by Shirley Jump
Maybe if she’d told him the whole story earlier today, he would have understood and left her to go on as she had for the past six years, raising Emma on her own. But the second he mentioned going to court, she had panicked, and wanted only for him to leave. To get him as far away from Emma as possible. What if he turned out to be just like his father? After all, she’d only known him for one summer, when he’d been nineteen. Since then, he’d gone on to law school, graduated, and become a partner at one of the most cutthroat firms in New York. All under the tutelage of Edgar Foster. That alone would be enough to change anyone.
Except the man she had made love to last night had been the same one she had fallen in love with seven years ago. She’d felt it, in the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he smiled. That was a man she knew—or used to know. And maybe she should trust that man still existed.
Maybe.
Now Kincaid, a man who had never looked unsure a day in his life, stood in the circle on the lawn created by the soft glow of the porch light, and shifted his weight from foot to foot. That made her feel sorry for the way she had handled this. “Can we talk?”
Darcy drew in a breath. Let it out. “Sure.” She gestured toward the opposite chair. “Do you want some wine?”
“No. Thanks.” He took a seat, then rested his elbows on his knees. A long moment passed, with nothing more than the occasional call of a nightbird and the soft whoosh-whoosh of the ocean to break the silence. Kincaid heaved a sigh. “I don’t know what to say, Darcy. This is all kind of terrifying for me. I never expected to find out I had a child.”
“I don’t expect or need anything out of you. Emma and I are doing just fine by ourselves.” So please just leave and don’t put me in this terrible position.
Kincaid stayed where he was, his shoulders hunched. “What if I want to be a part of her life?”
The thought scared her and thrilled her at the same time. Seven years ago, that’s what she had hoped for with Kincaid. She’d dreamed of them getting married, settling on the island, raising their child together, as if that summer together would never end. But then his father had stepped in that day and, before she could even take a breath, think a moment, he’d been on her to sign that contract. She understood why now—Edgar had swooped in fast, before Darcy could find another option, or worse, tell Kincaid. Edgar had badgered her into the decision. She’d been young and scared, and made the quick choice to keep a promise that would forever change her life. If Darcy broke that promise, she could lose everything that mattered to her. Anxiety twisted her stomach, tightened her throat. If she could just get Kincaid to give up on this idea of being a parent, then maybe he would go away, and she could put all this behind them. And not have to worry about what would happen when Edgar found out.
“I…I just don’t think that’s a good idea,” Darcy said. “You live in New York—”
“Right now, I’m here.”
“But you’ll go back to New York. You have a life there, and Emma has her life here and—”
“Are you saying you aren’t going to let me get to know my own daughter? That makes no sense, Darcy. Why wouldn’t you want me to be a part of her life?”
Darcy fidgeted in her seat. If she told him about his father, he might go straight to Edgar and tell him to stay out of his life. That would inflame Edgar, and would most likely set off the very custody war she had been trying so desperately to avoid all these years. But if she let Kincaid spend some time with Emma, there was always the possibility that he would find being around a six-year-old was not as fun as he’d expected, and he’d just move on, and leave them alone.
Of course, the risk was there that Kincaid would love Emma as much as she did, and then want, and expect, to share custody. She wasn’t foolish enough to think they would all become one big happy family—Darcy had given up on that dream a long time ago—but maybe there was a way for everyone to win. She didn’t see that way yet, but she hoped it existed.
Kincaid was right. He should have a chance to be in his daughter’s life, and she knew how Kincaid felt about absent parents. Hadn’t Darcy herself grown up without a father, and with a mother who barely plugged in? How would her life have been different if she’d had two caring, loving parents?
Emma would need a father, as much as she needed a mother, and even though Whit, Grace and Nona all served as a second family to Emma, none of them were her daughter’s blood relatives. Her daughter’s father.
Mommy, how come I don’t have a daddy?
