He's Got His Daddy's Eyes

by Lois Faye Dyer

  Josh stared at her. Was it true? Five years ago he’d been younger, more bitter about his parents and their destructive impact on his life. He’d agreed with his older brother, Lucas, that marriage was a hell he never wanted for himself. And kids?

  He thrust his fingers through his hair in an unconscious gesture of frustration. “Hell, maybe you’re right, maybe I did tell you that. I said a lot of stupid things when I was younger. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have taken care of the problem if I’d gotten you pregnant.”

  Sarah stiffened. “J.J. isn’t a problem, Josh. He’s a little boy. And neither of us are a problem that you need to take care of. We take care of ourselves just fine!”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Sarah,” Josh growled. She clearly hadn’t wanted an offer of marriage from him. Marriage. The word slammed into his brain and he tensed. “Did you marry him?”

  Sarah didn’t pretend that she didn’t understand what Josh meant. “No,” she said, unable to keep the loathing from her voice. “I’ve never been married.”

  Josh picked up on the undertones in her voice, but couldn’t quite decipher what they meant. “Whose name did you put on J.J.’s birth certificate?”

  “No one’s. I listed his father as ’unknown.’”

  Josh bit off a curse and glared at her. “You told the whole world that he’s illegitimate? Couldn’t you at least have had the decency to name a father?”

  “I know that I’m his mother and that he’s my son. That’s all I need to know.”

  “Maybe that’s all you need to know, but it sure as hell isn’t all I need to know. I want to have blood tests done to find out if he’s mine.”

  “No!” Panic gripped Sarah. “I don’t want J.J. tested.”

  “Why not?” Josh stared at her. Her eyes were dark in a face pale with stress. She was gripping her mug so tightly that her knuckles were white, and a fine tremor shivered the surface of the coffee.

  “I just don’t want to put J.J. through tests,” she said evasively. “I don’t want him upset. Isn’t it enough that he has your name?”

  “He has my name? I thought you said you listed his father as unknown?”

  “I did,” Sarah answered quickly. “But his given name is Joshua Jonathon Drummond. I named him after you and my father.”

  “Damn you, Sarah,” Josh said softly, his voice lethal with suppressed fury. “I want to know if he’s really mine. I want our blood tested.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not asking you anymore, Sarah, I’m telling you. If you won’t agree, I’ll see my attorney and ask him to do whatever it takes to get a court order to force you to cooperate.”

  Sarah stared at him without flinching. It took every bit of courage she owned to face the towering anger that blazed in his eyes. “Please, Josh, don’t do this. I can’t—”

  “You can. Why are you making such a federal case out of this? It’s not as if drawing blood from J.J. will hurt him.” She didn’t answer and he bit off a curse. “Think about it, Sarah. I won’t wait forever.” He turned and stalked from the room.

  Sarah stood, frozen in place, until she heard the front door close with a quiet slap that more sharply revealed his anger than if he’d slammed it

  It wasn’t until she heard the measured tread of his boots across the porch boards and the ensuing silence that followed that she slumped. Muscles quivering with reaction, she managed to walk the short distance to the table and drop into a chair. The hard-won control that had kept her spine stiff deserted her, and she stared unseeingly at the empty doorway, devastated at his response.

  She’d always known Josh would hate her when she told him that J.J.’s father might be another man. She’d always known that he would believe that she had betrayed him on the most basic level, because she couldn’t bring herself to say the words that would prove differently. That she had been so far off the mark about his reaction to the possibility of fatherhood was unexpected and unacceptable. She struggled to equate his reaction tonight with the man who had told her five years earlier that he never wanted to have children.

  For five years she had stubbornly clung to the belief that making love with Josh had created the son she loved so fiercely. She’d always known that blood tests could prove the identity of J.J.’s biological father beyond any doubt. Ever since his birth, she’d agonized over whether to initiate testing. Through long, sleepless nights she’d struggled to evenly weigh Josh and J.J.’s needs and their right to know the truth with her own deep-seated fear. She loved Josh. On some deep, primal level, the possibility that anyone but Josh could have fathered the son she loved so fiercely wounded her to the soul and threatened her sanity.

