Playing to Win

by Shelley Munro

  His mouth firmed to a determined line when he paced past. “What about his birth certificate? You must have a copy of his birth certificate. That might tell us something or it might not.”

  Instead of answering, she followed his agitated progress across the room and back, feeling grudging sympathy. The solid lump of tension residing in the base of her stomach eased then jerked tight, taking a forbidden detour. Aghast, she dragged her gaze from his broad shoulders, his jean-clad lower half. She slurped her coffee and cursed under her breath. Way to go, Kate.

  But then, Lane Gerrard wasn’t as calm as appearances indicated either.

  That made two of them.

  Kate cleared her throat. “I searched through Nicole’s personal papers after you visited this morning. I found the birth certificate—”

  He stopped mid-pace and whirled about to fix her with an intimidating glare. “Why didn’t you say so? Where is it?”

  “If you’d let me finish,” she bit out. “The name of Jamie’s father is blacked out with felt pen. I put it in the kitchen. I’ll get it for you if you like.”

  “Please.” His voice sounded strained and taut.

  Kate retrieved the certificate from the kitchen and handed it to him before sitting again. She watched his expression switch to frustration as he read the certificate then held it to the light, trying to decipher the blacked-out name. Moments later, he slumped into the nearest chair. “You’re right. What do you suggest we do now?”

  The “we” did not escape Kate. “I,” she emphasized, “am going to apply for a copy of the certificate at the Registrar’s office tomorrow.”

  “I have a meeting in the morning. We can go in the afternoon,” Lane said, closing his eyes. “I don’t understand. Don’t you need a birth certificate to enroll a child at school? And for other things…sports teams and things.”

  “Yes, but I have no idea when the birth certificate was defaced. Maybe Nicole used it to enroll Jamie at school and scribbled over it later. As for the sports thing—Jamie’s rugby team is chosen on weight. You don’t need a birth certificate.”

  Lane suddenly looked tired, his face strained. Her hands itched to massage away his stress. Some geranium, bergamot, maybe sandalwood… Already she felt the strength of his muscular shoulders under her hands. Sexual tension pierced her body, pooling low in her belly. Her heart pitter-pattered while heat gathered in her cheeks. Just as well he wasn’t watching.

  “You don’t have to come with me,” she blurted, fanning her face. “I’m capable of applying for a certificate by myself. I’d have thought I was the last person you would want to spend time with. The fallen woman. Someone might see you.”

  His eyes snapped open at her snide words and he fixed her with a chilly glare. “Don’t be cute,” he muttered. “If Jamie is my son I want to know. If he isn’t my son, then one of my brothers is his father. I want the truth. One way or another.”

  He dragged an impatient hand through his dark hair. The finished result of several upstanding black tufts should have made the man look ridiculous. He didn’t. He looked ruggedly masculine, appealing and too much like Jamie. Another surge of warmth made her fidget, her clothes feel like restraints. Kate shook her head, astonished she hadn’t realized how alike when Lane had first crashed into her day.

  “In either case, Jamie is a Gerrard. I can’t speak for my brothers, but if Jamie is my son, I want to be a part of his life. I’d want some say in his upbringing.”

  His arrogance astounded her. That Lane thought he could step in and she’d do exactly as he bid. “You can’t…” Panic roared through her, fueling her insecurities. He wouldn’t take Jamie away from her, would he? No way would she agree to a DNA test. No way.

  “How about meeting me at the Registrar’s office at two tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Now just a minute—” Kate began hotly.

  “Would three suit better?”

  Kate slammed down her cup and shot to her feet. Dark liquid sloshed over the side, puddling on the wooden surface of the table, but she paid no attention. “Jamie is my son. Not yours or anyone else’s. He’s mine. You have no rights.”

  A flicker of emotion shot across his face, so quick she thought she must have been mistaken. Calm and impassive, he waited until her outburst ended. “You say he’s your son. Fine. All I want is the truth and a chance to be a father to him if he’s mine. My reputation is at stake here as much as yours. The papers are implying I’m a cruel, unfeeling bastard. The Rickard International is understandably nervous about their connection with my name. I owe it to myself and Jamie to learn the truth.”

