by Judy Duarte
Her gaze skimmed over her father, where he was seated in his black-leather easy chair. And she caught his eye, his expression.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he suspected there was more to Joe’s involvement with Bobby than met the eye.
But maybe that was merely her imagination.
And her guilt.
Just after lunch, Joe and Sam Henley inspected the equipment on Old Red, the hook and ladder that had been with the department for years.
When a white Lincoln Town Car drove up, Joe cracked a smile, assuming Kristin and Bobby had stopped by. But when he spotted Thomas Reynolds behind the wheel, he sobered.
Kristin’s father climbed from the car, wearing a harsh, barren expression and a don’t-mess-with-me stance. His eyes narrowed when they landed on Joe. “Can I have a minute of your time, Davenport?”
“Go ahead,” Sam told Joe. “I’ll finish here.”
Joe nodded, then joined Reynolds by his car. “What’s up?”
“Suppose you tell me.”
Hadn’t Kristin told her dad that Joe was seeing Bobby? That the fireman had taken an interest in the boy? “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“Have you noticed how much my grandson looks like you?”
Joe shrugged. He sure wished Kristin were standing here. That she could take over and either perpetuate the lie or tell him the truth. At this point, it didn’t seem to matter which. It wasn’t Joe’s place to tell her old man anything.
Reynolds stepped closer, gunmetal-gray eyes aimed at Joe. “Are you Bobby’s father?”
“Isn’t that a question you ought to ask Kristin?”
“I did. More than seven years ago.” Reynolds tensed his lips and stroked his left arm.
“What did she tell you?”
“She said Bobby’s father was a water polo player at the college she attended.”
Joe fisted his hands at his sides, released them, then crossed his arms. He wanted to lash out and slam Reynolds with the truth. But he’d made a promise to Kristin. “Then that ought to answer your question.”
“It did. Until I saw you and Bobby standing side by side.”
Joe contemplated gently telling the man the truth, confessing that he was Bobby’s father. That he might not have had a decent dad of his own, but he wanted to be a part of his son’s life. But he held tight to the promise he’d made Kristin.
The old man’s face reddened, and his eyes glared. “Aren’t you going to say something in your defense? Hell, I paid all my daughter’s medical expenses back then. Bobby’s, too. And I sent checks to supplement her income, to replace the child support that never came.”
Joe wanted to punch a fist in the man’s face. To defend himself. To say that Bobby’s birth had been a surprise to him, too.
Reynolds rubbed his left arm. Again. “You’re no better than your old man, are you?”
Joe cursed under his breath. It took all he had not to come clean, to blurt out the truth, just to shut Reynolds up. But he held fast to the promise he’d made Kristin, in spite of the urge to toss it aside.
Sweat dotted the older man’s upper lip and brow as the redness of his suppressed fury slipped away, leaving a lifeless, gray color in its wake. He grimaced, and his face distorted in anger. Or was that pain?
“Are you okay?” Joe asked.
Instead of answering, Reynolds clutched his chest, then slumped to the ground.
“Jeffries! Garcia!” Joe called to the paramedics on duty. “Get over here quick!”
Joe dropped to his knees beside the prostrate man and felt for a pulse, listened for breathing and found neither. He tilted Reynolds’s head back, pinched his nose and covered his mouth with his own. Blow. Blow.
Nothing.
He placed his hands upon his chest, utilizing the training and skill that had become second nature, and hoped it wasn’t too late. Pump. Pump. Pump…
Garcia was the first to arrive. “What have we got here?”
“Heart attack,” Joe said. “I think.”
Garcia and Jefferson took over, as Joe stood to the side and watched Kristin’s father fight for his life.
He’d never liked the old man. But he didn’t want to see him die. Not like this.
His mind drifted to Kristin, to his son. To the grief he knew they’d both suffer if they lost Thomas Reynolds.
Dennison pulled up in the paramedic unit, an emergency room on wheels.
“I’m going with you,” Joe said.
