Tears dampened her eyes. When he'd told her that he wanted children, it had been a pleasant piece of information, no more important than anything else about him. But when she had finally admitted that she had to give Katherine up, she had been grateful to know that Daniel would want her, that he would love her.
He had told her those things, Daniel realized. It made him uncomfortable—and angry—that she had remembered them for two years. "Do you want to know what I remember about that weekend, about you?" He paused briefly before telling the lie. "Nothing, except that you were so willing to sleep with a man you'd never seen before."
Sarah knew he was lying. He had wanted to see her again, had asked to see her the following weekend. She had turned him down as quickly, as gently, as she could. There had been no room in her life for a man. Those two days and nights had been a precious gift from Beth, a respite from her constant care of Tony, a time to rest, to think for a short while about living instead of dying. Those two days and nights had been all she had to give.
Would Daniel ever understand the kind of need that had led her to spend that time with him? Did he have any idea what it was like to be alone and frightened and unhappy, to be so hungry for a night's peace, for another person's touch?
She sat back on her heels, running her fingers through her hair. "Maybe it meant nothing to you, but it was special to me, and for the things you gave me, I thank you." She stood up and walked to the end of the porch, sitting on the peeling floor there.
"What things?" Daniel asked, bewilderment taking the sharp edges off his anger.
"Katherine."
"Her name is Katie, damn it! She doesn't answer to Katherine."
As if to prove him right, Katie looked up when he spoke. She grinned first at her father, then at Sarah, and repeated her name.
Most mothers had the privilege of choosing their daughters' names, Sarah thought, but Daniel refused to give her even that much. She could accept that. Tony's illness had taught her a great deal about accepting things that couldn't be changed. In comparison, calling Katherine 'Katie' would be easy.
"What other things?"
Peace, affection, gentleness. He had made her feel wanted, needed, protected. For one weekend nothing had been able to touch her. For one weekend she had felt secure. But she gave a slow shake of her head. "Nothing you would understand, Daniel."
Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he hammered the remaining boards into place. While he worked, Katie left his side and wandered down the length of the porch toward Sarah. She didn't get too close, only watched her curiously. After a moment, she sat down, back against the rail a few feet away. A few minutes later she inched closer, then closer still until, by the time Daniel finished patching the floor, Katie was right next to Sarah.
He put his tools into the truck, then gave both females a harsh look. "Let's go, Katie."
"No."
He wasn't in any mood for this. "Come on," he demanded. "Let's go home."
Katie reached across and slid her hand inside Sarah's, then looked defiantly at her father. "No."
Her action turned him cold all the way through. Wasn't this exactly what he had feared—this bond between mother and daughter? He had been wrong to bring her here, wrong to give in to Sarah Lawson, even a little bit. It was a mistake he couldn't afford to make again.
Reading the foreboding in Daniel's eyes, Sarah scrambled to her feet and opened her arms to Katie. The little girl went to her readily. Sarah picked her up and carried her to Daniel, placing her in his arms. "You're a sweetheart, Katie," she said, her voice rough and unsteady. Leaning forward, she placed a light kiss on the girl's cheek. Then, standing on her toes and straining, she placed her second kiss on Daniel's chin. "Thank you for letting me see her."
Her touch made him go all stiff and hard. With a sigh she stepped back and folded her arms over chest. "You know, Daniel, if you ever decide to quit hating me, maybe we could be friends. For Katie's sake?"
"Friends?" He repeated the word as if he didn't know its meaning. "Why would I want to be friends with you?"
"Because I'm your daughter's mother." Because she needed a friend. And because, she suspected, so did he. But she knew he would never admit it, would never admit even the possibility of needing anything from her. "In spite of what you think, Daniel, I'm not a bad person. Give me a chance to prove that to you."
He didn't want her to prove anything. He only wanted her to stay away from Katie, to disappear from the face of the earth and leave him alone with his daughter.
