by Joan Wolf
And against Boston! he fumed to himself as he squinted into the sunlight on the field. I couldn't even get the damn ball over the plate! What the hell is the matter with me?
Daniel knew the answer to his own question. He was meeting after the game with the private investigator he had hired to dig up information about Kate Foley, and he couldn't seem to keep his mind from straying to that future conversation.
I have a son. Every time he said those words to himself, sheer joy bubbled in his chest and stomach. After two years of thinking it would never be possible ... he had a son. It was like a miracle.
On the field the batter hit a line drive down the left field line. The third baseman, who was playing on the line, snagged it, and the inning was over.
Daniel stood up and shook the hand of the pitcher who had relieved him and saved his chance for his twentieth win. Wins had seemed of the utmost importance to him just a few days ago. He was in a contest to win the Cy Young Award for best pitcher in the American League, and the more wins he rang up, the better his chances of getting the trophy over Boston's ace. Daniel had won it twice, and Boston's pitcher had won it twice, and Daniel wanted to be the one who went to three.
But that was a few days ago. Now all he wanted was to go down to the clubhouse, change into street clothes, and go home so he could meet with the private investigator. He was stuck, however, because of the significance of this possible win.
Twenty-two minutes later, the game was over and the scoreboard flashed the news that this was Daniel Montero's twentieth win. The crown went wild, and he had to step out of the dugout and tip his cap. Then his teammates were giving him high fives, and slapping his back, and looking so genuinely pleased for him that he felt guilty that he could not be more wholehearted in his response.
Finally, the team went down to the clubhouse, and Daniel steeled himself to be polite to the reporters who were already gathered around his locker, which was marked by a brass plate bearing his name. He had been born into a privileged Colombian family, and his mother had instilled in him from early childhood the necessity of courtesy to those beings less fortunate than himself.
"Did it make you mad to have to come out?" the reporter for the Daily News said as Daniel approached.
Daniel flashed his famous grin. "Not at all, Felipe. You know how much I appreciate Mike's help in the middle of an inning."
Everyone laughed, and a television reporter asked the next question. It was a full hour before Daniel was able to extricate himself from the clubhouse and get into his car to drive home.
Alberto met him in the hallway of his house in Greenwich, and said, "He's in your office."
Daniel did not want his secretary and his father's old friend to see his face when he was talking to the private investigator. Alberto saw too much sometimes, and there were some feelings a man wanted to keep private. "If you don't mind, I'll handle this alone, Alberto," he said.
"Of course."
Daniel walked quietly to his office door, inhaled deeply, and pushed the door open. The man inside got to his feet as he came in. "Congratulations," Joseph Murphy said. "Twenty wins. That's terrific."
Daniel held out his hand. "Thank you."
The two men shook, and Daniel looked into shrewd blue eyes that were on a level with his own. The other man's thick six-foot-two-inch frame carried considerably more weight than he did, however.
"Won't you please sit down," Daniel said.
Murphy resumed his seat in the leather armchair, and Daniel went to sit in the chair in front of his desk. He swiveled around to face Murphy, and said, "So, tell me what you have found out."
"There isn't a whole lot to tell," the detective replied. "Katharine Foley lives a quiet, structured life. She has custody of her sister's child ..."
Daniel's heart leaped with hope. "Custody? I was under the impression that there was a legal adoption involved."
"There is."
Damn. Daniel's heart settled down. A legal adoption would make matters more difficult for him.
The detective went on, "The sister died in a car crash when Ben—that's the kid—was only six months old. Katharine adopted him, but she and her mother have raised him together. As far as I can discover, there's been no sign of a boyfriend since she took on the boy." Murphy lifted an ironic eyebrow. "She's not exactly a hot number, Mr. Montero."
That was good news. He did not want his son being raised by a hot number.
"How does she support him?" he asked.
The detective settled his burly frame more comfortably in his chair. "She teaches riding, and she buys and sells horses."
