The Sheikh's Secret Son (12 page)

“What, this?” he said, and now his smile was wide, the sweetly innocent smile that had won her heart so many years ago. “This is not for Sawyer.”

“Oh, no, Miss Eden Fortune,” Haskim said, putting down the suitcase and bringing the toy over to her, handing it to her. “This is a present from His Highness meant for you. The young prince, his present is still in the trunk of the limousine.”

The servant grinned. “A video game, Miss Eden Fortune. One I should be honored to demonstrate for the prince, as my children have the same game at home, in Kharmistan. I have reached Level Three, although my little Melek, who is only four, she has climbed as high as Level Five.”

“Thank you, Haskim,” Ben said, his voice kind, not impatient at all with his servant's explanation. “I believe you may now take the bags upstairs?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Eden said, still holding the plush animal, even stroking its wide-eyed muzzle. “Upstairs, Haskim, second door on the left. Ben?” she
then asked as Haskim bowed, retrieved the luggage, and made his way toward the staircase.

“You do not like it?” he asked. “Another woman I would give diamonds. But you are not other women, Eden. If I am to find your heart, I would be careful to direct my feet down the correct path.”

She looked at him, shook her head. “As I've said once before, Ben—you're good. You're very, very good. Now, if you want to get out of that very impressive costume and into some jeans, maybe you and I can finally ride out and find Sawyer?”

B
en was comfortable in the saddle, but not in his skin. Not when he knew the next minutes would be the most important of his life.

He could see Holden and Sawyer in the distance. Holden at ease in the saddle of a roan gelding, Sawyer riding a black-and-white pony more suited to his age and size. Even from this distance, Ben could see that his son had the relaxed, natural seat of an instinctive rider, his hands held high, his knees close to the pony's flanks, his heels well back.

One day he would ride through the streets of Kharmistan beside his father, dressed in ceremonial robes, sitting upon the back of a fine Arabian stallion.

Ben could see him now. See how he would look once dressed in the trappings of a young prince. A
kibr
of vermilion silk, trimmed in golden braid, worn over a snow-white
tobe,
a similar snow-white
kaffiyeh
on his head, held in place by a black
agal.

Even his mount would be colorfully outfitted, its
bridle dangling with colorful ribbons, his saddle gilded with gold.

Ben would ride, and Sawyer would ride beside him. Their people would line the streets as they rode by, cheering, throwing flowers at the young heir to the throne of Kharmistan.

And Eden would be riding with them, all gold and white in her
khurkeh,
looking every inch a queen.

Dreams. Ben had dreams. He saw them so clearly in his head, waking or sleeping. His people would love Sawyer. They would love Eden. Their lives in Kharmistan would be full, happy. Glorious.

Except that Sawyer looked very much at home here in Texas, in his jeans and plaid shirt, a too large cowboy hat worn low on his head.

How could Ben take his son away from the only home he had ever known, the only family he had ever known? The boy did not know Kharmistan even existed.

But Eden did.

And that, Ben felt sure, was the problem.

“Holden's telling Sawyer to join us,” Eden said, pulling her mount to a halt. “And, from the set of my son's shoulders, I'd say he's thinking about disobeying him. Maybe I should ride on ahead, talk to him, and then bring him back here.”

Ben nodded his agreement, still looking in the
direction of his son, who remained several hundred yards away, a world away.

And then it happened. In the midst of hope, the unthinkable. Holden's mount reared crazily, tossing his rider onto the ground. Sawyer's pony, obviously terrified, took off like a shot, cutting out across the open range.

“Rattlesnake!” Eden shouted, pulling a rifle from her saddle even as she dug her knees into her mount and set off in an instant gallop.

Ben's range-trained mount moved right along with hers. “Attend to your brother. I will get the boy,” he shouted, then leaned low over his horse's neck, urging the animal to greater speed.

He had no rifle, but knew from Eden's quick reaction that her experience would be Holden's salvation. Cutting off to his left, he rode toward Sawyer's horse at an angle, covering more ground to meet up with the boy rather than to chase him.

His horse was faster by far than the pony, but the pony was near-crazed with fear, its ears flat against its head, its stubby legs flying across the ground as Sawyer held on for dear life.

And the pony was smaller, which did not make Sawyer's rescue easier. Taking hold of the pony's reins could bring the animal down, and Sawyer with him. All Ben wanted to do was to get his son
off
the horse and into his arms.

The chase took less than a heartbeat, more than a year…

Ben was close now, could see Sawyer's face, see the fear there, yes, but also the exhilaration of riding across the open range at a full gallop. Ben felt sure this was his son's first experience at a gallop, as he could not imagine Eden allowing him such freedom at his young age.

