The Sheikh's Secret Son (13 page)

“You've really got your hands full, don't you?” Holden asked. “And here I am, giving simplistic answers. Take Eden out on a few dates, romance her, find what you left in Paris. I promise, Ben, from now on, no more Dear Abby advice. I'll keep my big mouth shut.”

“No, my friend,” Ben said sincerely. “I value your advice, as much as I appreciate your love and concern for Eden and Sawyer.” Then he smiled. “Besides, I think you are correct. I love Sawyer, flesh of my flesh. That love was instant, the moment I learned of his existence. But I loved his mother first, Holden. I still love her. And, instead of fighting her, I should be letting her know how much I love her.”

“And Sawyer? We had a small talk, before you and my sister and the rattler showed up. Even though he's confused, perhaps somewhat angry and afraid, he's pretty damn excited about having a daddy. But if he's taking his cues from Eden, and he probably is, he won't let you see how thrilled he is unless he believes his mother is as happy, too. Eden may be very protective of Sawyer, but that protectiveness cuts both ways.”

Ben stood, as did Holden, and the two men shook hands. “I will be returning to San Antonio later this afternoon,” Ben said, having come to a decision. “I will speak with Sawyer before I go, and then to Eden. I will ask her to come with me, so that we might work out a solution that is best for Sawyer, for all three of us. And I will stop making demands,” he ended, smiling.

“And we'll keep a close guard on Sawyer for you, keep him here on the ranch where this fellow Nadim can't find him,” Holden promised. “You're going to work this out, Ben, I'm sure of it. Just give my sister her head for a little while longer, the way Sawyer did with Hercules, and she'll come around.”

“Well, if that isn't lovely, Holden,” Mary Ellen said, stepping out onto the porch. “Comparing your own sister to a headstrong horse?”

Holden winced and apologized to his mother, kissing her cheek, and taking his exit with more
haste than ease, waving at Ben and saying, “You're on your own, friend—I'm outta here!”

Ben gestured for Mary Ellen to sit on the rocker Holden had just vacated, then sat himself.

Eden's mother was a beautiful woman, a woman with the sort of classic features that would continue to be beautiful far into her eighties. Her skin was porcelain fair, her eyes a clear blue, her thick, wavy red hair making a striking frame for her face.

Eden, it would seem, had taken the best of both her mother and father, had combined that with a beauty of her own. Ben knew he could look at the mother and see the daughter as she would be in thirty years. A woman of refinement. A woman of intelligence. Of great courage. A woman a man could respect, admire. And love.

“So, Holden's been giving you pointers on the gentle art of correctly romancing a woman?” Mary Ellen said at last, her blue eyes looking very much amused. “If I were to tell that to Lucinda, she'd laugh long and hard.”

“Theirs was not an easy courtship?” Ben sat back, relaxed into the rocker. He had a friend in Mary Ellen Fortune, he could sense that, even if he was not sure he had an ally.

“I wouldn't be giving away any family secrets if I were to tell you that my husband made it a condition of his will that Holden find and marry a ‘re
spectable' woman before he could inherit. No, theirs was not an easy courtship. But they've found love now, and their marriage is all I could have hoped.”

“And what do you hope for Eden, Mrs. Fortune?”

“You're a nice man, Ben,” Mary Ellen said, obviously measuring her words carefully. “But you have no idea what Eden went through, coming back here, believing herself deceived, deserted. And then, of course, there was her disgust with herself for having acted so irrationally, having been so careless as to have become pregnant.”

Ben lowered his head. “We were both careless, Mrs. Fortune. I do not believe a woman to be solely responsible in such matters.”

“No, of course you don't. And that's all well and good. But it doesn't change the fact that Eden believed she had behaved as impulsively, as irresponsibly, as her father had been known to do. Don't get me wrong, Eden loved her father, very much. But she didn't respect him, and had vowed to herself that she would never be like him. Never hurt other people through her own rash actions, sacrificing common sense for the thrill of the moment.”

She took a small white handkerchief from her pocket, dabbed at her eyes. “But then she stood herself up, shook herself off, and got on with it. Came home to have her baby, completed law school, and
then took Sawyer and herself off to her first job in California. She wanted to stand on her own two feet, you understand, prove to us—and to herself—that she could be independent, that she could be a good mother and father to Sawyer.”

