Staking His Claim

by Karen Templeton

  Huddled inside one of her mother's ponchos, Dawn stood at the edge of the bungalow's small front porch, shivering in the firesmoke-tainted October night air, but not only from the cold. Stars twinkled calmly against the black sky; dried leaves scurried down the street, much the same way as Cal's parting words did through her brain.

  The instant she'd caught sight of him in the airport, she'd known she was in trouble. Big trouble. With all the fixings. That look on his face, the compassion and tenderness and understanding in his eyes…

  Damn him.

  Her vulnerability last summer was nothing compared with her vulnerability now. Oh, she'd rally, she knew that. She'd figure out this whole mess and land on her feet, just as her mother said. But to be honest, right now the only place she wanted to land was in Cal's arms.

  Which is exactly what she'd done in the airport, inhaling that scent that both stirred and soothed, cherishing, for those few moments, his genuineness. But the thing was, see, she knew all that lovely compassion and understanding was just part of who Cal was. Not that there was anything wrong with that, unless one started thinking in terms of More.

  Because thinking in terms of More with Cal was just plain silly. Whatever affection there might be between them, she was still who she was, he was still who he was. If anything, they were less alike now than ever, simply because they'd led very different lives for so long. Which was the part he didn't get. Not that his "if you think I'm gonna settle for just friendship" rant wasn't a nice ego boost, but for heaven's sake…it wasn't as if she could take that seriously.

  She didn't dare.

  Dear God—making a baby was nothing to what would happen if she gave even a smidgen of credence to this…fantasy, that they could ever be a real couple. The nice thing about fantasies, though, was that you could control the outcome. As opposed to reality, which you couldn't.

  So. They could be friends. Buddies. Like they used to be before hormones upset the apple cart.

  And if it killed her, things would stay that way. Because if they didn't, she might start believing in the fantasy herself.

  Which wouldn't be fair to anybody.

  * * *

  Counting on the unlikelihood of Delia McNally's baby making an appearance anytime too soon, Ivy pulled into the Git-n-Go parking lot, right next to the pay phone outside the door. A second later she'd plunked in her quarter and dialed the number she'd known by heart for nearly thirty years, even though she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she'd actually used it.

  He answered on the first ring. Ivy identified herself, then said, "Just thought you'd like to know…she's asking about you. And I think it's high time we all move on, don't you?"

  * * *

  "Ohmigod, is it really you?"

  At the familiar voice, Dawn whirled around, letting out a whoop of joy for the tiny, very pregnant blonde with a headful of wild curls and a grocery cart filled with more kids than food.

  "Ohmigod, is right! Faith Andrews! Get your fanny over here and give me a hug!" Faith had been her only real girlfriend in Haven, the only classmate other than Cal who, if she'd thought Dawn was weird for wanting to go off to New York, at least had had the decency to keep her opinion to herself.

  A week after her return—a week during which Cal had been blessedly too busy to pester her—Dawn's mood, while not exactly bubbly, had at least leveled off to okay. Or she would be, at any rate. Now, as the Saturday-morning Homeland crowd looked on, her old girlfriend engulfed Dawn in the same Vanilla-Fields-scented hug she remembered from high school.

  "Your mama told me you were back in town!" Faith said with a laugh as she let Dawn go. She parked one hand on her hip underneath an oversize sweater to accommodate her swollen middle, the other one hanging on to a towheaded toddler determined to climb out of the cart. "Something about takin' a break between jobs?"

  Dawn's eyes zinged to her friend's as she realized she'd been gawking at the bulge and the kids, trying to wrap her head around somehow connecting that with her. It hit her that nobody could tell yet she was pregnant, especially since she favored loose clothes, anyway. If she wanted to, she could probably keep her condition a secret for a good two months yet. But what would be the point? "Yes, something like that. My God," she said with a too-bright smile, "look at you with all these little people!"

  "Mama!" a girl-child shrieked from the cart. Six, maybe. Yellow curls, blue eyes like her mother's. "Jake won't stop hittin' on me!"

  "That's hittin' you, sugar. Hittin' on you's something else. Jake, quit messin' with your sister."

