The Secret Son

  The Secret Son

  Secrets of Cherry Lake Romance

  Joan Kilby

  The Secret Son

  Copyright © 2015 Joan Kilby

  EPUB Edition

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-943963-00-3

  Dedication

  To my mother and father, for raising me and my brother and sisters in a small, rural community. Horses, cherry orchards, fields and woods. For a kid, it doesn’t get better than that.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Dear Reader

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  The Secrets of Cherry Lake Series

  About the Author

  Dear Reader,

  I love a family dynasty and am so excited to be part of the Secrets of Cherry Lake series!

  I especially love that my story is centered around a cherry orchard. So many elements resonate with me. When I was a kid we had a half dozen cherry trees on our property. I spent many happy hours perched high on a shady limb, reading books and munching on ripe cherries. I even had a horse named Cherry, a glossy bay mare with black mane and tail who could eat a cherry and spit out the pit. It’s true, I swear!

  The other thing I enjoyed about writing Heart’s Waiting was pairing up Alex, a sophisticated city guy, with Emma, a local country girl. I had fun exploring their preconceived notions about each other and dismantling them one by one. At the heart of the story, Alex and Emma are a couple who are made for each other.

  Finally, the whole idea of a secret family has intrigued me for a long time. Imagine the surprise to discover you had a whole set of half-brothers and sisters you never knew about. It was tricky making Alex’s father, a man who kept big secrets, a likable character. But it was worth it to give Alex the family he’d always longed for.

  I love hearing from readers. Feel free to drop me a line at joan@joankilby.com To find out more about my books go to joankilby.com

  Happy Reading!

  Joan Kilby

  Chapter One

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  Alex came awake with a pounding headache to the remix of “I Got You, Babe.” Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock. Six am. With a groan he hit the button and the crooning stopped.

  A murmur from the sleeping blonde next to him on his charcoal cotton sheets made him look around with a frown. He knew he recognized her but for the life of him couldn’t remember her name. She was still wearing a crushed party hat twisted around her neck.

  Last night came flooding back. His thirtieth birthday bash last night at the Four Seasons in downtown Seattle with a hundred of his closest friends. Tequila shooters lined up on the bar, a live band, fireworks on the rooftop… After two a.m. things had gotten blurry.

  A computer printout of an airline ticket on the nightstand caught his eye. Ah, yes, the reason for the early wakeup. He was flying to Cancun today. Late July wasn’t the best time of year for Mexico but he had to go when it was convenient for the firm. He’d planned this trip for nearly a year, carving out the time as a reward for making partner in his marketing firm and a well-deserved break from his high stress job.

  Sun, sand, more tequila, more blondes. All the things he loved best.

  So why wasn’t he more excited? Why the heavy head and hollow chest? Must be the hangover. A coffee, a few aspirin and he’d be fine.

  He put a hand on the blonde’s shoulder to wake her. Tegan? Tori? Tanya? She stirred and not wanting to risk it, he settled for, “Morning.”

  Her mascaraed lashes pulled apart and she stared at him blearily. “What time is it?”

  “Early. I’ve got to go.” He hesitated. “Um, were you coming with me?”

  “To Mexico? Nah. I’m taking over the Newman account while you’re gone, remember?”

  Tanya, that was it. His hotshot freelance replacement, hired just last week. Relief washed through him at knowing he hadn’t invited her along, as attractive as she was. Why would she go when she had a plum account dropped into her lap? No doubt she planned to make herself indispensable while he was gone. Not that she’d said as much but he’d been dating her type for years. Smart, beautiful and ambitious. Not cold and calculating exactly but neither would she cry when their affair ended. Like him, the women he hooked up with weren’t into lasting relationships.

  “Okay, well, I’ve got to run. Let yourself out when you’re ready.” He pressed a light kiss to her lips. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

  Maybe.

  Suddenly he was awash with self-disgust. Thirty years old and this was all he had to show for his personal life? Waking up with a virtual stranger and feeling relieved at not being tied down?

  He dragged himself into the shower and tried to scrub away the feeling of disquiet. He’d had a blast last night. Hadn’t he? So much to celebrate. A milestone birthday, a skyrocketing career, a million dollar apartment and a brand-new BMW sports car, his present to himself. Women lined up for the asking. What more could he want?

  Well, he wanted…something. The answer was on the tip of his mind, just out of reach. If he wasn’t so foggy-headed, he would figure it out.

  He flipped off the water and grabbed a towel, annoyed. Why was he feeling this way, like something was missing from his life? By all measurable criteria he was a huge success. Sure, he missed his mom and wished she’d lived to see him make partner even if she’d been too much of a hippie to appreciate his elevated status in a business she didn’t admire. But much as he’d loved her, that wasn’t the source of this sudden discontent that felt as heavy as a lead cloak around his shoulders.

  He pressed a hand to his flat belly. Maybe he was just hungry.

