Читать книгу The Secret Father - Anna Adams - Страница 10

“AMNESIA?” James Kendall’s mirthless laugh nearly deafened Olivia through her cell phone’s receiver. “He was never good enough for you, and this lame amnesia excuse just proves my point.”

“Why would he lie, Dad?” Despite her own doubts, she tried to soothe her father’s. At the first sign of weakness in her, he’d try running Zach out of the country. She stayed calm for several reasons. One, she didn’t want him all over Zach. Two, he’d stuck by her through a pregnancy that had shamed him. And three, he loved Evan.

“He dumped you and he doesn’t have the guts to be a man. Why are you willing to let him think about it? Evan deserves a father who simply wants him for a son.”

“I’m not holding a grudge.” Not much of one, and she’d fight every step of the way to make things right for Evan. “He couldn’t help what happened.”

“Why let him jerk you around?”

“I insisted Zach think about the obligations I’m asking him to take on.”

“Did he argue with you?”

“No, but he was stunned, and I don’t want him to do the right thing out of some knee-jerk response. What good would Zach’s sense of duty do my son?”

“I didn’t have to decide whether I wanted to be his grandfather.”

She could have argued. He’d conveniently forgotten the day he’d suggested he could help her “not have” the baby. He’d made up for it too many times to count since. She twitched the curtain away from her window. Dusk hovered over Bardill’s Ridge. In the street below, Victorian lamps glowed orange-yellow.

“You had seven and a half months to get used to the idea of Evan. I’m willing to give Zach a few hours, and I’ll stay with Evan and him when they’re together at first.”

“Thank God you’ve still got some sense. Calvert should have considered his actions back then. When a twenty-six-year-old man knows he can’t even be honest about his job with a twenty-one-year-old woman, the honorable thing is to abstain.”

“You like to forget I was there, too, and you’re still annoyed I didn’t hold out for a wedding ring. You and I aren’t selfless.”

“More so than the man who left you holding the diaper bag.”

“If Zach decides to become part of this family, I expect you to be civil to him.”

“If you hold a single doubt about this man, I say we start the paperwork to sue him for support.”

“Great idea, Dad. Evan will never need a dime from Zach, but he’s gone without a father’s care for five years. A lawsuit should fix all his problems.” She dropped the curtain and opened the nightstand drawer to find a laminated pizza menu. “I don’t think Zach’s going to duck out. Why can’t you give him the benefit of the doubt?”

“You are, and that’s more than he deserves.” Her dad went quiet. She hoped he was trying to find some restraint. The family counselor they’d seen when Evan was a baby had taught him to give Olivia room to parent her own child, but her dad was always happiest when he’d worked up a full head of steam. “When are you supposed to see Calvert again?”

“His name is Zach, and I’ll let you know when he calls.”

“Are we supposed to twiddle our thumbs while he decides? I should be there with you. In fact, I’m on my way.”

Olivia laughed to remind her father he was over-reacting. Suddenly, the phone at her bedside jangled. She eyed it with foreboding. “I have to go, Dad. You stay put in Chicago. Is Evan all right?”

“Sound asleep, or I’d let you talk to him.”

He’d already admitted to spoiling her son with dinner and the richest cheesecake in Chicago at Evan’s favorite “grown-up” restaurant. From there, her father swore Evan had hauled him to a batting cage. He’d exhausted the little guy.

The other phone rang for the third time. “I’ll call you,” Olivia said again. “Kiss him for me.”

“Get back here and kiss him yourself, or let me bring him to you.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I’ll arrange a healthy meal for Evan tomorrow night.”

“I’m glad.” Her father was a man who showed his love through service rather than affectionate words. “Bye.”

She switched off her cell phone and lifted the other receiver. “Olivia Kendall.” Putting this conversation on business terms was like suiting up in her best armor.

“It’s Zach Calvert. I want to come by in the morning.”

“To talk?” Who cared if she sounded eager? “You can come now.”

“I’ll be ready to travel in the morning, but tonight I have to tell my own family.”

