His Daddy's Eyes

by Debra Salonen

  “I really appreciate what you did today,” Ren started. “I just wish there were some way to expedite matters. Six weeks is a long time to wait.” He scooted forward to face Sara. His heart pounded in his chest. “But I have a suggestion for the interim that I’d like you to consider. I thought about it all day yesterday. I realize it may sound a little radical, but…”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “I’d like you and Brady to move in with me. Into my house, I mean. It’s a big house—five bedrooms, four baths. I have a housekeeper who comes twice a week.”

  Sara appeared dumbfounded, as if that were the last thing in the world she expected to hear him say.

  “If you think about it, it makes sense…in a way. My place is closer to town. You wouldn’t have that long commute. And you mentioned at dinner you were thinking about selling Hulger’s house. This way a Realtor could show it without your having to worry about keeping it spotless.”

  Sara looked at Claudie, who suddenly shot to her feet and stomped over to the bench. “Are you freakin’ nuts or what?” Claudie shouted at Ren.

  “Claudie,” Sara said reprovingly. Ren followed her gaze to Brady, who sat cross-legged on the blanket, watching with big eyes.

  “Well, excuse me, but that’s the lamest proposition I’ve ever heard. He must think you’re stupid, Sara. That’s all some family court judge would need to decide in his favor if he wanted to press for custody.”

  Ren watched Sara’s expression turn anguished. Inwardly he groaned, cursing himself for being so stupid, cursing Claudie for being so smart.

  “That was never my intention.”

  “Yeah, right. Then why suggest it? Out of the goodness of your heart?”

  Oh, his heart was involved, but Ren couldn’t claim altruistic motives. Purely selfish was more like it, since this arrangement would give him a chance to be around the child he was coming to adore and the woman he desired.

  “It seemed like a practical solution. Sara hates her house, and it’s a long, unpleasant commute.”

  Claudie snorted. “If she wants to move, she doesn’t need your help.”

  Ren recognized the truth in her words. His perfect scenario was flawed, seriously flawed. “You’re right,” he said quietly.

  He rose, hoping to salvage some pride. He looked at Sara and said, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He gave her an apologetic smile and started to leave.

  “Nooo,” a voice cried.

  Ren glanced over his shoulder and saw Brady scramble to his feet and charge after him. Sara caught the little boy in her arms. She fought his struggles, then comforted him when he started to cry. Over Brady’s sobbing shoulder, she looked at Ren. He was too far away to read her eyes, but he thought he saw tears. He cursed himself for causing her more anguish. Damn. He turned away and kept walking.

  SARA AND CLAUDIE didn’t speak the whole way back to the store. Both seemed to share some kind of emotional ennui. Sara still felt stunned by Ren’s offer. Why would a man like Ren Bishop open his home to a stranger? Could he really be trying to compromise Sara’s custody? Somehow Claudie’s explanation seemed too cold-blooded for a person as kind and generous as Ren.

  It was with a sense of relief that she greeted Bo when she found him arguing with Keneesha above an atlas. “This boy ain’t never been to Georgia, but he thinks he knows the quickest way to go.”

  “It was just a suggestion,” Bo said testily.

  “Bo, I need your help,” Sara said quietly.

  He turned to her. “What happened?”

  Claudie extracted a grumpy Brady from the stroller and passed him to Sara. “You rock. I’ll tell him all about it,” she said.

  Sara nodded and moved to the rocking chair a short distance away. Once seated, she closed her eyes and listened to the retelling of Ren’s strange offer. She couldn’t help picturing the look of pain on his face when he heard Claudie’s accusation.

  “What do you think he had in mind?” Sara asked in a low voice. She could tell by Brady’s breathing that he was almost asleep.

  Bo paced back and forth a few steps. “I know Ren is lonely—who wouldn’t be, living in that big house? And things were never really all that great with him and Eve. They hung out and went through the motions more because it was expected of them than because they really loved each other. I knew that from the beginning. But this is kinda scary.”

  “You mean, he was for real?” Claudie asked, her tone shocked. “He wasn’t just using Sara to get hold of Brady?”

