His Real Father (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Salonen, Debra

  Brandon shook his head. “No. You did. See?”

  He made the sequence move forward, frame by frame. Lisa had attempted to catch Joe in midair, but she’d failed. The thing that struck her most was the look on her face. Fear, of course. Even panic. But there was something in her eyes as she barked orders and gently helped him that said love.

  She looked away, not ready to admit anything of the sort. “You’re right. I tried. Too bad I’m not as strong as you are. He might not have even gotten bruised, if you’d been closer.”

  Brandon gave her a funny look. “What’s wrong?”

  She took a deep breath and reached out to touch his face. “It’s my hospital phobia acting up.”

  His beautiful lips curled upward. Were they Joe’s lips or Patrick’s? Lisa didn’t know anymore. “Gramma C says you have a problem with hospitals because the doctors couldn’t save my dad.”

  Feeling a bit light-headed, Lisa grabbed his shoulder. “I need to sit down.”

  His smile faded and he helped her to the chair. “Are you sure you’re okay, Mom?”

  “Brandon, Joe wants to see what you taped,” Maureen said, interrupting the moment. “I told him you caught the whole thing.”

  Brandon hesitated, obviously torn between staying and going. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” Lisa made herself say. She wasn’t thrilled to send her son in to see the man who now knew that he might be Brandon’s biological father, but how could she stop him? “Go.”

  With a quick smile, he dashed down the hall.

  Maureen followed him with her gaze. “Don’t you wish he was always so excited about life? He used to be—before those damn hormones showed up. Same as it was with my boys. So loving and sweet one day and at each other’s throats the next.”

  “I don’t remember them fighting too much,” Lisa said.

  “Oh, heavens. There were times they made Cain and Abel look like choirboys. The only reason there wasn’t bloodshed was that Joe loved his brother too much to hurt him.”

  Lisa didn’t say anything. She was waiting to see if Joe had mentioned anything about Brandon’s paternity to Maureen. “Shall we go out to the waiting room?” Maureen asked. “I hate feeling underfoot, and Constance said it’s going to be a while before a doctor reads Joe’s X rays.”

  “Okay,” Lisa said, letting out the breath she’d been holding. “You go ahead. I’ll tell Brandon where we are.”

  Lisa trudged down the hall, pausing at the doorway. The image of Joe and Brandon—heads together viewing Brandon’s cinematic masterpiece—affected her almost as hard as the sight of seeing Joe fall to the floor. Oh, God, what have I done?

  “MOM?”

  Brandon hadn’t expected to look up and see his mother standing in the doorway, but what really surprised him was how pale she looked. Like she’d just seen a ghost.

  She’d been acting funny for weeks. He’d put it down to her graduation and finding out about his grades, but maybe it was something else. Maybe she was sick. Maybe that was the real reason she hated hospitals.

  “Mom?” he repeated, his tone wobbling in a way that embarrassed him.

  “Screw the rules, Lisa. Come in,” his uncle said. “Brandon was just showing me his handiwork. It’s amazing. He’s a natural behind the camera.”

  Joe’s praise made Brandon smile. Hell, he’d been grinning ever since he’d rewound the footage and seen for himself what he’d hoped he’d got on tape. The feeling was like catching a touchdown pass, or so he assumed. Brandon had never caught a touchdown pass. He’d tried to be the athlete everyone said his father was, but he’d never come close.

  His mother made a small whimpering sound.

  Brandon started toward her, but she put out her hand. “I need to go home. I’ll borrow Gramma C’s car and you can ride with Grams, okay?”

  Brandon nodded, but he was confused. His mother was not the kind of person who left in the middle of a crisis. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. “What about Joe? The nurse—not Gramma C, the other one—said they probably wouldn’t have to keep him overnight.”

  His mother’s gaze dropped to his uncle and stayed for a minute. Brandon couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but she shrugged without looking at Brandon. “I’ll call Martin. He’ll pick Joe up, if Maureen is too tired to stay. I…I’m sorry. I…have to go,” Lisa said, rushing out the door.

