Daughter on His Doorstep

by Teresa Southwick

  Emma suddenly looked uncertain. “How do you know? Does he have other kids?”

  “That’s a very good question,” her mother said with a little too much enthusiasm. “It’s possible. And he might have a wife, too.”

  Neither of those possibilities had occurred to Shelby, which was stupid. Just because she hadn’t found anyone who wanted to be an instant father didn’t mean he hadn’t fallen in love, married and started a family. She’d been watching the house all day and hadn’t seen anyone else go in, but that didn’t mean he was single.

  Or he could be a serial killer. It wasn’t that crazy. What did she know about him now? One thing she knew for sure, though. Before her child spent time with Luke McCoy, Shelby wanted an interview with him. That was going to happen tonight after Emma went to bed and her mom was upstairs reading. Luke had turned her comfortable world upside down but family routine brought a little bit of order to her chaos.

  “Mommy, I’m full.” Emma’s plate was empty of chicken and tater tots. All that remained was her untouched broccoli.

  “You didn’t eat your vegetables.”

  “I forgot to save room. Sorry, Mom.” She didn’t look the least bit sorry.

  This was a familiar scenario. Shelby would threaten to ground her and take away privileges. Usually Emma negotiated eating one or two “trees” and everyone was happy. Shelby didn’t have the energy tonight. She skipped all the steps and went straight for the nuclear option.

  “Are you willing to give up ice cream for dessert?” It was Emma’s all-time favorite.

  The little girl thought for a moment, then nodded. “Grammy got chocolate and I don’t like it that much. Vanilla is better.”

  “Okay, then. You may be excused.” Shelby added, “It’s time for your bath.”

  “But we just had dinner.” The drama in her tone was not unexpected.

  “We ate late tonight.” That was a normal consequence when the guy who fathered your child unexpectedly moved back into the house next door. “And the longer you talk back, the less TV time you have. The clock is ticking, peanut. Don’t forget to clear your plate.”

  The little girl carried it to the sink, then hurried out of the room and stomped up the stairs to the bathroom.

  Shelby looked across the table at her mother’s barely touched plate. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t feel much like eating either,” she admitted.

  “You’re going to talk to him, aren’t you?” her mother asked. “Don’t look so surprised. I know you pretty well, after all. And your face went white when I said he might be married.” Pam pushed her plate away and rested her arms on the table. She suddenly looked older and it had nothing to do with the silver strands of hair running through her brunette bob.

  The woman was right and it was a waste of energy to deny it. “I was going to wait until Emma was in bed and you were settled upstairs. But yes, I plan to find out more about him before letting him into Emma’s life.”

  “He’s back for less than twenty-four hours and you’re already sneaking out to see him again.” Pam frowned. “Do you see why I’m concerned?”

  “I just didn’t want you to worry.” Mostly.

  The woman almost smiled. “Shelby, you’re a mother. Tell me you wouldn’t worry about Emma under the same circumstances.”

  She shook her head. “Of course you’re right.”

  “This is an impossible situation and you’re doing what you think you have to. All I ask is that you don’t sneak around behind my back.”

  Like you did with him before. She didn’t say the words but Shelby heard them all the same. “I won’t, Mom.” She stood and started gathering plates to clear the table. “I’ll do the dishes before going over there—”

  “No. Let me. You should just go and get it over with.” Pam took the plates and walked to the sink. “I’ll make sure Emma doesn’t stay in the tub too long.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

  The woman glanced over her shoulder and gave her “the look.”

  “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Shelby didn’t know what to say to that so she said nothing before heading to the front door. It was January and even in Southern California it was chilly this time of year. Halfway to Luke’s house she was sorry she hadn’t grabbed a jacket. Or maybe the prospect of confronting Luke was making her colder than the weather.

  How ironic. Ten years ago her whole world had revolved around being alone with Luke McCoy and every time except the last time, seeing him had made her hot all over. But that was then, this was now and it wasn’t about him. It was about her daughter. Correction: their daughter. She’d better get used to that.

  At his front door she knocked. Her long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans weren’t much protection against the cold wind blowing from the north. She glanced over her shoulder and made sure his truck was at the curb, proof that he was inside. She was about to ring the bell when the porch light went on and temporarily blinded her as the door opened.

  “Shelby.” Luke’s voice was deep and disapproving.

  Still, her body involuntarily responded, some sort of muscle memory or something, because tingles danced over her skin and settled in her chest.

  “I need to talk to you, Luke.”

  “About?”

  “Emma, of course.” There was nothing else that connected them.

  “So you changed your mind. You’re not going to let me see her.” It wasn’t a question and sounded as if he’d been expecting this.

  “No. At least not unless—” She didn’t quite know how to phrase the question.

  He waited for her to finish the thought and when she didn’t he asked, “Unless what?”

