Twenty miles down the road, he speed-dialed Keeley, his heart too full to keep his news to himself.
She was the only person on earth he could imagine sharing it with, and when she answered on the second ring he couldn’t help but smile into the phone. “I can’t believe what just happened, Keeley...”
She listened with rapt attention. “That’s great news, Connor. I’m so thrilled for you!”
“I just hope things work out.”
“Please, keep me posted on how things go in Detroit. Were you able to set up an appointment with a lawyer when you get there?”
“Eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Your sister made the contact for me—probably the reason why I was able to get something so soon.”
“I wish you well. And take lots of notes.”
Just a few minutes after they ended the call, his cell rang, and Lonnie, Marsha’s friend, appeared on the caller ID screen.
He pulled off into the nearest freeway rest stop just south of Detroit and scrambled for a pen and paper. “Did you find it? Do you have Marsha’s address?”
“It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. That woman picks up stakes and moves more often than anyone I ever met.”
“It probably has something to do with paying rent,” Connor muttered.
Lonnie gave a startled laugh. “I guess you do know her pretty well. Anyway, her last known address is 421 Harper Street, Fairbury, Michigan—which is just outside Detroit. If you don’t mind, I’d rather she didn’t know I was the one who helped you. She can be one vindictive woman.”
“No problem. I can’t thank you enough, Lonnie. I couldn’t have found her without you.”
The woman chuckled. “Now you can go get that sweet little boy of yours and see that he’s raised right.”
Her words wrapped around his heart and gave it a hard squeeze. After all this time, could it finally happen?
Connor plugged the new address into the GPS on his phone and pulled back onto the highway.
Six-hundred-fifty miles down, with seventy to go.
And with every mile he was praying that Marsha hadn’t already disappeared.
* * *
Connor had dreamed of this moment for five long years. He’d tried to imagine his son’s four-year-old face and how it might have changed. Wondered if Josh would even remember him—or the wrestling matches they’d played on the floor, that Joshua always won with shrieks of laughter.
The piles of books they’d read every night.
The battles with the bathtub armada of plastic boats.
When Connor arrived at the right address on Tuesday morning he took a deep breath and knocked on the door, his hand shaking.
He realized that despite the passing years, he’d been imagining Josh as a sweet little boy.
He definitely hadn’t prepared himself for the much-older sullen child who now stood in the open doorway and stared at him without any sign of recognition. “My mom went to the store and Ed is sleeping.” The boy started to close the door.
“Josh, don’t you remember me?” Connor said softly, trying to slow his racing heart. “You were only four when I saw you last. Wow. You’ve changed so much. I didn’t imagine you’d already be so tall.”
The boy’s eyes widened with fear and confusion. He pushed harder on the door. Connor stopped it with his foot, but made no move to go in.
“I’m your dad, remember? I’ve been gone a long time, but I’ve wanted to see you again more than anything in the whole world.”
Josh’s momentary fear turned to anger in a heartbeat. “Right. You cared so much that you killed somebody and went to jail, instead of being home like a real dad.”
“I didn’t do it, Josh.”
“Like I should believe that.” The boy’s voice rose. “My mom says you’re a murderer and belong in jail. She says you’re crazy dangerous—and they’d never let you out. Ever.”
This was much harder than he’d expected. If he persisted, the boy might just get more upset. If he left, Marsha would probably grab Joshua the moment she returned and flee.
This might be Connor’s only chance.
“I sent you a newspaper clipping about my release, son. Did you see it?”
Josh’s lower lip trembled and he shook his head.
“Someone else killed that poor sheriff. Not me. It just took a long time for them to finally find the mistake in the DNA testing. But because of that mistake, I missed years of watching you grow up. It makes me so sad to think about it.”
“Yeah, you really cared. You never even bothered to send a stupid birthday card in all that time.” The boy’s voice dripped venom. “You love me, all right. Go away.”
There were tears in his eyes now. Tears that gave Connor a glimmer of hope. “Didn’t your mom give you the letters I wrote twice a week? The cards at birthdays and Christmas?”
Joshua wavered, glanced over his shoulder, then stood taller with renewed bravado. “I don’t believe you. My mom would never steal my mail.”
A man appeared in the doorway, next to Josh, with rumpled salt-and-pepper hair, a five o’clock shadow and a heavy gold 1980s chain around his neck. His eyes were bleary, but he had broad shoulders beneath an unbuttoned shirt and the beefy look of a wrestler who had gone paunchy in the midsection. Connor guessed that Marsha thought him handsome. She’d gone for his type before.
The guy surveyed Connor with narrowed eyes then rested a possessive hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “What’s going on here? You guys woke me up.”
“Joshua?” Connor said gently. “Can you introduce us?”
“This is Ed. He and Mom are getting married.” The boy dropped his gaze to the floor. He didn’t sound very thrilled about it. “And this is...this is my dad. He’s s’posed to be in prison.”
Ouch. “Actually, I was exonerated.” Connor met the other man’s gaze squarely. “But Joshua doesn’t quite believe it.”