Then, as they loaded an ashen-faced Reynolds into the ambulance, Joe climbed inside, feeling as helpless as a kid on a ride-along.
He knew better than to ask Garcia or Jeffries if the old man would make it. He’d seen enough to know the prognosis didn’t look good.
Chapter Eleven
The ride to the hospital passed in a blur, as the paramedic unit raced through traffic.
Sirens roaring. Lights flashing. Defib zapping. Oxygen flowing. IV dripping.
Both Jeffries and Garcia worked steadily, trying to stabilize Thomas Reynolds, yet reviving the real estate baron appeared hopeless to Joe. Reynolds hadn’t regained consciousness yet and his color was still a pasty gray.
When they pulled to a stop in front of the E.R. doors, the paramedics rushed the nearly lifeless shell of a man into the hospital. Joe followed the gurney until a nurse on staff shooed him out of the room. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait outside.”
Joe knew the procedure, so he stepped aside. The dark-haired nurse closed the door and joined the cardiac triage crew as they worked to save the life of Kristin’s father.
Oh, God. Kristin. She didn’t know.
He blew out a sigh and raked a hand through his hair, knowing he should be the one to tell her, not some faceless voice claiming to be a hospital spokesman.
Of course, he wasn’t keen on letting her know all the details, such as what her father had been doing when he suffered the heart attack. He spotted a pay phone near the E.R. restrooms and dug through his pocket for change as he approached. Then he dialed Kristin’s number and waited.
After a couple of rings, a woman with the hint of an English accent answered—the maid, most likely—and told him Kristin wasn’t home. He considered leaving a message, but decided against it. He’d try Kristin’s cell phone first.
When she answered, he found it difficult to find the right words. “Kristin, it’s Joe. Your father’s at Oceana General Hospital. He had an apparent heart attack, and the paramedics brought him in. Can you meet me here?”
“Oh, my God. Yes. But it will take me at least thirty minutes to get through this traffic. I took my dad’s SUV back to the dealership in San Diego.” Her breath caught, and he knew she was holding back a sob. “Is he okay?”
“I’m not sure. The doctor is with him now.”
She didn’t respond right away, so in an attempt to not feel so helpless, he told her, “The paramedics who worked on him are the best we have, and they got to him right away.”
“That’s good to know,” she said, her voice soft. Tentative. “I’m glad you were on call when it happened. And that you were with the paramedics when they brought him in.”
He hadn’t gone out on a call. Her father had showed up at the fire department and blown a fuse. But Joe didn’t correct her. Not now.
“Where’s Bobby?” he asked.
“Here. In the car with me. Oh, gosh. Going back to the house is out of the way. And—”
“Just bring him to the hospital. I’ll take care of him for you. He doesn’t need to be hanging out in a place like this.”
“Okay.” She blew out a shaky sigh. “Thanks for calling, Joe. And for waiting for me there. I know how things have been in the past…and I appreciate…” She paused again, probably struggling with all the emotions she had to be dealing with.
“I’m here for you, Kristin. And for Bobby.” He bit his bottom lip, holding back the rest of it. Their secret was out—in spite of her wishes. And Thomas Reynolds h
ad reacted just as she’d suspected; he’d flown off the handle, and his heart couldn’t take it.
“Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll hurry as fast as I can.”
“Drive careful, honey.” He paused in mid-breath when he realized he’d let the endearment slip out, as though they were more than friends. But maybe she hadn’t even noticed. “I’ll wait until you get here.”
The line disconnected, and he took a seat next to a guy with a bloody towel wrapped around his hand and a kid with red, watery eyes and a nasty cough.
Why didn’t someone on staff put the boy and his mom in a room by themselves? Half the E.R. was going to get sick. Or sicker.
Minutes passed, although he didn’t know how many. Twenty? Thirty? Forty?
Why hadn’t he looked at a clock after he’d made that call? Not that it mattered, he supposed. He’d already cleared things with the chief.
Each time the automatic double doors swung open, Joe looked up, hoping to see Kristin yet dreading the grief he knew would mar her pretty face and cloud those emerald eyes.