  Bo gave her a stony look. “Ren wouldn’t do that. He may be a forty-year-old guy who’s starting to think life is passing him by, but he’s not cruel and calculating. If he asked Sara to move in with him, it’s because he wanted her and Brady around.”

  Before Sara could ask about the risk to her custody claim if she did consider Ren’s offer, the bookstore bell chimed. All watched as an older woman stepped inside, then paused to look around. When she zeroed in on the group huddled around Sara’s desk, Bo groaned, “Uh-oh.”

  Sara’s stomach rose and fell. Instinctively she tightened her hold on Brady, who was deadweight in her arms.

  “I wish to speak with Sara Carstairs,” the woman said, her voice strong and cultured.

  Sara recognized the voice from Ren’s answering machine. Ren’s mother.

  Sara rocked forward and stood. “I’m Sara Carsten,” she said, emphasizing her last name. “If you’ll give me a moment…” She bent down to place Brady in his playpen. She positioned one of his stuffed animals beside him, then rose and turned to face Ren’s mother.

  “You must be Mrs. Bishop,” she said. Stepping forward, she put out her hand.

  Babe took Sara’s offered hand with discernible reluctance; she shook hands using two fingers and her thumb.

  “These are my friends,” Sara said. She started to introduce them, but Babe made a dismissive motion with her hand.

  “Yes, I know Bo. Haven’t you got work to do somewhere?” she asked, giving him a steely look.

  “Oh, yes, most definitely. See you later, Sara.” Sorry, he mouthed before hurrying away.

  “Coward,” Claudie whispered.

  Mrs. Bishop gave her a quelling look that caused Claudie to edge closer to Keneesha. “I wish to speak with you alone,” Babe demanded.

  Sara walked to her desk, but motioned for Keneesha to stay sitting. “I’d prefer my friends to stay.”

  Babe’s lips narrowed. She gave Sara a chilly look. If she weren’t so cold, Sara thought, she’d be beautiful. Several inches shorter than Sara, Babe Bishop carried herself like a queen. Her exquisite suit of light pink wool dramatized her slim, athletic figure.

  “Very well, if you insist,” Babe said disapprovingly.

  Reaching into the large leather purse she carried, Babe produced a plain manila file folder and laid it on Sara’s desk. The cover flipped open, revealing a glossy photograph obviously torn from a men’s magazine. The idea of Ren’s mother toting that around almost made Sara laugh—until she zeroed in on the face in the photo.

  “Julia?”

  Sara grabbed the thick dossier.

  “You didn’t know your sister posed for Playboy magazine?” Babe asked, her tone showing surprise.

  Sara shook her head, blood pounding in her temples. When? Why didn’t she tell me? In the photo, Julia—in thigh-high white stockings and with a nurse’s cap tilted at a rakish angle—posed beside a gurney. Her temptress smile was one Sara had seen her use many times when teasing men.

  “She lost her job at the hospital because of it,” Babe said.

  Sara vaguely recalled some kind of fracas around the time of her own trouble with the law. Julia had downplayed her firing as political nonsense, and consequently Sara hadn’t given it much thought.

  “She wasn’t unemployed long, however,” Babe added, her tone steeped in innuendo. “Her future husband hired her. A short time later, she married the boss. I believe they call that ‘job security.’”

 
; Sara scanned the report from Babe’s private investigators. She noticed neither Ren’s nor Bo’s name appeared in the report, so she reckoned Babe had acquired it independently.

  “Why did you do this?” Sara asked.

  “My son has a big heart. He doesn’t see things in black and white, but I do. Right now, he’s only thinking about doing the right thing for the child—but somebody has to look to the future. If the boy is going to be a Bishop, we have to know everything there is about his mother so we can be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what?”

  “When a person enters the political arena, the press has been known to dig. It’s best to know in advance what they’ll find so one can put the proper spin on it.”

  Sara had no problem picturing the spin they’d put on Julia—a tramp who posed in the nude seducing a judge, then hiding his child from him. Sara looked at Brady, sleeping so peacefully, and knew she’d do anything to keep him from having to hear those kinds of lies about his mother.

