Father to Be

by Marilyn Pappano

  “You look like a man who could use about twenty-four hours of sleep.”

  He looked at Kelsey, standing at the bottom of the steps. She’d spent last night with him at the police station, waiting for news, but she didn’t look as wrung out as he felt. In fact, in her pale blue vest and pastel-hued skirt, she looked as fresh as a field of spring flowers.

  She looked beautiful.

  “I’m under orders to take you home,” she said, offering her hand.

  He didn’t hesitate to take it. It was the first time he’d touched her in too long. “Whose orders?”

  “Mitch’s. Your dad’s. Miss Corinna’s.” She smiled faintly as she helped him to his feet. “While I might ignore the men, I’ve learned that one doesn’t say no to Miss Corinna.”

  “No, ma’am, one doesn’t.”

  Once he was on his feet, she let go of his hand. He wondered if it was because they were in public, or because Mary Therese was a few yards away in the police station, or because she simply didn’t want to hold his hand. He’d told her yesterday he loved her, and she’d told him … nothing. She’d smiled that sweet, sweet smile, but she hadn’t said I love you or I like you or I like having sex with you or go to hell. She’d said nothing.

  Maybe because she felt nothing.

  He settled in the passenger seat for the drive home, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. It was good to have five minutes with nothing to think about except Kelsey, with nothing to do but be with her. Just knowing she was close enough to touch made everything a little more bearable.

  “Here we are.”

  He opened his eyes, gazed at the empty apartment, then at her. “Come in with me,” he said quietly.

  It was more than a simple invitation, and she knew it. He could see it in the way her eyes darkened, in the desire that flared. She gazed off into the distance for a long time, then looked at him and offered the faintest of smiles, so faint that he might have imagined it.

  They climbed the stairs together. He opened the door, then stepped back for her to enter first. She waited in the hallway, and after locking up again, he led the way to his bedroom.

  The only light came through the windows and served to shadow more than it illuminated. He didn’t need much light though. Just enough to see her.

  Standing in front of her, he fingered the soft cotton of her vest. “You are so beautiful. Off and on through the night, I’d look at you and think how soft and lovely you looked and wonder what you were wearing underneath this. Under the circumstances it seemed inappropriate to care. Now it’s only fair …” He slid his index finger under the fabric where it draped over her shoulder. There was no bra strap underneath, just warm, silky skin. Just as he’d thought.

  Settling his hands at her narrow waist, he pulled her close for a kiss—a slow, lazy nuzzling that took its sweet time to travel from her jaw to her throat to her mouth. When he got there, she was ready, opening to him, welcoming him. His tongue stroked hers, searched here and there, tasted, savored, fed, and she responded so sweetly, with her breath growing uneven, her fingers curling over the waistband of his shorts, her body rubbing sensuously against his.

  He trailed his kisses to her jaw, down her throat, following bare skin to the V of the vest. Fumbling, teasing, tormenting, he worked the first button free, then kissed the skin revealed while repeating the process with the next button. By the time the vest hung open, exposing her, he was hard and she was weak. Her head hung back, presenting him with a long, tantalizing expanse, from chin to waist, of pale, warm skin, full breasts, swollen nipples. The sight was beautiful, enticing, erotic.

  He slid the vest off her shoulders, then lowered her onto the bed. Her hair spread across his pillows, wild curls in pure, rich brown, and tempted him to bury his hands, to bury his face, and cling to her forever. Instead, he sucked first one breast, then the other, while his hands eased her skirt and panties over her hips, down strong-muscled thighs and runner’s calves. Wriggling and kicking, she helped him strip away the clothing, then stretched out, head to toe, under his exploratory caresses.

  When his fingers stroked between her thighs, she gave a low, shuddering groan, then opened her eyes. “I’m lying here completely naked, and you’re fully dressed,” she said in a throaty voice. “What’s wrong with this picture?”

