His Son, Her Secret(32)

Unless she was lying to him.

Again.

* * *

Byron was going to beat these damned pot racks into submission. He was  also going to put together the storage racks and if things went  according to plan, he'd have all of those things done before the sous  chef candidate he was supposed to interview arrived at four.                       
       
           



       

The kitchen was taking shape. They'd kept the commercial-grade  six-burner stove, but the rest of the appliances-the ovens, the stoves,  the refrigerators and freezers-were all on order and scheduled to be  delivered within the next three weeks. Once they had those and the rest  of the furniture, it'd really begin to feel like a restaurant.

It was nice that something in his life was coming together. The fight  with Leona from last night was still fresh in his mind. He had to go  home and face her today-she'd stayed home with Percy-and he didn't know  how he was going to do that.

He had been an idiot to think that he could live with her without being  able to trust her. More than that, he was an idiot for thinking that,  somehow, living with her without complete trust would be different for  them than it'd been for his parents.

This experiment had failed. They were broken as a couple and there was no putting them back together.

But even thinking that made him hurt. Damn it all, he didn't want to give up on her, on them.

Finally, after some rather loud cussing, Byron got the pot rack screwed  to the wall. He was just about to grab the second one when he heard,  "Hello?" from the front of the restaurant.

"Hello!" he called back. "I'm in the kitchen!" He grabbed a rag to wipe  his hands and glanced at his phone- 3:45 p.m. Either the sous chef was  early or the landscapers had an issue.

The moment he crossed the threshold from the kitchen into the  restaurant, he sensed something was wrong. The sous chef would have come  alone. The landscapers had all been wearing matching work outfits  emblazoned with their company logo.

Instead, two very large men in very tailored suits stood just inside  the restaurant so they blocked out the afternoon sunlight that filtered  through the open door. With their thick necks, matching buzz cuts and  wraparound sunglasses, they looked like what they probably were-hired  muscle.

In front of them stood a thin man in an even nicer suit. His long face  and hunched shoulders made him look small, at least compared with the  bruisers standing behind him.

Byron came to a quick halt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the  landscapers' shadows moving in front of the casement windows. Hopefully,  if there was trouble-and that's exactly what it looked like was about  to happen-the crew would come to his aid. Otherwise, his best hope was  to get back to the kitchen and grab the hammers and screwdrivers. A man  could do a lot of damage with a hammer.

"Help you?" he asked warily.

"Byron Beaumont?" the smaller man said with obvious distaste.

"Who wants to know?"

One of the bruisers behind the smaller man made a snorting noise.

"Is he here?" The thin, reedy voice came from behind the muscle. The  small man stepped to the side just as a gleaming silver-and-black  walking stick poked between the bruisers, shoving them aside.

And there he was, Leon Harper in the flesh. He looked older than Byron  remembered him, especially when he leaned on the walking stick. The  lines around his eyes were deeper. But there was no mistaking him for  any other elderly man in a natty suit.

Byron blinked, hoping and praying that he'd fallen off the ladder or  dropped the pot rack on his head-anything that could produce a  hallucination as unwanted as this.

But no. He knew this was no nightmare-especially not when Leon Harper  got a good look at him and smiled viciously. It was the exact same smile  he'd given Byron when he'd placed Leona into the family car and  announced that Byron would never have his daughter. It was the smile of  certain victory.

It was the smile of evil.

"Oh, that's him, all right. I'd recognize the Beaumont spawn anywhere,"  he said to the thin man. "I hear you're back-and with my daughter."

The way he said it-emphasizing my so heavily-made Byron's skin crawl.  There was no love in the old man's voice. Just ownership. "And that's  your business how?"

Harper clucked. "You should have stayed away from her, boy. I was  content to let her have the child just so long as you didn't have it-or  her."

It? Was this shell of a man seriously referring to Byron's son as an  it? Oh, hell, no. The hairs on the back of Byron's neck stood at  attention. Yeah, a man could do a lot of damage with a hammer.

But he knew better than to rise to the bait. Growing up in Hardwick's  household had taught Byron how to not get sucked into a fight. When a  blowhard old man desperately wanted you to fight back, the only way to  win-and drive him nuts-was to stay silent.

So that's what Byron did. He still had the rag in his hand, so he  casually wound it around his knuckles. There was no way he could take  out the bruisers, but if he could get a good shot at Harper...                       
       
           



       

Well, either Harper would sue him back into the Stone Age or Byron  would be locked up for involuntary manslaughter. Possibly both.

But it might be worth it, he decided, if it kept his family free from the clutches of this vindictive old rat.

Harper waited for a moment. His eyes hardened in displeasure at Byron's  lack of engagement, but then he smiled widely again. He nodded to the  thin man, who moved toward Byron and held out a thick envelope.

"Since my daughter has sought to further blemish the proud Harper name  by continuing her association with the likes of you," the old rat went  on as Byron refused to take the envelope from the thin man, "I have come  to the unavoidable conclusion that she must not be operating in her  right mind. I'm having her declared unfit to be a mother and petitioning  the state for custody."

"You're insane," Byron sputtered before he could keep his mouth shut.

The response was exactly what Harper was looking for. "Me?" He tried to  look innocent, but he clearly didn't know how to do that. He probably  hadn't been innocent in a good eighty years. "I'm just a concerned  father worried about his daughter and the environment in which she's  raising my grandchildren."

"You can't claim custody of Percy. I'm his father. And I only have one child with Leona."

Harper clucked. "Do you, now? An absentee father who shows up only long  enough to impregnate her again? That doesn't give you a particularly  strong leg to stand upon, you realize." He buffed his fingernails on his  suit jacket and looked at them as if they were by far the most  interesting things in the room.

"She's not pregnant."

"Isn't she?" Harper smiled, revealing graying teeth that matched his  graying hair. Byron's gut clenched. She had said babies last night. "Or  maybe she's just not telling you about it. Because she is most certainly  pregnant. And I give you my word-you'll never see that child. Never."  He motioned toward the lawyer. "My counsel has prepared an airtight  case."

The thin man held out the envelope again and this time, Byron snatched it irritably. "You won't win."

"There's where you're wrong," Harper intoned in all seriousness. "I always win, boy."

He shouldn't-but he couldn't help himself. He knew there was one chink  in Harper's self-righteous armor, and a huge, gaping chink at that. If  the old rat was going to make Byron suffer, the least he could do was  return the favor. "I'll be sure to pass that along to your first wife."

Harper stiffened, murder in his eyes. One of the bruisers took a step  forward, but Harper whipped his cane up and held the man back.  "Flippant, boy." Hate dripped off his every word. "Very flippant."

It felt good to score a hit against the old man. Leon Harper had once  taken everything Byron held dear. No way Byron would let the old man win  a second time. No way in hell.

"Trying to take my son away from me won't even the score, Harper. And when you lose, you'll never see the boy again."

Harper's thin lips twitched in satisfaction. "I might say the same to  you. You're holding a petition to sever your paternal rights." Byron's  glare bounced uselessly off the old man. "Unless you sign," Harper went  on, clearly enjoying himself, "your flippant little tale of impregnating  my daughter and then abandoning her will be front-page news. Doctors  testifying to her mental state will give lengthy interviews and as for  you?" His grin sharpened. "By the time I'm done with you, boy, I'll have  run you, the entire Beaumont clan and this godforsaken beer company  into the ground. You have a week. Good day." He turned, the bruisers  parting for the old man to pass.