The Father for Her Son

by Cindi Myers

  “Thank you.” She sat up and went to take the plate, but he held it out of her reach and settled beside her.

  “Allow me.” He selected a mushroom and put it to her lips. She took a bite, juices running down his fingers.

  “Have some cheese,” she said, offering him a square of cheddar.

  He laughed and captured the cheese in his mouth, along with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes flared as he suckled her fingertips.

  They fed each other strawberries and chocolate and drank from the same glass. Then they lay back on the bed and made love again, more slowly this time, lingering over each other’s bodies.

  Troy ran his fingers along the barely visible white lines across Marlee’s abdomen. “Are these from the baby?”

  She nodded and made a face. “I’ve got varicose veins, too.”

  He trailed his hand to her breast. They were fuller than he remembered, the nipples more prominent. A woman’s breasts instead of a girl’s. “Did you nurse him?”

  She nodded. “That was my favorite part of having a baby.”

  He imagined her with an infant at her breast, a brown-haired Madonna holding his child. “I’m sure you were beautiful.” He didn’t add that he wished he could’ve been with her. He leaned over and kissed her. “You’ll always be beautiful to me.”

  They didn’t speak after that, all their attention on physical pleasure. They moved by instinct and memory, each knowing what would please the other most. This time when Troy climaxed, he felt like a man reaching the end of a long journey.

  After a while, Marlee moved out of his arms and began to put on her clothes. He dressed, too, and packed the remains of their supper. He started to open the door, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “One more kiss,” she said.

  She tasted of wine and chocolate and sex, and smelled of musk and perfume and the starch from the sheets on which they’d lain. Troy crushed her to him, lingering over the kiss as if it was the last one he’d ever know.

  But of course it wouldn’t be the last. Soon he hoped they would spend every night together.

  Buoyed by this prospect, he raced the bike out of the garage. Marlee tightened her arms around him and he smiled. Had he ever been happier than he was right now? The things that mattered most to him—Marlee and Greg—were within his reach once more. The thought made him feel like flying. He twisted the throttle and the engine roared. They shot forward at breathtaking speed. Marlee gripped him tighter and they raced into the night.

  His exhilaration vanished as red, blue and white lights flashed in his mirrors, and he heard a siren above the roar of the engine. His heart slammed in his chest and sweat prickled his palms. He swore as he steered the bike toward the shoulder.

  MARLEE LOOKED BACK at the patrol car pulling in behind them and bit back a groan.

  The window of the patrol car rolled down and the cop leaned out. “Put your kickstand down, turn off the engine and remove your keys from the ignition,” he instructed.

  Troy had the bike stopped and the kickstand down before the cop finished speaking. Marlee watched in amazement as he jerked the keys from the ignition and dropped them on the ground. They lay on the shoulder, glinting in the flashing lights of the patrol car.

  Troy left his hand outstretched, palm open. His body was rigid; Marlee could feel the tension in every muscle.

  The officer walked toward them, his boots crunching in the gravel. He stopped beside the motorcycle and played the beam of a flashlight over them. He nodded politely. “Evening, sir. I need to see your license, registration and proof of insurance, please. I’ll need some ID for you, too, ma’am.”

  “It’s in my wallet, Officer,” Troy said. “Just inside my jacket here.” He moved with exaggerated slowness, carefully pulling the wallet from his jacket and opening it where the cop could see it. Marlee took her license from her purse and handed it to the officer.

  The officer examined the licenses and other paperwork. “Any particular reason you were driving so fast?” he asked, his manner easygoing, affable. Marlee began to relax, too.

  But Troy remained absolutely still. He continued to stare at the pavement. “No, sir.”

  “I clocked you at seventy-five back at 2222 and Mount Bonnell. The speed limit is fifty-five.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll be right with you.” The cop returned to his patrol car.

  Marlee heard the muffled squawk of the radio over the whine of a semitruck approaching, then passing them. The biting odor of diesel fumes filled her nostrils in the truck’s wake. “Rotten luck, huh?” she said, patting Troy’s shoulder.

  He didn’t answer, didn’t even move.

  “Troy?” She leaned closer. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t…say…anything.” The words were strained, spoken through clenched teeth.

  Marlee stared at his rigid back. She wished he would turn and look at her, but he refused to lift his gaze. If she didn’t know better, she might even think he was…afraid.

  No. That couldn’t be it. Troy was no coward.

  What was taking that cop so long? She glanced behind her and saw that he was still sitting in the patrol car, talking over the radio.

  “Don’t turn around.”

  Troy’s voice was low, urgent.

  “What?”

  “Don’t turn around. Don’t look at him. Do whatever he asks, don’t say anything, and we’ll get out of this.”

  She frowned. “Troy, it’s just a speeding ticket.”

  “Just do as I ask…please.”

  She was about to question him further, when another patrol car pulled in behind the first. Marlee disregarded Troy’s instructions and half turned in her seat as the second officer got out of his car. Together, he and the first officer approached the motorcycle. The first officer came forward while the second waited a few steps back, one hand resting on the butt of his gun. A shiver of fear crept over Marlee.

