Shades of Gray

by Vicki Hinze

  To put the boy at ease, Bear softened his voice and smiled. “Come sit down, and let’s talk awhile.”

  Bear made small talk, deliberately trying to get Timmy comfortable enough to lower his guard and speak freely. They talked baseball—Timmy was a big Cardinals fan, though his mom had refused to let him wear his cap to court.

  After a few minutes, Timmy’s pulse no longer throbbed at his throat and his Adam’s apple stopped bobbing every ten seconds. Glad to see both, Bear asked, “Do you carry a wallet, Timmy?”

  “Yes, sir.” He pulled out a blue nylon wallet from his hip pocket. “I have to have my ID on me, in case I get sick or something.”

  “Would you mind if I took a look?”

  “No, sir.” He passed the wallet across the files on the desktop. “But I swear I ain’t carrying.”

  “Carrying?” Bear opened the Velcro clasp.

  Timmy’s cheeks flushed red. “You know what I mean. Protection. For girls.”

  Condoms? Shock streaked up Bear’s backbone. “I’d think not. You’re only nine.”

  “I know. Most of the kids at school carry, though. I did too, so the guys wouldn’t hassle me,” he confessed as if it were a god-awful sin he was revealing. “But then Mom ran my wallet through the washer and—”

  “She went through your wallet?” A woman should never go through a man’s wallet. No more so than a man should go through a woman’s purse.

  “She and Mrs. Miller were just drying stuff out,” Timmy said, defending her with offhanded ease. “That’s when Mom found it.”

  Lord, Bear could just imagine the ruckus. “Who’s Mrs. Miller?”

  “She takes care of us, and we take care of her. Her husband died, and she’s really old—thirty-nine and holding, she says—but she loves baseball.”

  More than a housekeeper, Bear surmised. Like one of the family. “What happened—when they found the wallet?”

  “Mom told Dad, and then strongly suggested he and I have a serious discussion.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  Timmy nodded enthusiastically. “I thought I was dead.”

  Bear’s grimace turned real, and deep. “Really?”

  “Naw. Dad was serious, though. And not too happy. He can look mean when he wants to,” Timmy confided, then gave Bear a lopsided grin. “He said until I understood the meaning behind sex, I’d best only use the—you know—for a water balloon.”

  Bear laughed out loud. What a treat this child was; easy to see how he’d captured Laura’s heart. And his father’s, too.

  Wishing he’d been a fly on the wall during that conversation, Bear flipped through the photos and then stopped at one of Laura, Jake, and Timmy. They were all wearing red clown noses and laughing, looking happy and acting silly at some kind of festival, judging from the Ferris wheel in the background. That scene settled on the favorable side in Bear’s mind.

  “Timmy, have you seen your mom lose her temper?” Though pushing sixty, the hurt boy in Bear had to know absolutely and unequivocally this adoption was best for Timmy. That he’d be treated well. Cherished. Loved unconditionally.

  “Oh, yeah.” Timmy slid closer, onto the edge of his chair, then propped his arm on the edge of Bear’s desk and groused at the tight tie choking his neck. “When Mr. Flint said I cheated on a test, Mom got really . . . lost her temper.”

  Bear waved to the tie. “Take that thing off before it smothers you. We’re just friends, having a little chat. No need to be formal.”

  “Thanks.” Timmy couldn’t wrangle out of the tie fast enough. When it hung loose, he gulped in air deeply.

  Bear buried a smile behind his hand. “Better?”

  “Lots.” He grinned.

  Something occurred to Bear. Timmy never referred to Laura as “Laura,” always as “Mom.” That came too natural to be anything other than the way the child thought, which meant that’s how he felt down deep. Bear liked it. “So your mom got angry at you for cheating.” Couldn’t fault her for that.

  “I didn’t cheat,” Timmy insisted.

  Confused, Bear looked back from the photo to the boy. “But you said—”

  “She was ticked off at Mr. Flint, not at me. For calling me a liar.” Timmy looked righteously indignant. “I wasn’t lying. Mom asked me, and I told her I hadn’t cheated. That’s when Mr. Flint called me a liar.”