Her pulse tripped over a few beats. He was saying yes. He wanted to know Evan.

“Yes” terrified her. For her son—a little for herself. She’d once loved this man, and he was coming back into her life. She remembered desire and trust that had turned on her like Cleopatra’s asp. She couldn’t afford to get confused about long-dead feelings.

“Maybe it would be better if you didn’t mention Evan to your daughter until you meet him.”

“What?” The one word suggested she’d over-stepped.

“Until you make up your mind, why disrupt Evan’s life or Lily’s?”

“You have nothing to do with my daughter, Olivia. I take care of my family.”

His harshness hurt her feelings. She tried not to snap back. His anger might come from problems he’d had with Helene over custody of Lily.

“Bottom line,” she said, pretending to ignore his quick temper, “I don’t want my son hurt.” She threaded her voice with sharp steel, just in case he considered her soft. “If he ever thinks you’re sorry…”

Silence met her half threat. Seeing his expression would have been nice.

“Is eight o’clock too early to leave tomorrow?” he asked.

“Fine.” She probably wouldn’t sleep. “I’ll arrange our flight.”

“Let me.”

“Face it. I have more pull.” Zach could be in charge next time.

SHARING A GLASS of iced tea with her mother-in-law, Greta, Beth Calvert recognized her son’s car down-shifting to start the climb up her hill. Over a pot of chili, the two women had begun planning a party to celebrate Greta and her husband Seth’s fifty-fifth anniversary.

They’d planned very little party and talked more about Seth’s single anniversary request—more time with his wife. He wanted her to retire from her job as director of The Mom’s Place as she neared seventy-six years of age.

Beth smiled. Greta seemed to feel her husband asked too much. Already pregnant with Ned, Zach’s father, when she was in premed, Greta had worked nearly all her life, and pretty much all the time she or Seth could remember. Seventy-six wasn’t too young to retire by any means, but around here country doctors worked a lot longer than that.

“I’ve asked Sophie to join me,” Greta said. “At least to discuss it while she’s here for our anniversary, but she swears she’s happy delivering babies for those rich women in D.C. They have more OB/GYNs than they can choose from. I need her. My clients need her if Seth’s going to make me step down. We have plenty of time—you know my parents both lived until well into their nineties—but Seth refuses to discuss my work anymore.”

Watching for Zach’s car, Beth nodded in sympathy. “You started the clinic. You’ve helped a lot of young girls in these mountains.” Greta’s paying customers, women who craved some pampered time before their babies came, provided funding for young women who found themselves “in trouble” in Bardill’s Ridge and the surrounding towns. “You own the baby farm and you want to put it in hands you trust.”

Greta expressed disapproval with a tart look. “I hate when y’all call it the baby farm.”

“Sorry.” Beth knew that, but this late, unannounced visit from Zach had sidetracked her.

“I don’t believe Sophie’s happy. She and Molly and Zach were like siblings when they were kids, and she’s a Calvert just like the rest of us. She’ll be happier among family.”

“Maybe you should advertise for another physician just in case.” Beth craned her neck, waiting for Zach’s headlights to sweep the dusk-shadowed turn in her drive. Something had troubled him since that bank robbery. Who wouldn’t be upset to discover such violence in himself? “Sophie will come home when she’s ready. You can’t push children.” At last bright light feathered through the shrubbery that lined the gravel driveway. “Even when they’re grown up.”

“I’d expect Sophie to remember her loyalty to this side of her family as well as to that rogue mother of hers.”

“I don’t think she sees Nita too often.” Beth pointed to the car nosing around the bend. “Look—there’s Zach. Wonder what he’s after so late?”

Greta looked concerned. “Something wrong? Seth will be calling any second if I don’t start home, but I can stay and help you—”

“I’m sure Zach’s fine.” She wasn’t sure at all, but Greta had enough on her mind. The family had all assumed she’d work at the baby farm till she couldn’t work anymore. Seth must have been insistent if Greta was considering retirement. “Would you like more tea?”