  Brandon frowned. What the hell? Suddenly, a thought hit him. He turned to face Joe. “I bet she thinks you’re going to sue her. You wouldn’t, would you?”

  Joe’s look of surprise turned to a scowl. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt your mother.”

  Brandon heard something weird in his uncle’s voice. He didn’t understand what it meant. Almost as though Joe liked her. But that wasn’t possible. Was it?

  “Hey, grandson,” a voice said.

  “Gramma C,” Brandon exclaimed, happy to see someone who almost never lied to him or kept what she was feeling hidden. In fact, there had been a time or two when she’d been too frank. Like when she’d called his penis a penis in front of his friends.

  “Believe me, boys,” she’d said one time when she’d been driving Brandon and his friends some place, “if you take an anatomy class you’ll discover that there is no such thing as a wee-wee. Males have penises. Get used to it.”

  “How’s the patient?” she asked, touching some button on a monitor that was attached to the wall.

  Brandon watched the lights and digital readout with interest. He’d considered becoming a doctor, but after working with Joe’s film crew today he was starting to change his mind.

  “My shoulder is a little sore,” Joe said, “but other than that, I’m fine. Can I take two aspirin and call you in the morning?”

  Brandon laughed. Gramma C pretended to look stern. “No, you may not.” To Brandon, she said, “Men make terrible patients. Don’t pay any attention to him. I wouldn’t want him to be a bad influence on you.”

  Joe made a grunting sound, as if someone had just punched him in the gut.

  “Mom just left,” Brandon said, wishing she’d stayed.

  “I know. She was going to take my car, but then Gunny showed up and she borrowed Maureen’s, instead. How come you don’t have a vehicle, Joe?”

  “Ask my mother. She insisted I wouldn’t need one.”

  “Aha,” she said. “Probably trying to do a little matchmaking.”

  Between Joe and Mom? The idea was too shocking for words. He looked at his uncle, who was watching Brandon in a way that made him feel kinda sad. He didn’t know why.

  “I’m gonna get something from the vending machine.” He didn’t offer to bring anything back for his grandmother or uncle. His mother would have scolded him for his lack of manners, but Brandon didn’t care. The vending machine was just an excuse to escape. He really needed to use the phone. He was supposed to meet Rory and Winston at the kegger. At this rate, he’d never get out of here.

  JOE CLOSED HIS EYES and concentrated on taking long deep breaths. His blood pressure was too high and they weren’t going to let him out until it was normal.

  He could have told them what was causing his heart to race, his mind to churn, and—no doubt—the elevated reading on the blood-pressure cuff that was attached to his arm, but he’d promised Lisa to keep the truth to himself.

  Patrick had tricked Lisa into believing Brandon was his. Why? Had Pat thought he was doing his brother a favor? After all, Joe’s future had looked so bright and promising. A summer internship. A scholarship to film school. Joe wouldn’t have welcomed fatherhood at age eighteen, right?

  “So, how about at thirty-five?” he mumbled.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  Joe’s eyes snapped open. “Huh?”

  He lifted his head. A gray-haired woman in a white lab coat stood a foot away holding his chart. Joe hadn’t even heard her come in. “Just wondering when I could get out of here,” he said, letting his head fall back to the small, hard pillow.

  “Now, I
think. Your blood pressure has come down since we gave you the pain medication. There’s no evidence of a break in your shoulder or collarbone. Head and back look fine.” She snapped the file closed. “You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Kelly. This could have been much worse.”

  You’re a very lucky man. “You have no idea,” he said under his breath. At her curious look, he said, “Yes, I agree. Thank you.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “A nurse will be right in to remove the blood-pressure cuff and blood-oxygen monitor. As soon as you’re dressed, you can meet your family out front. But if you have any sharp pains or nausea in the next few hours, get your butt back in here.”

  Like everything else, this process took longer than Joe would have thought possible. Nearly forty-five minutes later he walked into the waiting room. His mother was sitting in a chair, her head resting on Gunny’s shoulder.

  Brandon, who had his legs stretched across two uncomfortable-looking benches, shot to his feet. “Hey, there he is.”