Emma wanted a father. Deserved a father. But if Edgar Foster found out—
Darcy fiddled with her wine glass, and knew there really was only one choice, even if she didn’t want to face that choice quite yet. To do what was fair to Kincaid and to Emma. With any luck, Edgar wouldn’t care, now that so many years had passed. Maybe the Foster patriarch had mellowed over the years. And maybe the earth had stopped spinning, too.
Still, Darcy hesitated. She knew what Edgar Foster was like, and doubted there was any chance he had become a changed man. If she involved Kincaid, she was still taking a monumental risk. Now that the moment was here, the decision at hand, Darcy couldn’t quite put that foot forward all the way. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be a part of her life. I just worry about her, Kincaid. I want to be sure that every decision I make is the best one. Not all my choices in life have been…smart.” Her eyes welled, and her heart squeezed. Just the mere thought of losing Emma made Darcy stop breathing. “She’s everything to me.”
He reached out and took her hand. It was a touch of comfort, understanding, and Darcy curled her fingers over his. “None of us has made all the right choices, Darcy. You just do the best you can. And from what I saw of Emma, you’ve done a great job.”
Darcy scoffed. “Some people would say I’m the last person who should be a mother.”
“Why? Because you’re a little wild? A little unpredictable?” He grinned. “That’s what I always liked best about you. And if you ask me, kids need parents who aren’t so rigid and distant.”
She laughed. “No one would use either of those words to describe me.”
“That’s good,” Kincaid said softly, “because the last thing I’d ever want is a child of mine to have the upbringing I did.”
Those were the words that finally made up Darcy’s mind, and pushed her to take that last step instead of hesitating any longer. If she kept Kincaid out of their daughter’s life, she’d be the same kind of controlling parent that Edgar had been. She could see the scars of Kincaid’s childhood in his face, and knew she couldn’t do that to Emma, too.
“Come by tomorrow morning after ten,” she said. “We’ll go to the beach.”
Kincaid grinned. “I guess I better brush up on my sandcastle building skills.”
“And your Barbie voices. Emma really likes to play pretend family.”
That made him laugh. “I don’t think I can reach Barbie octaves.”
“You’ll learn, Kincaid,” Darcy said, laying a hand on top of his, praying she was making the right decision. “You’ll learn.”
Kincaid woke up at five the next morning, more nervous about the day to come than he had been about taking the bar or arguing his first case before a judge. He swung his legs out of bed, pulled on some shorts and, instead of heading into the kitchen for coffee, he pulled out his laptop.
It had been so long—too long—since he had powered up the machine to write something other than a legal brief. He opened the word processing program, scrolled through some of the older files on the hard drive, then finally opened a new document. He started writing, fashioning the beginnings of a legal thriller about a perjured witness and a man wrongly framed for a crime. An hour later, Kincaid sat back and looked at what he’d written. It wasn’t bad. Not bad at all.
He stretched, then headed into the kitchen to brew some coffee. Abby was already up, her feet propped on the opposite chair, a mug of tea before her. The soft light of the lamp on the table offset the ea
rly morning dark, and gave Abby’s white robe a golden hue.
“Couldn’t sleep?” He turned to the pot, filled it with water and several scoops of coffee, then set it to brew. He resisted the urge to just stand under the percolator and drink each drop as it came out of the pot.
“I heard your fingers typing away down the hall. Work? Or play?”
He shrugged. “I started something new. I don’t know where it will go.”
“I’m glad, Kincaid. You are an awesome writer. Maybe you should send out some of those novels you’ve finished.”
“Novels, plural?” He chuckled. “Try one and a half. As to sending it out…I don’t know. Maybe. What are you doing up so early? Aren’t pregnant women supposed to get as much sleep as possible?”
“This little one,” Abby ran a hand over her stomach and smiled that sweet smile she got whenever she talked about her baby, “has decided she’s an early riser.”
