“It’s clean, Mr. Randolph,” Mrs. Muldoon said defensively. “Just well washed. It’s been with Joey since he was born.”
Which is far more than you’ve been. Con heard what the woman wasn’t saying.
“No matter what changes life brings him, the blanket is one thing that doesn’t change,” the social worker explained, her face tight.
“It’s his security blanket,” Robbie said, looking up. “No problem. We’ll take it with us everywhere we go.”
Sandra Muldoon’s back stiffened. “I hope you aren’t planning to do much running around, Mrs. Randolph. Babies tend to be fussy when their schedules are disrupted.”
“We’ll take proper care of him, ma’am,” Con said, moving toward the front door. He wanted the woman out of his house. Still holding the carrier with one hand, he opened the door with the other and wished Mrs. Muldoon a good weekend.
“You’ll need to launder that outfit and send it back with him on Sunday. It’s not his,” she said as she stepped off the front step.
Looking at the one-piece green terry thing the boy had on, Con didn’t see where it would be any real loss either way. But he’d send it back where it came from—along with an entire collection of outfits his son could call his own. It sickened him to think of the boy dressed in state hand-me-downs. Con had worn enough of the poor-fitting donated castoffs for both of them.
“We’ll make sure you get it back,” Robbie said politely just as Con was ready to tell Sandra Muldoon what she could do with her damn clothes.
“Be sure you drop him off at his foster parents’ by six o’clock on Sunday.” The social worker’s parting words were clearly a warning. Almost as if Con was on probation. And in a way he supposed he was.
He’d just have to show Muldoon and her crew the stuff he was made of. And hope to hell the judge found something there that pleased him.
“What should we do with him?” he asked Robbie as soon as they were alone. “Just let him sleep?”
She glanced from the baby to Con and then back to the baby. “Yeah, but let’s try and lay him in his crib,” she said, leading the way.
For once, Con was satisfied to follow her, careful not to jostle the carrier against his leg as he walked.
Robbie kept glancing back at them, grinning. “You’re really loving this, aren’t you?” Con asked. It was hard to feel guilty about using her when she looked so damned happy.
“Yep. Now let’s get our son to bed, Mr. Randolph.”
He held the carrier over the crib mattress as Robbie slid her hands carefully beneath the baby’s body and transferred him to the bed. His small chest shuddered, his chin puckering like he was going to cry, and Con held his breath. He didn’t think it would be a good omen if the first thing they did was make Joey cry.
“Ssshhh,” Robbie crooned, lightly rubbing the baby’s back while she tucked his old scrap of blanket under his cheek.
With a huge sigh coming from one so small, the boy settled back to sleep. Con held his breath for another few seconds, waiting, watching. And feeling such a mixture of hope, pride and insecurity it was almost scary. He couldn’t let his entire life depend on the boy, didn’t dare count on making a home with his son no matter how much he wanted to. Because to count on it and lose would probably kill him.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Robbie whispered, resting her hand on Con’s shoulder as she stood beside him looking down at the baby.
“Boys can’t be beautiful, Rob,” he said.
“He’s too young to be handsome,” she persisted.
“He isn’t beautiful.”
“How about gorgeous?” She was grinning down at the baby, her eyes glowing with love, and Con could have told her what gorgeous was. It was a woman with a heart so big she’d tied herself to a man who’d never love her, to a child she might never get to keep, and was happy, anyway.
“Or there’s precious,” she said. “A guy can be precious when he’s still a baby, can’t he?”
Con nodded, her nonsense working its magic. He might not be a particularly nice man. He might not be a lovable man. But he was going to try his damnedest not to fail this new family of his.
“Having him here makes it all worth it, doesn’t it, Con?”
He didn’t answer. As much as he would have liked the cop-out, he didn’t believe that having a son of his own was worth irresponsibly impregnating an emotionally unbalanced woman. It certainly wasn’t worth the death that had started this whole chain of events. And he wondered if being sent a son was God’s way of making sure he never forgot how badly he’d sinned.