  “And when your mom lost her temper.”

  “Boy, did she. She pounded her fist on his desk, and even yelled. Old Man Flint—” Timmy halted abruptly, and his face burned red. “Mr. Flint, I mean. She told Mr. Flint that if he didn’t take it back, she’d go to the principal and complain. Just because I was eight, that didn’t mean I didn’t have integrity.”

  Eight. Last year. “Did Mr. Flint take it back?”

  “You bet he did.” Timmy looked pleased by that fact. “Mom’s really nice, but you don’t mess with her when she gets like that.”

  “I would think not.”

  “When Dad got home, I told him about it. He knew something was up because Mom had fixed double chocolate fudge brownies and chocolate ice cream for dessert. Those are Dad’s favorites. He said Mom’s a little protective of me.” Timmy shrugged as if that mattered little.

  But his action and the tremble in his voice proved very telling. It mattered a lot. The boy loved Laura Logan, and he trusted her completely. And if that wasn’t the best reason for granting an adoption, then Bear didn’t know what the hell was.

  “You’re close—you and your mom.”

  “Well, sure.” Timmy looked a little uncertain, then gave Bear a crooked grin. “Dad says we’re partners in crime.”

  Bear couldn’t help himself. He grinned back. “Criminals, eh?”

  “Yeah. But not really,” Timmy quickly assured him, distinctly recalling who he was talking to, and why.

  Then Bear asked a question he already could answer. “Timmy, do you think your mom loves you?”

  “Sure.”

  No hesitation, nor any doubt. Bear liked that, too. “Do you love her?”

  “Yeah. But don’t tell the guys at school.” He grimaced. “I’m taking enough heat for not carrying. They find out I love my mom too, and I’m history.”

  “Everything said in here is confidential,” Bear informed him. “I won’t say a word.”

  Timmy looked enormously relieved.

  Bear turned to the back of the photos, and saw one of another woman. She looked too much like Timmy not to be his birth mother. Odd, that he’d carry her photo in his wallet. She’d caused him a lot of pain. “Who’s this?”

  “That’s Madeline,” he said easily. “She had me.”

  “I see.” Now what should Bear make of that? Timmy obviously cared for the woman or he wouldn’t have her photo in his wallet. Hearing him talking on, Bear turned his attention. “I’m sorry, son. What did you say?”

  “I said, I don’t look at it much, but Mom says it’s not right for any of us to be mad at Madeline. She’s sick, and we have to have compassion.”

  “You do have compassion, but you’re still mad at her, aren’t you, Timmy?” Bear asked in a voice made soft by memory, empathy, and understanding.

  “Yeah. She used to get drunk and forget me places. It was scary—when I was a little kid. Not now that I’m big, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “I stay away from her now.”

  Hearing his own determination to stay away from his demon bastard father in Timmy’s voice, Bear nodded, comprehending completely Timmy’s state of mind regarding his birth mother. He didn’t hate her. He just didn’t want her to hurt him anymore.

  “She came to our house last night and almost drove her car into the kitchen. We were going up to see Sutter’s Mill—they found gold there a long time ago—but now we have to fix the
grass this weekend instead.”

  Bear held off commenting. “Was something wrong with her car?”

  “No. She was drunk.” Timmy sighed. “I tried not to let Mom see how mad I was, but she could tell.”

  “Moms are smart that way.”

  “Yeah.” Timmy stared at Bear’s desk. “One time I heard her tell Dad that Madeline pulled the adoption papers because she had an attack of conscience.” Timmy pursed his lips. “She’s done that two times, so far.”

  Timmy apparently wasn’t supposed to hear that conversation, but he had an opinion, and he wanted to voice it. “What do you think?”

  He shrugged, but his gaze was fiercely intense. “I think she got worried her dad would get mad at her for giving me away. She cared what he thought. I didn’t like him much, and he didn’t like me, either. He’s dead now—but don’t tell Mom.”

  Madeline didn’t care what Timmy thought, and his resentment of that seeped through in his tone. “Your mom doesn’t know Madeline’s dad is dead?”

