Sutherland’s Pride (15 page)

Flynn relaxed slightly. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Not that I thought you’d believe me,” she added. “I had pictures of Johnny, just in case, and I also intended to visit your parents and show them the photos.”

“You didn’t plan to bring Johnny?”

“Not on a business trip.” She gave him a commiserating smile. “Arranging for a sitter in Houston would have been a big problem, you know. But if your parents reacted as I thought they might, I would have ready-made babysitters for the next trip.”

Flynn hoped he would have believed her, or that at least that he might have had the sense to keep his mouth shut. “My parents took one look at him and knew. I’m sure you’re wondering what’s wrong with me.”

“Your parents have the advantage of remembering what you looked like as a child,” Pride said, in dismissive tones. “I would have been satisfied if you finally realized Johnny was my child rather than Gloria’s.”

“You had a bet on with Gloria,” Flynn discovered. “I’ll probably never live that one down.”

Pride chuckled. “Probably not. But I’ll tell you this much, Flynn. Johnny is a real chip off the old block, and you’re going to have a lot of fun finding that out these next few days.”

His heart lightened. “I’m looking forward to it. In the meantime, I’d just like to say, thank you.”

Surprised, she looked up from the pumpkin pie she forked to pieces. “For what? Giving you the shock of your life?”

“For having him.” He rose to his feet and came to her side. “For bringing him here.” He pulled out her chair and lifted her to her feet, then turned her to face him. “For your willingness to share him with me.”

Pride started to reply but he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

She let him kiss her as long and as deeply as he wanted, maybe because she thought he couldn’t get too carried away in a public restaurant. A moment later, put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. To his delight and amazement, she trembled in his arms in the old way.

A moment later, he came back to earth when the clang of a fork against a dinner plate recalled his surroundings to his dazed mind. He lifted his head and watched Pride’s thick, dark eyelashes lift slowly. She looked as dazed as he felt, but as he watched, her expression turned to one of stunned dismay.

“It will all work out, darling,” he said gently. “You’ll see.”

He pulled her chair out for her and seated her again.

The moment he did, the restaurant burst into applause.

Pride’s face took on the color of a ripe tomato and she refused to look at him. He smiled and waved to the other diners then sat back down.

He should have thought to provide himself with an engagement ring, he thought, watching Pride assume a distant expression.

Not that it would have helped. Even if he got a ring on her finger, she might well have “lost” it in another five minutes.

He needed a plan.

More than that, he needed help, and he thought he knew where to start.

On that thought, Flynn arrived early at his office the next morning. Last night, Pride had finally kissed him with all the passion he remembered, even though she spent the rest of the evening behind a wall of smiling distance.

Fortunately, he’d had the good sense to tell Pride he had no intentions of fighting with her over custody of Johnny. He would take whatever she allowed him in terms of visitation rights and time.

It went sorely against the grain with him, but he knew he had said the right thing for once when Pride relaxed somewhat, gave him a cautious smile and said she had no objections to changing Johnny’s last name to Sutherland.

He had made such a mess of things, he would do things right this time if it killed him. At the moment, Flynn rather thought it might, because he wanted to demand everything, including a wedding.

He left his desk, where he had been pouring over the copy of Johnny’s birth certificate Pride gave him and stared blindly out the windows at the downtown Houston traffic below. Pride had named him as Johnny’s father on the certificate. Moreover, Johnny’s name was John Morgan Donovan. She had given Johnny his paternal grandfather’s name. The realization almost knocked the breath out of Flynn.

Sounds outside the office door indicated Killeen had arrived. Moments later, a knock sounded on his door and Killeen entered, clutching a folded-open
Houston Chronicle
.

“I just noticed something, boss,” she said. “Look at this photo of Tracy Eric. Does it remind you of anyone?”

Killeen laid the newspaper on his desk, and Flynn bent over it. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the photograph of the attractive, dark-headed woman who called herself Tracy Eric.

“Offhand, no.” How could she expect him to care about some single-mommy newspaper columnist at a time like this?

