Father to Be

by Marilyn Pappano

  “Need I remind you that you’re at least six inches taller than me?” A gasp for air. “Your legs are proportionately longer, which means your stride is longer.” Another gasp. “And I’ve already run over five miles this morning, while that was your first half-mile and—”

  “And, gee, you’re a girl too. That gives one of us an unfair advantage.” He crouched in front of her and her gaze, blurred with sweat, slowly moved up from top-of-the-line gel-cushioned shoes to muscular calves to long, defined thighs to— Abruptly, she closed her eyes. Even so, she felt the air stir as he leaned closer and lowered his voice to an intimate level. “I’m just not sure which one.”

  Before she could respond, a call came from the nearest sidewalk. “Is everything okay there, J.D.?”

  “Everything’s fine, Mayor.” His voice was a shade too jovial, his amusement way too obvious. “She’s just not in as good shape as she thought.”

  Slowly, Kelsey sat up and glared at him. “You are too smug and obnoxious for words. I am in outstanding shape.”

  He subjected her to the same sort of scrutiny she’d started on him. “Your shape looks fine to me. And I’m not sure my legs are that much longer. Yours are pretty damn long, and pretty damn nice, and, you know, Holly’s right. There are better ways to get all sweaty and hot.”

  Seething, she considered how satisfying it would be to wipe that insufferable grin off his face. Instead, she settled for maintaining whatever dignity she had left. She stood up, forcing him to move back so quickly that he lost his balance and sprawled the few inches to the ground.

  “Hey, where’re you going?” J.D. called good-naturedly.

  “Home. To shower. To work.” Turning back, she smiled smugly. “And then to buy a big, mean, man-hating Rottweiler of my own. To keep the riffraff away.”

  She walked the next few blocks to cool down, then decided there was no reason to get all sweaty again and kept a slow, steady pace the rest of the way home. There she kept to her word—showered, dressed, and left again for the office. She stopped at Harry’s Diner for coffee and a biscuit and egg sandwich to go, then settled behind her desk.

  By eleven, annoyed by the hint of a view that she couldn’t see and tired of squeezing between her desk and the wall every time she needed something, she’d set her work aside and determined to follow J.D.’s advice. At least, one part of it. She was going to move the file cabinets and open her office to the view.

  The empty cabinets weren’t heavy, merely unwieldy. She got the two of them into the outer office, then tackled one that actually held files. It didn’t budge. She could call downstairs and get a couple of volunteers from the sheriff’s or police departments, or she could remove the drawers and try again. She opted for removing the drawers, then tilting, walking, and scooting the cabinet across the vinyl floor.

  “You know, there’s this great invention to handle heavy jobs like that. It’s called men.”

  Shoving her hair out of her face, Kelsey looked at her unexpected guest. More than four hours into the workday hadn’t ruffled Holly McBride’s appearance one bit. A shower, a chignon, and a suit hadn’t improved her own that much.

  She offered the woman a smile, hoping the insincerity behind it didn’t shine through. “I thought about that, but I see no reason to ask someone else to do a job I can do perfectly well.”

  “Except those big, strong, masculine someone-elses would have been finished a long time ago. You’ve been at this awhile, haven’t you?”

  So it showed. “What can I do for you, Ms. McBride?”

  “Well, for starters, you can call me Holly. I came to invite you to lunch.”

  And what was on the menu? Roasted social worker?

  “You do eat, don’t you? Real food, I mean. Not sprouts and yogurt and health-nut stuff.”

  “I eat,” Kelsey said evenly. “Sugar and butter and everything.” And if she didn’t run faithfully, her hips showed it. Not that she would ever admit that to Ms. Perfect.

  “I have a table at the best restaurant in town, and I should know. I own it.” Holly smiled, a more genuine smile than that morning’s. “Come on. I’m making a friendly gesture. Bethlehem is renowned for its friendly gestures.”

  “I don’t think so. Not today. I’m awfully busy.”

  Holly studied her for a moment, then shrugged, but instead of leaving, she came farther into the room. Laying her leather bag on the desk, she moved to the opposite side of the file cabinet. “Where are we going with this?”

