The Westmoreland Legacy

Three nights with a Texan...and one pregnancy surprise! Only from New York Times bestselling author Brenda Jackson!

The Texas rancher and navy SEAL who fathered Bristol Lockett’s son died a hero’s death...or so she was told. Yet when Laramie “Coop” Cooper strolls into her exhibit at an art gallery three years later, he’s very much alive—and still making her pulse zing. The all-consuming chemistry between them is as undeniable now as it was then, but Bristol won’t risk her heart—or their son’s. Little does Bristol know he’s determined to win over his unexpected family at any cost!

A sexy smile touched the corners of his lips.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you.”

Bristol drew in a deep breath and stared at him. “I just can’t believe you are alive. Someone in the State Department checked into it and told me you’d died.”

“When was this?”

“A month after I last saw you.”

He nodded. “I was presumed dead, so the person was right. I was rescued just days before Christmas the following year.”

“That was a long time.”

“Yes, it was.” Only his close friends knew about the nightmares he’d had for months following his rescue. Nightmares he still had at times.

“Why were you trying to reach me, Bristol?”

Drawing in another deep breath, she met his gaze and said, “I wanted to let you know I was pregnant.”

* * *

His Secret Son

is part of The Westmoreland Legacy—

Friends and relatives of the legendary

Westmoreland family find love!

His Secret Son

Brenda Jackson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BRENDA JACKSON is a New York Times bestselling author of more than one hundred romance titles. Brenda lives in Jacksonville, Florida, and divides her time between family, writing and traveling.

Email Brenda at authorbrendajackson@gmail.com or visit her on her website at www.brendajackson.net.

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To the man who will always and forever have my heart, Gerald Jackson Sr.

To Cozett Mazelin and Tamira K. Butler-Likely. Thanks for your assistance in my research of two-year-olds. Your information was invaluable and I hope I did the character of “Little Laramie” justice! I could tell from your responses that you are great moms!!

To my readers who continue to love my Westmorelands, this book is for you.

For none of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone.

—Romans 14:7, NIV

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Bristol Lockett hurriedly moved toward her front door, wondering who would be visiting this late in the afternoon. Although it was still light outside, this particular Paris community was on the other side of town from the famous city center, where most people hung out on Friday nights and weekends. Normally, she would be there herself, but her habits had changed in the last couple of months.

She was one of those pregnant women who experienced morning sickness in the morning and at night. Smells alone would send her running to the nearest bathroom. Most morning sickness lasted until the twelfth week of pregnancy. She was in her sixteenth week and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight. Her doctor had even placed her on a special diet to make sure she was getting sufficient nutrients into her body for her baby.

A glance out the peephole indicated her visitor was her best friend, Dionne Burcet. She and Dionne had met when Bristol first arrived in Paris four years ago to attend Académie des Beaux-Arts, which was considered one of the most prestigious and influential art schools in all of France. Dionne also attended the art academy and with so much in common, they’d hit it off immediately.

Dionne, who’d been born in Paris, had introduced Bristol to French culture, and Bristol had taken Dionne home with her to America last Christmas to meet her aunt Dolly and to experience New Year’s Eve in New York. A feeling of sadness fell over Bristol whenever she remembered that was the last holiday she and her aunt had spent together. Her aunt, her only relative, had died a few days later in her sleep.

Bristol opened the door smiling. “Dionne! This is a surprise. I thought you were leaving for—”

“I have something to tell you, Bristol.”

Bristol heard the urgency in Dionne’s voice, which resonated in her eyes, as well. “Okay, come on in. Would you like a cup of tea? I was just about to make a pot.”

“Yes, thanks.”

Bristol wondered about Dionne’s strange demeanor as she led her friend to the kitchen, which wasn’t far from the front door. She loved her studio apartment. It was small but just the right size for her. And it held a lot of memories. Her baby was conceived here, in her bed. She would miss this place when she moved back to the United States next month after graduation.

“Sit and tell me what’s wrong. Did you and Mark have a fight?”

Dionne shook her head as she sat down at the table. “No. It’s not about me, it’s about you.”

“Me?” Bristol said in surprise.

“Yes. You remember what you shared with me last month?”

