Worth Fighting For (Bayside Bachelors #3)

by Judy Duarte

  “So tell me about you,” Caitlin said, doing them both a favor and diverting the conversation to something more pleasant. “How did you meet Greg?”

  “We met during a bar fight at a seedy joint in downtown San Diego. And we’ve been watching each other’s backs ever since.”

  “Greg was involved in a bar fight?” Her brows lifted and her eyes widened. “I can’t imagine it. He’s so sweet and gentle.”

  Were they talking about the same guy? That knockdown drag-out hadn’t been the first for Greg, who became a superhero whenever he’d had too much to drink.

  Brett grinned as the memory surfaced. “Greg saw a couple of the local boys harassing the female bartender and decided to step in and correct the situation.”

  “Now that sounds like the Greg I know.”

  Brett couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, well the lady bartender stood over six feet tall and had forearms the size of Popeye’s. I might have been a bit snockered myself, but her afternoon shadow suggested she—or rather he—could hold his own.”

  “So Greg stepped in?”

  “And about got his head knocked in with a chair, until I jumped in to help. And just as the fight turned into a rip-roaring free-for-all, the bartender pulled a gun and settled it.”

  “Was anyone shot?”

  “Just the ceiling. But Greg and I limped out of there with our share of cuts and bruises. We’ve been buddies ever since.”

  She smiled, then glanced at his bad hand. “Speaking of cuts and bruises, I nearly forgot to fix that bandage for you. I’ll be right back.”

  When she returned with the first-aid kit, she took a seat next to him on the sofa.

  He caught a faint whiff of a tropical breeze, felt the sultry heat as she touched his arm. Was she feeling it, too? The attraction that seemed to grow stronger each time their gazes met?

  As she removed the tape and gauze from his hand, her knee brushed against his thigh, sending a shimmy of heat through his blood. He watched her hair sweep along her shoulder and fought the urge to touch the golden strands, to see if they felt as silky as they looked.

  Instead, as she rewrapped his hand and fastened the tape, he tried to waylay the flicker of desire that taunted his better judgment. “Let me know what the bodywork on your car is going to cost.”

  “I’ll take it in for an estimate, but I still feel as though that accident was my fault.” She looked up from her work, then furrowed her brow when the scrape on his chin caught her eye. She probed around it lightly. Her soft, gentle fingers lingered on his jaw.

  When she looked into his eyes, he was swept into that sea-blue gaze. Her tropical scent swirled around them, making him envision an evening luau for two on a deserted beach.

  Something passed between them, something he suspected she’d felt, too. A need. A hunger.

  He wouldn’t act on it, although it damned near killed him not to. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, her eyes still fixed on his.

  He knew better than to reach out and touch her, but when she looked at him like that, with what seemed like virginal interest, his common sense flew by the wayside. He ran the knuckles of his good hand along the softness of her cheek.

  Had she pulled away, that would have been the end of it. But she didn’t. She merely watched him, her lips parting, tempting him to take things a step further.

  Ah, man. What an idiot. Why’d he have to go and do that? Stir things up. Make things complicated.

  He withdrew his hand, then clicked his tongue. “I’m really sorry about that, Caitlin. I have no idea what got into me. I must have jarred my brains on the pavement.”

  “No, I kind of lost it, too.” She fingered the place on her cheek where his knuckles had stroked. When their gazes met, she quickly looked away, and her hand dropped into her lap.

  Yeah, she’d definitely lost it, too.

  He got to his feet and dragged a hand though his hair. He wasn’t used to women wanting to take the blame for something he should have been able to avoid, like an accident or an inappropriate caress. So he changed the subject. “Thanks for dinner, Caitlin.”

  “You’re welcome.” She followed him to the door to see him out. But something continued to hover between them. Something sensual. Something he ought to avoid, if he hadn’t complicated things by making a promise to her daughter.

  “I was serious about letting Emily visit Fred,” he said. “Your call, of course.”

  “She’s really attached to him.”

  “Okay.” he said, even though he was now feeling as skittish as the psycho cat hiding under the bed. “Maybe tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s fine.” She smiled. “Then I can take you to get that rental car.”

