Virginia blinked rapidly. She didn't have to see it—she'd memorized every detail in the photo of her holding Bailey, Jr., in her arms outside the hospital, just before they'd driven him home. She'd worn a loose yellow jump suit, and he'd been bundled in pale blue. Her heart had been full to bursting. But even more vivid than her emotions on that day had been the splitting grin of happiness on Bailey's face as he adjusted the camera lens. Smile. Wave to Daddy. Smile, Mommy.
"Did you keep other pictures?" he asked, his voice stronger.
She hesitated, then walked to a closet in the converted bedroom and withdrew a large photo album. Carefully, she wiped and blew the dust from the cover, its faded golden letters proclaiming "Our Son." With trembling hands she opened the album, vaguely aware that Bailey stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder.
Memories slammed into her, leaving her shaken, but with fewer tears than the last few hundred times she'd thumbed through the pages. A younger, smiling Bailey feeding the baby a bottle, giving him a bath, changing his diaper—breaking all the macho-daddy rules. How long had it been since she'd tortured herself with the faded pictures of her infant son, so beautiful and trusting?
From the pages, a sheet of folded paper escaped, floating to the floor. As Bailey bent to retrieve it, Virginia realized with a nervous jolt it was the letter he'd sent her two years before. She remembered now... that night had been the last time she'd looked through the baby album.
Her heart thumped against her chest at the implication of her keeping the letter. Bailey retrieved the sheet, straightening as he unfolded it, his face transforming from confusion to... something... when he recognized what he held in his hand. His gaze met hers, and long-slumbering emotions stirred in her heart with the fierceness of a drowsy giant awakening.
"I wondered if you'd gotten my letter."
She swallowed hard. "I got it."
He opened his mouth to speak, but the shrill beep of the coffee-maker downstairs interrupted. Suddenly exhaustion weakened her limbs. She lifted her gaze to Bailey, and attempted a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Bailey, but I have to get some rest."
"Sure," he said agreeably. "I'll take a rain check on the coffee."
They walked wordlessly down the stairway together, her heart tripping double time as she stopped to let him move ahead to a safe distance.
He turned to stare at her, filling up her entryway with denim and attitude. "Well, I guess I'll say good night."
"I'll see you tomorrow at the airport," she said.
He nodded. "Tomorrow."
She stood awkwardly, not knowing the proper ex-spouse etiquette for late night departures after earth-shattering news. "Good night, then."
He turned and opened the door, giving entry to a warm, fragrant breeze that teased the ends of his ponytail.
Virginia stepped to the door and held the knob as he walked out. At the last second he turned back and lifted his hand to rub a rough thumb over her cheekbone. The intimate contact startled her, and she instinctively drew back. He dropped his hand and smiled.
"Tomorrow we see our son, Ginny." Then he was gone before she could reply.
She closed the door, but waited until the sound of his rumbling engine faded before she moved.
No, no, no... she couldn't have feelings for him still. She'd been down this road before and heartache lay at the end. Tomorrow she would be thinking more clearly. Tomorrow she would be strong and resistant to his charms. Tomorrow she would have enough to worry about just being a mother. Virginia climbed the stairs, weak-kneed and light-headed.
She didn't dare think past tomorrow.
* * *
"Bailey, are you drunk?"
He whooped and lifted Rita off the floor, whirling her around. "Stone sober since Ginny told me the news."
His sister’s look of disbelief transformed into pure delight. "Oh, Bailey!" She clasped him in a tight hug. When she released him, tears shone in her eyes. "After all these years... this is incredible!"
He laughed with her, his happiness mushrooming. "It's a miracle all right."
"Virginia—oh, she must be beside herself! Will she... will the two of you... how is she?"
"She's fine." He grappled for some detail that wouldn't betray the revived emotion he felt stirring in his swollen, stupid heart. "She works in computers and is doing well for herself. Has a town home in the Village."
"Does she have other children now?"
"No, she never remarried."
