by Kathryn Shay
A PRICE WORTH PAYING
When Callie Casewell tells her husband Nick Muscato she’s pregnant with another man’s child, and hours later, he’s accused of sexual misconduct with a student, they’re shocked by what is sure to destroy their marriage. After all, she’d followed him to Vassar so he could pursue his dream of being a major league baseball player and spent years in limbo about her own career. But even then, they dealt with an injury that caused Nick to lose his dreams, his inability to have children and Callie’s yearning to return to their Alma Mater and teach. Though this stress might split up a lesser couple, In A PRICE WORTH PAYING, Book 5, Nick and Callie fight the accusation and try to keep their marriage together.
To browse Kathryn’s impressive list of titles go to http://www.kathrynshay.com/books/.
Continue reading for an excerpt from Michael’s Family.
Michael’s Family
“Hey, Dad, do you believe that sixty-three percent of the men in this survey say they don’t have sex as often as they’d like?”
Michael’s sixteen-year-old voice preceded him into the den, where Lucas Rayburn sat, having just made one of the most difficult decisions of his life. He stared at the boy who was almost a man, and felt his heart constrict. God, he loved the kid.
“Daaad. He-llo?”
“Yes, Michael. I believe that.”
Green eyes focused on Luke as Michael plopped his nearly six-foot body into the wing chair, rolled the magazine he held and tapped it on his knee. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“You usually rib me about my project.”
“With good reason. I’m still wary of a year-long term paper on the sexual practices of the average American.”
“Hey, the new English teacher said we should choose a topic we’re interested in. It’ll make learning the research skills easier. Julie Anne’s doing hers on the rights of adopted children.”
Luke’s smile disappeared abruptly at the mention of the topic Michael’s best friend had chosen for her paper.
“Dad?”
“I’ve decided, Michael.”
He watched his son grip the chair arm hard. “And?”
“I’ve thought about your request. A lot.” The words stuck in his throat, but Luke got them out somehow. “We’ll contact your biological mother.”
Michael swallowed, his youthful Adam’s apple bobbing. “That’s great.”
Great? It was obscene, that’s what it was. The fact that Michael had asked, weeks ago, to find the woman who’d given birth to him stunned Luke at first. Now it simply hurt. He tried hard to keep his face neutral and concentrate on what was best for Michael.
“Listen, Dad, I promise it won’t change anything between us. You know, how it’s been for the last three years. Since Mom died. We’ll be buddies, like we’ve always been.”
Luke’s throat clogged. “I know you mean that, son. But you’ve got to realize that when we find her our lives will never be the same.”
Michael shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe our lives will be better.”
“Maybe.”
But Luke doubted it.
o0o
Luke pulled his Bronco into the parking lot next to a sleek silver Corvette, and took the time to admire its clean lines and subtle construction. It was not out of place here at the swank condominium complex in an upscale suburb of Romulus, New York. Michael’s birth mother must have done pretty well for herself.
He shut off the engine and leaned his head against the seat. He tried to quell his resentment but his effort was futile, as it had been on the interminable one-hour drive from Sommerfield to Romulus. The only thing his internal debating had achieved was to enhance the dull ache at his temples.
What did it matter how well she’d fared in the intervening years? When Michael was born, she’d turned him over to a family who could raise him better than she could, and Luke had thanked God for her then. It wasn’t fair to judge her now for what he had considered the greatest gift a mother could give her child.
“But she’s not Michael’s mother,” he said aloud, pounding his fist on the steering wheel. “Sara is.”
No, Sara was his mother.
Yanking open the door, and determined to leave the bitter feelings and morbid thoughts behind, Luke made his way to number thirty-four. Before he could change his mind, he reached up and rang the bell. Impatient now, he tapped his foot on the brick steps as he looked around at the lush greenery. Large maple and birch trees swayed in the early-afternoon breeze, infusing the air with the scents of fall. The grass and shrubbery were meticulously clipped, like the grounds of the golf course at the country club Sara had convinced him to join. He was about to ring again, when the door opened.
Luke froze. Staring up at him were Michael’s eyes. His son had the most unusual eyes Luke had ever seen—oval, with large black pupils, surrounded by light green or dark green—depending on his mood or what he wore—and rimmed in black. They’d always reminded Luke of the marbles he used to play with as a kid.
“Hello.” Her voice was strained, and she coughed to clear it. “Mr. Rayburn?”
“Yes. You must be Meredith Hunter.”
She nodded, then inched back to allow him in.
Luke couldn’t shake the feeling that once he entered this house, his life would change forever. But he’d promised Michael. He stepped through the doorway.
Softly she closed the door, and circled him in the large foyer. “Come on in here,” she said, her voice a little stronger. She preceded him into a huge living room.
He tried not to notice that her hair was light brown, and streaked the same as Michael’s with end-of-summer highlights. He tried not to observe that she was about five-eight, tall for a woman. It must be where Michael got his height. Oh, Lord, he told himself, he had to stop these comparisons, or he’d go crazy. He had to remember that this woman gave birth to his son, but he and Sara had given Michael everything else.
“Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Rayburn,” she said, standing beside an overstuffed white leather couch.
He sat. She perched on the matching chair across from him, and was framed by high, arched floor-to-ceiling windows. Vertical blinds allowed in afternoon sunlight which softened her somewhat formal outfit— a navy blue suit with a white blouse.
Stop staring and say something. “Nice place you have here.” Oh, now that was clever.
She scanned the room absently. “Thanks, I like it.”
“Lived here long?”
“Um, yes, about seven years. I was one of the original tenants. That’s how I could afford it.”
He nodded.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
He glanced down at her hands, clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. It was the first time he noticed she was trembling. The small show of vulnerability thawed some of his resentment of her. “Not unless you have a magic potion that will make this any less awkward.”
She smiled then, a half smile that Michael often gave Luke when he’d done something right. “This is hard,” she said.
Luke sat back against the comfortable cushions and sighed heavily. “I don’t even know where to begin. I was hoping our mothers could be here to break the ice.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “You know, because they arranged the adoption.”
Again, the wisp of a smile. “I wish they were here, too.”
“Bad timing that they’re both traveling.”
“Yes, it would have helped if they could have filled us in on the details of each other’s lives before we met.” Her eyes turned bleak. “And of...Michael’s.”
She said his son’s name reverently. Instead of impressing Luke, it irked him. He didn’t want to know how she felt about Michael, or what it had been like to give up her child. “What did my mother tell your mother?” he asked.
“Just that Michael wanted to meet me. And...that his...that your wife had died three years ago.”
“Yes, his mo
ther died of cancer.”
Luke watched her carefully. She’d flinched when he called Sara Michael’s mother, but she’d repressed it immediately.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “For you and Michael.”
“You knew nothing about us?”
“No. I assume you knew nothing about me, either.”
He shook his head.
“I agreed with my mother that was the best way to handle the...adoption.” She paused again, and her hands clenched tighter in her lap. “Didn’t you want it that way?”
“Of course. I never thought this day would come.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“My mother said that she and your mother cut off all contact sixteen years ago—when they arranged the adoption—so she didn’t know how your life turned out.”
“My mother said the same thing. About you, and your life.”
Luke smiled in spite of the gravity of the situation. “We’re parroting each other. This is the stiffest conversation I’ve ever had.”
“It is awkward.”
“I always felt bad my mother gave up her best friend from law school for me.”
Meredith stared over his shoulder. “Me, too. They both made a big sacrifice for Michael’s welfare. I...appreciated it.” She smiled again. “Did you know that they were the only two women in their graduating class at Stanford?”
Relaxing, Luke nodded. “They got each other through, from what I heard. My mother talked about Lydia a lot before the adoption. She never mentioned her afterward.”
“Same here.”
Luke sighed again, watching her. “Well, where do we start?”
“Tell me about him.” Luke thought he saw moisture glaze her eyes, but she blinked and it was gone.
He hesitated. It was hard for him to begin, but he knew he had to start the ball rolling somehow. “He’s a great kid,” he said finally. “He’s a junior in high school—gets good grades but doesn’t have to study much for them. Like most kids, he plays his music too loud, he’s addicted to Reality TV. He wears my clothes without asking. English is his favorite subject, and he writes a lot since his ninth-grade teacher got the kids to keep a journal.”
The intensity on her face reminded Luke of a POW starved for information about the outside world. He felt a pang of sympathy.
“Let’s see, his best friend is Julie Anne Sherman, who lives next door. They’re together most of the time, though he has a lot of buddies from the soccer team who hang around the house.”
Meredith Hunter bit her lip hard.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She took in a deep breath. “Yes, I, um...it’s all a little overwhelming. Finally...knowing about him.”
She’d either just lied to him, he decided, or hedged. He knew the signs well. She’d reacted when he’d mentioned soccer.
Nervously, she reached up and fingered the braid that fell over one shoulder. She wore no polish on her short fingernails; her hands were unsteady. “What else?”
Probing, to see if she would react again, Luke said, “He’s an excellent soccer player.”
Her shoulders tensed. “What position?”
“Forward. Do you know the game?”
“Yes. Does he drive yet?”
Luke nodded, but let go of the cross-examination. “We kept Sara’s car for him after she died. He uses that.”
“A nice legacy for a teenage boy.”
For some reason the comment angered Luke. “Sara gave him a lot more than that.”
“I’m sure she did.” Meredith swallowed hard. “Look, I’d like some coffee. I’ll be right back.” She fled from the room faster than a beaten dog.
Damn it. Luke hadn’t meant to hurt her. He hadn’t known what to expect—how she’d felt about giving up her son—so he hadn’t thought out his reactions to her. Hell, she seemed pretty controlled to him in general. Almost cold. But one thing was clear. It hurt her to talk about Michael, and about the woman she’d given him to. Luke didn’t want to deal with that. He had his own conflicting emotions to sort out.
