The Secret Heir

“I keep trying to imagine how I would feel if my dad were the one to show up with an adult son, conceived after he married Mom. I’ve got to be honest, Laurel, I’m not sure I would throw my arms around the guy.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “As if that would ever happen. I doubt that Carl has ever even looked at another woman. And I’m not sure you would even want any of your brothers to throw their arms around you.”

“That might be a little freaky,” he admitted with reluctant amusement.

“But aren’t you even curious about them?”

“Maybe. A little.”

He was, she could tell. But as Carl had said, it was up to Jackson whether he wanted to meet those people who shared his bloodline. She wouldn’t push him one way or another.

Snuggling her cheek into his shoulder again, she told herself that it didn’t really matter how many other people he brought into their lives. They were truly together now, a team. It was all she had ever really wanted.

Two weeks later Laurel and Jackson met his biological father together. They had left Tyler in the care of Donna and Carl, who were both nervous but resigned about Jackson’s decision to m

eet Jack Crosby.

The meeting took place in Jack’s near-palatial home in one of Portland’s most exclusive neighborhoods. Laurel tried not to be intimidated when a scarily efficient maid let them in and then escorted them to Jack’s private den.

She was struck almost immediately by the physical resemblances between her husband and Jack Crosby. Almost seventy, Jack was still tall and straight. His hair was white, but she would bet it had once been the same dark blond as Jackson’s. His eyes were the same bright blue, barely faded by age, and his golfer’s tan bespoke a man who enjoyed being outdoors, just as Jackson did.

She wondered if Jackson noticed any of those similarities as he briefly and rather stiffly shook his biological father’s extended hand. “Sir.”

“Just call me Jack,” the older man advised with a little shrug. “There’s no need to stand on formalities. And you must be Laurel.”

Even at his age, Jack Crosby still had an eye for women, Laurel decided as he gave her a smile and a quick once-over that made her suspect he hadn’t missed one detail of her figure. She nodded to confirm her identity.

“Sorry my wife isn’t home, but she’s out doing the charity-queen thing. Or spending some more of my money. Maybe making a day of it and doing both. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” He waved them to a deep leather sofa, taking a leather armchair across from them. “What would you like to drink? Coffee or tea, or something stronger?”

When they both declined Jack steepled his fingers in front of him and took his time studying Jackson’s face. “You’ve a look of your mother about you. She was a beautiful woman.”

“She still is.”

There was just a hint of warning in Jackson’s voice. He made it clear enough that Crosby had better be very careful when he spoke of Donna.

Jack sighed. “I’m not in the habit of apologizing for the things I’ve done in my life, Jackson. I never pretended to be a saint. But I do have some regrets. Hurting your mother is one of them. She was very special to me, and I treated her very badly. She deserved better.”

“Yes, she did,” Jackson replied coolly. “And she found it. My dad has been very good to her.”

“I met Carl a few times when I was seeing Donna. He’s a good man.”

“Yes, he is.” That edge of warning was back again, Laurel noted.

Jack gave a slight nod to indicate he had received the message that Jackson didn’t want to talk about his parents. He reached behind him to a massive desk and picked up a thick manila envelope, which he then handed to Jackson.

“That’s the medical history I promised you. I don’t think there’s anything you have to worry about particularly, now that your boy has been treated, but you’ll want to take care of yourself. I’ve had two heart attacks myself. Too much rich food and cigar smoke, I’ve been told. Seems like all they let me have these days is lettuce and water.”

Both Jackson and Laurel tried to smile at his jest, but Laurel didn’t think hers came off any better than her husband’s.

Jack’s own smile faded quickly. “How is your boy?” he asked after a moment, trying to keep the conversation moving.

This time it was Laurel who answered. “He’s doing very well. You would hardly believe that he just had surgery less than a month ago. I, um, brought a picture of him if you would like to see it.”

“Yes, I would. Thank you.” He studied the recent studio portrait she handed him, his firm mouth tilting into a slight smile again. “Good-looking boy. Looks just like his father.”

Laurel glanced at Jackson. “I’ve always said so.”

Jack’s expression turned just a bit wistful. “He looks a lot like my oldest boy, Trent, at that age. At least from what I remember.”