  “Into that corner.” Kelsey gestured behind her. “You don’t have to help.”

  “I don’t mind. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

  But they didn’t talk until the second cabinet was in place and the drawers back where they belonged. Holly looked at the stained depressions left on the vinyl tile, then shook her head. “Those marks are permanent. But at least you can see out. Now all you need is a little paint, some new furniture, a better floor.” She tugged on the cord dangling in one window and venetian blinds jerked down, showering dust over the room. “And blinds that have been cleaned within the last twenty years. Sorry. So … what has J.D. told you about me that makes you reluctant to share a meal with me?”

  “Actually, nothing. Other than giving you credit for his kitchen plans, he’s avoided the subject.”

  “Then let me set the record straight. When he first came to town, we were … involved. It didn’t work out, and we’ve been friends ever since. Just friends. He’s a great guy, but he’s not my guy.”

  That was hunger, not relief, that made Kelsey’s stomach flip-flop. And even if it were relief, it was professional in nature, because without a woman to claim his time, he’d have more to give the kids.

  Yeah, right.

  Holly sat down behind the desk and swiveled around to face her. “So … why do you think he avoided the subject? An affair that ended nearly eighteen months ago couldn’t possibly have any effect on his suitability to foster those kids, could it?”

  “Not in this case, no.”

  “Hmm. Then maybe his reason was personal. Maybe he thought it might have an effect on his suitability to court the new social worker in town.”

  Kelsey wanted to scoff, but all she managed was a blush and a stammer. “Oh, please. That’s not— He’s not—” Breaking off, she swallowed hard. “There’s nothing between us. It would be inappropriate. He’s a client, I’m a professional. We’re both professionals.”

  Delighted laughter filled the room. “Oh, you’re so young and so innocent. We’re going to get along just fine. Come to lunch with us.”

  Feeling as if she’d lost a battle and was about to concede the war, Kelsey sank into an orange chair. “Who is ‘us?’ ”

  “Lock up and I’ll tell you on the way.”

  It was a short drive—in Bethlehem, what wasn’t?—to the McBride Inn. Kelsey fell in love with it right away, from the long, narrow lane that led to the main entrance to the gorgeous gardens to the welcoming feel inside. It was a wonderful place, one where even she—of the nine-hundred-square-feet, ratty furniture, and pink and lime bathroom—felt right at home.

  A table of women awaited them. She’d already met Emilie Bishop and Melissa Thomas. Maggie McKinney lived catercorner from the Winchester sisters and was owner of Buddy, Graci’s naptime friend, and Shelley Walker was Chief Walker’s wife and mother of the three kids whose photos dominated his desk. They were obviously close friends, and they welcomed her as if they’d known her forever. They talked that way too.

  They were polishing off a sinfully rich dessert when Shelley groaned. “Now I won’t even be able to make it to my car on my own. You’ll have to open the door and wheel me out.”

  Holly pointed her fork at Kelsey. “This one can help you burn off the calories. She runs. Every day.”

  Four dubious gazes turned Kelsey’s way.

  “With J.D.”

  Strike dubious. Insert intrigued.

  “I don’t run with him,” Kelsey protested. “We just happ
ened to be going the same direction a couple of times.”

  “Uh-huh.” Unfazed, Holly continued. “He showed her the new house.”

  “Is that a big deal?”

  “Yes,” the others answered in unison, then Emilie added, “We haven’t seen it, except Holly.”

  “I showed up to do a home visit. They were going out there, and he invited me along. It was business.” Kelsey stacked her silverware on her plate, pushed it away, then folded her napkin neatly into quarters. When she looked up, everyone was watching her.

  “I went by this morning to talk to him,” Holly announced. “He insisted on talking outside, by the street. He wouldn’t invite me in, and he even turned down breakfast at Harry’s.”

  “J.D. never turns down breakfast at Harry’s,” Maggie said solemnly.

  “It was like he was watching for someone, and sure enough, before long, there came Kelsey. He alerted on her like a fox on a hound.”

  “Excuse me?” Kelsey turned a look that was equal parts insult and wry humor on Holly. “I know I didn’t look my greatest—you try running five miles before seven A.M.—but you’re comparing me to a hound?”

