A Dad Of His Own

An olive-green sideboard stenciled with Dutch designs towered beside a brocade sofa spruced up with embroidered throw pillows and a draped afghan, studded by riotous cartoon characters. Every space on the wall was filled with twisted wreaths of dried twigs and flowers, puffy quilt miniatures trimmed with handmade lace, and peculiar garage-sale items like gigantic carved salad tongs, eighteenth-century bedwarmers and a rusted wagon wheel studded with spears of dried lavender and windflowers.

And of course there were photographs. Dozens of them, set proudly on the spool telephone table, the green sideboard, an iron plant stand that had been converted to a knickknack shelf, and dotting the walls—all lovingly framed with handmade lace or tucked into a nest of braided twigs.

Every photograph was of Bobby. Bobby as an infant, as a drooling toddler, as a grinning first-grader with no front teeth. Bobby in a football jersey. Bobby at the beach. Bobby throwing a snowball. School portraits, candid snapshots, year after year of his son’s life captured in pictures.

Nick had already missed all those years. He wouldn’t miss any more.

Closing the appointment book, he tucked it back into his pocket, interrupting Roger’s sniveled protest with a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ve agreed to assist my son’s soccer coach. The team practices on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ll be unavailable on those afternoons for the duration of the season. As for the National Technologies meeting, you can either reschedule it, cancel it or handle it alone. You decide.”

“But—”

“I’ll be in the office tomorrow morning. We’ll discuss it then.”

The poor man sounded apoplectic. “But what about the fish?”

“Fish?”

“There’s a goldfish in the water cooler.”

“Oh, that fish.” Nick chuckled, having nearly forgotten what was bound to have been one of his most memorable pranks. “Is the fish in question causing any distress?”

“Er, well, Ms. Pipps from Accounting is quite troubled. She won’t drink the water, of course. No one will.”

That came as no surprise, although the cooler had been disabled lest an unobservant soul attempted to use the converted fish tank for its original purpose. “You’ll find several cases of imported spring water in the lunch room. Oh, and there’s a box of fish food on my desk.”

“Fish food?”

“Just a pinch, Roger. Mustn’t overfeed, you know.” With that, Nick thumbed the cell phone off, folded it into his jacket pocket, and focused his attention on the soft footsteps descending the stairs. He knew it was Chessa. There was a distinctive pattern to her movement, a delicate rhythm to her step.

Over the past few hours he’d studied everything about her, from the timid smile that she offered too rarely to the way her eyes widened when she was taken by surprise, as she had been when Bobby had insisted Nick stay for dinner. He’d recognized her anxiety and felt guilty about not having graciously extricated himself from the situation.

The truth was that he’d wanted to stay, had wanted to continue his study of this intriguing woman with the haunted eyes. Everything about her fascinated him, even her unique manner of wielding a dinner fork as if it were something regal. Nick had pieced every mannerism into his memory, searching for something, anything that would jog him into recalling details of their past together. The image remained elusive, a fleeting ghost from a past he’d escaped long ago and the memories he’d left behind.

Halfway down the stairs, Chessa paused when she saw him, gripped the varnished oak banister so tightly that even from his vantage point in the living room, Nick could see her fingers whiten.

She moistened her lips, regarded him with thinly disguised disapproval. “Bobby would like to say good-night to you.” Avoiding his gaze, she descended the final steps and crossed the living room without so much as a glance in his direction. “Please leave his bedroom door open and turn the hall light on when you’re through. Bobby is afraid of the dark.”

With that she disappeared into the kitchen. Nick went to say good-night to his son.

Thirty minutes later Nick came downstairs just as Chessa emerged from the kitchen carrying a flat sheet of carved apples. Her eyes widened a moment, but she recovered quickly and swished past him as if unaffected by his presence. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten how to get downstairs.”

He stepped around the old steamer trunk that enhanced the eclectic decor by serving as a coffee table. “Bobby is a very verbal young man,” he said. There seemed no reason to explain that he’d spent the past half hour explaining why refusal to move into their guest room didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be a part of his life. Not that the idea didn’t hold a certain appeal, although it didn’t take a psychic to realize that Chessa would be less than amenable to the idea.