  Standing on the porch she started to shiver. “I don’t know you anymore, Luke. What if you’re a fugitive from justice? Or a serial killer.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted for a moment. That seemed to amuse him.

  “Something funny?” she asked.

  “No. Please continue.”

  “I can’t let you spend time with her until I’m sure it’s okay. She’s my child—”

  “Mine, too.”

  She’d been right about him staking out his biological claim. “Yours, too. But I don’t know what you’ve been doing since you left town, joined the army—” She suddenly started to shake from the cold and couldn’t get out the words.

  “Damn it. I guess you better come inside.”

  She nodded and stepped over the threshold, grateful to be out of the cold. But the relief didn’t last nearly long enough. He closed the door then walked through the living room furnished with only a battered brown recliner chair and several empty boxes. She followed him to the kitchen and saw an open beer on the island next to a boxed frozen dinner.

  He saw where she was looking. “Do you want a beer?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t like it.” On top of being pregnant last time they saw each other, she hadn’t been old enough to drink. He had no way of knowing what she liked.

  His dark eyes smoldered as he considered her, most likely with resentment. “I bet you’re a wine woman.”

  “Yes.” That was kind of a surprise. But it reminded her that this was a two-way street. “I realize that you know nothing about me either. So let me start. I finished high school while I was pregnant with Emma, then went to college. While raising her I took classes and got my degree in mathematics with an emphasis on teaching. Now I teach Advanced Placement algebra and calculus at Huntington Hills High.”

  “I know.”

  “What?” She stood on the other side of the island from him. “How could you possibly know that?”

  He folded his arms over a broad chest and the sleeves of his bad boy black T-shirt tightened around his muscular biceps. “I ran a background che
ck on you.”

  “Excuse me? How could you do that?”

  “Because I found out I have a daughter and you didn’t see fit to tell me.” His eyes flashed with anger.

  “No. I mean that literally. How are you able to run a background check on someone unless you’re a—”

  “Cop.” His mouth pulled tight for a moment. “Yeah, not a serial killer.”

  “I didn’t really think that. It’s just that when it comes to you all I have are question marks. Are you married? Do you have a family? Children?”

  “No. No. And yes. One child. Her name is Emma and I just found out today.” He took a sip of beer, then set it down on the white-tiled island. “I’m guessing you’re not married.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Other than the fact that you still live with your mother? It was in the background check.” He shrugged. “Being a detective has its perks.”

  “Okay then. Obviously my mother is not your favorite person, but she helped me through a difficult time.” She saw his eyes harden. “If not for her I couldn’t have gone to school after you left and never looked back.”

  “I wrote to you.” His voice was soft but every word was like a sledgehammer.

  “What?”

  “In basic training we got one phone call home to let family know we arrived. Then our only means of communicating was through letters. I wrote to you.”

  She didn’t think he was making it up, but she said, “I never got any letters.”

  “That doesn’t mean I didn’t write them.”

  He watched her while she processed that information. If he was telling the truth, there was only one explanation for her not getting them. One going astray she could understand, but all of them? Her mother must have intercepted them. But she wouldn’t do that. And Shelby couldn’t go there.

  “How was the army?” she asked instead.

  For a moment it looked as if he would push back, but he didn’t. “I was an MP—military police. A lot of people who knew me way back when thought it was a cosmic joke.”

  “You followed in your father’s footsteps.” She remembered his dad was a police detective.

  That got a look of surprise and for a moment chased away his veneer of antagonism. For those few seconds he was the Luke she’d once found irresistible. And that was unsettling.

  “Yeah, I did.” And then the frown was back. “But you’ll probably want proof.”

  He walked over to the kitchen table and picked up his wallet and something else, then handed them to her. “My Huntington Hills PD identification and detective shield.”

  “It looks a lot like a driver’s license, but the badge appears to be pretty official.” She handed them back.

  “Actually, you can buy a badge on the internet.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I got it the old-fashioned way, by graduating from the police academy, then putting in my time on patrol before passing the detective’s exam. I can give you references.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Luke was a lot of things, but not a liar. She could see that he was the real deal.

  “So I pass inspection.”

  “With flying colors,” she said.

  “Then I guess we’re done here.” He seemed to be in a hurry to get rid of her.

  “Not quite. Emma wants to spend time with you. I’d like to set up a meeting as soon as possible.”

  “How about tomorrow? It’s Sunday. I’m off.”

  Wow, that was soon. But Shelby knew she didn’t really have a choice. “Okay. I’ll bring her over. How about noon?”

  “Fine.”

  No, it wasn’t fine. Not even in the same zip code as fine. But Shelby didn’t see a way out.

  * * *

  The next day there was a knock on the door just as the digital clock on the stove said 12:00. “She was always punctual,” Luke muttered to himself.