The good Lord could have saved himself the effort. That woman’s cries of fear, the blood soaking her blue dress and the role he’d played, were things that, with or without Joey, Con would remember every day of his life.
“He’s family, Con. We’re a family now,” Robbie said. She was no longer looking at the baby. She was looking right at him, and Con didn’t have to wonder what she was thinking. He could tell by the steely determination in her eyes.
“Don’t count on it, Rob,” he warned. What judge was going to give a child over to a guy who “got his man at any cost?” A guy so heartless he’d see an innocent woman die to close a case?
A guy who’d kissed his best friend not once, but twice? And the second time after promising her father, a man he greatly admired, that he wouldn’t touch her.
“It’s over Con. The past is over and done,” Robbie said, her voice laced with the steel he’d seen in her eyes. “We’ve been given a chance for a new life here. All three of us. Let yourself take the chance, Con, please, or we’ll all lose, you most of all.”
If only it was that easy. To take a chance at happiness when he’d brought others so much pain. How could that possibly be right? He wished to hell he knew.
But he’d lost track of right and wrong a long time ago.
“Please let this work, Con. Let us be a family. For my sake and Joey’s, if not for yourself,” Robbie pleaded when he remained silent.
And suddenly Con felt the weight of his sins lifting a little bit. Robbie had done it again, had known just what to say to free him enough to reach for that elusive brass ring, after all. Not because he deserved it himself, but for Joey. And for Robbie. His son. And his wife.
AS HIS TRUCK ATE UP the miles from Sedona to Phoenix, Stan Blair chewed one of the antacids he’d given up when he’d retired from the Phoenix police force. Susan was humming and knitting beside him, trans-forming a ball of light blue yarn into a tiny sweater. She’d been humming ever since Robbie had called this morning, telling them they had the baby for the weekend. Susan couldn’t have been happier. She was so eager to meet her grandson she asked Stan again and again how much longer it would be until they got there.
She’d made the trip countless times and certainly knew how long it took to get from Sedona to Phoenix. She was just urging him to drive a little faster. And had Robbie’s marriage been normal—one based on mutual love, both physical and emotional—had he been on his way to meet the son of his daughter’s loving husband, the son his daughter hoped to adopt, he’d have been pressing a little harder on the accelerator himself.
But he was filled with trepidation, instead. All he saw ahead was heartache. For everyone. Con and Robbie were crazy if they honestly thought they could make a celibate marriage work. And when it fell apart, they were all going to suffer. Susan, Robbie, himself. And Con and the boy, too. No one had a hope in hell of winning this one.
So why was he driving Susan straight into the biggest heartache she’d ever known? Why wasn’t he turning their truck around, taking her back to Sedona and the emotional safety of their own home?
And telling her what? How could he explain any of this to her?
How could he tell Con Randolph he didn’t believe in him? Because that was the message he’d be sending his reluctant son-in-law if he didn’t show up on his doorstep as Robbie had asked.
It was a message he couldn’t deliver. Because
he did still believe—always had—that Con Randolph was a good man. He just didn’t hold out much hope that Con would ever believe it.
“Come on, Stan, the speed limit’s fifty here,” Susan said when they turned north on Scottsdale Road from Bell. They were almost there. The antacid didn’t seem to be working.
“I know what the speed limit is, dear,” he said, reluctantly pushing the truck up to fifty.
A guy worked hard all his life, protected his family from harm, raised his kid to be a contributor to society. Was it too much to ask that he grow old with his family gathered around him happy and whole?
“Oh, Stan, she’s outside waiting for us,” Susan cried as he pulled onto Con’s street. “And Con’s with her. He’s holding the baby. Oh, Stan, doesn’t Con look happy?”
He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to worry anymore. He didn’t want to be there. Con didn’t love Robbie. Their marriage wasn’t made in heaven. And if something didn’t change, they were all going to drown in a pool of tears before the year was out.