  “Sure, she knows that. We went to his funeral and everything. Madeline didn’t, though. Mom and Dad thought that was weird, but I was too worried about looking at him dead to care.”

  “Did your parents make you look at the body?”

  “No. They told me I didn’t have to, but the lid was shut anyway. I was glad about that.”

  “So what doesn’t your mom know, then?” Bear asked, a little confused.

  Timmy looked at him as if Bear were an inattentive child. “She doesn’t know I don’t like them. Either of them,” he deliberately repeated.

  “Why not? If you told her, would your mom get angry?”

  “Worse.” Timmy grimaced.

  Bear didn’t like the sound of that. Could he have misjudged Laura Logan? “How could she be worse than angry?”

  “She’d cry.”

  He hadn’t misjudged her, after all. “Ah, I see.”

  Timmy gave Bear that look universal to men reacting to a woman’s tears. “Dad and I don’t like to see Mom cry.”

  Dad and I. Interesting. Bear rubbed his lower lip between his forefinger and thumb. “Does she cry often?”

  “Naw. Just at sappy movies, and when Madeline takes back the papers. She cries a lot then.” His gaze drifted. “And sometimes when she looks at me or Dad and she thinks we don’t see her. She gets this weird look on her face. Kind of like we zapped her with a stun gun, or something. Then she cries.”

  “Touched,” Bear said almost absently, recalling times when he’d caught his dear wife, Annie, looking at him and their daughter that same way.

  “Huh?”

  “When she looks at you like that, it’s because she’s feeling tender,” Bear explained. “You touched her heart.”

  “Touched.” Timmy smiled. “Yeah, that’s kind of what Dad said. Anyway, we don’t like Mom’s tears. She’s got a gentle heart, and it’s our job to protect her. It’s kind of hard because Madeline is always doing stupid stuff like last night.”

  And Timmy had about a bellyful of resentment because she did. They loved Laura. And she loved them. Whatever she was withholding from Bear, it couldn’t be anything that jeopardized Timmy’s welfare. Bear’s decision was made. He nodded. “And now you want her to be your legal mother as well as your mom.”

  “Yeah.” Timmy scratched at his neck, then gave Bear a frank look he recognized from Laura’s earlier one. “It feels right,” he said, tapping a finger to his chest, as if too embarrassed to say the words aloud. “In here.”

  “Yeah, to me, too.” Laura Logan could have told Bear about these incidents with Madeline and hadn’t. They were no doubt damaging to Timmy, and yet she’d not mentioned them. Likely she hadn’t wanted it to appear she was slurring the birth mother. Bear kind of liked that. And these incidents were likely all she’d been withholding. Bear eased his glasses back onto his nose. “Why don’t you ask your mom to come back in now, and we’ll get this wrapped up.”

  “Yes, sir.” Timmy went to the door and then called his mother.

  Laura sat on the sofa waiting, worrying, praying, and nearly wringing the skin right off her hands. They’d been in there forever. Five more minutes of this, and she’d have a complete nervous breakdown. Jake would just have to forgive her. She could take him fighting international terrorists, rescuing hostages, and infiltrating enemy territory in war zones. Hell, she could take fighting those things herself, which was a good thing, considering her Intel reactivation on Operation Shadowpoint: a fact she should and would have disclosed to Jake last night if Madeline hadn’t pulled that stunt with the car, and he hadn’t been called out on a mission. He’d be upset that she hadn’t told him, of course, but Laura could deal with that, too. Hell, she could deal with anything else. But she couldn’t take five minutes more of this. God, not of this.

  “Mom,” Timmy called again.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin. “What?”

  “Come on. Judge Barton wants to talk to you again.”

  Timmy didn’t look upset. That thought gave Laura the courage to demand her legs get enough substance in them to carry her back into Bad Ass Bear’s chamber. “How did it go?” she whispered.

  Timmy smiled at her. “I like him.”

  Whatever had happened, it couldn’t have been that bad. Not if Timmy liked the man. No one liked the man. Maybe it had gone okay. Maybe Timmy hadn’t had to tell the judge that although she and Jake had been married two years, they’d really only lived together as a family under the same roof, this time, for the past three weeks. Long enough for the social worker to come out and be convinced theirs was a normal, well-adjusted, happy family.