  “Two o’clock, tomorrow,” Kate snapped. She gestured at the door, uncaring about rudeness. She couldn’t take much more of the pushing and pulling at her emotions. “It’s late. I have a full morning tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, then he left, obviously satisfied now that he’d succeeded in getting his own way.

  Kate busied herself wiping up the spilt coffee and took the tray to the kitchen. She carried out the mundane activities on autopilot, Lane’s words replaying in a loop through her head. She rinsed the coffee cups and put them away in the cupboard. Lane stubbornly refused to budge from her mind. Jerking open the pantry, she yanked a hazelnut slab from her secret stash. She peeled back the chocolate wrapper, staring at the luscious confectionary with a frown. The man managed to blindside her with each twist in this bizarre melodrama. What if the certificate did list him as Jamie’s father? She drew in a deep breath. If he were Jamie’s father, he had rights. But what about her rights?

  She had promised Nicole she’d look after Jamie. Raise him as her own. Apart from an aunt and a distant cousin, who both lived in Australia, they had no other relatives. It was just the two of them. Her promise to Nicole remained important to her. Way more important than money.

  Money. Huh! Lane’s claims about her wanting to extort money from him bit into her pride. Kate didn’t know how much professional rugby players earned but guessed the figure was sizable. Certainly more than she received. Kate reached for the copy of the damning newspaper article, scanned it and dropped it with a sigh. A sponsorship deal with the Rickard International meant money. Serious money.

  And she had none.

  The thought of lawyer’s bills made her nauseous.

  As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, she told herself not to worry, that everything would work out. But a small element of doubt gnawed at her. She couldn’t help but worry.

  Lane Gerrard didn’t know if he was Jamie’s father, but already he spoke of parental rights. If he felt that strongly now, what would happen if the name they found written on the certificate was his?

  Chapter Four

  “Jamie! It’s nearly eight o’clock. You have twenty minutes before Danielle arrives to pick you up for school.”

  Kate cocked her head, listened to the series of thumps and bumps coming from upstairs and judged it time to serve the scrambled eggs. Jamie appeared in the kitchen minutes later.

  “I can’t find my homework,” he wailed. “Have you seen it?”

  “No,” Kate said over her shoulder, juggling the toast in the toaster and serving the eggs at the same time. “Where did you leave it?”

  Jamie scratched his head, managing to mess his combed hair into a series of tufts. “I put it in a safe place in my room.”

  Kate stilled, her stomach knotting painfully. She’d seen the same gesture last night. “Then it will still be there,” she replied, shoving Lane Gerrard from her mind. “What would you like on your sandwiches today? Vegemite and cheese or ham with mustard?”

  “Both, please,” he mumbled through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “Do we have apples? Don’t forget to buy Ratty some food for me this morning.”

  Kate nodded and packed Jamie’s sandwiches in his lunch box, adding a Gala apple, a small box of raisins and a carton of orange juice. She placed the red lunch box at the end of the breakfast bar so he wouldn’t forget it. “
Promise. I’ll dash out between appointments this morning.”

  “Lane Gerrard isn’t my father. Mum showed me a picture of my father.”

  Startled, Kate dropped the dish she was washing and watched with dismay when her favorite platter crashed to the floor in three separate pieces.

  “She did?”

  “Yeah.”

  Could the solution be that easy? Maybe she didn’t need to see Lane Gerrard again. They could sort out this mess, then their lives would revert to normal. “What did your father look like?” She held her breath, waiting for his reply.

  “It was a picture in a magazine,” Jamie said. “My father has white hair.” His chin tilted in triumph.

  Kate translated his description to mean Jamie’s father had either gray or maybe blond hair. That let Lane Gerrard out. His hair came from the dark, please-run-your-fingers-through-me black category.

