Worth Fighting For (Bayside Bachelors #3)

by Judy Duarte

  Caitlin nodded. “Emily was three weeks early, but healthy and beautiful. And when the pediatrician released her from the hospital nursery, a social worker brought her to my house.” Caitlin smiled, remembering the day her daughter had been placed in her arms. “I named her Emily Joy for the happiness she brought into my life.”

  “I assume there weren’t any other family members who wanted her,” Brett said.

  “No. Her mother had come to the San Diego area as a teenage runaway and had lived on the streets much of the time. She’d finally turned her life around through Lydia House, a program run by the Park Avenue Community Church. She had a job and was taking some classes at the junior college, but there was no one to take the baby.”

  “So why do I get the feeling you’re worried about the adoption not going through without a hitch?”

  “Because her biological father refused to sign the papers.” She wondered how much more to reveal, how much to tell him, especially since they were just steps away from the open screen door. But since Emily wasn’t near the kitchen or within hearing distance, she relaxed a bit.

  As she pondered her words, though, the enormity of her dilemma struck a hard blow to the chest, and the fear of losing Emily made it difficult to breathe, to speak.

  The child she loved with all her heart might be ripped from her arms and placed with a convicted felon, a man who’d taken part in an armed robbery that left a man paralyzed from a bullet in the back.

  Before she could respond, a tear slipped down her face. And then another.

  Brett had never been able to handle a woman’s tears, especially one as sweet and damn near perfect as Caitlin. He reached across the small table and caught the warm droplet with his thumb. “Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”

  She lifted her face and smiled through her tears, as though appreciating his strength, his understanding.

  Something began to swirl between them, gaining speed and heat, drawing him to her. He cupped her jaw, and his thumb caressed her cheek.

  God help him, he was going to kiss her again.

  But before he could move, Emily shouted happily from the kitchen. “Guess what!”

  His hand dropped to the table with a guilty thud, and they both jerked back in their seats, like school-kids caught doing something wrong.

  Emily opened the screen and stepped onto the patio, her eyes lit up, her excitement apparent. “Fred came out from under the bed.”

  “That’s good,” Brett said.

  “I know,” she told him. “But I had to promise to never ever bring Scruffy to visit him again. And I told him that we loved him very much, and that he had to come out so you would know he was a good cat and not a sycold one.”

  Neither Brett nor Caitlin corrected her reference to his earlier “psycho cat” comment. In fact, neither of them spoke at all. Apparently, whatever had been going on between them still churned in the air.

  “Now Fred is meeting Fluffy and Princess,” Emily said, “but I have to hurry back so I can help them be friends.” Then she disappeared into the house, leaving the adults alone again.

  An awkwardness settled over Brett. And over Caitlin, too, he suspected. He watched as she fiddled with the stem of her wineglass.

  It was as though they hadn’t broached intimacy, as though they hadn’t touched, hadn’t silently acknowledged the desire that brewed under the surface. And he wasn’t sure whether he was sorry or not.

  Maybe it was a good time to start the grill.

  He took one last drink of wine, one last look at the pretty woman who sat across from him.

  Her blond hair was all soft and glossy this evening, as it brushed against her shoulders. And her expression bore a vulnerability he hadn’t spotted before.

  He almost wished he could break his no-dating-single-moms rule, especially since he’d already held one in his arms, already tasted her kiss.

  But instead of saying—or doing—something stupid, he pushed his chair away from the table and stood. This dinner was becoming a little too heavy for his own good.

  He knew better than to get involved in a romantic relationship with Caitlin, no matter how much his libido argued differently.

  She and her daughter deserved more than a guy who would flit in and out of their lives.

  As he turned on the grill and lit the flame, he vowed to keep his hands to himself for the rest of the evening, even if it killed him.

  But when he stole another glance at his pretty neighbor, saw the silky strands of her hair, the dusky pink of her parted lips, the vast blue Pacific of her eyes, he realized holding to a vow of celibacy and friendship would probably do him in.

