Whispers Under a Southern Sky

by Joanne Rock

  Her night in his bed had been far more satisfying than her teenage self could have ever imagined.

  “When you brought him here, we agreed I could have him for six weeks.” The tone of Sam’s voice brought her upright. Stern and unyielding.

  Nothing like the lover who’d whispered tender encouragement to her when she’d woken him with kisses a few hours ago, wanting him all over again.

  “I didn’t know that I would miss him so much.” The woman’s tearful voice prompted Amy’s memory then.

  She’d heard that same voice on Sam’s phone the day before. Aiden’s mother, Cynthia, was here. At Sam’s house.

  Sliding out of bed, Amy searched for clothes even as she told herself not to get involved. It wasn’t her place; this was Sam’s business. But the tone of the conversation worried her. She remembered how resentful Sam had felt toward Cynthia yesterday. But if Aiden’s mother was truly suffering from postpartum depression, how unfair would it be for him to send her away?

  All Amy’s deprived maternal instincts flared to life as she slid into her leggings. Fastened her bra hooks.

  Dropped her dress over her head.

  Sam’s voice rumbled something low, and Amy hoped it was something reassuring. As Aiden’s father, he would have the boy’s best interests in mind. She trusted that absolutely.

  So when she found herself opening the bedroom door, it wasn’t to interfere. It was only to extend...

  Forcing herself to stop in the middle of the hallway, she waited for that thought to finish itself.

  She wanted to offer some kind of empathy toward the woman who—according to Sam—had abandoned her own baby. Where the hell was that need coming from? Normally she ran headlong from getting too involved in other people’s affairs.

  Pivoting on her bare feet, she retreated to the bedroom. A floorboard creaked beneath her step.

  “Amy?” Sam called to her from the front room.

  She cursed herself for leaving his bed.

  “Yes?” She didn’t move.

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He didn’t sound happy about it. Because he didn’t want Cynthia in his house?

  Or because Amy couldn’t mind her own business?

  At least she’d put her clothes on. It would have been awkward to meet the mother of his child while wrapped in a sheet.

  Make that more awkward.

  She stepped into the front room, taking in a pale brunette dressed in sweats and a T-shirt with an olive-colored army surplus coat over it all. Cynthia clutched a yellow stuffed bunny under her arm, the head squished like she’d forgotten about it. This woman wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

  But before she could take the thought further, Sam nodded curtly.

  “Amy, this is Aiden’s mother. Cynthia.” Sam offered the woman a seat as he made the introductions. “I’ll get Aiden, but he’s not leaving the house.”

  “Of course.” The woman shuffled her boots along the welcome mat before she darted into the spot Sam indicated. “I just want to hold him for a few minutes,” she explained while Amy took a seat on the couch nearby.

  “Do you live in the area?” Amy asked, hoping it sounded like friendly conversation and not like she was gathering intel on a rival woman in Sam’s life.

  Although perhaps, in all honesty, it was a bit of both.

  “I live in Franklin.” Cynthia went to tuck her hair behind her ear, and, as she moved, the stuffed bunny fell to the couch. She righted the animal and set it on the wooden coffee table. The sleek, polished surface of the hickory was a nice balance for the rough exterior shape of the wooden plank.

  The piece gave her an idea for the rafters in the loft room she wanted to build in the hunting cabin. She tucked it away for later.

  But it was easier to think about her renovation project than about what to say to Sam’s former girlfriend.

  Cynthia shot to her feet at the sound of Sam’s footsteps in the hallway. He held Aiden in his strong arms, the boy tucked securely against his father’s wide chest.

  Amy’s breath caught in her throat just seeing him. She wondered vaguely if Cynthia felt the same. She knew they’d only shared a fling but still—they now shared this baby and a whole life she’d never be a part of. That stung more than it should have.

  Yet the woman’s eyes seemed to be all for her son. Their son. Seeing the three of them together—however briefly—Amy couldn’t help but wonder if Sam would be trying to work things out with the mother of his child if not for her presence in his life.

  Was she a distraction when he needed to focus on family?

  “I’ll make his bottle if you’d like to feed him while I get ready for work.” Sam handed over the baby as Aiden started to fuss. Amy followed him into the kitchen to leave the new mother with her child.

  “Sam.” She kept her voice low while he moved around the island to flip on the bottle warmer. “I should go.”

  “No. You shouldn’t.” He wore the same basic clothes as he had the day before. Not a uniform, per se, but the black pants and gray shirt had a generic look about them, even if he happened to be fiercely handsome no matter what he wore. “We haven’t even gotten to talk this morning.”

  The long look he gave her heated her skin.

  Until she remembered the woman in his front room. A woman suffering from postpartum depression, separated from her child and at a truly vulnerable point in her life.

  “We can talk later. Cynthia drove all this way to see you and Aiden—”

  “She’s here for her son. Not for me.” His tone rumbled a hint of anger before he raised his voice to be heard in the next room. “Cynthia, would you explain to my friend why I’m so sure you’re not here to rekindle some old flame between us?”

  Amy stiffened. “That’s unnecessary.”

  “I think it’s very necessary.” He heated the bottle in the warmer.

