Staking His Claim

by Karen Templeton

  "Only if it takes."

  "It will," she said, tugging her shawl more closely around her. "Oh. We're here already?"

  Cal smiled. "Time flies when you're sawing logs."

  "I told you, I wasn't asleep."

  His smile faded, however, as he pulled in front of Ivy's house, cutting the engine. "What if you did find your father? Only he wasn't the kind of man you hoped he'd be. How would you feel?"

  "Cal, the man wanted nothing to do with me. My expectations aren't exactly high, here. Besides, I'm not looking for a father, I'm looking for answers. And why's this suddenly so important to you, anyway?"

  "Hey, you brought it up, cute stuff." And it was probably a safer topic of conversation than the one they were both avoiding. Silence, thick and soft and heavy, filled the truck as they both sat there, watching the snow twirling in the light from the street lamp.

  "So," he said, "Maddie says you and Ivy aren't comin' over for Christmas?"

  Dawn shook her head. "No. We thought we'd celebrate by ourselves. It's been a long time since we've done that. And a long time before we'll get a chance to do it again. Once the baby comes, I mean." A pause. "I'll have Mama drive me out to get the car sometime tomorrow, I guess."

  "Oh. Sure. Maybe we could go see Eli then."

  "There's no reason why we have to visit him together, is there?"

  He looked at her for a long moment, then muttered a cuss word under his breath. "I hope to hell this Jekyll and Hyde number of yours has something to do with you bein' pregnant."

  "What on earth are you talking about? I just said—"

  "It's not what you said, Dawn. It's why you're sayin' it."

  "Great," she muttered. "Leave it to me to find the only male on the planet who reads between the lines."

  "Maybe that's because you leave enough space between them to drive a freakin' convoy through."

  "Cal, we're not really a couple. So I don't see any reason for us to act like one, doing everything together, being with each other at every holiday. Once the baby comes, that's something else. And now you're mad at me."

  "I'm not mad at you," he said, realizing that's exactly what he was. "I just don't understand you, is all."

  She sat quietly for a long time, then said, "That makes two of us, then."

  Cal banged his palm on the steering wheel. "Dammit, Dawn—are you deliberately trying to drive me away?"

  "Is it working?"

  "Hell, no. But honest to God—what do you want? For me to pretend like we never laid eyes on each other? That you're not carrying my kid? That we can't get within twenty feet of each other without settin' off alarms in five counties?"

  "No!" In the odd, pinky light from the snow, he saw her grimace. Then she looked back out the windshield. "That's just it, Cal…I don't want us to pretend anything."

  "You think we were pretending tonight?"

  She didn't answer.

  He laughed. "Honey, if you think for one minute I can be in the same room with you without wanting to touch you, you're crazier than I thought. And that's going some. Take now, for instance." He reached over to brush her hair away from her face, smiling at her involuntary shudder. "My head may be on your words, but my mouth's thinking how much it wants to kiss you. As for other parts of me—" his smile broadened "—let's just say you can forget everything you've heard about men not being able to multitask…."

  "Cal!" She smacked at his hand, then cleared her throat.

  "Could you please be serious?"

  "Trust me, darlin'. I am."

  Her head whipped back around. But she was still in the car, wasn't she? "You don't play fair," she said.

  "Never said I did."

  She mumbled something probably best left indecipherable. Cal propped his elbow on the back of his seat to rest his head on his fist. "You wanna know what I think?"

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "No, as a matter of fact. Now…seems to me if we deny what sure as hell feels to me like a very real attraction, eventually we'll get so we won't be able to stand the sight of each other. All that pent-up frustration, you know."

  That got a sideways glance. "I don't suppose you ever heard of, let's see…what's that word again? Oh, right—control."

  "Sure I've heard of it. Don't have a whole helluva lot of use for it, though." He started fiddling with her hair again. God, he loved her hair. "Especially when it comes to you." When her eyes shot to his, he smiled. "Oh, now, that doesn't mean I'd ever try to force you when you weren't in the mood, I don't mean that. But these feelings are far too powerful to ignore." He gently tugged her hair, like he used to when they were kids. "Aren't they, darlin'?"

