by Judy Duarte
“I hope David is doing better,” Brett said. And he meant it. The guy had apparently taken good care of Kelly and Justin.
“He’s much better.” She nibbled at her lip again and studied her hands, then caught his gaze. “The cancer appears to be in remission now.”
“That’s good.”
She nodded. “Yes, it is.”
He didn’t speak, didn’t press. Hopefully, the fact they were talking and not making threats or angry retorts was a good thing.
“You have a right to spend time with Justin,” she said. “And to be involved in his life. But to tell you the truth, I’m not sure how to go about straightening things out now.”
“I understand. But I want you to know something. I wouldn’t hurt Justin for the world. And I don’t want to come between him and the man he thinks is his father. I appreciate all David has done for him.”
“He’s been a loving father,” she admitted. “And this is going to be tough on him.”
“It’s been tough on me, too.”
She rubbed her palms against the armrests, another nervous gesture, he realized.
“Can you give me some time to work this through?” she asked. “David and I will need to talk it over. And we’ll have to decide the best way to tell him.”
Brett had asked for a compromise, and he’d been given one. “Yeah. I’ll give you some time.”
The front door swung open, and Justin entered the room. “Scotty got in trouble for breaking a window in his family room. And his mom won’t let him play for two whole hours.”
“How did he break the window?” Kelly asked.
“He was chasing his big sister through the house with the broom, and he got the window instead.” Justin turned and studied Brett. “Hi.”
Brett reached out a hand, not sure if that was the right way to approach a small boy. But it was the only thing he could think of. “My name is Brett. I’m an old friend of your mom’s.”
His son placed a small hand in his, and a flood of warmth filled Brett’s chest as they shook.
It wasn’t all that he wanted from their relationship, but it was a start.
“Listen,” he said to Kelly. “It was nice talking to you, but I really have to run.”
She nodded, and as he rose from his seat, she stood, too. “I’m sure we can work out something. Thanks for understanding.”
“I’ll do anything I can to make this easy for everyone involved.”
“I appreciate that.”
“If you have a pen and paper, I’ll give you my cell phone number.”
She opened a drawer in the lamp table and pulled out a pad and pencil. He gave her all of his contact numbers, including the address where he was staying.
Maybe he ought to think about buying a house of his own, a place where Justin could have a bedroom.
Before leaving, he took one last look at his son, a bright-eyed little boy who didn’t know who he was—yet. “It was nice meeting you, Justin. I hope I get to see you again real soon.”
For the first time in years, Brett felt a surge of hope.
See what could happen when two people who loved a child put the kid’s best interests at heart?
He just wished there was something he could do to make Caitlin see that.
Unless, of course, he was wrong about Zack, and the two of them had nothing in common.
Brett wasn’t sure when the idea surfaced. Probably during some of the many catnaps he’d had throughout the night. He’d finally climbed out of bed about four, kicking at the blankets and sheets that had tangled at his feet.
He’d put on a pot of coffee and turned on the TV. But he didn’t pay attention to anything on the screen.
Instead, a game plan finally began to form in his mind. And a telephone call to Harry Logan would set that plan in effect. But it was Sunday morning, so he held off until just after seven.
When Kay answered the phone, Brett apologized for calling so early.
“That’s not a problem,” Kay said. “We’ve been up for nearly an hour. We’re going to the early service this morning.”
“Good. Can I please speak to Harry?”
“Sure.”
A moment or two later, his friend and mentor answered. “What’s up?”
“I’d like to drive out to Riverview Correctional Facility and speak to Zack Henderson.”
“Why?”
“Maybe I can talk the guy into giving up his efforts to get custody of Emily.”
And if not, then Brett would find out what kind of man Caitlin was up against. Or rather, the kind of man they were both up against, because as much as he wanted to steer clear of domestic turmoil, he wasn’t going to be able to. Not any longer.
“Is there anything I need to do to set up a visitation like that?” he asked Harry.
“Let me make a few calls, and I’ll get back to you.”
Three hours later, Brett drove about a hundred miles east of town to a vast stretch of land that housed convicted criminals until they could pay their debt to society.
He wasn’t sure where the name Riverview came into play. Maybe from the dry creek bed that ran through the stretch of sage-dotted desert on which the prison had been built.
After a lengthy security process Harry hadn’t even begun to prepare him for, Brett was allowed to see Emily’s father in a visiting area.
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but not the tall, hulk of a man dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit. Zack Henderson stood about six foot six and had to weigh two hundred and fifty pounds. His dark hair, long and in need of a cut, curled at the shoulders.
Baby blue eyes claimed an innocence the rest of the man didn’t have.
“Who are you?” Henderson asked.
“My name is Brett Tanner. I’m a friend and neighbor of the woman who has been raising your daughter.”
