Ethan

by Chris Keniston

  Graced rolled her eyes, reminding Ethan of the petulant teen who used to occupy that spot at the dining room table. "Fran-cine," Grace enunciated carefully, "should also have had it signed by two witnesses, but a good judge shouldn't have any doubts that Francine's behavior is not in Brittany's best interest."

  Catherine extended her arm and closed her hand around his brother Connor's. The fingers slipped into place like they'd always been two halves of a whole, but the quick tightening of her grip told Ethan even more. Grace may be convinced there was no problem with missing witness signatures, but Catherine was not of the same opinion.

  "What about the rest of her family?" Sean Farraday looked to his police chief son. "The sister. Have they found her yet?"

  "They never lost her. She was just unreachable until a couple of weeks ago." DJ set his knife and fork down. "I was going to wait until after dinner, but—"

  "But what?" Ethan's meal churned in his stomach.

  "I got a call from Brooklyn a little while ago. Yesterday one of his operatives gave the sister Ethan's name and our request for a family medical history."

  "The sister didn't know Ethan's name?" Aunt Eileen spoke up for the first time since the conversation had shifted to talk of Brittany's mother.

  "They're estranged," Ethan explained. Fancy had mentioned her sister a few times. She was extremely proud of her, which was why it had surprised him when Fancy had told him she hadn't seen her sister since they were teenagers.

  DJ nodded. "The sister didn't even know Francine had a baby."

  "And…" their father prompted.

  "The sister is not at all happy Francine gave Ethan the baby."

  “Yeah, well…" Sean shifted in his seat and Ethan could tell his father was measuring his words carefully. "This isn't about what makes the sister happy."

  "No. No, it's not." DJ turned to Grace and then to Catherine. Both were looking at him with pinched lips. "Telling her who Ethan is seemed like the only way to get her to give up any information she might have had on Francine. After all, you were the ones to say having Francine sign a new affidavit with witnesses would go a long way to securing Ethan's rights and protecting Brittany."

  Catherine blew out a sigh.

  "I still don't like it," Grace set her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back. "I think I need dessert."

  Ethan looked to Catherine. "Can the sister make trouble for us?"

  Catherine's eyes twinkled and her lips curled up in a smile. "Totally not what you asked me, but I have to say, you men amaze me. Every last one of you are too good to be true."

  "Excuse me?" Connor flashed her an exaggerated wide-eyed grin.

  Shaking her head at her fiancé, Catherine turned to face Ethan. "I'm just saying, most men in your position would be working overtime to disprove paternity, or at least unburden themselves from any responsibility."

  "That's not the Farraday way," Ethan said before his father could. Not that his first reaction to the news of his progeny hadn't been no way. “So, what is the answer?"

  "Yes and no. The aunt's relationship is legally beneath yours. As Brittany's father of record on the birth certificate and as will be documented with the new DNA tests ordered while you were still in the hospital, the aunt's interests do not supersede yours."

  "I sense a ‘but’ coming." Adam took hold of his wife Meg's hand. Every person at the table was watching Catherine intently. Only little Stacy was more interested in the baby sleeping a few feet away in the porta-crib.

  "But," Grace spoke up, "her objections could sway the judge against approving the request for termination of rights."

  "Damn," Ethan mumbled softly, and several similar murmurs sounded around the table.

  "Not necessarily," Catherine said, "but moving forward sooner rather than later would be a good idea."

  Ethan nodded. From the moment he'd extricated himself from the shattered helo, his first and only thought had been to get himself back in shape and back into the cockpit. Ever since laying eyes on his daughter he'd struggled to wrap his brain around being a father. Now he had to push through fast and hard to figure out how to pull off both.

  Chapter Five

  "She's beautiful, isn't she?" Aunt Eileen came to stand beside Ethan.