  "You should really get going before the snow gets any worse—"

  "Aren't they?"

  She looked down at her hands. But she stayed quiet. She stayed, period. Cal leaned close enough to smell her fear. And her desire, mingling with his. Sweetness to his musk, intoxicating as Ethel's blackberry wine.

  "Wantin' to make love to you's as impossible to resist as breathing," he whispered, trailing one knuckle down her cheek, across her jaw. "Friendship's fine as far as it goes, don't get me wrong. But the two of us living in the same town and not being lovers—"

  She groaned. He grinned.

  "Yeah, you heard me right. Lovers. As in, getting naked and sweaty on a regular basis. Anyway—" he tilted her face to his and stole a kiss "—it seems to me our not doin' that…well, now. That's what seems like pretendin'. Besides—" another kiss "—you need to keep up those exercises."

  A second or two passed before a short, sharp laugh burst from her mouth. "I can do those alone, you know."

  "No doubt. But exercising's a lot more fun when you have a partner."

  She slugged him in the arm and finally got out of the truck, although with about as much grace as a drunk elephant, her head bowed against the now rapidly falling snow as she made her way up the walk.

  Cal lunged across the seat and cranked down the passenger side window, getting a barrage of snow in his face for his efforts. "Well?" he yelled out.

  She turned. "I'll think about it," she said.

  He sang at the top of his lungs all the way home.

  Chapter 11

  "You always come in this early?"

  With a start, Dawn looked up from the real estate contract she was reading over, breaking into a grin at the sight of her boss standing in the doorway.

  "Sherman! I thought you said you weren't coming back until February!"

  Dressed in a navy suit that hadn't been new—or top of the line—twenty years ago, the big man drifted into his office, sinking into the chair in front of his desk. "All that resting about drove me crazy. And Brenda Sue wouldn't let me do a blessed thing. It was either cut my vacation short or lose my mind."

  It occurred to Dawn that maybe losing her mind would be the solution to her problems. Some of them, at least. If her old one were to go missing, maybe she could put in for a nice, uncluttered new one.

  The past three weeks had been challenging, to put it mildly. Jacob had finally agreed to go to his parenting classes, but only if Dawn went with him. And then, every time, he argued with her for a hour afterward about what the instructor had said. Then there was Eli, who hadn't been exactly thrilled with the idea of mucking out stalls. Or, worse, of returning to regular school. Which naturally provoked regular yelling matches between father and son, which Dawn found herself refereeing far more often than she might have liked.

  And then there was Cal. Mr. So-What's-Wrong-with-Naked-and-Sweaty?

  Damned if she knew.

  Okay, so she was a wimp. Because Cal was right. Hoo-boy, was he right. Between the man's powers of persuasion and her double-crossing hormones, she was doomed. Oh, she'd tried staying away from him. She had. Only to discover that despite her best intentions, vicious, insatiable need gnawed at her day and night like some ravenous little beast, sabotaging her sleep even more than the army-booted critter doing calisthenics inside her.

 
; For her health's sake, she told herself, she'd given in.

  Of course, finding the time, and a place, to fool around without anyone knowing—her one nonnegotiable demand—hadn't been easy. Lord, she'd never look at a tack room the same way again. Or that old mattress up in his attic. Thank God Ivy had that midwifery conference in Chicago this weekend—

  "Dawn?"

  Sherman's voice reined her back in. "Sorry. Guess I'm not as awake as I thought. I was going to say, though, that the time away must've done you some good. You look great!"

  "For an old fool, right?"

  "You're not old, and I know you're not a fool. In any case, I refuse to believe it wasn't nice, getting to spend so much time with your daughter. I don't imagine you get to see her all that much these days."

  "No," he said softly. "That's certainly true. But—" he slapped his thighs

  "—I'm glad to be back. And you haven't answered my question. About coming in so early. It's not even eight o'clock, for crying out loud."