“No.” Her mother-in-law stood, flexing her back. “I left my glasses at the office. Better get moving. Seth’s also nagging me to stop driving after dark.” She leaned down and aimed a swift kiss Beth’s way. “Now, if he asks, we talked about the party, not work, right?”

“He must be really upset this time.” Seth had retired from his seat on the county circuit court over ten years ago, and he’d expected his wife to join him in taking leisure.

“He’s serious.” Greta patted her hair. “So I’m paying attention. Good night, honey. I’m just going to wait by my car to speak to Zach.”

“’Night, Greta.”

The older woman floated down the stairs, reaching her car as Zach parked his. They spoke between their doors for a moment, and then Greta waved goodbye and drove off.

Zach headed toward the house, but trouble climbed the wooden porch steps with him. Beth stood, sniffing wood smoke on the crisp air.

“Smell that, son? Fall’s got us in its grip.”

“It’s your favorite time of year, isn’t it, Mom?” He turned at the top step and joined her in appreciation of the darkening ridge that rolled from beneath her house. Out here the rising moon provided scarce light. Beth’s nearest neighbor lived a stiff hike down the road.

Zach lived on his father’s farm now, in the house she’d loved during her marriage. But she’d hated the place after Ned died. A tree had fallen on him as he’d cleared a field during a storm’s early gusts. She and Zach, only eight at the time, had taken refuge from their loss on this lonely, untamable patch of ground that had once belonged to her family. She’d wanted no more farms.

“Tell me what’s wrong, son.”

He grinned. “How’d you know?” A little tired, a lot cagey, still wearing the uniform he usually took off the second he left the sheriff’s office behind, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Never mind. You just know.”

“Better come inside. Want some coffee?”

She always had a pot on the warmer. Mr. Coffee had become her best friend the first day he’d shown up at the hardware store in town.

Her son towered over her as he ducked to cross the threshold into the small living room. Her grandfather had built this house, and every room formed a perfect square. Zach used to say the squares made him feel claustrophobic. He worked at the knot in his tie as she patted his shoulder.

“Come into the kitchen. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten.”

“Try not to mother me, Mom.”

“It’s still my job.”

He never gave her credit for the times she tried to let him alone. But she was a Southern woman—when she sensed a heavy load of dread on her son’s shoulders, she got the urge to throw something in a casserole. Feeding him was her only refuge when Zach turned as standoffish as the bushy gray cat that sprawled in front of her fireplace.

Spike and Zach shared the same views on comfort. They wanted to be in the room, but they preferred a minimum of human affection.

Zach followed her. “I have to tell you something.”

“How bad is it?” Since that day Seth had come up from the field to tell her about Ned, she tended to expect the worst. She tried not to, but she had to pray nothing worse than losing Ned ever happened to her while she had a son and a family who depended on her to be sane.

“It’s good in a way. In a lot of ways.” Zach opened the refrigerator and popped the top on a pale blue plastic bowl. “Chili? Smells great.”

Elbowing him aside, she took the bowl and dished a couple of Zach-sized servings into a saucepan. No microwaves in her house. She cooked the old-fashioned way. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m trying to think of a way to say it.” He opened the door to the back porch. “Let me bring in some wood for you. The weather forecast says we might have a freeze tonight.”

“Okay.” She plucked a sweet onion from the wire basket that hung above her counter. If he had to belly up to telling her, it couldn’t be that good.

While the screen door banged open and then shut each time Zach carried a load of wood from the pile out back, Beth peeled the onion.

Spike slinked in to investigate the racket. He hunkered down at her feet while she diced onion the way Zach liked, in small chunks. With the cat twining around her ankles, she cut a hunk of corn bread and set it on a bread plate at the table. She was stirring the steaming chili as Zach got his fill of loading the bin.

He came back in, sniffing the chili’s aroma. Again, like Spike. “I didn’t even know I was hungry.” He slapped on the faucet to wash his hands at the sink. “Aren’t you eating?”

“I ate with Gran, but I might have a bite of corn bread.”

“I hate to eat alone.”

