Family Ever After

by Margaret Daley

  “Are you Marcus Palermo?” she asked, her hand protective on the boy’s shoulder.

  “That would be me.”

  “Then we need to talk.” She squatted to look the boy in the eye. “Sit and don’t move.”

  “By myself?” For the first time the little guy looked unsure. And Marcus had to admit to getting his hackles up when a kid looked unhappy.

  “By himself?” he echoed. The question earned him an answering look from the female. She straightened and met his gaze head-on, those blue eyes once again penetrating him. He didn’t like feeling as if he was five and about to get in trouble.

  He also didn’t like the fact that his gaze landed on cherry-glossed lips that were far from smiling, yet were still cherry. As if that bright gloss was the only frivolous thing she allowed herself.

  “He’ll be fine,” she answered. “We’re going to head to the barn and talk for a few minutes. I’ll be able to see him from there. Correct?”

  “Sure thing,” Marcus whispered.

  “Do you ever talk loud?” the boy asked, looking up at him from the spot where she’d told him to sit. He had a small car, and as he stared at Marcus he pushed the car through the dirt.

  “No, I don’t.” Marcus walked off, leading the horse behind him. He heard the gate creak on its hinges and the footsteps hurrying to catch up.

  He entered the side door to the barn and she followed him.

  “Say what it is you came here to say.” He ground the words out. He didn’t mean to sound gruff, but it couldn’t be helped. Added to that, something about this woman put him off-kilter. And not in a totally bad way.

  He gave her another long look and saw the wary shift of her gaze from his face to the door. She had bad news. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach.

  She stood by the door, watching first the boy and then him.

  “My name is Lissa Hart. Sammy Lawson was my sister. Well, foster sister.”

  Sammy. He unsaddled the horse and led the animal to a stall to be dealt with later. He wouldn’t put a horse out to pasture without giving it a good brushing and grain. Even a horse that had tossed him in the dirt.

  It had been about six years since he’d seen Sammy. The mention of her had taken him back to a time and place, a version of himself, he’d rather forget. He needed a minute to collect his thoughts so he made sure the horse had plenty of hay and fresh water. Finally, he turned to face Lissa Hart.

  “Sammy? I haven’t heard from her in a long time.”

  Pain sparked in her eyes and she blinked a few times. “Marcus, Sammy passed away. A little over a year ago. I thought you would have heard.”

  He walked away from her. Now he needed more than a minute. His heart constricted, reminding him he did indeed have one. Sammy gone. It didn’t make sense. The two of them had dated for a few months until she broke it off with him. He hadn’t loved her, but he had cared for her. They’d been a bad fit, in different places, rubbing each other wrong. She, like so many women in his life, had wanted more than a broken-down, dysfunctional bull rider with an alcohol problem.

  It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Emotions in check, he faced her again. "What happened?"

  "She had an accident. Her injuries were serious. I made it to the hospital but…"

  She closed her eyes and he understood.

  “I’m sorry,” he said more softly than normal, and his eyes misted with unwelcome dampness. “I tried to call her after she ended it with me. She let me know she didn’t want me around.”

  “She had ideas about what she wanted in life.”

  “And it wasn’t a rough bull rider from Bluebonnet Springs, Texas.” He couldn’t keep the resentment from his voice.

  “She told me she was afraid together you’d be combustible and you’d self-destruct. She needed peace.”

  “Yeah, I get that. That brings us to why you’re here, and then you can leave.” He got the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t going to go that way.

  She swallowed hard, and he felt a pang of something resembling guilt or regret. She’d lost someone she considered a sister. Sammy had been young and so full of life. She’d had dreams. And now she was gone. He muttered under his breath and wiped his eyes. Contrary to how he was acting, he wasn’t heartless.

  “I’m here because she wanted me to find you.”

  “Find me why?” He took a step toward her and then changed direction so that he could look out the door, needing to check for himself that the boy was okay.