  "It's a habit I got into in school. Getting a jump on the day while it's still quiet." Not to mention getting up with the chickens was the only way she could get her work done and still have time to baby-sit the Burkes. "Marybeth tells me you're just as bad," she added.

  Sherman chuckled. "Makes her madder'n hell that she can't ever sneak in late, since I'm always here. Must've fried her clams to find out you were the same way. So fill me in on what's been going on in my absence."

  Twenty minutes and a cup of coffee later, she'd brought Sherman up to date on all the current cases, including her work with the Burkes. Which, as of last week, was in an official capacity as the family's court-appointed attorney.

  "Boy always was on the loose, like a stray dog," Sherman said, slouching back in the chair. "You really think he should stay with Jacob?"

  "Not without intervention, certainly. But I don't think removing him would solve the problem. Especially as they're all each other has."

  Sherman gazed at her steadily for a moment. "Sounds to me like you've got a personal stake in this."

  "I like the kid," she said. "And for some bizarre reason, something about Jacob gets to me." She shrugged. "Nothing more to it than that."

  "I assume you're not neglecting the income-producing cases?"

  "Of course not." One brow lifted. "But I don't take cases based on the size of the checkbook being waved in front of my nose. You got a problem with that?"

  "No," he said on a chuckle. "But I guess that means you're no better at money-grubbing than I am."

  "If I were, I'd be sitting in a spiffy Manhattan office right now. Not here."

  He smiled, then tented his fingers in front of his lips.

  "What?" she said.

  "Oh, nothing. Just tryin' to remember what it felt like to be so idealistic."

  "Please. That was dead and buried by my last year of law school. I might fight to the death to make sure somebody gets as fair a shake as possible, but I'm well aware that reality often sucks." Her mouth flattened. "And that good intentions don't put food on the table."

  Sherman studied her intently from behind his glasses, a half smile playing around his mouth. "When's the hearing?"

  "Next week."

  He set his mug down on the edge of the desk and folded his hands over his stomach. "What the boy did was serious, Dawn. Not to mention dangerous. Maybe gettin' him off the hook's not in his best interest."

  "I have no intention of getting him off the hook. But I think he deserves somebody to help him find the right track, not steer him even further away from it, don't you?"

  Instead of replying, Sherman got up and walked over to the window, hands in pockets as usual. "And Jacob? You think he deserves another chance?"

  "He does love his son," she said. "Even if he doesn't know what to do with him. Speaking of somebody who got off the track somewhere along the way."

  "From what I remember," Sherman said, looking out over Main Street, "he never even came near it. Had an abusive father who wasn't around much, a weak mother who basically let him run wild, too…it's no surprise he wouldn't exactly win any parenting awards. Likable enough kid, as I recall, but not real big on responsibility." He turned, his brow furrowed. "I know you want what's best for both of 'em, but it's Eli you should be most concerned with. Don't forget that."

  "I don't intend to," she said, wondering why she was getting the feeling there was more behind his words than he was letting on. But before she could think any more about it, he'd gone on to another topic.

  "Now," he said, "since I'm back, looks like we need to do something about an office for you. If you're planning on staying for a while, that is."

  Ah, yes. The Question That Refused to Go Away.

  "If you're still okay with taking it month to month, sure."

  Another odd look—this was getting worrisome—then he said, "How about that other office across the hall, the one that looks out over the backyard? Might be better for the baby, if you're planning on bringing him or her to work. Not so noisy. Hasn't been used in years, though, not since Jesse Morris moved to Enid in 1984. Last time I had a partner," he said, more or less to himself, then looked at her. "You can do it up any way you like and send me the bills."

  "Oh, no—"

  "Let me do this, Dawn," he said, adding, when she frowned at him, "As a way of…saying thanks for letting Brenda Sue torment me for the past six weeks. Not to mention I'm not above bribery." He pushed his lips out into something like a pout. "I want you to stay."

  She sighed. "Which I just said I can't promise."