“I—I did not know any of this,” Ben said, wishing yet again that he could go back, that they both could go back, do things differently. “She must have hated me, and with good reason.”

“She never hated you, Ben,” Mary Ellen said firmly. “Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. I suppose she inherited that from me—loving one man, and one man only, no matter what.”

She smiled then, a sad, sympathetic smile. “Which doesn't mean she'll admit as much, even to herself. You've got a long row to hoe, Ben, a long row to hoe. But that's not why I came out here. I wanted to tell you that Eden is upstairs, packing. She insists on leaving Sawyer here and returning to San Antonio this afternoon. I believe she thinks it's the only way she can get rid of you. So, while you're sorting that out in your head, I thought you could go have a talk with Sawyer. He's in the family room, quite happily watching some Ninja Turtles videos.”

 

Eden stood at the archway leading into the family room, keeping herself out of sight as she watched Ben and Sawyer. She'd been standing there for more
than five minutes, and she still was having difficulty believing that Ben was lying on his stomach, doing some very wicked dragon slaying with the help of the joystick to Sawyer's favorite video game.

She didn't know why she was surprised, since the Ben she had known in Paris had delighted in simple pleasures, wasn't at all the starchy, formal Sheikh Barakah Karif Ramir she had met again a few days ago in San Antonio.

Was it Ben who had changed? Or was it her? Did he treat her differently now because of their long separation? Because she was Sawyer's mother? Or because now Ben was a head of state, a powerful sheikh, a man more used to command than to obedience? Because he was now more accustomed to the stiff formalities of royalty than to the easygoing ways they'd enjoyed in Paris?

Who was this man? Was he still Ben Ramsey? Or had the Ben she'd known, loved, been replaced by an intimidating, almost frightening prince? Had he been transformed from the loving, laughing companion she'd remembered, into a man who would take her son from her, without so much as a thought to how that would kill her?

Eden looked at her son, her baby, her whole life, her reason for living. Sawyer was sitting cross-legged beside Ben on the carpet in front of the television, cheering his father on as another dragon bit
the dust. Looking at them in profile, seeing the same dark hair, the same dark eyes, the same shape of their heads, Eden had to fold her arms tightly across her stomach to not moan and give herself away, alert them to her presence.

Was there nothing of her in Sawyer? Were Ben's genes so strong that they had overruled hers on everything from the color of Sawyer's eyes to the way he bit the bottom corner of his lip as he concentrated…just as Ben was now biting on the bottom corner of his own lip. What had she been? A mother? Or incubator to a prince?

She looked at Ben, and saw her son in thirty years.

She looked at Sawyer, and saw the boy Ben had been.

And her empty arms ached. Her heart ached. Her very soul cried out in silent despair.

The game ended when Ben allowed his warrior to be vaporized so that their son won the game. That was nice of him, Eden knew, and smart, too. As her mother had always said, “Allow a child to win at games until he's seven, to build his confidence and assure him he can win—but after that, take no prisoners! Children have to learn the sting of failure, too, in order to appreciate success.”

Eden was doubly grateful to Ben for deliberately losing to Sawyer, because he might have thrown a
tantrum if he'd lost. Not that Sawyer threw a lot of tantrums, but the ones he threw were usually humdingers. She didn't want Ben to see Sawyer in anything but the best possible light.

“You're going now?” Sawyer asked as Ben got to his feet, looked toward the archway, his left eyebrow raised, silently telling Eden he'd known she'd been there all along. His dark eyes invited her to watch, to see how he and his son were getting along—how brilliantly they were getting along.

This was punishment, she was sure of it, even as she also believed Ben was about to prove to her how important a father could be in her son's life. How important Sawyer was to Ben's life as well as to hers.

“I am leaving now, yes, as I told you I must,” he said as Sawyer clambered to his feet, pushed one faintly dirty hand through his unruly mop of dark hair. “But we will have that lesson with Hercules another time, I promise. We will see each other again soon.”

