The cameraman leaned over the low fence, aiming his enormous camera. The blonde had started into her garden, picking her way gingerly on the stepping stones. “Ms. Malone, please talk to us about—”
“You’re trespassing,” Lucy said icily. “If you don’t get off my property, I’ll call 911.” She still had her cell phone in her hand and flipped it open.
The blonde hastily retreated.
She was still calling questions after Lucy when she reached the house and let herself in.
“Oh, Lucy!” Sierra flung herself into her arms. “We didn’t know what to do.”
Terry was hovering behind her. She flinched as the doorbell rang. “They keep trying. Sierra started to open the door the first time the doorbell rang, so they know she’s here.”
Lucy was determined not to let either her mother or Sierra suspect how shaken she was. “We’ll ignore them,” she said firmly. “I told the fake blonde back there that if she trespasses, I’ll call 911. I’m going to stick my head out in front and tell anyone there the same thing. At least that should get them off the porch.”
Before her nerve could give out, she marched straight through the house, flung open the front door and found herself facing a different reporter and cameraman as well as what she guessed was a print reporter, all on her walkway or porch.
“You need to get off my property,” she said. “Now. I’ll call the police if you don’t. I have nothing else to say.” She slammed the door and fell against it. She could see her mom and Sierra clinging together in the hall, well away from windows. We’re under assault, she thought in disbelief.
This was what Jon had feared all along. She hadn’t imagined his relationship to Sierra or herself being anywhere near this newsworthy. His opponent must have whipped up this little frenzy with an implication of real scandal.
But they weren’t asking about her mom. Which meant they didn’t know about her yet. Or didn’t know he had dated Lucy? The questions the blonde had called after her all had to do with Sierra.
Her existence alone might be scandalous enough to derail his campaign, though. Captain Black-and-White, Law-and-Order, had been tracked down by an unknown daughter. Sperm donor didn’t sound good. Deadbeat Dad sounded worse.
Hand shaking, she opened her cell phone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JON WAS SHRUGGING ON his suit jacket in preparation for leaving the office when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the number, which was unfamiliar, and thought of not answering, but what was the point? He’d only have to call someone back. He had half an hour to spare; the drive to the restaurant where he was speaking to the Jaycees was a short one.
He lifted the phone. “Brenner.”
“Captain Brenner, this is Richard Anderson with KCRN TV News. Would you care to comment on a report that you have a daughter living in foster care rather than in your home?”
His luck had finally run out. Meantime, another call was coming in. Another reporter…? No, Lucy’s number, he saw. He couldn’t switch over.
With calm he didn’t feel, he said, “I had intended to make an announcement when she was ready. Please don’t try to speak to her.”
“We’re outside the home where she lives right now. She did come to the door earlier but wouldn’t answer questions.”
“Stay away from her,” he snapped, and ended the call.
Lucy had given up, or had been switched to voice mail. He hit the lights in his office and hustled for the elevator. That son of a bitch Rinnert. So much for feeling grudging respect that Rinnert wasn’t going to try to sling this kind of mud.
The elevator was crowded. He wedged his way in anyway, and turned his back on the other occupants. The doors took their time closing; the elevator jerked. He stared at the numbers above the door, willing them to change faster. Impatience prickled like an electric charge, raising the hairs on his body.
Was Lucy with Sierra? Please don’t let her be alone.
He had to step aside and let people out on two levels of the parking garage before the elevator reached his floor. He kept himself to a walk now, not wanting to draw attention, but not wasting any time, either. Once in his SUV, he had to wait to back out while a pickup across from him inched out from a too-small spot. His tension climbed. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel.
It was one of those drives when every light seemed to turn against him. His phone kept ringing. Numbers he didn’t know. Reporters. Somewhere along the way it occurred to him that he would be late to his speaking engagement. In a lull between rings, he called Edie and told her quickly what was happening.
“Have you decided what to say?” she asked.
“No. Yes,” he said, realizing he had. “The truth. Can’t be worse than the alternatives.”
“I was beginning to hope.”
“Me, too.”
He ended the call blocks from Lucy’s house. He’d already seen the TV trucks ahead. Lucy’s car wasn’t in the driveway. She hadn’t phoned again. Was she afraid to go home?
He pulled up in front of the neighbor’s house and got out. People were clustered on the sidewalk. He’d half expected to see them on the porch or peering in windows. Were they respecting the fact that Sierra was a kid, or had someone threatened them? If it was Lucy’s mother who had, she’d gained his eternal friendship.
He was ten feet away when one of the reporters spotted him and the whole herd turned and enveloped him. He was used to it, which didn’t make him any more relaxed, but he was less intimidated than Lucy or a sixteen-year-old girl would be. He had his game face on, and knew it to be effective. He would look hard and remote and completely professional no matter what was going on inside.
“Captain Brenner, we’re told that you have a daughter despite information you gave early in the campaign that you weren’t married, never had been and had no children.”
“Excuse me,” he said politely, and forged through the crowd until he reached the open gate to Lucy’s front walkway. Shouting questions, the crowd plunged through after him. He turned to face them. “Were you asked to stay off this property?”
Feet shuffled backward.