  Still, her deeply ingrained sense of fairness told her that she owed Josh the cooperation that would answer his question about her son’s father. Yet how would she survive emotionally if tests proved that Josh wasn’t J.J.’s father?

  How would she deal with Josh if the tests proved that he was J.J.’s father?

  Three days later a nervous mare balked at being loaded into a horse trailer and lashed out, clipping Murphy Redman with a shod hoof and snapping his lower leg bone.

  Josh had taken the crotchety rancher to the emergency room. Now Murphy rested in a hospital room that smelled of antiseptic and gleamed with shiny white and chrome surfaces. Josh watched the nurse tuck a sheet and light blanket over Murphy’s shoulders before she stepped away from the bed.

  “He’ll be groggy from the medication for the rest of the day.” She smiled at Josh, her blue eyes kind in a face lined with experience and time. “The doctor left a prescription if he has pain during the night. You’re welcome to stay if you want, but he’s going to be sleeping and probably won’t know that you’re here.”

  Josh eyed the thick cast covering the old horseman’s leg and sighed, scrubbing a hand wearily over his face.

  “I’ll stay a few minutes and then go on home. You’ll call me if he needs anything?”

  “Of course.”

  She left the room, the door whooshing quietly shut behind her.

  Josh walked to the bed. Murphy’s eyes were closed, his white hair mussed against the pillow, his face pale. His lanky body seemed smaller beneath the white sheets, the vital energy that was so much a part of him muted.

  “Murphy?” Josh whispered, gently clasping his hand over the older man’s wrist.

  Murphy’s eyelids fluttered in a small movement of response, but he didn’t waken. Josh squeezed his arm gently and stepped back from the bed. With one last assessing glance, he turned and walked quietly to the door, pausing to switch off the light. To his surprise, the room was thrown into semidarkness, the only light in the room the soft glow of a night-light near the bed and moonlight that shafted through the window. It had been late afternoon when he’d reached the hospital with Murphy, and night had fallen while he’d waited for the older man to be X-rayed and have his leg set and casted.

  Josh stepped out into the hall, settled his hat over his forehead and turned to leave. He stopped in midstride. Two doors down, Sarah Drummond leaned her forehead and clenched fists against the white-enameled wall, tears streaming down her face. Beneath the soft yellow cotton of her sundress, her shoulders moved with silent, tearing sobs and Josh stiffened under the rush of fierce emotion that gripped him.

  He stood motionless while he battled the need to stride down the hall and pull her into his arms to comfort her and the equally strong, sure knowledge that he should turn his back and walk away.

  Before he could do either, a white-coated doctor brushed past him. The man’s crepe-soled shoes made no noise on the polished hall floor and when he paused behind Sarah, she continued to cry silently, eyes closed, clearly unaware that he was there. The man glanced over his shoulder at Josh and lifted an eyebrow, but when Josh didn’t respond, he turned back to Sarah.

  The doctor reached out, one hand gently closing over the curve of Sarah’s shoulder. “Ma’am, are you all—”

  Sarah sp
un to face him, arms lifted protectively.

  Josh sucked in a breath. Her eyes were wide, filled with terror, her body tense and defensive.

  The doctor instantly backed away and lifted his arms, his hands palm outward in a calming gesture of apology. “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Sarah continued to stare at him for long moments while she visibly fought for control. At last the terror faded from her eyes and was slowly replaced by awareness and embarrassment. She slumped against the wall and lowered her arms to her sides, but her hands remained closed in tight fists.

  “That’s all right—I overreacted.” Her voice trembled, the rush of adrenaline ebbing to leave her legs shaking and her heart hammering in her chest.

  “Are you sure you’re all right? Can I get you anything?”

  “No, nothing, thank you—I’m fine.” She gave him a shaky smile. “I didn’t know you were there. You startled me.”

  The doctor stared at her for a moment before nodding and moving off down the hall.