But finally, his glance was rewarded.
Kristin clutched Bobby’s hand, as she rushed through the automatic glass door to the emergency room. She’d tried to calm her son on the way here, telling him not to worry when she was a practically a basket case herself.
But she wasn’t ready to lose her father. Not now. And not when she had so many things to explain, to apologize for.
The sights and smells of the hospital accosted her, and she scanned the crowded waiting room. But she didn’t have to look very long.
Joe stood and quickly made his way toward her. Just knowing she wasn’t alone in all of this helped. And his support meant more than she could have guessed. It felt as though reinforcements had arrived and everything would be okay.
She tried to read his face, his expression, to determine whether her father was still alive, still holding on. Whether she and Bobby had any hope they could cling to.
As they met, Joe opened his arms, and she fell into his embrace, absorbing his comfort, relishing his scent. Her head rested against his cheek, and she clung to him. She’d always been affected by his touch, by his proximity, but this time it was different.
His support, both physical and emotional, gave her hope and warmed her heart, taking the edge off the chill of fear. Leaning on Joe felt so natural, so normal.
Too natural. Too normal.
She withdrew from his arms and tried to emotionally regroup. Joe was her son’s father—not her husband. Not her lover. And his embrace had been offered as comfort. She didn’t dare depend on any more than that from him. Yet she regretted the loss of his touch the minute she stood alone.
But she was determined to be self-reliant. “Do you know what happened? Where was he? What was he doing at the time?”
Joe didn’t respond right away, and she had this weird feeling that he was trying to keep something from her. Like maybe her father was one of the unlucky men who’d had a heart attack while in bed with a mistress or a prostitute.
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. Surely that wasn’t the case.
“Your dad came by the station, Kristin. Looking for me.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. “Why?”
“He knows, honey. And he wasn’t happy about it.”
“You told him?” Her voice, although she could have sworn the words came out in a whisper, seemed to shriek, to rage. “How could you? You upset him and sent him over the edge.”
“That’s not how it happened.” Joe glanced down. In shame, she suspected. Until she realized he was looking at her son. Their son.
Bobby’s bottom lip quivered, and his eyes filled with worry.
How could she snap like that at Joe while Bobby stood beside her, concerned about what might happen to his grandfather.
Kristin blew out a sigh, then knelt to his level. “I’m so sorry, Bobby. I’m a little scared, that’s all. But Grandpa is here at the hospital now. And the doctors are working hard to make him better.”
Joe knelt, too, joining her at their son’s side. “This is one of the best hospitals in the state, sport. And I know for a fact they save a lot of people every day.”
She took Bobby’s hand in hers. “Joe offered to take you home for me, so I can discuss treatments and medication with Grandpa’s doctors. That way, you won’t need to wait here.”
“Is Grandpa going to be okay?” Bobby asked.
“We’ll both have to pray that he will be.” She kissed her son goodbye, then mastered a smile for his sake.
Joe took Bobby by the hand, then cupped Kristin’s cheek with the other. “Call me and keep me posted.”
She nodded, then watched Joe lead their son outside, leaving her more alone, more frightened than she’d ever felt before. But she bolstered herself with a shot of courage to face the next few hours, whatever they might bring. And then she went to let the medical personnel know that Thomas Reynolds’s daughter was here, waiting for word of her father’s condition.
Bobby was pretty quiet on the ride home, which was okay with Joe. Sometimes a guy needed to think, to clear his head and get a handle on his feelings.
As they turned onto the street that led to Playa del Sol, Joe prodded him to speak. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re pretty quiet.”
“I was praying for my grandpa.”
Joe nodded.
“I asked God to make my grandpa all better.”
“Good,” Joe said. He wasn’t sure how to deal with a kid’s grief. He wasn’t trained. Not like Dylan. And for a moment, he felt out of his league.
“Will you pray for my grandpa, too?” Bobby asked.
Joe nearly choked. Him? Pray? For Thomas Reynolds?
