Page 129 of Beat of Love
Brown eyes swimming in misery met his.
“He’ll end up killing you, Selena. I know it.Youknow it.”
“Sim,” she whispered.
“The people fetching you will take care of you. Give you a new name. And once your baby’s born, they will find you a place to settle. A safe place,” he emphasized.
“What if something happens to me? Who will look after my baby?”
Her fears were real, her situation precarious.
In the distance, he heard the rumble of the approaching semi.
He made a split-second decision and reached into his pocket, drawing out a small notebook. Slipping the attached pencil from the elastic band, he scribbled a couple of lines and torethe page off. “Here. If anything happens, if you ever feel threatened, go here.”
She took the paper and read, “Lawson’s Landing, Bulwark, Texas.” Looking up, she asked, “Who lives there?”
He swallowed, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. “My family.”
“Your family?”
He nodded. “Tell them that” — he paused, watching the large truck lumber to a stop before turning back to her — “Rafferty sent you.”
“Rafferty?” She frowned. “But your name is Patrick. Isn’t it? Patrick Connor.”
He shook his head, closing his hands over hers. “My family will help you, but please, Selena, keep this information to yourself. I am trusting you to keep them safe.”
The squeal of hydraulic brakes ripped into the quiet early morning air. Their gazes met and held for a long beat before she nodded. “I understand. And promise.” Tilting her head, a smile ghosted across her lips. “Thank you … Rafferty Lawson.”
Rafferty placed the cellphone down, and he looked around the table, his wandering eyes stopping when meeting the luminous green gaze opposite him. “He’s not my biological son. Selena was pregnant when I helped her escape an abusive relationship.” And with that deed, he’d set in motion a series of catastrophic events. He rubbed a hand over his head, his fingers lingering on the red ink.
Gasps were heard around the table. “Then why did they contact you?”
“Because I’m named as the boy’s father on his birth certificate.”
What an ass-kicking, gut-churning, fucking ironic twist of fate.
“Now why would she do that?” Pa asked.
“That night she left … I told her my real name, told her to come here if ever there was a need. But I never anticipated” — he reached for the phone and waved it in the air — “this.”
“She trusted you to take care of her boy,” Mammy murmured. “To bring him here. To us.”
Bring him …“No!”
No fucking way did he want the kid anywhere near him.
“Rafferty!” Ma burst out.
“You must,” Pa boomed. “He’s your responsibility now.”
“I don’twanthim.”
The mere idea sickened him.
Just as his words sickened the people around the table judging by their expressions.
“Son …” Pa murmured.