The other man gave a brief, tight nod. “I read about it. Marsha’s been real worried about you showing up someday, so I looked it up on the internet. You got a raw deal, buddy.”
Connor glanced at the room behind them. Furniture in place, framed prints on the walls, no moving boxes in sight. Had Marsha been lying about leaving town? “More than anything, I’ve wanted to see my son again.”
“She’s been stewing about that, too.”
Ed seemed reasonable enough, and Connor felt another flash of hope. “I don’t want her to feel that way. There’s no need. I just want some time with Joshua.”
“It don’t matter to me. Marsha’s the one you gotta deal with, and good luck with that.” He hesitated and then stepped to one side. “Want to come in? The place is a mess, but you might as well sit down. She should be back soon.”
Connor looked down at Joshua. “Okay with you, son?”
“Whatever.” Joshua waited until Connor settled in an upholstered chair, and then he plopped down at the farthest end of the sofa.
But now his eyes were riveted on Connor as if he couldn’t bear to look away.
Ed ambled into the kitchen and came back with a mug in his hand. “Coffee? I can add a little kick to it if you want.”
“No, thanks.”
Hitching himself onto a stool at the counter dividing the living room and kitchen, Ed took a long swig from his mug and rested a meaty arm on the counter. “I’ll probably get in trouble for saying this, but I figure you gotta right to know. Those letters you sent Josh did come. But she figured they would just upset him, so far as I know, they all went in the trash. At least while I’ve been around. Almost a year now.”
Joshua sucked in a deep breath. “She shouldn’t have done that.”
Ed shrugged. “Well, kid, it ain’t my business. Talk to her about it.”
“I understand you’re moving,” C
onnor ventured. “Anyplace fun?”
Ed’s eyes gleamed. “Mississippi. That’s real casino country down there along the Gulf.”
Not the East Coast, then? “So you’re a gambler.”
“Big stakes, tall drinks, fancy women. What’s not to love?”
“You must be successful at it, then.” Connor glanced over at Joshua, who had slumped down into the couch. Ed’s lifestyle would certainly be appealing to Marsha, but what kind of life was that going to be for his son if they were out partying all night? “What will you do with Josh?”
He shrugged. “He’s old enough to be home alone and not burn the place down. Right, kid?”
Josh didn’t answer.
“So...what do you play?”
“High-stakes poker, blackjack—you name it,” Ed boasted. “I’m tough to beat.”
Connor shuddered, thinking of the sleazy life Marsha and this man had chosen. The apartment sure didn’t seem to be the home of a high roller, though. “Have you lived here long?”
Ed waved an arm dismissively. “This is a dump. Marsha’s lease ends next month and then we’ll be out of here. Hey—maybe you can come down and visit us. We’ll show you a good time.”
“Show who a good time?” Marsha walked in the door carrying a sack of groceries.
When she saw Connor her mouth fell open and she froze. The sack of groceries slid through her arms to the floor.
“What in blazes are you doing here?” Her stony gaze veered over to Ed. “And why did you let him in? I told you what could happen. And yet you did it anyway, like this was some happy little tea party.”
“He seems nice enough to me,” Ed said mildly, taking another long swallow from his mug.
She pinned a malevolent glare on Connor. “Get out. Do you hear me? Get out.”
“Actually, we need to talk, but then I’ll leave,” Connor said quietly. “No yelling, no screaming, no name-calling. Just talk.”
She glared at him, her arms folded over her chest. “There is no point. Get out of here, or I’m calling the cops.”
“Your loss, if you do. I’ve spent the last two hours with my lawyer here in town.” He flipped the man’s business card on the coffee table. “Hire an attorney yourself and we can just turn this all over to the two of them and give them each twenty grand to argue. Or we can be adult about this and make it simple. If we can amicably come to a decision about shared custody and hand that over to our attorneys, it will cost each of us much, much less. Your choice.”
She blinked.
“I’ll take that as a vote for the economical option. Good.” He nodded toward the kitchen table. “Can we sit over there and get started? Maybe you’ll want to have Josh go to his room while we talk. Or Ed can take him somewhere fun for a while.”
“Go to your room, kid. And shut the door.” Ed lifted an arm and pointed. “Now. I’m going to stay with your mom.”
He stood behind her chair and rested his hands on her shoulders as if protecting her from marauders.
Connor choked back a laugh. “You might as well sit down, Ed. I have no desire to pounce on your girlfriend, and this is going to take a while.”
He pulled a voice-activated mini recorder from his shirt pocket, thankful that Keeley had loaned it to him. “I want a record of what we say here, and you should record it, too. If you don’t have a recorder, you can download a quick app into your smartphone and you’ll be all set.”
Ed whipped out his phone and got it ready.
“For starters, I’ve retained a family-law lawyer here in Detroit, as I said. He’s very successful and he’s quite a shark, but I have no interest in anything beyond ensuring that Marsha and I have equal rights in Joshua’s welfare. Marsha has repeatedly stated that ‘I’ll never see Joshua again’ and that she’s ‘moving away so I can never find my son again.’ Obviously, that’s not acceptable.”