“Look, Stan!” Susan said again.
He pulled into Con’s driveway, and Susan was out of the truck in a flash. This was it. He looked.
I’ll be damned. His wife was right, or at least close to it. Con did seem happy as he held out his son to Susan’s eager arms. At least as happy as Con ever seemed. His son-in-law wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were filled with a gentleness he’d never seen there before.
Not as reluctant now, Stan got out of his truck.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CON WAS GLAD to have Stan and Susan around that first afternoon with Joey. With Susan oohing and aahing over the boy, it was a little easier for him to stand back, to distance himself enough to keep his bearings. It was a little easier to remember that Robbie wasn’t a real wife. That they weren’t the real family she was pretending they were. How could he forget with Stan there, watching with eagle eyes?
That was what Stan had always done. Con thought of the way he’d grabbed Robbie earlier that day, the way he’d kissed her to escape from himself. Just once he’d like to be worthy of Stan’s trust.
Still, when the Blairs left shortly after dinner, he wasn’t happy to see them go.
“You’ve got a boy to be proud of there, son,” Stan said as they all walked out to Stan’s truck. Robbie and her mother were trailing slowly behind, Susan holding Joey right up to the last minute. The boy had hardly cried all day. Which wasn’t really surprising considering that he’d had two women hovering over him every minute, anticipating his every need, giving him more love in one afternoon than Con had probably had in his entire life.
“I can hardly take credit for him, Stan. I’ve just met him myself,” Con finally said.
Stan stopped by the hood of his truck. “Part of you went in to making that boy, son. Nobody can take that away from you,” he said before moving to the driver’s-side door.
Con followed him, holding on to the door as the older man climbed inside. “I’m not going to let them take him,” he said. He wanted Stan to rest assured that Robbie wasn’t going to lose the baby she’d so clearly given her heart to.
“I know that, son,” Stan said, putting his key in the ignition. “I’m not saying I condone any of this or that I take back what we discussed the other day, but you’ve made my daughter happy, and I thank you for that.”
He pulled the door from Con’s grasp and slammed it shut.
“Come on, Sus, I want to get off the highway before dark,” he hollered, leaning over to open the passenger-side door.
Con stood beside Robbie as she waved her parents goodbye, Joey’s arms and legs flailing against her.
“It’s time for this little guy’s bath,” she said when her parents’ truck was out of sight, forestalling any conversation Con might have had regarding their visit. Which was fine with him. There was no reason to tell her that her father had just thanked him for something for the first time in his life. Nor did she need to know how good that made him feel. He was sure it would pass.
ROBBIE AWOKE with a start and sat straight up in bed. She still wasn’t used to sleeping at Con’s house, and it took her a moment to get her bearings. Her gaze shot to the illuminated numbers on her digital clock. It was three in the morning.
The house was quiet. Maybe she’d only been dreaming. She was just lying back down, settling in to the soothing embrace of her water bed, when she heard it again. Con was talking to someone.
And that was when she remembered Joey. The baby was sleeping in his nursery across the hall from her. Or he was supposed to be. Was something wrong? Had Con had to call for help? Why hadn’t he come for her?
Heart pounding, she was out of bed and across the hall in a flash. The baby’s crib was empty.
She heard Con again, speaking softly, and followed the sound to the living room. She stopped at the door-way when she realized he wasn’t talking on the phone after all. He was talking to Joey.
Robbie. watched him with his son. The baby was in a corner of the couch propped up against a couple of pillows, probably from Con’s bed, his blanket clutched in one tiny hand. And Con was standing behind the couch in the shirt and shorts he’d had on that day, holding a bottle to the baby’s mouth. From where she was standing, Robbie could hear Joey’s lusty sucking, could see, too, his wide-open eyes as he gazed up at his father.
Con’s size didn’t seem to intimidate Joey at all.
