Secret Baby

Chapter 4-1

Chapter 4

Six thirty in the morning might be too early.

Victoria walked on the sidewalk as the sprinklers took care of the complex lawns. She jumped out of the way of the water, but nothing could stop her. Today she spoke to her daughter. Her throat barely contained a few giggles.

She hopped in her car with her backpack full of memories to show Colt. Sonograms, her diary with unsent letters, the pictures she had of him at boot camp, hospital records, the death certificate she'd received, and the baby video she'd made during her pregnancy had all come out of the closet last night. When she hit the main road down south toward Homestead, she left the ocean and Collins Avenue and headed toward the turnpike. Homestead was a drive, but this early there would be no traffic.

Possibly. In Miami, anything might be on the road.

As the scenery changed to more farm areas, she sang along with the radio.

In her bag, she reached in and squeezed the stuffed teddy bear she'd bought. With luck, Clara wasn't too big.

Her head bopped to the music as she passed the sign for the exits she hadn't seen since high school. Life was simple then. She hopped off the expressway. If she stopped at a coffee shop and bought him a Café Cubano, Colt might appreciate her gesture.

And she'd slow down to give them time to wake up.

At six fifty, she turned off the engine in his driveway and stared at the coffee and her digital clock. She never drove fast. How did she get here this quickly? Colt had let her come without a fight, but the lights weren't on inside the house.

She'd have to wait, but wasn't sure if she stayed in the car or sat on his porch.

She bit her lower lip and stared at the screened-in porch. With a roll to her shoulder, she unlocked the door and slipped out. She stared at the window and then lights came on. Colt must be awake. She gulped and stepped forward, but her heels sank into the mud. She closed her eyes and tried to shake her Prada shoes free. Her calves moved fine, and she tried to lift her toes to take another step, but the next step had the same problem. She was stuck.

She winced. He lived on a farm. She should have worn sneakers.

"You never learned."

Her ears heated just as her face did. She turned and gazed at Colt as he leaned against the door. Every cell in her body came alive as he sauntered over to her. His muscles blocked the moon setting in the distance as he came closer, and he set off a furnace inside of her. Colt reached around her waist and picked her up. Heat rose in her body, even as she lost her high heels to the mud. He ran his hands up her thigh, but then he dropped her on his front step. She rocked on her bare feet and held tightly to the two cups of coffee she had.

"Colt, thank you." She fixed her blouse and wobbled to balance on her naked feet. He reached her back and anchored her. She almost tipped over, then met his eyes. "I'd like my shoes back."

With a roll of his eyes, he left her on the porch and proceeded to retrieve the heels. Instead of handing them to her, he threw the muddied Pradas without care on his front porch. She took a step toward them, but he called out, "Get them later. You're not bringing that mess into my house."

Prada deserved better care. She inhaled to not make a scene, and then handed him the small cup of coffee. His eyebrows arched. She nodded at him, and he stared at the drink in his hands, his cheeks reddening. "Thank you."

Good. Surprise elements of kindness used to score her points with him, and it seemed it still worked. She sucked in her breath and tried to keep the conversation light as they walked through the door. The house was different than his mother's country style. With no paintings or floral accents, Colt went minimalistic and modern. "Where do you parents live these days?"

As he took a few steps closer, he lowered his gaze. "In a condo on the beach and Los Olas, but they are looking for something with senior activities. Mom and Dad need to relax, and gave me the place to raise Clara in a home."

The air smelled of oak trees and oranges again. He came closer to her, inches from her face, and she stepped away. The overwhelming sense of home invaded her every muscle.

Without a word, he passed her and walked into the kitchen area to turn on the sink. She pursed her lips, and he lifted his hands to show the mud on him. Then he washed his hands, though his gaze went to her legs. She squirmed, looked down, and her nose wrinkled as she realized her legs had the same mud. His brown eyes that stared at her left her breathless until he turned off the water. Then he said, "I expected you later in the morning. Don't princesses normally sleep half the morning?"

"When you called me that in high school, you didn't sound bitter." In a fast swallow, she stopped. She closed her eyes and reminded herself to be sweet. Today would go well. She blinked and opened her eyes, but stared at the ground. He stood still, and she shrugged. "I couldn't sleep at all, Colt. Is she up?"

As he walked around the kitchen counter and came toward her, he shook his head. "No. Clara gets up at seven."

Another whiff of oranges and oak trees. She licked her lips. "Is there some place I can clean up?"

Vicki saw a spark of the gentle guy he'd been before the Marines turned him into pure muscle. "Of course. The guest bathroom is this way."

He walked with purpose. The man raised his daughter with strict rules. At the door to the bathroom, she offered him a small smile, and asked, "Can I make us breakfast, then?"

His eyes widened, and she swore she saw fright. Then he opened the door for her. "You're going to cook?"

She stayed next to him. "Yes. I can cook for myself and others."

His shrugged, though his eyes betrayed how surprised he was. "I'm terrified. Go ahead. Get started and I'll grab a fast shower. Just don't forget you're the sitter."