Ed frowned and looked at Marsha. “You said that? Half the time you act like you don’t want the kid around.”
She lifted her chin defiantly but said nothing.
“Before I was wrongly arrested, you and I had shared custody, Marsha. It was fair, and I believe it was in Joshua’s best interests, though you actually had him much less because you were so...busy. That was fine with me, and it certainly freed you up for work and your social life, right?”
“We’re moving south,” Ed interjected. “It would hardly work to pass the kid back and forth every week. Who’s gonna pay all that airfare unless you move down there, too?”
“I’m not moving south, so we’ll need to split the cost fifty-fifty. It won’t be cheap.”
Ed scowled.
Marsha blanched.
“The courts will want to make sure each of us is a responsible parent, with steady income to support him. On my way up here I called my brothers back in Texas, and they’ve welcomed me back into the family ranching business.” A brief image of Keeley and Aspen Creek flashed into his thoughts. “Or I may try to settle in western Wisconsin. What about you two—steady paychecks, right?”
Marsha and Ed exchanged uneasy glances.
“I’m a taxpayer,” Ed said after a brief pause. “We’re both solvent.”
But what you want is a life of casinos, gambling and nightlife. What kind of life is that for my son? Connor cleared his throat. “Well, then, let’s get down to work and figure this out.”
Chapter Twenty
On Thursday afternoon Keeley took another Tylenol then slipped in the foam earplugs she’d just purchased at the drugstore and forced herself to concentrate on the bookkeeping system in her laptop.
Even with the earplugs, she could hear a hammer pounding. But it was a good thing, she reminded herself firmly. Embrace the renovations and be glad.
If only Connor were back in town from Detroit.
He’d been gone since early Monday morning, but though he’d called to share the news about meeting Joshua, and had been calling several times a day to report on his progress, she still missed him. A lot.
She massaged her temples, willing away the headache thudding in time to that hammer.
Now there were three hammers pounding in the store, none keeping time with the other, and a table saw was squealing through yet another board.
Why she’d thought these projects would be relatively unobtrusive during business hours escaped her now, but few customers had lingered today and she was counting the minutes until closing time. Still, she hadn’t expected a lot of customers during the week after the Antique Walk anyway.
A blessing. This was a blessing, she reminded herself.
The contractor had called early this morning, saying he had a remodel cancellation, and would Keeley be interested in moving her renovation dates up on the calendar? It had taken less than a second of thought to respond in the affirmative.
So now there was a team of guys fixing the roof and fire escape. Several were downstairs taking care of the floor joists weakened by more than a century of use. Others were working on accessibility issues in the main-floor bathroom designated for customers. And after five o’clock, the old, cracked cement steps to the front and back doors would be re-poured.
Every last project on her repair and reno list would now be done just in time for a professional inspection on Friday and its presentation to the loan officer at the bank.
Rags eyed her from one of the shelves above her then leaped down onto the surface of the desk with a thud and plopped his rear on her keyboard. She stared at him in surprise. “So when did you decide to be so friendly?”
He stared at her with the arched sophistication only cats and maître d’s at haute cuisine restaurants fully perfected.
“You’ll really have to move, though, buddy,” she said, pushing him to one side. “You aren’t transparent and I can’t see my screen.”
<
br /> He jumped to the floor, scattering invoices and receipts.
“Keeley?”
At the sound of Bobby’s tremulous voice behind her, she spun around and launched from her chair to give him a quick hug. “How are you?” she exclaimed. “I missed you over the weekend.”
He shuffled his feet and looked away. “I couldn’t come ’cause Aunt Bess needed me. Am I fired?”
“Of course not, but I was very worried about you. I’m just glad to see you’re all right.” She waved a hand toward the rest of the store. “Did you see all the trucks parked out front? And the guys working inside? It’s a very busy day.”
He scooped up the cat and frowned at the coating of dust and bits of litter on the floor. “They made a mess.”
“Yes, indeed, but it’s a good mess, because they’re doing things that must be done, so the bank will let me refinance this place. Would you like to do some dusting for me?”
He nodded and began dusting an old rocker, then moved on to an 1880s chest of drawers with delicate carving on the front and sides.
“How is your aunt Bess feeling now?” she asked after a few minutes. “I heard she had to go to the hospital for a while.”
He shuddered. “She had to have needles and everything. But she’s better now. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
He shot a troubled glance at Keeley and then dropped his gaze. “Not when Uncle Rafe is around.”
“You don’t like him very much?”
Bobby shook his head.
She busied herself with straightening a couple of framed prints on the wall. “Why is that?”
“He makes her cry. He’s mean to her and she cries.”
“Is he ever mean to you?”
Bobby’s silence triggered alarms in her head and she turned slowly, tilting her head in concern. “What does he do, Bobby? Does he hurt you in any way?”
The boy looked away, his lower lip trembling.
Oh, dear Lord, she prayed silently, desperately. Please don’t let this be what I think it is.
The Single Dad's Redemption (Aspen Creek Crossroads Book 3) Page 16