  “He’s your son.” The words sprang from her lips, and for a minute he couldn’t make sense of them.

  The boy sat where they’d left him. He was making motor noises for his car and intent on building a ramp. Marcus watched him for a moment and then turned to face the woman who had just upended his entire world.

  “No.” He said it again. “No. She would have told me.”

  “She knew you weren’t ready to settle down or ready for a family. She wanted to protect him the way she hadn’t been protected as a child.”

  “Then why are you here now?”

  “Because I promised.” Her words were soft, sad. She shrugged. “She had heard you were changing, getting your act together."

  "That doesn’t explain anything."

  Her gaze dropped, but not before he saw the sheen of moisture. "I was with her at the hospital, and she told me to find you and if you had your life together, then I should bring Oliver to meet you.

  "You waited a year."

  "I had to find you. I also had to keep my promise that I would make sure you had changed."

  “You waited a year,” he repeated, more angry than he’d been in a long time.

  “I won’t let anyone or anything hurt Oliver,” she informed him. “And you haven’t exactly been a model citizen.”

  That wasn’t untrue. He gave her a steady look and wondered if she would back down. She didn’t. He gave her points for that—most people didn’t hold up under the glare he’d perfected since childhood.

  “The kid is out there alone. You should go get him. And you should leave.”

  “The kid has a name. His name is Oliver and he’s your son.”

  His son. He gave his head a quick shake. He had a son. The kid out there that had looked up at him with a mixture of fear, awe and concern was his. And he was the last person that boy needed in his life.

  Lissa cleared her throat, gaining his attention.

  “We have to finish this. And just because you go all angry cowboy on me doesn’t mean I’m leaving. Sammy had a will. She gave me custody of Oliver. She wanted you in your son’s life. But she had stipulations.”

  “I’m not good at ultimatums.”

  One shoulder lifted in a casual shrug. “I told her you wouldn’t be happy about this.”

  She walked back to the door of the barn and peeked out.

  “I think saying I’m not happy is an understatement. She kept my son from me. I’ll admit I’m not looking to have a family, but I think a man should know when he has a child. At the very least, I should have been helping out, supporting him.” A light came on as those words left his mouth. “Oh. Is that why you’re here?”

  “For money?” In her defense she looked pretty insulted. “I don’t need your money. I brought Oliver to meet you because Sammy had some misguided notion that you would maybe grow up. I guess you told her often enough while you were dating that you didn’t plan on being a husband or a father, but she thought you might change your mind.”

  He grabbed a brush out of the bucket and opened the stall door. The horse moved to his side, and he snapped a lead rope on the halter and led the animal to the cross ties in the center of the barn. He needed something to focus on, something other than the obvious. He was a father. The role he least wanted in life was now his.

  He pretended it was anger he felt, but a good dose of fear got mixed up in the emotion. Fear of failing a child. Fear of being his like his own father.

  “I’m not responsible. I doubt
I ever will be. So I guess you ought to take the kid and go.” If he acted as if he didn’t care, maybe she would believe him and leave. Maybe she would take the boy and give him a chance at a happier, healthier life than either Sammy or Marcus had known growing up.

  “Go where?” the boy asked from the open door of the barn.

  Marcus stroked the brush down the gelding’s neck. Once. Twice. Three times. With each stroke of the brush he took a deep breath. And then he eased around to face the little boy. Oliver. His son.

  Because of his own father, he recognized himself in that little boy. He saw a kid who was unsure. He saw fear. He saw uncertainty. He had been that kid. And now he was the dad. He hadn’t planned on being a parent, because he’d never wanted to see that look in a kid’s eyes.

  His attention shifted from the boy to the aunt. She didn’t believe in him. The fact that he cared what she thought was his third surprise of the day and none of those surprises had really been pleasant.

  * * *

  Lissa Hart held out her hand and Oliver hurried to her side. His small hand tucked into hers and she gave it a gentle squeeze. She didn’t know what else to say to Marcus Palermo. While she certainly hadn’t expected this to be easy, she found it even harder than she’d imagined.