  “Jamie, don’t worry. I’ll sort everything out with Mr. Gerrard. Go and brush your teeth and try to find your homework. It must be in your bedroom, so look underneath all the clothes and toys. Maybe pick up a few while you’re searching,” she added with a raised brow.

  “Yes, Kate.” Jamie grinned at her while he carried his dirty dishes to the sink and hurried off, making his usual racket.

  A Gerrard smile. The weird dancing in the pit of her stomach she experienced whenever thinking of Lane Gerrard returned with vengeance. Kate smothered the urge to groan. The man had started haunting her and not in a good way.

  A honk of a horn announced her friend Danielle’s arrival. “Jamie! Danielle’s here.”

  He clattered down the stairs, his blue backpack slung over one shoulder. “I found my homework under my clothes.”

  Kate smiled, handed him his lunch and managed to plant a kiss on his cheek when he flew past. She followed Jamie outside at a slower pace. “Hi, Danielle,” she called from the front door.

  “Kate. How are you?” Honest concern rippled through her friend’s voice.

  Kate knew straightaway her friend referred to the article in yesterday’s paper. She grimaced. “Okay.”

  “I’ll ring you later,” Danielle promised with a significant nod at her sons and Jamie.

  Kate waved as Danielle drove off. Back in the kitchen, she poured a cup of coffee, taking a hasty sip. The slice of morning quiet she normally enjoyed when Jamie left for school felt more like the eerie silence before a huge storm. Edgy and restless, she had difficulty standing still, her body demanding movement to dispel her nervous energy.

  Her thoughts drifted to Lane Gerrard and the two o’clock meeting. His bronzed face danced through her mind. Heat shot through her body, suffused her face. Her legs melted like chocolate on a hot sunny day and she dropped to a chair. The man refused to leave her head. He was like a top-ten hit repeating over and over. Kate glanced at the pantry door but stayed in her chair instead of succumbing to a quick fix.

  Too early to eat a chocolate bar.

  The doorbell chimed. She sprang up, her glance snapping to the clock. It couldn’t be. Not her client already. She was still in her pajamas, not exactly the professional image she wanted to project. Especially in light of the article about Lane and her. She considered running upstairs to hunt out a dressing gown before discarding the idea. In the unseasonably warm winter temperatures experienced by Auckland during the last week, she’d cook.

  Another thump highlighted her caller’s impatience. Kate shrugged away her indecisiveness. Her blue pajamas were respectable. She’d settle the client in the waiting room and run up to her bedroom to do a five-second Superman change. Another thump reverberated down the hall. “Coming,” she called.

  She opened the door cautiously. Without warning, someone shoved it from the other side and a bright flash went off in her face. She clamped her eyes shut in instinctive reaction. Gradually her vision cleared. Panicked, she tried to seize the brass doorknob so she could slam the door shut.

  A man planted his foot in front of the wooden door, blocking her intentions. “Not so fast, love.”

  Kate saw there were two of them. The female photographer responsible for the blinding flash and another shorter man with a distinct paunch emphasized by his vibrant lime-green T-shirt. He wore his long blond hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. A silver hoop pierced one ear and a tattoo peeked from beneath his left sleeve. A real trendsetter, Kate thought as she inched away, debating how to deal with them.

  Another flash exploded. Kate jerked, her eyes smarting with the bright light. The man standing at her door openly leered.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he said in an upbeat, smarmy tone. “Is Lane in?”

  “Pardon?” Kate edged back, attempting to hide behind the door yet keep them outside at the same time. Lane? What was the man talking about? A persistent itch started in her hand. It was the leer—the way he looked her up and down that made Kate long to put her self-defense moves into action. One fist clenched at her side. A quick uppercut would wipe the smirk from his face.

  “Stop the bimbo act, love. We know about you and Lane Gerrard. You didn’t expect to keep your affair a secret did you, love? The cat is out of the bag and running free.” He sneered, his gaze fastening on her pajamas at chest level. “Personally, love, I prefer a sexy nightie, but I guess whatever rings Lane’s bell. No accounting for taste. Go on, love. Give us a quote.”

