“Since I found you on the logging road.”
His hands went back to her shoulders, and those damn thumbs lifted her chin again. “Does Michael know?”
“Probably.”
He slammed a fist into the wall over her head, shuddering the entire building. She closed her eyes when that hand returned, this time wrapping ever so securely around her throat.
“My son was stolen from me fifteen years ago—and you, Miss Sands, are directly responsible for the last ten of them. Tell me why I shouldn’t hate you.”
“Because that would take your son from you forever, Mr. Sinclair.”
He pushed away from her, kicked the water tank, and spun back to face her. “Why didn’t you try to find me when Kelly left?”
“Because Michael wasn’t ready to know you yet. He was only five. Did you expect me to introduce a child to a father who had abandoned him before birth when he’d just been abandoned by his mother? Michael needed stability. He needed me.”
“I didn’t abandon him. I never knew about Michael! I never knew Kelly was pregnant! Why didn’t you contact me later?”
Emma just stared at him.
“Dammit! Who the hell do you think you are, playing God with my life!”
“Your identity has never been kept from him. I expected Michael to look you up himself, once he was grown. The decision is his, not mine.”
Emma turned and opened the door, then looked back. “I don’t know if I believe you. Kelly said she told you she was pregnant, and that you didn’t seem all that concerned. But I do know you have a wonderful, very precious son, Mr. Sinclair. And if you ever do anything to hurt Michael, I will hunt you down and kill you.”
It took every ounce of courage Ben possessed to walk into the kitchen that evening. He nearly faltered when he saw there were only two places set at the table, and that Michael was sitting at one of them.
The boy knew who he was. Maybe. Probably, Emma had said. Michael had probably known all along that the bastard who’d seduced his mother and then walked away sixteen years ago had sat across the table from him every day for the last seven days.
How had he done it? How did a fifteen-year-old boy look a father he had never seen before in the eye, and talk to him about the history of his home, his problems with a generator, his schoolwork, and the weather? Everyday things. Meaningless, casual conversation.
“Your aunt’s not joining us tonight?”
“Nemmy’s away.”
Ben stood behind his chair and looked at his son. “But her truck’s still here. So’s the plane.”
The boy stared back at him, his eyes a calm gray ocean of unreadable depth. “She’s gone into the woods.” He took Ben’s plate to the stove and filled it.
Ben pulled out his chair and sat down. “What does that mean, she’s gone into the woods?”
Michael set a plate of stew and dumplings in front of him. “It means she’s troubled.” He sat down and picked up his fork, resting his arms on the table, looking at Ben with still calm but questioning regard. “Do you happen to know what could be troubling her, Mr. Sinclair?”
Ben picked up his fork. “She told you who I am.”
“No. I’ve known since you walked up to me at Smokey Bog.”
Ben snapped his gaze to Michael’s. “Then why the pretense all week? Why didn’t you say something?”
“You chose to come here under another name. It was your move.”
Ben took a deep breath and blew out a heavy sigh. “Only once I got here I couldn’t decide how to make that move. I didn’t know how to walk up to you and say, ‘Hi, I’m your father.’” He shrugged. “I still don’t know what to say to you.”
A slight grin crept into the corners of Michael’s mouth as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “You could have said how glad you were to finally meet me.”
Well, hell. It seemed this boy—this man-child—didn’t resent him, but simply was glad to meet his father. “You sent me that letter.”
“What letter?”
Well, someone had sent that damn letter. “About a month ago a letter was sent to me, unsigned, from Medicine Gore. All it said was that I had a son, and that I should … I should come meet him.”
“So you came.”
“I’d have come sooner if I’d known about you.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I never would have left if I’d known about you.”
“I didn’t send it.”
“Would your aunt have?”
Michael drove his fork into his stew. “Nope. Not Nem. She hates your guts.”
“So I gathered. Mike, do you believe me? That I didn’t abandon you?”
The boy shrugged as he took another bite. “Probably, knowing Kelly. She could be … self-serving sometimes.”
Which was why Ben had eventually been relieved when Kelly had turned him down sixteen years ago, when he’d asked her to come home to New York with him.
“Could Kelly have sent me the letter?”
The boy looked thoughtful, then shook his head. “Not likely. My mother hasn’t been heard from in over ten years. And you said it was postmarked Medicine Gore.” He looked toward the bank of windows over the sink, seeming to take stock of all the gifts adorning them. Ben saw a shadow of pain move over his face before he turned back. “Nem must have sent it.”
“But why? She loves you. She wouldn’t want to risk your leaving with me.”
“Because she does love me. Because this clear-cutting war scares the hell out of her. She would do anything to make sure I’m safe.”
Ben lowered his gaze. “I know about Emma’s father.” He looked back at his son. “Your grandfather was killed just before you were born.”
Michael stared directly into Ben’s eyes. “Someone blew up the dam the paper company was building. Grampy Sands got caught in the flood.”
Ben nodded. “It happened the day I left.”
“Yup. The very same day you disappeared.”
As he stared into his own young eyes, Ben suddenly realized