  It wasn’t until the doctor disappeared around a corner that she drew a deep breath, glanced down the hall in the opposite direction…and saw Josh. Dressed in jeans, boots, shirt and hat, his clothing dusty and stained as if he’d just come in from work, he stood perfectly still, watching her with an unwavering stare that was disconcerting.

  “Josh?” She paused and drew a deep breath, quickly blotting her wet cheeks and eyelashes with an already damp tissue before she pushed away from the wall and faced him. “What are you doing here?”

  Josh moved at last, his steps slow and measured as he walked toward her. Her face was pale and bare of makeup, her eyelashes damp spikes surrounding eyes drenched with tears. He kept his hands tucked in his jean pockets, restraining the need to reach for her, while his brain tried to make sense of what he’d just seen. Sarah hadn’t been startled—she’d been terrified; remnants of that terror still lurked in the depths of her eyes. What was going on?

  “Murphy had an accident this afternoon. Broke his leg,” he said, purposely choosing a safe, neutral subject “He’s just down the hall.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened in surprise and concern. “I’m so sorry. Will he be all right?”

  Josh nodded. “The doctor says he’ll be in the cast for a while, but the break was clean and he’s healthy and strong. In six months he’ll be trying to ride every greenbroke horse on the place, just like he always has.”

  “Good.” Sarah’s relief was heartfelt. The old rancher had always been kind to her as a child, treating her and Margaret to cherry lollipops from his coat pocket when he visited her father. But after Jonathon Drummond’s death, Patricia had moved her daughters to town, and Sarah had seldom seen Murphy after that.

  Silence stretched. Josh nodded his head at the closed door just beyond Sarah’s shoulder. “I heard your mother was ill. Is this her room?”

  Sarah’s lashes lowered, concealing her eyes, but not before he caught the flash of stark pain in the blue depths.

  “Yes,” she replied, her voice husky with emotion. “She…she had a stroke.”

  “Has something happened?” he prodded when she didn’t go on. “Is her condition worse?”

  Sarah shook her head. “No. In fact, the doctor told me today that she’s progressing better than he had hoped.”

  “Then why are you crying?” he asked bluntly.

  “No particular reason,” she said evasively, reluctant to talk about her mother. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

  Josh lifted an eyebrow, disbelief coloring his voice. “And that made you cry?” She nodded silently, her glance avoiding his. “Hmm,” he said noncommittally. He didn’t believe her. He remembered vividly how difficult Sarah’s relationship with her mother had been in the past and he doubted that time had softened Patricia Drummond. He also remembered how reluctant Sarah had been to discuss her mother five years ago, and how cleansing it had been for her when he’d coaxed her into confiding in him.

  Irritated that he couldn’t bring himself to simply ignore her tears, say good-night and go home, he stared at her for a long, charged moment. Finally, reluctantly, she met his gaze. The barely concealed distress he read there decided him.

  “I missed dinner,” he said abruptly. “Walk down to the cafeteria with me. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

  The invitation caught Sarah by surprise. He’d been furious with her three days ago. The last thing she’d expected was that he’d purposely seek her company.

  “Come on, Sarah.” A brief, self-derisive smile eased the stern lines of his face. “I promise I won’t bite, or put arsenic in your coffee while your back’s turned.”

  His smile destroyed the refusal she was about to utter. It had been so long since she’d seen him smile.

  “All right”. A responsive, brief smile lifted the downward curve of her mouth. “I have to collect my purse.”

  She disappeared into the room and Josh waited, silently berating himself for breaking his vow to stay far away from her.

  They rode the elevator down to the main floor and traversed the short hallway to the cafeteria in silence. Josh ignored her protest that she wasn’t hungry and ordered a bowl of thick vegetable soup and a turkey sandwich for each of them.

  “Did you eat dinner?” he asked when she objected.

  “No, not yet,” she admitted. “But I’m not hungry.”

  Josh carried the tray across the nearly deserted, brightly lit cafeteria and slid it onto a table against the far wall. Sarah joined him, slipping into a chair, and glanced up when he set one of the bowls of soup in front of her.