“Or he might be a light sleeper.” Kincaid watched his sister, the pure love that radiated on her face, the protective touch she had on her belly, and he wondered if Darcy had been the same way when she was pregnant. He couldn’t imagine brash, wild Darcy in a mother hen kind of mood, but then again, he’d never imagined that Darcy would have a child—his child. Still, watching Abby made him wish he hadn’t missed those days when she was pregnant. Would he have felt the baby kick against her stomach? Put his ear against her belly and heard the baby’s heart?
Or would he have abandoned her, a scared man barely out of his teens, who had college and a career and expectations ahead of him? He’d like to think he would have done the right thing, but the truth was, he had no idea. All he could do was the right thing from this day forward.
Abby laughed. “You keep insisting that it’s going to be a boy. I think we need to make a bet.”
“A bet?” The coffeepot had brewed enough for the first cup, so Kincaid pulled out the pot, poured a mug, and sat down across from his sister. “As in money?”
She waved that off. “I think our lives have been too much about money, don’t you? Let’s bet something more fun. Like…” she put a finger to her lips and thought, “a month of dirty diaper changing.”
He laughed. “You get that regardless.”
“Oh, not if you lose, and this baby is a girl. Then I’m going to lay around on the sofa and let you do all the diaper changing.”
He raised his mug toward hers, and they clinked. “Deal. And I’m only making that agreement because I’m so sure that you’re having a boy.”
Abby rolled her eyes, and sipped at her tea. “Do you want some breakfast?”
“Is that code for you want breakfast and you’re hoping I’ll make it?”
“Well, I am busy growing a human here.” She put a hand on her belly again. “That takes a lot out of a girl.”
“I bet it does.” Had Darcy worked through her pregnancy? He could only imagine how demanding waitressing would be—being on her feet all day, running from kitchen to dining room, working late nights—and once again, wished he had been there so he could pick up the slack. Let her stay home and grow a human, as Abby had said, while he supported them.
He crossed to the refrigerator, pulled out butter, eggs and some fruit, then set to work scrambling some eggs and pouring them into a pan. He kept his back partly to Abby while he stirred the eggs and waited on some toast to pop. “So, I think you have to have a boy,” he said, “because I need a nephew to balance the equation. Considering I just found out I have a daughter already.”
There was a moment of silence while those words sank in, then Abby gasped. “Wait. What? Did you just say you have a daughter?”
Kincaid nodded. It was the first time he’d spoken the words aloud, and they felt foreign on his tongue, as if he was learning a new language. I have a daughter. Just the thought filled him with joy and fear, all at the same time. Could he be a good father? “Darcy had a baby six years ago. And never told me.”
“Wait a second.” Abby shook her head. “I’m trying to take this in. Darcy had a baby, your baby, and never said a word? And you found out yesterday?”
He explained about running into the little girl on the beach, how reluctant Darcy had been to bring him into Emma’s life, and about their conversation last night. “But I get the feeling she would rather I stay away,” he said. “I don’t think she wants me to have anything to do with Emma.”
“I don’t understand that. I mean, you’re a great guy.” Abby grinned. “And I’m not just saying that because you’re pretty much a superhero in my eyes.”
“All those pregnancy hormones are definitely mellowing you out.” Kincaid shuffled the cooked eggs onto plates. “This, from the same person who once hit me in the head with a soup ladle?”
“I didn’t say you were always a great guy. You were a terrible kid.”
The toast popped, so Kincaid buttered it, then flanked the eggs with the bread and some diced fruit. He put some cheese on Abby’s eggs, and waited a moment for it to melt before he put the plate on the table. He loved teasing Abby, and wondered if someday down the road Darcy and he could have another child…whoa. That was getting way too far ahead. He needed to deal with the one child first. And figure out exactly how he was going to do this parenting thing, and hopefully do it better than his parents had. “You’re lucky I’m feeding you,” he teased.
“Me and your niece-to-be.” Abby picked up the fork and dove in, forking up a huge bite. She chewed, then swallowed. “Oh my. These are so good. I am going to miss eating like this after the baby comes. Then I’ll have to go back to eating for one. Eating for two is way more fun.”