  Leaning on one elbow, he gave her a long, leisurely look. “Not a damn thing. You are a beautiful woman, Kelsey.” He dropped a kiss on her lips, then drew back to work his own clothes off. “You’re strong and powerful and capable, and you know that there’s not good in everyone, but you still have faith, and you’re exactly what I need, exactly what I want.” Finally naked, he moved between her thighs and slowly eased inside her. When he’d filled her, when her body held him tightly, completely, he closed his eyes for one moment to capture the feeling—the Tightness. The belonging. The peace. Home.

  “I love you, Kelsey Colleen Malone,” he said, and then she wrapped her long legs around his hips, and her strong arms around his neck, and kissed him, and for a long time neither of them said anything.

  At least, not with words. Their actions, on the other hand, spoke volumes and left him breathless. Helpless. And hopeful.

  Very, very hopeful.

  Turning onto her side in the circle of J.D.’s arms, Kelsey pressed a kiss to his chest. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this good in her entire life. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with the most peaceful, soothing sensations she’d ever experienced, and she thought she would be content to lie there with J.D. forever. Who needed food, clothing, a life, when they had this?

  But they had a life, and it was just waiting to encroach on them again. In fact, however reluctantly, she opened the door for it. “I guess tomorrow’s hearing is cancelled.”

  Beside her, J.D. tensed. “I talked to the D.A. after Garth Nichols came clean. He said he would cancel the hearing. I told him no.”

  “But the question of abuse has been settled.”

  “The question of custody hasn’t.” He turned onto his side, too, so that they were face-to-face, practically nose to nose. “I want those kids, Kelsey. They deserve a stable home with someone who loves them, where they know they’ll be welcome—all four of them together—next week and next month and next year. They shouldn’t be bounced around from place to place, never really belonging, always fearing that they’ll lose each other in the next move. Caleb shouldn’t think that he has to run away to solve his problems.”

  “Noah shouldn’t think that leaving is what people do,” she murmured.

  “I know I’m not a good candidate for this. Mary Therese will take one look at the fact that I’m an alcoholic who doesn’t have custody of my own son and will automatically assume I shouldn’t have custody of anyone else’s. But—” The bleak sorrow at the mention of Trey faded from his eyes and was replaced by determination. “I love those kids, Kelsey, and I’m willing to fight for them.”

  And that was something the Brown children desperately needed.

  “I also know that this makes things more difficult for you and me,” he said quietly. “But I’m willing to fight for you too.”

  “I’ll do what I can to help you,” she said quietly. “I can’t promise much, but … whatever I can.”

  “That means a lot, Kelsey.” He yawned, then resettled on his back. “I think I’m going to take that nap now. Stay with me.”

  “I will.”

  “If there’s any news about Caleb …”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  She leaned on one arm and watched as his eyes drifted shut. His breathing evened and slowed, and, like that, he was asleep. He’d been exhausted for too long, running on pure stress. She could use a few hours’ rest too, but she wasn’t ready yet.

  One day soon, she thought, he was going to ask her to marry him. Saying yes, especially if he got custody of the kids, could mean big changes in her job. Provided she even had a job once Mary Therese was finished with her. She could be forced to quit for the impr
oprieties she’d already committed, and that didn’t include that afternoon’s interlude.

  Quitting the job that meant so much to her—that was a staggering thought. For twenty years, first becoming, men being, a social worker had been her life, and now she might have to walk away from it. But if she had to leave the job, she couldn’t do it for a better reason than J.D. The job meant a lot, but he meant more. He was her future. If Mary Therese and everyone above her thought Kelsey wasn’t fit to be a social worker any longer, then she would be happy to tell them good-bye. She would be thrilled to spend the next forty years as a wife and mother.

  She thought Steph would approve.

  After a time, she eased away from J.D. His arm tightened around her and he murmured her name, but almost immediately he relaxed back into a deep sleep. For a moment she stayed there, her eyes damp with tears. Even in sleep he’d known it was she beside him. Even in sleep he hadn’t mistaken her for Carol Ann, and that made her happier than she could express.

  After getting dressed, she took a soda from the refrigerator, then went outside to sit on the steps. The midafternoon sun was still high in the sky, but inevitably it would disappear and night would set in. Where would Caleb be when that happened? Was he scared? Was he safe? Would they ever know?

