by Carol Voss
Peter opened his mouth to remind her Clarissa had no right to give the baby away. But Jessie’s vulnerable admission struck an empathetic chord inside him, and he swallowed his words.
Jessie let out a breath. “Do you have family?”
“Family? Why?”
“What’s going on here?” The woman in the graduation audience he’d identified as Mrs. Chandler hustled into the room.
“Nana!” Jake squealed, pointing with delight.
She strode over to the boy, bent and gave him a hug, then turned to Jessie. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Jessie answered curtly.
Peter blinked. Jessie wasn’t even fooling him that she was all right. Did she think she could fool her mother?
Apparently not. Like a mother bear protecting her young, Mrs. Chandler focused distrusting blue eyes on Peter. “Why are you here?”
Even with disapproval written on the older woman’s face, there was no question where her daughters had gotten their Nordic beauty. “I’m sorry to upset you, Mrs. Chandler. I came to Noah’s Crossing to honor Clarissa and to express my deep sympathy to you and your family.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Chandler’s hand fluttered to her throat, but her direct gaze didn’t falter. “Are you his father?”
“Yes, I believe I am.”
Shaking her head as if she had trouble believing him, Mrs. Chandler turned and walked to the stove. She jerked open the oven door and set a big pan on the counter with a thud. “Where were you when Clarissa needed you?”
Might just as well be blunt. “She didn’t tell me she was pregnant.”
“What?” Mrs. Chandler’s head shot up.
“I didn’t know.”
She glared at him as if she could see straight through him. “Dear Father in heaven…” Her lips continuing to move, she bent her head over her work, lifted a huge hunk of meat from the pan to a cutting board, slid a knife from a large holder on the counter and began slicing.
Peter had never seen anybody wield a knife so fast. In light of her obvious distrust, he was relieved she was carving the meat and not him.
The thunk of the knife pausing, Mrs. Chandler nailed him with her gaze. “Why would she not tell you she was pregnant?”
He wouldn’t allow his gaze to shift away. “Well…she knew I’m dedicated to my work.”
Mrs. Chandler heaved a heavy sigh. “Sounds familiar.” Her tone one of resignation, she began slicing meat at the speed of sound again, as if the practical task helped her make sense of things. “You two must have made quite a couple.”
“We weren’t a couple,” he clarified.
Both women’s questioning gazes flew to his face.
“What I mean is…we…were together only once. I…don’t have time for anything but my work.” Face hot, he shut his eyes. And his mouth. There was no way out of the hole he’d dug himself into. He sounded like he’d used and abandoned the daughter and sister these women loved. Only he and Clarissa knew what happened, and no way was he going to try to explain the situation to her mother and sister.
Mrs. Chandler tore a piece of tinfoil off a roll and began wrapping meat in it. “Just what do you want, Dr. Sheridan? What are you doing here?”
“He wants DNA samples from Jake and me,” Jessie explained.
Mrs. Chandler narrowed her eyes. “If you’re so sure you’re his father, why do you need a DNA test? For legal reasons?”
“DNA confirmation will clear up any questions.”
“Don’t let him have samples, Jess. Not without talking to a lawyer first.”
“I won’t. Did you drop Dad off at home?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Chandler exchanged a look with Jessie.
Unfortunately, Peter couldn’t read it.
“I parked the van right out front,” Mrs. Chandler said.
Jessie walked over and lifted Jake out of his play area as if she had a plan. “Let’s take your musical car with us, okay?”
“Yay.” Jake clapped his hands.
“Are you planning to talk to a lawyer?” Peter asked.
“Yes.”
“Great. I’ll follow you. It will save time so I can get on the road sooner.”
“Leave Jake with me.” Mrs. Chandler gave Peter a worried look, clearly wanting to keep him as far away from his son as she could.
“Mom, you and Lisa will have your hands full with the after-graduation crowd. Uncle Harold and Aunt Lou aren’t coming in until later to help with the supper rush.”
The diner sounded like a family affair. Jessie must have a whole army of relatives. After this run-in with her mother, he sure wasn’t eager to meet her extended family.
Jessie strode past Peter. “You can ride with us.”
He’d feel more in control if he drove. “We can take my car.”
“No. Jake’s car seat is in the van,” Jessie said.
Car seat? He’d heard women in the lab discussing which kind was safest. He’d have to do some research before he bought one for his own car. Whoa, aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself, Sheridan?
Mrs. Chandler handed a small package of foil-wrapped meat to Jessie. “Take this home with you.”
Home? Had Peter missed something? He needed to get things straight. “After we stop at the lawyer’s, you will bring me back to pick up my car before you go home, right?”
“We’re not stopping at the lawyer’s.” She gave him a sober look. “I’m taking you home to meet my dad.”
Was she kidding? Why would he want to meet her dad? “Some other time, maybe. It’s important I get the cheek swabs ASAP and start the drive back. I have work waiting for me at the lab.”
Jessie narrowed her eyes. “While you talk to my dad, I will call my lawyer.”
Peter saw flint in her beautiful, crystal-blue gaze. Clearly, she was giving him an ultimatum with no room for compromise. He reached to massage his stiff neck.
