by Jill Sanders
“Whose is he?” Trace asked softly, motioning towards the boy.
“Like I said, Christopher is yours,” his mother answered, paying her no attention.
Emma walked over and, deciding this was no place for a five-year-old, knelt next to the boy. “Hey, Christopher?” she asked. The boy turned his chestnut brown eyes, which matched Trace’s perfectly, towards her and her heart melted at the same lost look that she’d seen when she’d met Trace that first night. “Why don’t we head on out to the kids’ corner. You can find some toys and books out there we can enjoy.”
The boy looked towards Trace’s mother, who quickly waved him away as if he was a fly instead of her grandson.
Emma took the boy’s hand and left Trace to talk things out with his mother.
While she sat trying to entertain the very quiet and shy boy, her eyes kept wandering back to the corner of the bookstore. Every now and then, she would hear a woman’s raised voice. She convinced Mal and Holly to get most of the customers out of the bookstore, claiming they were dealing with a personal issue.
Fifteen minutes after Trace’s mother had walked in the front door, the bookstore was empty, except for Holly, Mal, and Travis. Holly had called for backup. Just in case.
Travis Nolan had, if rumors were true, been an underground MMA fighter in his youth. The man was still in perfect shape to fight.
They all listened intently as voices could be heard behind the closed door.
Less than five minutes later, Trace’s mother rushed from the room, minus the bags, and disappeared out the front door. She hadn’t even glanced around to find Christopher.
The woman quickly jumped back into the waiting taxi, and Emma watched in horror as the car disappeared down the main street of town. She was still holding the little boy in her lap, since she’d been reading him a book.
Trace walked out, his hair messed up as if he’d run his hands through it. He looked around and, seeing her holding the boy, moved over to them.
“Trace?” she asked, motioning to the boy.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Shit.” He looked as if he wanted to punch something. Instead, he moved over and sat in the small chair across from her. “Hey, Christopher.” The boy’s eyes moved up to his. “I’m your brother, Trace.” He held out his hand for the boy’s. Emma watched Trace’s eyes and could see the truth behind them. He really was this kid’s brother, not father. Why had his mother lied? “It looks like you’ll be staying with me for a while. Is that okay?”
The kid shrugged and went back to the book.
“How old are you?” Trace asked the kid.
“Five, almost six,” the boy answered without looking up.
“Do you know your birthday?” Trace asked.
“June first.” The kid spoke clearly and calmly, telling Emma that he’d had some schooling somewhere before. Emma watched as Trace calculated. “I was already in the military when he was conceived,” he said to Emma. “My mother… claims an ex-girlfriend of mine dropped him off a few years after I”—he air quoted—“disappeared.” He rolled his eyes. “She couldn’t remember a name or date.” He sighed. “I hadn’t been seeing anyone, or hadn’t been with anyone before… Not for at least two years prior. Times had been… tough.” He shook his head, then turned back to the boy. “Are you hungry?”
The boy set his book down and nodded.
“Okay.” Trace stood up and held out his hand. “How about we go get you a burger and a chocolate shake next door?”
The boy carefully climbed off her lap and took his brother’s hand.
“I’ll grab the bags,” she said. “Take them to the truck and then meet you over at Mama’s.”
“Thanks,” he said, over his shoulder. “Sorry about this.”
She smiled at him and watched the pair leave the bookstore.
“What the hell,” Mel said, directly behind her, causing her to jump. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Did that woman really just try to pawn her son off on Trace as his own? The entire town heard what she said on the street, so naturally, by the time they walk into Mama’s, everyone will think he’s a deadbeat dad that just sent his ex-woman off in a cab.”
“Shit,” she groaned. She hadn’t thought of that angle. Maybe that’s what his mother had wanted all along. To ruin what Trace had here. Could someone be so evil?
“We’ll take the bags to your truck. Go, he’s going to need you,” Holly said gently.
“Thanks,” she said and rushed to catch up with Trace and Christopher.
When the trio stepped inside Mama’s, Emma smiled at the waitress and beamed as she told the girl loudly, “Trace is going to be watching his brother Christopher for a while. Trace’s mother just dropped him off. Isn’t that wonderful?” she said cheerfully.
The low murmurs started and she knew that some would doubt her story, so she made a point to mention the fact that Trace had been away in the military and hadn’t even known his mother had been pregnant or that he had a brother until just now.
That seemed to get the gossip going and she knew that, by the time the news spread, it would be clear that Trace was watching his brother instead of his son.
Not that it would be bad if he had a son, but being labeled a deadbeat dad could have ruined his reputation before he’d gotten his career off the ground.
They sat and watched the skinny kid eat the burger, much like Trace had eaten the steak that first night. She glanced at Trace and could tell he was thinking the same thing. The kid was too skinny. He looked malnourished and in desperate need of a bath, some new clothes that fit, and a steady place to sleep.
But their discussion about what he and his mother had talked about would have to wait until they were alone.
She sent a text to her parents to tell them what was going on. Her mother texted her back that she would make sure his fridge was stocked with meals a five-year-old boy would enjoy.
