Free Dangerous Legacy by Valerie Hansen

fussing over the little boy, making motherly noises about slippers and a robe while the child tried to dodge past her to return to his pet. Flint had shut the door and was about to praise her for being a good mama when he caught his first clear glimpse of the child’s face.
    The sight was literally staggering. His spine hit the doorjamb. His jaw hung slack. Words failed him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. It felt as though he were looking into a mirror over fifteen years ago and seeing his own reflection.
    Stunned, mute, he studied Mark. This was Maggie’s boy? How could they look so much alike? They had only once lost control. Why hadn’t she said something to him back then? Had she been so ashamed to have consorted with a Crawford that she’d tried to hide the truth from everybody?
    Mark ducked past his mother and raced back to the dog, hitting his knees and gently hugging Wolfie’s neck. Only then did Flint manage to look at Maggie. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her lips were trembling.
    She met his questioning gaze and mouthed, I’m sorry .
    Flint nodded. His jaw clamped shut. There was still no adequate way to express his emotional upheaval short of stammering incoherently and making a worse fool of himself. No wonder so many people had grinned at him after he’d returned to Serenity. They knew something he didn’t. Their amusement at his expense was infuriating.
    She took a tentative step closer to him. “I’m so sorry. I know I should have said something when you first came back, but...”
    He wanted to shout at her. To berate her for so many omissions. To ask if she’d ever have owned up to the boy’s parentage if he hadn’t shown up again. But before he could decide where and how to begin, Mark called, “Mama! Look.”
    Both adults pivoted toward the anxious child. He was cradling the hurt paw in his hands as blood dripped through his tiny fingers.
    Maggie was the first to respond. She grabbed the paw and squeezed the edges just enough to slow the bleeding, then cast around, apparently looking for something with which to fashion a temporary bandage.
    “Where’s your first aid kit?” Flint demanded.
    “Outside with the other animal supplies. There’s a towel in the kitchen.” She indicated a doorway, then looked to her son. “Mark, honey, go wash your hands and bring Mommy a clean towel, okay?”
    Instead of obeying, the boy stared at his reddened fingers and whimpered.
    Flint strode into the kitchen, pulled several paper towels from a roll, wet one and grabbed a dry dish towel. Operating as if back in combat, he returned to the living room and thrust the towel at Maggie before crouching beside her to wipe the child’s hands.
    He then shoved the used paper towels at Maggie, edged her aside, took a firm hold of the dog’s paw and said, “Go call your vet. And tell him to hurry. I’m not staying any longer than I have to.”
    Given his uneasiness, Flint figured his best option was to concentrate on the task at hand and put everything else out of his mind. For now at any rate.
    He’d almost succeeded when the little sandy-haired boy trained big green eyes on him and said, “Thank you for saving my dog, mister.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    That would have been the end of Flint’s communication if Mark had not gotten up and wrapped his little arms tightly around Flint’s neck.
    Long seconds passed. Flint was astounded when his vision misted. He shifted his hold on the dog enough to free one arm and wrap it gently around his son.
    Then he laid his face against Mark’s shoulder, mirroring the child’s stance, and closed his eyes.
    * * *
    Maggie could hardly function, let alone speak coherently, when the veterinarian’s answering machine picked up her call. She knew she was babbling instead of giving her usual concise report of conditions, but she couldn’t help herself.
    A voice came on the line halfway through her first convoluted sentence. “Is this Maggie