  She slid down onto the chair she’d occupied earlier.

  The judge’s secretary, Emily, followed them into the chamber. She was short and round with frizzy gray hair and glasses that dangled from a gold chain around her neck. “Judge Barton?”

  Bear adjusted his glasses and looked up.

  “There’s a Mrs. Madeline Drake Logan on the phone,” Emily said, her tank of a voice booming off the walls. “She says it’s vital that she speaks with you immediately—regarding this case.”

  Laura and Timmy’s faces both blanched white, and they literally clung to each other.

  “She’s gonna do it again, Mom,” Timmy cried out in anger and fear.

  “Oh, God.” Laura locked hands with Timmy. Her knuckles went as white as her face.

  Laura Logan was doing her damnedest to soothe the boy and to not let him see her fear, but it emanated from her. She was terrified. And while Timmy was too upset himself to see it, to Bear it was crystal clear. Both Laura and Timmy leveled you-can’t-let-her-hurt-us-again looks on Bear that would arouse and engage protective instincts in the devil himself.

  None of them had any illusions on why Madeline Drake Logan was calling. She’d withdrawn her consent twice already. This time, she’d waited a little longer. So long, thank God, that the choice had become Bear’s.

  “You know my phone policy, Emily,” he told his secretary, not feeling even a twinge of doubt that he might be making a mistake. “Take a number.” He scribbled his signature on the documents. “Then stamp and formally file these. I’d like the Logans to have a copy before they leave my chamber.”

  Five

  The lighted Pizza Hut sign reflected on Laura’s Mustang’s windshield. Distorted by. darkness and fat raindrops, it looked eerie.

  Inside the building, Laura slid into a red vinyl booth, sporting chills and goose bumps. “God, I’m soaked.” Her empty stomach protested. “And I’m starving.”

  “Me, too.” Timmy slumped down in his seat across from her, slinging water from his face off his fingertip. “We should eat dessert pizza first.”

  “Use a napkin, Tiger.” The restaurant wasn’t very busy. Laura was glad about that. She n
eeded a little quiet time to absorb the good news and to just enjoy. The last two days had been hell on her nerves, but it had been worth it. Every bit of it. “So you want to eat dessert before you run out of room, eh?”

  “Yeah.” He swiped at his face, then wadded up the napkin and tossed it onto the table. “Saves a bellyache.”

  “That’s worth considering.” Her skirt pinching her waist, Laura tissued the rain from her face, then put her keys into her purse. They snagged a package of Wrigley’s spearmint gum, and it tumbled onto the floor. “Oops.”

  “I’ll get it.” Timmy reached down and grabbed the package, then dumped it into her purse. “How come you carry gum all the time? You never chew it.”

  Some training a person never loses. The inner wrappers made a crude but effective signal-blocking device. She raised her eyebrows at him. “If we run into a leaky dike or something, you can chew the gum, and we’ll use it as a plug.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “We see busted dikes all the time.’’

  “Hey, it only takes one.”

  Grunting, he rolled his gaze. “Whatever, Mom.”

  The waitress appeared with glasses of water, and Laura placed their order. “We’re too hungry for a menu,” she said. “Just bring us a large pepperoni, a root beer float, and a sweet iced tea.”

  Timmy grinned. Laura winked at him, knowing she’d ordered his favorites. “It’s a celebration.”

  “Yeah.” He shoved the salt shaker aside, over near the pepper. “I wish Dad was here, too.”

  “So does he, sweetheart,” Laura said. “I know. We’ll celebrate again when he gets home.”

  “Root beer floats, twice?” Timmy asked.

  “Why not?” Laura hiked a shoulder. “You only get adopted once.”

  “All right.” Timmy laughed.

  Laura did, too. So did the waitress, who was putting the pizza and drinks on the table. “Congratulations,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she walked away.

  Sensing someone at her shoulder, Laura glanced over, and her joy turned bitter. Madeline. Her raincoat was unbuttoned, and beneath it, she still wore the same black suit she’d had on when she tried her best to drive her car through the kitchen.