Her Secret, His Child: A Little Secret by Tara Quinn (rosie project .txt) 📕

party at the invitation of an old college buddy, to avoid thinking about the woman he'd buried that day. The mother he'd never loved. More emotionally vulnerable than he'd realized, he'd told Jamie things he'd never told anyone before—or since. Dreams, hopes, emotional stuff a man spent most of his life avoiding. He'd told her how lonely and empty his childhood had been. Without needing any of the details, details he'd been loath to give, she'd known exactly how he felt— because she'd grown up lonely, too. Was still alone, inside, where life really happened. He'd always loved reading, had always escaped into books. So had she. She wanted to be a mother—and have a house with a white picket fence. He hoped to write a classic someday.

But more than the words they'd said were the things they'd understood without words. They'd connected in a way he'd never known was possible, an intimate, intuitive way.

The sex had been an unexpected bonus. She'd given herself to him joyfully. Willingly.

And Kyle didn't turn his back on what was his.

The note from Ashley's teacher was a total shock. It came home with Ashley two days later, just after

HER SECRET, HIS CHILD

Jamie had hung up the phone from leaving a message for Kyle Radcliff. His taxes were done. All she needed was his signature in the appropriate places and she could mail them—and him—right out of her life.

"Miss Peters wants you to have this," Ashley said, running into the house. Karen and Kayla were right behind her.

Jamie's eyes met Karen's over the girls' heads. Opening the envelope, she frowned; Karen just shrugged and mouthed the words, "Don't know."

Ms. Archer, Jamie's hand trembled as she tried to read the letter she held.

I'm sorry to have to report that your daughter, Ashley, had some trouble at school today involving one of her classmates. Please call me at your earliest convenience to discuss…

"Ash?"

"Yes, Mommy?" The little girl left the toy she'd been showing Kayla and came over to Jamie's desk.

"You have some trouble at school today?"

Ashley shook her head, auburn curls bouncing with the force of her denial.

"Miss Peters said you did."

"Pro'bly means that dumb Nathan," Kayla muttered, not looking up from the different-sized squares she was fitting one into the other.

Karen's raised eyebrows and shake of her head were the only help Jamie got from that direction.

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"What happened with Nathan?" Jamie asked her daughter, taking Ashley's hands in her own.

"He says dumb stuff 'cause he's dumb."

"That's not a nice word to use, Ash, especially when you're talking about someone else."

"But it's true, Mommy, he is dumb." Ashley's pretty gray eyes were somber yet completely sincere.

"And I'll bet you told him so, didn't you, Ash?" Karen asked, still standing in the doorway. Her gaze was compassionate.

Ashley nodded and Jamie let the little girl go. Ashley's thumb promptly found her mouth.

Jamie would have her talk with Miss Peters first, and then, when she had the full story, she'd have a heart-to-heart talk with her daughter. Ashley needed to learn to be a little more accepting of other people's shortcomings.

"How about some lunch?" she asked.

Karen nodded, but her smile was forced. ' 'I made some chicken salad this morning," she said. "How's that sound?"

"Great." Standing, Jamie ushered the two energetic children next door.

But as she helped Karen make sandwiches and pour juice, Jamie felt increasingly worried about her friend. Karen had been looking a little lost ever since she'd taken the pregnancy test. She wasn't bubbling with excitement yet. Not the way Jamie would be if she were in her shoes. She decided Karen was probably just anxious for Dennis to come home so she could share her news. He was going to be thrilled.

Of that Jamie was certain.

CHAPTER FIVE

"We'd like you to make things a little easier on him."

Pulling off his glasses, Kyle peered up at the coach standing in the doorway of his office. For a Monday, the day was going stereotypically true to form.

"You want me to doctor his grade."

Coach Lippert, the head coach of Gunnison's football team, slipped his bulky frame into the room and closed the door.

"Brad Miller's good. Better than good."

Kyle nodded. He could appreciate that. Talent was a valuable commodity. As was integrity.

"He's star material. Scouts are already looking at him. Another year at the university and he's sure to get the offer of a lifetime." Coach Lippert came closer, leaning his beefy hands on Kyle's desk.

"I hope he gets it."

"He's already on academic probation. If he doesn't pass your lit class, he's out."

"I've offered to tutor him."

"Come on, Professor." Coach Lippert pushed away from the desk. "The boy shows up for every class. He attempts all the homework. And he's still

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failing. You really think a little tutoring's gonna help?"

Kyle shrugged. "I can only give him the grade he earns."

"That's bullshit and we both know it." The coach paced in front of Kyle's desk, his shoulders bunched until his neck disappeared beneath a face getting redder by the minute. "Your tests are mostly essay questions, they're subjective. You control the grades."

"On the basis of preset criteria."

"But it's your opinion as to whether or not he meets those criteria."

"To date, Brad Miller hasn't met any of them. If he reads this stuff at all—'' Kyle held up a copy of Twain's Huckleberry Finn "—he doesn't comprehend a single sentence."

"It's a little late in the boy's life to be diagnosing reading disorders, Professor. All he needs is one more semester. Two at the most, and he's home free. Without football he doesn't have a hope in hell of making something of himself."

"Most of the essay questions are also discussed in class. If he can't figure out what a novel or a poem's about, he could learn it in class."

The coach slammed his palm against Kyle's desk. "You're not going to budge on this, are you?"

"I'll tutor him. Every afternoon if you like."

"He's got a workout schedule!"

"I guess he needs to decide what's most important."

"To Brad Miller, football is the most