The Parent Pact (Book Three of The Return to Redemption Series)

by Laurie Kellogg

  “Right. It’s kind of tough to forget the father of my child when he calls every few days and is still paying most of my bills, even though, legally, he doesn’t have to.”

  And how could she not remember a guy who’d washed and refueled her car every week and always saved her the last peanut butter cup?

  Despite Nick’s self-imposed commitment, he’d never fallen in love with her the way she’d prayed. Instead, his perfunctory devotion became a sharp wedge between them, chipping away at their relationship like one of Michelangelo’s chisels.

  “I don’t get you, Sam. If your ex is so great, why the hell did you divorce him?”

  “Because he’s a total control freak who has to call all the shots. For example—did he discuss his transfer to L.A. with me? No. He simply came home one afternoon and told me we were moving.” She waved toward the house. “Not only did he buy our home—which I admit I love—without consulting me, he also contacted a realtor to sell it before I could even object to moving three thousand miles away from you, our sick daughter’s doctor.”

  “It’s nice to know you think I’m that indispensable.” Adam chuckled, making light of her concern the same way Nick had.

  She fired a withering look at Adam. “I realize some of the most prominent specialists are in Los Angeles. But Dani and I trust you.”

  “Sorry for laughing. You’re right. He was a high-handed jerk.”

  “I was also sick of feeling like an obligation. Nick only married me because I was pregnant.”

  All her life she’d been a burden to someone—first to her great aunt for accepting custody of Sam after her parents were killed and then to Nick. But unlike her begrudging relative, there wasn’t much her ex-husband hadn’t insisted on doing for her. Except give her the only things she really wanted—his love, his trust....and another baby.

  “What you have to understand is Nick has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility,” she explained. “He acted as if, in fulfilling his duty, he earned the right to make every doggone decision in our marriage.” She glanced at her watch, surprised to see how late it had gotten. “Look, it’s almost eleven-thirty.” She dug her keys out of her purse. “I have to be up at six for work.”

  The defeat in Adam’s eyes was a first-class ticket to Guiltsville. She had no respect for women who led men on. She squeezed his arm and smiled. “I’m sorry. I won’t blame you if you don’t call again. But I really enjoy your company, so I hope you’ll be patient with me a little longer.”

  He shook his head, wearing an understanding smile. “I’m not about to give up, yet.”

  His obliging attitude was one reason she liked him so much. Nick would’ve kissed her senseless, trying to change her mind. But disturbingly enough, Adam’s accommodating nature was also one of the things that tended to irk her. How pathetic was that?

  His longing gaze dropped to her silk camisole, making her regret wearing something so clingy. “I’ve been hooked on you since you first brought Dani to me.”

  The dragon’s flames licked their way up to her forehead. How many times had she accused Nick of having a jealous imagination when it came to their daughter’s doctor?

  A flash of lightning lit the sky, and a gust of wind skimmed her bare shoulders, making her shiver. When several cold raindrops splattered her face, Adam gently brushed her lips with his. “You’d better go inside before you get soaked. Sweet dreams.”

  Not likely. Fantasies, maybe. However, she hadn’t slept soundly enough to dream since Nick moved out.

  “Thanks for a wonderful evening.” She sprinted up the four porch steps, and the sky released a deluge as if it had been waiting for her to get under cover. She unlocked the new deadbolt Nick recently asked his brother, Justin, to install. Turning, she waved to Adam, who still stood next to his BMW, disappointment etched on his drenched face.

  Remorse squeezed her throat as she closed the oak and leaded-glass door, locked it, and hung her handbag on the coat tree gracing the large foyer. A light blinked from the antique telephone table beside the staircase.

  Why hadn’t Dani answered the phone?

  Sam crossed the hardwood floor and accessed the voicemail.

  “Hi, Sammy-Bee,” Nick said, using the nickname he’d given her the day they’d met. He’d teased her about the girlie dresses her maiden aunt had forced her to wear, even to play outdoors, and she’d kicked him in the shin.