  When the laughter settled, Holly squeezed her hand. “Maybe I should have turned that around. You’re the fox, he’s the hound. And for running five miles, you looked pretty good.” Then she returned to her discourse. “She thinks it’s all business, that they’re strictly one professional dealing with another. She thinks there’s nothing between them but work. I think our search might be over.”

  Kelsey had to ask the question, though she dreaded it, dreaded the answer even more. “What search?”

  It was Melissa who replied. “We’ve been trying to marry J.D. off ever since he moved here. When he and Holly started dating, we thought we might have killed two birds with one stone, but that fell through. Lately he hasn’t shown much interest in anyone. But if he’s turning down breakfast at Harry’s …”

  “Jeez, what are you guys?” Kelsey asked. “The official matchmakers of Bethlehem?”

  “Actually, no.” Emilie’s voice was soft, her accent faded-southern. “That title belongs to Miss Agatha and Miss Corinna. We just help out where we can.”

  They’d had their fun, Kelsey decided. Now it was time to set them straight. “Okay, Cupid’s little helpers, listen up. I am a social worker. Dr. Grayson”—she ignored their snickers at her use of his title—“is a psychiatrist. He’s also the foster parent of four children assigned to my care. We are working together. To some extent we will always be working together. Having a personal relationship with him right now would be severely frowned upon by my bosses. It would be inappropriate. It would be unwise.”

  Holly snorted. “Oh, please … if appropriateness and wisdom had anything to do with romance, Emilie never would have fallen in love with a cop when there were felony warrants out for her arrest. And Maggie certainly wouldn’t have fallen in love with her husband while in the process of divorcing him.”

  Felony warrants? Blond, lovely, southern-belle Emilie, whose smile at that moment was so pretty and innocent? Kelsey made a mental note to read the records on the Bishops and the Daltons that were in her files. Too bad she didn’t have a similar file that would explain Maggie’s wicked grin.

  “And I would not fall for every handsome face that crosses the county line,” Holly continued. “Speaking of handsome faces, Maggie, when is Tom Flynn coming back to town?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll tell Ross he needs him.” For Kelsey’s sake, Maggie elaborated. “Tom Flynn is my husband’s lawyer. He’s a ruthless, arrogant, reasonably attractive, and incredibly ambitious son of a bitch who has caught our Holly’s eye. Unfortunately, when Ross moved the corporate headquarters here, Tom elected to stay in Buffalo.”

  “That’s okay,” Holly said carelessly. “He still has to put in an appearance from time to time. I’ll hook him one of these days, and then I’ll reel him in real slow. Who knows? He just might be a keeper.” Then she grinned lasciviously. “Or I might just have my fun, toss him back, and set my sights on the next catch.”

  Hers was an attitude Kelsey wouldn’t mind sharing. She wished that were her nature—lots of men, lots of affairs, and lots of fun, and then Mr. Right, kids, house, and responsibilities. But unless her change of locale had also brought her a change of character, that wasn’t the way she worked. She didn’t have affairs. She had relationships, hopes, dreams, and, ultimately, disappointments. She went into every romance thinking that this guy might be the one, even though she’d thought the same thing about every guy before and been wrong every time. With the last one she had been so wrong that she’d wound up moving six hours away.

  Well, not entirely because of him. But not having to see him, deal with him, or even hear his name had been a sweet incentive.

  “Ladies, this has been fun,” she said with a sigh, “but I’ve got to get back to work. If I could trouble someone for a ride …”

  “I’m going that way,” Shelley volunteered.

  “We do this every Friday, Kelsey,” Emilie said. “Same time, same table, same fascinating company. Mark it on your calendar.”

  “Thanks. I will.” And she meant it. After all, this was what she’d come to Bethlehem for—friendship. A sense of community. A sense of belonging.

  Not romance. Certainly not with J. D. Grayson.

  Chapter Seven

  Forty-six days.

  That was the first thought that came into Caleb’s head when he awakened Saturday morning. Forty-six days since their father had kissed them all good-bye and driven away from the farm in his old truck. Forty-six days since he’d given his promise that he would be back just as soon as he could. Forty-six chances to keep that promise.

