Free Maid for the Millionaire by Susan Meier Page A

turned to him for comfort in her time of need?
    She’d never know the answer to, either, but the possibility that she could have changed her marriage, saved it, with a few whispered words, haunted her.
    Â 
    Sitting at the kitchen table of Amanda’s house the next morning, finishing a cup of coffee after eating delicious blueberry pancakes, Liz smiled shakily at Cain as he stepped into the room. “Good morning.”
    â€œGood morning.”
    She might have kept secrets but she and Cain were now divorced, trying to get along while they worked together, not trying to reconcile. For that reason, she’d decided that the story of her abusive father could remain her secret. But as she had paced the floor the night before, working all this out in her brain, she realized how much she wanted to tell him about their baby.
    When they divorced, she had been too raw and too hurt herself to tell him. By the time she’d gotten herself together, their paths never crossed. But now that their paths hadn’t merely crossed, they were actually intersecting for the next several weeks; she couldn’t keep the secret from him any more. He’d created a child. They’d lost that child. He deserved to know. And she wanted to tell him.
    Which left her with two problems. When she’d tell him and how she’d tell him. She might be ready to share, but he might not be ready to hear it. She had to be alert for another opportunity like the one the day before…except when they were alone, not with other people.
    Amanda turned from the stove. “Are you hungry, Cain? I’m making blueberry pancakes.”
    It was clear that Amanda reveled in the role of mom. Without the constant fear of her abusive husband she had blossomed. Joy was bright-eyed and happy, a little chatterbox who had entertained Liz all through breakfast. Amanda’s only remaining problem was Billy, her sixteen-year-old son. They hadn’t been away from their violent father long enough for any one of them to have adjusted, but once they had, Liz was certain Amanda would think of some way to connect with her son.
    As far as Amanda’s situation was concerned, Liz could relax…except for Cain, who hesitated just inside the kitchen door. Had he figured out she’d kept secrets bigger than an allergy to cats? Was he angry? Would he confront her? She couldn’t handle that. Telling him about their baby had to be on her terms. That would be better for both of them. It would be horrible if he confronted her now.
    Finally he said, “I’ve already eaten breakfast.”
    Relief wanted to rush out of her on a long gust of air, but she held it back. She’d instructed him to take everything Amanda offered. The day before he could have easily begged off her barbecue by saying it was time to go home. But he couldn’t so easily walk away from breakfast when he would be staying all morning.
    Amanda said, “That’s okay. Just have some coffee.” She reached for a mug from the cupboard by the stove, filled it and handed it to him. “Sit for a minute.”
    He took the coffee and he and Amanda ambled to chairs at the table, as Amanda’s sixteen-year-old son Billy stepped into the room, music headphones in his ears. Totally oblivious to the people at the table, he walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk.
    Amanda cast an embarrassed glance at her son. “Billy, at least say good-morning.”
    He ignored her.
    She rose, walked over to him and took one of the headphones from his right ear. “Good morning,” she singsonged.
    Billy sighed. “Morning.”
    â€œSay good morning to our guests.”
    He scowled toward the table. “Good morning.”
    Liz had seen this a million times before. A teenager embarrassed that he had to count on a charity for a roof over his head frequently acted out. Especially the son of an abusive father. Even as Billy was probably glad to get away