  Cynthia stepped into the kitchen, holding Aiden on her shoulder, her cheek tipped to the baby’s down-covered head. She’d removed her coat and tossed a cloth over one shoulder to protect her T-shirt.

  She looked comfortable with her child in her arms and younger somehow. Less unsure of herself.

  “Sam and I had a one-night stand,” she explained quietly, her blue eyes locking on Amy’s. “He didn’t know I was still married at the time.”

  “Whoa.” Amy dropped into a bar stool. Had she said that out loud?

  No wonder Sam was having difficulty sharing parenthood.

  Wordlessly, Sam passed the warmed bottle to Cynthia, his jaw flexing before he retreated to the coffeemaker to start a fresh pot.

  Cynthia repositioned her baby and settled into the cushioned banquette built around a corner of the table in the breakfast nook.

  “The night I met Sam, I thought my marriage was over. My husband had sent me the divorce papers, and I signed them.” She focused on the baby while he ate greedily, readjusting the blanket when he kicked a foot free. “I drove into Nashville and went out as a mental farewell to my old life. I found Sam.”

  Amy wondered what Sam had thought that night. Had he hoped for a relationship with her? Had he known it was only temporary? She’d be willing to bet they’d met at her brother’s bar. Finleys’ was a popular night spot, and when people from Heartache went into Nashville, they often stopped there since both Mack and the Finley name were well-known.

  “The next morning,” Cynthia continued, “I freaked out about the divorce. I realized how much my husband and I were throwing away. We’d been having trouble conceiving, and it had put a tremendous strain on our marriage. But was that any reason to toss it all in the trash?” She looked to Amy, telling the story for her benefit and seeming to relive some of the emotions as she did.

  And no wonder. It hadn’t happened all that long ago.

&n
bsp; “So you tried to work it out with your husband?” she guessed as the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. She was beginning to understand why it had taken the woman months to let Sam know he was a father.

  “Yes. We agreed to try again.” Even as the woman stared down at Aiden, Amy could see a tear on her pale cheek before she swiped it away. “And when I found out I was pregnant, there was a minute where I thought—I hoped—” She clamped her lips together, trying to hold back the rest. When she looked up again, her voice was stronger. “I kept right on hoping. All through the pregnancy I told myself that it was safer for the baby not to get a paternity test anyhow since I wouldn’t have wanted anything invasive no matter how minimal the risk.”

  Amy’s heart ached for the emotional turmoil Cynthia must have gone through. True, none of this had been fair to Sam. But she certainly understood Cynthia’s dilemma. Especially if she’d already been under the strain of infertility and marriage problems. The struggle with depression might have started well before she’d given birth.

  Those were battles that Amy understood after growing up with a bipolar mother. Sometimes the causes for an episode were wound up in things that happened weeks before a breakdown. Strange that it was easier to empathize with this total stranger than it was with her own mother.

  “So you waited until after Aiden was born to get a paternity test.” Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw Sam checking his phone.

  Because there was news at work? Or to tune out of a conversation that aggravated him? She hoped for Aiden’s sake that Sam would make an effort to forgive Cynthia.

  “Yes. I’d told my husband about Sam earlier in the pregnancy and he said he could forgive me—if the child proved to be his.” She readjusted the baby to her other arm as the feeding slowed down. “But when the results of the test came back...he moved out the next day.”

  “Cynthia, I appreciate your being honest about what happened.” Sam interrupted before Amy could respond. He set his phone aside and filled an insulated travel cup with coffee from the machine. “I don’t mean to cut this short, but I have to take Aiden to my mother’s house before I go to work. We both agreed that Aiden couldn’t stay with you until you’re feeling more stable.”

  “I understand.” The woman brushed a kiss along Aiden’s forehead. “I’m so happy I got to see him. Thank you, Sam.” She seemed to remember Amy was there, too. Looking up, she gave her a small smile. “Nice meeting you, Amy.”

  “You, too.” She moved to take the baby from the other woman as Cynthia slid carefully out of the banquette seat. “Good luck with everything.”

  “Thank you.” Her blue eyes darted over to Sam, but he didn’t echo the sentiment. “I appreciate it.”

  Sam walked her to the door while Amy patted Aiden’s back and wiped a milky smile with the bib he wore. The infant stared up at her with blue eyes that probably wouldn’t stay blue—there was a gray-brown muddiness around the edges.

  No matter the circumstances of his birth, at least his mother and father both seemed to appreciate that he was a beautiful gift. A tiny miracle.

  One she’d been denied in that painful miscarriage.

  And, oh yes, she could identify with how infertility might rip a woman’s heart apart. But she also saw it from the other side of how much it must have hurt Sam to lose those months of pregnancy. To miss ultrasounds and the birth, the precious first days, memories he would never have with his child. God, this was tearing her apart inside from all angles. She needed space. Fast.

  “Amy?” Sam’s voice startled her. “You okay?”

  She hadn’t heard him return. Hastily, she handed Aiden over to him, not getting too close.

  “I’m sorry.” Sniffling, she realized she’d been close to tears just thinking about the baby she’d lost. “I really do have to get going.”