“If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll make a statement. First, I’d like to ensure you haven’t scared the daylights out of my daughter.”
He turned his back on renewed questions and took the three steps to the porch in two, rapping hard on the door. “Lucy. Sierra. It’s Jon.”
The door opened and he slipped in. Lucy was right in front of him and he enveloped her in his arms before he could think better of it. For an instant she went stiff, then melted against him.
“Thank God you’re here. We didn’t know what to do.”
“A reporter called me and said they were out front.” Over her head he saw Sierra and Terry, holding each other. Sierra started forward and he waved her back. “Don’t get near the windows, honey. I’ll deal with them.” He gently, reluctantly held Lucy away from him. “Have any of you talked to them?”
“Sierra started to answer the door earlier and slammed it quickly when she saw the TV camera. They waylaid me when I got home and I told them I’d call the police if they stepped foot on the property. I said I wasn’t going to confirm or deny any information they had.”
“Good girl.” He kissed her cheek and gently brushed the hair back from her high, curving forehead. “This is my fault. I should have made an announcement sooner. It was stupid to think I could keep any secrets.”
“It’s my fault,” Sierra declared passionately. “I never thought… I didn’t mean…”
“I know you didn’t.” He smiled at her, then at Lucy’s mother.
He was conscious, suddenly, of a strange sensation. One minute he’d been roiling with anger and guilt and a hundred other emotions. Now…all he’d had to do was take Lucy in his arms, rest his cheek for a moment against her head, see that Sierra was being guarded fiercely by both women and he felt…at peace.
The truth shall free you. To hell with the election.
He let himself look into Lucy’s eyes, seeing her anxiety and a question he hoped he understood, and then he opened the door again and let himself out onto the porch.
He raised his hand for silence as he went down the steps and walked toward the crowd of reporters. “I’d like to make a statement.”
Behind him, he heard the door open again. Lucy, at least, must have stepped out behind him. He glanced back and saw her. She’d left the door partially open, perhaps so that Sierra could hear what he said.
The cameras were rolling. A flash went off. Another.
“I have a sixteen-year-old daughter named Sierra Lind,” he said. “Obviously you know that. Sierra’s mother was killed ten months ago by a drunk driver in a head-on car accident. I did not at the time know that I had a daughter, nor did she know who her father was.” He paused. “I had never met Sierra’s mother. She went to a fertility clinic to get pregnant. When I was putting myself through college, I donated sperm.”
He waited through the ensuing uproar, astonishingly calm. When he heard an opening, he raised his voice. “I was twenty-one years old.” He permitted himself a crooked smile. “Cocky enough to think I was doing women a favor.”
There were a few chuckles.
Good.
He kept talking. Told them about seeing the pregnant woman catching a bus by herself. His sudden realization that she could be carrying his baby. His decision to earn money another way.
He told them how Sierra had found him. “I am more fortunate than I can tell you. Sierra is an exceptionally bright young woman with a 4.0 grade point average and an expertise in computers we could use in the crime lab.”
More laughs.
“Thanks to her mother, she’s also mature and good-hearted. I really am lucky. I can take no credit for having a daughter who fills me with pride every time I see her.” He glanced over his shoulder. Lucy smiled at him, and he drew encouragement from that. He needed her forgiveness as he’d never needed anything in his life.
“I would have come forth with her existence sooner, but Sierra is still grieving. She found me, but we’ve had to work out what that means. However much I want to, I can never be as much to her as the parent she lost was. Sierra had no other family to take her in after her mother’s death. However, at the time she worked part-time at Barks and Purrs, the pet-supply store here in town. When the owner, Lucy Malone, learned that Sierra would have to go into foster care, she opened her home and heart to my daughter. She is—” Damned if he didn’t have to stop to clear his throat. “Lucy Malone is the most compassionate person I’ve ever met. I’m going to tell you, if my opponent hasn’t already—” he allowed his tone to become momentarily dry “—that I’m grateful to Sierra for finding me for a reason that doesn’t have anything to do with our relationship. Ms. Malone and I have been dating.”
He should stop there, he thought, but the way Lucy had relaxed trustingly against him had filled him with certainty. Or maybe recklessness. Whatever it was, he continued, “The three of us, along with Ms. Malone’s mother, who has recently come to stay, feel like a family. You’re rushing me, but I’ll admit that I’m hoping we will become one. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m also hoping Sierra—who so happens to be an excellent cook—has dinner ready. No questions.”
They shouted them anyway. He walked toward the house, his eyes on Lucy. Hers on his.
He barely heard the questions, until one brought him to a stop. “How do you reconcile having been a sperm donor with your frequent insistence on taking personal responsibility for all your actions?”
Jon hesitated, then turned to face them once again. Finally, a good question. He lifted a hand for a second time, and was rewarded with quiet.