Flynn reminded himself that Killeen knew nothing about the events of — had it really been less than twenty-four hours? — yesterday and held onto his temper with both hands. He needed her help, and he did not want her wasting time on the ubiquitous Tracy Eric.

“Look again, boss.”

Flynn looked again but still couldn’t discern a resemblance to anyone he knew. Rather than snap at Killeen, he let his gaze drift down to the column proper, and he began to read.

Tracy Eric wrote about seeing “him” again, the man who had made her pregnant. Her exploration of her own feelings made Flynn feel as though he were sitting across the table from a woman who was baring her soul.

His attention duly caught, he read on. Tracy Eric had seen the man at her father’s funeral. Her detailing of the things she had noticed about the man she had once loved made Flynn think she ought to write novels instead of true-to-life columns.

Tracy now faced the ordeal of telling the man about the son he’d sired. Would he be a good father to her son?

“All single moms face this question, even if our child’s father behaves like a father. We ask ourselves, where is he when the tough questions arise? The big decisions? Where is he every darned day, when we’re the ones who have to apply the consistent, no-nonsense discipline every child needs?”

Tracy went on to wonder if the man, assuming he accepted his fatherhood, would spoil her son.

“If so,”
she wrote,
“I’ll accept it. Even if I have to be the heavy, the one who says no while his father showers him with expensive gifts and exciting trips, I want my son to know and love his father.”

Flynn nodded. At least the woman had the right attitude. A child needed a father to love and respect, even if the father wasn’t good for anything but fluff, as Tracy implied. The child’s well-being was all-important to Tracy, and Flynn had to respect her for that view.

Killeen, who had been waiting patiently while he read the column, grinned at him.

“Don’t you just love her? She’s single-handedly responsible for keeping me from telling my kids what a no-good turkey their father is. I’m telling you, boss, I almost slipped this morning. If I hadn’t read that column first thing … ”

Flynn chuckled. “Maybe the absentee fathers of the city should vote to award Tracy Eric a medal of some sort.”

“She deserves it,” Killeen said darkly. “Look again, boss. This woman was in our office yesterday morning.”

Flynn thought but couldn’t recall any women who had been in his office the morning before, other than Pride and her cousin Gloria.

His eyes widened.

Killeen nodded enthusiastically. “What do you think? It’s doesn’t look much like her, but it’s her all right.”

“Gloria Boudreaux?”

Flynn folded the paper into smaller sections and held it closer to his eyes. There was a strong resemblance, now that he thought about it.

“I’m certain it’s her,” Killeen said. “What put me on to it was the two kids, Tracy and Eric. I thought it was a coincidence at first, until I realized that the first thing a mother would do is name herself after her kids.”

“Pride is a freelance writer.” Flynn wondered if his brain had turned to mush. “Maybe her cousin has the same talent.”

“Tracy Eric only talks about her son, but Gloria Boudreaux has two little girls, as well,” Killeen noted.

Flynn recollected another fact. “Gloria Boudreaux is not a single mother. From all I hear, her husband is the type of man who’s in on every aspect of his children’s upbringing.”

Killeen stared at the photograph. “It has to be her. The coincidence is just too much.”

Flynn froze. For an entire minute, he stared at the column and said absolutely nothing.

When he became conscious of Killeen’s curious stare, he cleared his throat. “I don’t think Gloria is Tracy Eric.”

Why was Pride Donovan writing a column under the pretext of being a single mother?

Because she was a single mother
, his battered brain reminded him.

“Killeen?”

His secretary looked up.

“Those four children in here yesterday. Did you think they were all Gloria Boudreaux’s children?”

“Oh, gosh, no.” Killeen grinned. “It’s fairly obvious that the little blond boy, the one who ate your watch, is Pride Donovan’s son.”

“Is it obvious?” Flynn asked, in weak tones.

Killeen stared at him. “Are you trying to tell me he isn’t her son? Any mother would swear Miss Donovan was that little kid’s mother. I mean, the way she looked out for him, and scolded him. I’d swear he was her child.”

Flynn wondered if he ought to resign from the legal profession on the grounds of being a mental incompetent.

