From Here to Paternity

by Christine Rimmer

  She supported the baby on one arm as she lifted her hip and slid Sissy’s note from the front pocket of her jeans.

  “What’s that?” He looked at her from under his golden brows—not suspicious, exactly, but not eager, either.

  “See for yourself.” She dropped the folded square of paper on the table and slapped her palm on it. “There you go.”

  He watched her for a moment, as if seeking some clue to what might be going on inside her head. Then he shrugged and pushed himself away from the counter.

  She listened to the coffeemaker gurgle and drip as he unfolded the paper and stared at the words scrawled there. He stared at them for a long time.

  Charlene waited, saying nothing, shifting Mia to her other shoulder, smoothing her blanket, gently rubbing her little back.

  Finally he looked up. He shook his head. And then he yanked out the nearest chair and plunked himself in it. He threw the note on the table. “No way. I never touched your sister. I am not the father of that kid.”

  Charlene glared at him. He glared back at her.

  Finally she said wearily, “Now, why did I just know you’d say that?”

  He shifted, drawing his bare feet under the chair, leaning his muscular torso her way. “Because it’s true? Because, in spite of how much you hate my guts, you know I’m an honest man who doesn’t have sex with screwed-up teenagers—and that means you know that baby isn’t mine?”

  Okay, he had a point. Whatever she might think of him, she’d never doubted his honesty. Not until right now.

  She said, “There’s no reason for her to accuse you—unless it’s true.”

  He leaned back in the chair. “Come on, Charlene. Get real. It’s not as if your crazy little sister needs a reason to do the insane stuff she does.”

  She refused to reply to that. If she did, she knew she would screech at him and call him terrible names. How dare he say that about Sissy?

  Even if it did happen to be true.

  He glanced away, his hand on the table tightening to a fist. She watched him control himself. When he spoke again, it was softly. Carefully. “Okay. I shouldn’t have said that. I realize your sister’s a sensitive subject with you.”

  Sensitive didn’t even begin to cover it. She’d always felt so guilty about the way Sissy got sent away after their parents died. She’d fought and fought hard to keep Sissy with her. But she’d been eighteen and single. And the judge had been the kind who thought a nine-year-old would be better off in a two-parent home.

  If Brand had only—

  But no.

  There was no point in going there. That was then and it was over. They needed to talk about what to do now. Still, she couldn’t resist getting on him about the more-recent past. “You should never have hired her to work for you last year.”

  He looked at the note again, touched the edge of it, pulled his hand away quickly. “I was only trying to help.”

  She stared at him dead-on and refused to say another word to him until he lifted that golden head and met her eyes. Then she instructed, slowly and clearly, “Do me a favor. Don’t help. Ever.”

  His gaze didn’t waver. “Charlene. I know you want to believe the worst of me, but—”

  “That’s not true!” She said it much too fast and much too loud, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as him. Mia stirred and whimpered.

  Brand only shook his head.

  Something about that, about the simple denial in the movement, got her fury building again. It would accomplish nothing to start screaming at him. Still, she burned to give him a giant-size piece of her mind.

  Mia whimpered some more.

  Poor little thing. She was probably picking up on the tension Charlene was trying so hard to control.

  “Shh. It’s okay, honey,” Charlene whispered, not looking at Brand, trying to think peaceful thoughts, rocking the baby gently back and forth, rubbing her tiny, warm back. “It’s okay….”

  Mia sighed and snuggled close again, going loose and limp once more.

  The coffeemaker gave a final sputter. Brand rose, went to the counter, filled a pair of mugs and returned to the table. He slid one mug toward her as he sipped from the other.

  She ignored the coffee and challenged in a voice she somehow managed to keep low and calm, “So. That’s your story, huh? You’re insisting this baby isn’t yours.”

  “It’s not a story. It’s the truth. That is not my baby—and by the way, where’s Sissy?”

  Exactly the question she didn’t want to answer. “Um. What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. How come she sent you here to do her dirty work?”

  “Dirty work?” She tried to sound superior and aloof.

  “Figure of speech. Where’s Sissy?”

  “How would I know? You read the note.”

  He looked down at the wrinkled note again. “You want me to figure the situation out for myself, is that it?” He slanted her a glance. When she refused to respond, he continued, “Okay. I’ll take a crack at it. You haven’t seen Sissy since last year. You haven’t even talked to her. She left that baby on your doorstep along with this note. She abandoned her own kid, dropped her off with you and took off again.”

  It hurt. A lot. To hear him say it right out loud like that. “Not on the doorstep,” she argued, sounding ridiculous and knowing she did, taking issue with a minor point to soften the enormous awfulness of what Sissy had done. “Not on the doorstep. On the couch. I…found her there, this morning, on my way out the door.”

  “You found her on the couch?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  “Sissy broke into your house and abandoned her own baby—but still, you’ll take her word against mine.”

  Mia stirred again. Charlene patted her to soothe her. “Sissy has a key, so she didn’t break in. My house is her house, always. And she didn’t abandon Mia, either. She left her with me. Sissy knows she can trust me to take good care of her.”