“I’m not the man I was at twenty-one.” He looked from face to face, and chose to let remembered anger and grief leak into his voice. “My life changed—I changed—three years later, when someone I loved was brutally murdered by a man who’d been granted early release from prison for good behavior. He had been out for a day and a half. He had committed violent crimes before. The arresting officer for his last crime traveled to Walla Walla to plead for his parole to be denied. The prison psychologist also recommended keeping him behind bars. I saw my friend’s body. That is the moment when I became the man I am now.” He paused again. “I hope I was never careless in my decisions. I did, and do, believe that women who can’t conceive any other way should have the option of fertility treatments with donated sperm. I can’t possibly regret having helped Rebecca Lind become pregnant. She, and now I, gained a remarkable daughter from that choice. When I learned about Sierra and knew that searching for me was no whim on her part, that she needed her father, I immediately took steps to confirm that she was, in fact, my child. Once we knew for sure, I didn’t hesitate to build a relationship with her. That’s taking personal responsibility.” Nodding, he once again turned his back on them and walked into the house.
Lucy closed and locked the door behind him. Before he could try to read how she’d reacted to his statement, Sierra tumbled forward, Terry close behind. Jon held out his arms for his daughter, who flung herself at him as if he was her savior.
No, he realized with astonishment. Her dad. An automatic hero.
He didn’t think anything in his life had ever felt this good.
LUCY’S EYES FLOODED with tears. She couldn’t help it. Sniffling, she swiped at them. Sierra was crying, too. Jon had his cheek pressed to Sierra’s bright blue head, and his eyes were squeezed shut so tight, Lucy suspected he was battling tears.
On impulse, Lucy reached out to grab her mother’s hand. They stood there, fingers intertwined, and waited until Jon’s grip on his daughter loosened and he lifted his head.
He smiled first at Sierra and murmured, “You okay, honey?”
She gulped and nodded. “I’m a mess.”
He laughed. Arm still around her, he turned to face Lucy and her mother.
“I’m sorrier than I can say that all of you got sucked into this. I handled it badly,” he said frankly. “I was never ashamed of Sierra, and I hope she’ll forgive me for acting as though I was.”
She leaned her head momentarily against him. “I never thought that. I didn’t,” she insisted when he started to speak. “You were way nicer than I ever thought you would be.”
“It’s Lucy’s forgiveness I need most of all,” he said, voice suddenly deeper, rougher. “And Terry’s.”
“I always understood,” Lucy’s mother said quickly. “I was selfish in asking anything at all of Lucy. I told myself that maybe she needed me, but now that I’ve met Sierra and you, I know she didn’t.”
That wasn’t true, Lucy knew suddenly. She had needed her mother. No matter what happened down the line, she would remember the good times, the love. Not only the bewilderment and hurt.
But before she could say anything, her mom went on. “I admire what you said out there. I want you to know that.” She visibly gathered her dignity, gently removing her hand from Lucy’s. “And I want you to know that I’m planning tomorrow to call my parole officer and let him know that I’ll be going elsewhere.”
“No,” Lucy cried, and was astonished when Jon echoed her.
“No. I was wrong. You and Lucy were right.” His regret was obvious when his gaze met Lucy’s for a moment before returning to her mother. “Lucy tried to tell me that she did need you. And that you needed her, and how much that meant to her. I wouldn’t listen, even though I know how much I’d do for my mother, or my sister or her boys.” He hesitated. “Has Lucy told you about Cassia?”
She shook her head. Sierra stared at him.
His voice had that rough timbre again. “We were engaged to be married. I loved her. She was raped and murdered, and I let the tragedy affect me profoundly. I want to believe I’ve done some good because of the circumstances under which I lost her. But grief also made me rigid, unwilling to forgive. The irony is that, in losing Cassia, I became more like my father than I ever wanted to admit. An angry, i
ntolerant man. The last thing I ever wanted to be.”
Lucy couldn’t listen to any more. “That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “I don’t believe for a minute that you’re anything like your father. Even when you’re mad, you’re controlled. You’d never lash out at anyone the way he did. And you have done good. You’ve given meaning to Cassia’s death. She’d be proud of you.”
He swallowed and struggled for composure. “Lucy,” he said. That was all. Just her name. Low and desperate.
Her mom held out a hand to Sierra. Unable to tear her gaze from Jon’s, Lucy was barely aware of the other two backing away, disappearing. Leaving them alone.
She stepped forward, less sure of herself than she wanted to be. What he’d said out there—had he really meant it? She prayed it hadn’t been just a way for him to garner sympathy. Or, worse yet, gather the three of them under his protection because of his unyielding sense of responsibility.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “So damned sorry. I don’t know how you can ever forgive me. But it’s been killing me, Lucy. Sticking to a principle when I knew how much I’d hurt you. Being without you.”
“Oh, Jon,” she whispered.
He lifted a hand. It trembled. She’d never seen him less than steady and sure. He cupped her cheek. His thumb traced over her lips. “I love you, Lucy Malone.” When she quivered, he said, “Maybe it’s too soon. I shouldn’t have told the whole world I wanted you to be my wife before I asked you. I put you on the spot, and that wasn’t fair.”
Dazed, she said, “You did mean it.”
“I don’t blame you if you doubt me.” He sighed. “I screwed up. All I can ask you right now is to give me a chance to prove you can trust me. That I trust you.”
“The election…” She had to ask. Tried to formulate how, but he was already shaking his head.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“That’s not true. Of course it matters.”
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