Читать книгу From Here To Paternity - Christine Rimmer - Страница 7

Let it never be said that Charlene Cooper didn’t take care of business—no matter how impossible and distressing that business might be.

A half hour later, she’d made use of the contents of the diaper bag to feed and change her niece. She’d called Teddy, the cook, and told him she wouldn’t be in until later, and she’d found another waitress to open up for her.

She carried Mia into her own room and put her down on the bed, bolstering her with pillows on either side. Then she collected the car seat from the living room and went out to strap it into the backseat of her AWD wagon.

Charlene had zero experience with baby seats, so the process took longer than expected. She read the half-worn-off instructions on the side of the seat and followed them as best she could, feeling edgy and frustrated the whole time, hoping the baby was all right, alone in the house.

Finally, after twenty-five minutes of fiddling with the darn thing, she managed to get it in place and secure. She rushed back inside, where she found Mia right where she’d left her, tucked among the pillows, sound asleep, sucking her tiny thumb.

Those bright blue eyes popped wide for a moment as Charlene picked her up, but then she only snuggled in on Charlene’s shoulder and went back to sleep. Same thing when Charlene put her in the car seat. She blinked awake, yawned and promptly dropped off again, her head drooping to the side, the little tufts of peach fuzz on her pink scalp clinging to the musty-looking fabric of the seat cover.

Charlene ran back inside to grab her purse and the diaper bag. She threw them both across the front seat, climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. At the end of her gravel driveway, she turned right onto Upper Main.

In no time she was driving through the heart of New Bethlehem Flat—known to all who lived there as, simply, the Flat. Resisting the temptation to continue past the diner farther along and make sure her cook and substitute waitress had got the place open all right, she turned left on Commerce Lane and crossed the Deely Bridge, passing Old Tony Dellazola strolling over town on foot as he did every morning at about that time.

Old Tony was one of Charlene’s diehard regulars. He spotted her silver-gray wagon going by and frowned, probably thinking that she ought to be at the diner, awaiting his arrival, a full pot of decaf close at hand, ready to make sure Teddy fried up his bacon just right. Charlene pasted on a smile for him, sketched a jaunty wave and drove on, past the Sierra Star Bed and Breakfast—which was run by Brand’s mother, Chastity—on the right and the Methodist Church on the left.

Up the street and around the corner, Commerce Lane became the highway. She was heading east out of town, the steep mountain to her left, a sharp cliff dropping down to the river on the right, the occasional bridge providing a way across the swiftly flowing water to the cabins and houses on the other side. She passed the bridge to the Firefly Resort and a second that led across to a series of vacation homes. At the third bridge, which was just wide enough for one car to pass at a time, she turned.

On the far side, she took the road to the left. It was a short ride to the sign that read Bravo. 301 Riverside Road. She turned into the driveway.

The new, chalet-style house appeared before her, nestled attractively among the evergreens. Charlene had never seen it from the driveway side before. It looked kind of cozy and unassuming. From across the river, its soaring walls of windows gleamed and twinkled in the sun, and the wraparound redwood deck was spacious and inviting.

Brand loved his new house. Everyone in town said so.

Charlene had to admit that even from the plainer, driveway side, it was a fine-looking house. Not that it mattered, not that she cared.

She pulled in next to the garage and got the baby out of the back. Mia did a little blinking and squinting at being disturbed, but quickly settled back to sleep, snuffling at Charlene’s shoulder, sighing in the sweetest way.

Charlene pushed the door shut. It closed with a tight, final sort of sound. Somewhere in the trees nearby, a woodpecker rat-tat-tatted and a little farther off a mourning dove cried. The air smelled of cedar and of woodsmoke from some nearby cabin’s chimney. Above the canopy of pine branches, the morning sky was clear and blue as Mia’s eyes.

A beautiful setting, so picturesque and peaceful.

Yet Charlene’s pulse raced. Her stomach ached, it was tied in such a tight knot of fury and hurt and unswerving determination.

She followed the stone walk around to the main entrance, on the west side of the house. She marched right up to the big front door and rang the bell.

The sound echoed within.

She waited, gently rocking the sleeping baby in her arms, trying to take slow breaths and think peaceful thoughts. She wanted her mind clear as a mountain spring when he answered, she needed to be logical and calm when she spoke to him.

Through the leaded glass that decorated the top half of the door, she could see a slate-floored entry area, daylight slanting in from a skylight above. No sign of him, though.

