The Secret Son

By Joan Kilby

A birthday card out of the blue from his estranged father sends successful Seattle marketing man Alex Chernoff on a detour to Sweetheart, Montana in search of answers about his past. A day, maybe two, to tie up loose strings and he’ll be out of there, heading for Mexico, margaritas and blondes in bikinis.

Emma Stanhope is all too familiar with hot, rich, entitled guys like Alex. They never hang around for long, especially not for a Plain Jane like herself. No problem. She’s smart and logical, like any good scientist, and knows better than to lose her heart.

What Emma doesn’t count on is chemistry—of the romantic kind. What Alex doesn’t count on is meeting the girl who’ll make him want to change his ways. But when he learns that he’s a secret from his father’s real family, he can’t stay in Sweetheart… even if he wants to.

Will love be enough to convince Alex to stay… for good?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Aug 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781943963003

Joan Kilby

When Joan Kilby isn’t working on her next romance novel she can often be found sipping a latte at a sidewalk café and indulging in her favorite pastime of people watching. Originally from Vancouver, Canada, Joan now lives in Australia with her husband and three children. She enjoys cooking as a creative outlet and gets some of her best ideas while watching her Jack Russell terrier chase waves at the beach.

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Dedication

To my mother and father, for raising me and my brother and sisters in a small, rural community. Horses, cherry orchards, fields and woods. For a kid, it doesn’t get better than that.

Dear Reader,

I loved writing Alex and Emma’s story. I especially love that it’s centered around a cherry orchard. Growing up, we had a half dozen cherry trees on our property. I spent many happy hours perched on a shady limb, reading books and munching on ripe cherries. I even had a horse named Cherry, a glossy bay mare with a black mane and tail who could eat a cherry and spit out the pit!

In The Secret Son, Alex, a sophisticated city hotshot meets Emma, a local country girl. I had fun exploring their preconceived notions about each other and dismantling them one by one. As different as they appear on the surface, deep down, Alex and Emma are a couple who are made for each other.

The idea of a secret family intrigued me. Imagine the shock to discover you had half-siblings you never knew about. I had to work hard to make Alex’s father, who kept his son secret from his family, a sympathetic character. And Alex had to work hard to find the family he’d always longed for. Hopefully the ending is both satisfying and joyful.

The Secret Son is the first book in my series, Sweet Home Montana, about Alex and his three half-brothers. It’s also part of a multi-author series, The Starrs of Sweetheart, Montana.

I love hearing from readers. Feel free to drop me a line at [e-mail] To find out more about my books go to joankilby.com.

Happy Reading!

Joan Kilby

Chapter One

Alex came awake with a pounding headache to a remix of I Got You, Babe. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock. Six am. With a groan he hit the button and the crooning stopped.

A murmur from the sleeping blonde next to him on his charcoal cotton sheets made him look around with a frown. He knew he recognized her but for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. She was still wearing a crushed party hat twisted around her neck.

Last night came flooding back. His thirtieth birthday bash last night at the Four Seasons in downtown Seattle with a hundred of his closest friends. Tequila shooters lined up on the bar, a live band, fireworks on the rooftop... After two a.m. things had gotten blurry.

A computer printout of an airline ticket on the nightstand caught his eye. Ah, yes, the reason for the early wakeup. He was flying to Cancun today. Late July wasn’t the best time of year for Mexico but it was convenient for work. He’d planned this trip for nearly a year, carving out the time as a reward for making partner in his marketing firm and a well-deserved break from his high stress job.

Sun, sand, more tequila, more blondes. All the things he loved best. So why wasn’t he more excited? Why the heavy head and hollow chest? Must be the hangover. A coffee, a few aspirin and he’d be fine.

He put a hand on the blonde’s shoulder to wake her. Tegan? Tori? Tanya? She stirred and not wanting to risk it, he settled for, Morning. How are you doing?

Her mascaraed lashes pulled apart and she stared at him blearily. What time is it?

Early. I’ve got to go. He hesitated. Um, were you coming with me?

To Mexico? Nah. I’m taking over the Newman account while you’re gone, remember?

Tanya, that was it. His hotshot temporary replacement, hired just last week. Relief washed through him at knowing he hadn’t invited her along, as attractive as she was. Why would she go when she had a plum account dropped into her lap? No doubt she planned to make herself indispensable while he was gone. Not that she’d said as much but he’d been dating her type for years. Smart, beautiful and ambitious. Not cold and calculating exactly but neither would she cry when their affair ended. Like him, the women he hooked up with weren’t into lasting relationships.

Okay, well, I’ve got to run. Thanks for a great evening. Let yourself out when you’re ready. He pressed a light kiss to her lips. I’ll see you when I get back.

Maybe.

Suddenly he was awash with self-disgust. Thirty years old and this was all he had to show for his personal life? Waking up with a virtual stranger and feeling relieved at not being tied down?

He dragged himself into the shower and tried to scrub away the feeling of disquiet. He’d had a blast last night. Hadn’t he? So much to celebrate. A milestone birthday, a skyrocketing career, a million dollar apartment and a brand-new BMW sports car, his present to himself. Women lined up for the asking. What more could he want?