  He went to throw the towel in the hamper to be collected by the maid service—Oh. There on the wicker lid was a birthday card with a picture of a lake and a fishing boat. It had arrived yesterday and he hadn’t opened it until the wee hours when he’d been sober enough to tear it open but too drunk to absorb the significance.

  He shivered despite the heat lamp. It was the card that was bothering him. It must have worked on his subconscious during the night. He picked it up by the corner as if it might burn his fingers and read the handwritten message again.

  Happy Birthday Son. I know it’s been a long time but I’m thinking of you today. I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. Love, Dad.

  What a load of crap. His father, thinking of him, really? Then why had he abandoned him and his mom when Alex was just five years old? Alex threw the card toward the trash can so hard it bounced on the rim and fell to the floor.

  Ignoring it, he tilted his jaw to run the shaver in angry circles. Robert Jackson had returned to his hometown of Cherry Lake to help in the family orchard after his father had a heart attack. At first he’d come home on the weekends but as the weeks turned into months he stayed away for longer and longer periods. He stopped visiting altogether when Alex was about t
welve. By the time he was sixteen his dad had stopped phoning, too.

  Oh, Robert Jackson had sent child support faithfully for years and when Alex graduated high school there’d been a lump sum to pay for college. Christmas and birthday gifts came until he was eighteen. For all that he was very grateful. But he would have preferred his father’s presence rather than his presents.

  So now, after over fifteen years of silence, to say ‘I’m thinking of you’? Bullshit.

  Thank God for Harry Chernoff, the man his mom married eventually. The owner of an appliance store, Harry was older and not much interested in small children but he’d adopted Alex and given him his last name. He’d been a solid presence in Alex’s life, someone who could be counted on.

  Alex dressed and slipped back into his bedroom to retrieve his already packed suitcase and his ticket. Tanya had gone back to sleep. He went quietly out, detouring through the sleekly modern kitchen to grab an apple to eat on the way to the airport.

  The envelope his father’s card had come in was on the counter. He picked it up to throw it in the garbage and a photo slid out. Hadn’t noticed that last night. He, aged about seven, and his father were standing beneath a cherry tree full of ripe fruit. His dad’s hand was around his shoulder and he’d playfully pulled him to his side. Alex wore a goofy grin, his lips stained red from all the cherries he’d eaten.

  Suddenly his eyes blurred and he couldn’t breathe. He’d almost forgotten that time he and his mom had driven down to Cherry Lake. Back then, his dad was still going back and forth between Cherry Lake and Castlegar although his visits were infrequent and he’d moved most of his clothes out of the closet he’d shared with Alex’s mom. In Alex’s mind though, someday the crisis would be over in Cherry Lake and his dad would come home for good.

  On the day the photo was taken, his father met them in the orchard instead of taking them into the big log house. While his mom and dad talked, Alex had climbed trees and gorged on the ripe fruit. They couldn’t have stayed more than an hour or so. But he remembered the cherry trees and how sad his dad was when he and Mom were getting into the car to drive away. How he’d given Alex an extra big hug as he said goodbye as if he already knew he wasn’t ever coming back to live in their home, across the border in Canada.

  Alex blinked hard and let out a furious gust. Damn it, he didn’t have time for this sentimental bullshit. His father didn’t get to abandon his mother and virtually ignore him for nearly fifteen years and then try to reconnect with a birthday card. Too little, too late.

  He shoved the photo back into the envelope and threw them both in the garbage. He picked up his suitcase and was almost out of the door when he stopped, remembering that when he’d cleared out his mom’s house last year he hadn’t found a single picture of Robert. This was the only link to a father he’d once hero-worshipped.

  So what? Robert Jackson hadn’t proved worthy of the title of father. He belonged in the trash. Still, Alex couldn’t move. His hand twisted on the door knob, his feet shuffled impatiently. Oh, what the hell. He strode back to the kitchen, fished the envelope out of the garbage, and stuck it in the side pocket of his suitcase.

  He took the elevator to the basement parking and threw his suitcase into the trunk of his sports car. Revving the engine, he roared up the ramp into Bellevue’s quiet Sunday morning streets. A few minutes later he was on the 405 heading south toward Sea-Tac. He ignored the hollow ache in his chest. No doubt it would go away as soon as he was on the plane and a pretty flight attendant was bringing him a coffee. What the hell were these waves of self-disgust about anyway? He had a great life. Screw that card and photo.

  In Puerto Vallarta he would check into his resort, find a thatched-roof bar beside the ocean, a margarita and a willing blonde. All would be well with his world again.

  The turnoff for Highway 90 heading east to Montana loomed ahead. He gripped the wheel tighter with both hands, overcome by the sudden urge to go see his father. No, absolutely not. He had a plane to catch and a vacation for which he’d worked his butt off. Why would he even entertain the notion of a detour? Robert Jackson must be what, fifty-three, fifty-four years old? He and his mom had been young when they’d had him. The card was a spurt of guilt brought on by maudlin middle age.