Had Darcy been the kind to gain a lot of weight when she was pregnant, letting the baby give her more curves, that happy glow to her face? Or had she stayed as lean and trim as she was now, barely showing? He suddenly wanted to ask all those questions of Darcy. But the sun had yet to rise, and he didn’t think she’d be glad if he went over there now and started peppering her with questions.
“So, tell me about your daughter,” Abby said. “I still can’t believe it. What a shocker.”
“You and me both.” Your daughter. The words still sounded so foreign, so odd. But the more he heard them, the more they began to fit. “She’s almost six. She’s got my hair and my eyes, but Darcy’s smile and that little impish look in her eyes, like she’s about to get into a whole lot of trouble. She loves dogs and playing with dolls. And…that’s all I know so far.” He thought of how much more he needed to learn. If his daughter liked chocolate or vanilla ice cream. If she was scared of the dark or allergic to peanuts. “I’m going over to Darcy’s later this morning to spend the day on the beach with them.”
“That’ll be nice. Gee. So this makes me an aunt.”
“Indeed it does. Soon to be a mom yourself.”
“Well, I intend on spoiling my niece mercilessly.” Abby winked. “Speaking of spoiling, if you are going over there for the first time, you should bring something with you.” She waved her fork at him. “Pick her up a stuffed animal at that little shop on Main Street. You know, the one with the balloons painted on the windows? All kids love stuffed animals. It’s a good ice breaker.”
“Ice breaker?” He chuckled. “I don’t know if I need one of those with a six-year-old.”
“Mother always told us to never show up empty-handed to someone’s house. So bring her something.” Abby waved her fork at him. “And if you’re smart, you’ll bring something to win her mother’s heart, too.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re still half in love with Darcy. I can see it all over your face. Every time you mention her name, you get this little moony look in your eyes.”
He scoffed. “A moony look? Is that even a word?”
“It is if I say it is.” Abby grinned then took a big bite of toast. “Besides, I’m the pregnant one. I can get away with making up words and eating too much cheese.”
He shook his head and laughed. �
��Did anyone ever tell you that you are an annoying little sister?”
“Yup, my older brother.” She smirked. “Just before I hit him in the head with the soup ladle.”
*~*~*
Kincaid spent the hours between breakfast and going to Darcy’s working around the cottage, finishing up a few more details for his sister. She had ordered a changing table and a rocker, both of which had come on the ferry early that morning, so he assembled those and set them in the nursery, too. Like the crib, they were made out of some thousand-pound, indestructible wood, but secretly, he was glad. He didn’t want his nephew to be rocked in or laid on top of something flimsy. To be safe, he double-checked all the screws connecting the pieces. After he was done, he dropped Abby off downtown for a checkup with a local doctor, then wandered down to the shop Abby had recommended.
The shopkeeper hurried up to him as soon as he entered, a little round O of surprise on her face at a solo man willingly coming into a store filled with toys and balloons and knick-knacks. “Good morning! How can I help you?”
“I’m, uh, looking for a toy for a little girl. Six years old. Something…nice.”
The woman started making her way down the aisle, with Kincaid following along behind. “Do you know what she likes? Horses? Kittens?”
He had no idea. He couldn’t tell the woman Emma’s favorite color or her most beloved toy’s name or even what cereal she had for breakfast. “She likes dogs,” he said. “And Barbie dolls.”
“Well, chances are she has more Barbie dolls than she knows what to do with.” The woman smiled. “Most little girls do. And I’m betting you don’t know which ones she has and which one she doesn’t?”
“Uh, there are different ones?”
The woman stifled a laugh. “Yes, I’m afraid there are. Hundreds.”
Good Lord, he was in over his head already and the day hadn’t even started. He thought back to his sister’s advice and figured that was the safest option overall. “How about a stuffed animal?”