  “What do you want from me?” Sara asked.

  Babe seemed momentarily taken aback by Sara’s frankness. “I want the same thing my son wants.”

  Sara looked at Claudie, who slowly shook her head, warning Sara not to do anything impulsive. Sara shrugged as if to say, What choice do I have?

  Turning to Babe, Sara said, “An hour ago, your son asked me for something that I feared would compromise my claim for custody if this went to court. I told him no. I’ll change my answer to yes if you agree to destroy this file—” she dropped the folder to the desk “—and give me your word that Brady will never be exposed to its contents. My sister was a good person. She may have made mistakes in her life, but she loved her son with all her heart, and I won’t have him believing any differently.”

  Babe gestured dismissively again. “I can’t speak for the press but I can’t imagine any of this will come up as long as the child is under Lawrence’s protection.”

  Protection. The word, which sounded so feudal, continued to skip through Sara’s brain long after Babe left. Ren might be able to protect Brady from the past, but who would protect Sara from falling in love with a man whose main goal was acquiring a son? Or was it already too late?

  Sara knew if she were honest she’d have to admit that Ren’s offer initially thrilled her, for no other reason than that it would give her a chance to spend more time with him. But Ren wasn’t looking for a girlfriend—he just ended a relationship, and Sara had heard enough rebound horror stories from other women. Unfortunately, Sara thought, that doesn’t mean I can keep my heart from going crazy whenever he looks at me.

  “Whatcha thinkin’, Sara J?” Keneesha asked.

  Sinking back into the rocking chair, Sara regarded her friends and sighed. She couldn’t tell them the truth. “I was thinking, ‘So this is what it’s like when you sell your soul to the devil.’”

  Claudie snickered. “A witch is more like it.”

  Sara groaned. It was one thing to make a pact with the devil but quite another to see it through. “Well, right or wrong, it looks like we’re going to need more boxes.”

  BO SHADOWED REN from the courthouse. It wasn’t hard since Ren seemed oblivious to the world around him. In the dozen or so blocks to his house, he’d only just missed running over a dog, then sat through a green light until another driver angrily leaned on the horn.

  When they reached Ren’s house, Bo waited a few minutes before entering through the back door, which his friend had failed to lock. Apparently lost in thought, Ren stood at the base of the stairs. Bo grabbed his elbow from behind, and with a twist of his wrist slammed Ren up against the wall. An oof of air left Ren’s lungs, and he drew his arms up defensively, crying, “Jesus, Bo. What the hell are you doing?”

  “Beating the shit out of you,” Bo snarled, needing to release the tension that had been building ever since Babe Bishop had showed up at the bookstore. Not only did Ren’s mother always manage to make Bo feel eight years old and worthless, but the more Bo stewed over Babe’s attitude, the more upset he became about Ren’s outrageous proposition. Like mother, like son—always trying to control other people’s lives.

  “Could you at least tell me why?” Ren asked, moving slightly out of the line of fire. His briefcase clattered to the tile floor.

  “Why’d you ask Sara to move in with you?”

  Ren didn’t seem surprised that Bo knew of his suggestion. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he sank downward, his shoes making a hissing sound against the tile. “Because I’m an idiot, okay?”

  Bo folded his arms across his chest. “That’s a start.”

  Ren dropped his head in his hands. “I think I’m in love with her, Bo. I know it’s crazy and I shouldn’t be feeling this way.”

  “So this moving-in thing wasn’t some ploy to get leverage in a custody suit?”

  Ren groaned. “That’s what she thinks, isn’t it. Claudie pounced on that, but I didn’t think Sara would believe it. Does she hate me?”

  Before Bo could answer, the doorbell chimed.

  “Did you order a pizza to go with my beating?” Ren asked sarcastically as he got to his feet. He yanked open the door without checking the peephole.

  “Sara,” he croaked.

  Bo hurried into the foyer. His mouth dropped open at the sight of Sara, Brady and Claudie standing on the stoop. A diaper bag, two oversize totes and one small old-fashioned suitcase rested between them.

  Sara stepped inside. Claudie, who held Brady’s hand, crowded behind her.