Well, he wanted...something. The answer was on the tip of his mind, just out of reach. If he wasn’t so foggy-headed, he would figure it out.

He flipped off the water and grabbed a towel, annoyed. Why was he feeling this way, as if something was missing from his life? By all measurable criteria he was a huge success. The one sad note was that he missed his mom and wished she’d lived to see him make partner, even if she’d been too much of a hippie to admire his chosen career. But much as he’d loved her, that wasn’t the source of this sudden discontent that felt as heavy as a lead cloak around his shoulders.

He pressed a hand to his flat belly. Maybe he was just hungry.

He went to throw the towel in the hamper to be collected by the maid service—Oh. There on the wicker lid was a birthday card with a picture of a lake and a fishing boat. It had arrived yesterday and he hadn’t opened it until the wee hours when he’d been sober enough to tear it open but still too drunk to absorb the significance.

He shivered despite the heat lamp. It was the card that was bothering him. It must have worked on his subconscious during the night. He picked it up by the corner as if it might burn his fingers and read the handwritten message again.

Happy Birthday Son. I know it’s been a long time but I’m thinking of you today. I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. Love, Dad.

What a load of crap. His father, thinking of him, really? Then why had he abandoned him and his mom when Alex was just a child? Alex threw the card toward the trash can so hard it bounced on the rim and fell to the floor.

Ignoring it, he tilted his jaw to run the shaver in angry circles. His mom, Anya, and his father, Robert Starr, hadn’t married but they’d lived together, and had a child together—him. Alex had been only five years old when his dad left him and his mom in Castlegar, B.C. and returned to his hometown of Sweetheart, Montana. Robert’s own father had had a heart attack and Robert had to help in the family cherry orchard. At first he came home on the weekends but gradually he stayed away for longer and longer periods. He stopped coming altogether when Alex was seven years old.

Oh, his dad had sent child support faithfully for years and when Alex graduated high school there’d been a lump sum to pay for college. Christmas and birthday gifts came until he was eighteen. For all that he was grateful, naturally, but he would have preferred his father’s presence rather than his presents.

So now, after twenty plus years of silence, to say ‘I’m thinking of you’? Bullshit. Thank God for Harry Chernoff, the man his mom had eventually married. Harry was older and not interested in having children of his own but he’d adopted Alex and had been a reliable figure in Alex’s life, someone he could count on—unlike his biological father. When Alex had been growing up his mom refused to talk about Robert which pretty much said it all, really, about how angry she’d been at being deserted.

Alex tucked his shaver into his toiletries case and slipped into his bedroom to retrieve his suitcase and his ticket. Tanya had gone back to sleep. He went quietly out, detouring through the sleekly modern kitchen to grab an apple to eat on the way to the airport.

The envelope his father’s card had come in was on the counter. He went to throw it in the garbage and a photo slid out. Hadn’t noticed that last night. The picture was of himself, about age seven, and his father, standing beneath a cherry tree full of ripe fruit. His dad’s hand was around his shoulder and he’d playfully pulled him to his side. Alex wore a goofy grin, his lips stained red from all the cherries he’d eaten.

Suddenly his eyes blurred and he couldn’t breathe. He’d almost forgotten that time he and his mom had driven down to Sweetheart. His dad was still going back and forth between Castlegar and Sweetheart although his visits had become infrequent and he’d moved his clothes out of the closet he’d shared with Alex’s mom. In Alex’s mind though, someday the crisis would be over in Sweetheart and his dad would come home for good.

On the day of the photo, his father had taken them to the orchard instead of inviting them into the big log house. While his mom and dad talked, Alex had climbed trees and gorged on the ripe fruit. They couldn’t have stayed more than an hour or so but he remembered the cherry trees and how his dad had scowled a lot and his mom had shed a few tears. His father had given Alex an extra big hug as he said goodbye. That was the last time he’d seen him.

Alex blinked hard and let out a furious gust. Damn it, he didn’t have time for this sentimental bullshit. His father didn’t get to abandon his mother and ignore him for twenty-three long years and then try to reconnect with a birthday card. Much too little, way too late.

Shoving the photo back into the envelope he threw it in the garbage. He picked up his suitcase and was almost out of the door when he stopped, remembering that when he’d cleared out his mom’s house last year after she’d died he hadn’t found a single picture of Robert. This was the only link to a father he’d once hero-worshipped.

So what? Robert Starr hadn’t proved worthy of the title of father. He belonged in the trash. Still, Alex couldn’t move. His hand twisted on the door knob, his feet shuffled impatiently. Oh, what the hell. He strode back to the kitchen, fished the envelope out of the garbage, and stuck it in the side pocket of his suitcase.

He took the elevator to the basement parking and threw his suitcase into the trunk of his sports car. Revving the engine, he roared up the ramp into Bellevue’s quiet Sunday morning streets. A few minutes later he was on the 405 heading south toward Sea-Tac. He ignored the hollow ache in his chest. No doubt it would go away as soon as he was on the plane and a pretty flight attendant was bringing him a coffee. What the hell were these waves of self-disgust about anyway? He had a great life. Screw that card and photo.

