His Daddy's Eyes

by Debra Salonen

  Sara had one stop to make. She knew she’d never be able to sleep tonight without letting Ren Bishop know that where Brady was concerned, the judge was in for the fight of his life.

  “IT HAPPENED BEFORE we started dating, Eve,” Ren said for the third time. For some reason his infidelity, not the child’s paternity, seemed to be the focus of Eve’s anger. “I haven’t been with another woman since we started going out, and certainly not since we got engaged. What kind of man do you think I am?”

  Eve, who’d kicked off her shoes and dumped her suit jacket on the sofa the minute she’d walked into her condo, marched across the white-on-white living room like a Polynesian princess, black eyes ablaze with indignation. “I know what kind of man I thought you were, but now I’m not so sure. Tell me, Ren, what kind of man sleeps with a stranger in this day and age? STDs and AIDS aside, have you forgotten about Frank Gifford and the hooker? Or Bill Clinton, for that matter? It’s called scandal, Ren, and you can’t afford it. No one in public office can.”

  Ren, who’d been watching for her car from the large, arched window that afforded a view of the condominium’s tastefully landscaped parking lot, lowered the mini-blinds. His private life would go on display soon enough without giving the neighbors a ringside seat. “I wasn’t in public office at the time,” he told her, trying to be patient. Eve was flash and sizzle; she blew up easily but didn’t stay angry for long. “I’d just won the salmon verdict. You know what the climate was like—you were one of the reporters dogging me.” At her indignant pout, he added, “I’d won one for the planet. I wanted to celebrate but I couldn’t walk outside without half a dozen reporters in my face.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to blame your peccadillo on the media?”

  “No,” he cried, exasperated. “I’m explaining my mental state at the time. I went to Tahoe to get away, and maybe live it up a little.”

  “By having sex with a stranger.”

  Ren gave up trying to make her understand. He certainly didn’t blame her for being mad, but he had hoped to be able to reason with her.

  “So tell me again where the pretty little shopkeeper comes in? A ménage à trois, perhaps?” she asked snidely.

  Ren was floored by Eve’s hostility toward Sara. “Sara is Julia’s sister. We’ve never had sex,” he said, perhaps a bit more loudly than was necessary. “Brady is Sara’s nephew.”

  “She called him her son.”

  “Julia died—Sara’s his legal guardian.”

  Eve turned away, but not before Ren caught the quiver of her chin, a brief glimpse of vulnerability. Eve had been adopted at birth. And while she publicly celebrated her undefined ethnic heritage, she occasionally admitted harboring doubts about her lineage.

  Standing in front of her antique oriental bureau, she fiddled with a flower arrangement a moment before turning to look at him. “I saw you staring at her while I was doing the interview.”

  Ren walked to the bar that separated the dining area from the living room. He poured himself a second glass of Merlot and downed a big gulp. Without looking at her, he said, “I may have looked at Sara, but I didn’t stare.” Liar. In fact, he’d been mesmerized by the poise and candor she’d displayed. “I was curious. All I know about her is what Bo’s been able to dig up, which isn’t much. She’s raising a child that could be mine—I need to know what she’s like.”

  Eve walked over to him and put her arms around his waist. “So you say. Maybe you even believe it. But a woman senses things, Ren. There was something between the two of you. Why do you think I assumed right away that you were the father of her baby?”

  Ren remained rigid. He refused to believe she’d seen anything. Besides, he wasn’t interested in Sara. Except where Brady was concerned.

  Her soft sigh penetrated through the cloth of his suit and shirt. He set down his glass, then put his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Eve. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  The top of her head came to the middle of his chest. She didn’t look up. “I know, Ren. In spite of what I said earlier, you are a good man. I’m sure you used precautions, and if that little boy is yours, it’s purely by accident. But…” He felt her take a deep breath. “I have to say, the timing really sucks.”

  “You mean there’s actually a good time for something like this to happen?”

  She looked up, gave him a half smile and then walked to the sofa where she opened her briefcase. From the upper compartment she withdrew a sheet of paper. “Marcella faxed this to me today. I was hoping we’d be celebrating tonight.”