  “No comment,” Kate snapped. She lunged for the door, forced her full weight against it and pushed hard. The reporter reacted slowly and Kate caught his fingers. His bellow of outrage resonated loud enough for those living in the next suburb of Remuera to hear. Through the crack in the door, she saw him draw his grubby fingers into his mouth, sucking them to relieve the ache. Despite the pain, he managed to keep his foot in the door so it didn’t close.

  “I’ll sue you!” he threatened, following this with several muttered obscenities that made Kate’s eyebrows rise. “We have our pictures, love.”

  The endearment sounded like a curse. Damn and blast. More pictures. And in her PJs too. Belatedly, she wished she’d stopped to retrieve her dressing gown.

  The reporter leered again. “You can’t fool us. We know what’s going on. It’s our duty to let the public know.”

  Kate glared through the crack in the door. How would he react if he were the pursued instead of the pursuer? With graciousness? Somehow, she doubted it. Lowlife.

  The female photographer nudged at the man’s shoulder. “Come on, Sid. We may as well go. We have our pictures.”

  The reporter smirked. “That we do, love. That we do.” He took a step back, his smirk widening to toothy and taunting.

  Kate muttered a succinct curse, slammed the door and hurried to the window, intent on making sure they actually left. There was no way she wanted them snooping around her garden. She peeked from behind her blue-and-lemon floral curtains and let out a gasp of dismay.

  “More reporters,” she muttered. She watched two vans park, one from Television Auckland and the other from The Mirror newspaper. She groaned out loud.

  “Why me?” Then another thought occurred. Kate hoped the adverse publicity didn’t put off her clients or worse, they weren’t hassled by reporters digging for juicy details. Each client represented so much hard work and she hated to upset or lose even one. If the situation became too difficult, she’d have to think about contacting the police.

  Kate stomped up the stairs to her bedroom. Why did this have to happen when her business was going so well?

  After flipping on the water, she leapt into the shower. Five minutes later, she dressed in preparation for her first appointment. This afternoon she’d have to face Lane. Already nerves danced about in her tummy. She peered out the window after fastening the last button of her cream uniform shirt. They were still there, drinking coffee from paper cups and looking entrenched.

  It was going to be a long day.

  * * * * *

  After running the media gauntlet when leaving home, Kate caught a bus going in the opposite directi
on and changed routes several times before catching one into central Auckland.

  Kate rushed from the stop in Mayoral Drive and sprinted left up Queen Street to arrive in front of the offices for births, deaths and marriages, red-faced and out of breath. It didn’t help that the first person she saw was a cool and immaculately dressed Lane Gerrard. Go figure.

  “Sorry, I’m late. A fender-bender held up the Link bus and the rest of the traffic.” Oops, babbling alert. She snapped her mouth shut.

  “Have you seen the papers today?”

  “No.” She took a closer look at his tense face and let out a resigned sigh. “Are we in the paper again?” If he felt angry now, wait until he saw tomorrow’s edition.

  “Front-page headlines. Let’s go. I don’t want anyone seeing us together.”

  At that, her temper flared. Impossible man. None of this was her fault. “I told you I could take care of this by myself.” She ground out the words from between clenched teeth.

  Instead of answering, he grabbed her arm and propelled her to the entrance. “I’m here now. Quit arguing and let’s get this done.”

  Kate grimaced. Someone was feeling the pressure, but he didn’t need to take it out on her.

  They caught the elevator to the fourth floor. Kate squeezed into one corner while Lane glowered at the two elderly women who’d had the misfortune to catch the same ride.

  Once they arrived in the offices, the procedure appeared painless with clear instructions on the wall posters. Kate completed the application form, filling out details of Jamie’s full name, date and place of birth. With the form completed, they joined the slow-moving line for the cashier. Lane endured the half-hour wait in tight-lipped silence while Kate willed the chatty woman operating the register to hurry. She wanted Lane out of her life. Despite her mental urging the queue crawled but finally their turn arrived.

  “Do you want a full copy of the child’s birth certificate or the micrographic version?” the cashier asked.