One graceful black eyebrow shot up. "Really."
"Don't start, sis."
"What?" she asked, bringing a hand to her chest, her eyes wide in innocence.
"You know what," he admonished with a stern look. "Don't get any romantic ideas about me and Ginny picking up where we left off. We're completely different people now." He hoped some of his logic would sink into his own hard head.
"Which is precisely why your relationship might work this time."
"Rita—"
"Bailey, you share an eight-year-old son, what better reason could you have for getting back together with Ginny?"
"I know it would be better for him if we were still married," he admitted, "but our marriage wasn't that great, and after all these years she's not going to just welcome me back into her life with open arms, not the way we left things." Guilt stabbed him, and he averted his eyes.
His sister smiled, and touched his hand. "Ginny's a good woman, I'm sure she'd want what's best for—"
"Trust me on this one," he said abruptly. "She wouldn't want me."
Rita blinked, then narrowed her dark eyes at him. "Is there something I don't know? Was there another woman?"
He frowned. "Of course not. I partied a lot, but I was never unfaithful."
"What, then?"
Bailey turned away from her piercing gaze, shame burning in his stomach. "I said some hurtful things to her after the baby disappeared."
"What kinds of things?"
He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. "That... that she was careless—"
"Oh, Bailey—"
"—and not a good mother."
"Oh, God, no, Bailey."
The sorrow in her voice increased the pain swirling in his gut. "I know." He sighed. "It was... unforgivable."
Her arms wrapped around him from behind, and she pressed her cheek against his back. In a soft voice she murmured, "You were hurt and angry and young—"
"And stupid and thoughtless." He ground the words out.
"Have you tried saying you're sorry?"
"Yeah. I wrote her a letter a couple of years ago and told her what a jerk I was."
"And?"
"And nothing. She didn't respond—not that I expected her to. She has every right to hate me." Although she did keep the letter...
Rita unwound her arms and moved to face him. "You're right," she said, angling her head. "She should hate you. So you've got some serious making up to do."
He pursed his lips, nodding slowly. "I know... but how?"
She smiled and reached forward to squeeze his shoulders with her little hands. "Bailey, there are things more important than being the life of every party. You might even have to give up your reputation of being the biggest lady-killer in town. It's time to grow up, little brother."
Bailey bit the inside of his cheek to allow the flash of anger to subside. Slowly, the warmth of acceptance seeped into his heart. "You're right, sis," he said finally, inhaling deeply. "I've been given a second chance, and I'll try to make the most of it."
A few minutes later Bailey left to drive back to his apartment, still vibrating with nervous energy. On impulse, he turned the car onto the dirt road that led to the north meadow overlooking the pond. He stopped the car and retrieved a flashlight from the glove compartment before climbing out, but when he walked to the top of the hill, the moon shone so bright across the meadow, he switched off the beam. For a long time he simply stood and stared across the lush field, listening to the tall grass whisper in the wind. Silver light gil
ded the huge old white oak tree that loomed enormous in the exaggeration of shadows, drawing him, as always.
Insects fell silent, then resumed their chirping in rounds as he waded through the dew-laden grass to stand in the silhouette of the Kallihan heirloom tree—his tree. His father had planted it the day Bailey was born, and thirty-three years later, its branches spread wide and inviting, begging to be climbed. At first it had been hard to reconcile the sentimental act with his hard-nosed father, whom he missed dearly, but Bailey had come to realize his father had possessed a soft center. Out of respect and love, Bailey had taken a single acorn from the immense tree and planted it the day his own son came into the world.
He turned slowly and walked toward the smaller tree growing several yards away. Bailey, Jr., had already been snatched from their lives by the time the tiny sprout had emerged from the ground. His heart had nearly broken each time he visited the tree, but he'd nursed it determinedly. Despite a fragile beginning, it now stood tall and straight as a sword, casting a fifteen-foot shadow, its leaves rustling in the night breeze. Decades from now its branches would spread to meet those of the older tree. Long after he left this earth, his and his son's trees would live and touch and breathe. The thought filled his veins with deep satisfaction.
