A Father's Secret
She reached up to the top shelf of the glass-fronted hutch for a cut-crystal tumbler, then took a bottle of aged single malt from the cupboard beneath and poured a generous measure. She started to walk toward the sitting room but hesitated for a moment by the wine fridge. She hadn’t had an alcoholic drink since the IVF procedures had begun—even before then she’d almost completely stopped drinking alcohol. It had gotten her into enough trouble in the past, but tonight was different.
Making a decision, she put Sam’s drink down and quickly poured herself a small glass of a chilled Napa Valley Pinot Gris. She’d nursed Riley before bed and she was certain he would sleep through until early morning. She’d been assured by her doctor that one glass of wine now and then would be okay, provided she didn’t drink within four hours or so of nursing.
Erin took the two drinks through to her sitting room and found Sam studying a montage of baby photos on the wall that she’d accumulated of Riley—starting with his first ultrasound.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” she said, handing him his drink.
“Life never fails to amaze me.” He took the glass and raised it to her in a small toast. “To a job well done.”
“So far,” she concurred, taking a small sip of her wine.
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing a great job with Riley. It can’t be easy on your own.”
“No, it’s not. But it is worth every second.”
“Hear, hear,” he said, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Ah, that’s good.”
Erin gestured for him to sit down and took a seat on the couch opposite.
“Have you ever thought of marrying ag—” Sam shut himself off and took a deep breath before continuing. “Look, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. I hate it when people say the same to me about my future. I have no plans to ever marry again so I don’t know why I thought it was all right for me to suggest you should.”
“No need to apologize, Sam. It’s okay. Besides, I have no plans to marry again until Riley is at least old enough to take over the lodge. It’s his legacy. Handed down generation to generation of Connells. And it’s my job to make sure he has something worth inheriting.”
Somehow she had to continue to believe she could carry it off.
“That’s quite a commitment. Putting your whole life on hold for your son? What if he doesn’t want to work the lodge?”
Erin shrugged. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. In the meantime, it’s our home and our income. I’m duty bound to protect that.”
“Is it what you want to do?”
“It’s what I have to do. Management of the property has been handed over from father to son since the original James Connell. Riley’s father was the last and Riley will be next. It’s his legacy.”
She said the last words emphatically, as if by saying them aloud it could make them true.
* * *
And if Riley was his son? Sam thought. Where would that leave Erin? No wonder she was dragging her heels about the DNA testing. This home was her son’s birthright—but only if he was her husband’s biological child.
Sam gave her a searching look and whistled softly. “Heck of a responsibility.”
“I know, which is why I have to get it right. Build the business back up again and make sure Riley has something worth inheriting. James and I closed down operations when he became ill, let our staff go. It was a hard decision but the lodge was too much for me to run on my own while I was pregnant and then after Riley was born. And when we found out James wouldn’t get better, it was too late to change our minds.”
“You didn’t want to put managers in, just to keep the business running?”
“No. I did suggest it, but this was James’s family home as well as our business. He didn’t want strangers making decisions he should be making. He was pretty old-fashioned that way.”
Sam looked at Erin. She looked tired. Worn-out, really. As if all the cares of the world had settled on her shoulders. He knew the feeling, and also knew how hard it was to pull yourself out of the darkness.
A sudden yawn seemed to catch her by surprise.
“You’re tired,” Sam said immediately, rising from his seat. “I’m keeping you.”
“No, it’s okay,” Erin protested. “Please, sit down. Finish your drink.”
He sat down again and watched as she took another small sip of her wine, admiring her grace as she did so. Even though she always seemed as though she was on the go, she did so with a fluidity of movement that he found distinctly appealing. Since their kiss last week, he’d found himself watching her at the oddest times. He even left his office door open sometimes when she came up to make up his room or replace the linen. Seeing her bend over the bed and smooth out the comforter, watching how the fit of her jeans was so perfect across her hips and the softly rounded curves of her buttocks—it had been a slow and silent torment. One he’d begun to relish.