“Yes. I told you I was pregnant.” Telling Dionne hadn’t been easy but she’d felt the need to confide in someone. The baby’s father was a man she’d met one day at a café. He had been a US navy SEAL out with a few of his friends and he’d flirted with her outrageously. She’d done something she had never done before and flirted back. There had been something about Laramie Cooper that had made her behave like a different person and for the next three days, over the Christmas holidays, they had enjoyed a holiday fling. It was a period in her life she would never forget. Her pregnancy made certain of that.

“Yes, from that guy. The American soldier.”

“Not just a soldier, Dionne. Laramie was a navy SEAL,” Bristol said, smiling proudly.

“Yes, the navy SEAL Laramie Cooper,” Dionne said.

From the time they’d been introduced, Bristol had liked his name and he’d said he liked hers. Laramie had told her very little about his work or even about himself. She knew he was an only child and his parents were still living in the US. He hadn’t said where.

Bristol regretted that Dionne had been away visiting her grandparents in Marseille for the holidays and hadn’t been around to meet Laramie. She believed her friend would have liked him. “What about him?”

“You told me how the two of you spent time together over the holidays and since finding out you were pregnant, you’ve been trying to locate him to let him know.”

Since she’d known very little about Laramie, other than his name and age, she had mailed a letter to him in care of the US Navy. The letter had been returned weeks ago stamped UNABLE TO LOCATE.

“Yes, and like I told you, it doesn’t matter to me that our time together was a no-strings affair, I believe he has a right to know about his child. I refused to do to him what my mother did to my father.”

For years, Bristol never knew her father and, according to her mother, she never told her father about Bristol. It was information her mother had taken with her to the grave. It was only after her mother’s death that Bristol’s aunt Dolly had given her the man’s name. She had met Randall Lockett at sixteen. He had been surprised to find out about her and had welcomed her into his life.

“Yes, I know. That’s why I decided to help you.”

Bristol raised a brow. “Help me?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Remember I told you about that guy—an American—I dated years ago? The one who worked at your embassy?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, he was recently reassigned back to the embassy here and I ran into him. I gave him your SEAL’s name and asked if he would try locating him and forwarding him a message to contact you.”

Happiness eased into Bristol and spread to all parts of her body. Although it might have been nothing more than a holiday fling for Laramie Cooper, it had been a lot more for her. She had fallen in love with him. “Was your friend able to find him?”

Dionne slowly nodded her head. “Yes.”

Bristol stared at her friend, knowing there was more. The happiness she felt earlier began dissipating at the sadness she saw in Dionne’s eyes. “What is it, Dionne? What did you find out?”

All sorts of things began rushing through her mind. What if Laramie hadn’t been the single man he’d claimed to be and had a wife and children somewhere? When Dionne didn’t say anything, but looked down at the cup of tea Bristol had placed in front of her, Bristol slouched her shoulders in disappointment. “I think I know why you’re hesitating in telling me.”

Dionne looked back at her. “Do you?”

“Yes. He’s married. Although he told me he wasn’t, you found out differently, didn’t you?”

“Bristol.”

“It doesn’t matter. He has a right to know about his child anyway. If he decides never to be a part of my baby’s life, it will be his decision and—”

“That’s not it, Bristol,” Dionne cut in to say.

Bristol frowned. “Then what is it?”

Dionne took a sip of her tea, hesitating. The dawdling was driving Bristol crazy. “For Pete’s sake, Dionne, will you just get it out and tell me what you found out about Laramie?”

Dionne held her gaze and drew in a deep breath. “Some mission he was on went bad and he was killed. He’s dead, Bristol.”

One

The Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, San Diego, California, three years later

“Let me get this straight, Lieutenant Cooper. You actually want to give up your holiday leave and remain here and work on base?”

Laramie “Coop” Cooper forced his smile to stay in place while answering his commanding officer’s question. “Yes, sir. I actually want to do that.”

He wouldn’t tell anyone that he’d looked forward to going home for the holidays, because honestly, he hadn’t. The phone call he’d gotten from his parents that they would be jet-setting to London again this year was expected. They’d done so every holiday for as long as he could remember. He doubted they’d even canceled those plans that Christmas three years ago when they’d thought him dead.

At thirty-two, he had stopped letting his parents’ actions affect him. As far as Ryan and Cassandra Cooper were concerned, the universe revolved around them and nobody else. Especially not a son who, at times, they seemed to forget existed. It wasn’t that he thought his parents didn’t love him; he knew they did. They just loved each other more. He had long ago accepted that his parents believed there were different degrees of love, and that the love they shared for each other outweighed the love for their child.