She shifted the baby a little more firmly on her supporting arm and used her free hand to punch the bell again. That time she rang it longer, pressing her lips tight together in her impatience, pushing on that bell, good and steady for a full count of ten.

Still he didn’t come.

Again she pressed it, this time in short bursts.

Apparently, big-shot bachelor lawyers didn’t get up at the crack of dawn on Saturdays like a lot of regular folks had to. Well, too bad. She shoved at that bell again, longer and harder and with more determination than ever.

That did it. Finally. He appeared in the entry, scowling and scratching his head, squinting at her through the glass of the door.

Charlene stood straighter and laid a protective hand on Mia’s back. The door swung open and he was standing there, droopy-eyed, barely awake, wearing a ratty pair of sweatpants—and nothing else.

His bronze-colored hair stuck out at all angles and there was a sleep mark on his cheek. He looked disgustingly sexy and manly and rumpled.

Not that she cared. She didn’t. Not in the least.

“Charlene,” he muttered in that warm, lazy, slightly rough voice of his. “What the hell?” He braced a lean arm on the door frame and looked her up and down through low-lidded eyes. “Never thought I’d see you come knocking at my door.”

She wasn’t letting him get to her. She spoke without emotion. “It’s important. Let me in.” And she didn’t wait for him to get out of the way, either, but just pushed right on past him into that handsome sky-lit foyer.

“What’s with the baby?” he asked from behind her. “I didn’t even know you were pregnant.”

“Ha-ha.” She cradled Mia all the more tenderly as she turned to look into those fine hazel eyes. “We need to talk.”

He scratched his head again and snorted. “I’m dreaming, right? In real life, you haven’t spoken to me in ten years.”

“This is no dream,” she told him smartly, “and you’d better believe it’s not.”

“Whoa,” he said, with far too much good humor. “So, then. Coffee?”

She longed to inform him that she wanted nothing from him, ever. Under any circumstances. But that would be a lie, since she did want something. She wanted him to admit he’d had sex with her sister.

That he’d fathered the sweet child she held in her arms….

She realized she was staring blindly into space when he waved a hand in front of her face. “Charlene. You in there?”

She blinked and focused on the rat in front of her. “Yes. Of course.”

“Well, then? Coffee?”

“Yes. Coffee. Fine.”

In his huge kitchen, with its top-of-the-line appliances and endless expanses of granite counters, she took a seat at the table, lifting the baby a little higher on her shoulder as she lowered herself to a chair.

He ground coffee and put water in the coffeemaker and slid the pot in place beneath the brewing spout. She said nothing, only waited, until he pushed the brew button and turned to her, leaning back against the counter, folding those big arms of his over his gorgeous bare chest. “Okay. What’s up?”

She supported the baby on one arm as she lifted her hip and slid Sissy’s note from the front pocket of her jeans.

“What’s that?” He looked at her from under his golden brows—not suspicious, exactly, but not eager, either.

“See for yourself.” She dropped the folded square of paper on the table and slapped her palm on it. “There you go.”

He watched her for a moment, as if seeking some clue to what might be going on inside her head. Then he shrugged and pushed himself away from the counter.

She listened to the coffeemaker gurgle and drip as he unfolded the paper and stared at the words scrawled there. He stared at them for a long time.

Charlene waited, saying nothing, shifting Mia to her other shoulder, smoothing her blanket, gently rubbing her little back.

Finally he looked up. He shook his head. And then he yanked out the nearest chair and plunked himself in it. He threw the note on the table. “No way. I never touched your sister. I am not the father of that kid.”

Charlene glared at him. He glared back at her.

Finally she said wearily, “Now, why did I just know you’d say that?”

He shifted, drawing his bare feet under the chair, leaning his muscular torso her way. “Because it’s true? Because, in spite of how much you hate my guts, you know I’m an honest man who doesn’t have sex with screwed-up teenagers—and that means you know that baby isn’t mine?”

Okay, he had a point. Whatever she might think of him, she’d never doubted his honesty. Not until right now.

She said, “There’s no reason for her to accuse you—unless it’s true.”

He leaned back in the chair. “Come on, Charlene. Get real. It’s not as if your crazy little sister needs a reason to do the insane stuff she does.”

She refused to reply to that. If she did, she knew she would screech at him and call him terrible names. How dare he say that about Sissy?

Even if it did happen to be true.

He glanced away, his hand on the table tightening to a fist. She watched him control himself. When he spoke again, it was softly. Carefully. “Okay. I shouldn’t have said that. I realize your sister’s a sensitive subject with you.”