In Puerto Vallarta he would check into his resort, find a thatched-roof bar beside the ocean, a margarita and a willing blonde. All would be well with his world again.

The turnoff for Highway 90 heading east to Montana loomed ahead. He gripped the wheel tighter with both hands, overcome by a sudden urge to go see his father. No, absolutely not. He had a plane to catch and a vacation for which he’d worked his butt off. Why would he even entertain the notion of a detour? The card was a spurt of guilt brought on by maudlin middle age. Robert Starr must be what, fifty-three, fifty-four years old? He and his mom had been young when they’d had him.

Now Mom was gone, dying at forty-nine of pancreatic cancer. No warning, then one day she had only months to live. Alex had barely enough time to absorb the news before he had to say goodbye. Only after she died had he thought of all the questions he would have liked to ask her. Questions about his past and his father. She must have called Robert before she went. How else would he have known of her passing? But why was his father making contact with him now?

What if he was sick? No, highly unlikely. His memory of Robert was of a man who had always been athletic and healthy, brimming with vigor. And yet, Robert’s father had been seriously ill when he must have been in his fifties or sixties. Was there a genetic condition, something Alex should know about?

He shook his head and tried to push away those thoughts. Yes, his mom’s death had showed him the precariousness of life but there was no reason to think his father might be ill. On the other hand, how did he know he wasn’t? He didn’t, that was the problem. Well, so what? Robert could go jump in a lake and drown for all he cared. His father had long ago relinquished all right to Alex’s concern.

Traffic slowly increased as he drove south. He glanced at the GPS and the estimated time to his destination. Plenty of time to park in the long term parking lot and check in. Maybe grab a coffee and a donut before getting on the plane.

What if his father was sick? The thought snuck back in. Alex massaged his aching temple. He wasn’t a fanciful person or given to pessimism but instead of diminishing, his unease grew. It occurred to him how little he knew about his father’s family. His mom hadn’t said much beyond telling him that a falling out had led Robert to come to Canada in the first place. Had Robert’s father survived the illness? Did his dad have brothers and sisters? Had he married and had more children?

A clammy cold crept over Alex despite the warmth of the July day. As an only child, his darkest fear was of growing old and being alone. His mother was dead, Harry long gone, his father a vivid but distant memory. Alex had no brothers or sisters. No wife. Barely knew his cousins back in Castlegar. He had friends but they were mostly through work and who knew how long those relationships would last if he changed jobs or moved away. He wouldn’t wish being alone at the end of his life on his worst enemy. Not even his father.

Okay, fine. First chance he got he would pull over, do a search for a phone number and give the old man a call.

Yeah, like he’s going to open up to you over the phone. His mom had reassured him she was going to be okay, not wanting him to worry. It wasn’t till he’d traveled to her home that he’d seen how sick she was, and not till he’d spoken to her doctor that he’d understood her condition was terminal.

What then? He could drive to Sweetheart and be there late this afternoon, see for himself that Robert was okay, drive back tomorrow and catch the next available flight.

His thumb went round and round on his temple. This was stupid. He was jumping to conclusions. There was no reason to think his father was ill much less that he needed Alex. He hadn’t ever needed Alex in his life.

The turnoff for 90 East was upon him. A semi-trailer was roaring up the right lane from behind. It was now or never. In his mind he saw again the image of his father’s hand on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of those strong fingers pulling him close.

At the last second Alex put on his indicator and gunned the engine, shooting ahead of the truck and onto the exit ramp.

Emma tapped the steering wheel and sang along to the radio as she putted along Route 35 in her little blue Honda. Vast and sparkling blue, Flathead Lake lay ahead on her left and to her right were the snow-capped mountains of the Mission Range. For mile after mile she drove past cherry orchards glistening with clusters of bright red fruit among shiny green leaves.

Her spirits lifted as she turned west onto Finley Road and headed for the town of Sweetheart, where she’d grown up and where her mom and sister still lived. Take me home, country road...

Not that she lived so very far away in Missoula, where she worked in pest management for the state agriculture department. Today was the first day of her annual vacation but she was going to sample for fruit flies in the Starr’s orchard. Even though it was her job, she happily did it for free. The Starrs were like a second family to her.

Behind her, a car horn beeped, the driver letting her know he wanted to pass. She glanced in her rearview mirror at the shiny silver BMW convertible that had zoomed up seemingly out of nowhere. Behind his dark glasses the driver stared impassively back. A spurt of irritation for city folk who were always in a hurry dampened her mood. With a sparse but steady stream of vehicles coming in the opposite direction on the two lane road he didn’t have a hope of getting around her. No way was she going to pull over on the narrow gravel shoulder.

Instead, she stepped on the gas and got up to the speed limit, even went two miles over. That wasn’t good enough for Mr. BMW who rode her bumper. She tapped the brakes to give him the hint to stay back, throwing him a frown in the mirror. Chill, dude.

An opening appeared and he gunned the engine and zipped past, leaving her with a fleeting impression of a strong profile, black hair