By the time they parked in front of the ranch house, the kid’s head was drooping, and he was practically asleep in Emma’s arms. Her mother and father were standing on the front porch, waiting.
She reached over and took Trace’s hand. “I texted them. They want to meet Christopher.” She turned to the boy. “How about a bath?” she asked him when the truck turned off.
“I don’t like baths,” the boy answered quickly.
“Oh, but you’ve never had a bath with magic bubbles,” she answered back.
“There’s no such thing as magic.” He frowned.
“My mother used to let me take baths with her magic bubbles, and she promised me she would bring a bottle of them over, just for you.”
“Really?” The boy perked up.
“Yes, really.” She smiled.
“Is this where you live?” he asked Emma.
“It’s where I live. Where you’ll be staying,” Trace answered.
“Not you?” The boy turned his eyes to her.
“N-Not all the time,” she answered. She got out of the truck and picked him up, carrying him to the porch while Trace grabbed the two duffle bags. “Christopher, these are my parents, Lauren and Chase.”
“Hi,” the boy said shyly, leaning his head against her shoulder.
Emma watched her mother’s eyes tear up as she touched the boy’s dark hair. “I brought you a few things I figured you would like.” Her mother opened the door and they disappeared inside, leaving Chase and Trace outside to talk.
Emma knew that her parents wouldn’t kick Trace off the ranch because of this. Hell, if anything, they were more likely to offer him further assistance. It was just their way.
Emma wasn’t surprised to find the second bedroom filled with her and Rick’s old toys and books.
“You’ve been busy,” Emma said under her breath.
“I’ve wanted a grandchild for years.” Her mother chuckled. She touched the boy’s head again. “Honey, what do you say to a long bath and then we’ll find some pj’s that fit you.”
“I have my own,” the boy broke in. �
��Do you play the guitar?” he asked suddenly.
Emma smiled. “Your brother does. Maybe he will show you tomorrow. Would you like that?”
The boy nodded.
“Let’s go get your bath ready,” her mother said, holding out her hands to take Christopher.
“Magic bubbles?” he asked, looking up at her.
“What is a bath without magic bubbles?” her mother said, smoothly. Then she reached over and took the boy from Emma’s arms.
She listened as her mother talked to the boy as she turned on the bathwater in the next room.
Emma sat on the edge of the bed, looking around the room. Besides the two boxes of toys and books, this room was made for a rancher. The queen-sized bed was too big for such a small kid. The colors were dark and boring. Nothing like what a small boy should have.
Had he been dragged from his own room by Trace’s mother? What kind of life had the kid had before? Trace had told her that his mother had been in and out of rehab. Did she even know who Christopher’s father was? Did Trace have a legal right to watch his brother?
So many questions raced through her mind. When she stepped out into the living room, it appeared that her father had just as many questions.
Her dad was sitting at the table, holding his cell phone to his ear.
“He’s called his lawyer,” Trace said, then pulled a beer from the fridge for her.
Walking over, she took a sip and then noticed that her father had a beer of his own.
“Grant Holton is my uncle.” She sighed and wrapped her arms around him. “He’s a great lawyer. He’ll know what to do next.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.
His arms wrapped around her, and she relaxed slightly.
“I’m sorry ’bout this,” he said softly into her hair. “I should have known that she would find a way to—”
“Don’t say ruin your life,” she said, looking up at him. “Your brother—”
“No,” he broke in. “I wasn’t going to.” His eyes moved off towards the hallway. “But the kid reminds me of the hell she put me through growing up. No matter what happens, I’m not going to let her do that to anyone else.” His hand was running over her shoulders. “Even if that means giving up everything else. That boy is not going to go through what I did. I promise you that.” He looked down at her.
She felt her heart shift and knew that the last little hold she had on it had just slipped into his hands.
Chapter Twenty-One
With the promise that he’d meet Grant Holton the following day, Emma’s parents disappeared after Lauren was done bathing and dressing Christopher for bed. The boy had fallen asleep quickly after Emma had lay in bed with him reading a book.
“I doubt he’s had a full meal like that in a while,” she said. “My mother thinks he’s at least five pounds underweight. She wants to have Melissa stop by and check him out tomorrow as well.”
“Melissa?”
“My aunt of sorts. She works down at the clinic.”
“Right.” He ran his hands through his hair. There were a dozen questions floating around in his head.
“How could she just leave him?” he said, leaning his head back on the sofa. He’d been strumming his guitar, but when she stepped out of the second bedroom, he set it down in the stand. “Don’t get me wrong. Hell, I think it’s the smartest thing she’s ever done. But still, she didn’t even look at him as she ran out on him.”
“What was all the fighting about?” Emma sat next to him.
He opened his eyes and sighed. “She wanted more money.”
“More?” Emma’s eyebrows shot up.
He sat up. “I… gave her the cash I had.” He shrugged. “Close to a thousand dollars.” He rolled his shoulders. “She tried to blackmail me.” He felt his anger building again and stood up and walked to the front door. He stepped out into the warm night air, and Emma followed him outside. He leaned against the railing and looked out over the land as the sun set. “If I didn’t give her more money, she threatened to post online that I’d had a…”—he glanced over at Emma—“relationship with her and Christopher was the result.”