Sensitive didn’t even begin to cover it. She’d always felt so guilty about the way Sissy got sent away after their parents died. She’d fought and fought hard to keep Sissy with her. But she’d been eighteen and single. And the judge had been the kind who thought a nine-year-old would be better off in a two-parent home.

If Brand had only—

But no.

There was no point in going there. That was then and it was over. They needed to talk about what to do now. Still, she couldn’t resist getting on him about the more-recent past. “You should never have hired her to work for you last year.”

He looked at the note again, touched the edge of it, pulled his hand away quickly. “I was only trying to help.”

She stared at him dead-on and refused to say another word to him until he lifted that golden head and met her eyes. Then she instructed, slowly and clearly, “Do me a favor. Don’t help. Ever.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Charlene. I know you want to believe the worst of me, but—”

“That’s not true!” She said it much too fast and much too loud, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as him. Mia stirred and whimpered.

Brand only shook his head.

Something about that, about the simple denial in the movement, got her fury building again. It would accomplish nothing to start screaming at him. Still, she burned to give him a giant-size piece of her mind.

Mia whimpered some more.

Poor little thing. She was probably picking up on the tension Charlene was trying so hard to control.

“Shh. It’s okay, honey,” Charlene whispered, not looking at Brand, trying to think peaceful thoughts, rocking the baby gently back and forth, rubbing her tiny, warm back. “It’s okay….”

Mia sighed and snuggled close again, going loose and limp once more.

The coffeemaker gave a final sputter. Brand rose, went to the counter, filled a pair of mugs and returned to the table. He slid one mug toward her as he sipped from the other.

She ignored the coffee and challenged in a voice she somehow managed to keep low and calm, “So. That’s your story, huh? You’re insisting this baby isn’t yours.”

“It’s not a story. It’s the truth. That is not my baby—and by the way, where’s Sissy?”

Exactly the question she didn’t want to answer. “Um. What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. How come she sent you here to do her dirty work?”

“Dirty work?” She tried to sound superior and aloof.

“Figure of speech. Where’s Sissy?”

“How would I know? You read the note.”

He looked down at the wrinkled note again. “You want me to figure the situation out for myself, is that it?” He slanted her a glance. When she refused to respond, he continued, “Okay. I’ll take a crack at it. You haven’t seen Sissy since last year. You haven’t even talked to her. She left that baby on your doorstep along with this note. She abandoned her own kid, dropped her off with you and took off again.”

It hurt. A lot. To hear him say it right out loud like that. “Not on the doorstep,” she argued, sounding ridiculous and knowing she did, taking issue with a minor point to soften the enormous awfulness of what Sissy had done. “Not on the doorstep. On the couch. I…found her there, this morning, on my way out the door.”

“You found her on the couch?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Sissy broke into your house and abandoned her own baby—but still, you’ll take her word against mine.”

Mia stirred again. Charlene patted her to soothe her. “Sissy has a key, so she didn’t break in. My house is her house, always. And she didn’t abandon Mia, either. She left her with me. Sissy knows she can trust me to take good care of her.”

Brand gave her a long, level look. “And that makes it all right, somehow, that she abandoned her kid with you?”

“Stop saying that word.”

“What word? Abandoned?”

“Oh, I could reach right out and slap you silly about now.”

For that, all she got was another slow shake of his head.

She counted to three and then said with slow care, “I’m not here to talk about Sissy.”

“Getting that. Big and bold as a whole new day.”

“Are you denying that Mia is yours?”

“What? You didn’t hear me? I denied it five minutes ago, I’m denying it now. I’ll always deny it. Because that baby isn’t mine.”

“Then I’ll expect you to take a paternity test.” She delivered the ultimatum and waited for him to start squirming.

He nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. And I want it done right. I don’t want there ever to be any question of the results. I want a legally binding test by a reputable lab, strict chain of custody of the DNA samples, so everyone involved is satisfied with the outcome.”

She cleared her throat. All right. She had to admit, for a guy who was trying to weasel out of taking responsibility for his child, he seemed pretty eager to get to the truth….

But then, as an attorney, maybe he knew some way to falsify the test results.

Charlene shut her eyes. No. Whatever she thought of him, she didn’t believe that. He might be lying to himself, telling himself he couldn’t be the father.

But he wouldn’t rig the test. He wouldn’t stoop that low.

She said, “I want to get going on it right away.”

He said, “Good. Get ahold of Sissy, tell her we need a copy of the baby’s birth certificate and she’ll have to show up at the collection location to sign a permission form to have the test done.”