"Of course." She grabbed his arm as he brushed past her. He stilled, and she tilted her head. "Thank you for agreeing to this start."

She leaned closer to Colt's strong jawline. He stepped away. "Clara's stubborn as a mule when it comes to getting what she wants. Don't think of hurting my little girl."

With a smile, she raised her hand and stroked his arm. "I won't. I'm glad she has you watching out for her. Whatever lucky star she was born under didn't let her get lost."

As he jumped to get away from her touch, his face darkened. "You can thank my mother for that one. She's the one who stood up for Clara and me that day."

She opened her mouth to defend herself, but the words didn't come out. "How did your mother know?"

"She saw the birth record in the nursery. You listed me as the father."

"I don't remember much. I was half awake, half dreaming during labor. Then the doctor said…"

"You told me. I'm trying here." He nodded at her. "You start breakfast. I'll bring Clara down. Remember our deal."

At least his mother hadn't done as Mitch Morgan intended. She mirrored his gesture and nodded. "I'm the nanny."

"Right." He walked away, and she stiffened her spine. She needed to steel her courage. Then she rushed into the bathroom to clean her legs. The mud was not a good first impression for her daughter.

A few minutes later, she ran into the kitchen, dropped her pocketbook on the counter, and headed straight for the refrigerator.

She heard his footsteps on the other side of his ranch house, but she didn't say a word. She gazed up at the loft, and wondered if he used that room as some sort of office.

Vicki took a quick glance at the clock; she had twenty minutes to prepare a feast. She found the potatoes and cut. Her jitters disappeared as she sliced. Her daughter deserved a good, healthy breakfast, and Vicki had been cooking breakfast for years now.

Ease returned to her shoulders. She chopped, and noticed the gorgeous brunette in the picture with Colt on the wall. The woman could be a movie star with those steely blue eyes.

The woman had height and muscles without being at all manly. With another swallow, Vicki assumed she must have been in the Marines, or a farmer, like Colt's family, to have won his heart. It wasn't the same woman from the pictures she was given years ago to prove that Colt would never love her.

A pain ran through her chest, but Vicki shrugged it off. She returned to the stove, shook her head, and stared in the mirror at her short blonde hair. She'd never be good at camping, never mind shooting anything.

Colt would marry someone capable of being in his life. She'd never be any competition for capable. She played music and designed wedding dresses, not fed horses.

With one more check on the pre-made biscuits, as she didn't have time or the ingredients to do it from scratch, Vicki shook off her wayward thoughts. The coldness inside her wasn't good. Colt had every right to get married. He was a hero.

Perhaps she'd find a way to be happy now that Clara was in her life. She'd come here for her daughter, not Colt. No fantasies and what-if questions. With a forced smile, she used her spatula and turned the potatoes in the oil, happy with the dark brown color. Good. Her cheeks no longer burned, either.

"Are you my mother?"

Vicki spun around, surprised, and gazed down at the blonde, blue-eyed angel in her pink cotton pajamas. Vicki almost fell over, as her arms ached to hug her and never let go. Instead she stared into the eyes of her little girl and glued her lips together. If she answered, she'd say yes. Instead she reached out and petted the girl's soft and fine hair. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

She nodded, though she didn't seem sure.

Vicki pressed her free hand hard against the kitchen counter. It took all her energy not to hold on to the girl for dear life and not let go.

"I think you are my mother." Clara beamed at her. "Were you at war, like Daddy?"

Vicki shook her head, let go of the counter, and went down to her knees. Her arms tried to swing around her baby, but she pressed her shoulder on the counter wall. "No, sweetheart. I'm Victoria, but please call me Vicki. I'm your new nanny."

Her daughter's eyes narrowed like Colt's. Vicki stilled as her daughter asked, "Are you sure?"

Vicki nodded faster. "I'm Victoria Morgan. And you?"

Clara twirled and giggled. "Clara Collins. You related to Uncle John and Uncle Peter?"

"Yes." A smile broke out on Vicki's face. "They are my brothers."

Clara's eyebrows squished together like Colt's had back in math class. Her chin lifted and she said, "At Aunt Alice's, I asked Daddy if you were my mommy, and he didn't say no."

Vicki froze. Every cell in her body wanted to tell the truth. Colt would throw her out if she said too much, too soon, but that wasn't enough. With time, they'd have to build trust and work together. Vicki's mind raced, but then, with a wide-eyed grin, she answered, "Your dad was surprised to see me again. We knew each other from childhood, and the last time we talked, we had a big fight. We talked everything out now like adults, and we're friends again."

The girl came closer, placed her warm, soft hands on Vicki's face, and stared. "I hope you stay. I like you better than Belle."

Then, before Vicki could ask her what she meant, the girl reached out with her small arms and hugged her. Her tiny body pressed close, and all Vicki could smell was peaches as she hugged her daughter back. Her hug was like heaven. Clara was perfect. Vicki closed her eyes and inhaled again.

Unsure what to say and to not break the hug, Vicki squeezed tighter. Her body screamed that she held her little girl now, and it was like she'd entered a different world. Her brain heard Colt's feet pounding behind her, but she couldn't stop.