  Now Mom was gone at forty-nine, long before her time, of ovarian cancer. No warning, then one day she had only months to live. Barely enough time to absorb the news before he had to say goodbye. Only after she died had he thought of all the questions he would have liked to ask her. Questions about his past and his father. She must have called Robert before she went. How else would he have known of her passing? But why was his father making contact with him now?

  What if he was sick? No, highly unlikely. His memory of his father was a man who had always been athletic and healthy, brimming with vigor. And yet, his dad’s father had been seriously ill when he must have been about Robert’s age now. Was there a genetic condition, something Alex had never been told about?

  He shook his head and tried to push away those thoughts. Yes, his mom’s death had showed him the precariousness of life but there was no reason to think his father might be ill. On the other hand, how did he know he wasn’t? He didn’t, that was the problem. So what? Robert could go jump in a lake and drown for all he cared. His father had long ago relinquished all right to Alex’s concern.

  Traffic slowly increased as he drove south. He glanced at the GPS and the estimated time to his destination. Plenty of time to park in the long term parking lot and check in. Maybe grab a coffee and a donut before getting on the plane.

  What if his father was sick? The thought snuck back in. Alex massaged his aching temple. He wasn’t a fanciful person or given to pessimism but instead of diminishing, his unease grew. It occurred to him how little he knew about his father’s family. Robert had never talked about them and his mom hadn’t known much beyond saying a falling out had led Robert to come to Canada. But then his dad had gone back to Cherry Lake. Had Robert’s father survived the illness? Was Robert’s mom alive? Did he have brothers and sisters? Had he married and had more children?

  A clammy cold crept over Alex despite the warmth of the July day. As an only child, his darkest fear, the one that haunted him in the wee hours, was of growing old and being alone. His mother was dead, Harry long gone, his father a vivid but distant memory. Mom and Harry hadn’t had any more children. Alex had no brothers or sisters. No wife. Barely knew his cousins back in Castlegar. He had friends but they were mostly through work and who knew how long those relationships would last if he changed jobs or moved away. He wouldn’t wish being alone at the end of his life on his worst enemy. Not even his father.

  Okay, fine. First chance he got he would pull over, do a search for a phone number and give the old man a call.

  Yeah, like he’s going to open up to you over the phone. His mom had reassured him she was going to be fine after she’d received her prognosis, not wanting him to worry. It wasn’t till he’d traveled to her home that he’d seen how sick she was.

  What then? He could drive to Cherry Lake and be there late this afternoon, see for himself that Robert was okay, drive back tomorrow and catch the next available flight.

  His thumb went round and round on his temple. This was stupid. He was jumping to conclusions. There was no reason to think his father was ill much less that he needed Alex. He hadn’t ever needed Alex in his life.

  The turnoff for 90 East was upon him. A semi-trailer was roaring up the right lane from behind. It was now or never. In his mind he saw again the image of his father’s hand on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of those strong fingers pulling him close.

  At the last second Alex put on his indicator and gunned the engine, shooting ahead of the truck and onto the exit ramp.

  *

  Emma tapped the steering wheel and sang along to the radio as she putted along Route 35 in her little blue Honda. Vast and sparkling blue, Flathead Lake lay on her left and to her right in the middle distance wer
e the snow-capped mountains of the Mission Range. For mile after mile she drove past cherry orchards glistening with clusters of bright red fruit among shiny green leaves. Her spirits lifted as she got closer to the town of Cherry Lake, where she’d grown up and where her mom and sister still lived. Take me home, country road…

  Not that she lived so very far away in Missoula, where she worked in pest management for the state agriculture department. Today was the first day of her annual vacation but she was going to sample for fruit flies in the Jackson’s orchard. Even though it was her job, she would happily do it for free. The Jacksons were like a second family to her.

  Behind her, a car horn beeped, the driver letting her know he wanted to pass. She glanced in her rear view mirror at the shiny silver BMW convertible that had zoomed up seemingly out of nowhere. Behind his dark glasses the driver stared impassively back. A spurt of irritation for city folk who were always in a hurry dampened her mood. With a sparse but steady stream of vehicles coming in the opposite direction on the two lane road he didn’t have a hope of getting around her. No way was she going to pull over on the narrow gravel shoulder.

  Instead, she stepped on the gas and got up to the speed limit, even went two miles over. That wasn’t good enough for Mr. BMW who rode her bumper all the way to the town’s limits where houses started to appear, strung out along the lakefront. She tapped the brakes to give him the hint to stay back, throwing him a frown in the mirror. Chill, dude.

  An opening appeared and he gunned the engine and zipped past, leaving her with a fleeting impression of a strong profile, black hair tossed by the wind, tanned arms and navy polo shirt. The fact that he was physically attractive only served to make his behavior worse. Men like him thought they could get away with anything. Her too-handsome father had certainly thought so when he’d kept her mom on a string for years, promising over and over to settle down but never doing so for long.