“You’re a good boy, Joey,” Con said, not in the tone an adult usually used with a baby, but as if he expected him to understand. “It’s not your fault your life started off on the wrong foot. And don’t you ever let anyone tell you any different. And don’t you ever let anyone tell you I abandoned you, either. Because that’s one thing I’ll never do. You can count on it.”
The baby continued to gaze up at him, his free hand resting alongside Con’s on the side of the bottle. Robbie wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Con string so many words together at once. He was anything but verbose.
He’d have been a lot more comfortable sitting on the couch with the baby in his arms, but she wasn’t about to tell him so. He’d figure it out when he was ready. In the meantime she reveled in the pleasure of the moment. Seeing her husband bond with his son.
SATURDAY DAWNED an average Phoenix summer day, brilliant blue skies and temperatures expected to reach 120. Con and Robbie both awoke before the baby and were showered and waiting for him.
“I’ll go check on him again,” Robbie said when Con looked up from his newspaper for the third time in one article.
He nodded, having done the last check himself.
“He’s still out,” she said when she came back into the kitchen. “But I checked his breathing and it’s fine.”
Con nodded again, taking a sip of his coffee. He’d rather have had a cigarette.
“Joey was up awhile in the night,” he finally said. He wasn’t sure why he’d admitted that, because he’d been thinking he’d keep their middle-of-the-night session between him and the boy.
“That explains the extra bottle in the dishwasher,” Robbie said, surprisingly nonchalant.
Trust her to notice. “He was crying. I figured he might be hungry.”
“He was probably wet. Did you change him?”
Did she honestly think he’d trust himself to do that on his own the first night? The boy was a hell of a lot different from the toy he’d practiced on. “No, but you put an overnight diaper on him.”
Robbie picked up the baby’s schedule Sandra Muldoon had left the day before. They were keeping it out on the breakfast bar where they could refer to it easily.
“It says here he’s usually awake by seven. That’s almost an hour ago,” she said, reading on.
Con didn’t like the sound of that. Was the kid coming down with something?
“But he doesn’t normally eat in the night anymore. Maybe he’s just sleeping late because his tummy’s full.”
Con sincerely hoped so. But he decided to go in and feel t
he boy’s skin, anyway, just to make sure he wasn’t hot.
When he slipped quietly into the nursery, Joey was wide awake and gazing up at the mobile Robbie had hung over his crib, following the brightly colored race cars as the air-conditioning blew them gently in a circle.
The boy turned his head when Con approached, his fat cheeks dimpling as he grinned up at his father. Before he knew what was happening, Con felt himself grinning back.
“So you were playing possum with us, eh, boy?” he asked, lifting the baby out of the crib.
Joey kicked his feet against Con’s stomach, gurgling at him.
And Con had thought Robbie was irritatingly cheerful in the morning. It seemed he was going to be surrounded with cheerfulness. In the years to come he’d probably have to get up at five in the morning just to have his few minutes of grouchiness in peace.
“Robbie!” he bellowed, carrying the baby to the changing table. Joey’s sleeper was soaking wet. And now Con’s shirt was, too.
Joey’s chin puckered, his lips pursed, and his little face turned a mighty shade of red. And then he let loose with an ear-piercing wail.
“You scared him,” Robbie said, running into the room.
“So it seems,” Con snapped, picking the baby back up from the changing table.
“It’s okay, guy, Daddy’s just got a big voice.” He held the boy to his chest and rubbed his back like he’d seen Robbie do yesterday.
And before he knew it, Joey was quiet, his hiccups the only evidence of the storm.
“He’s soaked,” Con told Robbie unnecessarily. She couldn’t help but see that the entire back of the baby’s sleeper was wet.
“Into the tub with you, young man,” she said, taking him from Con.
Con followed her to the kitchen, where he set the plastic tub up in the sink and collected the tear-free soap and hooded towel. He had this down pat at least.
“He was wide awake when I went in,” he told Robbie as he watched her bathe the baby. He didn’t know how she managed to hold on to all those squirming slippery appendages.
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