  “She’s another Mohammad Ali,” fourteen-year-old Nick had warned the neighborhood boys who’d hassled him when he refused to retaliate against a puny eleven-year-old girl. “She may look like a butterfly, but she stings like a friggin’ bee.” Then he’d invited her to join their game of manhunt.

  “I guess you two must’ve gone out tonight.” His husky voice reminded her that over twenty years had come and gone.

  She snorted softly, recalling Adam’s suggestion to forget her ex. Hearing his deep voice sent shivers up and down her back, making it hard to put the infuriating man out of her mind. Especially when every time she looked at their daughter, a feminine version of him stared back.

  Sure, their child had inherited Sam’s smile, fairer complexion, and gender. However, from the tip of Dani’s nose to the ends of her midnight waves, her genetic code came from her dad.

  “Our daughter’s been dodging my calls,” he continued.

  Ahh, that explained why Dani hadn’t answered the phone earlier.

  “I wanted to find out how she’s feeling and if she needs anything.”

  The only thing the child needed was an attitude adjustment. Although, Sam didn’t suppose Dani would be a normal teenager if she weren’t a little belligerent.

  “I also wanted to tell you I mailed her a check for some new school clothes, so don’t let her con you into buying them for her.”

  Idiot. Would the man ever stop? Why did he think he was paying child support? And did he honestly think she would wait until the end of September to do their child’s school shopping?

  “Anyway,” he said, regret in his voice, “I hope the two of you are doing something fun.”

  No way would she tell him she’d been on a date and give him the chance to say I told you so about their daughter’s doctor.

  “Tell Dani I love her, and if she doesn’t stop dodging my calls, I’ll assume she doesn’t need her cell phone and cancel it. Give me a ring when you get back. I really want to talk to you, Abejita.” His endearment—which he’d told her meant ‘little bee’—evoked too many sultry memories of him whispering passionately in her ear.

  After a full day of chasing toddlers as a preschool aide and dodging Adam’s advances all evening, she was too exhausted to deal with Nick. He would have to wait until tomorrow.

  A crash of thunder rattled the windows. Samantha cringed, thanking God she was home. After miraculously surviving the car accident that killed both of her parents during a downpour, she couldn’t help becoming anxious during storms.

  She checked the front door’s lock again, dashed up the wide, curved staircase, and followed the long hallway to the back of the house. She peeked into her daughter’s room and smiled. At fourteen, the child had yet to give up the nightlight casting a glow on her bed. The iPod docked in her combo alarm clock/stereo playing softly on the night table was a new habit she’d developed, along with a passion for anything purple.

  Dani slept wound up in the sheets with only a few dark curls sticking out of her bright violet cocoon. The sight of her baby safe and snug—and healthy for the moment—chased away the bone-deep chill the rain had given Sam, leaving a warm fuzzy feeling in its place.

  Smiling, she closed the door and tiptoed to her room in the house’s turreted front corner that she adored.

  When they’d bought the pale yellow farmhouse on the outskirts of Redemption, they’d done extensive renovating—adding a family room and study off the kitchen downstairs and a large bedroom above it for Dani. The second floor’s overhaul, which included central air, a master bath, and sitting area, gave them three
bedrooms with twenty-first century dimensions and a lot more closets and modern amenities than most hundred-plus-year-old homes could claim.

  The wind whistled outside, and the five huge windows circling the turret’s alcove flashed intermittently like a row of strobe lights. While she changed into a cotton nightshirt and brushed her teeth, rain pelted the glass and tree branches brushed the house’s clapboards.

  Before her divorce, she’d never given a second thought to the spooky sounds the old building made. Even when Nick worked late, she’d been reassured by the knowledge he’d soon be home. Now, however, if she didn’t distract herself from analyzing every creak, rattle, and groan tonight, she’d never get to sleep.

  She fisted her hands to stop their trembling and turned down the bedspread. After sliding between the sheets, she used the remote to turn on the TV and grabbed one of the half-finished ultra-plush animals she made and sold on consignment to supplement her meager income. The only way she could fill the orders piling up was to use the time in bed, while she flipped between Leno and Letterman, to stuff a few floppy cats and dogs.