  He nodded, then returned to the dark house alone. If he hadn’t already told Emily she could visit, he’d board up the windows of his place and lock himself inside.

  Away from the woman and kid who promised to be nothing but trouble.

  Chapter Three

  As Caitlin dried the last of the morning dishes, Emily waited in the breakfast nook, feet dangling from her seat, elbows resting on the table, hands propping up her chin.

  “It’s nine-oh-one,” the little girl announced.

  Each day, at roughly nine o’clock, Emily and Caitlin took the neighbor’s dog for a walk. It had become a tradition they both looked forward to, a special time when she and her daughter could chat, get a little exercise and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine.

  And it gave Emily another chance to pretend she had a pet of her own.

  “You’re sure good at telling time, Em. But just give me a minute more. I’m nearly finished.” Caitlin placed the last spoon into the drawer, then folded the damp towel and hung it on the rack to dry.

  “Yea!” Emily climbed from her chair, just as the telephone rang, then paused. “Oh, no.”

  “Sorry, sweetie. I’ll make this quick.” Caitlin snatched the receiver from the hook. “Hello?”

  It was Phyllis McAree, her attorney. “Have you got a minute?”

  Caitlin glanced at her eager daughter, then lifted her index finger, indicating the call would take a moment.

  “Yes, Phyllis. Go ahead.” Caitlin gripped the receiver and held her breath, hoping the competent family law specialist had something positive to report.

  “From what I can gather, Zack’s parole hearing has been set up for the end of the month. And since he hasn’t had any problems while serving his term, there’s a good chance he’ll be released. I spoke to his attorney, and there’s no way they’ll drop the custody suit. Zack wants his child.”

  Caitlin’s heart dropped to her stomach. Tears stung her eyes, and a lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to speak—even if Emily hadn’t been in the room, listening intently.

  She glanced at her daughter, the little girl who’d become the love of her life.

  “It’s nine-oh-three,” Emily whispered.

  Under other circumstances, Caitlin would have handled Emily differently. She would have told her to be patient and wait until after the phone call. But Caitlin didn’t want to worry about the words she might say, the tears she might cry.

  “Just a minute,” she told Phyllis. Then she placed a hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver. “Em, why don’t you knock on the Blackstone’s door and ask if you can bring Scruffy over here.”

  “To our house?” Her daughter’s eyes brightened. “Okay!”

  Allowing Scruffy to visit hadn’t been an option before, due to Caitlin’s allergies. But right now, she needed some time alone. And although she didn’t usually let Emily go outside unsupervised, the Blackstones shared a wall with Caitlin, and the door was merely steps away from her own. “Leave our front door open so I can watch you, honey.”

  “Okay.” Emily grinned, then dashed outside.

  “I’m sorry for the interruption,” Caitlin told her attorney, “but I didn’t want to talk in front of my daughter.”

  “I can certainly understand
that.” Phyllis blew out a sigh. “I won’t lie to you, Caitlin. This case isn’t going to be easy. Emotions will run high, and so will the legal fees. Apparently Zack has an uncle who’s willing to put up the money for his fight.”

  Caitlin’s heart sank. She hadn’t counted on Zack having anyone’s support. She’d heard he was an orphan, and she’d hoped a lack of finances would prohibit him from hiring an attorney.

  “What are the chances that Zack will win custody?” she asked the attorney. “After all, he is her biological father.”

  “I wish I could tell you. Custody cases are never easy to predict, but you’re the only mother Emily has ever known, and that’s a strong point in your favor.”

  But was it enough?

  “Zack will probably claim to be rehabilitated,” Phyllis added. “And his attorney claims he has a job lined up at the construction company, where his uncle works.”

  “He’s still a convicted felon,” Caitlin said. “Surely the courts won’t put a child in his home without being sure he’s really changed.”

  “Even if he’s made a complete turnaround and plans to be a law-abiding citizen and a good father to his child, there are other factors the court will have to consider. Because he’s on parole, his home will be open to random searches and seizures at any time of the day or night. It won’t be a good environment for a child. And that’s another argument I’ll make.”