  "I hope you're not expecting an argument from me?" The portable crib had been set up in the family room all week. There was only so much Ethan could do with the baby while staying off his feet. He'd become very good at watching her sleep from his designated spot in the recliner. With his one hand still in a protective bandage he'd shied away from diapers for now, but after supervising his aunt and his brother, Ethan was convinced there was nothing to it. "By the way," he waited for her to glance away from the baby and at him. "Thanks."

  His aunt's gaze sparkled at him. "You know I love babies."

  "I do. But thank you anyhow. It can't be easy getting up with her at night, taking care of both of us all day." Unfortunately, with his leg, it would be at least a couple more weeks before he'd be able to pace with the baby and help with middle-of-the-night feedings.

  "Pretty soon you'll get the okay to walk on that thing, then you can let the rest of us sleep through the night." Aunt Eileen's stern words came through a smile.

  Truth was, when he was able to walk and help out more his aunt probably wouldn't let him. Heck, according to DJ and Becky, as soon as Ethan was made aware of Brittany and made his intentions clear to get leave and do right by her, his aunt had scooped her up lock, stock, and diaper bag and brought her home to the ranch.

  "She seems to be sleeping a little longer every night. I guess you were right about that contraption." More than once his father and aunt had insisted the secret was the insanely expensive English style baby carriage his aunt had ordered to replace the rusty one in the attic.

  "That contraption is worth every penny, trust me. Whenever Brittany starts to stir, I stick out my arm and grip the handle, rock her a little. She falls back asleep for a few minutes. I keep doing this until she demands her midnight snack."

  "Is that what Mom did with us?"

  "I think so. I was doing things the hard way when Grace was born." His aunt cupped her hand across the back of the sleeping baby's head. "Adam was the one who mentioned to me that your mom kept the carriage close to the bed. It wasn't hard for me to figure out the rest from there."

  Ethan nodded, not that he was convinced he would have figured anything out on his own.

  "Any word from that fancy lawyer yet about that affidavit?"

  "Nothing new. All we can do is wait for our turn on the court docket."

  "Hmm," Aunt Eileen groused, then stepping away from him, wiped her hands on the back of her jeans. "I'm gonna change into a shirt that hasn't been spat up on. I've got to pick up some supplies in town. Grace should be back from working with Finn soon and agreed to watch the baby. Thought you might enjoy a change of scenery after being cooped up here all week."

  "You got that straight." Sitting in a chair all day with nothing to do but think was a sure way to drive a man slowly crazy. Even with a beautiful new daughter to stare at.

  "Soon as your sister is ready, we'll head out. If Brittany wakes up wanting her bottle, just talk to her till I come back."

  Ethan nodded at his aunt's back. No sooner had she climbed the stairs than Brittany's eyes popped open. He'd noticed she tended to look around and take in her surroundings before letting anyone know she was awake. According to his aunt that meant she was very smart and absorbing information. The point was mentioned and debated more than once at the dinner table. Finn, the one who had dubbed the baby Bree as an alternate to Grace's nickname of Peanut, believed it simply meant she'd been born a wise, easy going soul. Grace leaned toward her aunt's philosophy, and that Brittany of course took after Grace in the smarts department. The only conclusion the dinner table had reached was that Grace may have turned out to be pretty smart, but as an infant she was far from easy going, and whether or not studying her surroundings was an indication of
intelligence was irrelevant because Brittany was definitely a smart baby.

  Brittany's gaze shifted to his direction and when she saw his face she smiled. He loved that she recognized him already. That was his story and he was sticking to it. “Hey, precious. You have a nice nap?"

  Dressed in only a pale green T-shirt and a diaper, Brittany waved her arms, kicked her legs and the tip of that little pink tongue peeked out between her gummy laugh.

  "I'll take that as a yes. You think if your dad took a shot at changing that wet diaper you could not squirm so I can do this one handed?" Both her arms and legs went perfectly still and Ethan actually blinked, waiting for her to wiggle. When she didn't move a muscle, he shrugged. "Well then, I guess that's also a yes. I'm game if you are."