  So far, forty-five broken promises.

  Nobody believed he was coming back, not Grayson or the cops or the welfare lady, not Mrs. Larrabee or Miss Agatha or Miss Corinna. Sometimes not even Jacob, Noah, or Gracie believed it. Only Caleb always believed.

  Did that mean he had more faith than the others?

  Or that he was dumber?

  After forty-five disappointments, he didn’t know.

  He lay on his back and listened to the noises down the hall. The shrink was in the shower, which meant he was back from his run. He always came back in a good mood, but it didn’t last. Not that he ever got mad and yelled at them or anythin’ like that. It was just the look he got on his face when he saw Caleb. Gracie didn’t get it, and neither did Noah or Jacob, but Caleb always did. It was a look of dislike.

  Well, he didn’t care if Grayson liked him or not. In fact, he liked knowing that the shrink didn’t. He’d be glad to see the last of the shrink.

  The water in the bathroom shut off, and a minute later the door opened. A couple of minutes after that, Grayson stuck his head in their room. Caleb lay still, pretending to be asleep.

  “Come on, wake up, kids. It’s time to be up and about. We’re going to Harry’s for breakfast, and then we’re heading out to the house.”

  “Who’s Harry?” Gracie mumbled from below.

  “He owns the café downtown.”

  That made her wake up completely, and Noah too. “You’re taking us to eat in a restaurant?” She asked as if he’d just offered something special.

  Noah sounded that way too. “We never been in a restaurant before.”

  Until last week, the children had eaten at one of two places—at school or at home. At school Jacob and Noah got free breakfasts and lunches. Caleb could have gotten ’em too, but he’d rather go hungry than let the kids who made fun of him see him eating for free.

  “Nope, we never have.” That was Jacob, sitting up now in the other top bunk. Through slitted eyes Caleb saw him prepare to jump to the floor, but Grayson stopped him.

  “Don’t do that. You could hurt yourself. Use the ladder.” He grabbed hold of Caleb’s covers and pulled them back. “Come on, Caleb. Quit playing possum and get up.”

  Below, Gracie giggled. “Caleb’s not a pos
sum.”

  “It’s a figure of speech, Gracie,” the shrink explained. “It means pretending to be asleep or dead.”

  “Maybe he’s really asleep,” she suggested.

  “If he’s really asleep, then he won’t mind if I tuck him in and give him a kiss, will he?”

  Gracie giggled again, and Noah did too as Grayson began pulling the covers back. When he got too close, Caleb’s eyes snapped open. Grayson was wearing that I-really-don’t-like-you look. He was trying to hide it, but Caleb recognized it.

  Grayson took a few steps back. “I thought you were awake. Get up and get dressed so we can go.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Then you can sit and watch us eat.”

  “I’m not gonna work for you today. You can’t make me. I’m not your slave.”

  “I didn’t say a word about you working today. But you are going to the house with me, and you’re going to stay there while I work. Get moving.” He turned away to start making Jacob’s bed.

  Caleb jumped to the floor, landing with as loud a clatter as he could manage. For a minute Grayson got all still and stiff, but he didn’t turn around, didn’t say a word. He just went back to making the bed.

  Obviously, he wasn’t as worried about Caleb hurting himself as he was about Jacob.

  They took turns in the bathroom, brushing their teeth, combing their hair, then got dressed. The kids put on new clothes, then went to the living room. Caleb stared into his open dresser drawer. He didn’t have any clothes there, at least, none of his own. They were all in the laundry, waiting to be washed. If he went anywhere today, he’d have to wear either dirty clothes or the clothes the shrink bought him.

  Picking up a pair of shorts that still had the price tag on it, he rubbed the denim, then sniffed the new-clothes smell. Like the kids, he’d never had any new clothes all his own that he could remember. Even though he’d swore he wouldn’t wear them ’cause they came from him, they’d sure felt good when he’d tried them on in the store. He’d looked real different too. Nobody who didn’t know him would look at him in those clothes and figure his family was poor.