Hell, he and God hadn’t been on speaking terms for years. And somehow, it didn’t seem fitting for the first breach of silence to be over a bastard like Reynolds.
“I…uh…” He looked at his son. What the heck was he supposed to tell him? Think, Davenport, think. “I…uh…can’t close my eyes. I’m driving. But you go ahead and pray for me.”
“You don’t have to close your eyes,” Bobby said. “God doesn’t care about that.”
Joe slid a glance at his son. It wasn’t that easy. A guy didn’t just drop in on God and start asking for favors—even if the favors were for someone else.
Or did that matter? Maybe it might make it more acceptable.
Bobby looked at him with big puppy-dog eyes, wearing his vulnerable little heart on his sleeve, yet boasting a faith that was a heck of a lot stronger than Joe’s.
Joe blew out a sigh of resignation. “Is it okay if I keep my eyes open and my mouth shut?”
“Sure.”
Oh, brother.
He cleared his throat, even though he had no intention of uttering a word out loud, and gripped the steering wheel tight, even though he’d already parked in his driveway and shut off the engine.
How did a guy go about starting a prayer?
Now I lay me down to sleep came to mind. But that couldn’t be right. Besides, Joe didn’t know the rest of it.
The Lord is my shepherd. Nope, too generic.
He glanced at his son, afraid to ask the kid something so simple. When he caught Bobby’s hope-filled gaze, he closed his eyes—more to shut out the boy than succumb to divine protocol.
All right, God. Here I am. And I don’t know what to say. I don’t ask much of you. I haven’t since that time I asked you to heal my mom from the cancer and my old man from his drug problem. You didn’t listen then, so I’m not sure if this request will get through. But I got a bigger problem now. See, this kid means the world to me. And even though his grandpa is a real son of a bitch…
Joe cleared his throat again, sneaked a peek at Bobby, then realized the kid couldn’t read minds. Or prayers. Of course, he probably ought to be more concerned about using that kind of language with God. But hell, wasn’t God supposed to hear, see and know ev
erything?
He couldn’t see any reason to sugarcoat feelings the Almighty had already tapped into. Well, heck, God. You know what kind of man Reynolds is. And I figure, if he shows up at the Pearly Gates, you’ll have someone in a white gown instruct him to make a U-turn. So you can see why I’m struggling with this request. But the fact is, I don’t want the old guy to die. Not if it’s going to hurt my son. And his mother.
I probably don’t deserve any favors from you. But could you find some time to step in and do something for Bobby and Kristin? Joe opened his eyes, saw that Bobby was watching him intently.
“Did you say Amen yet?” the boy asked.
Oops. Amen. Joe nodded, then for safe measure, added, Thanks for your time, God. I’ll owe you one if you take care of this for my son and his mom.
Then he blew out a sigh—glad that was over. “Come on, Bobby, let’s go inside.”
As they approached the front door, Bobby’s footsteps slowed. “Is my mom mad at you about something?”
He didn’t know how to explain to Bobby that his mom thought Joe had caused his grandpa’s heart attack. But that wasn’t true. And even though it wasn’t, he had a feeling she’d never forgive him for something that hadn’t been his fault, something that had been out of his power to correct. But he wasn’t about to tell his son that. “Your mom was pretty upset, and she lashed out at me. But she’s worried about your Grandpa, so I understand.”
“You’re not mad at her?” Bobby asked.
“Nope.”
Once inside, Bobby headed for the GameCube controllers that rested on the glass-top coffee table. “Want to play?”
“Sure.”
They sat before the TV screen, but Joe had a hard time focusing on the game. Instead, he kept glancing at Bobby, making sure he was holding up all right.
Okay, so Bobby wasn’t acting like the same happy-go-lucky kid he’d been in the past. But neither was he brooding or overly troubled. At least, it didn’t seem that way to Joe.
Unable to keep his curiosity at bay, he decided to bring up the gloomy artwork. “I hear you drew a picture of you and me.”