by Linda Ladd
Raising his face to the sun, he let the warmth invade his skin, savoring the joy of freedom, of sun and wind and rushing water. He'd done his time for good this time; no one would hunt him down; he had nothing to fear. Kate was waiting for him just as she'd promised. Unlikely, unfamiliar emotions began to stir inside him, and he stroked steadily, kept the boat on course, eager to see her again, be alone with her, without guards watching and listening to everything they said and did. He had hated seeing her and Joey inside the ugly, barred buildings surrounded by razor-wire fences; it had seemed obscene for them to be there.
And Kate had done more than wait. She had flown to Rome and gotten permission to visit Betsy and his son. She had brought home their address and insisted Billy was eager to hear from him. She had browbeaten him in every single letter until he agreed to write the son he'd thought lost to him forever and found it the hardest thing he'd ever done. Now Billy was here on the river, staying with Kate, waiting to meet his father. Sometimes Booker couldn't believe it. He felt nervous inside, at a loss for what he'd say. The kid was a teenager, for God's sake. His letters had been friendly enough, but what did the boy really think of a father who'd abandoned him, who'd done time for attempted murder?
Booker fought the cowardly urge to turn the canoe around, fight his way back upstream, the urge powerful but not as much as his desire to see Kate and meet Billy. In his wallet he had a picture Billy sent him, taken at his American school in Rome. He had on a black soccer uniform, and Booker thought him a fine-looking boy with Booker's blue eyes and his mother's big smile.
The river flowed onward, swift, eternal, the trees along the banks bright and alive with October brilliance, the wind spiraling down leaves all along the shoreline. A chill in the air cut through his blue flannel shirt but caused everything to seem brighter and fresher, more beautiful, and he felt a burn behind his eyes with the sheer pleasure of being back where he belonged. He dipped the paddle faster, deep, even strokes that would take him home to Kate.
When the bait shop appeared on the left shore, he steered the canoe straight toward it, his heart in his throat. It scraped against the sand and he laid down the paddle and stepped onto the bank. He stood looking up at the log cabin on the hill, where Kate had fled one night a long time ago. Yellow ribbons decorated nearly every tree in the backyard, and he could see Kate playing with the two boys, his son, and her son. He swallowed hard, just seeing them all together, laughing and having fun. God, Billy was so tall, taller than Kate. He had a baseball glove and was playing catch with Kate. Joey was toddling around, pushing a little toy lawnmower. He fought down a surge of raw emotion.
When Kate caught sight of Booker, she squealed with delight, then ran down the lawn to meet him. He could see her smile; he loved that smile, was pleased at how happy she was to see him. A thrill went through him when she threw herself into his arms, laughing, hugging him.
“I didn't think you'd ever get here! I've called Mac a dozen times asking him when you were coming. What took you so long?"
Booker examined her face, touched her nose. “You're sunburned."
“Billy and I went fishing this morning.” She smiled at him, eyes alight with happiness, and his gaze strayed up the hill where his son was waiting to meet him, slapping the ball in his glove while Joey mowed the grass around his feet.
“Come on, Booker, you've got somebody to meet."
Booker let her lead him by the hand, and he watched his boy walk toward him with the awkward, loose-limbed stride of adolescence, and wondered if he was filled with apprehension, too, with fear he wouldn't know what to say.
“Billy's a great kid,” Kate whispered. “I've loved having him here. Joey's nuts about him. See, just look at them together."
Joey was clinging to Billy's leg, being dragged along, squealing the whole way. As they approached, Kate laughed and scooped Joey up into her arms. Billy looked at him, and Booker couldn't speak, searched for the right words, didn't find them.
“Hi, Dad. We've been waitin’ for you."
“Hello, son."
Billy truly had Betsy's smile, and he used it now. “Wanna see the bass I caught this morning? Kate put him on ice so I could show you. Got him on a purple plastic worm ‘cause Kate said they hit the best on them. I reeled him in myself. Kate says he's a big sucker."
Booker laughed. “Sure. Bring him on."
Billy turned and headed at a run for the bait shop. Kate pushed Joey up into Booker's arms. Joey stared him in the face a moment, then decided Booker was too big and scary for him. He puckered up.
“You better get used to him, kiddo,” Kate said with a laugh. “He's here to stay."
Booker held the squirming toddler but he watched his son pull a stringer out of the river and hold it up as high as he could. He waved an arm, then found Kate's eyes.
“I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am, Kate. I owe you."
“Good. That's the way I like it.” She smiled, but her eyes were serious. She understood what he was saying, how much he appreciated her smoothing the way for Billy and him.
“You grateful enough to quit stalling and marry me?"
Booker laughed again, twice now, more than he had all the months in prison. “Plenty enough for that, I reckon."
“Then come on, let's go check out Billy's fish. Maybe I'll fry it up for supper. How's that sound?"
“Good,” Booker said, entwining his fingers with hers. “That sounds just about perfect."
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2000 by Linda Ladd
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-1618-9
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
LINDA LADD
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