Shotgun Baby

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  THE BOY RECOGNIZED HIM. Standing just behind Robbie at the door of Joey’s foster home, Con could hardly believe it when the kid smiled right at him and held out his arms. He scooped the boy up, holding him close to his heart. He didn’t deserve this. He hadn’t asked for this chance, had never intended to saddle a kid with a father like him or bring a kid into a world like his, but it had happened, anyway. And for once in his life he was going to make himself proud. He was going to be there for his kid, make Joey’s life a good one.

  God help the judge, the system, that tried to tell him he couldn’t raise his son.

  “How’s our little boy?” Robbie crooned to the baby, tickling his toes, his chubby little legs where they peeked out of the one-piece outfit he was wearing.

  Her eyes met Con’s briefly, the first time they’d done so that day. They were wary, but they didn’t scald him. The knot in Con’s chest loosened just a little. He’d hurt her, but she was going to be OK.

  “Let’s go home,” he said.

  “You’ll have him back by six on Sunday?” Betty Williams asked, reminding them that they weren’t alone.

  “Yeah,” Con said, turning with his son in his arms to head back to the car.

  “Have a good weekend,” Con heard the woman call behind him. With Joey with them, they just might.

  And maybe, if they got the boy again on Monday, he and Robbie could manage to have a good rest of their lives, too. Maybe they could live together, raise their son and never touch each other again.

  Yeah, sure, Con thought derisively. Because getting Joey on Monday was a bigger “if” than he cared to contemplate at the moment, and keeping his hands off Robbie wasn’t something he trusted himself to do, either. He’d never wanted a woman so much after he’d already had her. He wanted her again and again. On top. Underneath. And standing straight up.

  But he wasn’t going to lay a finger on her. He was going to keep his hands to himself until he could get her safely out of his life. Or at least out of his house. Because if he didn’t, he’d keep using her until she was all used up. That was just the kind of guy he was.

  THE WEEKEND was excruciating. Filled with the promise of dreams already lost With the threat of broken futures. And at the same time, it was strangely happy. An interlude of right in a world of wrong.

  Robbie suddenly understood how couples in unhappy marriages stayed together for years because of the children. Joey was a buffer. The need to lavish attention on him kept them from having to discuss anything personal. He was also the cement binding them together. In the battle of life it was the three of them against the world.

  And with the responsibility of the baby drawing them closer, Robbie slowly started to heal. Not because she could ever forget the devastatingly impersonal way Con had had sex with her, but because all weekend long, in so many little ways, she could feel his caring, his respect.

  He respected her opinion, even seeking it out on a number of occasions. He insisted on holding a fussy Joey so she could eat Friday night’s meat loaf while it was still hot. He brought a cup of coffee in to her Saturday morning when the baby woke her just after dawn for his bottle.

  She could almost convince herself that they could still be a family just as they’d planned. Con hadn’t said any more about ending the marriage. And in spite of everything, Robbie didn’t want to end it, either. She loved Con. Had always loved him. And she loved his son. She wanted to raise Joey, be the one he ran to when he scraped his knee, the one he took for granted during adolescence. The one he thanked on national television when he grew up to be famous.

  She even tried to convince herself that she’d be able to handle it when Con took other women to his bed in the coming years. After all, she now knew firsthand what they were getting. Or more importantly, what they weren’t getting. She just had to not think about the incredible moments in Con’s arms and concentrate on the seconds it took him to walk out on her afterward.

  Or so she kept telling herself.

  The low point of the weekend came during a visit from Susan and Stan on Sunday. Aware of the court date looming just a day away, Robbie’s nerves were stretched to breaking point. And when Susan mentioned a photography special going on at the mall and suggested they take the baby there to have his picture taken, Robbie found herself frantic to have it done. Didn’t all new parents have portraits of their babies? Wouldn’t it make them seem like more of a real family, more solidly parents, if they took their son in to have his portrait taken?