Sawyer dipped his head. “And then you'll go away again,” he said, his bereft tone sneaking into Eden's heart, cracking it. “Tommy Barnes isn't going to believe me when I tell him I have a dad. Not if you're not here. And he's got
two.
I should be able to have one, shouldn't I?”

Ben went down on his haunches, putting himself
at eye level with his son. He placed his hands on Sawyer's shoulders, looked deeply into his eyes. “You have a father, Jamil, and I am he. I am with you always, even when I cannot be here. My love shelters you, protects you, watches over you. Always believe that, Jamil, for I will never lie to you. You are blood of my blood, blood of our ancestors. In time, you will learn the fullness of that gift, of that obligation. For now, however,” he said, ruffling Sawyer's hair, “we will content ourselves with speaking to each other every night on the telephone. Remember?”

Sawyer nodded, although his posture remained ramrod straight, almost brittle. “At seven-thirty, just before I go to bed. I remember.”

“Good. And now, if you would not mind, I would ask a favor of you, Jamil.”

“Of me? Sure. What is it?”

“I would ask if I, your father, might kiss your cheeks, hold your strong body against mine, just for a moment. If I promise not to go—how is it said?—all
sappy
on you, will you allow that?”

Sawyer bit his bottom lip, considering the request. “I suppose so,” he said at last. “Go ahead.”

Eden already had her hands pressed hard against her mouth to cover an involuntary sob. But she closed her eyes now, twin tears spilling over to run down her face, as Ben took her son's head between
his hands, then slowly, reverently, kissed each soft, baby cheek.

Sawyer threw his arms around Ben, in the innocent acceptance of youth, and Eden watched as Ben pulled him close in an embrace, kneeling before her son. Their son. Loving him. Giving love.

She turned on her heels and ran back through the house, the screen door slamming as she stumbled outside onto the porch.

“Eden? What's wrong?”

Eden wiped at her wet cheeks, then turned to see her mother sitting in her favorite rocker.

“Nothing, Mom,” she said, her bottom lip trembling. “Everything.”

“I see,” Mary Ellen said, shaking her head to prove that she didn't “see” at all.

“He called him Jamil,” Eden blurted, leaning against one of the heavy wooden porch posts for a moment, then pushing herself upright once more, beginning to pace. “His name isn't Jamil, dammit! It's Sawyer! How dare he do this? Who in hell does he think he is?”

“I believe, darling, that he thinks he's Sawyer's father,” Mary Ellen said calmly. “As you got to pick his American name, I suppose Ben felt he was entitled to choose his Arab name. Jamil? That's rather nice, isn't it?”

“Oh, good, Mom,” Eden snapped angrily. “Side
with him. I'm sure he'll be grateful. Grateful enough to maybe let you come to the airport to see
Jamil
off as he whisks him away to Kharmistan. Or haven't you thought about that one?”

“Kharmistan
is
a part of Sawyer's heritage, Eden,” her mother pointed out gently. “And it would perhaps be better if he arrived there with a name more suited to his role as heir to the throne. But you can't seriously tell me you believe Ben would whisk Sawyer off—kidnap him?”

Eden stopped pacing, stared at her mother. “No, I don't believe he'd sneak him away in the middle of the night, or anything like that. But it isn't as if we could arrange some civilized visitation rights such as weekend visits, now is it? He'll probably want him every summer, when school's out. And how do I compete with a kingdom, Mom? It won't take long before Sawyer wants to visit more often, until he wants to live there. I mean—a kingdom? A palace? His every wish and want catered to, day and night? It would be like Disney World for Sawyer. I'll lose him.”

“You'll lose him? Eden Fortune, I'm ashamed of you!” Mary Ellen said, getting to her feet. “Are you even
listening
to yourself? You're Sawyer's mother. He
loves
you. If you don't have faith in yourself, Eden, or trust in Ben, for goodness' sake have some small bit of faith and trust in my grandson!”

“Oh, Mom,” Eden moaned, allowing herself to be gathered into Mary Ellen's loving embrace. “I'm so scared. What am I going to do?”

“You're going to follow your heart, darling,” her mother told her quietly, stroking her hair. “In the end, that's all you can do. That's all any of us can do.”