  "She stole my Tootsie Roll pop!" This from the only boy in the group, light-brown buzzcut, freckles, maybe four or so, making short work of a box of vanilla wafers, which Faith took from him only to realize she had no place to put it except back in the cart.

  "Crystal, did you take Jake's Tootsie Roll pop?"

  "Only 'cause he licked mine! Yuck!"

  "But it's not yucky if you eat the one he was licking anyway?"

  That seemed to stump the child for a second. Dawn stood there, half fascinated, half horrified, while Faith sorted it all out by giving Jake Crystal's pop—the one he'd contaminated—hauled a container of Wet Wipes from her purse to clean the littlest one's hands, all the while keeping one ear out for the story the boy suddenly decided he needed to tell, right now. When the child paused to take a breath—which Dawn had begun to think would never happen—Faith's gaze bounced back to hers.

  "Now. You were saying?"

  Dawn cleared her throat and just spit it out. "You're not the only one who's having a baby."

  Faith's jaw dropped. The littlest one let out a howl, making her mother jump a foot before hauling the little overalled body out of the cart and up into her arms, arranging assorted wriggling limbs around her unborn child.

  "Ohmigod…are you serious?"

  Dawn pushed back her open jacket and smoothed out her sweater over her tummy. Faith shook her head, then said, "I thought I'd heard you were engaged—"

  "We broke up. It's not his."

  "Oh." Faith smoothed the baby's flyaway hair off her forehead. "Do I say 'congratulations' or 'oh, dear'?"

  Dawn looked pointedly at her friend's burgeoning belly. "How about…these things happen?"

  Faith made a face. "To some of us, over and over again." Her expression turned serious. "But not to you. You were always so…I don't know. Together—"

  "Ma-ma!"

  "Listen," the blonde said on a sigh, "I figure I've got maybe ten minutes before these twerps spontaneously combust, so I better get a move on. But how about you come over for lunch one day next week when most of 'em are in school? And since I'm obviously due before you are, I can probably pass on some of the newborn sleepers and stuff, since they outgrow those so fast—"

  A shriek only marginally softer than a car alarm sounded from the cart.

  "Okay, okay…I'm gone," Faith said, whirling the cart around. "But I'll call you, okay?"

  Dawn watched cart and kids and friend vanish in a blur, then turned back to her own shopping. Ivy'd given her a list a mile long, full of fruits and veggies and whole-grain thises and thats, which Dawn dutifully piled into the cart along with a few items of her own choosing. As she rounded the corner into the canned goods, though, movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention—Elijah Burke, looking over the car magazines in the display at the end of the aisle, a hand basket at his feet filled with microwave dinners and soft drinks. Dawn watched as he fingered the magazines, then lifted one out to flip through it. A second later he casually rolled it up and slipped it into the pouch on his hooded sweatshirt, then picked up the basket, heading in her direction.

  "Elijah, hi!" she said, equally casually, as she pushed her cart in front of him. At his startled expression, she said, "You don't remember me, do you? Dawn Gardner? Cal Logan and I gave you a ride back to your place, oh, about a month ago or so. How're you doing?"

  "Uh, fine. I'm sorry, I gotta get back—"

&n
bsp; He tried to push around her cart, but she angled it so he couldn't. "How'd you get here? It's a long way from your house to here."

  "My bike." He swallowed; twin dots of color bloomed in his pale cheeks. "And I really gotta go—"

  "If you can wait until I check out, I could give you a ride. I brought my mother's truck, so we could chuck your bike in the bed—"

  "Uh, thanks, but that's okay…"

  Dawn slipped one arm around his shoulders and whispered, "You know, if you're planning on making stealing a career, I strongly suggest you rethink your goals. Because—" she reached over and tugged the magazine out of his sweatshirt pouch "—you really suck at it. And don't you dare try to run away," she added, tightening her grip on his shoulders, "or I'll tell."

  She could see his pulse hammering at the base of his throat, his eyes wide and dark and not nearly as mutinous as he probably thought they were.

  "What makes you think I wasn't gonna pay for it?"