  “All right,” Sara said, glancing first at Bo, then back at Ren. “This is the way it is. I cut a deal with your mother this afternoon. Has she talked to you?”

  Ren shook his head. “Not since this morning. I told her to stay out of this. What did she do to you?”

  “We can go into that later. The bottom line is I’ve agreed to move in here.”

  “My mother asked you to move in with me?”

  “Not exactly. In return for her destroying some very mean-spirited information about Julia—” She looked at Bo, her eyes narrowing. “Did you know Julia posed for a magazine?”

  He gulped. “Yes.”

  “Did you know?” she asked Ren.

  He nodded. “It was in Bo’s report. It didn’t seem like a big deal to me.”

  Some of the stiffness went out of her posture. Claudie coughed, and Sara went on. “Anyway, your mother agreed to destroy the file if I did whatever you wanted. You asked us to move in with you, so here we are. I don’t think this is exactly what she meant, but this is what she’s getting.”

  Bo almost choked on his howl of laugher. “I bet the old bat shits green when she finds out,” he said, ignoring Ren’s brusque shove.

  Sara frowned. “But there’s one condition,” she said, her tone formidable.

  Bo sobered. He glanced at Ren, who seemed to be holding his breath.

  “What kind of condition?” Ren asked.

  “Claudie moves in, too. This is purely a business arrangement. We’re here until the DNA test results come back and we know whether or not you’re Brady’s father. If you are, I want your word we’ll work out a fair and equitable joint-custody arrangement. If you’re not Brady’s father, I should have my house sold by then, and Brady and Claudie and I can find a place closer to work. Agreed?”

  Ren didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “I’ll start bringing in your stuff,” Bo said, scooting past Claudie, who gave him an evil look. He hurried to the Toyota wagon. With his back to the house, he didn’t care who saw his grin. Who but Sara could have turned the tables so neatly on Babe Bishop? he thought.

  The poetry of it almost made him weep with laughter.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SARA SHIFTED BRADY to her left hip and walked through the dining room to the kitchen. She’d been through every room the previous evening moving breakable objects out of Brady’s reach. Overall, Sara liked the house, but she didn’t care for the dining room, which struck her as gloomy and ostentati
ous. Ren said it was next on his remodeling list.

  Her hand was poised to push open the door, when Sara caught the sound of voices—angry voices. She started to turn around, but Brady yodeled, “’Nana” —the word for his favorite fruit.

  The door swung inward, and Ren looked at them. “Good morning,” he said. “Come in.”

  Sara cautiously stepped into the sunny kitchen. Dressed in baggy sweatpants and a tank top that showed a dark trail from jogging, it was apparent from the screwdriver in Ren’s hand that he’d been in the process of assembling Brady’s high chair when an unexpected guest had arrived.

  His mother stood beside the counter, arms folded across her chest. Her three-piece ivory slack outfit made Sara regret throwing on yesterday’s shorts and T-shirt.

  “Sit down. I’ll have this together in half a minute,” Ren said, squatting beside the pieces of molded plastic. “Mother, you remember Sara, the woman you tried to blackmail.”

  Babe sputtered. “I did nothing of the sort. Did she tell you that?”

  Sara clutched Brady tighter. The little boy stared at Babe with big eyes. Sara figured he was either drawn to her impressive gold necklace or fascinated by her bristling outrage.

  Screwing up her courage, she stepped forward. “I told him the truth, Mrs. Bishop. That you had photos of Julia that you threatened to use if I didn’t cooperate. Moving here was your son’s idea, not mine.”

  Babe seemed to shrink slightly, although her chin remained high. “It’s not as though I planned to give those photographs to the press—they could damage Lawrence’s reputation as well, since he was associated with her.”

  Ren shot to his feet. “Her name was Julia, Mother. She was a beautiful, exciting, dynamic woman. I wasn’t associated with her. I made love to her, and I don’t regret it—especially not if the DNA test proves I’m Brady’s father. This child—” he stepped beside Sara and put his hand on Brady’s head “—is a blessing. He’s already brought more light and happiness into my life in a few short weeks than I can remember feeling in a long, long time.”