  The officer’s easygoing attitude had vanished. He regarded them warily, his expression stern. “Where are you headed in such a hurry?” he asked.

  “I was taking the lady home, sir.”

  “And from there?”

  “I was going to my apartment—5303A West Bend Ridge. Apartment 64D.”

  The officer checked the address against the license. “Are you working?”

  “Yes, sir. Wiley’s Custom Cycles. It’s out on South First.”

  “I know where it is. What are you doing out this time of night?”

  Marlee cringed. This was the reality of life with a record. What would be a simple traffic stop for anyone else became a demoralizing ordeal.

  Troy remained stoic. “We were out at the lake, sir.”

  “Doing what?”

  “We…we had a picnic, sir.”

  “A picnic. At night?” The flashlight shone in Marlee’s face. She blushed in spite of herself.

  “Yes, sir,” Troy answered.

  “Do you have any proof of that?”

  “The leftovers are in the cooler there on the back.”

  The officer looked at the cooler, and Marlee wondered if he would demand to examine the contents. She could prove easily enough they’d been at the hotel, but Troy hadn’t mentioned that. He was obviously trying to protect her, but from what?

  Finally, the cop shoved his clipboard at Troy. “Sign at the bottom.” He fixed Troy with a stern gaze as he passed him a copy of the signed ticket. “You can go now, but I’ll be keeping my eye out for you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Marlee heard the underlying current of anger in Troy’s voice, like steam escaping from a simmering kettle. The cop’s expression hardened, but he said nothing. He stepped back and the two officers waited while Troy scooped his keys off the ground, then started the engine.

  She sagged against his back, clinging to him as he eased the bike into traffic. “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “It’s because I’ve got a record,” he said.

  Marlee felt cold and queasy. Was thi
s what life would always be like for them, the mistakes of the past returning over and over to mar the present? “But…you completed your sentence. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I’m still on parole and speeding is breaking the law. He could have taken me to jail for that ticket if he’d wanted. If you hadn’t been with me, he probably would have.”

  She gripped him tightly, fear and sadness almost overwhelming her.

  They were silent the rest of the way home. Though Marlee couldn’t see Troy’s face, she sensed a change in him. She no longer felt the connection they’d forged earlier in the evening. He’d withdrawn into himself, cutting her off.

  Trish met them at the door of Marlee’s house. “Did you two have a good time?”

  Marlee forced a cheerful smile. “It was great. Thanks so much for watching Greg.” She walked past Trish, into the house. “I hope he didn’t give you any trouble.”

  “Of course not. He’s an absolute angel.” She followed Marlee into the living room. “So you had fun. Where did you go?”

  “It’s late. I’d better take you home.” Troy stood in the archway between the living room and the hall. He had his thumbs in his belt loops, and his shoulders slumped. He looked tired, or maybe just discouraged.

  “Oh, uh, sure.” Trish grabbed her purse from the coffee table. “I’ll wait outside while you two say good-night.”

  Troy didn’t speak until the door closed behind her, then looked at Marlee. “I’m sorry about tonight. About the scene with the cop.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” She began clearing dishes from the coffee table—a half-empty popcorn bowl and two empty glasses.

  “I shouldn’t have been speeding,” he said. “And you shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

  His apology annoyed her. Why should he be responsible for a cop’s bad attitude? “Is that what you’re going to remember most about this evening—that you got a speeding ticket?” She shoved a sofa cushion back into place and picked a throw pillow up off the floor.

  “Of course not. But I wanted this evening to be special—perfect.”

  She straightened and turned to him. “Tonight was special,” she said softly. “It didn’t have to be perfect, too.”

  He crossed the room and gathered her in his arms. “I love you,” he whispered. “I never stopped loving you.” He kissed her, an urgent, fierce kiss, full of passion and need, but lacking the lingering closeness she craved. He released her abruptly and turned away. “I’d better go.”

  She watched him walk out the front door. She knew she should be happy that they’d taken a huge personal step, but instead, she felt confused and uncertain. At a time when she should have been ready to return Troy’s love and trust, the reminders of what life with a man with a criminal record would be like made her fearful of letting things go any further.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BY MONDAY, Troy had convinced himself he was making too much of the incident with the cop Saturday night. So he’d been pulled over for speeding; that was no great crime.

  He’d dutifully reported everything to Bernie this morning—though it grated to have to account for everything he did. That would end soon enough, as long as he stayed out of trouble and convinced the state he was no threat. In a year or two he’d be a private citizen, free to come and go as he pleased. Free to love Marlee and Greg without a cloud of suspicion hanging over him.

  This optimism stayed with him until shortly after lunch, when he looked up from rebuilding a carburetor and saw Frank Britton standing in the doorway of the garage.

  Troy hurriedly turned away, but not before Frank saw him. “Hey, Denton,” he said. He headed toward Troy’s workbench, his thin legs covering ground quickly. “Scotty around?” he asked.

  “No, not today.” Troy hadn’t asked if Scotty had called in sick or just hadn’t bothered to show up. Lately the young con had seemed restless and Troy suspected he’d soon be moving on. Troy hoped he’d do so without making trouble.