  "What makes you think I'm stupid? Come on," she said, letting go of him to push her cart again. "And put the magazine in with my things."

  "What're you doing?" he said, trotting along beside her, probably too stunned by her actions to question his own.

  She glanced over at the food in his basket. "You got milk at home? Fruit? Juices?"

  "I just got what Daddy told me to. I don't have money for anything else."

  "That why you took the magazine, too? Because you didn't have the money?"

  "I said—"

  "I know what you said. Well?"

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the skinny shoulders hitch.

  "How about we make a deal?" she said.

  "What kind of deal?"

  "I'll buy you the magazine, and a few things to round out what you've got in that basket, then I'll give you a ride home. In return, you can maybe come over later today or tomorrow and help us with some yard work. We've got more leaves to rake than you can shake a stick at."

  Dawn suddenly realized she was talking to herself. Thinking the kid had bolted after all, she turned to see him standing in the middle of the aisle, looking at her as if she'd sprouted wings. "What?" she said.

  "How come you're bein' so nice to me?"

  "Because I like challenges. So did you hear what I said?"

  "Yeah, I heard."

  "Well?"

  He seemed to mull things over for a minute, then said, "You think maybe we could get some of that string cheese, too?"

  "Only if you promise me your sticky fingers days are over."

  Elijah grinned. "Cross my heart."

  Dawn turned her head so he wouldn't see her roll her eyes.

  * * *

  Ivy's battle-ax of a truck was missing when Cal pulled up in front of her house on Sunday afternoon, but that godawful GTO wasn't. From the side of the house he heard voices—Dawn's and what sounded like a kid's.

  His boots crunched through a thick layer of sweet-smelling fallen mulberry leaves as he walked around the house. He found Dawn and Elijah in the backyard, both in gray hooded sweatshirts and jeans and covered with bits of leaves. Her hair pulled back in a single braid, her cheeks flushed, Dawn was holding open one big black plastic bag, gently fussing at the boy as he scooped great mounds of leaves into it. She seemed to be having a pretty good time; Elijah most certainly did not.

  Not exactly the kind of image one usually associated with a kick to the libido, but there it was.

  "You can't tell me all these leaves come off that one puny old tree!" the kid said, glowering up at the fifty-foot tree looming over the house.

  "Haven't you ever noticed how the mulberries drop all their leaves at once," she said, "soon as we have a frost?"

  "No," the boy said, clearly unimpressed, as he dumped the next batch of leaves into the bag. She laughed, the sound as rich and warm as fresh-brewed coffee, and Cal simply stood there, taking it in, taking her in, trying to imagine her with her own kid a few years down the road—

  "Cal! What on earth are you doing here?"

  He snapped out of the Land of What Might Be and grinned.

  "I brought you something," he said, which got a raised eyebrow as he added, "Hey, Eli. She got you working?"

  "Slave labor, more like," the boy said, his mouth turned down at the corners. "I've been here for like hours—"

  "He's been here since one," Dawn said to Cal, her eyes bright. "And half that time was spent eating."

  "Was not!"

  "Was, too. Now why don't you go around back and finish getting those leaves into piles?"

  "C'n I get a drink of water first?"

  "Yes. And I know exactly how much money I've got in my purse, so don't go getting any bright ideas about making an unauthorized withdrawal."

  The kid looked more annoyed than stricken, but he dumped the rake with a clatter and tromped around to the back door.

  "I caught him trying to shoplift again," she said softly after he left. "At the Homeland this time."

  "Damn. He get caught?"

  "Only by me."

  "So what is this?" Cal said, gently tugging her braid because he was gonna pop if he didn't touch her. "Blackmail?"

  She laughed. "Not exactly. More like a tradeoff. I bought him the magazine he was trying to snitch, as well as some decent food—Lord, Cal, you should've seen what he had in his basket, it was pitiful—in exchange for his help around the house. Of course, once the yard's clean, there won't be anything else I can have him do. But it's a start."