  “What is it?”

  “My proposed itinerary for next week. She’s already got two interviews scheduled—ABC and CNN. She expects the others to get interested after she stirs up a little buzz.”

  Ren knew how important this was. For all her outward confidence, Eve needed constant reinforcement and success to validate her self-worth.

  He moved to the sofa and sat down, drawing her into the chair across from him. “You have to go to New York, Eve, and I have to stay here and take care of this.”

  She lifted her chin proudly, as if defying tears to come. “I’d hoped you could go with me. See a few shows. Shop. I’d even go to a museum or two if you insisted.”

  Her attempt at humor made him smile, but only for a second. “I can’t put this off, Eve. I need to know. If Brady is my son, I’ll probably have to go to court for custody. I’m sure Sara won’t give him up without a fight.”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “Do you have any idea how damaging that will be to your career?” He lifted one shoulder carelessly, which made her scowl. “Then think about what it’ll do to my career. There’s bound to be spillage.”

  “‘Spillage’?”

  She looked at her lap. “This is going to sound terribly self-absorbed, but it’s the truth. If there’s bad publicity, it’ll spill over on me, too, and I can’t afford that right now, Ren. I’m going into these negotiations with a blemish-free life—former Junior Miss, a popular radio personality who became an award-winning television anchor, a model citizen engaged to a judge. What happens if word of this gets back to the networks?”

  Ren’s heart felt pinched. A prickly sensation buzzed in his sinuses. The pathos of his being dumped for a spot on Good Morning, America would make Bo fall down laughing.

  “So, you want to call off the engagement,” he said gruffly.

  “No,” Eve exclaimed, taking his hands. “God, no. Not yet, anyway. You said yourself this might all be a false alarm. Get the test done. Then we’ll talk.” She tilted her head, looking into his eyes imploringly. “Just try to keep it quiet.”

  Ren studied her a long moment. In his heart he knew their relationship was doomed, and it had nothing to do with Brady. Maybe they were both too self-absorbed to make it work.

  Eve squeezed his hands and in a soft voice said, “We have something good here, Ren. I honestly hope things work out okay. No baby, no problem. Right?”

  “Right,” he said, a sour taste in his mouth. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She let go of his hands and sat back as if surprised. “You don’t want to stay? I taped our six o’clock show. You could see your friend Sara.”

  He rose to leave. The muscles in his neck felt as though they might squeeze tight enough to pop his head off. “I’d better go. I still have to break this news to my mother.”

  “Oh, God,” Eve said, adding a low moan of sympathy. She walked him to the door. “I don’t know who to feel more sorry for, you or Babe. She isn’t going to be happy. We were supposed to meet for brunch tomorrow to set a date for the wedding. I don’t think we dare do that until we know if there’s going to be a paternity suit.”

  When Ren didn’t say anything, she sighed and said, “Don’t worry, honey. It’ll work out. When Marcella was here she told me about her fabulous spin doctors. These guys are publicity magicians. If it turns out he is your child, I’m sure they’ll find a way to make it look like you were the victim.”
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br />   When she rose up on her toes to kiss him goodbye, Ren stopped her. Instead, he gently brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said and left, never looking back.

  “HOW THE HECK LONG does it take to tell your girlfriend you might have a kid from an illicit affair?” Sara muttered under her breath, pounding the steering wheel with the heel of her hand.

  The inanity of her question struck her after the fact and made her shake her head. She didn’t know the first thing about Ren Bishop or Eve Masterson. Maybe he could persuade her it was a huge mistake that he regretted with all his heart. Maybe she loved him so much she could forgive him, and they were, at this very moment, making mad passionate love.

  For some reason, the idea made her stomach heave. She knew she should go home but she’d waited too long. The bottle of warm diet soda Keneesha had left in her car, which Sara had finished half an hour earlier, was causing all sorts of discomfort in her bladder.