  Three years ago, Sam had designed the original Magic Worry Pal to comfort Dani when she was alone in the hospital overnight, hoping it would give her a way to identify and face her fears. The two things that made Sam’s toys unique and popular with kids were the tiny flashlights looped onto the animals’ paws—to chase away the creepy shadows—and the hidden pocket in their bellies. The top-secret compartment concealed a small writing pad and a vanishing ink marker so children could record their fears and have them magically disappear overnight.

  As she packed premium fiberfill into a dog’s head, a loud thump followed by an unholy howl came from outside. Every muscle stiffened. She muted the television, scrambled out of bed, and looked out the window, listening. It definitely sounded as if someone was walking on the porch below.

  The whole reason Nick had asked his brother to install the high-security deadbolt was because of a recent rash of home invasions in their rural area. With her house situated in the middle of two acres, her closest neighbors were well beyond shouting distance.

  She grabbed the phone off the nightstand and punched in 911. The moment the call connected, she whispered she might have an intruder. The emergency operator promised to send the nearest patrol car and asked her to stay on the line.

  At the unmistakable sound of the front door closing, Sam dropped the receiver and yanked Nick’s old baseball bat from the walk-in closet. No way would she sit holding a phone while some wacko attacked her daughter.

  Shaking, Sam tiptoed down the dark hallway to guard Dani’s door. If only she’d let Nick get their daughter that dog they’d wanted. Maybe something like a vicious pit bull with razor-edged teeth.

  When the fourth step from the top creaked its usual warning, her heart pummeled her breastbone like a claustrophobic child locked in a closet.

  She peered around the corner. A dark figure crept toward her. Raising the bat in a homerun stance, she threatened in her meanest make-my-day voice, “The cops are on the way, sleazebag. One step closer and I’ll whack your skull into next week!”

  ~*~

  Nick Riverá glanced at the cheap plastic wall clock in his tiny efficiency kitchen. Nine-fifteen. After midnight in Pennsylvania. Where the hell could they be at this hour? Especially in a town where they rolled up the sidewalks at eight o’clock. And Dani had school tomorrow.

  Visions of twisted wrecks and ambulances invaded his imagination and sent his heart into overdrive. Adrenaline coursed through his veins at warp speed.

  No. He refused to go there.

  He slapped his laptop closed as if it would cut the power to his rampant anxiety. Bad news traveled fast, and if something horrible had happened, he would know about it sooner rather than later. The most likely scenario was the two of them were tired when they came home, and they headed directly upstairs without noticing the message light blinking.

  Either that or Sam was miffed about the check for Dani’s school clothes and had decided to join their daughter in dodging his calls.

  “Yup. That’s got to be it,” he muttered to the universe, chuckling at how well he knew her. “And she probably called me an idiot.”

  But whether it ticked her off or not, he would continue paying his family’s expenses.

  Respectable men didn’t walk out on their wives and children and let them fend for themselves. That was the domain of dirt bags like the one who’d contributed to Nick’s DNA.

  His stepfather, who’d adopted him as a toddler, had insisted the rodent who begat Nick must have been a gringo posing as Latino, because no self-respecting man with Hispanic blood could abandon a woman who’d borne his child.

  Nick glanced around his closet-sized apartment. The tired, two-room dump wasn’t much, but at least he could afford to keep his family in their home, and his landlord didn’t prohibit kids or pets.

  His four-legged roommate had waited long enough. Nick hoisted himself off the sofa and whistled toward the bedroom. “Do you want to take a run before we call it a night?”

  The chocolate Labradoodle he’d rescued from the shelter three months ago loped out of the bedroom, his tongue lolling. Nick’s designer mongrel was a less attractive whelp than the deliberate mix between a Labrador retriever and a standard poodle typically produced, which was probably why such a young animal had been abandoned.

  The dog’s long, elegant poodle legs looked absurd on the husky torso of his Lab ancestors, and his brown coat couldn’t decide if it wanted to be curly or straight. The mutt’s fur stuck out at odd angles, making the lanky animal look a bit like a wookie crawling on all fours. As a Star Wars enthusiast, Nick christened his homely pet Chewbacca.

