shops. They had a crib, a glider and an old dresser that doubled as a changing table.
Leona laid Percy out on the changing table. With Byron watching, she changed the baby’s diaper and got him into a clean set of footie jammies. Then she lifted him up. “Sit,” she told Byron. To his credit, he sat in the glider and held out his hands for the baby. He didn’t look less shell-shocked, but she appreciated the effort.
Leona leaned over the small basket that held the books. “How about...” Percy reached his hands out for the worn copy of Pat the Bunny. “All right,” she agreed. “Can you read to him while I wash my hands?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
She hurried to the bathroom, which was on the other side of May’s room. In the distance, she heard Byron’s deep voice read the simple story.
May’s door opened and she popped her head out. “He’s not staying, is he?”
“May,” Leona said in a quiet whisper. “No, I don’t think he’s staying.”
May shot her a disbelieving look. “You don’t think? Leona, you know what he’s like. He’s a Beaumont. What if he wants to take Percy with him?”
Leona washed her hands in the bathroom. That was the question, wasn’t it? Byron had the weight of the Beaumont name and family fortune behind him. And what did Leona have? She had May and Percy. She knew what lawyers could do to a woman. Her own father had regaled the family with tales of how he’d left his first wife penniless after she’d been seduced by Byron’s father.
“I don’t think he’ll do that,” she told May, who hovered in the doorway as if she expected to have to bolt at any second. Once, Leona would have said yes, Byron would take the boy and she’d never see her baby again.
But now? At dinner tonight he’d been the Byron she’d once thought she’d known. Caring, attentive, thoughtful. Heck, he’d even apologized for Frances’s behavior. Those were not the actions of a man out to destroy her.
Of course, that had been before he’d seen the car seat. She had absolutely no idea what he was thinking now.
“I’m sorry,” May said. “I’m just worried.”
“I know.” Leona dried her hands and gripped May by the shoulders. “I won’t let him take Percy. I promise.”
May’s eyes watered. “I don’t want him to hurt you again.”
Leona pulled May into a tight hug. “I won’t let him,” she promised.
“Leona?” Byron called out. “We’re done. Now what?”
At the sound of Byron’s voice, May hurried back to her bedroom and shut the door.
Leona paused to take a deep breath. She couldn’t let Byron break her heart again. She couldn’t lose her son. And if they could keep her father out of it, that’d be great, too.
Sure. No problem.
Byron was rocking Percy, whose eyes were half closed. “Hi,” he said when she entered the room.
Despite it all, she smiled at him. To see him holding Percy—she had dreamed of this moment.
This was what she’d wanted before that horrible night when it’d all fallen apart. For the months they’d been seeing each other, she’d thought about Byron being a father—being a husband. Helping with the babies, because of course they’d have children together. She and Byron were different than their families. Better. Electric. They were going to love each other for the rest of their lives.
Then he’d left before she’d gotten the chance to tell him she was pregnant and Leona had put those old dreams away.
She couldn’t help it. Part of her still wanted those dreams, even knowing how much of a Beaumont he was.
But that vision of them growing old together was just that—a vision.
It could never happen.
Byron’s head was a mess as Leona took the boy—his son!—from him. No, mess was too generous a word for the muddle of emotions and thoughts all struggling to be heard.
He had a son—that was the first thing he had to make sense of. He had a son and Leona hadn’t told him. She had lied to him again—maybe he shouldn’t be so damned surprised. After all, she’d had no problem hiding her family from him before. Why was it so shocking that she would hide his son from him now?
It was obvious she loved the boy. She’d been sweet and gentle with him and this thing right now—nursing—was obviously something they did every night.
Byron walked back into the main part of the apartment. The place wasn’t fancy—a standard apartment with beige walls, beige carpeting and beige countertops in the kitchen. A set of patio doors indicated that there was a small deck outside. There were a few pictures on the wall, all of May and Leona and Percy. Mostly of Percy. None of Byron. But then, why should there be?
He realized he was standing in the kitchen, opening the cabinets, drawers and the fridge, looking for something to cook. He always retreated to the kitchen when he was upset, even when he’d been a little kid.
Cooking was predictable. There was comfort in the routine. If he followed the recipe, he knew how the dish would turn out.
Leona had apples. Byron could make applesauce. There—that was a good plan. That was him taking care of his son. Everyone had to eat.
He peeled the apples and got them simmering in the pot. Then he debated the ingredients—would Percy like cinnamon or would it be too strong for him? Would Leona want the applesauce to be unsweetened? In the end, Byron went with a little lemon juice to brighten the flavor.
As he cooked, he tried to think. Why hadn’t she told him? It wasn’t as though he’d gone off the grid. Yes, he’d been in Europe but he’d been findable. Frances, at least, had always known where he was. He’d kept his email address. He hadn’t disappeared. Hell, even a birth announcement would have been okay, but there’d been nothing. Just another lie.
He needed answers—and while he was thinking about it, he still needed to know why she thought he’d left her and what did she mean, she and her sister had “gotten away from” their father?
She’d gone with her father. Leon Harper was her father and she hadn’t told Byron that truth. And when Harper had demanded Leona come with him, she had. She’d left Byron standing on the sidewalk, in the rain, his heart in shards at his feet.
If she’d dumped him, he could have dealt with it. He might have still wound up in Europe, but if she’d said “Gee, Byron, this just isn’t working, we should see other people, it’s not you, it’s me and we can still be friends” or whatever, he’d have moved on.
But she’d lied to him. She was the daughter of the man who was hell-bent on destroying Byron and his entire family. By all accounts, the man was doing a hell of a job at it, too. The brewery—a hundred and sixty-six years of Beaumont history and ownership—was gone, all because of Leon Harper. And his daughters.
Byron knew what betrayal looked like. He knew his father had cheated on his wives. He knew that at least one of the ex-wives had cheated on Hardwick. Byron knew there was always a risk that any relationship could go wrong. The Beaumonts didn’t have exclusive rights to dysfunctional marriages.
But when he’d been with Leona, he’d managed to convince himself that he was different. That they were different. Byron and Leona had loved each other.
Or had they?
She’d lied to him before. Twice. Was she lying again? Even if she was, would he be able to tell the difference?
Apples were not going to solve that mystery. He had more pressing issues