Stopping at a closed door behind the stairwell, she propped the flat pan against her hip, freed one hand and opened the door, disappearing inside before Nick could spring forward to assist her.

The hollow sound of footsteps on wooden stairs filtered from the open doorway, along with the occasional creak of old boards strained with age. A light sprayed from the opening, which Nick presumed led to a basement.

Acutely aware that he hadn’t been invited to follow, he clasped his hands behind his back, rocked impatiently on the balls of his feet. He glanced at his watch, then back toward the basement door. Sounds filtered up. A clunk, a thunk, a rustling scratch, as if something heavy had been dragged across metal.

It was a two-hour drive back to Marin County. If he left now, he’d make it before midnight.

More scraping from downstairs. Nick sidled toward the doorway, peered down the narrow basement stairs. A low ceiling obstructed his view, so he descended the first few steps. Fluorescent lights flooded the room with brilliant illumination. Two more steps, and he stopped in his tracks, stunned by what he saw.

The huge basement had been transformed into a large assembly bay, with supply bins and long counters heaped with fabric. Sheaths of dried weeds and flowers hung from the rafters, and one section was a mailing area, complete with stacks of boxes, tapes and labels. “Good grief,” he mumbled. “You’ve got quite an operation down here.”

Startled, Chessa leaped away from the large dehydrator into which she’d been arranging the carved apples, touched her throat, then sagged against the counter.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Continuing down the steps, Nick glanced around the room, noticing an old sewing machine on a counter heaped with bolts of cloth, and bins of what appeared to be tiny doll clothes. “You actually sell these things?”

“Yes.” Across the room, Chessa completed loading the apples without embellishment. She’d been quiet all day and apparently wasn’t feeling any more talkative now.

Nick sauntered past the mailing area, glancing at a few of the packed boxes, which had been neatly labeled to specialty stores around the country. “A nationwide clientele? I’m impressed.”

She closed the door, crossed her arms and regarded him warily. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Puffing his cheeks, Nick blew out a breath and jammed his hands in his slacks pockets. “I didn’t mean to intrude. You left the basement door open, so I presumed you didn’t mind if I joined you.”

“I always leave the door open so I can hear Bobby.” Her gaze skittered away, settled on a spot in thin air. “He sometimes wakes up during the night.”

“Nightmares?”

“No, not really. He just wants to make certain I’m here.”

Nick regarded a nervous twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Has he ever awakened and not found you here?”

The nervous twitch hardened into a flat, angry line. “I have always been here for my son,” she snapped. “How dare you imply otherwise?”

He managed to stifle a groan of regret at having uttered such an asinine and insensitive comment. “I’m sorry. Of course you have. We both know that I’m the one who hasn’t been here. I can’t change the past. I’m here now, and I intend to be part of my son’s life from this day forward.”

Every trace of color drained from her face. She swayed slightly, and for a moment Nick feared her knees might buckle. As he reached out, she stiffened, held out a hand like a shield. Since she appeared ready to bolt, he dropped his hands to his side and stepped back, giving her space.

She took one deep breath, then another. When she finally met his gaze, her expression was steel hard and determined. “I realize you’ve been put in an untenable position, Mr. Purcell, and I deeply regret it. Please understand that none of this is your fault, but my son is my first and only priority. The longer this goes on, the more deeply he will be hurt. I don’t want you to be a part of his life. In fact, I don’t want you to see him again. Ever.”

For a moment Nick simply stared at her. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

Her chest deflated slightly, as if she’d exhaled all her air at once. The relief in her eyes stung. “I’m the one who is sorry. You’ve been very kind to Bobby, and I appreciate it. I would also appreciate you respecting my wishes.”

“I do respect your wishes. Unfortunately I cannot and will not honor them.”

Comprehension dawned slowly in her eyes, which widened from disbelief into an appealing combination of anger and indignation. “Perhaps you didn’t understand. I do not want you to have any further contact with my son.”