  This was going to be one hell of a long night.

  Chapter Seven

  As the sun set over Bayside and the Ocean Breeze condominiums, Brett sat at the patio table, leaned back in his seat and studied his pretty blond dinner companion.

  Not only was Caitlin a pleasure to look at, but she was a good cook, too.

  Okay, so she’d only contributed the tossed salad. But the dressing—it had to be some secret recipe—was out of this world.

  He wondered how long it would take another man to give up a life-long habit of fast food and take-out. Or how long it would take a guy who actually wanted to set down roots to start shopping for diamond rings.

  Not long, he suspected.

  “The steak was really good,” she said.

  “So was your salad.”

  She smiled and fiddled with the sheet of paper towel he’d given her to use as a napkin.

  They hadn’t broached the subject of the tear she’d shed in front of him or the kiss that almost occurred—probably because Emily’s happy mealtime chatter had kept adult thoughts and desire at bay. But after the little girl had asked her mother to be excused and went back inside to play with the cats, the sexual awareness returned in a slow and steady rush.

  And for the life of him, Brett wasn’t sure what he wanted to do about it. Reach across the table and take her hand? Come right out and ask how she felt about a natural progression to sex—no strings attached, of course?

  Or should he run like hell?

  She folded the paper towel as though it were linen and placed it on her plate. “Thanks for inviting us over this evening. Emily and I don’t get out much, and it was nice not having to cook on a work night.”

  He ought to be glad that she’d made the decision for them both.

  And he was.

  But that didn’t still the quiet voice of disappointment, the feeling that something special had slipped through his fingers like liquid gold.

  Let it go, he told himself, forcing a casual smile. “I’m glad you came. Emily has been a big help with the cats. I’m not sure I could have ever talked Fred out from under the bed.”

  “She was happy to help. This has been a special and exciting day for her.”

  Before he could respond, the bright-eyed pixie ran into the kitchen and peered through the sliding door screen. “Mommy, can you please come inside for just a little minute and see Fred and Princess and Fluffy?”

  Caitlin smiled. “All right, honey.”

  When the child ran back toward the living room, Brett leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “What about your allergies?”

  She gave a half shrug. “You have no idea how much I enjoy sharing in her excitement. So I’ll go inside until my eyes start watering and I’m overcome by a flurry of sneezes. Then at home, I’ll take an allergy pill to deal with the congestion.”

  In spite of knowing better, he ran a knuckle along her cheek. “Like I said, you’re one hell of a mom.”

  “Thanks. And you’re a nice friend and neighbor.” She flashed him an appreciative grin, then cleared the patio table of dirty plates and silverware and carried them into the kitchen.

  But Brett didn’t jump up. He just sat there, struggling with the word “nice.”

  She’d meant it as a compliment, he supposed. And it ought to be a relief and a comfort to know
she wasn’t making things more complicated between them. But the word “nice” had never sat well with him, especially now. And he’d be damned if he knew why.

  But he shook it off, recorked what was left of the wine and carried the bottle and glasses into the house.

  As Caitlin started to fill the sink with soap and water, he stopped her. “I’ll wash the dishes after you go home.”

  “All right. But it’ll be easier if they soak for a while.” She turned off the faucet and dried her hands. “Let’s go see those kittens.”

  He led the way to the living room, where Emily sat on the floor with the cats—all three of them.

  It wasn’t as though Fred had joined in the kitty fun and games, but he perched himself on the armrest of the sofa and observed from a safe distance, as though he knew better than to get too close, too chummy. Too attached.

  Interesting. Brett could relate to being curious about his new neighbors, drawn into their lives by fate. Held back by a sense of reason and self-protection.

  As Caitlin took a seat on the edge of the sofa, Brett chose the side nearest Fred. He expected the cat to scamper back to the bedroom, like he’d done in the past whenever Brett had approached. But Fred merely looked at him in a what’s-a-guy-supposed-to-do? way.