Sarah sighed at the implacable expression on his hard features. Couldn't he see that she was trying to make things easier for all of them? Couldn't he relent even a little?
When she spoke again, she sounded tired, defeated. "Can I see her again?"
"No. You asked for a visit, and you got it. There won't be any more." He said it quickly, sharply. He couldn't let Katie spend more time with Sarah, couldn't let this bond between them develop into anything stronger. It was the only way he knew to protect his daughter … and himself.
"That's not fair, Daniel!" Remembering how uncomfortable Tuesday's tears had made him, she strained to keep these new tears under control, even though her eyes burned mercilessly. "You can't bring her here and let me look at her and talk to her, then take her away again!"
Her thick emotion-charged voice stirred his guilt, making it prick sharply at him. He reacted instinctively, defensively, hardening himself against it, against her. "Life isn't fair," he reminded her harshly. "It wasn't fair to Katie when you gave her away. It isn't fair of you to come back before my time is up."
"I don't want to take her from you!" She breathed deeply, trying to calm the shudders inside. "I want to see her, that's all. I want to hold her. I want to play with her. I want…" Her voice broke with the tears she could no longer contain. "I want to be her mother."
"Too bad you didn't want that eleven months ago." His sarcasm was cold, heavily laced with derision. "But it wasn't convenient to be her mother then, was it?"
She stared at him for a long moment, her tear-dampened gaze meeting his damning eyes. If he knew about Tony, would he stop judging her, stop hating her? She decided the answer was no. He believed what he wanted to believe. He'd twisted his memories of their weekend together into something cheap and shabby, had deliberately forgotten the gentleness, the specialness, because the memory of a whore having sex with a stranger better suited his needs. That made it easier to condemn her for giving up Katie. It made it easier for him to hate her.
And it made her want more. She wanted him to remember that he had been attracted to her, that he had liked her, that in some small measure he had cared for her. She wanted him to have faith in her, and she wanted to know that when she told him about Tony, he would care. Tony deserved that much. She deserved that much.
"I have always been her mother, and I have always loved her. Please…"
Daniel slowly shook his head. He didn't know what she was asking—please let her see Katie? Please give her daughter back? Please quit hurting her?—but he was saying no to everything. He would give her nothing—no understanding, no sympathy, no time with Katie. "Twenty-eight days. You can see her then." He insisted to himself he sounded deeper and rougher than usual because he'd seen his daughter choose Sarah, even briefly, over him. Not because of the sorrow in Sarah's soft brown eyes. Not because she seemed to need Katie almost as much as he did.
Certainly not because he felt her pain and shared her fear and wanted to soothe both.
With a muttered oath, he walked away, Katie secure in his arms. Sarah watched until they were gone before slowly sinking down to sit on the first step. Then, as she had done on a regular basis for three years, she bowed her head and cried.
October 6
There had been times when Sarah had believed that just one glimpse of her daughter would make the year's separation bearable, but she had been wrong. Thursday's brief visit with Katie had only made her want more. It had stirred an ache deep in
side her, throbbing, relentless. It had kept her awake the past two nights—hurting, feeling, thinking, planning.
Her plans were simple in concept. Daniel didn't trust her; she would earn his trust. He condemned her; she would make him understand. He despised her; she would make him remember the affection he'd once felt for her.
Simple in theory, difficult in practice. How would she earn the trust and understanding of someone who wanted to hate her?
She plunged her hand into the bucket of soapy water by her side and wrung out the rag, then began scrubbing the top panes of the front window. She had to stay busy, had to keep herself occupied, or she would go mad, so she had turned to housework. In the past two days she had waxed the wood floors, gotten on her knees and scrubbed the kitchen linoleum, washed all the downstairs windows from the inside and was now tackling them from the outside. When that was done… She stifled a sigh and rinsed out the rag. When that was done, she would find something else to do.