“Oh my god.” Emma’s hand went to her throat. Then her eyes narrowed. “Now I wish I’d kicked the woman’s ass.”
He chuckled. “I told her I didn’t have any more. Yet.” He closed his eyes. “She claimed she’d be back for more after I get paid for my first album.”
“The bitch.” Emma shook her head. “Did she mention who the father was?”
“Yes, but I don’t believe her.” He turned and leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. “She said that she and my father, Thomas, got back together shortly after I disappeared. She says she had no clue that I’d gone into the military. She didn’t even know I was still alive until she stumbled upon my video.”
“She didn’t know you’d gone into the marines?” Emma asked.
“She knew.” He rolled his eyes remembering the fight he’d had with her over joining up. “She threw a chair at me.” He rubbed his elbow where the chair had connected. “Claimed I was abandoning her. Of course, she was high at the time. Then she disappeared, and I heard later on that she’d gone into rehab again after being picked up for drug possession.”
“Where is she staying?”
“Tyler for now. She lost her driver’s license a few years back, hence the taxi. Which she made me pay for.” He rolled his eyes. “
“Have you talked to your father?” Emma asked.
“I wouldn’t even know where to find him,” Trace answered. “The last I heard he was living in Dallas with his new wife.”
“Have you done an internet search for him?” Emma asked.
“No.” He frowned.
She took his hand and pulled him back inside. She sat at the table, pulled her tablet from her bag, and got to work.
Less than five minutes later, she had a phone number for a Thomas John Butler in the Dallas area.
Trace downed the rest of his beer and hit dial.
When the man answered, Trace knew instantly it was his father. The voice was eerily the same as his own.
“Thomas Butler?” he asked.
“Yes, this is he. Who’s calling?”
“This is Trace…” He paused. “Your son.”
The line was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” the man said as if he’d just asked him if he was interested in saving money on his car insurance.
“Mom just…” He sighed. “Mom just dropped of a boy, a five-year-old boy. She claimed that… well, that you and her…”
“What do you want?” his father asked.
“I want to know when the last time you saw Lori was?” he asked, feeling his back teeth clench.
“The day I left her lying in her own vomit, close to twenty years ago,” he answered.
“You haven’t seen her since?”
“No.”
“Thanks.” Trace moved to hang up, then stopped. “I don’t know if you saw it, but if you get a chance, you might want to look me up. I don’t expect anything from you, but I thought you ought to know that, despite all the hell you left a five-year-old boy to go through with a drug addict, I made something of myself.” He hung up before the man could respond.
“Good for you.” Emma leaned in and hugged him. “Screw them both.” She held onto him, and he had to admit, it felt so wonderful letting that part of his life go, all the angst and pain that he had lived with since the day his father walked out on him.
He imagined Christopher living with his mother. If he had known about the boy earlier, he would have done anything to get to him sooner.
Just thinking about the boy in the other room going through what he had, living with that woman, who was still obviously using, had him fighting back his temper.
He hadn’t realized tears were rolling down his face until Emma reached over and wiped his face with her fingers. “Trace, you are amazing.” She leaned in and kissed him. “I don’t think I know anyone who w
ould open their lives as easily as you are willing to for Christopher.”
He shut his eyes, hating the weakness again. Then he realized that showing weakness didn’t have to mean what it used to. He wasn’t going to surround himself with people who would use the weakness against him. He’d faced all his demons, and when his mother came calling for more money, to threaten his career, or to try and take Christopher back, he would have the law on his side.
“We’d better go to bed,” he suggested. “From the sound of it, it’s going to be a long day tomorrow. Will you stay?” he asked her.
“Yes.” She smiled and looked down the hallway. “I think I should, just in case I’m needed.”
They snuck past the second bedroom doorway, quietly undressed, and climbed into bed together. It was nice holding onto her in bed, knowing that she would be there for him. That her family was doing all they could to ensure that the boy was safe and cared for.
His brief talk with Chase had guaranteed him that they would do everything they could to make sure that Trace could afford to care for his brother.
It took a while for his mind to shut down, but feeling Emma’s soft breathing next to him helped.
When he heard the boy screaming, his entire body tensed. Part of his own memories had mixed with his dreams, and the cries somehow transformed into his own youthful cries for help.
Emma shook him as she jumped from the bed. They raced into the next room together, he just a few steps in front of her.
Sitting on the edge of the bed as she flipped on the soft lights, he gathered the boy in his arms, only to have the kid swing out his skinny arms and whack him just under the eye.
“No!” the boy screamed, kicking out.
“Easy,” he said calmly.
“Christopher?” Emma moved closer. The moment the boy heard her voice, his eyes popped open. “Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked calmly, reaching for him. The boy pushed free of Trace’s hold and crawled into Emma’s arms and cried.
“She was coming back for me,” he said into Emma’s chest. “I don’t want to go with her.”
“No, baby,” Emma promised as her eyes locked with his. “We won’t let her take you.”