But the boy was holding on, if too tightly, and he was holding his own. Ben's heart swelled with pride, clenched with fear.

There was the echoing crack of rifle fire in the air, and the panicked pony nearly lost its footing, its eyes rolling widely.

“Kick your legs free of the stirrups and get ready to let go of the reins,” Ben called as his angled ride put him side by side with the smaller pony.

“No!” Sawyer yelled at him. “I can stop him.”

“He has the bit between his teeth, child,” Ben told him even as he pushed his own mount closer, brushing against the pony slightly, trying to turn it, slow it from its mad, headlong dash.

The fine Texas-bred horse beneath him was brilliant, beginning to herd the pony as it would a calf cut off from the main herd.

“Lean forward, Sawyer. Keep your hands bunched on the reins, but loosely, so that he relaxes
his bite. Allow him to think he has control, and then show him that control is yours.”

Slowly, with Ben ready to grab Sawyer off the pony if he believed it necessary, the pony began to tire, began to yield to the larger horse, to the man riding him. Ben vowed to line his clever American mount's stall with the finest oats and hay if, together, they could pull this off.

“I did it!” Sawyer exclaimed at last as the pony tired, eventually slowed to a walk. All while Ben's heart remained lodged in his throat, all while his chest felt very near to bursting with fatherly pride in this brave child's performance.

“That you did, son,” he told him as he bent and at last took hold of the reins. Lightly, just to help Sawyer decide where to next turn his mount. “Now we will return to your uncle and allow your mother to yell at me.”

“She'll yell at you? Why?”

“We will allow her to explain, I believe. Ah, do you see? Your uncle is on his feet, and appears unhurt. And I can see the fire in your mother's eyes from here.”

“Are you afraid of her?” Sawyer asked, looking up at his father.

“I respect her as your mother, Sawyer,” Ben explained as they continued to ride back in Eden's direction. “As do you. Therefore, we will listen to
her closely, and agree with everything she says. Then, this afternoon, we will take your pony out again, and we will teach him some manners.”

Sawyer's smile was wide, and quickly hidden behind a childish scowl. “You're not my father, are you? Mom says you are, but I don't believe it. My father wouldn't have stayed away from me so long. He's dead, and you're not anybody I want to know.” He looked down at the ground, then up at Ben once more. “I think.”

“For now, Sawyer, I would ask only that you allow me to be your friend.”

Sawyer looked toward his mother, then back up at Ben. “You're a good rider,” he said, his expression still wary but his shoulders not quite so squared.

Ben smiled, content with his son's compliment. “You are a good rider, Jamil Altair Omar, with a brave heart and a determination that reminds me of a young prince who must have been a sore trial to his parents.”

“Ja—Ja
meel?
Who's that? My name is Sawyer.”

“Your American name is Sawyer,” Ben told him as he looked toward Eden yet again, saw the mingled relief and worry on her face. “But you are, as of this moment, also Jamil Altair Omar. Jamil, which means handsome, as long as you remember that handsome is as handsome does. Altair means flying eagle, as a salute to both your free spirit and
your birth nation's fine symbol of greatness. Lastly, you are Omar, meaning my first son, something our people must know and respect.”

As Sawyer frowned, Ben shook his head, adding, “But we will leave all of this for later.”

“Ja-meel,” Sawyer repeated, as if trying out the name on his tongue. “I like that. It almost sounds like I'm a Ninja Turtle, doesn't it? There's this pile of old videos at the ranch, and I've seen the Ninja Turtles. Mom—did you see me?” he called as they reached the spot where Eden and Holden waited. “Did you, did you? I stopped Hercules all by myself.” He looked sideways at Ben. “Well, almost by myself.”

Ben watched Eden closely, sensing that she felt torn between wanting to take Sawyer into her arms and cover him with kisses—and wanting to shake him for being so happy when he had just frightened her nearly to death.

“He was never in any danger once I reached him, Eden,” he said, willingly sacrificing himself to spare Sawyer, and to give Eden the release of tension she most definitely needed.

She did not disappoint him.

“After you
reached
him he was very definitely still in danger,” she stormed, glaring at him. “You could have grabbed him off Hercules at any time, but you didn't. What was that, Ben? Some sort of
Arabian rite of passage—learn how to do it or die a glorious death in the attempt? How
could
you just watch? My God, Ben—he's only a baby!”

Holden lifted Sawyer down from the saddle and took him over to inspect the dead rattlesnake…and out of earshot as Ben dismounted, walked up to Eden.