He never admitted that to anyone else, but she knew. It pricked at her during the long two-week periods when Lily stayed at Helene’s. Zach’s discomfort with being alone had started after the accident, too.

He needed a family. Helene hadn’t been a good wife for him, but someday a woman would arrive sporting sense enough to value a guy who always did the right thing—even when it came to letting his wife go. Beth often wondered how much of Zach’s pain came from a suspicion that, as Helene alleged, he hadn’t been good enough for her.

“Mom, do you remember I was in Chicago before I took that last flight?”

It was an odd beginning, but she went with him. “How could I forget?” She could have bitten her tongue off.

With a look of forebearance, Zach went to the counter where she’d set out a bowl. He ladled chili from the saucepan and sprinkled onions over the top.

“I knew someone in Chicago—a woman named Olivia Kendall.”

“Olivia Kendall? I’ve heard that name.”

He lifted his head so sharply chili spilled over the edge of the ladle to splatter the stove. “How? Did she write me here?”

“Huh?” Beth circled the counter to the family room and plucked a magazine from the stack beside her favorite chair. “No one wrote to you here. I always wondered why. I thought you surely had friends.” She showed him last month’s issue of Relevance. “I know her from this. How did you meet a woman like her?” All he needed was another Helene type.

“I’m not sure.” He shook his head and then lifted his spoon for a bite. Normally, chili was the next best thing to nectar for Zach. He savored it like those folks on the food channel swilled choice wine. This bite, he swallowed almost without chewing, but then cringed and ran for the sink where he splashed water into his burned mouth.

“I’m sorry, son.” She got him a beer, twisted the top and put the bottle on the counter. “Now, tell me about Olivia Kendall. What does she want from you?”

His still-wary gaze reminded her of the little boy who’d once thought she knew everything. After all these years, some of that child’s vulnerability remained in Zach’s eyes. He’d hate it if he knew.

“I knew her well. I—” He broke off, his face tight. She couldn’t tell if the chili burn hurt him or if he was struggling with the words. “Apparently, I cared for her.” He looked almost ashamed. “We have a son. Olivia and I.”

While she stared, mouth literally agape, he took the bottle top from her hand and tossed it into the garbage beneath the sink. Then he maneuvered her into the nearest chair. He might be giving her time to take it in. More likely, he was embarrassed. He’d had Lily too quickly with Helene, too.

“How does a man forget a child?”

“Or the boy’s mother,” Zach said. “She was young. I know what kind of resources her family has, but I hate to think of what she went through, being a single mother because I disappeared.” He patted his pockets as if he were looking for something. “Olivia brought a picture, but I left it at home.” He pointed to the mantel in her living room. “He looks just like those.”

She turned her head slowly. She’d all but papered her house in photos of Ned and Zach. She hadn’t wanted her boy to forget his father. “He looks like you? Or your daddy?”

“So much like me you wouldn’t be able to tell our pictures apart.” He pointed toward the end of the table, at his kindergarten graduation photo above a dried-flower arrangement. “He’s that old.”

She stared at the picture, taking time to let Zach’s news sink in. Ned, as tall as Zach was now, but already more gray about the head than blond, had hoisted their son in miniature cap and gown to his shoulder. As proud as if their Zach had finished Harvard magna cum laude. Good thing, because he’d been gone twelve years by the time Zach finished college on the government’s dime.

She shook her head. “How’d you even meet someone like her? That family hardly keeps our kind of company.”

“After she told me about Evan I didn’t think to ask for details.” His haggard expression was painful to see, but he turned away, rejecting her concern for a swig of his beer. “I left on my last mission before she could tell me she was pregnant, and then she saw my picture in the news. Her father tried to get more information out of the Navy, but Kendall was the last person they wanted to see, and they didn’t know about Olivia—any more than she knew what I was really doing. She never heard I survived until she saw a report on the bank robbery.”

“My God.”

He took his chair again, his moving body pushing the heavy oak table away. “Yeah.”