  “I could drive you home.” He reached for her, stroking a hand along her hair as she shuffled back another step.

  “That’s okay. I’ve got so much to do. I’m going to fall behind.” She found her purse where she’d dropped it the night before.

  She’d been ready to deal with the morning-after feelings she might have for Sam. She hadn’t been at all ready to face morning-after feelings about his complicated new role as a father.

  Or his adorable son.

  “I’ll call you later.” He gestured to the coffee mug on the counter. “You want a cup to go?”

  “No, thank you.” Not wanting to end the visit on an awkward note, she stepped closer. Kissed his cheek. “I don’t mean to rush out.”

  “Cynthia’s story is a lot to take in.” It was the least adversarial comment he’d made about her yet.

  Still, Amy wondered if they could work out a future together. Didn’t they deserve a chance to at least try? Sam had said in no uncertain terms that no one could take a mother’s place. His loss of his own mom had devastated him. He wouldn’t let the same thing happen to his son. Maybe, with a little more time to forgive Cynthia for keeping Aiden a secret, Sam would be ready to reconsider a future for the three of them—Cynthia, Aiden and Sam. A family.

  Even thinking about it hurt.

  “I’m not leaving because of that.” She was leaving before she fell in love with his son.

  “Good.” He moved to set Aiden in the baby swing. “Then we’ll talk later to set up a time for you to come into the station. Give a formal statement about what happened to you.”

  She almost tripped over her feet on the trek to the door.

  Turning, she stared back at him while he gathered his keys and his wallet.

  “What statement?”

  “What you told me last night. Your testimony against Jeremy Covington. We can get it recorded and submitted for evidence today along with Faith Wilkerson’s.”

  Oh crap.

  He thought she was going to tell her story publicly.

  Because he was one of those people who identified a clear line between right and wrong. And he assumed everyone else saw that line in the same way he did.

  At that moment, she understood Cynthia’s decision to keep a lid on her pregnancy for as long as possible. Amy wished she could keep a lid on her news, too.

  But she wouldn’t hurt Sam that way.

  Not when her refusal was already going to upset him.

  “I’m sorry, Sam.” She took a deep breath and hoped he would understand. Knew that he wouldn’t. “When I confided in you last night, that was just between us.”

  His coffee mug hit the counter with a thud.

  “Excuse me?” His voice was deep.

  She wished she had better news for him.

  “I’m not ready to give a statement about what happened that night.” She watched his face fall for an instant before it hardened in resolute lines.

  “Even if it would help your sister? Even if it would increase Covington’s jail time and keep a public menace behind bars?” He tilted his head slightly as he studied her, as if her decision would make more sense to him if he viewed it from another angle.

  But there was more at stake here than just his case.

  Her new sense of self-worth was fragile. A shell she needed to protect until she was stronger. Until she made peace with her family and with her past.

  “I can’t, Sam.” Shaking her head, she wished their night together had ended on a different note. “I’m not ready to do that yet.”

  She half expected him to stalk after her and demand answers about when she would be ready.

  But he didn’t say a word as she walked out the door. He just let her leave, his disappointment ringing in her ears louder than any parting argument.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “OF ALL THE foster kids I met in my years in the system, you are the last guy I would have pegged to go into the party-planning business.” Clayt
on Travers’s voice boomed through Sam’s truck later that morning, delivered in stereo thanks to Bluetooth.

  His former foster brother’s call wasn’t exactly unexpected since Sam had sent out the first round of electronic invitations for the Hastings’ foster family reunion. But he had a world of other things on his mind after being with Amy.

  He’d thought they’d really connected last night. Turned a corner in their relationship. He’d awoken twice during the night with her arms around him and her hands roaming...

  Hell. It had been damned amazing. But apparently sleeping together had been more about exorcising demons for her than about any deeper bond with Sam. Yet he’d let himself read into it. Made assumptions about it. But no matter what he’d thought, she had no intention of letting him use her story to build his case.

  “Catch you at a bad time?” The disembodied voice filled Sam’s truck again, forcing him back to the present.

  “Definitely not.” Sam appreciated the call, in fact. “I’m on my way to work but I’ve got an eight-week-old son and I’ve clocked about ten minutes of sleep in the last two weeks. My reaction time has suffered, to say the least.”

  On the other end, Clayton chuckled. “Well, congratulations are in order, then. Is that why you decided to have a family reunion now? Introduce the little guy to all your sketchy relatives?”

  Sam had forgotten how easygoing his old roommate could be. He steered the truck out of Heartache to a motel past the town line. Tiffany McCord had given the place as her address when she got out on bail, so he hoped to find her there.

  “Hardly. I would have given my kid a free pass on that for a few more years, but aside from celebrating Mom’s birthday, I’m also trying to talk to some of the residents who lived here when Gabriella Chance was in high school.” Covington’s trial was in three weeks. If there was more evidence out there, he needed to find it fast.

  Sticking to the road that ran along the Harpeth River, Sam drove under a canopy of oaks with bright yellow foliage—a sign of the season. Fallen leaves swirled in the breeze as he passed the turn for a popular fishing spot.