  He knelt on the floor and scratched Chewie behind the ears while the dog bathed his face. The vet had promised Labradoodles were some of the most affectionate, playful, and smartest pooches around. He hadn’t exaggerated.

  After clipping the leash on the dog’s collar, Nick’s attention remained focused on the animal as he pulled open the door. He nearly slammed into the busty, nineteen-year-old waitress who served him breakfast at the local café most mornings.

  Bethany had confided that she’d run away from an abusive home at sixteen and had been struggling daily to make ends meet. Nick felt bad for the red-haired girl’s financial situation, so he’d hired her to walk Chewie while he was at work.

  “Bethany? What’re you doing here at this hour? Did I forget to pay you this week?”

  She turned to face him, revealing her swollen jaw. His breath hitched. Apparently Chewie’s nightly run would have to wait a while longer.

  “I was trying to work up the nerve to knock,” she explained, hugging herself as if she were freezing. In the past, he’d seen bruises on her and suspected the cradle-snatching maggot she lived with was manhandling her, but she’d always made an excuse, denying it.

  “Do you want to tell me the truth this time? Because I don’t believe you walked into a door again.”

  She hesitated a moment and then dropped her arms in apparent defeat, revealing an infant-sized, white T-shirt stretched over her large braless bosom. “You said you would help. If I had any place else to go, I wouldn’t bother—”

  “It’s okay.” He stepped aside so she could enter. “You can use my sofa bed until we find you somewhere else to live.” He glanced away, attempting to ignore her jiggling breasts. Evidently she’d left her place in a hurry and caught a chill on the way here. He yanked a zippered hoodie from a hanger in the foyer’s closet and handed it to her. “I’ll take you to get your clothes and things tomorrow.”

  And, please, let there be bras among them.

  Terror sparked in her green eyes as she tugged on the sweatshirt. “But if I go back, Greg will try to make me stay.”

  Nick’s hands automatically balled into tight fists. He’d annihilate the bastard if he dared. “Don’t worry. We’ll get a restraining order and ask for a police escort.”

 
; Her shoulders sagged as she sank onto the sofa, blowing out a ragged breath.

  “Listen, Chewie still needs to go out. I was waiting for my wife to call back. I doubt she will at this hour, but if she does, tell her I’ll catch her tomorrow night.”

  Bethany’s gaze narrowed. “I thought you were divorced.”

  “A technicality Sam also likes to point out.” She’d never understood family was númerouno for a Latino man—followed closely by his pride and ability to provide for those he loved. Being born and raised in the U.S. hadn’t changed that.

  “So I’m guessing you didn’t want to split up.”

  He shook his head as he strode into the kitchen area, pulled a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, and wrapped it in a paper towel. “I knew we had problems, but Sam knocked me for a loop when she filed for divorce.” If she would’ve agreed to him having the damn vasectomy, he was sure they could’ve eventually worked things out. The fact he was willing to do something so permanent and totally against his faith should’ve proven how determined he was to protect her. “My job transfer was apparently the last straw for her.”

  A wrinkle bisected Bethany’s forehead. “I’m sorry. I know you must’ve told me once, but I forget exactly what you do.”

  “I’m vice president of new business at K.C. Swann’s.” The upscale department store chain he worked for was expanding to the West Coast, starting in Beverly Hills.

  He returned to the sofa and handed her the makeshift cold pack. “Here, this should make it feel better.”

  “Thanks.” Bethany applied the wrapped peas to her jaw. “I’ve seen signs and fliers announcing the grand opening on Saturday.”

  “It’s good to know our publicity’s getting noticed.”

  Moving so far from his wife and child violated every principle his late papi had instilled in him about being a good father and an honorable man. “I would’ve turned down the promotion and stayed in Pennsylvania to try to work things out, except Sam insisted she wanted a divorce anyway.”

  According to her, his accepting the transfer was just one symptom of a much larger problem. However, if he’d turned down the promotion, he never could’ve supported two households. So he’d had no choice but to man-up or, as his papi would’ve said, grow a set of cojones and do what was necessary to take care of his family. “With any luck, my next assignment will be closer to Dani.”