  He had to be a dad now with no clue how to do that. When Emma had asked if he was her father and he realized it was true, a primal need to know her raged inside him. Now he had no earthly idea what to say to her. Talk about being thrown into the deep end of the pool.

  Then the doorbell rang, startling him out of his inertia, and he walked through the house and answered the door. Shelby stood there with Emma’s hand clutched in her own. He was furious with the mother but tamped it down and smiled at his daughter.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She looked more than a little uncertain.

  “Let’s do a proper introduction,” Shelby said. “Emma, this is your father, Luke McCoy. Luke this is your daughter, Emma Rose.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Emma. This is kind of weird, huh?”

  She nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “Do you want to come in?” he asked her.

  “Sure.”

  His daughter pulled her hand from her mother’s and walked inside. Shelby started to follow but he moved in front of her and she collided with his chest. For a split second he automatically wanted to wrap his arms around her and it stirred up memories from a lifetime ago. He hated himself for remembering.

  “This is my time,” he said so only Shelby could hear.

  “I know. It’s just—” She sighed and peeked around him. “Hey, peanut, do you want me to stay with you?”

  “That’s okay, Mommy. You can go.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “She’s sure,” Luke said. “Right?”

  “Yes,” Emma answered.

  Shelby stared at him for a moment with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She looked so much like the seventeen-year-old sad and lost girl he’d said goodbye to. It had killed him to leave her and hadn’t taken long to realize he’d made a mistake cutting her loose. Now he knew she was a liar and he’d dodged a bullet. But why did she still have to be so damn beautiful?

  Finally she nodded. “I’ll be home if you need anything.”

  “I won’t,” Emma said. When Shelby very reluctantly turned away, Luke closed the door.

  Emma was staring up at him. “I heard Mommy say I look like you.”

  “I can see the resemblance.” Although she had her mother’s dimples, the hair, eyes, shape of her face were him. He’d noticed that right away.

  They stood in the living room, sizing each other up, and he felt the pressure to say something life altering to his nine-year-old daughter. His flesh and blood. He should know her, know what to say to her. He should feel close to her, love her. But he felt only nervous with a stranger, a small human he was seeing for the second time. And Shelby had done this to him.

  Anger churned through him but he had to tamp it down. He was the grown-up in the room even though he didn’t feel like adulting today. He felt like a bull in a ballerina class.

  Pull it together, McCoy, he told himself. For crying out loud, he was a detective and had faced down bad guys. It’s what he did. Surely he could manage a kid.

  “You want something to drink?” he asked.

  “Can I have soda?” She looked hopeful.

  Luke had a feeling she wasn’t allowed to drink it and approved. It had a lot of calories and negligible hydration. Although technically it didn’t matter in this situation because... “I don’t have any.”

  “What do you have?” she asked.

  “Come to think of it... Just water and beer.”

  “I’m too little for beer,” she told him seriously.

  “Yeah. That’s the rumor.”

  “I’ll take water.”

  “Good choice.” He pointed to the back of the house. “Kitchen is that way.”

  “I know. It’s like my house.” Curiously she looked around his living room, frowning at the packing boxes. “But we have furniture. Grammy wouldn’t like boxes all over like this.”

  Pam Richards didn’t
like much, he thought. Including him. “You can sit on one of those stools by the island.”

  “Okay.” She climbed up and watched him fill a glass from the refrigerator’s filtered water dispenser.

  He set it in front of her. “You hungry?”

  She shrugged. “Are you mad that you’re my dad?”

  Wow. That was direct. And complicated. “No. Why do you ask? Do I look mad?”

  “Sorta.” She studied him. “Would it be better if I was a boy?”

  “No.” He debated whether or not to add more, then decided she was a pretty sharp little kid. If he didn’t tell the truth, she would see through him anyway. “It would be better if I’d known about you before yesterday.”

  “Mommy said you wanted to be a soldier and serve your country while you decided what kind of job you wanted to do.”

  How about that? Shelby made him sound like not so much the hot mess he’d been back then. “Your mom is right about that. I was out of high school a couple of years and worked at different jobs but none of them stuck. I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

  “You’re a policeman now.”

  “Yes. I was a cop in the army and liked it. So I studied criminal justice when I got out, and joined the Huntington Hills Police Department, first in patrol and now a detective.”

  “What do you do?”

  He couldn’t tell her the nitty-gritty of his profession because it might scare her. So, he gave her the cleaned up version. “When someone does something against the law, I have to find clues, discover the facts, so we can catch whoever did it.”

  “And put them in jail?”

  “Yes.”

  It occurred to him that he could put his career skills to use now. Not the arresting part, the asking questions part.

  “What grade are you in?”

  “Fourth.”

  “What’s your best subject in school?” Boy he hoped she was like her mom on this one. School wasn’t his bag, not until he’d studied criminal justice.