  Brand gave her a long, level look. “And that makes it all right, somehow, that she abandoned her kid with you?”

  “Stop saying that word.”

  “What word? Abandoned?”

  “Oh, I could reach right out and slap you silly about now.”

  For that, all she got was another slow shake of his head.

  She counted to three and then said with slow care, “I’m not here to talk about Sissy.”

  “Getting that. Big and bold as a whole new day.”

  “Are you denying that Mia is yours?”

  “What? You didn’t hear me? I denied it five minutes ago, I’m denying it now. I’ll always deny it. Because that baby isn’t mine.”

  “Then I’ll expect you to take a paternity test.” She delivered the ultimatum and waited for him to start squirming.

  He nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. And I want it done right. I don’t want there ever to be any question of the results. I want a legally binding test by a reputable lab, strict chain of custody of the DNA samples, so everyone involved is satisfied with the outcome.”

  She cleared her throat. All right. She had to admit, for a guy who was trying to weasel out of taking responsibility for his child, he seemed pretty eager to get to the truth….

  But then, as an attorney, maybe he knew some way to falsify the test results.

  Charlene shut her eyes. No. Whatever she thought of him, she didn’t believe that. He might be lying to himself, telling himself he couldn’t be the father.

  But he wouldn’t rig the test. He wouldn’t stoop that low.

  She said, “I want to get going on it right away.”

  He said, “Good. Get ahold of Sissy, tell her we need a copy of the baby’s birth certificate and she’ll have to show up at the collection location to sign a permission form to have the test done.”

  “Uh. The collection location?”

  “The lab where you’ll take the baby to have the DNA sample collected. It’s a simple, quick procedure. They r
un a cotton swab on the inside of the cheek. Painless.”

  “But I don’t…” She cradled Mia closer, breathed in the sweet baby scent of her skin. “You’re saying we need Sissy’s permission?”

  “Charlene. Think about it. You don’t go performing tests on minors without the approval of a parent or a legal guardian.”

  “Can’t we just…have it done?”

  “By some fly-by-night lab that sends a kit in the mail? How dependable do you think those results are going to be—let alone how legally binding?”

  As much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right. Oh, what was her problem? What had possessed her to come storming over here? She’d gained nothing for Mia—and she’d given him a chance to say things about Sissy that she really didn’t want to hear.

  Gently she shifted the baby to her other shoulder. She was stalling. Coming to grips with the fact that she had no choice now but to bust to the bald, ugly truth.

  She made herself say it. “You know I can’t reach Sissy. I haven’t seen or heard from her since she left town last June. She didn’t leave me so much as a PO box number, let alone a phone number or an address.”

  He studied her for moment and then he suggested, “Maybe there’s some friend of hers you could call? What about that aunt she went to live with after your parents died?”

  Aunt Irma. Dear God. Anyone but her. “It’s…doubtful. But I’ll check around.”

  He got up and poured himself some more coffee, turning when the mug was full to lean on the counter again. He sipped. “There’s another option.”

  Why did she get the feeling she was going to hate what he said next? She regarded him sideways. “What option?”

  “Call Child Protective Services. Tell them what’s happened, explain that your sister has claimed I’m the baby’s father. You might be able to get the state to authorize permission for the DNA sample.”

  She cradled Mia closer. “Call CPS. Uh-uh. No way.”

  It wasn’t right that he knew what she was thinking. But of course, he did. “This is a different situation than ten years ago. You’re not eighteen now. You’re a grown woman with a business, not to mention a respected and well-liked member of your community.”

  “I was well liked then. And respected. We had the diner then, to support us. My aunt still managed to take Sissy away—and why are we talking about this?”

  “I told you. Because it’s an option.”

  “No. No, it’s not. I do not want to mess with Child Protective Services, and you, of all people, ought to know that. I will not give them any chance to take this baby. I am her aunt. She’s…visiting. That’s how I want it. You understand?”

  “Charlene…”

  God. Why had she come here? What a stupid, stupid move. Her throat had clutched up with tears of frustration—and fear. She gulped the tears down and commanded, “Don’t you dare call CPS on me, Brand Bravo.”

  He set his mug on the counter and put up both hands, palms out. As if she had a gun on him or something. “Look. Totally your call. But you have to face that CPS might eventually enter the picture.”

  She would never face such a thing. What had happened to Sissy was never happening to Sissy’s child. Carefully cradling the baby with a supporting hand around the back of her tender little head, she stood. “I see now I shouldn’t have…rushed over here. My mistake. I was very upset and not thinking clearly. I understand what I’m up against now, though. I see there’s no way but to hold off on the paternity test until Sissy’s available to sign all the papers.”

  “Charlene.”

  She bit her lip and shook her head at him. “Don’t.”

  He hesitated, but in the end he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. “You’ve got to ask yourself. What if she’s never available?”

  Charlene had no intention of asking herself that. Not ever. No matter what. She said firmly, “She will be available. She’ll come home. Eventually. When she does, be prepared to take that paternity test.”

  Those muscular shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Fair enough.”

  She wondered why anyone would ever say that. Fair enough? As if there was anything about any of this that was fair.