He stared incredulously. 'And she makes money at this?" His father bred Andalusian horses in Colombia, and in Daniel's experience, horses were money-losers, not moneymakers.
"She didn't when she first started the business, but she does now. Her mother's a schoolteacher, and she supported them for the first few years, until the business turned around. Now the business pays its own bills, with enough left over to live on."
"She must be a genius, to make money on horses," Daniel said with genuine wonder.
'Apparently she's a pretty smart businesswoman," Murphy agreed. "You said you wanted a report on her finances, so I got you a copy of her last tax statement." For the first time he opened the briefcase on his lap, took out a paper, and passed it to Daniel.
The number that Daniel saw typed under net income was decent. It was not in the same stratosphere as his income, of course, but it was enough money for a woman and a child to live on. Daniel frowned as he put the tax statement on his desk.
"Horses are a lot of work," he commented. "Where is Ben while this Katharine is working?"
"You asked me to find that out, and I did. When Ben was a baby, Katharine took care of him while her mother was at school. She did the stable work and teaching when her mother was at home. Now that Ben's in school, she has more time for the business, which is one of the reasons it's been making more money."
"What grade is Ben in?"
"He just started second grade."
Second grade. Daniel shut his eyes. I have missed so much time.
A little silence fell.
Murphy said, "I have a picture of the boy if you would like to see it."
If I would like to see it? "Yes," he said, his voice not quite as steady as he would have liked. "I would like to see it."
Once more the detective opened his briefcase. "It's only a newspaper photo. It appeared in the local rag last year. Apparently Ben's first-grade class went pumpkin picking, and the paper carried the story." He handed over a photocopy of the newspaper article. "You can see why they chose Ben for the picture. He's a good-looking kid."
Daniel stared down at the photograph and into a pair of huge, long-lashed brown eyes. It was like looking at a picture of himself when he was seven. Ben's dark hair was styled in the cut that Daniel had seen on the sons of his friends, but the face was the same.
Shaken, he looked up to meet the eyes of Joseph Murphy. "He looks very much like you," the detective said softly.
"Yes." Daniel inhaled and blew out slowly though his nose. "I have only just learned of his existence."
Murphy nodded, his blue eyes speculative. "He appears to be a perfectly normal, happy little boy. Katharine has done a good job with him."
Daniel nodded. "If I can prove that he is mine, can I claim the legal rights of a father?"
Murphy said, "You'll have to consult a lawyer, but I'm sure the court would award you visitation rights."
Visitation rights. The words sounded so cold. What he wanted to do was scoop his son up in his arms and never let him go.
"Have you met Katharine yourself?" he asked the detective.
"Yes. I stopped by the farm pretending to be looking for a place to board my horse. She's a beautiful woman. It's hard to believe she doesn't have a boyfriend, but apparently she doesn't date. She runs the stable and takes care of Ben."
Daniel spoke to the detective for fifteen more
minutes, but the salient information had been delivered. Then he wrote Murphy a check.
The detective said hesitantly, "Usually I don't pester my famous clients, but would you mind giving me your autograph? My son is a Little League pitcher, and he idolizes you."
Daniel smiled. "Of course I will give you an autograph. I even have a picture I can sign for you."
Murphy's eyes lit. "That would be great."
Daniel pulled open several of his desk drawers. "Let me see, I think I saw some in here the other day . . . Yes, here it is." He took out a photo of himself in his Yankee uniform, signed it, and handed it to the detective. Then he courteously walked Murphy to the door and let him out to collect his Camry, which was parked on the circular graveled drive.
After Murphy had driven off, Daniel went along to the family room, where he knew he would find Alberto. He heard the sounds of a familiar voice as he approached the door and entered into the room to the notes of Luciano Pavarotti finishing up an aria from La Bohbne.
"The Three Tenors again?" he said teasingly as he walked to one of the comfortable cushioned sofas placed at right angles to the stone fireplace.