  If only there were some way to tell him that Garth had come forward, that the truth about his injuries had come out. Maybe, with the criminal charges against J.D. out of the way, Caleb could find the courage to come back. Maybe he could deal with his anger over his father’s abandonment and could help J.D. gain custody of the kids. It was going to be an uphill battle, and the support of the eldest child could count for a lot.

  “Hi.”

  Looking up, Kelsey focused her gaze on the woman at the bottom of the stairs. She’d certainly been quiet in her approach. Even Grade’s small feet crunched over the gravel that lined the driveway and led right to where the woman stood.

  It was the woman from the church, the one who’d been in the courthouse Monday afternoon. “You look like you could use a sympathetic ear.”

  Not really, Kelsey thought uncharitably. She needed a crystal ball. A miracle.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” the woman said as she climbed halfway up the stairs to lean against the rail.

  “What isn’t?”

  “The support of the eldest child. To help J.D. get custody of the Brown children.”

  Kelsey stared at her. That had been her last thought before she noticed the woman standing below. How had she—“What? Was I talking out loud?”

  “No. But I think you have the wrong child in mind.”

  “Caleb is the oldest Brown.”

  “Yes, but Trey’s support could count for a lot.”

  Stunned, Kelsey opened her mouth, closed it, then blurted out, “How do you know about Trey? What do you know about Trey?”

  “I know he’s missed his father. And I know he’s in Chicago. And I think a little trip to Bethlehem in the middle of a boring summer might do him some good.” She reached into her pocket and drew out a slip of paper. “Twenty-eight months can calm a lot of anger and ease a lot of hurt. It can make a child see mat hating his father won’t bring back his mother. It only costs him his father.”

  When Kelsey didn’t move, the woman waved the paper so its edges fluttered. “Go see him. For J.D.’s sake. For Trey’s and Caleb’s, For your own.”

  Slowly she laid her soda aside, stood up, walked down the steps that separated them, and took the paper. As she climbed back to the top, she looked at the name and address written in graceful script. Trey Grayson. J.D.’s son. A child who might look like his father or not, who had J.D.’s blood flowing through his veins.

  When she reached the landing, she turned back to speak to the woman, to demand to know how she knew of Trey’s existence, how she knew Kelsey’s own thoughts.

  The driveway was empty. So was Mrs. Larrabee’s yard. There was no sign of the woman anywhere.

  She was gone.

  Her heart pounding, Kelsey looked at the paper again. Chicago wasn’t so far. A short drive to Howland, a commuter flight to Syracuse, and she would be in Chicago in no time.

  She went inside and to the bedroom, where J.D. still slept. He would probably argue her plan. She couldn’t get his hopes up. Instead, she kissed him, then leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I love you, J.D. I swear I do.”

  After leaving a brief note propped on the dining table, she left his apartment and headed for her own.

  The Chicago airport was busy when Kelsey arrived. She slung her carry-on bag over her shoulder and rented a car. It looked like a turtle on wheels, but she didn’t care. It came with the only thing that mattered—detailed directions to her destination.

  The neighborhood was old, nicely middle-class. Each house had its own distinctive personality, none more so than the white two-story that matched the numbers on her mysterious benefactor’s note. The yard was lushly green and edged around the borders, and the flowers that filled the beds would fit nicely in any master gardener’s planting. Two nice, middle-class sedans were parked in the driveway, and two nice, middle-class adults were sitting on the porch.

  Kelsey parked across the street and for a moment studied the couple. They looked about the age of her own parents, though where her mother was still winning the battle over gray hair, the woman on the porch had surrendered to it. She was attractive and her husband was handsome, not that Kelsey expected any less of the parents who had produced the beautiful, delicate, perfect Carol Ann.

  Kelsey grabbed her purse and climbed out. She didn’t immediately cross the street, but instead wondered if she was doing the right thing. These people whose names she didn’t even know blamed J.D. for their daughter’s death. They thought he wasn’t fit to care for his own child. How eager would they be to help him gain custody of someone else’s children? They were probably far more likely to side with the state in keeping the kids from him.