He crouched and lowered himself to the ground to sit beneath the canopy of the smaller tree, then leaned back against the rough bark. He and Ginny had planned to build a home in the meadow and raise their son here. Instead, they'd all been scattered in separate directions.
From what he could gather of Ginny's current tastes, he doubted if she would've been happy for long with the simple home design they'd chosen years earlier. He probably still had the dog-eared blueprints somewhere. Lot of good they would do, except remind him of what he'd had, of what he'd thrown away. Even if he did manage to get his life back on track, Ginny was probably lost to him forever.
Or was she?
Sitting amid the sweet-smelling grass under his son's tree, he suddenly realized he'd been given a miracle today and right now anything seemed possible, even a notion as remote as having Virginia Catron's love again.
Bailey felt a boulder of grief and guilt slide from his chest. His shoulders drooped in relief, and his cheeks felt wet. He tilted his head and gazed up through the branches into the star-winking heavens.
"Thanks," he whispered.
Chapter Three
"I KNEW HE’D BE LATE," Virginia's father said, a deep frown creasing his weathered face.
"Edward," Virginia's mother chided, laying a hand on his arm.
Virginia ground her teeth and silently agreed with her father—Bailey was nothing if not unreliable. When the gate attendant announced the final boarding, she gripped the handle of her tapestry carry-on bag and reluctantly rose to her feet. "We'd better go," she said in her strongest voice.
"Let me get that, honey," her dad said, reaching for her bag. He squeezed her shoulders and gave her a smile. "Everything's going to be just fine, you'll see."
She nodded and straightened her shoulders, turning to signal Detective Lance. The salt-and-pepper-haired man was already on his feet, looking grave and protective in his navy suit. He settled a hat on his head with both hands, then stopped to stare at something down the concourse.
Virginia heard Bailey before she saw him. "Ginny!" he yelled. "Wait—I'm coming!"
She shook her head in grudging relief. Bailey rounded the corner in a flurry of flying arms and legs, the bag slung over his shoulder bouncing against his hip. Virginia blinked in astonishment at his appearance. Was this the same man she'd seen the previous night?
His hair had been neatly shorn into short, thick layers, his jaw cleanly shaven. He wore dark jeans and boots with a white dress shirt and—wonder of wonders—a tie of muted colors that complemented the charcoal-gray sport coat covering his wide shoulders. Her throat went dry at his transformation from plain good-looking to downright gorgeous.
Then he grinned and vaulted from gorgeous to drop dead devastating.
"I made it," he announced. "Hello, Peg… Edward." He inclined his head, then extended his hand to Virginia's father.
Edward Catron considered the hand offered to him for several seconds before he clasped it in what appeared to be an iron grip, considering the flash of pain on Bailey's face.
"Bailey," her father acknowledged.
Her mother gave Bailey a tentative smile when he squeezed her hand in greeting. Detective Lance had just finished reintroducing himself when the harried gate attendant rushed over to hustle them onto the plane.
At the doorway the head flight attendant met Virginia with a warm smile. "Your parents mentioned the purpose of your trip to one of the gate crew. We've arranged for you and your husband to sit in first class."
Before Virginia could react, the captain appeared and extended his own congratulations, again addressing them as a married couple. Avoiding Bailey's gaze, Virginia smiled and nodded her way through the uncomfortable misunderstanding, immensely relieved when they were shown to their seats.
"How about that?" Bailey said cheerfully while the plane taxied to take off. "We're celebrities."
Rather than putting her at ease, though, Bailey's carefree smile left her unsettled. Despite the new clothes and tame hair, the gravity of the situation still had not sunk into his irresponsible head. Suddenly the shock, the worry, and the fear of the last fifteen hours rose in Virginia's chest like a suffocating bile. She gagged, jamming her hand to her mouth as she dropped her chin and closed her eyes.