  “Just eat,” he said before she could protest. “If you don’t want more than a few bites, fine, but at least try. You look like a soft breeze would blow you away.”

  “I must look awful. I’ve been at the hospital since nine this morning.” Sarah smoothed a hand self-consciously over her hair and reached for her purse. “I’m sure I don’t have any lipstick on or…”

  Josh reached out and gently clasped her wrist. She froze at the contact, her eyes going dark.

  “Leave it. You look fine.” Her skin was soft and warm under his hand, her pulse fast beneath his fingertips. He realized his thumb was stroking slowly against the delicate skin of her inner wrist and abruptly he released her. “All I meant was that you look tired—and hungry—so eat your soup.”

  Sarah drew a deep breath and picked up her spoon. It had surprised her when he reached out and caught her wrist in his hand, but she hadn’t been suffocated with the usual blind panic.

  Josh waited until her bowl was half-empty before he chose a neutral subject.

  “Trey tells me that the girl staying with you is Margaret’s daughter.”

  “Caitlin? Yes, she is.” Sarah smiled.

  “She doesn’t look much like Margaret,” he commented, noting that the lines of tension bracketing her soft mouth eased with the fond smile.

  “No,” Sarah agreed. “She has her father’s black hair and green eyes, but her cheekbones and the shape of her face are carbon copies of Margaret’s.”

  “Hmm,” Josh compared his memory of Sarah’s sister with the young girl he’d seen at the ranch and nodded in agreement. “That’s some black eye she’s got. Who’s she been fighting with?”

  Sarah’s fingers tightened briefly over a pack of saltine crackers before she tore the cellophane open with unnecessary force. “She won’t tell me, but I suspect it was Margaret’s new boyfriend,” she said grimly.

  Josh bit off a curse of disgust. “Margaret needs to get a better class of friends if she’s dating men who hit little girls,” he growled.

  “Exactly,” Sarah answered emphatically. “I agree completely. Caitlin’s going to spend the summer with me, and with any luck Margaret will have moved on to someone else by September.”

  “Even if she does, what are the odds that the next guy will be any better than this one?”

  Sarah had been struggling with that very question ever since
her conversation with Margaret. “Not very good.” She crumbled a cracker into her soup and looked up at him. “That’s why I’m considering trying to keep Caitlin with me.”

  Josh’s gaze narrowed over her. “Here? On the ranch?”

  “Here, until Mama is back on her feet. Then Caitlin can go back to Great Falls with us.”

  Josh’s spoon was halfway to his mouth when he paused and carefully lowered it, the soup untasted, back to the bowl. “Back to Great Falls? You’re not staying here?”

  “No. I took an emergency leave of absence from my job for three months, but I don’t think I can be away any longer.”

  Josh forced himself to sip his coffee casually before speaking. “So, what is it you do in Great Falls?”

  “I’m a public relations assistant at the Charles Russell Museum.”

  “A museum?” Josh remembered the trip he’d taken to Great Falls a few months after she’d disappeared from his life. A friend had insisted he’d seen Sarah in town, but Josh hadn’t found her. I never thought to look at the museum. “Does that mean you get to make use of your talent for drawing?”

  Sarah shook her head ruefully. “No, I’m afraid not. I spend more time organizing tours for schoolchildren than I spend sketching, but I love the kids and I enjoy the work.”

  “How does your mother feel about what you’re doing?” Pretending to be completely absorbed in crumbling crackers into his remaining soup, Josh watched her through lowered lashes. He didn’t miss the shadow of pain that moved swiftly across her face, instantly sobering her features.

  “Mama isn’t wholly satisfied with my choice of career.” She framed the sentence carefully, softening her mother’s critical view of her life.

  “That sounds like a polite way of saying that she hates it,” Josh said abruptly.

  Startled, Sarah looked up at him. His blue eyes were shrewd and assessing; she hadn’t fooled him a bit. He obviously hadn’t forgotten that Patricia Drummond could be, and often was, a difficult woman. Sarah cradled her coffee mug in her hands and gave him a wry smile. “I can see I don’t need to pretend with you, Josh.”