“Is she looking for support?” A mother’s protectiveness sharpened her voice. For once, Zach didn’t seem to notice.

“Olivia Kendall,” he repeated, as if her name said it all.

It did.

“Still, I owe my son support.”

True. “What else does she want?”

“A father for Evan.” He stood again, his meal forgotten as he strode the creaking wooden floor. “That’s what she says.”

After Helene, it was a hard concept to follow. “Do you believe her?”

“I think so.” He lifted a troubled gaze. “I have to because I want to see him. I don’t know if Evan needs me, but I’m shocked that I’ve had a son for five years. He’s at an age where it must be obvious he’s different from other boys and girls.”

“Nonsense. We don’t live in that world anymore. People divorce now. Unwed mothers keep their children. He won’t have…”

“You see his life through an adult’s eyes. I’m trying to look through his.” He turned. “And I need to know if you can be his grandmother—if you can love him as much as you love Lily.”

“You have to ask?” He’d lost his ability to trust, along with those memories that had disappeared in his injuries. She worshiped her granddaughter. “I value every second with Lily, just as you do, and I’ll love your boy as much. Let’s ask Olivia and—” She broke off. “You said his name is Evan?” He nodded. “Let’s invite them to your gran and grandpa’s anniversary celebration.”

Seth and Greta Calvert had loved her like a daughter. They’d made her part of their family the day Ned had brought her to these mountains, and since then they’d all claimed countless other “marry-ins.” They’d claim Olivia and Evan, too, and make them welcome.

“I just hope we don’t overwhelm him.” Beth assumed Zach agreed with her plan, without giving him time to differ. “Does his mother have family I might not have read about?”

“Only her father.” Distraction distanced Zach’s voice. “She named Evan for me, Mom. His middle name is Zachary.”

Red-rimmed eyes described the gratitude he obviously couldn’t voice. He already knew how to love this child who’d appeared out of the past he couldn’t explain or defeat.

She went to him. “He’s in Chicago?”

Zach nodded.

“When do you go?” Since the day he’d come home to heal, she hated to see Zach leave the safety of Bardill’s Ridge.

“Tomorrow morning.” He looped his arm around her shoulders. “Warn the rest of the family to treat Evan and Olivia right? Remind them not to confuse her with Helene.”

“We’re all protective of you.” She hugged him briefly. He hardly ever allowed more. “If she’s good to you, we’ll love her.”

He let her go and scooped up Spike, who inexplicably began kneading his fellow loner’s shoulder. “No,” Zach said. “You’ll love her because Evan will feel more accepted if you do.” With a last pat for Spike as he set him on a padded kitchen chair, he headed for her door. “I’ll call you from Chicago.”

“Are you bringing him home?”

“Chicago is his home. I thought he’d have an easier time if we met where he’s comfortable, but while I’m there, I’ll arrange visitation with Olivia.”

“Another visitation agreement?”

He nodded, a frown creasing his forehead. “Or something like it. Olivia seems to believe we should take decisions slowly. I have no intention of losing contact with my son, now that she’s told me about him, but I figure we’ll fight the battle of how often I get to see him when it comes.”

Hardly good news, but she stomped down hard on her opinions. Zach stopped at the door.

“Everything will be fine, Mom.”

He offered the same reassurance every time he left town. He expected no answer. He was only promising he wouldn’t die when he left Bardill’s Ridge. Obviously, she knew something could happen, but he was a good son to try to persuade her not to worry.

She added some comfort of her own to her “I know” smile. When he came back they’d all find a way to live with another custody arrangement. She waved him off, and he tried to smile back, but his hard-edged face lingered in her mind after the door slammed at his back.

She slumped against the table. Apart from the fact that he’d clearly been reckless six years ago, he didn’t deserve all this. A past that wouldn’t let him alone and a child who’d been a secret from him. When would Fate let up on her son?

She reached for the phone to circle the family wagons for support.