  A chill crept over Caitlin, and her hands shook. “What happens if Emily’s at the house and they find something like drugs, weapons, some of those delinquents he used to hang around, or other parolees he met while incarcerated?”

  “Zack will be sent back to prison, and social workers will take Emily to the county receiving home.”

  “Oh, God. I can’t let that happen.”

  “Caitlin, I’ll do everything in my power to help you. But keep in mind that you’ll retain custody during the legal proceedings. Then, even if the court does decide to let Zack have Emily, the transfer would probably start with visitation.”

  “I don’t even want her to meet him, let alone spend unsupervised time with him.” Caitlin’s stomach tossed and turned, threatening to upchuck her breakfast and the coffee she’d drank.

  “Let’s not worry until we have something to worry about, all right?”

  That was easy for the attorney to say.

  Caitlin glanced out the door, spotting Emily as she stood on Gerald and Mary’s porch—unaware of the father who threatened her future.

  Emily smiled as the morning sunshine warmed her face. She liked being outside. But even more than that, she liked being a big girl and no longer a baby.

  A bird called from the big tree on the grass. And an engine roared to a start from the carport.

  It was fun to be outdoors alone. To be ’sponsible enough to go get Scruffy all by herself.

  She knocked again at the Blackstone’s door, this time really hard because Mary and Gerald didn’t hear very good.

  A minute later Gerald answered. “Why hello, Emily.” He looked all around. “Where’s your mommy?”

  “She’s talking on the phone. But she said I could come and get Scruffy all by myself and take him to my house to play. And when she’s all done talking, we can go on our walk.”

  “You’re sure getting to be a big girl,” Harvey said.

  Emily was glad to know he thought so, too.

  Scruffy barked, as he came running, wagging his bushy tail like he was really happy to see her. That’s why Emily loved the little dog. ’Cause he always kissed her face until it was all wet.

  She giggled, then plopped down to her knees and let Scruffy welcome her with wags and licks and little whines.

  “How about a treat?” Mary asked her. “I just baked a fresh batch of oatmeal cookies with raisins.”

  “No, thank you. My tummy is all filled up with breakfast.” Emily pooched out her stomach and rubbed it. “See?”

  “Maybe after your walk.”

  Emily nodded.

  “Hold on a minute, Scruffy.” Mr. Blackstone stooped, as he snapped the hook onto the squirmy little dog’s collar, then handed Emily the leash. “Have a good time on your walk, sweetheart.”

  “I will.” Emily gave Scruffy a big hug. “Okay, let’s go get Mommy.”

  As Gerald closed his door, and Emily took Scruffy down the steps, the doggie pulled her onto the grass, so he could go potty. When he was all done, he started to run for the sidewalk, where Mommy and Emily usually walked. But Emily pulled him back. “Not yet, Scruffy. We gotta wait for Mommy.”

  Scruffy was sad, but he obeyed Emily. And that made her happy. As they walked toward Emily’s house, Scruffy spotted a butterfly on the flower bush by the front door. He barked and wagged his tail.

  Emily had to use both hands to hold him back. “Silly, you can’t play with butterflies. God made them for us to look at. Isn’t this one pretty?”

  She studied the yellow and black wings. It was one of the prettiest she’d ever seen that wasn’t in a picture book.

  When they went on walks, Mommy let Emily and Scruffy look at things like rolly-pollies, the little gray bugs that rolled into balls when they were shy or scared.

  Maybe it was okay to stay in the front yard. Mommy couldn’t get mad at that. Besides, Emily wouldn’t go anywhere ’cept stay on the lawn.

  The butterfly flew away, toward Greg’s house, where Brett was staying.

  He was a nice man, just like Greg. And he’d said she could come over and visit Fred.

  She got a good idea that made her smile. Maybe Brett and Fred wanted to take a walk with them.

  Emily didn’t know if Fred had a leash, like Scruffy did, but Brett could carry him.

  “Come on, Scruffy. Let’s go see our neighbors.”