  I hear you, buddy. Brett slowly lifted his hand and stroked the cat’s black fur, felt the rumble of a purr.

  Well, what do you know? He and Fred had reached a truce, an understanding, a respect for each other.

  “Look at them.” Caitlin nodded to the floor where Emily sat with the two kittens.

  He couldn’t remember which one was Princess and which one was Fluffy, but the orange tabby suddenly pounced on the head of the gray kitten, and they began to wrestle using their little teeth and paws.

  Emily giggled and clapped her hands. “Aren’t they funny?”

  “They sure…uh…uh…” Caitlin lifted a finger to her nose, blinked her eyes and covered her mouth. “Uh-choo.”

  “Bless you,” Brett said.

  “Thank you.” She sniffled, then looked at him with red, watery eyes and sneezed again.

  And again.

  “Well,” she said, “I guess it’s time for us to leave.”

  “Do we have to?” Emily asked.

  “I’m afraid so.” Caitlin stood and looked at Brett. “Thanks again for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.” He got to his feet and walked his neighbor and her daughter to the door. As he let them out, he had half a notion to give them each a hug goodbye, but he knew better than that.

  Still, he stood in the doorway and watched them cut across the lawn to their front porch.

  Mother and child.

  When they were halfway home, Emily turned and gave him a little wave, sending his thoughts tumbling. And without warning, loneliness broadsided him, his memories taking a direct hit.

  His first day back in San Diego. The drive out to Periwinkle Lane. Watching Justin run down the street, leap over the small hedge in front of his house and yell, “Mom, I’m home.”

  His boy, his son.

  A child he didn’t even know.

  His heart knotted into a lump, and the urge to reach out and pick up the telephone, struck him full-force.

  Call Kelly.

  Ask about Justin.

  Tell her you want to meet him, that you want to be a small part of his life.

  But after five years of not speaking, what would she say if he called out of the blue?

  She’d probably flip. Raise her voice. Ask him who the hell he thought he was to come prancing into their lives on a whim.

  But this wasn’t a whim; it was a full-on internal battle he’d been waging for years.

  He swore under his breath.

  So what should he do? Succumb to emotional weakness and call Kelly tonight? Or did he leave her and Justin in peace, like he’d always done?

  For a guy who’d always been decisive, who’d sworn he’d walk away from a child of his own before subjecting him to custody disputes, Brett wasn’t so sure anymore.

  He could sure use some fatherly advice, but not the counsel of his own dad, a man who’d retired and moved to Phoenix with his new wife years ago.

  So he picked up the cordless telephone and dialed Harry’s number.

  The retired detective who’d become more than a friend picked up on the second ring. “Hello.”

  Just the sound of his voice was soothing.

  “Harry, it’s Brett. How’s it going?”

  “At my age, if I felt any better, I’d have to see a doctor and have a slew of tests run.” Harry chuckled at his own joke. “How’s the Navy treating you, son?”

  Son.

  Brett would never get used to the rush of pride he felt when Harry called him son. “I’m doing just fine. But I’ve got a question I want to ask you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I…uh…know you didn’t agree with my decision to pull out of Justin’s life years ago, but I did what I thought was best at the time.”

  “I know you did.”

  “And you told me I might be sorry later.”

  “I had a feeling you would.”

  “Well, you were right. I’d like to call Kelly and set up a visit, but I’m not sure how she’ll react. Things ended badly the last time we talked, and even though I’ve always been prompt with child support payments, she’s never thanked me or contacted me.”

  Had his ex-wife lied to the boy? Told him that David was his father? Would she resent Brett’s interference?

  “How long has it been?” Harry asked.

  “Since I saw Justin? Five years.”

  “You’re his father, Brett. And you’ve been paying more than your fair share of child support. Legally, she can’t keep him away from you.”