  "I don't know, Dawn…aiding and abetting a criminal…"

  "He's a little kid," she said, suddenly serious. "A kid who I get the feeling isn't having much of a childhood—"

  "Hey, hey…I was just yanking your chain, honey. Relax." When she grunted, he said, "I hate to tell you this, but you are dangerous when you're not gainfully employed. I still think you need to go talk to Sherman Mosely, I bet he'd be only too happy to have you come work for him."

  But she was shaking her head, her mouth set in that stubborn line he'd dreaded since they were kids. "After what I just went through, I'm in no hurry to see the inside of another law office anytime too soon. Oh, don't give me that look, I'll figure something out, okay? In the meantime—" she nodded toward the house, indicating Elijah "—I've got a pet project that's keeping me occupied just fine. And why're you grinning like that?"

  "Just thinking how easily you got your accent back."

  "You got a death wish or what?" she said over his laughter. But she was smiling at least, one of those smiles that makes a man feel real good. "So. What'd you bring me?"

  Against his better judgment, he reached for her hand. "Come on."

  She let him lead her back to the truck, where he flipped down the tailgate with a clatter. "I just refinished it a few days ago, so it might still be a little tacky to the touch. I hope you like it." Realizing she hadn't made a single sound, he turned to her. "Dawn?"

  She looked like she was in shock. Good shock or bad shock, though, he couldn't tell. Her arms had been folded tightly across her middle; now she stretched one hand out to stroke trembling fingers across the cradle's hood.

  "Oh, Cal," she said on a long, soft breath, and his heart turned over in his chest. "It's beautiful. You made this?"

  "No. Daddy made it for us. Well, for Hank. But we all used it. We have to get a new mattress for it, the old one's pretty well shot…honey?" She'd brought her hand up to her mouth and was just standing there, shaking her head. "Hey…what is it?" he asked, slipping his arm around her shoulders, fully expecting her to pull away. Instead, she melted against his side, as if giving over her burden to him, even if only for a few seconds.

  "This…just makes it so real," she finally said, her temple barely an inch from his mouth, her scent igniting a pleasant little glow in his belly. "In less than six months, there's going to be a baby lying in there…oh, God. I need to sit down."

  He led her over to what passed for a porch on Ivy's little house, where she sank cross-legged on the single s
tep. "You want me to get you some water or something?"

  "No, no…I'm okay. Well, not okay, but…"

  She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't let him into whatever was going on inside that confounded brain of hers. And it irked him, frankly, since, dammit, she wasn't the only one staring unexpected parenthood in the face, here.

  "How about I bring the cradle into the house?" he said stiffly, then stomped off to do just that.

  She was on her feet again when he came back up the walk with the cradle, wordlessly holding open the door so he could get it inside.

  "Where do you want it?"

  "Cal? Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine. Well?"

  He caught her look of concern and confusion before she said, "Um…I don't know yet—" The back door slammed closed. Elijah going back outside, he guessed. "How about right here for the moment?" She pointed at the bound beige carpet remnant in the middle of the living room floor. Once he'd set it down, they both stood there, staring at the thing like it might blow up on them or something. Since the tension was likely to kill him, he decided to change the subject.

  "Ivy around?" he asked,

  "What? Oh, no. She's over at Ryan's and Maddie's. Why?"

  "I started asking around a little. About your father."

  "Oh. Who?"

  "Frank, for one. He said he didn't know anything. But he acted kinda peculiar, like maybe he knew more than he was telling. Then again, that might not mean anything at all, since Frank tends to act peculiar, anyway. And getting more peculiar the older he gets."

  Dawn laughed a little, then squatted down by the cradle, running her palm over the edge. "You know, if you had an ounce of compassion, you'd let him retire."

  "Uh-huh. I asked him if he wanted to retire five years ago and he acted like I'd suggested he cut off a limb. Only thing keeping him alive is working on the farm. Although even he has to admit he can't keep up like he used to…"

  "What about Ethel?"

  Cal frowned. "I think the world of Ethel, but I don't think she'd be much good at fixing fences—"

  "No, goof," Dawn said on a laugh, some of the tension seeming to leave her muscles. "I meant, would Ethel maybe know something about my father?"

  "Already asked her. Dead end there, too. But we can keep trying. Somebody's bound to know something."