  Brett rolled over in bed, taking the pillow and placing it over his head, blocking out the sunlight that pierced through a bent slat in the blinds.

  There weren’t too many mornings when he had the luxury of sleep. Besides, he’d stayed awake last night, long after he’d left Caitlin’s house.

  He wasn’t exactly sure why he couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of his son, he supposed. And the little moppet next door. Crayon drawings on refrigerators. Pretty moms he shouldn’t allow to get too close.

  And when he’d finally hit the sheets, he’d dreamed of tropical breezes, setting suns and an attractive blonde who made a guy want to take a romantic, moonlit swim in the South Pacific.

  The doorbell sounded, and he had half a notion to ignore it—until it rang over and over.

  He cursed under his breath and climbed from bed. As a second thought, he slipped on a pair of sweatpants. Brett always slept in the raw, and there was no need to flash Greg’s neighbors. Or a salesman.

  Damn, he wanted to clobber whoever was leaning on the bell.

  He flung open the door with a little more force than necessary, ready to snap at whoever had rudely awakened him. But when he found Emily and a little brown mutt standing on the porch, he slowly shook his head. A grin tugged at his lips.

  So much for wanting to clobber whoever had been his wake-up call.

  Little Emily, with her eyes glimmering, the sunlight glistening in her hair, held the dog’s leash with both hands and flashed him a bubbly smile. “Hi, Brett.”

  “Hello there,” he told the little cutie dressed in yellow and orange overalls. He scanned the yard, but didn’t see anyone. “Where’s your mom?”

  “She’s on the phone,” the child said. “We’re going for a walk. Do you want to go with us?”

  From behind him, the psycho cat hissed.

  Emily brightened, transferred the leash to her left hand, then lifted the fingers of her right in a wiggly little wave. “Hi, Fred! This is Scruffy. Want to play?”

  The dog barked, and the cat wailed like its tail was on fire.

  Before Brett could think, speak or react, the bushy, brown dog lurched forward, jerked the leash out of Emily’s hand and tore through the house, chasing Fred.

&nb
sp; Brett nearly cheered the dog on, hoping the cranky cat got its comeuppance. But Greg loved the damn critter. And so did Emily.

  As the cat leaped over the sofa, the dog tried to follow, jumping onto the cushions, then balking at the distance. It hopped over the armrest instead.

  The cat continued to wail like a banshee, and the dog barked like the devil was on its tail.

  “No,” Emily shrieked. “Don’t do that!”

  Then she dashed inside the house, hot on the trail of the dog and cat.

  No! Don’t do that!

  Inside the kitchen, Caitlin heard her daughter’s frantic scream. “Oh, my God.” She dropped the telephone receiver on the floor and rushed out the front door. “Emily!”

  “Over here,” Brett yelled from the doorway of Greg’s house. “The damn dog and cat are tearing the place apart.”

  Inside Greg’s condo, Fred flew over chair and table, knocking over a lamp, before heading down the hall. The dog skidded on the hardwood floor, like the head of a demon-possessed dust mop.

  “Stop, Scruffy!” Emily chased after the dog. “Fred is a’scared of you.”

  Caitlin stood on the stoop, her pulse racing, heart pounding, knees wobbling, while she waited for her brain to slow the rush of adrenaline.

  Thank God her daughter wasn’t being abducted. She blew out a sigh, as she joined the melee, hoping to catch the dog before the animals tore Greg’s house apart.

  Emily ran after Scruffy, as Scruffy ran after Fred. Rather than get caught up in a comedy of errors, Caitlin paused near the sofa and watched.

  Brett, who wore only a pair of sweatpants, used strategy in waylaying the flying pooch. And she couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his back and shoulders flex, couldn’t help admiring his male form.

  He was a good-looking man; the kind of man most unmarried women would pursue. But she wasn’t most women—she was a single mom who didn’t want to jeopardize a custody battle by having a relationship at this point in time.

  Moments later, Brett managed to snatch the leash and pull the dog to a halt. But he couldn’t stop Fred from dashing out the front door in a flash of black fur.