The Doctor's Secret Son

Or pretty darn close.

Who would have thought Trace would be in her house, standing in her bedroom doorway?

Never in her wildest dreams had she thought that would ever happen.

Because for all her fear over his meeting Joss, for all her nervousness at what the future held, the man was breathtaking.

Which didn’t sit well because she needed all her wits about her, not to get distracted by his soulful eyes, broad shoulders, and overflowing charisma. Not that he’d shown much charm since arriving at her house.

Determined to protect her heart, she narrowed her gaze at him. “The bathroom is down the hallway. Stay out of my drawers.”

He laughed and it was a dry, harsh sound. “No worries, Chrissie.”

She wasn’t sure they were talking about the same drawers, but what did it matter? He’d made his point loud and clear.

He was there because of their son. Not her.

* * *

Trace had slept very little and was wide awake as the first streams of morning light came through Chrissie’s unshaded windows.

Part of him felt like a jerk for taking her room. Another truly believed he should be behind locked doors in case Joss woke prior to him and Chrissie. He didn’t want to scare the kid.

The kid.

His kid.

He hadn’t really questioned Chrissie. Logic said he should get a paternity test. Not to would just be foolish on his part. But when he’d knelt beside the bed staring at the peacefully sleeping boy in the dimly lit room, he’d not been thinking, What if? He’d been thinking, That’s mine.

Because he wanted the boy to be his.

He’d not planned to have children, so how much he wanted Joss to be his didn’t make logical sense.

How could he so desperately want what Chrissie had told him to be true?

He believed her.

All night he’d battled between anger, a sense of betrayal, uncertainty, and awe that he’d fathered a child.

Restless, he pushed the sheet back and got up.

Going to the living room, panic hit him when he saw the empty sofa. Had she taken off in the middle of the night?

Turning, he went to Joss’s room, pushed open the door and stopped short at what he saw.

Chrissie’s small frame was curled on the car bed with her son’s little body pressed up against hers. The little boy’s hand rested on his mother’s.

Morning light lit the room, and with him lying next to Chrissie it was easy to see his resemblance to his mother.

Same blond hair, same beautiful porcelain skin.

He sat down in a rocking chair, careful to keep the chair from squeaking, and watched the sleeping mother and child.

His child.

His and Chrissie’s child.

As angry as he was at her for not telling him about Joss, he couldn’t imagine anyone that he’d rather have as a mother of his child. Certainly, Chrissie had haunted him while he’d been overseas.