“I understand perfectly.” Nick, too, was growing angry. “But I’ve already been denied nine years of my son’s life. I have no intention of being denied any more of it.”

“Bobby is not your son!” The words were shrill and sharp, shockingly so. Recovering quickly, she clasped her hands, hiked her chin with royal dignity. “I’ve already apologized. I don’t know what else to do. I never meant for you to become involved in this. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined—” Biting her lower lip, she struggled for control. She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Please, just leave us alone.”

Inside, Chessa was shaking so violently she feared she might collapse.

Bobby is not your son.

She’d said it. The words were out. There was nothing she could do to make amends to Nick Purcell for all that she’d put him through, but he seemed a strong man, and despite his shaky start in life, she believed he was a good man, as well. Eventually she would try to explain what had happened. Maybe he’d understand; maybe he wouldn’t. Either way Nick Purcell had always been a survivor.

Bobby was another matter. Her beloved child had wrapped all his hopes and dreams around this man, hopes and dreams that his own mother hadn’t even recognized. Chessa would carve out her own heart to avoid hurting her son, but there seemed no way to avoid it now. For a brief and shining moment, he’d had a dad of his own. Now she had to take that away from him.

He would hate her for it.

Footsteps snapped across the concrete floor, catching her attention. Nick Purcell was leaving. A rush of relief was tempered by a peculiar sense of loss. She wasted no time analyzing that. An interminable night stretched before her, an agonizing night during which she must decide the gentlest way to break her son’s heart.

At the base of the stairs Nick stopped abruptly. “I’ll be here Tuesday afternoon around four. Please inform my son that I’ll meet him at the soccer field, as planned.”

Nick had moved halfway up the stairs before Chessa found her voice. “Wait!”

He favored her with a cool look. “Yes?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?”

“I heard you.”

“Bobby is not your son.”

“This says that he is,” Nick replied, patting the breast pocket into which he’d slipped the copy of Bobby’s birth certificate. “You’ve done a fine job raising our child, Chessa. After all these years, I can understand why you wouldn’t be pleased by the prospect of sharing him. But share him you will, or our lawyers will meet in court and the truth will be laid bare.”

The truth. Laid bare. In court, where her son would be devastated by it

Chessa couldn’t let that happen. Not now, not ever.

Nick’s gaze burned straight into her soul. “Do we understand each other?”

Somehow she managed to lift her chin a notch to keep it from quivering. “Yes, we understand each other.”

“Tuesday, then. You’ll tell him?”

“I’ll tell him.”

With a curt nod Nick strode up the stairs. A moment later Chessa heard the front door open and close. Only then did she sag against the drying counter and allow the tears to flow.

All these years she’d believed her secret was safe. She hadn’t realized how desperately her son wanted a father, nor could she possibly have imagined how desperately Nick wanted to be one.

There was no choice now. No choice at all.

Chapter Three

Stars above, lights below, brilliantly twinkling and pulsing in the velvet night. A midnight bluff overlooking a sleeping town blurred by fogged windows and the heady scent of love. The car shuddered. Soft moans, sweet breath, shudders of ecstasy.

His body sighed; his mind swirled. A whisper of silken hair, the embrace of soft arms, fragrant with perfume. A veiled face, nebulous and obscure, clouded by passion and the misty muddle of an intoxicated mind.

From somewhere beyond conscious thought, a melody beckoned. A voice, fresh and lyrical, summoned him, rousting his mind from pleasures of the flesh to something deeper, more poignant. Sweet arms held him, a gentle whisper begged him not to look. He had to look, had to lay eyes upon the vision from which such mellifluous beauty could emerge.

Condensation mysteriously evaporated, revealing a circle of clarity on the cloudy glass. A face floated in the darkness, a face of such stunning beauty that he was paralyzed by its intensity. Sable hair, ruffled by an invisible breeze. Eyes blue enough to blind a man with radiance. Dewy lips, lush and alluring, set in a regal face of such dignity that he was humbled in its presence.

It was her, he realized. It had always been her.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.