with life as normal.”
For the briefest flash of a second, she thought she saw hurt flicker in his cold gaze, but then it was gone. She couldn’t hurt Trent. He was impervious, thick-skinned. That was the only way to make it to the top.
She bit her lip. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”
He propped his foot on a stone and bent to put on the left boot, then the right…. Was he hiding his expression deliberately? His voice was muffled. “We owe you. Maybe not Gage and Sloan, but certainly Jesse and Mac and I. You suffered at our hands, and that can’t be erased. Sinclairs always repay their debts.”
Disappointment and grief tangled in her stomach, destroying any last hope that Trent felt something for her beyond simple lust. “I absolve you,” she said dully. “There’s plenty of blame to go around. I kept Allen away from you all for five years. So let’s call it even.”
She picked up the quilt and rolled it with jerky motions. “I need to get back to the house.”
The hours until Bryn and Trent could meet with Mac in private passed like molasses on a cold day. Allen’s high spirits frayed Bryn’s nerves, yet finally, by nine o’clock, Allen was sound asleep. Bryn didn’t waste any time. She retrieved the box of letters and made her way to Mac’s study.
The two men were already there.
Her heart thumping, she entered hesitantly, searching out Trent with her gaze to see if his face gave any indication of what was to come. What had he said to Mac? Anything? She sat down and waited.
Trent ran a hand over the back of his neck, looking uncustomarily frazzled. “How are you feeling, Dad?”
Mac frowned. “I’m great. What’s all this about?”
At Trent’s almost imperceptible nod, Bryn smiled wanly. “We have some things to tell you, but we don’t want you to get upset.”
Mac snorted and rolled his eyes. “I may have a contrary ticker, but I’m not some damned pansy who’s going to wilt over a little bad news. For God’s sake, spit it out. You’re making me nervous. You and Trent look like you’ve swallowed bad fish. Tell me what it is. Now.”
Bryn gripped the box in her lap. When she looked at Trent, he was no help at all. He simply shrugged.
She stood up and moved to where Mac sat in the leather chair that was his version of a throne. “I found these,” she said. “When I was cleaning Jesse’s room. They’re letters. From Etta. Did you know Jesse’s mother had been writing to him?”