“We have a stubborn son, Eden,” he told her quietly. “And a very brave one. But do not think that I would put our son in danger, not while there is a breath left in my body. Now, go to our child, hug him as a mother does. But do not fuss, do not call him your baby when he wants to be a man. Allow him to glory in his fine accomplishment. Lessons will come later, when he is receptive to them. And one thing more, Eden. We will not argue about the child in front of him. He needs to feel love, and security, not fear.”

Eden stared at him levelly for a long time. Looked him up and down, measuring him…finding him wanting. “I don't believe you. You think you can disappear for years, then show up and immediately start telling me how to raise my son? You arrogant bastard. Sawyer is my son, Ben,
mine.
And you can go to hell,” she said at last, before turning on her heels and going to her child.

 

“Eden is a good mother, Ben,” Holden said as the two men sat on the front porch of Mary Ellen
Fortune's house, sipping lemonade his mother had brought to them. “A damn good mother. And, yes, a little overprotective. It isn't easy, you know, being both father and mother to a child. Going it alone. Knowing that, when you get down to it, you're all that child has. That he's all you have, that he's your whole world.”

“Her son's world has grown larger,” Ben said, knowing he was being unreasonable, but unable to stop himself. “Her son's world has grown to include a father, a people, another heritage.”

He looked at Holden. “He is a little boy, yes, but he is also Prince Jamil Altair Omar Ramir, heir to the throne of Kharmistan. Eden does not want to believe this, refuses to believe this.”

Holden rolled his eyes. “Can you blame her?” he asked, spreading his hands as he repeated, “‘Prince'? That's a big chunk to swallow, Ben, for any of us. Especially that mouthful of names you just rattled off. You do move fast, don't you?”

Ben drained his glass, set it on the table beside him. “She believes I will take him from her,” he said, sighing. “She will not believe that I want her, have wanted her—loved her—for years. And why should she, Holden? I left her, I did not come back.

I could be promising your sister anything, just so
that I can get Sawyer on my jet and relocated in my own country.”

Holden scratched at the back of his neck, wincing a little as he said, “We've all read the papers, seen the stories on television. Hell, Ben, there was even a movie about fathers spiriting their children overseas and not allowing their mothers to see them, to take them home. You're a powerful man, Ben. You could probably get away with kidnapping Sawyer, and there wouldn't be a damn thing Eden could do about it. Although you'd have to know we'd fight you with every last dollar of Fortune money.”

“I am the bogeyman now? The thief who comes in the night, stealing babies?” Ben smiled sadly as Holden opened his mouth to speak. “No, my new friend, do not apologize. Such things have happened, and we both know that. But Eden also knows me, she knows my hopes for my family. I told her of my hopes that first day, before I knew Sawyer existed. It is me that she is rejecting, not Sawyer's father.”

Holden was silent for a long time, the two men sitting on the rocking chairs, letting the silence of a vast land envelop them.

At last Holden spoke again. “You know, Ben, I don't think Eden's had a date in six months. Hell, I don't think she's had more than a half dozen dates since Sawyer was born. Certainly no one you could
call a boyfriend. She works—works hard—and she takes care of Sawyer. That's been Eden's life since you last saw her.”

“I blame myself for that,” Ben said, staring into the middle distance. “I remember the joy in her eyes when we were together in Paris. I have not seen that same joy these past days. Only fear.”

“Right,” Holden said, getting the bit between his teeth, just as Hercules had done an hour earlier. “So maybe you ought to try to do something about that. Maybe you should take it slower with Sawyer, take it one day at a time. No more of this Prince Jamil stuff, for starters. And spend your time concentrating on Eden, concentrating on reminding her how much she loved you, how much you loved her. I mean, hell, Ben, you're a nice guy. Really. But you sure can come on strong. Moving in here, making demands…”

“I am an arrogant man,” Ben said, turning to smile at Holden. “Eden said that. She is probably right. I am more accustomed to giving orders, having them obeyed without question. But, unfortunately, there is more involved here than courting Eden, as you have suggested. There is the matter of Sawyer, and the presence of my chief advisor, who must not learn of Sawyer's existence until Eden and I have come to an agreement.”

Holden immediately went on full alert. “Sawyer could be in some sort of danger?”

Ben shook his head. “No, I do not believe so. Not physically. But I have always believed it is best to begin as you plan to go on. That means I want the announcement to my people of Sawyer's existence to come from me, not from Nadim. You Americans have a saying in your football, as well as in times of war—the best defense is a good offense. I cannot allow Nadim to take the initiative with my people. That could make Eden's acceptance, Sawyer's acceptance, more difficult. Do you understand?”