  But she’d come all this way. What was the worst that could happen? They’d turn her down. J.D. would never have to know.

  Displaying more confidence than she felt, she crossed the street and followed the sidewalk to the porch. By the time she reached the steps, J.D.’s father-in-law was on his feet. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.” She offered a business card first to him, then to his wife. “My name is Kelsey Malone. I’m a social worker in Bethlehem, New York. I’m looking for Trey Grayson.”

  At the mention of Bethlehem, the friendliness disappeared from their faces. They exchanged glances, then the man took the card back from his wife and returned them both to her. “What do you want with my grandson?”

  Her palms grew sweaty as the hope that had brought her this far began shrinking. Still, she pressed on. “I’d like to talk to him about his father.”

  “He doesn’t want to hear what you have to say.”

  “I can certainly understand that, if that’s the case, but I’d like to hear it from him.”

  “Did J.D. send you?”

  “No,” she answered, relieved she could say it truthfully. “He has no idea that I’m here. This is official business, Mr.—?”

  “Whittaker.” He offered a handshake, callused and strong. “Earl Whittaker. This is ray wife Bev.”

  Kelsey acknowledged the introductions with a nod before Mrs. Whittaker asked, “What kind of official social services business involves our grandson, Ms. Malone?”

  “A custody hearing.”

  Mr. Whittaker staggered back, and his hand came to rest on his wife’s shoulder. She clutched it tightly in hers. “He’s suing for custody of Trey?”

  “No, ma’am.” Though, in her opinion, it might not be a bad thing. “He’s seeking custody of the foster children he’s been caring for.”

  Scorn quickly replaced alarm in Bev Whittaker’s expression. “J. D. Grayson? Taking in foster kids? What fool in their right mind would allow such a thing?”

  A flush warmed Kelsey’s cheeks as she moved to le
an against the railing in front of Mrs. Whittaker’s rocker. “I’m one of the fools. I’m the children’s caseworker. You’ve had no contact with J.D. since your daughter’s death other than what was necessary to gain custody of Trey. Is that right?”

  “And we don’t want any contact with him,” Mr. Whittaker replied. “And we don’t want any part of this custody hearing, and we don’t want you bothering our grandson. So you can go now, Ms. Malone, and don’t come—”

  One quiet word from inside the house interrupted him and drew Kelsey’s attention to the door. “Wait.” The figure in the doorway was little more than shadow at first, but under their watchful gazes he came into sharp focus as he stepped outside. Like his grandparents, she simply stared.

  Trey Grayson was taller than her by several inches. His hair was dark, as were his eyes—like his mother—but she could see hints of his father in his face—his bones, the shape of his eyes, the well-defined calves revealed by his shorts. He was unbearably handsome—like his father—and too composed for a fourteen-year-old, and the desire to gather him into her arms for a heartfelt embrace was almost too strong for her to ignore.

  He came to her but didn’t offer his hand. Instead, he stuck both hands, palms out, in his hip pockets. “You’re hereabout—about my father?”

  “You don’t have to talk to her,” Mr. Whittaker said sharply. “You don’t have to listen to anything she says.”

  “He’s right. You don’t,” Kelsey agreed, though she didn’t want to.

  Mrs. Whittaker laid a hand on Trey’s arm. “Nothing she says matters. Nothing about him matters. We’ll send her away now.”

  Trey looked from his grandmother to his grandfather, then to Kelsey. The expression in his eyes was troubled and torn, and for one sinking moment she thought he was going to agree. Then he gave his grandparents a shaky smile and said, “I can’t know if it matters until I hear it. I—I want to hear it.”

  “Trey—”

  He brushed off his grandmother’s plea and gestured toward the steps. “Want to walk and talk?”

  Well aware of the Whittakers’ glares burning into her back, she preceded Trey down the steps to the sidewalk that cut across the lawn. They were in front of the next-door neighbor’s house before she spoke. “I’m Kelsey Malone.”