  Ethan lifted himself from the chair and, leaning on the crutches as much as possible, placed himself strategically beside the portable crib for extra balance. Reaching for a fresh diaper, he set it and the wipes beside her. "This is going to be a piece of cake." Though he wasn't sure for whose benefit that announcement had been, his or hers.

  No longer smiling, Brittany once again studied him intently. When he'd peeled open the diaper, he gave up a silent prayer of thanks that it was only wet. A couple of quick wipes and he blew out a relieved breath. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd be fearful of hurting her. He'd never considered his hands to be that large. Mostly average for a man of his size. But touching such a smooth, soft and delicate little person made him acutely aware of how big and rough his hands actually were.

  Now came the fun part. His aunt usually grabbed Brittany by the ankles with one hand, lifted her bottom slightly, and then slid the clean diaper under. Gripping anything with his injured hand wasn't really an option yet, but he was a Marine, he'd figured out more complicated situations than this. Wobbling slightly in place he shook out the folded diaper and set it down. Brittany gave her feet a little kick and Ethan laughed. Only a few months old and already reprimanding her old man for taking too long. "Okay. Let's try this." Lifting her legs with his good hand he shimmied the clean diaper under her bottom part-way, then did the same with the other side. Making progress, he decided this would work and a couple more maneuvers had the diaper mostly under her bottom. "Close enough for government work," he mumbled.

  Even though he didn't have the fine motor skills back to grip anything with his fingers, at least he was able to set his bad hand on the folded-over diaper to hold it in place. He peeled the protective paper off the tab, and bringing it forward, taped the bottom to the top. He repeated the step with the other side and smiled proudly at Brittany, even if the diaper looked a bit lopsided.

  Arms waving and legs kicking again, Brittany seemed to be as proud of his accomplishment as he was. If only he could carry her into the kitchen and fix her bottle like normal dads. And that thought brought on still another. If only he could be home to watch her grow up like normal dads. Or would he? According to Brooks his foot was progressing better than he would have expected. For Ethan, every day wiggling his toes felt like less of a struggle, but something in his gut told him he wasn't out of the woods yet.

  Setting the crutches between the chair and crib and balancing on one good leg, he used his bandaged hand more for ballast than anything and scooped Brittany up and against his chest, then swung around and half hobbled back into the recliner. With the baby snuggled on his lap and playing with the thumb of Ethan's bad hand, it struck him that he might have just found the one thing he loved more than flying for Uncle Sam.

  ***

  A cowboy, horses, and the dry western landscape looked way more romantic on the big screen or TV than it did at a Texas truck stop. The only thing Allison could make out of the horses in the parked trailers was that they were big. Really big. And as for the cowboys, she figured they were the real deal, but the few she'd seen today were rather scrawny looking in dusty jeans and the clinking sound when they walked had quickly gotten on her nerves. At first she didn't quite know what it was and then she realized at least one of the men in boots had what she assumed were spurs on. Though why they'd have on spurs to drive a trailer of horses from point A to point B she didn't have a clue.

  The Farradays might be nice people, but increasing visions of her niece growing up in overalls and chewing on the stem of a corn pipe, or up to her knees in manure, had Allison more convinced than ever that coming to Texas was the right decision. Sooner rather than later. She'd had plenty of time to think about it and still didn't have a clue what she would do. According to the attorneys she'd spoken with, the father held all the cards, but she had to come up with something.

  "Why would anyone put a town all the way out here?" For twenty minutes she'd been waiting for some sign of life. The first one had come as a big old antebellum mansion surrounded by building supplies and a few men and trucks appeared not far from the main road. At least that gave her hope the GPS wasn't totally wrong. Now her heart practically leapt at the cluster of buildings on the horizon. Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that the bag of chips and cola she'd picked up at the last stop a couple of hours ago had long worn off. Since the only place to stay in town was a bed and breakfast, and they weren't expecting her this early, the building ahead with the neon café light called her name.

