Lisa Jackson - Most Likely To Die

Even now, twenty years later, she knew that if she closed her eyes, she’d see the look in Wyatt’s that night as he lay intimately above her, propped on his elbows, her face cupped in his hands…

So Lindsay didn’t dare close her eyes.

She didn’t want to remember that. Especially not now.

She didn’t want to remember the unexpected tenderness that lay beneath his rough exterior…

No, because she’d feel even guiltier for not telling him about the baby.

Back then, in the months that followed their brief connection, she had managed to convince herself that she was doing him a favor not revealing her pregnancy. That a guy like Wyatt Goddard wouldn’t have any interest in a child, not even his own.

It was only when it was too late, when Wyatt-and the baby-were long gone from her life, that the fog lifted. It had comforted her in that year-the numbing haze that had enveloped her like a protective cloak, shielding her from the icy reality of her pregnancy and the harsher one of Jake’s murder.

But when her head began to clear, the memories came back. She was forced to acknowledge, if only to herself, that there might have been more to Wyatt Goddard than met the eye. More than she was able to see before they got together, more than she was willing to recall after she left him.

I cheated him, she told herself now-not for the first time. Not by far.

But sitting here across from him, looking into his eyes, the knowledge hit her harder than ever before.

“Coffee?” a waitress asked briskly, appearing with a steaming glass pot and a couple of laminated menus.

Wyatt nodded and turned over the cup before him in its saucer.

Lindsay did the same, though she was sure that if she tried to take a sip of anything right now, she’d gag.

In fact, she might gag anyway. She might throw up right here and now, in front of Wyatt and the waitress and everyone else.

To distract herself from the wave of nausea washing over her, she focused on returning the waitress’s brief, efficient smile as she poured their coffee.

Good. That’s better. She focused on the middle-aged woman’s faded gray eyes that matched her faded gray hair. Her plastic name tag said Marissa. That was interesting. She didn’t look like a Marissa. She looked more like a Bea or a Madge.

“Are you okay, honey?” she asked, peering at Lindsay with motherly concern. “You look a little green.”

“I’m fine…just a little…” She trailed off, conscious of Wyatt’s eyes still on her.

“Green,” the woman supplied, and chuckled.

“Right.”

“I’m right there with ya. I’m still in my first trimester-this is my fifth kid-and I’ve got morning sickness every day.”

Morning sickness? She can’t be much older than me, then, Lindsay realized with a start. She had her pegged for at least a decade beyond.

Well, Marissa was a coffee-shop waitress in New York with four kids to support and another on the way. She’d probably led a difficult life, and her struggles had taken a physical toll.

Which would indicate, in turn, that Wyatt must have led a relatively easy one. He didn’t look a day over thirty.

“I’ve been scarfing down saltines all morning,” the waitress continued conversationally, lifting the small stainless steel creamer from their table and making sure it wasn’t empty. Nope. She set it back down. “Every damned time I get pregnant, pardon my French, I tell myself it’s going to be different. I tell myself I’m not going to throw up every morning for the first couple of months. And every damned time-pardon again-it happens worse than ever.”

Lindsay murmured something appropriately sympathetic, because the woman seemed to be mainly addressing her.

“Oh, I’ll be okay in the end. The reward is worth it. I just love my babies.”

Lindsay offered her a taut, queasy smile.

“How about you? Do you have children, hon?”

Talk about a loaded question.

It certainly wasn’t one she wanted to answer in front of Wyatt Goddard.

She merely shook her head.

The waitress looked from her to Wyatt and back again. As if she’d been assuming they were a couple-and now realized her mistake-her smile lost some of its cheer.

“I’ll be right back to take your order.”

With that, she was gone.

Wyatt picked up one of the menus and wordlessly handed it to Lindsay.

She glanced at it blindly, her thoughts rushing along like a swollen mountain stream in April.

I have to tell him.

Right now.

Just get it out there, in the open.

Just get it over with, for God’s sake.

But somehow, the words refused to come.

“Do you know what you want?”

Yes. I want to tell you that you have a son.

But I can’t seem to do it.

She glanced up to find him looking over his own menu.

“I’m just having toast,” she said, because she felt as though she’d have to order something.

“I’m having it, too.” He snapped his menu closed. “With eggs, bacon, and a side of sausage.”

She couldn’t help but grin. “Hungry?”

“Always. There are just some things I can’t resist.”

He’s talking about food, she reminded herself, even as she noted the provocative quirk in his brow.

For some reason, she found it necessary to say, “Like cholesterol?”

“Among other things.”

Okay, so he’s not talking about food.

But you should. Just to keep things straightforward and make it clear that nothing is going on here, under the surface.

“Do you, um, eat a huge breakfast every morning?” She could hear the nervousness in her voice.

“When I’m home, I do. I like to cook. In fact, I’ve always known my way around the kitchen, ever since I was a kid.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“A lot of things about me might surprise you, Lindsay.”

He set his menu aside, leaned back in the booth, steepled his hands, and looked at her.

“So,” he said, “what’s up?”

And away we go.

Except…she still wasn’t ready.

So she hedged. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Twenty years last New Year’s.”

Whoa. Nothing like throwing it right out there, she thought, ducking her head to gaze at her menu again so that she wouldn’t have to look at him.

Wait a minute.

This was ridiculous. She wasn’t a teenaged girl anymore. She didn’t have to skirt around the fact that she’d had a, a-thing-with him. Wasn’t that essentially why they were here?

Forcing herself to meet his gaze again, she saw a glint of amusement there and actually found herself relaxing. Just a tad.

“I wasn’t talking about that, specifically,” she allowed herself to say, referring to their one night together.

“No, but you were thinking about it…right?”

He leaned forward abruptly, and she found herself with a close-up view of the face-the eyes-she had tried so hard to forget.

No wonder she couldn’t.

She was mesmerized all over again.

“I’ve thought about it a couple of times, too,” he told her.

“You mean…about that New Year’s Eve?”

“Yeah. Come on, you didn’t forget…did you?”

You have no idea.

She shrugged.

“You couldn’t have,” he said simply, leaning back again, folding his arms. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here now. Right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You looked me up. It must have something to do with the past…unless you’re looking for a Lamborghini.”

“What?”

He frowned slightly. “Cars,” he said inexplicably.

“You lost me.”

“That’s what I do. Exotic luxury cars.”

“Oh!” She hesitated, wondering if she should let him think she had invited him here on business.