  “You talk to him this weekend?” Frank asked. “Know what he was up to?”

  “I didn’t. We work together—we don’t hang out.” I spent the weekend with your daughter. What would Frank say to that?

  “I thought you two were pals,” Frank said.

  “You thought wrong.”

  “He said he knew you inside.”

  Troy glanced around, thankful no customers were close enough to hear. “We ran into each other. He needed a job and I helped him get on here. End of story.” He was sorry now he’d made the effort. Scotty complained about the work, the low pay and the hours. As if bumming in the park—or sleeping in a cell—was better.

  “So you don’t know where I could find him? Who he hangs out with or anything?”

  “No.” Troy pretended to focus on the carburetor, but he watched Frank out of the corner of his eye. He could see the resemblance to Marlee in the fine cheekbones and the narrow, straight nose—though Frank’s had obviously been broken more than once. Despite his anger over the way the older man had hurt her, Troy was fascinated with Frank. Why had he chosen a life of crime over one spent with a family who loved him?

  “So what were you in for?” Frank asked.

  At one time asking such a question in prison was an invitation for a shiv in the back or a fist in the face. But these days computers made everyone’s record available to almost anyone. If a convict didn’t have access to the Internet, his friends on the outside did. Now only child molesters and perverts tried to keep their crimes secret inside.

  But this wasn’t prison, Troy reminded himself. “None of your business,” he said.

  Frank shrugged. “Just making conversation. I’m guessing nothing large. You don’t have the look of a man who was inside for long.”

  “Long enough.” He knew the look Frank was talking about—a worn, nervous awkwardness that clung to men who’d been behind bars so long they could never be completely comfortable with freedom.

  “Me, too,” Frank said. “I did my time and I ain’t going back.”

  “Yeah, right,” Troy said. How often had Frank said that before?

  “I mean it,” Frank said. “I’m not going to be one of those sorry old men who spend their last days on a cot in the prison infirmary. I used to see ’em hauled out after they passed. Saddest way I can think of to end.”

  Did Frank think he’d have another kind of end now? “Do you have family?” Troy asked, to see what the old man would say.

  “I got a daughter somewhere. She don’t speak to me, but maybe that’ll change.”

  “Maybe she figures since you weren’t around while she was growing up she doesn’t owe you anything.”

  Frank shifted from one foot to the other. “I can see how she’d feel that way. But back then I didn’t look at it any differently than if I’d had a job that took me away a lot, like a soldier or an oil-field worker.”

  “Except nobody has to be ashamed to admit their father is away serving his country or roughnecking in the oil fields.”

  “Yeah, well—I didn’t say I was right to think that way, only that I did. And I’ve got an honest job now. One she wouldn’t have to be ashamed of.”

  “I read the article in the paper,” Troy said. “You’re a caretaker at an apartment building?”

  “Manager. I get to live there free in exchange for showing the empty places and collecting rent, calling the plumber when a toilet backs up, that kind of thing.”

  The woman Frank had saved in the fire had lived in one of the units in his complex.

  “So you don’t know where I can find Scotty?” Frank asked.

  “No.”

  Frank frowned. “He came around to my place last week, said he had an idea how we could make some easy money.”

  “I don’t want to hear this.” Troy picked up a rag to wipe his hands and moved away.

  Frank followed. “I told him I wasn’t interested.”

  “And now you’ve changed your mind?” Troy shook his head. “Leave me o
ut of this.”

  “You got me wrong. I’m keeping my nose clean.”

  “Then why do you need Scotty?”

  Frank looked away, his expression shuttered. “I want to talk to him about another matter.”

  Troy picked up a wrench. “I have work to do.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Frank took a step back. “If you see Scotty, tell him to give me a call.”

  “Leave a message with the office.” He wasn’t going to play go-between for Scotty and Frank. He wouldn’t be caught in the middle of whatever trouble they were planning.

  “Yeah, well, thanks anyway. It was good talking to you.”

  Troy said nothing. Though maybe talking to Frank had been good for him, too. Seeing the older man had reinforced his resolve never to end up in the same shape. Frank thought dying in prison was the worst thing that could happen to a man, but Troy knew ending up estranged from everyone you’d ever loved, with no one but yourself to blame, was almost as bad.

  TUESDAY MORNING Marlee plucked a newly printed form from the printer tray and tore it in half. The pieces drifted into the recycling bin, joining the two other forms she’d already ruined. She sighed. She’d better give up on those for now. This morning was clearly meant for filing or some other task that took only half her brain. The other half was full of thoughts of Troy.

  She felt a surge of desire rush through her. The memory of Troy’s body against hers, his mouth caressing her, his hands stroking her, had left her restless and edgy all weekend. That one evening in his arms had whetted her appetite for him. Though he’d spent a few hours with her and Greg Sunday afternoon, they’d had no opportunity for more than a brief stolen kiss while their son was in the other room. Now she craved him, needed to see him.

  At seventeen, she’d given herself to Troy the first time, and learned to love him with her body. Time had matured not only their bodies, but their minds. The love she felt now—did she even dare to call it love?—burned inside her, so deeply and intensely, it threatened to overwhelm all other feeling.