Santa Brought A Son. Melissa McCloneЧитать онлайн книгу.
invitation he’d ever received, but he brushed the snow off him and stepped inside. “Thanks.”
Her store overflowed with holiday cheer. A contrast to the reception he’d received from its owner. The scent of vanilla, cinnamon and pine reminded him of his grandmother’s house. White twinkling lights entwined in garland added a touch of whimsy. Stockings of different shapes and sizes were hung on the walls. Ornaments decorated several Christmas trees. Icicles and snowflakes dangled from the ceiling. Menorahs and dradels filled an entire display rack. Only Christmas carols were missing.
A red Santa hat lay on a table, and Reed placed it on his head. “Ho-ho-ho.” He expected a smile. He didn’t get one. “Nice shop. Very christmasy.”
“The phone is on the counter by the cash register.”
“I have my cell phone,” Reed admitted. He called the airline. His flight was delayed. If the snow continued to fall, it would be canceled. Renting a car and trying to get ahead of the storm seemed like his best option. He didn’t want to intrude on Samantha any longer. She’d made her choice; he was making his. He had a life now. He wasn’t the same boy he’d once been.
A scream tore through the silence. A blur of blue raced from the back into the store toppling a three-foot-tall Father Christmas figurine. Samantha’s quick reflexes kept it from hitting the floor.
A boy wearing a blue sweatshirt and jeans held up a Gameboy. Brown hair stuck out from his baseball cap. “Look. I made it to level six, Mom.”
Mom? It shouldn’t matter that she’d had a child with another man—her husband—but still Reed’s heart tightened. He’d thought of her having kids, but in a detached first-comes-marriage-then-comes-baby sort of way, but seeing it was different. And affected him more than he could have imagined.
He did a double take. The kid looked too old to be hers. Guess she and Art hadn’t waited to start a family.
She smiled, though her face had lost some of its color. “That’s great, honey.”
The tenderness in her voice took Reed by surprise. She sounded like a mom. When he was younger, he’d imagined her as a girlfriend, lover, wife, but never a mother. Of course, he’d been twenty the last time he saw her, and children hadn’t been on the edge of his radar screen. The same way they weren’t now.
“I didn’t have to use the clues from the magazine.” The boy bounced from foot to foot. “I did it all on my own.”
“You’ll have to teach me,” she said.
Samantha eyed Reed. Her piercing gaze seemed to be searching for something. What, he didn’t know.
“Okay.” The boy grinned and a dimple appeared on his left cheek.
Reed touched the spot of his own dimple. Same left side.
The boy looked up at him and his smile widened. “I like your hat.”
Reed had forgotten he was wearing it. “Thanks.”
“My dad used to wear a Santa hat every Christmas,” he said.
“Timmy, this is Mr. Connors.” Samantha sounded hoarse, and she cleared her throat. “Reed, this is Timmy.”
“Do you play video games?” Timmy asked.
“Yes.” Reed and his high school friends had spent their free time playing video and computers games, collecting Star Wars figurines and watching Star Trek reruns and its various sequel series. “But I play more computer games now.”
“Mr. Connors went to high school with me and your dad,” she emphasized the last word. All of her features seemed tight. The wariness Reed had glimpsed last night was back.
“I want to be a pitcher like my dad.” As Timmy drew his brows together, two lines formed about his nose. Just like Samantha used to do when she was concerned about an upcoming test or homework assignment. “But I need to learn to throw a curve ball first. Do you know how?”
“Playing catch is more my style,” Reed admitted. “I never could throw a curve ball myself.”
“That’s okay,” Timmy said. “Playing catch is fun, too. I want a new mitt for my birthday.”
“When’s your birthday?” Reed asked.
“In twelve days. I’ll be eight.” Timmy smiled. “I’m having my birthday party at the ice rink after school. We’re going to skate, play hockey and eat lots of cake.”
“Sounds fun.”
But eight? Samantha must have gotten pregnant right after graduation. Reed subtracted nine months from Timmy’s birthday. The date fell right around spring break. The spring break when they’d made love. Reed glanced at Timmy, at his brown hair and eyes. Art and Samantha had been Fernville High’s blond-haired, blue-eyed golden couple. Reed’s pulse quickened.
Theoretically he could be Timmy’s father, but that wasn’t possible. They’d used protection. Besides, she would have told him if he were going to be a father. No woman in her right mind would keep a child a secret. No, Timmy wasn’t his. She must have gone straight from his bed to Art’s, as Reed had always suspected. The truth disappointed more than hurt.
“Want to come to my party?” Timmy asked.
Samantha almost dropped a glass Santa ornament she was hanging on a tree. “That’s polite of you to invite Mr. Connors, but he lives in Boston.”
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