"Ginny?"
She lurched forward as the plane became airborne. Her stomach dipped precariously, then she felt his hand at the small of her back.
"Here's an airsick bag. Are you okay?"
She started to nod agreeably, as she had a hundred times since she'd heard the news, then changed her mind. "No," she gasped, grabbing the bag. She heaved her meager breakfast into it, then sat back, purged and weak, only to find Bailey and the attendant hovering over her.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
Bailey requested a wet cloth, concern evident in his voice, but he didn't push Virginia to talk. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on taking deep, even breaths. Suddenly a cool, soothing cloth was applied to her forehead by gentle and disturbingly familiar hands. "Can't blame you, Ginny," he murmured. "I felt a little queasy myself this morning. After all, this is a pretty big day for us."
Us. The word reverberated through her fuzzy brain, and a lump of hurt and anger formed in her throat. They should have been able to present a strong, united, happily married front for their son today, but Bailey hadn't loved her enough to stick it out. Deep down, she knew she shouldn't blame him for feelings he hadn't been able to manufacture, but his rejection of her had hurt badly, and if truth be known, it still did.
She opened her eyes, reached up to take the cloth from his hand, and slowly wiped her mouth. "There is no us, Bailey," she whispered hoarsely.
He searched her face for a moment, and she hoped her newfound resolve was evident. Her life seemed to be in a state of free fall, and she had to regain some measure of control. Her breathing became shallow as the silence between them ballooned.
After a full minute he reached forward to cover her hand with his, then wet his lips. "There could be an us." He angled his head, his eyes disarmingly hopeful.
Tiny hairs sprang up on the back of her neck as his words sank in, then a slow burn started in her chest. Bailey Kallihan had more nerve than ten men to think he could erase years of hurt with a charming smile and a soft touch. She must look like a fool if she seemed that desperate.
Humiliation bloomed and spread to the ends of her tingling fingers as she carefully extracted her hand from his. She struggled to keep her voice even as she gripped the cloth so hard, water dripped onto her shirt. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Bailey—if our son had not been found, I would have had no reason, and no desire, to see you again." He shrank back from her a few inches, and she felt a bite
of satisfaction, a dimension of control returning. "I love my child enough to make the best of this situation, but don't try to turn this into something it's not."
Bailey shrugged. "Okay, I didn't mean to—"
"Yes, you did mean to," she cut in, then held up her hand to bring the subject to a halt. She closed her eyes and sighed. "I called an attorney this morning, Bailey, and we've got a lot to discuss before we land, so let's just get through this, okay?"
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Sure."
Another flight attendant stopped to take their drink order and Virginia gratefully accepted a glass of ginger ale. She longed for the mild sedative her mother had offered her earlier. Her stomach pitched and rolled with a myriad of emotions she tried to pin down. In only a few hours she'd be face-to-face with her son... her son. She worried her bottom lip and dug her fingernails into her palm.
"What things?" he asked, jarring her out of her racing thoughts.
"What?"
He pushed his hair back from his forehead, looking frustrated. "What things do we have to discuss?"
"Oh." She straightened in her seat. "Well... the custody arrangement."
His brow furrowed. "What's to discuss? We'll both have custody—he can stay with me on the weekends."
"Stay with you? You mean on your couch in an apartment above a bar?"
He flushed angrily. "We'll stay at Rita's so he can get to know his cousin."
Virginia had two panicky visions—her son alone with her in a stifling town home, and her son with Bailey's rowdy family on a farm; it didn't take a child psychologist to guess where the boy would prefer to spend time. "I work during the week, I'd like to spend weekends with him too."
"Can't you cut back on your hours?"
Anger flamed through her, but she fought to keep her voice calm. "I arranged for a month of leave, which should take me up to the start of school, but after that I'll be back to working at least forty-five hours a week. Raising a child is expensive, Bailey."
"I'll help," he declared hotly.
Mad About You Page 20