Alberto got up from his seat between the speakers and went to turn the CD off. "So?" he said, as he sat across from Daniel on the matching sofa. "The news is good. I can see that in your face."
"Here is a picture of the boy." Daniel reached forward, the photocopy of Ben's picture in his hand.
Alberto took it and studied it for a moment in silence. "Lockwood was right. The boy is yours. You looked just like this when you were his age." He looked up from the picture and smiled. "Daniel, I am so glad."
Daniel's return smile was radiant. "So am I."
"After that terrible news two years ago, to find that you already had a son—it is like a miracle."
Daniel remembered vividly his emotions when the doctor had told him that his bout with mumps had probably left him unable to father a child. It was one of the reasons he was still single at the age of twenty-nine. How could he ask a woman to marry him when he could not give her a child?
"Your mother and father will be ecstatic," Alberto said.
Daniel leaned forward. "I've been thinking about this, and I want him to live with me, Alberto. I want shared custody. I don't want to be just a weekend father."
Alberto looked grave. "I understand your feelings, Daniel, but what will his mother have to say to that?"
"She's not his mother, she's his aunt. I'm his father. Surely the court would give heavy consideration to my claim."
"Daniel, think before you take this case to court." The gravity that was always present in Alberto's brown eyes was even more pronounced than usual. "The welfare of the child must be your prime consideration. It will not be good for him to be the center of a contested custody case."
Daniel stared at the floor and didn't reply.
"If you go in armed with lawyers, you will make an enemy of the mother. It would be far better to make her a friend, far better for her to willingly let you be a part of the boy's life than to throw a lawsuit at her. After all, she is a single mother. She cannot have had an easy time of it. She may be glad to have the help of a man in raising her son."
"I don't want to be a weekend father," Daniel repeated.
"Perhaps she will even agree to shared custody, but not if you threaten her, Daniel."
Daniel's eyes glittered. "I didn't say anything about threatening her, Alberto!"
"You spoke of lawyers. In America, that is always a threat."
After a moment, Daniel said with resignation, "True."
"I am certain that everything will work out happily, Daniel. I am only trying to suggest that you give it time. Get to know the mother. Get to know the boy. You are a very persuasive man. Rely on yourself, not on the lawyers."
Daniel nodded. "All right," he said soberly.
Alberto stood up. "And now, if you don't mind, I am going to put on some more music."
"Something happy," Daniel said. "I don't want to hear about Mimi's frozen hand again."
"How about Beethoven's Ninth?"
"Excellent."
Alberto went to change the CD.
* * *
3
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Kate waved good-bye to the school bus that was taking Ben away, then she and Cyrus went to the barn. She had already been there earlier to feed the horses and turn them out.
The woman who helped her muck out stalls in return for riding time for her children had just come in. "Morning, Diane," Kate said, as she went to tack up Shane, her own horse, for a riding session. The radio was set, as usual, to the local National Public Radio station, and classical music filled the barn as Kate bridled and saddled her horse.
She was never happier than when she was riding, and her session with Shane went very well. After she had turned him out, she tacked up two clients' horses to ride and school, then, at ten-thirty, she taught a lesson to a client from Darien, a woman who had been showing her horse in Amateur Owner jumper classes this season. The horse was a nervous Thoroughbred, which Kate had been training as well. However, the chestnut, which went around quite calmly for Kate, was still unreliable for his owner to ride.
I should never have bought a hot Thoroughbred for Nancy, she thought. Her hands are just too heavy.
When the session was over, she spoke to the owner about changing horses. "Sometimes a particular horse-rider combination just doesn't work out. It's not your fault, it's not his fault, it's just one of those things."
"I just feel so stupid that I can't ride him," the client said with frustration. "He's wonderful for you!"
"You're an excellent rider, Nancy, but to be honest, he requires an extraordinary amount of tact. I'm beginning to think he needs a professional ride. I wonder if Adam Saunders might like him."