  At the very least, this way she’d have some pictures of her baby if the judge took Joey away from them tomorrow morning.

  Con didn’t see things that way.

  “Let’s wait till he’s ours,” he said when Robbie cornered him in the kitchen and mentioned Susan’s idea.

  She held Joey a little tighter. “He is ours.”

  Con turned back to the glasses he’d been filling with ice. “It’s just one more day, Rob.”

  “One more day might be too late.”

  As she finally voiced what had been in the back of both their minds all weekend, his only reaction was a stiffening of his shoulders.

  “Get him ready,” he finally said.

  Robbie left the room without another word.

  They were in line for the pictures when Robbie discovered that Joey’s security blanket was missing.

  “It’s in his crib,” Con said, holding his son up above his head. He’d been entertaining the baby with such antics ever since they’d arrived at the mall.

  Robbie had visions of the baby starting to cry just when it was his turn in front of the camera. Without his blanket, she’d never be able to calm him. “We need it,” she said.

  “He hasn’t missed it, honey. He’ll be fine,” Susan said, smiling as she watched Con with the baby.

  But Robbie dug in her heels. “We don’t know how much longer it’s going to be, and if he gets tired, he’ll want it,” she said, certain Joey could miss it any second. “I’m going to go get it.”

  “Wait.” Con handed the baby to Robbie. “I left it. I’ll go,” he said, pulling his keys from his pocket.

  Joey in her arms, Robbie nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Robbie!” Stan stepped up to his daughter. He’d been watching the exchange silently till now. “You can’t really expect Con to drive all the way back to the house just for some little scrap of cloth.”

  “She can when she’s right,” Con told Stan. “The blanket’s the one constant in Joey’s life. He should have it.”

  “You don’t have to let her run you in circles, boy!” Stan said, frowning as he looked between his daughter and Con. “We’re not going to be here that long.”

  Robbie wanted to curl up and die.

  “My relationship with my wife is my business,” Con told Stan, rendering the older man speechless. He’d never spoken to her father that way.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said to Robbie before striding off across the mall.

  In that moment, standing there with her parents, holding Con’s son, Robbie felt married for the very first time.

  ONE DAY AT A TIME. It was how he’d always lived his life. Sometimes one hour at a time. Monday morning he was taking it one minute at a time. And he was thankful that Robbie was spending the minutes with him.

  He had no idea what the future would bring. Whether they’d get custody of Joey, whether they’d ever have sex with each other again. He couldn’t even think about where their marriage might take them, or for how long. Not today. It was one minute at a time. With all the minutes leading directly to the judge’s chamber and the verdict he would reach.

  “We need to go,” Robbie said softly, standing as she put out the cigarette he’d lit a moment before. She was wearing the same denim skirt and pink blouse she’d had on the day they’d first met Joey.

  She picked up their coffee cups. “We don’t want to be late.”

  Con looked around him at Joey’s things, the high chair he was still too young to use
, the bottles on the counter, and nodded.

  “We’ll have to find a cupboard for those,” Robbie said, following his gaze.

  “Yeah.” He hoped to God she was right.

  He needed—oh, how he needed!—to pull Robbie into his arms. He needed to hold her, to feel her warmth, her confidence. He needed to comfort her, to assure her that he’d take care of everything, that he’d find a way to make her happy again.

  Except that he couldn’t. He couldn’t touch her. Not ever again. And he couldn’t make her happy, either. He grabbed his suit coat off the chair and pulled it on.

  “We have to take your car,” Robbie said, following Con out to the garage.

  “Right.” But he knew that all the positive thinking in the world might not be enough today. Joey’s car seat wouldn’t be necessary if they were going to be coming home alone.

  The drive to the courthouse was silent, as much of the morning had been, both of them drawing on the strength of the other, yet afraid to test that strength by voicing the fears, the doubts, the uncertainties that were forefront in their minds.