“While you’re home, Jess, put your feet up for a while,” her mother directed.
“I won’t have time, Mother,” Jessie answered tensely. “I’ll be back by five. Please call if you need me before then.” Frowning, she disappeared through the curtain dividing the room from the customer area.
Peter stared after her. Why couldn’t she call her lawyer from the diner? And why did she insist he talk to her father?
“You’d better catch her if you want a chance at that DNA sample, Dr. Sheridan,” her mother prodded.
Jessie climbed into the van out of the rain, started the motor and pulled away from the curb, back stiff, white-knuckle grip on the wheel. The windshield wipers clacking back and forth irritated her frayed nerves. But they didn’t hold a candle to the passenger beside her. At least his subtly spicy aftershave wasn’t as overpowering in the intimate space as the man himself was.
The idea of taking him home for a talk with Dad had come to her straight out of the blue. If anybody could make Dr. Sheridan think twice before he leapt into un-charted waters, Dad could. Hadn’t he saved her from making bad decisions more than once?
She’d much rather let Dr. Sheridan follow her in the nifty little sports car he’d pointed out to Jake when they got in the van. But insisting he ride with them was the only way to find out all she could about him and his support system. Because if she, indeed, did have to find a way to compromise as Will advised, she wanted to know just how much.
Looking every bit as uncomfortable as Jessie felt, Dr. Sheridan shifted to peer at Jake in his car seat in the back.
“Car,” Jake squealed.
Dr. Sheridan laughed awkwardly. “I hear it, loud and clear.”
Jessie glanced in the rearview mirror at Jake holding his musical car out to be admired, then turned her attention to her passenger. “I suppose your parents will be glad to hear they have a grandson.” Her voice sounded shrill when she’d only meant to raise it to allow him to hear her over the tinny tune of Jake’s car.
“I think they’ll be happy the Sheridan genes will survive another genera
tion,” he said dryly.
She gave him a serious frown. “You don’t sound as if you know them very well.”
The drugstore bag crackled in his long fingers, his silence answering her.
She pulled to a stop at the intersection and returned waves from people walking home from graduation, umbrellas raised against the rain. She turned to Dr. Sheridan. “Why don’t you know your parents?”
He gave her a sideways glance. “They’re archeologists. They spend most of their time on digs in remote parts of the world.”
“Interesting.” And a relief. It didn’t sound like he’d get much help or support from them, did it? She accelerated.
He stretched his long legs out in front of him until he ran out of room.
She jerked her gaze back to the road in front of them.
“Any chance Jake’s car has a volume control?” he asked. “Those nonsensical rhymes just began a painful third rotation.”
Were the good doctor’s nerves a tad on the frazzled side, too? And unused to children’s toys? “I don’t want him to hear the tension in our voices.”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“You would have if you knew anything about kids.”
His lips quirked. “No doubt.”
She drew in a momentary breath of victory. But it was too soon to gloat. She still didn’t know much about his situation or who he depended on for support. “Did you travel with your parents when you were young?”
“No.”
Her little fishing expedition would take forever if all she got from him were one-syllable answers. Drawing herself a little taller, she took a left and fired off another question. “Who did you stay with?”
“I lived in boarding schools,” he said matter-of-factly.
She looked at him sharply. Boarding schools? The poor man. “You grew up in boarding schools?” She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.
He stared out the windshield. “The best boarding schools in the country.”
As if that made it easier for him to be away from his family? “Did your parents sometimes take you with them?”
He glanced her way. “Why the third degree?”
She recognized avoidance when she heard it. “Did they?”
He dragged in a breath and let it out. “There’s not much for a kid to do in the middle of the Sahara desert for months on end. And they wanted me educated by the best schools available to better prepare me to contribute to mankind.”
His parents sacrificed him to science? How could they do that? “You must have been lonely growing up with strangers.”
He shrugged as if loneliness was no big deal. “My studies were challenging. There was plenty to do. Swimming, tennis, golf, horses, you name it. I didn’t have time to be lonely.”
He expected her to believe that? “Did you go home often?”
He frowned at her.
“Did you?” She sat straighter. “Go home often?”
“When holidays didn’t conflict with digs.” His tone was flat, uninterested.
Jessie swallowed, unable to comprehend the lonely, disconnected childhood he must have lived. “What about when you were very little? Before boarding school?”
“I had nannies.”
Jessie shook her head. How did a child function and grow without his parents and relatives to guide him? How did he learn to love himself or others if he didn’t have people who loved him show him how? How would he love Jake? “I have a hard time imagining growing up like that. I’m related to half of Noah’s Crossing.”
“Lucky you.”
She glanced at his serious face and somehow wanted to make him feel better. “I’m sure you’ve made your parents proud.”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
Too quietly. He’d had such a lonely, awful childhood, Jessie’s heart ached for him. But was his childhood the reason he wanted his son? Even if he had no time for him?
He didn’t have a wife. No girlfriend either if he’d been honest about not having time for relationships. But he must have somebody besides his absent parents. Somebody he was counting on for help. “You said you don’t have time for relationships, but you must have somebody.”
