Page 109 of Whispers

As if he wasn’t Sean’s father.

For the love of God, what was she going to do?

“You’re a fool,” she

muttered under her breath as she poured pancake flour into a mixing bowl. Cracking two eggs with a vengeance and adding milk, she tried to concentrate on the task at hand rather than the wickedly delicious sensations Kane had created in her body.

It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. Years. She’d probably just reacted out of desperation, nothing more. As she stirred the pancake batter, she stared out the window and across the lake to Kane’s cabin. She had to forget what they had once shared—because he was a changed man, a man with a vendetta against her family.

Don’t trust him. He’s only using you to get information for his damned book. Remember that.

And yet her body still tingled at the memories.

Pouring batter onto the hot griddle, she heard Samantha’s light tread on the stairs. If Paul hadn’t done anything else right in his miserable life, at least he’d blessed her with their daughter.

Sam burst into the room. Already dressed in her swimsuit and slathered with tanning oil, she carried a beach basket which she plopped onto the counter. “Where’s Sean?”

“Asleep, I think. Why don’t you wake him up and tell him breakfast’s about ready?”

“He’s not in his bed. I already checked.”

“No?” That was odd. Sean was known to sleep until two in the afternoon. “Maybe he went horseback riding,” she said, though her heart was suddenly heavy.

Sam pulled a face. “He hates horses. He’s into computer games and skateboarding.”

That much was true, and through the French doors Claire saw all three horses, heads lowered to the ground as they plucked at a few blades of grass and switched their ears and tails against bothersome flies.

“Then a hike.”

“Early in the morning? With who?”

“Whom,” Claire responded out of habit.

“Okay, whom? He doesn’t have any friends up here. He’s always e-mailing or instant-messaging kids back in Colorado.”

“He’ll make some new friends when school starts.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Sure—oh, Mom, the pancakes?”

Smoke was rolling from the griddle, and Claire tossed the first batch of burned hotcakes into the disposal. “Why don’t you take over for a second?” she asked her daughter. “I’ll track down Sean.”

“Sure.”

She had already opened the door when she saw a Jeep wheel into the drive. Her heart sank. Kane was driving and Sean, jaw jutted forward rebelliously, eyes downcast, sat in the passenger seat. She could barely move for a second. Couldn’t Kane see it—how much Sean resembled him? Straight nose, blade-thin lips, broad shoulders, and bad attitude, all rolled up into a hellion of a boy. Though Sean had yet to develop into the lawless, arrogant son of a gun Kane had been, he was on the right track. Her fingers were suddenly sweaty and she felt as if the earth was shifting beneath her feet. How could she tell either of them? Sean would condemn her for her loose morals. Not only had she sheltered him from the truth, but she’d lied as well. He’d never forgive her.

Nor would Kane. When he discovered that Sean was his natural son, what would he do? Demand custody? Call her a cheap tramp? Or open his arms and heart to his son? She cleared her throat of all emotion and tried to concentrate on the problem at hand. “What in the world—?”

Before the Jeep had come to a full stop, Sean bolted from the vehicle and strode toward the front door. He wore black jeans and a ripped black T-shirt along with a pair of dilapidated running shoes. Claire met him on the porch. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Where’ve you been?”

“In town.” He tried to brush past her, but she caught hold of his arm. His nostrils flared and he jerked away.

“What happened?” From the corner of her eye she saw Kane approach at a leisurely pace, as if willing to let her grill her son before being part of the argument that was brewing in Sean’s stormy eyes. Battered leather jacket, white T-shirt, disreputable jeans and boots in sore need of polish were his companions and only served to remind Claire of the boy he’d once been, the hoodlum to whom she’d lost her heart sixteen years before. She’d been such a simpleton, such a stupid romantic.

Right now she had to deal with her boy. “Sean?”

“I got in trouble, okay?” Sean started for the door again, but Claire planted herself in his path.

“What kind of trouble?” she asked, her heart pounding. Sean was so volatile these days, always on the edge, ready to explode. “And no, it’s definitely not okay.”