  Something about this man made her uneasy. Not afraid. She didn’t think he would hurt Oliver. He seemed rough and unfeeling, but she’d seen something in his expression, in the depths of his dark eyes, that told her he felt plenty.

  Sammy had fancied herself in love with Marcus, but she’d ended the relationship because he was too broken, too angry to be the kind of person she could count on. Still, her sister had wanted him to heal, and she’d wanted him to have a chance with his son.

  He’d stopped brushing the horse and he focused on Oliver, his dark gaze studying the little boy, a miniature version of himself. His mouth twitched, as if he might have found humor in something. The movement drew her attention to the jagged scar across his left cheek. That scar did nothing to detract from his looks. His too-long hair curling at his collar gave him a youthful appearance. But the firm jawline, the not-quite smile on his lips—those belonged to a man. A man who had lived a hard life and seen a lot of pain.

  He shifted his focus from Oliver to her, and one brow arched in what could only be a challenge. She didn’t flinch or look away. Neither did he, but then he dismissed her and returned his attention to Oliver. He squatted, holding out the brush.

  “Do you want to brush him before you leave?” he asked quietly.

  Oliver nodded because he was a little boy and of course he wanted to stand by this cowboy and brush the horse. He looked up at Lissa, seeking permission. He didn’t know yet that this man was his father. She hadn’t known how to tell him, and she hadn’t wanted him to be disappointed. The odds had been good that Marcus would reject his child or not be able to be a parent to him, and her main goal was to protect Oliver. Sammy had entrusted her with his care.

  With Marcus watching, Lissa let go of Oliver’s hand and the boy slipped away from her. Her heart clenched in agony as she realized this might be the beginning of losing the child she loved so very much.

  Oliver took the brush and Marcus lifted him, telling him to run the brush down the horse’s neck.

  “Put pressure on it,” he said, in that gruff whisper of a voice, “or it tickles and horses don’t like to be tickled.” Oliver grinned at that and pushed the brush down the horse’s neck.

  Marcus continued to hold Oliver. He spoke quietly to his son, words that Lissa couldn’t hear.

  Tempted as she was to move closer, she stood there, waiting. He seemed content to ignore her and focus on Oliver. The two looked like father and son, dark heads together as Oliver leaned close to hug the horse.

  “I think we can turn him out to pasture,” Marcus said as he returned Oliver to the ground.

  “And we should finish our discussion,” she inserted.

  “There’s an old tire swing,” Marcus told Oliver. “Want to try it out?”

  “Is it safe?” Lissa asked.

  “It’s safe.” Leading the horse to the door at the rear of the barn, he opened it and turned the horse loose. He stood there a moment, a dark silhouette against the sun, as the horse trotted a short distance away and then dropped to roll on the ground. A cloud of dust billowed around the big horse as he stood and shook like a dog. Next to her, Oliver laughed at the sight.

  Marcus once again faced them, his expression still and composed. He held out a hand to Oliver. “Let’s go check out that swing.”

  Lissa followed them outside into bright May sunshine. The house that lay a short distance from the barn was an older farmhouse, two stories with a long front porch. Beyond the house was a creek, the waters sparkling and clear.

  The homestead looked a bit run-down, with faded siding, patched sections on the roof and a board over one window. It could have been any house she’d known growing up in poor neighborhoods, but instead it seemed peaceful. Maybe it was the location, with the stream, the rosebushes that had taken over and the green fields in the distance.

  Thinking about the house pulled her back to her own troubled past, to the abuse with her drug-addicted mother. Life before foster care and the Simms family. She and Sammy had lived their teen years with Tom and Jane Simms.

  “It took me a while to find you.” She told him as they walked in the direction of a big tree with limbs that stretched out like an umbrella shading the yard of the old house.

  “That’s the whole idea, being hard to find.”