In a way, he should be glad that after thirty-five years of marriage his parents were still that into each other. They shared something special, had this unbreakable bond, and some would even say it was the love of a lifetime. But on the other hand, that love never extended to him in the same degree. He knew their lack of affection had nothing to do with his deciding to become a navy SEAL instead of joining his parents’ multimillion-dollar manufacturing company. His father had understood Laramie’s desire to make his decisions based on what he wanted to do with his life, and he appreciated his dad for accepting that.

More holidays than not, for as far back as Laramie could remember, he’d been packed up and shipped off to his paternal grandparents’ ranch in Laredo. Not that he was complaining. His grandparents had been the best and hadn’t hesitated to show him the degree of love he’d lacked at home. In fact, he would admit to resenting his parents when they did show up at his grandparents’ ranch to get him.

So, here he was volunteering to give up his holiday leave. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t received invitations from his SEAL teammates to join them and their families for the holidays, because he had. Bane Westmoreland—code name Bane—had been the first to invite Laramie to spend the holidays with his family in Denver. But given the fact that Bane’s wife, Crystal, had given birth to triplets six months ago, Laramie didn’t want to get underfoot.

Same thing with Thurston McRoy—code name Mac—with his wife, Teri, and their four kids. Gavin Blake—code name Viper—would be celebrating his first Christmas as a married man so Laramie didn’t want to intrude there, either. The only other single guy in the group was David Holloway—code name Flipper. Flipper came from a huge family of four brothers, who were all SEALs, and a father who’d retired as a SEAL commanding officer. Laramie had spent the holidays with Flipper’s family last year and didn’t want to wear out his welcome.

“I’m denying your request, Lieutenant.”

His commanding officer’s words recaptured Laramie’s attention. He met the man’s gaze and tried to keep a frown off his face. “May I ask why, sir?”

“I think you know the reason. SEAL Team Six, of which you are a vital member, has been pretty damn busy this year. I don’t have to list all the covert operations successfully accomplished with very few casualties. You deserve your holiday leave.”

“Even if I don’t want to take it?”

His commanding officer held his gaze. “Yes, even if you don’t want to take it. Military leave is necessary, especially for a SEAL, to recoup both mentally and physically. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you’ve been pushing yourself. It’s like you’re trying to make up for the time you were a captive in Syria.”

Laramie remembered all eleven months of being held prisoner in that guerilla hellhole. He hadn’t known from one day to the next if he’d survive that day. The bastards had done everything in their power to make him think every day would be his last. They’d even played Russian roulette with him a couple of times.

It was on one of those particular days when he’d been rescued. Leave it to Bane, who was a master sniper, to bring down the four men from a distance of over a hundred feet. Laramie was convinced there was no way he would have survived if his SEAL team hadn’t shown up.

During those eleven months he’d fought hard to stay sane and the one memory that had sustained him was the face of the woman he’d met in Paris just weeks before the mission.

Bristol Lockett.

It had been a three-day holiday affair. Sadly, there was little he knew about her other than sharing her bed had been the best sexual experience of his life.

“However, since I know you’re going to insist,” his commanding officer said, reclaiming Laramie’s thoughts again, “I’ve got an important job that I want you to do. However, it means traveling to New York.”

Laramie raised a brow. “New York?”

“Yes. An important delivery needs to be made to a member of the United Nations Security Council.”

Laramie wondered what kind of delivery. Classified documents no doubt.

He’d heard how beautiful Manhattan was when it was decorated for this time of year. He’d been to the Big Apple a number of times, but never around the holidays. “Once I make the delivery, sir. Then what?”

“That, Lieutenant, is up to you. If you decide to take your holiday leave, then you won’t have to report back here until the end of January as scheduled. However, if you still want to give up your leave, then you’re free to come back here and I’ll find more work for you to do.”

Laramie nodded. He might take a week off to enjoy the sights and sounds of New York, but there was no doubt in his mind that he would be returning to San Diego for more work.

* * *

Bristol glanced around the art gallery. She always felt a sense of pride and accomplishment whenever she saw one of her paintings on display. Especially here at the Jazlyn Art Gallery of New York. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

She had worked so hard for this moment.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?”

She glanced up at her manager, Margie Townsend. “Yes, I have to admit that it does.”