On the other hand, most lawyers he knew seemed as focused on the wrong things as he now perceived himself to be.

However, nobody said he had to remain stupid.

“You’re right,” he said. “Johnny is Ms. Donovan’s son.” He drew in his breath and added, “I’m going to need some help, Ms. Ross. I’m facing the biggest battle of my life, because, you see, Johnny is also my son.”

• • •

Pride awakened early after a mostly sleepless night and stared at the sunlit ceiling. Flynn intended to take her and Johnny to the zoo, after she came by his office finish the work on her inheritance. He had invited the Boudreaux family also, but Gloria flatly refused.

“You and Flynn need to spend some time alone with Johnny,” she said. “Johnny needs to experience Flynn in the position of father, and you need to adjust to the idea yourself.”

Pride scowled at the window. She figured she had adjusted about as much as she could, and spending time alone with Flynn was a really bad idea. She still harbored some sort of major attraction for Flynn. Who knew what would happen if she allowed herself to be alone with him?

Johnny was a different matter. She’d go along on the trip to the zoo for Johnny’s sake, but she wasn’t about to marry Flynn just to provide Johnny with two resident parents. She reminded herself that Flynn wanted Johnny very badly, and that complicated matters between them considerably.

Flynn had surprised her with his ready acceptance of fatherhood and with his willingness to let her specify his paternal rights. She intended to bide her time and see if he really meant it. On that thought she fell back to sleep.

She didn’t awaken until Johnny tugged at the covers.

“Flowers,” he said.

Pride came awake and blinked at her son. Gloria must have already dressed him, she realized. His small face reflected excitement and curiosity.

“Flowers,” Johnny repeated. “Flynn.”

“Daddy,” she corrected automatically. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes. “What’s all this about flowers?”

“Johnny, I told you not to wake your mother up,” Gloria scolded from the door. “Sorry, Pride. I thought you needed the extra sleep. Now that you’re awake, come on out here and smell the roses.”

“What roses?”

“You’ll see.”

Gloria withdrew with such a portentous expression that Pride hastened out of bed and threw on a pale green chenille robe. When she walked into the living room, the white decor was enhanced by splashes of brilliant color all around the room. Lots of brilliant red color, she saw, and it all came from the dozens of roses scattered about on every available surface. Gloria must have put every vase in the house into use and pressed a few water glasses into service also.

“What on earth is this?” Pride stood in the center of the living room, dazed and blinking.

“Someone, who shall remain unnamed since I refuse to snoop in the little cards, is employing flower language to tell you something.”

The doorbell sounded.

“Flynn,” Johnny shouted and raced toward the door, followed by the three Boudreaux children, who lived in constant expectation of their father’s homecoming.

Gloria grinned at Pride and indicated the door. “It’s your turn to do the honors. I’ve been answering it all morning.”

“What time is it?” Pride asked, groaning.

“Almost nine.”

“Oh, no. I’m supposed to be at Flynn’s office by eleven.” She headed for the door, where the children bounced up and down.

“Ms. Pride Donovan? Flower delivery. Sign here, please.” The delivery man held three long boxes, stacked on top of one another.

Pride signed and received the boxes. Gloria came to the door and peered at the delivery truck as the man walked away.

“That’s the fifth different truck that’s arrived this morning. He must have cleaned out every red rose in every flower shop in town, because that van is from Winnie.”

Pride squinted at the van. Sure enough, its side bore the logo of a flower shop in the nearby town.

“So it is,” she said. “What’s going on here, anyway?”

“You tell us. Quiet, kids. Aunt Pride can’t open it until she gets it to the kitchen table.”

Pride opened the box at the kitchen table, with the four excited children and Gloria looking on. As she’d expected, the boxes contained another three dozen red roses.

“What on earth am I supposed to do with all these roses?” Pride wondered what madhouse she’d strayed into.

“We’re all out of vases,” Gloria said. “I’ve started on the water glasses, unless you happen to know where some more vases are hidden.”

“Just look at these, Gloria. Aren’t they beautiful?”

Gloria agreed. “Aren’t you going to read the card?”