  He helped Oliver onto the swing and gave it a push. “We’re going to sit on the porch. You’ll be okay here.”

  Oliver grinned big. “It’s fun here.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He gave the boy one last look and headed for the house.

  He didn’t turn back to see if she followed. Lissa tried not to let that hurt. She wasn’t here for herself. But it mattered, whether or not he was good and if he was caring. Oliver needed a real father, someone to look up to. Someone who would be there for him.

  She stepped onto the front porch and glanced around. It needed paint and a few boards had to be repaired. There were chairs and an old dog sleeping in a worn-out dog bed. The animal lifted his head to give them a once-over.

  “Lucky isn’t much of a guard dog,” Marcus told her as he pointed to a chair. “He’s been following me around the country for the past ten years. He’s half-deaf and nearly blind.”

  Lissa thought the dog was a piece of the puzzle that was Marcus Palermo. The black-and-brown hound dog fixed soulful eyes on his master and then her. They must not have appeared too interesting because he yawned and fell back to sleep

  “Why is his name Lucky?”

  “He got hit by a car when he was a puppy. I found him on the side of the road and nursed him back to health and he’s been Lucky ever since,” Marcus explained as he sat on the edge of the porch. “About the boy. Are you dumping him here, like he’s a stray. Or do you want money?”

  “He is not a stray. He’s a little boy and I love him. I’m here to see if you’re ready to be a part of his life.”

  “You make it sound like I was given a choice and rejected him.”

  “Sammy gave me the job of making sure you are ready to be a dad.”

  “Make sure I’m ready?” A cold thread of anger sharpened the words. He was no longer the easygoing cowboy he’d been moments ago. When she looked up, his gaze was on her, as glacial as his words.

  “Sammy didn’t know if you would want to be a father. She also didn’t know if you would be able.”

  “I see. I guess I do have more negatives than positives. Bad-tempered, dysfunctional and a recovering drunk. Not much hope in all of that.”

  “She loved her son and wanted him safe.” Lissa didn’t add that she wanted Oliver safe. She wanted to protect him and make sure his future was secure.

  “So you think I should have to jump through your hoops in order to be his dad? Because the way
I see it, I could just take you to court.”

  She knew that but on hearing him say it, emotion rolled through her, settling in the pit of her stomach and making her heart ache. Her gaze settled on Oliver as he worked to keep the swing moving.

  “It would be unfair to Oliver to do this without taking time to allow him to get to know you. To bond with you. I need to know that you’re responsible and that you’ll be a good dad.”

  “You need to make sure I’m not my father,” he said without animosity, as if he was removed from the situation with his father, a known cult leader.

  “Okay. Yes. And I do have legal custody.”

  “I’m going to be honest here. I don’t think you should leave him with me.” He glanced her way and then his attention turned to Oliver. “He seems like a good kid. Anyone in their right mind would want him. I know you want him. And, well, I don’t want to mess that little boy up. He’s already had it rough. Why make things worse for him?”

  “Because he’s yours,” she pointed out. “Because he deserves to know he has a father?”

  “No everyone knows how to be a father. Some people don’t deserve the title.”

  Marcus watched as the little boy got off the swing, gave it a push and then struggled to climb back on the moving tire. The dog suddenly took interest in his surroundings and the visitors. He stood, shook from head to toe and trotted off the porch and across the yard to Oliver.

  The rangy old dog, some type of coon dog she guessed, obviously held more appeal than the swing. Oliver jumped, rolled across the ground and then giggled as the animal licked his face.

  “Lucky, enough.” Marcus whistled. The dog stopped licking, but he didn’t return to the porch. Instead, he plopped on his belly and stretched out next to his new friend.

  “You should give yourself a chance.” She found herself uttering the last words she’d wanted to say to him.

  He scoffed. “No, I don’t think so. Give myself a chance to what? Mess that kid up? He’s happy. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Don’t you want him to know that you’re his dad?”