  Con still hadn’t told Robbie about Cecily; the moment had never seemed right. And there was no point telling her right now. Why add to her worries? If they didn’t get Joey, she’d need never know, anyway. And if they did, the news of his biological mother’s reentry into their lives wouldn’t hurt so much if she heard it with Joey in her arms, already in her care. Besides, there was another six months of waiting ahead before they knew what kind of impact, if any, the woman would have on their lives.

  They needed to worry about placement first.

  One minute at a time.

  ROBBIE’S STOMACH was cramped by the time they reached the courthouse. Her future had never been more insecure, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do but wait. Except…

  “If we get him, we’re staying married,” she whispered to Con as they walked down the hall to the courtroom.

  She’d had no idea how badly she’d needed to say those words until they were out.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Con said, looking straight ahead as they walked.

  “We’ll talk about it now, Randolph. I am not going in there to lose that baby or lose my place in both your lives when we come out.”

  He glanced down at her and then ahead again. They were almost there. “What place is that?” he asked, his frustration obvious.

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly, “but I’m not losing it.” Before he could say another word, she sped up to enter the courtroom in front of him.

  CON SAW a young blond woman turn to look at them as they walked in. She was sitting with a man he didn’t know. He didn’t recognize her, either, at first, only felt an instantaneous alarm, a sense that she was someone he never wanted to see again. She smiled at him.

  And then he knew. Cecily Barnhardt.

  He felt sick with dread. He didn’t want to see her. Didn’t want to have any connection with her. Ever. Didn’t want Robbie to see her.

  What was she doing there? He hadn’t thought there was any reason to expect her to be present. She’d already signed away her rights. And even if she was unsigning them, if such a thing was really possible, she still had six months to go of proving herself.

  Didn’t she?

  With his mind in turmoil, Con followed Robbie to the front of the room and took a seat beside her. How could his wife sit beside him when a woman he’d had sex with, made a baby with, was four feet away, smiling at him as if she’d like to do it again?

  “Who is she?” Robbie whispered.

  His throat thick, Con stared at Robbie.

  He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t get even a name past his lips. He didn’t want her to know that this was the woman he’d taken to bed and forgotten. Shame filled him. And bone-deep regret that he was bringing Robbie further and further into his world.

  He was saved from answering when the judge chose that moment to enter the room. The hearing had begun.

  ROBBIE’S HEART pumped in double time as the judge took his seat. The woman across the aisle was momentarily forgotten as Robbie studied the elderly judge’s face. Was that disapproval in his eyes as he glanced their way? Or merely speculation? Had the man already made up his mind?

  Con was the first to be called to the stand. Robbie grabbed his hand and squeezed it as he stood up. She’d sworn to herself she wouldn’t ever reach out to him again, but she couldn’t send him to the wolves alone. He’d proved many times over the weekend, over the years, what a good man he was, what a caring man.

  The judge asked Con questions about his job, about his home, looking at the pictures Con’s attorney produced of Joey’s nursery, of the clothes hanging in his closet, the toys they’d purchased, the high chair in the kitchen. Con sat stiffly in the witness stand, answering all the judge’s questions in monosyllables. Robbie stared at the judge, her stomach in knots, still unable to guess what the man was thinking.

  “And what support can you offer this child?” the judge asked, frowning as he looked through his half glasses at the papers in front of him.

  “You have my financial statement,” Con said.

  Robbie groaned silently at the faint look of annoyance on the judge’s face. She ached for Con, for how hard this was for him, for how inadequate he felt. He’d been tried and found wanting all his life.

  But he was going to have to do better than this if he hoped to win his son.

  “Yes, I see, Mr. Randolph. Well, thank you. You may step—”

  “The boy needs more than money can buy,” Con interrupted the judge. The older man turned, peering at Con over his glasses. Robbie held her breath.

  “He needs to know he’s wanted. That he belongs simply by nature of the blood running through his veins.”