  Joe gave his mother a hug and shook hands with Gunny. “Sorry for all the trouble.”

  Gunny shook his head in his gruff way. “No problem. I came as soon as Maureen called. I tried to talk her into leaving. It’s not good for her arthritis to sit like this for long periods.”

  His mother gave Gunny a sour look. “I’m fine. How are you, Joe? You had us worried.”

  “I could have saved myself a trip if I’d seen that footage Brandon shot earlier. It’s pretty obvious Lisa broke my fall. How is she?” He looked around. “Has anyone talked to her since she went home?”

  His mother nodded. “I was going to call her, but she left a message saying she was going to take a sleeping pill and go to bed. I missed the call because I had to turn my phone off. Hospital rules.”

  Joe was disappointed. He’d planned to go see her after he got home. He wanted—no, he needed to talk to her, but now his questions would have to wait. “Well, let’s go before they change their minds. I know five-star hotels that don’t charge as much as this little visit just cost me.”

  Gunny picked up the conversational thread by launching into a diatribe about the high price of health care and some of the many charges his wife had accrued during her illness. “Nowadays, you need to be a full-time auditor to make sense of the billings,” he complained. “You wouldn’t believe some of the over-charges and duplicate billings we received. My insurance company would have paid them if I hadn’t raised a stink.”

  Ten minutes later, they were parked in front of Joe’s Place to drop off Brandon, who’d left his car parked on a side street. “Bye, Grams. Thanks for the ride, Gunny. See ya later, Joe,” Brandon said, obviously in a hurry to leave. He’d returned the camera to Joe as soon as they’d sat down in the back seat of Gunny’s Lincoln.

  As the young man disappeared around the corner, Joe looked at Joe’s Place. The interior lights were still on. Then he remembered hearing Martin offer to finish up the inventory they’d started last week.

  He glanced at his watch. “Is it really only midnight?” he asked, dumbfounded. So much had happened since his departure in the ambulance.

  He also realized he was too wired to sleep. “Mom. Gunny. I appreciate the lift, but I think I’ll get out here, too. Martin can drive me home.”

  Maureen turned to look at him. “Oh, Joe, are you sure? It’s late. Didn’t the doctor tell you to take it easy the next couple of days?”

  He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I’m fine, Mom, but you look ready to drop. Go home. Leave the light on for me.”

  She smiled weakly. “I always do.”

  After thanking Gunny, Joe slid across the fine leather seat, picked up his camera and got out. As he watched the luxury sedan pull away from the curb, Joe took a deep breath. He was a father. Well…maybe.

  The bar’s door was locked, but Lisa had given him a key. Joe walked inside. The jukebox was playing a Ray Charles song, but Martin was nowhere in sight. He went to the office, where he packed his camera in its protective box then locked it in the vault. After he was done, he returned to the bar and sat down.

  “So, you’re still in one piece,” Martin said, exiting the storeroom with a notepad in hand.

  “Yep, and thirsty.”

  “A Guinness?”

  Joe’s father’s favorite. “Why not?”

  The nearly black liquid came with two inches of caramel-colored foam that stuck to Joe’s upper lip after he took a drink. Smooth and strong. Joe hadn’t tasted it in years. He’d told himself he didn’t like dark beers, but in truth he was afraid he liked dark beers too much. What else had he denied himself out of fear? Lisa? A son?

  “Martin, is it true that anything you tell a bartender is sacred? That it’s just like spilling your guts in a confessional?”

  Martin’s chuckle was low and rumbling. “I guess it depends on the bar—and the confessor.” He marked down Joe’s beer in a little notebook Joe knew his mother kept for employees to record their purchases.

  “Why?” Martin asked. “Do you have something you need to get off your chest? Did that fall finally knock some sense into your head?”

  Joe vacillated. Lisa had asked him not to mention her revelation to Joe’s mother or Brandon. Technically, she hadn’t said anything about Martin. Joe took another sip. “On the way to the hospital, Lisa told me there’s a chance that Brandon is my son, not my brother’s. Pat lied to her when she found out she was pregnant. He told her I was sterile.”

