The Black Sheep's Secret Child

“It’s a little after eight.”

“Why don’t you order us some breakfast,” Savannah said. “I’d like an egg-white omelet and toast.”

The closing on her house was at two thirty that afternoon. Their flight back to LA was at eleven. Savannah handed over her son and headed to the bedroom to get ready. She didn’t linger over her morning routine and had her bag packed in short order. By the time she emerged, a waiter was pushing a room service cart toward the large window that overlooked the Strip. Savannah signed for the breakfast, and the man headed for the door. When he opened it to leave, Trent was standing in the hall outside her suite.

“Good morning,” he said, not waiting for an invitation to enter the room.

Trent’s abrupt appearance threw her for a loop. She’d considered he might call. But never in her wildest dreams did she think he might actually show up in person this morning. Dressed in an impeccable navy superfine wool suit with a crisp white shirt and cobalt tie, Trent looked ready to do business.

Savannah shot a quick glance toward her son. He sat on the floor surrounded by books and toys, happily gnawing on a plastic key ring. Lori had seated herself at the dining room table and was removing the metal domes from the plates of food. She seemed uninterested in Savannah’s visitor.

In the dark hours of late-night Vegas, reconnecting with her ex-lover had been relatively uncomplicated. In the cold light of day, with her son—Trent’s son—less than ten feet away, she was feeling overwhelmed by her past mistakes and future missteps.

“What are you doing here?”

“You aren’t really planning on moving to Tennessee, are you?”

After her troubled sleep and her dream about living in Siggy’s house, Savannah was feeling less confident than she had been the night before. Despite what she’d told Trent, the truth was she had no place to go once she signed the papers on her house. She’d been so convinced she could get Trent to help her she hadn’t focused at all on what would happen if she failed.

“I...” Her chest grew exceedingly tight. She couldn’t get any words out.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” The word had very little conviction behind it. Where was Courtney now? Savannah had lost her connection to her confident alter ego.

“Where are you planning to go, then?”

Misery engulfed her. “I don’t have a plan.” He’d never know what it cost her to admit that. Too many times he’d viewed her as helpless. “My only option was for you to help me with the company.”

“But that doesn’t help you with your immediate problem of where to go once you close on your house.”

She knew he was right.

“I called Melody last night,” Trent continued. “She’s in Australia at the moment, and with the time difference it was afternoon. She told me Siggy wants you to move in with him. You’re not planning on doing that, are you?”

Not if she could help it. Even as a temporary measure, becoming beholden to her father-in-law was a bad idea. Savannah exhaled in frustration but didn’t respond to Trent’s question. She couldn’t blame Melody for telling Trent what was going on. Melody was just as upset as Savannah about the situation. Trent’s sister had worked hard and suffered much to get out from beneath her father’s weighty expectations.

“It’s a bad idea.”

“It’s not what I want to do.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared past his shoulder. “I’d prefer to move to Tennessee and buy a small house there.”

But was it really the place for her and Dylan? Savannah had latched on to Gatlinburg because her grandmother’s house had been in a town twenty miles away, and she’d built it up in her mind as a great place to raise Dylan.

As if aware of her thoughts, Dylan gave a happy gurgle and stood. Trent’s attention swiveled toward the toddler as Dylan began his ungainly waddle toward them.

“He’s walking already?” Trent regarded the boy impassively. “I didn’t think he was quite a year.”

Savannah’s pride shone through as she answered, “He’s a little ahead of the curve.” Seeing his mother’s smile, Dylan came at her in a rush. With her heart thumping painfully hard, Savannah scooped him off the floor and settled him on her hip. He wrapped his hand around her three-tiered strand of pearls that complemented today’s collared black sweater dress with three-quarter-length cuffed sleeves.

“Dylan, right?” Trent was inspecting the boy through narrowed eyes.

“Yes.”

Father and son stared at each other while Savannah waited for what would happen next. She’d been dreading this encounter since the day her son had been born. Part of her hoped to see recognition in Trent’s eyes. She wanted him to claim Dylan. Then she could stop feeling guilty for denying her son his father.

“You can’t do this to him.”

Savannah wasn’t sure what she’d expected Trent to say, but that wasn’t it. “Can’t do what to him?”