  Pulling into the parking lot, Allison stepped out of the car and looked around. The immediate impression caught her off guard. She knew in her mind that the picture of dirt roads, wood planked sidewalks, and hitching posts was absurd in the twenty-first century, and yet the pretty brick buildings and concrete sidewalks still came as a surprise. If anything, the main street reminded her more of Mayberry than the anticipated Wild Wild West.

  "Afternoon." An older gentleman in mechanic's coveralls smiled as he passed on his way into the restaurant then caught her off guard again when he stood holding the door for her.

  "Oh. Thank you." Inside the place definitely felt like she'd stepped back in time. Not the shiny metallic look of chic retro restaurants imitating an era long gone, but just a cozy older place with well worn but not shabby furnishings and decor. The old man sat at a stool along the counter in front of her, but she wanted to sit someplace a bit more hidden. Already several heads had turned to look her over. As cute as the town seemed, she suspected this place wasn't on the hit parade of tourist attractions and that all the people casually staring her way were locals.

  "Take a seat anywhere, honey," a woman in her mid-thirties, give or take a few years, smiled, handed Allison a menu, and waved an arm around the eatery.

  Returning the smile, Allison turned right to the side of the café filled with booths and grabbed the one at the end. She had a pretty good view of most of the place and was finding it rather fascinating. Apparently Texas really was the friendly state as one of the road signs had declared. So far people were smiling at each other and chatting on their way to or from a table. The waitress who had greeted her at the door referred to everyone by name. More than once a stranger had made eye contact with her and rather than turn away, they'd smiled and nodded as though she were any one of the locals they'd known for years.

  The waitress set a glass of water on the table. "Special of the day is Frank's meatloaf, but he outdid himself with the beef stew today."

  "Oh," Allison had been thinking salad, but suddenly that beef stew sounded pretty good. "Hmm."

  Instead of getting huffy while Allison wasted her time, the woman bit back a knowing smile. "The salad's not bad either, but the meatloaf and the stew come with homemade buttermilk biscuits."

  "Stew," Allison said in a snap. The San Francisco bay area might be a mecca of diverse culinary banquets, but the way the word homemade rolled off the waitress' tongue already had Allison's mouth watering.

  Without the menu for camouflage to people watch, Allison pulled out her e-reader and opened to one of her favorite authors. A few pages into the book, a bowl of piping hot stew appeared in front of her followed by a small dish with two biscuits and scoops of butter. "Hope you're not on a
diet. The butter is real. I recommend spreading it while the biscuit's still warm.”

  Allison didn't waste any time. She broke the biscuit open, felt the rush of warmth escape from the doughy center and slathered on a large chunk of butter. She'd worry about clogged arteries another day. The waitress was still at her side when Allison bit into the biscuit. "Oh. My God." Her eyes fell closed and Allison heard herself groan with delight.

  "I see you'll do anything to win over new customers."

  Allison's eyes snapped open at the deep voice. Heat instantly surged up her neck and settled in her cheeks. A policeman, no less. What would all the patrons looking her way think if she just slid under the table?

  "Don't you go picking on my customers, DJ, just because they recognize good home cooked food."

  The policeman had the decency to look contrite and, staring Allison straight in the eye, dipped his chin and offered a polite smile. "Sorry, ma'am. No offense intended."

  "That's more like it." The waitress nodded.

  The way the waitress—Allison took a second to read the tag on the woman's breast pocket—Abbie teased the man there had to be more than a business relationship. On the other hand, hadn't Allison seen her tease and visit with just about everyone in the place?

  "I'm waiting on my brother and my aunt. I'll take a booth so he can stretch his leg out."

  "Of course." Abbie smiled at him and waved a finger at the window. "I see you're in the cruiser."

  That must have had some significance because the guy's grin grew impossibly wider. "And not soon enough. A man can only take so much desk duty. Feels good to be back again."

  "’Bout time those investigators wrapped things up." Her lips pressed tightly together, Abbie nodded at him before taking a step back. "I'll get you some coffee and pie while you're waiting."

  "What is it today?" he asked.

  "Sweet potato," she grinned and walked away.