When she heard the truck on the road she stubbornly refused to turn and look. Daniel had gone by an hour earlier—she'd seen him from the living room, had seen how he'd stared straight ahead without so much as a glance at her house—and now he was on his way home again. The knowledge that Katie was probably with him made Sarah's fingers clench into a fist around the soapy cloth.
In spite of her intention to ignore him, the unmistakable sound of the truck turning into her driveway brought her head around. Daniel parked behind her car, shut off the engine and climbed out. Her hopes rising, Sarah looked closely, but as far as she could tell, the infant seat was empty. He'd left Katie with a baby-sitter, she realized, disappointment tight around her heart. Rather then expose her to Sarah, he'd taken her to stay with someone else.
Soapy hands on her hips, she waited for him at the top of the steps. She looked belligerent, ready for a fight, Daniel thought, and he could probably give her a good one, but that wasn't why he'd come.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps. The height of the porch put her a few inches above eye level with him. She didn't wait for him so speak, but asked sharply, "What do you want?"
He offered a single envelope. "You don't have a box, so the mailman left this in my box."
Drying her hand on her jeans, she took the letter. She knew without looking that it was a bill. The hospital and the doctors were patient. Aware that she was a single parent with no insurance to help cover her and Tony's medical expenses, they had never pressed her for payment and had written off many of their bills. Because they had been good to her and Tony, had done all they could to help, she paid what she could. "Thanks." Her curt, sarcastic tone embarrassed her, but she made no effort to apologize.
Daniel knew he'd been dismissed with that brief word, but he didn't go. The return address of the Nashville hospital had roused his curiosity, and he had to know. "Is that for Katie?"
"That's none of your business." She clutched the envelope tightly, as if he might try to take it from her.
"It is my business. Do you still owe the hospital for her delivery?"
Raising her eyes to the sky, she gave a humorless laugh. Sometimes she felt as if she owed half the medical community in Nashville. Then she looked back at him, her expression serious, her eyes challenging. "I never asked you for money, so it's not your business."
"But you could have." He climbed one step, and they were eye to eye. "You should have."
"That was what my lawyer said." She folded the envelope and tucked it into her hip pocket, then crossed her arms over her chest. "But I chose not to."
Why not? he wondered. Why hadn't she sued him for payment of her medical bills? For child support? Why hadn't she tried to get as much money from him as possible? Wasn't that what women like Sarah did when they found themselves in her situation? "If you'll give me the account number and the balance, I'll pay it."
Sarah clamped down on her temper. She had to earn his trust, make him remember the affection he'd once felt for her, remember? Snapping at him because he wouldn't let her see Katie might make her feel better, but it certainly wasn't the way to go about making him like her. "I appreciate the offer," she replied, and the antagonism and sarcasm were gone from her voice. "But I'll pay my own bills."
"You can't afford to pay them." He'd seen her car, her clothes, had seen how bare the house was. She was barely scraping by, while he had more money than he needed. "Besides, they're not your bills. If you hadn't gotten pregnant, you wouldn't have had the bills, and if I hadn't…"
Under other circumstances she might have been amused by his reluctance to put his part in Katie's conception into words. Today her mood was too fragile for amusement. "If you hadn't had sex with me. That's as good a way of putting it as any, isn't it? If you hadn't had sex with me, I wouldn't have gotten pregnant. Where is she?"
The sudden subject change didn't unnerve him. "With a friend." When he'd left the house over an hour ago to get the mail, he hadn't planned to leave Katie with anyone—hadn't even planned to see anyone. But after the four-mile drive to the nearest junction, where a row of rural mailboxes stood, he'd found a letter to Sarah with his mail and had known he couldn't take it to her while Katie was with him, then still refuse to let Sarah see her. He wanted to protect his daughter and himself, but he wouldn't resort to cruelty to do it.
That had meant another drive into town, where he'd left her once more with Alicia Adams. It also meant another long drive back to pick her up.
"Are you really going to make me wait until the first to see her again?" In spite of herself, she sounded hopeful, as if she couldn't quite believe he could be so stubborn, so hard-hearted.