So he got up and wandered around the room. Its tidy sparseness added to his impression that this was a woman in control. Everything was in its place, neatly stored or displayed. There were none of the springy plants Sara had populated their house with. Only two pictures graced the bookshelf: one of an older couple, the woman resembling both Meredith and Michael. The other photo was of two guys, arms linked, in football jerseys and shorts. Was one a lover? Michael’s natural father? All Luke knew about the man was that he had died before Michael was born, and that they had no health records from him like the ones he’d gotten from Meredith. Even recently, when Luke’s mother had told him the whereabouts of Meredith Hunter, she’d said that there would be no discussion of the man involved. Which was fine with Luke. Even mention of the guy made his stomach churn. He didn’t want to know any of this! He was Michael’s father.
In the kitchen, Meredith gripped the countertop and took several deep breaths. She reached over and cranked open the window, then splashed some cold water on her face.
Oh, God, this was hard. She’d known it was going to hurt, she just hadn’t planned on the details sucker punching her in the gut.
He was a soccer player. She had a brief flash of herself in the last game she’d ever played, booting in the winning goal from almost midfield.
Shake it off, Meredith. This is too important to fall apart now.
Taking out the canister and filter, she assembled the coffee machine, and watched it brew. Mr. Lucas Rayburn would have to wait until she got herself together. Judging from the looks he’d shot her, she was certain he wouldn’t miss her presence at all. Which was fine with her. Arrogant, intimidating men were her least favorite people.
Eight minutes later, she returned to the living room more composed, a tray containing their coffee in her hands. She found Luke standing in front of her music collection. “You have a lot of jazz.” He held up a Rippington’s CD. “Michael likes this group, too.”
Quelling a surge of joy at yet another shared interest, she set the tray down on the low, glass-topped table. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black.” He came toward her then, and took a mug. A lock of hair fell across his forehead. It was the color of fall chestnuts. His eyes were slightly darker, she noted, allowing herself to look into them.
She wished she hadn’t. They were a deep, dark masculine brown—and they were filled with wariness.
Nothing you didn’t expect, Meredith.
When they were seated again, she tried to warm her ice-cold hands by circling them around one of the steaming mugs. He watched her.
“Mr. Rayburn, I know this is difficult for you. It’s hard for me, too. Would you answer a question?”
“Maybe.”
“How do you feel about Michael getting to know me?”
He set his mug down on the table, then linked his hands between his knees. For the first time she noticed he was dressed casually, in blue jeans and a gray T-shirt under a blue plaid flannel shirt. Her work suit, tailored yet stylish, seemed formal and fussy for this occasion. “I’m against it,” he said simply.
Oh, God, was she going to lose the boy a second time? She forced a calm into her voice, as she did in the courtroom when she was unsure of her facts. “Then why are you here?” she asked. Susan, her therapist, had told her to focus on what she needed from the situation.
“Because I’ll do anything for Michael. And he wants to meet you.”
Meredith let out a revealing breath. “So you’ll let us...him...see me?”
“Of course. Look, I don’t want to know anything about why you gave him up. All I really need to know is where your head is today.” He paused, then said, “Answer a question for me. Can you do this for him now? Do you want to?”
“Yes, I do. More than you could possibly know.”
“It won’t be easy,” he warned.
You don’t understand the half of it, Mr.
Rayburn. “What exactly do you mean?”
“Michael’s a complicated kid. And he’s stubborn. He wants to get to know you now that Sara’s gone, and no one can convince him differently.”
“You’ve tried?”
“I’ve explored all the angles with him. Ultimately, it was his decision.”
“But had it been yours, we wouldn’t be here talking.”
“Absolutely not. I know my son. He’ll have some trouble with...with the fact that you gave him up.”
Meredith felt sick, but she forced herself not to react to his articulation of her worst fear.
“Are you prepared for that?” he asked.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Why did you agree to this?”
Anger flickered inside her. Could he possibly think she didn’t want to know her own child? His eyes narrowed on her, so she must have reacted outwardly, something she took great pains to avoid doing. “I want this, too.”
“All right.” He sat back and picked up his coffee. “I’d like to know more about you, then.”
Meredith studied him. Know thy enemy. “I feel the same way.”
He smiled and she had the odd feeling it was a rare occurrence in his life these days. “You go first,” he said. “Give me the basics, then I’ll do the same.”
Wanting to relax, she eased back into the chair. “Let’s see. I’m thirty-five. I have an older brother, Nathan, and as you know, my mother is a retired attorney, living in New York City. My dad’s dead. I read and spend time with my best friend, Belle. I like jazz and have an interest in cars. I watch sports on television, but not much else. I work out at a health club four times a week. And I’m an assistant district attorney for the city of Romulus.”
His thick eyebrows raised when she finished. “I didn’t expect the last thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have something in common.”
“What?”
“The law. I’m a federal public defender for the counties that include Romulus and Sommerfield.”
Meredith’s hands went clammy and her insides contracted. But she struggled to rein in her conflicting emotions. Luke Rayburn could never know about her bias against public defenders. Of everything in this whole emotional mess, that was the one thing that he could never, ever find out.