he shouldn’t let his frustration show, but honestly, he had no idea what he was doing there.
“You shouldn’t curse. Mum won’t like it.”
Mac glowered at him and ground his teeth a little. If he thought “hell” was a curse, just wait until the kid got a load of Flynn.
“Do I have to call you Dad? I don’t want to. It doesn’t feel right.”
Well, hell, it wouldn’t feel right to him, either. Mac felt a quiver of relief run through him. He wasn’t sure he was quite ready for parenthood, especially to a ten-year-old, but he had to admire the kid’s directness.
“Okay, how about you call me Mac?”
The kid scratched his nose, his sharp black eyes still never leaving Mac’s face.
“I’ve always called you Cormack Blunt. ’Cos it’s your name.”
“Yeah, well, it’s what they call a screen name. Folks who know me call me Mac.”
Ryan was silent for a minute, his eyes still boring a hole into Mac, who was starting to wonder if he was ever going to survive until Ryan’s mother got home. Jeez, but it was hard work being with a kid.
“Now what?”
“Mac…” The kid tilted his head as he tested his name out. Waited. Mac wanted to drum his fingers on the table to move the kid along. He wanted to get up and go back to his hotel and rest in a cool, dark room until his brain stopped throbbing. But he waited.
“Mac…” the little guy repeated. “Do we have Native American in us?”
Surprised, Mac sat back and realized the kid wouldn’t have a clue about his side of the family. He took great care to keep it very private from the press.
“Sure we do.” He studied Ryan for a moment and then gave a wry smile. It sure as hell must have burned Zoe to realize the kid had no resemblance to her whatsoever. A little lick of pleasure trickled through his veins at the thought. He wondered how she’d reacted when she’d given birth to a black-haired, black-eyed baby. “Our genes are really strong. It’s why we look like we do.”
“I haven’t got jeans on, they’re school uniform trousers. They’re not as strong as jeans.”
Mac snorted and, despite himself, leaned over and scrubbed the kid’s head. He thought they might just get along.
“Let me explain. Give me some paper.”
*
She hoped he’d be gone by the time she got back, but her heart stuttered when she saw the enormous, bright red Lamborghini parked outside the gate. She sat in her battered old Land Rover and wondered how she was going to face him. She had told Ryan there was lasagna for dinner just to be polite, so Ryan wouldn’t think there was any friction between them. She hadn’t really expected Mac to stay; she’d hoped he’d take the initiative and leave before she arrived. She’d agreed to keep out of his way, but she had to come home sometime. She’d let Ryan know about dinner so Mac could make himself scarce before she arrived home. Seemed like either he hadn’t understood or he’d changed his mind about seeing her.
Dread filled her at the thought of facing him. Her pride was still in tatters.
She dragged her feet through the gate and then realized if anyone was watching, they would think she was just like her son, so she straightened her spine, pushed back her shoulders, and lifted her feet.
Male laughter greeted her as she walked into the warm, cozy kitchen and there they were, the three men who meant the most in her life—her son, her father, and the man she’d loved forever. She felt the pull on her heart as she mustered up a smile and caught her father’s eye.
“I’ve just served. Sit down, you’re late.” His voice was gruff as he glanced up at the clock.
“I know. We had to amputate a Labrador’s front leg.” She sat, weary and hungry as her dad put a plate of lasagna and salad in front of her. Her gaze flickered to the amount he had placed in front of Mac. She wondered if he’d get through it and then remembered how much he used to eat.
“Cool…” Ryan filled his mouth and spoke round
“You shouldn’t curse. Mum won’t like it.”
Mac glowered at him and ground his teeth a little. If he thought “hell” was a curse, just wait until the kid got a load of Flynn.
“Do I have to call you Dad? I don’t want to. It doesn’t feel right.”
Well, hell, it wouldn’t feel right to him, either. Mac felt a quiver of relief run through him. He wasn’t sure he was quite ready for parenthood, especially to a ten-year-old, but he had to admire the kid’s directness.
“Okay, how about you call me Mac?”
The kid scratched his nose, his sharp black eyes still never leaving Mac’s face.
“I’ve always called you Cormack Blunt. ’Cos it’s your name.”
“Yeah, well, it’s what they call a screen name. Folks who know me call me Mac.”
Ryan was silent for a minute, his eyes still boring a hole into Mac, who was starting to wonder if he was ever going to survive until Ryan’s mother got home. Jeez, but it was hard work being with a kid.
“Now what?”
“Mac…” The kid tilted his head as he tested his name out. Waited. Mac wanted to drum his fingers on the table to move the kid along. He wanted to get up and go back to his hotel and rest in a cool, dark room until his brain stopped throbbing. But he waited.
“Mac…” the little guy repeated. “Do we have Native American in us?”
Surprised, Mac sat back and realized the kid wouldn’t have a clue about his side of the family. He took great care to keep it very private from the press.
“Sure we do.” He studied Ryan for a moment and then gave a wry smile. It sure as hell must have burned Zoe to realize the kid had no resemblance to her whatsoever. A little lick of pleasure trickled through his veins at the thought. He wondered how she’d reacted when she’d given birth to a black-haired, black-eyed baby. “Our genes are really strong. It’s why we look like we do.”
“I haven’t got jeans on, they’re school uniform trousers. They’re not as strong as jeans.”
Mac snorted and, despite himself, leaned over and scrubbed the kid’s head. He thought they might just get along.
“Let me explain. Give me some paper.”
*
She hoped he’d be gone by the time she got back, but her heart stuttered when she saw the enormous, bright red Lamborghini parked outside the gate. She sat in her battered old Land Rover and wondered how she was going to face him. She had told Ryan there was lasagna for dinner just to be polite, so Ryan wouldn’t think there was any friction between them. She hadn’t really expected Mac to stay; she’d hoped he’d take the initiative and leave before she arrived. She’d agreed to keep out of his way, but she had to come home sometime. She’d let Ryan know about dinner so Mac could make himself scarce before she arrived home. Seemed like either he hadn’t understood or he’d changed his mind about seeing her.
Dread filled her at the thought of facing him. Her pride was still in tatters.
She dragged her feet through the gate and then realized if anyone was watching, they would think she was just like her son, so she straightened her spine, pushed back her shoulders, and lifted her feet.
Male laughter greeted her as she walked into the warm, cozy kitchen and there they were, the three men who meant the most in her life—her son, her father, and the man she’d loved forever. She felt the pull on her heart as she mustered up a smile and caught her father’s eye.
“I’ve just served. Sit down, you’re late.” His voice was gruff as he glanced up at the clock.
“I know. We had to amputate a Labrador’s front leg.” She sat, weary and hungry as her dad put a plate of lasagna and salad in front of her. Her gaze flickered to the amount he had placed in front of Mac. She wondered if he’d get through it and then remembered how much he used to eat.
“Cool…” Ryan filled his mouth and spoke round
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