Margie’s tenacious pit bull–like skills had landed Bristol a showing at this gallery, one of the most well-known and highly respected galleries in New York. She and Margie had met last year on the subway and struck up a conversation. When Bristol discovered what Margie did for a living, she felt their chance encounter must have been an omen. She’d invited Margie to her home to see her work, and the excitement reflected in the woman’s eyes had been incredible. Margie promised to change Bristol’s life. She promised that Bristol would get to the point where she could quit her job as an assistant magazine editor and make her living as the artist she was born to be.

Less than eight months later, Margie had sold one of Bristol’s paintings. The buyer had been so taken with her work that he’d also purchased several others. The money had been enough to bring about the change in Bristol’s life Margie had guaranteed. She had turned in her resignation and now painted full-time in her home.

Bristol was happy with the direction of her career. She got to spend more time with her son since she kept him with her every day instead of taking him to day care like she used to do.

Her son.

She smiled when she thought about her rambunctious two-year old—the most important person in her life. He was her life. Every decision she made was done with him in mind. She’d already started a college fund for him and couldn’t wait to share the holidays with him. Last night they had put up their Christmas tree. Correction, she thought, widening her smile. She had put up the tree. Laramie had gotten in the way with his anxiousness to help.

Laramie...

It was hard not to think of Laramie’s father whenever she thought of her son. She had named him after his biological father, Laramie Cooper, who had died way too young, and without knowing about the child they’d created together. Sometimes she wondered what he would have done had he lived and gotten the letter she’d tried to send him.

Would he have been just as happy as she’d been? Or would he have claimed the child wasn’t his? She might not have known Laramie Cooper long, but she wanted to believe he was a man who would have wanted to be a part of his child’s life. The way her father had wanted to be a part of hers. The two years she’d shared with the man who’d fathered her had not been enough.

“Are you ready to go? You have a big day tomorrow and I want you well rested.”

She chuckled as she tightened her coat around her. “And I will be.”

Margie rolled her eyes. “I guess as much as you can be with a two-year-old running around the place.”

She knew what Margie was hinting at. Bristol was spending less and less time painting now that Laramie was in the terrible twos. It was also the get-into-everything twos. The only time she really got to paint was during his nap time or while he slept at night.

“Did you give any more thought to what I said?”

Margie had suggested that she send Laramie to day care two to three days a week. “Yes, but I’m thinking of hiring someone to come to my home instead of me having to take him somewhere.”

“That might work, but he has to start learning to interact with other kids, Bristol.” As they walked toward the waiting private car that was compliments of the gallery, Margie changed the subject. “Have you decided to go out with Steven?”

Bristol shrugged. Steven Culpepper was nice enough, and good-looking, too. However, he was moving too fast. At least, faster than she liked. They’d met a few weeks ago when she’d closed a huge deal for a commissioned piece. He was the corporation’s attorney. He’d asked for her number and, without thinking much about it, she’d given it to him. Since then he’d called constantly, trying to get her to go out with him. So far, she hadn’t. She hated pushy men and Steven, she thought, was one of the pushiest.

“No.”

“I like him.”

Bristol grinned. “You would. You have a thing for wealthy businessmen.” She knew Margie had been married to one. Or two. She was on her third marriage and not even fifty yet. But the one thing all three men had in common was the size of their bank accounts.

“Well, I know you still have a thing for Laramie’s father and—”

“What makes you think that?”

“Bristol, you make it quite obvious that you haven’t gotten over him.”

Did she? The only thing she’d told Margie about Laramie’s father was that he’d been in the military and had died in the line of duty without knowing he’d fathered a son. She’d even fabricated a tale that Laramie had been her deceased husband and not just her lover.

It had been pretty easy. Dionne’s fiancé, Mark, had helped. Mark worked for a judge in Paris and had falsified the papers before Bristol left France. It was a way to make sure her son had his father’s last name without people wondering why her last name was different. It wasn’t as if she was trying to cash in on her son’s father’s military benefits or anything.

“If you ask me, I think you should finally move on...with Steven,” Margie said, interrupting Bristol’s thoughts.

Bristol wanted to say that nobody had asked Margie. But deep down, a part of her knew Margie was right. It was time for Bristol to move on. However, she doubted very seriously that it would be with Steven.

A short while later she was entering her home, a beautiful brownstone in Brooklyn that she’d inherited from her aunt Dolly. She loved the place and knew the neighborhood well. She’d come to live here with her aunt ten years ago, when she was fifteen. That had been the year her mother died.