THE MOON BARELY LIT his way as he got out of his car in front of the Dogwood, his uncle Patrick and aunt Eliza’s bed-and-breakfast. His cousin Molly erupted from the front door, flying as fast as one of her roguish kindergarten students. On seeing his truck she stopped short. As she waited for him to climb out her smile bent the other way into a frown.

“What’s up, Zach? Something bugging you?”

“Sort of.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, at ease with being Molly’s hero. No matter what he did, he’d maintained his status with her since Patrick and Eliza had made her their foster child. No small feat, considering the neglected life she’d endured until they rescued her. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

“Parent-teacher conferences at school tonight. I have to change clothes.” She slapped her jeans. Molly, the hellion Aunt Eliza had saved from reform school liked to appear demure in front of her students’ parents.

“You’d better go,” he said, laughing, “if you plan to reach your classroom before midnight.”

“Ha ha ha.” She caught his arm as he tried to pull away. “That was homage to your lousy sense of humor. Now explain your problem.”

“I have no problem.” He had to talk to Olivia. His mom would cover the family bases for him.

Molly’s smile faded again. “You’re scaring me.”

Calverts large and small had treated him as if he were on the verge of a breakdown since the accident. Maybe if he’d managed a happier marriage, maybe if he and Helene could be civil to each other… “I’m fine, but I have to talk to one of your mom’s guests before she goes to bed.”

“Ah.” She glanced at a second-floor window bordered with Victorian gingerbread that their cousin Sophie’s father had carved during Patrick and Eliza’s restoration of the old building. “Olivia. I just took her fresh towels and bath oil.” Molly slipped him a sidelong, sisterly glance. “Or was that for you, too?”

He looked away from her, as distracting, erotic pictures of Olivia formed in his head. “I hope the parents and the other teachers don’t know you talk like that.” He ruffled Molly’s hair, but she surprised him with a hug rather than the karate chop she usually dispensed for such a gesture.

“If you don’t explain, I’ll only ask your mom.” She headed for her car, waving goodbye over her head. “I’ll bet she needs firewood.”

“I already carried in enough for the whole winter.”

“I’ll paint her kitchen.”

“If you can persuade her to give up that classic wallpaper.”

Molly tossed a condescending glance over her shoulder, but he only grinned. Crazy Molly. Early on, trying to survive after her natural parents had pretty much abandoned her, she’d damn near destroyed the school where she taught now. Aunt Eliza and Uncle Patrick had transformed her from a dangerous punk into family. Still, it was a good thing his mom had plenty of leftovers. Molly could eat her weight in homemade chili.

Zach climbed the steps a few at a time and pushed through the B&B’s front door. His aunt looked up from the registration desk, sliding her hand through salt-and-pepper hair that brushed her shoulders.

“Evening, Zach. Beth said you were on your way.”

“That was fast work, even for Mom. Which room, Aunt Eliza?”

“Top of the stairs, immediate left.”

“Thanks.”

“Better hurry. Molly just took her some bath oil.”

He ran up the stairs. At Olivia’s door, he paused, his hand raised to knock. Even through the thick wood, he heard water running. He banged with extra force.

A moment later, Olivia opened the door, black hair flying, eyes wide. She opened her mouth in a throaty gasp. “Zach.” Her hands went to the pale pink lapels of her robe.

It was hardly sexy attire, but he found himself imagining the warm body that curved beneath the terry cloth. By the time he met her gaze, a glacier had formed in the icy gray eyes that were quickly becoming his obsession.

“I want to meet Evan,” he said.

The ice melted. She seemed to reach for him without lifting a finger. “Do you want to know Evan?”

“I’m his father. He’s my son.”

“That’s not good enough. I’ve kept him safe—and happy enough—for five years. I need to hear plain talk.”

“I want to be Evan’s father for the rest of my life. I want to hear him call me dad.”

Smiling, she let the robe go. He noticed the swell of lightly tanned flesh between the open lapels, but he was man enough to know their son mattered more than lust.

“We’re in this together,” he said. “I want to know Evan.”

She grabbed his hand—to shake it of all things. He stared at her small, strong fingers. It was an odd way to start a relationship with your son’s mother.