  Oh, why had she come here, she asked herself again. She was a thousand different kinds of fool for even talking to Brand.

  Was he Mia’s father? Had he seduced Sissy last year?

  She was no closer to knowing the answer to those questions than she would have been if she’d gone about her business, taken things a little slower, held off on confronting him until she’d had time to think it over and understood the situation better.

  She should have been more…reasonable about all this. Not come flying over here at seven in the morning waving poor little Mia in his face, dragging him from bed and hurling accusations at him.

  He just…he did that to her. Made her crazy. Made her want to pitch a big, ugly fit.

  Ten whole years since he’d ripped out her heart and stomped it flat. And she still hated him, still looked for any opportunity to blame him—for anything.

  It wasn’t healthy. She had to get past her never-ending anger at him. Somehow.

  Soon.

  She picked up the note from the table, folded it back to a small square with one hand and stuck it in her pocket again. Then she turned for the door.

  Chapter Three

  Brand watched her walk out and said nothing. Not see you later. Not even goodbye.

  He and Charlene were long past the point where they made polite noises at each other. He and Charlene were…enemies. Or something damn close.

  It really bugged him, how much she despised him. He prided himself on being a likable guy.

  Yeah. It was kind of a big thing for him, to get along with the people who lived in his town. He’d worked hard to build himself a good reputation. It hadn’t been easy. He was a Bravo, after all, one of the apparently numberless bastard sons of the infamous Blake Bravo, who’d been a real bad actor, a man who had kidnapped his own nephew for a fortune in diamonds, done murder at least once and lived on for more than thirty years after the world believed him dead.

  Brand had a whole bunch of half brothers, sons of women like his mother, Chastity, who had fallen for Blake Bravo’s dangerous bad-guy charm. Chastity had four sons by Blake, two of whom grew up well-known for their wild antics and troublemaking ways. Brand and Brett, Chastity Bravo’s two middle sons, did their best to be different, to live normal, noncontroversial lives.

  Now Brett was the town doctor, happily married with a new baby son. And Brand had gone into law, moving back to town a couple of years ago to join his retiring uncle Clovis’s legal practice.

  Brand considered himself successful, a productive member of his community. He knew he shouldn’t be the least bothered by some long-ago girlfriend’s low opinion of him.

  And the fact that he knew he shouldn’t be bothered, well, that only bugged him all the more.

  But it wasn’t his problem. None of it. Not that poor abandoned baby, not Charlene. Not wild, messed-up, provocative Sissy.

  And, yeah. That was one thing Charlene had been right about. He never should have hired Sissy to do filing and help out at Cook and Bravo, Attorneys at Law. It had been a blazingly stupid move.

  Too bad. He’d hired Charlene’s wild little sister, and now he’d be paying the price.

  Eventually, the whole mess was bound to sort itself out. He’d take the paternity test when and if Sissy ever showed her face in town again. But for now his part was to stay the hell out of it.

  And get on with his own damn life.

  Charlene was just pulling out of Brand’s driveway when she spotted two local residents, Redonda Beals and Emmy Ralens, out for a morning stroll. They waved as she passed them, and Charlene waved back, being careful to smile as broadly as possible and to look as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Redonda and Emmy were both in their midfifties and best pals, nice ladies who came into the diner often and always tipped gener
ously. They weren’t real big on gossip or anything. But everyone in town knew that Charlene Cooper would never be caught dead visiting Brand Bravo—at that fine new house of his or anywhere else for that matter. So the two nice ladies couldn’t be blamed for looking slightly puzzled at the sight of Charlene emerging from Brand’s driveway.

  On the short drive back to town she came to a decision. Instead of turning for home, she headed for the diner. Might as well get it over with, let folks have a look at her niece.

  After all, this was the Flat. Everybody knew everything about everyone else. Seeing Redonda and Emmy back there by Brand’s house had brought it home to her that there was absolutely no sense in trying to keep the baby hidden away.

  Uh-uh. Smarter to play the proud auntie. Let them all know she had absolutely nothing to hide. The building loomed up on her left, the big black-and-white sign with red lettering over the door proclaiming it Dixie’s Diner.

  At seven-thirty, when Charlene entered with Mia in her arms, the counter was full and so were the booths. Lots of folks liked to come in early for breakfast, and Saturdays were no exception.

  Teddy was flipping pancakes on the grill and Rita—the waitress who’d agreed to come in at the last minute—was taking an order from the Winkle family at the back booth. Nan and George Winkle had three boys: twelve, eight and six. They were a rambunctious crew and prone to talking over each other. The boys would order more than they could possibly eat, while Nan and George vetoed and bargained and eventually allowed them to get whatever they wanted.

  George, Jr., who had something of a crush on Charlene, waved wildly at the sight of her. “Hey. Charlene. Hi!”

  Stevie, the youngest, started bouncing up and down, announcing in a loud sing-song, “Charlene has got a baby, an itty-bitty baby…”

  “Shh, now,” said Nan. “Just you settle down.”

  Matt, the middle son, demanded, “I want OJ and hot chocolate. I’ll drink ’em both, promise. Swear it. Please, I want both. Please…”