Her hopefulness fanned his guilt, making it twist and coil in his belly. Unused to the feeling and not liking it one bit, he responded with a single harsh word. "Yes."
"Daniel—"
"The first." He turned arid started toward his truck.
Sarah followed, catching up with him as he reached it, grabbing his arm. "Wait a minute! Why are you doing this to me? I've never done anything to you—except give you a daughter who you obviously love a great deal. Why are you punishing me?"
He looked at her hand, so small and fine boned against his heavily muscled forearm. On the surface it appeared that he was strong and she was weak, but he knew there were different kinds of strengths. He could crush her physically, but she could so easily crush him, crush his spirit and his emotions. He was strong, but she had power. He had to protect himself against that power.
He stepped back, causing her hand to fall, then climbed into the truck. "I'm not punishing you," he said through the open window. "I'm holding you to our agreement."
"I don't want to take her away from you," she whispered in despair.
He gave no reply, just started the engine and backed out of the driveway.
I'm holding you to our agreement. Daniel winced as the words echoed in his head. He had looked Sarah in the eye and lied to her without the slightest hesitation. He had no intention of honoring their agreement … and no qualms about using the papers they'd signed to make her believe that he would honor it.
He really was a bastard.
October 9
It was Tuesday, the ninth of October. Twenty-three days until November first. Twenty-three days until Katie was back with her mother, where she belonged.
Sarah sat on a bench in the town square, idly watching the traffic that passed. A little over two hours ago Beth had arrived at the house with the news that she'd made an appointment with Zachary Adams for this afternoon. She had insisted that Sarah come along, even though she would be excluded from the meeting. Sarah had spent the past hour on this bench, ignoring the curious looks sent her way by the occasional passersby, watching the cars, wondering what was going on inside Zachary's office.
Beth had agreed that a lawsuit to terminate their agreement wasn't a wise plan of action. All she could do was try to convince Zachary to reason with Daniel—not, she'd added dryly, that she believed Daniel Ryan was a reasonable man.
Sarah smiled faintly to herself. From the first time she'd met him almost a year ago, Beth had been dismayed by Sarah's choice in lovers. Beth preferred handsome, elegant, sophisticated men; in a pinch, she could make do with cute, bright or charming. She'd seen nothing in Daniel to excuse Sarah's affair with him and had decided that it could only be blamed on her fragile mental state at the time.
She couldn't have explained it to Beth even if she'd wanted to, Sarah thought. How could her friend understand that it had been right! Being with him, talking to him, making love with him—it had all felt so right. So good. So special. She had no doubt that under different circumstances they could have built something permanent from that weekend.
But the circumstances hadn't been different. And they needed to be explained, Beth had insisted. That was the only way to get through Daniel Ryan's tough exterior to the goodness and gentleness that Sarah claimed were underneath. He loved his daughter dearly, so he would understand that Sarah had loved her son dearly. He would understand and would forgive and would let them be together. Let her tell Zachary about Tony, Beth had pleaded, so that Daniel would know the truth.
But Sarah had refused.
She shivered in the bright afternoon sun. How many times had she seen the shock and criticism and condemnation in people's eyes when they'd learned that she had sent her baby daughter away? Natural mothers didn't willingly give up their children. No matter what the sacrifice, a good mother kept her child.
It was a common, if unfair, reaction, one of Tony's social workers had told her. People wanted to believe in the maternal instinct, in the goodness of all mothers. When a mother lost custody of her children, they automatically assumed that she was a bad mother. When she voluntarily gave up that custody, they assumed she was a bad person. It was based on ignorance and self-righteous attitudes, but it hurt all the same. Sarah could attest to that. She still remembered the pain, when her very soul was already aching from the loss, of being told by a friend that she would have found a way to keep both Tony and Katie if she had really wanted to. Even those who had understood had still been appalled by her decision.
SOMEBODY'S BABY Page 6