She didn’t want to think sad thoughts, especially after her positive meeting with Maurice Jazlyn, the owner of the gallery. The man was excited about tomorrow night’s showing and expected a huge crowd. He loved all the artworks she would be exhibiting.

“How did things go tonight?”

She turned toward the older woman coming down the stairs to the main floor. Charlotte Kramer lived next door and had been a close friend of her aunt Dolly. With her four kids grown and living in other parts of New York, Ms. Charlotte had thought about moving to a condo not far away, but had decided she’d rather stay put since she’d lived in the area close to forty years and loved her neighbors. Ms. Charlotte said there were a lot of memories of Mr. Kramer stored in that house. He’d passed away eight years ago, a couple of years after Bristol had come to live with her aunt.

Bristol appreciated that Ms. Charlotte loved watching Laramie for her whenever she had meetings to attend. And Ms. Charlotte had offered to watch him again tomorrow night when Bristol attended the exhibition.

“Everything went well. Everyone is excited about tomorrow. Mr. Jazlyn thinks he’ll be able to sell all my paintings.”

A huge smile touched Ms. Charlotte’s lips. “That’s good news. Dolly would be proud. Candace would be, too.”

She doubted the latter. Her mother had never approved of Bristol becoming an artist. It was only after she died that Bristol learned why. Her father had been an artist who’d broken things off with her mother to study in Paris. It was only after he’d left the country that her mother discovered her pregnancy. She’d known how to reach him but refused to let him know about his child. She had resented him for ending things with her to pursue his dream.

Bristol had been sixteen when she’d met her father for the first time. She would not have met him then if it hadn’t been for her aunt’s decision to break the promise she’d made to Bristol’s mother years ago. Aunt Dolly wanted Bristol to know her father and vice versa. When Bristol was given the man’s name, she had been shocked to find that the person whose art she’d admired for years was really her father.

She’d finally gotten the courage to contact him on her sixteenth birthday. Randall Lockett was married with a family when they’d finally met. He had two young sons—ages ten and twelve—with his wife Krista. Bristol was his only daughter and she favored him so much it was uncanny. She was also his only offspring who’d inherited his artistic gift.

When he’d died, he had bequeathed to her full tuition to the school he himself had attended in Paris as well as the vast majority of his paintings. He’d felt she would appreciate them more than anyone, and she had. She’d heard that Krista had remarried and sold off all the artworks that had been left to her and their sons.

Paintings by Randall Lockett were valued in the millions. Art collectors had contacted Bristol on numerous occasions, but she had refused to sell. Instead her father’s paintings were on display at the two largest art museums in the world, New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Orsay Museum in Paris.

A few months before her father had died, they had completed a painting together, which was her most cherished possession. It was so uncanny that when it came to art she and her father had possessed identical preferences. They even held their brushes the same way. On those days when she felt down and out, she would look at the portrait over her fireplace and remember the six weeks they’d spent together on his boat while painting it. That was when they’d noticed all the similarities they shared as artists. She hadn’t known he was dying of cancer until his final days. He hadn’t wanted her to know. He was determined to share every moment he could with her without seeing pity and regret in her eyes.

Forcing those sad thoughts from her mind, she glanced back over at Ms. Charlotte. “Did Laramie behave himself tonight?” she asked, placing her purse on the table.

The older woman chuckled. “Doesn’t he always?”

Bristol smiled. “No, but I know you wouldn’t tell me even if he was a handful.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. Boys will be boys. I know. I raised four of them.”

Yes, she had, and to this day Ms. Charlotte’s sons looked out for her, making sure she had everything she needed and then some.

After Ms. Charlotte left, Bristol climbed the stairs to her son’s room. He was in his bed, sound asleep. Crossing the bedroom floor, she saw he had put away all his toys. That was a good sign that he was learning to follow instructions.

Approaching the bed, she sat on the edge and gently ran her fingers through the curls on his head. He favored his father. Laramie Cooper’s features were etched in her memory. Whenever Laramie smiled, he displayed his father’s dimples in both cheeks. Then there was the shape of his mouth and the slant of his eyes. Like father, like son. There was no doubt in her mind that one day Laramie would grow up and capture some woman’s heart just as quickly and easily as his father had claimed hers.

As she sat there watching her son sleep, she couldn’t stop her mind from going back to that time in Paris when she’d met US Navy SEAL Laramie Cooper...