“Uh. The collection location?”

“The lab where you’ll take the baby to have the DNA sample collected. It’s a simple, quick procedure. They run a cotton swab on the inside of the cheek. Painless.”

“But I don’t…” She cradled Mia closer, breathed in the sweet baby scent of her skin. “You’re saying we need Sissy’s permission?”

“Charlene. Think about it. You don’t go performing tests on minors without the approval of a parent or a legal guardian.”

“Can’t we just…have it done?”

“By some fly-by-night lab that sends a kit in the mail? How dependable do you think those results are going to be—let alone how legally binding?”

As much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right. Oh, what was her problem? What had possessed her to come storming over here? She’d gained nothing for Mia—and she’d given him a chance to say things about Sissy that she really didn’t want to hear.

Gently she shifted the baby to her other shoulder. She was stalling. Coming to grips with the fact that she had no choice now but to bust to the bald, ugly truth.

She made herself say it. “You know I can’t reach Sissy. I haven’t seen or heard from her since she left town last June. She didn’t leave me so much as a PO box number, let alone a phone number or an address.”

He studied her for moment and then he suggested, “Maybe there’s some friend of hers you could call? What about that aunt she went to live with after your parents died?”

Aunt Irma. Dear God. Anyone but her. “It’s…doubtful. But I’ll check around.”

He got up and poured himself some more coffee, turning when the mug was full to lean on the counter again. He sipped. “There’s another option.”

Why did she get the feeling she was going to hate what he said next? She regarded him sideways. “What option?”

“Call Child Protective Services. Tell them what’s happened, explain that your sister has claimed I’m the baby’s father. You might be able to get the state to authorize permission for the DNA sample.”

She cradled Mia closer. “Call CPS. Uh-uh. No way.”

It wasn’t right that he knew what she was thinking. But of course, he did. “This is a different situation than ten years ago. You’re not eighteen now. You’re a grown woman with a business, not to mention a respected and well-liked member of your community.”

“I was well liked then. And respected. We had the diner then, to support us. My aunt still managed to take Sissy away—and why are we talking about this?”

“I told you. Because it’s an option.”

“No. No, it’s not. I do not want to mess with Child Protective Services, and you, of all people, ought to know that. I will not give them any chance to take this baby. I am her aunt. She’s…visiting. That’s how I want it. You understand?”

“Charlene…”

God. Why had she come here? What a stupid, stupid move. Her throat had clutched up with tears of frustration—and fear. She gulped the tears down and commanded, “Don’t you dare call CPS on me, Brand Bravo.”

He set his mug on the counter and put up both hands, palms out. As if she had a gun on him or something. “Look. Totally your call. But you have to face that CPS might eventually enter the picture.”

She would never face such a thing. What had happened to Sissy was never happening to Sissy’s child. Carefully cradling the baby with a supporting hand around the back of her tender little head, she stood. “I see now I shouldn’t have…rushed over here. My mistake. I was very upset and not thinking clearly. I understand what I’m up against now, though. I see there’s no way but to hold off on the paternity test until Sissy’s available to sign all the papers.”

“Charlene.”

She bit her lip and shook her head at him. “Don’t.”

He hesitated, but in the end he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. “You’ve got to ask yourself. What if she’s never available?”

Charlene had no intention of asking herself that. Not ever. No matter what. She said firmly, “She will be available. She’ll come home. Eventually. When she does, be prepared to take that paternity test.”

Those muscular shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Fair enough.”

She wondered why anyone would ever say that. Fair enough? As if there was anything about any of this that was fair.

Oh, why had she come here, she asked herself again. She was a thousand different kinds of fool for even talking to Brand.

Was he Mia’s father? Had he seduced Sissy last year?

She was no closer to knowing the answer to those questions than she would have been if she’d gone about her business, taken things a little slower, held off on confronting him until she’d had time to think it over and understood the situation better.

She should have been more…reasonable about all this. Not come flying over here at seven in the morning waving poor little Mia in his face, dragging him from bed and hurling accusations at him.

He just…he did that to her. Made her crazy. Made her want to pitch a big, ugly fit.

Ten whole years since he’d ripped out her heart and stomped it flat. And she still hated him, still looked for any opportunity to blame him—for anything.

It wasn’t healthy. She had to get past her never-ending anger at him. Somehow.

Soon.

She picked up the note from the table, folded it back to a small square with one hand and stuck it in her pocket again. Then she turned for the door.