  Yes. Tears burned the backs of Robbie’s eyes as she listened to Con tell the judge about the thing he’d missed out on as a child. The only thing he’d ever really wanted. Something he never spoke about, never even acknowledged, but the most important thing he had to offer his son.

  “He needs unconditional acceptance, the kind a kid can take for granted and not ever have to earn. The kind he’ll never have if he starts out life abandoned by the people who gave him life. An acceptance only a biological parent can offer him.” Con swung his gaze to the people in the silent courtroom. Robbie couldn’t stop the tears from trickling down her cheeks as she watched him. Her strong silent husband had spoken from his heart.

  He turned back to the judge. “This is the support I offer my son,” he said, then rose from the stand and took his seat next to Robbie.

  Unable to say a word, Robbie reached for his hand and held it, even when his fingers didn’t curl around her own. He’d retreated deep into that place in his soul where he hid when he felt vulnerable.

  The judge cleared his throat, took off his glasses and put them back on again. “May I have Karen Smith to the stand, please?” he finally said.

  The next half hour was filled with the case workers’ reports, nothing particularly damning, but nothing encouraging, either. Until Sandra Muldoon reported that Con had abandoned his son at birth.

  “That’s not true,” Robbie hissed in Con’s ear. She hadn’t had her chance on the stand yet, wasn’t even sure she was going to get one at this rate, and she couldn’t sit idly by and listen to these lies.

  Con’s muscles stiffened, his jaw so tight he couldn’t possibly have said a word. He just shook his head at Robbie.

  “That’s her word against my client’s, Your Honor.” Con’s attorney stood up. “My client had no knowledge of the child’s existence until the state showed up on his doorstep last month.”

  “The child’s mother told us she contacted the boy’s father and was refused support,” Mrs. Muldoon insisted.

  “I understand the boy’s mother is here?” the judge asked, looking over the courtroom.

  Of course she isn’t, Robbie thought.

  Her gaze swung between the social worker and
the judge. But even as she assured herself they were wrong, her heart froze, and she suddenly knew what was coming.

  The woman who’d smiled at Con. That hadn’t been the smile of a stranger.

  “Yes, she’s here, Your Honor.” Robbie barely registered Mrs. Muldoon’s words.

  Ice filled her veins. If the judge had known the woman was going to be there, had Con known, too?

  The judge called Ms. Cecily Barnhardt to the stand. Robbie couldn’t look at the woman. She looked at her husband, instead. He didn’t flinch, didn’t show any reaction at all, other than resignation.

  He’d known. He’d known and he hadn’t told her.

  There was no partnership between them. She was beginning to suspect there was nothing between them at all—except what her very fertile imagination produced. Had she simply conjured up what she wanted to see in order to justify forcing herself on him all these years?

  And what chance in hell did they have of getting Joey if his biological mother was back in the picture? Or was she just there for testimony?

  Why hadn’t Con told her? Did she really matter so little? And why should that come as any surprise?

  Con didn’t look at Cecily Barnhardt as the judge started to question her, but Robbie couldn’t look any-where else. This was the woman Con had slept with, the woman who’d given birth to Joey.

  “Tell us about your job, Ms. Barnhardt, your means of supporting the child.”

  Robbie tore her gaze away to glance at Con. Did that mean the mother was trying to get Joey back? Could she do such a thing?

  Con, his face expressionless, continued to watch the judge.

  “I’m not employed right now, but Joey’ll be okay, anyway, with welfare and stuff,” Cecily Barnhardt replied sweetly. “It’s how I did it before.”

  She was everything Robbie had expected her to be. Con’s type of woman exactly. Very beautiful and very feminine. And not very bright

  Robbie found it difficult to take much consolation from this last, however. For Cecily was truly gorgeous. Her curves were luscious where they needed to be, accented by the spaghetti-strap sundress she was wearing. Her legs were long and tanned, tapering to slim ankles and dainty feet encased in high-heeled sandals. Even her toenails were polished.