  Martin didn’t even blink. “Well, that changes things a bit, doesn’t it?”

  Joe looked past Martin to the wall of photographs. It only took a second to find the one he was looking for—the one Brandon had mentioned when he and Joe had first talked. Lisa sitting between the two brothers. They all three looked happy, and so young. “If it were anyone but Lisa, I’d be thinking about a paternity test, but she wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “And would a test be able to tell you anything definite, since you and Patrick were twins?”

  “Good point. I have no idea.”

  Martin folded his arms and leaned forward. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Neither man spoke for a few minutes. After the last of the songs was done, Martin unplugged the jukebox and returned to where Joe was sitting. He poured a cup of coffee. He sat down on the stool next to Joe.

  “What happens from this point on isn’t going to be easy for any of you. You and Lisa are adults. But I imagine this is going to be a real shock to Brandon.”

  Joe had been thinking the same thing.

  “Patrick had to know his lie would come out eventually, Martin. What if I’d married and had a child? Lisa would have started asking questions. Do you think that’s why he didn’t try harder to stick around?”

  “You’re probably the only one who can answer that question, Joe. You knew him best.”

  Joe shook his head. “Did I? I never would have thought he was capable of this kind of deception. Martin, he cheated me out of my son’s childhood.”

  “You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’ll give it to you anyway,” Martin said. “Blaming a dead man is a waste of time. You can’t change the past, but you can influence the future. You may have every right to barge into Brandon’s life and demand that he accepts you as his father, but where will that get you?”

  Joe pictured the way Brandon had blown up when confronted about his drinking. Would something like this push him over the edge? Joe’s gut told him Martin was right, but Joe had to do something. He just didn’t know what.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JOE ENTERED HIS MOTHER’S HOUSE as quietly as possible, but he was still too keyed up to sleep. A hollow sensation made him put his hand on his belly. A hunger of sorts but not the kind food or drink could appease.

  After kicking off his shoes, he walked to his makeshift editing bay, which sat on his father’s desk and two card tables. He turned on his computer.

  Over the past week, he’d copied hours and hours
of old home movies into digital format. The quality of some was so poor, he’d had to painstakingly restore the original color. He was also in the process of scanning still photographs onto his hard drive.

  He pulled two photo albums from the bottom shelf of the credenza and carried them to his desk. Once seated, he opened the one marked Brandon.

  Unconsciously rubbing his sore shoulder, he opened the album to the first page to see a familiar eight-by-ten. Brandon as an infant. He’d received a wallet-size copy with the birth announcement Lisa had sent him seventeen years ago.

  Joe studied the face intently. Was that his nose? No. Of course, not. It was a baby nose. And baby eyes. And fat baby cheeks. But there was something in the many parts of the whole that made Joe’s heart race.

  He slowly flipped ahead. Brandon wearing a bowl of cereal as a cap. Brandon crawling up his grandmother’s stairs. The caption read Going Places at Age Nine Months. “Babies can crawl up stairs at nine months?” he mumbled under his breath.

  “Some can,” a voice answered. “The precocious ones.”

  Joe startled. He’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t heard his mother’s approach.

  She walked to his chair and laid her hand on his shoulder. Her hair was still neatly combed, telling him she hadn’t been asleep, even though she wore a nightgown and robe. A soft, feminine ensemble. White with tiny sprigs of blue-and-yellow flowers.

  She didn’t ask him what he was doing or why. Instead, she pulled up a chair and sat down. As Joe flipped the pages, she’d point out pictures that held special meaning to her. “This was Brandon’s first day of school. Lisa and I cried so hard we had to sit on the curb after the school bus drove off. Isn’t that silly? We’d been planning for that day for weeks. I’d taken him shopping for new shoes—the kind that all the cool kids were wearing, I remember.”

  “In kindergarten?”

  She smiled sheepishly. “Brandon wouldn’t have cared, but I wanted to be sure he made a good impression. Kids can be cruel, you know.”