  Squeezing her legs together, Sara sat up straighter and looked around. The neighborhood sported wide streets, gracious front yards and mature trees that bespoke a slower period when wealthy people grouped together to outdo each other face-to-face instead of on half-acre lots in the suburbs. Ren’s house—by no means the most luxurious on the block—fell into what Sara believed was called the neoclassical revival period of architecture.

  A spasm of discomfort made her groan. I need a bathroom, she thought, and quick. A pair of headlights brought a flash of hope. Ren? The car slowed, but a reflection off its bank of patrol car lights made Sara sink down in her seat—not a good position for her bladder.

  When the car was gone, Sara opened the door. If I have to choose between unlawful entry and indecent exposure, I’ll take my chances with Ren.

  She tucked her purse under her arm and, with nonchalance borne of desperation, walked to the house. Two decorative coach lights illuminated the wide, covered porch. She pretended to drop her purse, spilling out Brady’s crayons like Pick-Up-Stix. While kneeling to retrieve them, she peeked under the smallest flowerpot to the right of the ornately carved door. To her relief, a single brass key was, indeed, where Bo had said it would be. She snatched it up and, as casually as possible, strolled back to the car.

  Brady made a few soft protests when she picked him up. But he was a sound sleeper and dropped his head back to her shoulder as she carried him up the brick walkway. The key fit. The door opened. And Sara, who’d been holding her breath expecting some kind of alarm to sound, let out a sigh of relief. “Bo was right.”

  With the aid of the hallway light, which was already on, Sara was able to see into the room to her left—a large, very masculine-looking office. A handsome leather tufted sofa occupied the wall closest to the door. She slipped inside and lowered Brady to the cushions. He stirred but didn’t wake. Just to be safe, she whispered, “Stay right here, honey. Mommy needs to find a potty.”

  She dashed into the foyer and turned at the foot of the L-shaped staircase. “There has to be a guest bath down here somewhere,” she muttered. She got lucky. First door to the right. A charming little room with an illuminated seashell above the porcelain basin, so she didn’t have to turn on the overhead light.

  She peed, flushed and washed her hands in record time. Hurrying back to the office, she had herself convinced she could return Brady to his car seat, re-hide the key and be on her way with no one the wiser. Her daydream dissolved the moment she stepped into the office and spotted an empty sofa.

  “Brady?” she called, her voice betraying her panic. She turned on a bank of lights just inside the doorway, momentarily taken aback by the formal elegance of the room, with its rosewood paneling, leaded glass bow window and massive antique desk that cried money.

  Sara checked behind the heavy velvet curtains and under the waist-high globe stand. “Brady, honey? We don’t have time to play. Where are you, sweetheart?”

  “Sara?” a puzzled-sounding voice asked.

  She spun around, instantly registering the policeman at Ren’s side. “Don’t just stand there,” she cried, torn between utter mortification and fear. “Find Brady before he breaks something.”

  He dumped his coat and briefcase on the sofa and motioned her to follow. At the base of the staircase, he said, “You check down here, we’ll go up.”

  Sara’s heart was in her throat as she dashed toward the back of the house. Unless a house was equipped with childproof latches, a kitchen was a dangerous playground. As she paused to flick on the light in the drab, unattractive dining room, she heard Ren tell the policeman, “He’s eighteen months old, and he loves to hide.”

  For some reason, Ren’s calm demeanor helped stave off Sara’s panic, particularly when she zipped around the showy, red-and-white kitchen without encountering the toddler. She noticed a fenced-in pool with the gate standing open in the well-manicured backyard, but the sliding door to the patio was securely locked. “Brady?” she called, checking the pantry. “Where are you, sweetie?”

  In the distance, she heard Ren’s voice. “Sara, I found him.”

  Relief—with a measure of hysteria—drove her toward the sound. She grabbed the solid walnut newel at the base of the stairs and hurried toward the muffled voices on the second floor. Ren and the officer met her at the landing where the staircase turned to the right.

  “Where is he?” she cried.

  “Sound asleep on my bed,” Ren said, subtly positioning his body to keep her from moving past. “He’s okay. I covered him up.”