He raised a well-shaped eyebrow. “Why are you so interested?”
“Because of Jake, of course.”
“You need somebody to vouch that I won’t be a bad influence on the boy? Is that it?”
“Do you have anybody who would do that?”
Jaw clenching, he settled back in his seat and focused out the windshield again. “Scott and Karen Kenyon.”
“Friends?”
“He was my college professor and has been my friend and mentor ever since. Is that a long enough relationship for you?” He sounded a tad irritated.
Maybe she was finally getting somewhere. “Have you called to tell them about Jake?”
“Not yet.”
“Do they have children?”
“They’d make great parents, but kids aren’t in the cards for them,” he said sadly.
She couldn’t help empathizing with them. But a jolt of fear chased away her empathy. Did he want his friends to raise Jake? “They can’t have children?”
“They have enough on their plates without kids to worry about.”
This wasn’t adding up. If his friends didn’t have time for children, he couldn’t count on them to help him with Jake, could he? “I don’t understand.”
He rubbed his chin. “Scott was diagnosed with ALS—you probably know it as Lou Gehrig’s disease—almost two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Neurological diseases are my specialty.” He crumpled the bag in his hands. “I never dreamed the battle would become personal.” No mistaking the passion in his voice now.
How could she not admire his dedication to his friend? She couldn’t imagine the pressure he must feel to save him. “How is he doing?”
“The disease is taking its toll. But we’ve developed a promising experimental drug. We’re hoping it will help Scott.”
She glanced at him. “I’ll pray for you and your friend.”
His eyes rounded, then narrowed as if he didn’t know how to respond.
“You don’t believe in prayer?” she asked.
He dropped his gaze. “I believe in research.”
Jessie focused on the wet road again. “It seems to me research and prayer would go hand in hand.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you’re looking for answers to heal people. Who better to ask for help than the Great Healer?” She could feel him studying her.
“I never thought about it that way,” he said.
She wanted to tell him maybe he should. After all, the idea of life without prayer was as foreign to her as life without family.
“Does God hear your prayers, Jessie?” he asked softly.
She bit her lip. “I honestly don’t know anymore.” Because if He did, Peter Sheridan wouldn’t be here threatening to take Jake away.
Chapter Four
The rain had stopped by the time Peter peered uneasily up the gravel drive to the small Cape Cod where Jessie’s dad waited. Fumbling to unhook his seatbelt, he turned to watch Jessie make a game of unfastening Jake from his car seat, her movements gentle and caring. In spite of her distrust of Peter, there was such a warmth about her, especially when she interacted with Jake.
Could he ever be the kind of parent who showed his son he cared with every move? Given his lack of a role model, he didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t even know if he had it in him to love his son.
Jessie’s questions about his family, or lack of one, were legitimate concerns. If Scott and Karen hadn’t taken him under their protective wings in college, he’d have no one. With his lack in the relationship department, how would he be able to relate to a little boy?
Then there was his research, a demanding taskmaster that took everything he had to give. He lived it, breathed it. He’d focused on ALS research as a
result of Scott’s diagnosis. And as Scott’s condition worsened, too many nights Peter slept on the cot in his office rather than making the drive downtown to his dingy, furnished apartment. Even when he had to be away from the lab, he was thinking, planning, solving problems related to his research.
Fine by him. Without his dedication, the experimental drug wouldn’t be ready for testing. The drug that could be Scott’s last chance.
Drugstore bag in hand, he climbed out of the van.
Jessie lifted Jake out of his seat and pushed the door shut. “You ready to meet my dad, Dr. Sheridan?”
“Sure.” A lie. He doubted her father would take too kindly to the man who got his daughter pregnant and hadn’t taken responsibility for her or the baby. Never mind that she hadn’t bothered to tell him. Maybe Peter could hold his own with that fact. “Please call me Peter.”
“Peter,” she repeated, as if trying it out.
He liked the way his name sounded coming from her lips. “What’s your father like?”
“He’s a straight shooter. Protective. A great dad. And he loves Jake.”
Peter heard love and pride in her voice, along with challenge. “Glad you’re not in my shoes?”
She shot him a look that might pass for sympathetic.
Oh well. If talking to her father was the price to pay for a couple cheek swabs, bring him on. With fresh rain making the earth smell new again, Peter followed Jessie up the driveway into a backyard exuberant with flowering bushes and plants. A child’s swing set filled the corner under a tree. The whine of a small motor came from a covered patio running the length of the house and outfitted as an outdoor living area. A muscular, weathered man sat at a workbench, using an electric sander on a long board. Had to be Jessie’s father. “Your dad looks busy.”
“He builds custom furniture in his free time. He has a shop in the garage.”
“Papa!” Jake squealed.
Mr. Chandler switched off the sander and rose to Peter’s height. “Hey, Jake. How you doing, little buddy?”
Jessie walked over to her dad.
Mr. Chandler bent and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Your mother called. Said you were on your way.”
The understanding passing between father and daughter hit Peter like a blow. So much said with just a look. The same understanding Jessie and her mother had shared. Communication real families enjoyed. He couldn’t imagine communicating with his son like that.