  Legally. That meant a judge, attorneys. Fights. Painful disruptions to the life of an innocent little boy.

  Brett raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to go through the courts.”

  “Your ex-wife probably doesn’t, either. I bet she’d be willing to compromise.”

  Brett wasn’t so sure. During the short time they’d been married, he and Kelly had never been able to compromise on anything. Why would she be agreeable now?

  He was afraid to hope she might welcome him back into her and Justin’s lives without a squawk. “What if she isn’t willing to let me see him and I’m not willing to get an attorney involved?”

  “Then you’ll have to let things ride and hope you’re not doing your son a bigger disservice by not being a part of his life.”

  “Dammit.” Brett gripped the receiver in his hand until his knuckles ached. “You’re supposed to make me feel better, not worse.”

  “Listen, son. I’ve got to call it the way I see it. Don’t forget about the trouble I had finding my daughter Hailey. And how great it’s been for all of us, now that we’ve been able to work through the problems of the past.”

  Yeah. Brett knew about the illegitimate daughter Harry had fathered during the time he and Kay had been separated. And he knew about Harry’s search to find her, a search that took years and didn’t pan out until she was an adult. “How’s Hailey doing?”

  “Great. She and Nick are having a baby girl in September, and they couldn’t be happier. Kay’s been helping her decorate the nursery. And I’ve been refinishing an old rocker that once belonged to my grandmother.”

  “How’s Nick holding up?” Brett asked.

  “He couldn’t be better.” Harry laughed. “The man actually walks around with a smile on his face half the time.” Harry laughed.

  “That’s good.” Brett had always liked Nick Granger—maybe because they were both loners. And the fact that they both had been one of the guys Harry had befriended gave them even more in common.

  “So,” Harry said, “let’s get back to your question. It won’t hurt for you to give Kelly a call and ask to see your son.”

  Brett wasn’t so sure about that. But he figured Harry was right, like h
e’d usually proven to be, even if Brett hadn’t always taken his advice. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll give it some thought.”

  “By the way, I’m glad you’re back in town. Kay and I are throwing a barbecue at the beach this Friday. We’re inviting all the guys, although I’m not sure who will show up. We’d love to have you join us.”

  Over time, Brett had become a part of Harry’s extended family, which included about a dozen guys who credited the retired detective with helping them succeed when their teenage choices had them racing down the wrong path at breakneck speed.

  “Sounds great,” Brett told him.

  “We’ve got at least one other guy bringing a kid,” Harry added. “So feel free to bring your son, if you’d like.”

  Brett couldn’t think of anything he’d like more than taking Justin to meet Harry and the guys. But using an invitation to a barbecue at the beach wasn’t a good enough excuse to call his ex after all these years.

  Besides, his son didn’t even know him. And Kelly wouldn’t let him just drive up and take the boy with him.

  No, taking Justin to the beach party was out of the question until Brett and Kelly had a chance to talk, to strike some kind of bargain, to work out visitation.

  “Joe Davenport just met the son he didn’t know he had,” Harry said. “So I’m sure he can give you a few pointers. It didn’t take them very long to bond.”

  That was nice to know. But Brett couldn’t take Justin to this beach party on Friday. It was too soon.

  But you can take Emily, a small voice said. She and her mom don’t get out very much. And she’d probably like going to the beach, building a sand castle, playing in the shallow waves.

  “What do you think?” Harry asked.

  “I may give Kelly a call later this week. Maybe she’ll let me take Justin next time.” He took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “But I’ve got a neighbor who has a little girl. Would it be all right if I brought them?”

  “Of course. The more the merrier. Why don’t you pick up some fried chicken or something. And maybe a six-pack of beer or soda.”

  “You got it,” he told Harry. But knowing Caitlin, he figured she’d want to cook something—something that would taste a heck of a lot better than a bucket of fried chicken that had sat under heat lamps for too long.