"You mean the eventer?"
"Yes."
"You mean he might buy Aladdin?"
"He might be interested. Should I give him a call?"
"Then I'd have to look for another horse."
"We'll get you something a little calmer this time. I know of a nice Hanoverian that's coming up for sale."
"Well. . . maybe that's a good idea, Kate. I'm getting awfully sick of careening around out of control."
"It's a little harrowing to watch you, I must admit."
"Okay. Why don't you get in touch with Adam Saunders then and see if he's interested?"
"I'll do that," Kate promised.
Nancy went home, and Kate cleaned and refilled all the water buckets, then she moved the privately owned horses from the four single-horse paddocks back into the barn and put out the second group of privately owned horses. Next she taught a beginner lesson, after which she went to the house for lunch and to make some phone calls about another horse she was hoping to sell. Then it was back down to the barn to finish mucking out stalls, to clean the bathroom and to bring her own horses in from the two fields where they had enjoyed an all-day turnout.
At three-fifteen, she and Cyrus were at the front of the drive to meet the school bus. After Ben had had his snack, she took him down to the riding ring with her. Her mother was going to go grocery shopping after school and would collect him when she got home.
Four riders were warming up in the outdoor ring, which was enclosed by a post-and-rail fence. Kate paused for a moment to savor the picture presented by the four velvet-helmeted girls and their glossy horses outlined against the blue September sky.
How lucky I am to be able to work at what I love, she thought.
"Can I ride my bike, Mommy?" Ben asked.
Kate frowned. She fought a constant battle between her heart's need to keep Ben safe and her understanding that she had to give him room to breathe. "All right, but stay off the driveway, Ben. People will be coming in for the next lesson, and you can be hard to see. Ride in front of the house."
"Okay," her son promised blithely, and went off toward the old stone barn, which was now used as a storage facility
. Kate watched him for a moment, then shook her head as if to clear it and turned her attention to her students.
Daniel Montero parked in front of the house fifteen minutes after Kate had started her lesson. When the doorbell drew no response, he decided to walk in the direction of the clear, crisp, feminine voice that was coming from the direction of the riding ring he had passed on his way in. As he was crossing the driveway, a boy on a small two-wheeler bike came flying toward him. Daniel held up his hand and the child skidded to a stop. With his heart hammering so hard he could scarcely think, Daniel looked at the vivid, dark-haired boy who was his son. He managed to say, "Perhaps you can help me. I am looking for Katharine Foley."
"That's my mom," the child replied. "She's at the riding ring. She's teaching a lesson, though. You'll have to wait if you want to talk to her."
"That's okay." Daniel seemed to have forgotten to breathe and forced himself to inhale. "I don't mind waiting."
"Would you like to watch me ride my bike?" The child's dark eyes were bright and fearless as he regarded Daniel.
"I would love to watch you ride your bike," Daniel replied.
The child—his son—cocked his head and regarded him curiously "Do you know you look like Daniel Mon-tero? My friend Connor has his baseball card."
"Do I?" Suddenly, Daniel was frightened. What would he do if his son was a Red Sox fan? Before he could allow himself to contemplate the awfulness of this possibility, he asked, "Do you like the Yankees?"
The big brown eyes sparkled. "I love the Yankees. I went to a game this year for Connor's birthday. Connor's my best friend, and his dad took us to see the Yankees play in Yankee Stadium. In the Bronx."
Daniel breathed a fervent, Thank God. "I hope they won."
"They did." Ben, who had been standing with his bike, now hopped on and rode around in a circle in front of Daniel. As he rode, he said, "Connor's dad bought us both Bernie Williams shirts. Isn't that cool?"
It broke his heart that his son had to rely on another boy's father for treats. Not anymore, he vowed silently.
"Very cool," he agreed.
"Do you like the way I'm riding?"