  “Did you forget to reset the alarm when you came in, ma’am?’ the policeman asked her.

  “A-alarm?” Sara grabbed the banister for support. “Uh…”

  “It’s a new unit, Officer Rivaldi,” Ren said, coming to her rescue. “Sara doesn’t have it down pat, yet. Half the time I forget to set it myself. We’ll go over it again as soon as you leave. Judge’s honor.”

  The cop laughed and trotted down the stairs. “Better safe than sorry. Had a burglary right down the street last month, you know.”

  Although Sara’s instincts told her to snatch Brady and run, she sensed Ren was waiting for her to descend the staircase. Reluctantly she turned and slowly trudged downward, Ren right behind her.

  When they reached the tiled floor, Ren leaned past her to shake the officer’s hand. His torso bumped her shoulder, making her flinch.

  “Thanks again. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  The man touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. “No problem. Have a good evening.”

  Ren walked him to the door and closed it securely. When he turned to face her, he nodded toward a discreet white box on the wall. “Alarm,” he said, his voice kind and slightly amused.

  Sara suddenly felt a little light-headed, and her knees started to give out. She sank down on the bottom step and covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe this happened. You must think I’m some kind of nut.” She looked up, fighting tears. “I just needed to use your bathroom.”

  Ren, who’d hurried to her side as if fearful she might faint, burst out laughing. “My bathroom?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes as she tried to explain. “I came here to talk to you. I waited as long as I could, but you took so long and I had to go to the bathroom, then Brady…”

  Taking a deep breath to stop her rambling, she pushed off from the step and lifted her chin. “Where is Brady? We need to go home.”

  Ren graciously held out his hand, indicating she should go up the stairs ahead of him. “Do you mind telling me how you got in?” he asked.

  Sara watched her feet to keep him from seeing her blush. “No, I just gambled that you might hide a key under the mat out front. Lucky me, there it was,” she said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone.

  Ren’s low chuckle made her stagger slightly. “A key. Hmm…next time I’ll have the person who put the key there leave operating instructions for the alarm with it.”

  Ren was being very understanding abo
ut this fiasco. An unpleasant thought crossed Sara’s mind. If he planned to use mental instability as an argument against her in the future, she was certainly giving him fuel.

  At the top of the U-shaped landing, Sara paused, her gaze drawn to a collection of framed photographs on the wall. Unconsciously, she studied the faces, searching for familiar features—and hoping she wouldn’t find any. A black-and-white snapshot in a silver frame showed a tall man and a little boy walking hand in hand down a boat dock. Except for the clothing and unfamiliar background, the shot could have been of Ren and Brady.

  “Me and my dad,” Ren said, noticing her interest. “Our family has a cabin up at Lake Almanor. That’s up near Mt. Lassen.”

  Sara thought she detected a slight wistfulness in his tone. “You resemble your dad,” she said.

  Ren stared at the picture a moment longer. “He died about two years ago. I miss him a lot—he was a good man.”

  As if embarrassed suddenly, he turned sharply and led the way down the hall to the left. The double doors were open and a bedside lamp gave off a low, comforting glow. Brady’s tiny body beneath an emerald-green cashmere throw barely made a bump in the king-size bed.

  Ren stood to one side to let her walk past him. Sara liked the room at once. Although both masculine and functional, right down to the NordicTrack facing the balcony, the color scheme of navy, emerald and plum was warm and inviting.

  “I wonder what made him come all the way up here?” Ren whispered. The intimate sound made gooseflesh cascade down Sara’s neck.

  “Brady loves stairs. Our house is a one-story, so anytime he has the chance he goes for the stairs.” Sara walked to the bed and sat down beside her son. She brushed a stray curl from his forehead. “Naturally,” she said softly, “he scares the heck out of me every time he starts climbing, but I guess he’s got to learn.”

  Ren approached but didn’t crowd her. She looked at him. He might be a judge and a lawyer, and he might hold her future in his hands, but he’d been amazingly decent about finding her in his house. She smiled.