Her Secret, His Child: A Little Secret by Tara Quinn (romance book recommendations TXT) 📗

he could go to for the right answers, Kyle considered everything the coach had said. He weighed Lippert's unspoken request against his own standards. Growing up the way he had, the only thing that had seen him through was his principles. He always lived by the rules, always did what he thought was right, and because of it he'd been able to hold up his head.

But where were those rules written? How had they become a part of him? Who'd put them there? And how valid were they?

Did they leave room for compromise? For compassion? For occasionally making an exception?

"Brad has improved," he said slowly, as if hearing his own thoughts would help him put them in order.

"He's made every effort," Coach Lippert added, his elbow joining Kyle's on the podium.

"He's come to every class." Kyle took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose.

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' 'Done all the homework and extra-credit assignments," Lippert said, scratching his chin.

"He participates in class."

"He's actually learned some things," the coach said, grinning at Kyle. "Do you know, he started rattling on about slavery in the South one day. We were talking about which NFL owners he most wanted to work for and he brought up the subject of racism."

Kyle stood up, glasses still in hand. "And that's the point, isn't it?" he asked. "That the kid learn something about life? That's what literature is all about, isn't it? Life?"

"You got me," the coach said. "I slept through my American lit class."

"And your coach got you a passing grade anyway, right?"

"Nope, I read the stuff and got Cs."

"I could give him an oral exam."

"That's his real problem you know—he can't write a coherent sentence to save his life."

"English 101 has to answer to that."

' 'He had it two years ago—''

Kyle raised the hand holding his glasses. "I don't want to know."

"That's probably best," the coach agreed, nodding.

' 'Have Brad come to my office an hour before the final. And tell him he'll still have to sit through the written exam—at least attempt it."

Technically, he supposed it wasn't fair to the other students, who could all stand a much better

HER SECRET, HIS CHILD

chance of acing the test if they could answer orally, too. But if there was one thing he'd learned in the past couple of months, it was that life wasn't always fair. Each life was lived on a case-by-case basis, and sometimes the old rules, the rules you'd established or learned or adopted, didn't work. Then you had to find new ones.

Coach Lippert smiled. A genuine, friendly smile. "He'll be there." He turned to leave. Made it all the way to the door. And then turned back. "Rad-cliff?"

Head bent over his calendar, Kyle glanced up.

"Thanks."

Nodding, he made the entry for Brad's oral exam. In both calendars. And made a note to tell Jamie, too. She still asked about Brad occasionally. She'd make sure Kyle remembered to attend the kid's final exam on time.

Karen and Jamie had their last flute lesson the second week in April. They'd both decided to leave their flute-playing desires right where they belonged. In their adolescent pasts.

Kyle was happy either way. He kind of liked nagging Jamie to practice, mostly because there was so little she didn't do perfectly. But he was just as happy for her to have an extra free hour a week. He'd been keeping Ashley out of her way a lot during the past month or so as she got closer and closer to the tax deadline. But the fifteenth had just come and gone, and Jamie was smiling again.

In celebration of the last lesson, the end of tax

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time and the fifth month of Karen's pregnancy, Kyle offered to look after both girls for the rest of the day so the two women could go out for a celebratory afternoon as soon as they'd blown their last note.

Which meant that Kyle got to take both girls to their dance lesson. Because Kayla had started lessons too late to learn the recital dance, Ashley had opted to skip the performance, as well, and would be finishing her classes next week. Having experimented with dance, they'd both be going on to tiny-tot tumbling in the fall.

"Daddy, I can't get my shoe on." Ashley hopped over to Kyle on one foot, her ballet shoe tangled around the ball of her foot. They were in a deserted waiting room in the studio, Kyle having taken the girls to class half an hour earlier than their scheduled time.

"Hold on, Ash." After setting Kayla down in a chair, one shoe on and one shoe off, he grabbed for Ashley. She had the shoe on backward, the elastic wrapped around her foot.

Just as he reached for her, she took one more hop. And slipped through his hands. Kyle's heart was in his throat as he watched her land on the side of her foot and topple to the floor.

"Daddy!" she cried, even before she fell in a heap.

Scrambling to get up, she stretched out her arms for Kyle, her eyes flooded with tears. Kyle scooped her up before her second wail.

"It's okay, honey," he assured her, feeling awful. "Let Daddy see."

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"My foot hurts, Daddy," she cried, her eyes brimming over.

"'Can I help?" Ashley's dance instructor hurried toward them, and she and Kyle examined Ashley's foot together. Her left ankle was already swelling.

"Swelling's good," the dance instructor said. "Means it's probably just a sprain. Let's get some ice on it."

"Mr. Kyle?" Kayla tugged at Kyle's shirtsleeve. "Is Ashley gonna die?" she asked, and burst into tears.

Squatting, Kyle grabbed Kayla onto his other hip. "Of course not, honey. She's going to be a hero!"

Both girls quieted at that, although Ashley still hiccuped with the occasional sob.

Fifteen minutes later, Kyle carried his daughter, who now had an ice pack taped to her ankle, to the front of the studio. He held Kayla's hand on his other side, both dance bags slung over his arm.

"I'll take her for an