  Sherman dropped into the chair, doing that pensive tenting thing with his fingers again. "So tell me what's goin' on between you and Cal."

  Her laugh sounded tinny in her own ears. "Is this your courtroom technique? Switching the line of questioning every half second to keep the witness off guard?"

  His mouth twitched. "Works like a charm, doesn't it?"

  "Only if there's something to tell."

  "You're forgettin' this is a small town, honey. We don't have to hear news. We can smell it."

  Yeah, well, what everybody could probably smell was the scent of a perpetually horny, pregnant woman who couldn't go for five lousy minutes without aching for a certain man's touch. But no matter how often Cal assured her he was more than okay with things the way they were…

  Dawn looked across the desk at her boss. "Have you ever been torn between what you wanted to do and what you felt you had to do?"

  He looked slightly startled, then said quietly, "More times than I care to admit."

  "How did you make a decision?"

  That got a weighty sigh. "Oh, Lord…I'm not the one to ask this."

  "No, really…say somebody came to you with a case that wasn't cut-and-dried, that you could see where both the defendant and the plaintiff had equally valid points. What would you do?"

  After a second or two, he said, "Analyze the facts as best I understood them, then choose whichever way won't make things worse than they already are." He tapped his index fingers together. "Not much help, am I?"

  Dawn got up, looking out the window as she massaged the base of her spine. If she stayed too long in any one position these days, she started to ossify. "What's weird," she said, almost more to herself than Sherman, "is that I can't ever remember waffling like this. Even as a kid, once I set my mind on something, I simply figured out what I needed to do to and did it. If staying up half the night was the only way to get straight As, and straight As was the only way to get that scholarship, and that scholarship was the only way to get out of here, then that's what I did."

  "Why?" Sherman asked quietly behind her. "Why was it so important to you to succeed?"

  She turned around. "To prove I was more than just Ivy Gardner's bastard," she said softly. "That having 'father unknown' on my birth certificate wasn't a prescription for failure."

  He frowned. "You really think people were judging you that hard?"

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, Sherman�
�there were mothers who wouldn't let me play with their kids, as if my illegitimacy was contagious." She didn't think it prudent to point out that Sherman's own wife was one of them. "Of course," she went on, "these were the same people who were convinced my mother smoked dope, never bathed and probably practiced Satanism. And I don't mean to say everybody felt that way, even then. But still."

  He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Funny how you can live in a place all your life and not see certain things. Things you don't want to see, I guess."

  "If it makes you feel any better, this isn't the same town I left. Or maybe I'm not the same person," she added with a smile. "Not that this—" she gestured toward her belly "—doesn't provoke the occasional raised eyebrow, but attitudes seem much more relaxed than I remember growing up. To a kid who could only hear the one or two kids razzing her, not the ten who weren't, Haven sure didn't seem like much of one back then. Not unless you fit certain prescribed parameters. Everybody else had to earn their acceptance."

  "So you didn't feel you were allowed a single misstep."

  "Something like that."

  "And with Cal?"

  Dawn backed up to perch on the windowsill, her arms crossed over her bulge. "I've only got two facts to work with. That I want to do whatever's best for this baby. And that I don't want to hurt his or her father." She blinked back the stinging sensation behind her eyelids. "But I can't seem to come up with a solution that accomplishes both of those goals."

  "You think your staying won't be in the child's best interests?"

  "No. In Cal's."

  His brows floated up over his glasses. "I see." Then he frowned. "What about what you want?"

  "Oh, Lord, Sherman," she said on a breathy laugh, "if I throw that into the mix, my brain will melt!"

  "An unhappy mama isn't gonna make for a happy child, you know."

  "Yes, I do. But this particular mama's entire belief system has just been shot to hell. It's not only that I can't make a decision, I can't trust the ones I do make—"

  A knock on the door shattered her thoughts. Sherman got up to answer it, slipping out to the waiting room as Charmaine stormed into the office and straight for Dawn, a slash of bilious pink glowing beneath her open car coat.