Those eyes merely studied him. “The social worker told me my little girl’s name is Emily. How is she?”
“She’s doing great.”
For a guy who’d had hours to rehearse his speech, Brett wasn’t sure what to say next.
“I’m also a friend of Harry Logan’s,” he added as a lead-in, as a better introduction. Or maybe he wanted to use it as a validation of their commonality, whatever that might be.
“How is Harry?” Zack asked. “Last I heard he’d had open-heart surgery.”
“He’s doing great now. Still having barbecues and beach parties.”
Zack nodded. “I nearly made it to one of those.”
Brett tried to read the look in his eye. Regret that he hadn’t taken Harry’s advice, his offer of a way out?
The prisoner glanced down at his hands, big hands bearing several scars. “I did my share of troublemaking as a kid, and there were several instances when I deserved charges of delinquency or whatever. But I didn’t participate in that damned robbery that landed me here.”
“That’s what I heard.” Brett still wasn’t sure whether he believed the guy, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to accept his story. Especially since he wanted to befriend Zack. Sort of.
“Detective Logan had been after me for some time to attend one of his get-togethers. A beach party. A football game at the park. And I finally gave in and decided to give it a shot.”
Harry had mentioned Zack was supposed to attend some informal food and game fest at the Bayside Marina.
“My truck had transmission trouble that day,” Zack said. “And about the time I’d decided to forget about going, Ray Montalvo drove up. We’d been friends for years, although Ray’s troublemaking spree was more hell-bent than mine. And steering clear of him had been one of Harry’s suggestions—a piece of advice I’d taken.”
Brett listened to the man’s story, wondering if it was just another instance of a jailbird claiming his false innocence.
“I had no idea how big of a mistake I was making when I asked Ray if I could bum a ride with him to the marina.” Those blue eyes snagged Brett’s, professing honesty. And like Harry
had claimed earlier, Brett wanted to believe him, too.
For Emily’s sake.
“Ray agreed to drop me off, but he needed to go by the Speedy Stop first. I was out of smokes, so I said, ‘no problem.’” Zack scoffed. “No problem.”
Brett watched as the man’s mind took him back five years, back to the scene of the crime.
“After I walked inside, Ray pulled a ski mask out of his pocket and drew a gun. Then he entered and ordered the lady behind the cash register to hand over the money. I’m not sure if there was any kind of buzzer used as an alert, but as she started filling a brown bag with cash from her till, the manager rushed out of the back room with a gun, and shots were fired.”
“What did you do?” Brett asked.
“I ran for cover. Ray shot the cashier in the shoulder, and when the manager turned to look at his wounded employee, he was shot in the back. Ray demanded that I get in the friggin’ car, but I refused. And he drove off without me.” Again, Zack’s gaze sought Brett’s. “I don’t expect you to accept my side of the story. Hell, no one in the D.A.’s office believed that a guy like me, a juvenile delinquent who’d been in trouble more times than not, wasn’t involved.”
“And so you ended up here,” Brett supplied.
“I turned over Ray’s name as part of a plea bargain. It’s always chapped my hide that I had to spend time for a crime I didn’t commit.”
Brett imagined it would. “So what’s your game plan now?”
“I’m hoping to get out of here and get my life back on track. An old neighbor who’d once taken a liking to me as a youngster offered me work as a heavy equipment operator. And I want to try to make it up to my kid for her having to spend the first four years of her life in foster care.” He leaned back in the gray plastic chair. “I plan to be a decent citizen and a good father to my daughter.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Brett said. “But have you thought about how difficult it will be for a little girl to leave the only home she’s had, to give up the only mother she’s ever known?”
“I suppose it’ll be tough. But I want to do right by her.”
“How about taking things slow and easy?” Brett asked. “Drop the request for complete custody for a while. Maybe start off with visitation until you get to know each other better.”
Zack didn’t respond right away, so Brett continued. “Caitlin is one of the most loving women I’ve ever met. She’s a hell of a mother to that child, and the only mother Emily has known.”
“She wants to adopt her,” Zack said. “And I can’t let that happen. I don’t want to give up my little girl.”
“I can understand that. Emily is a beautiful child who would make anyone proud to be her daddy.” Even Brett, he realized, his heart crunching at the thought. “But a custody battle and a sudden uprooting wouldn’t do her a bit of good.”
“You might have a point,” Zack said. “My mom died when I was born, and I went to live with my grandmother for a while. But she had to give me up when I was six, and my life went to hell after that.”
“Let’s set up a visit as soon as you get out. We can talk about a compromise and working things out at that time.”
Zack’s gaze slammed into him. “How do you fit into all of this?”
It seemed odd that his first emotional confession was to a convicted felon in prison. But what the hell. “I’m in love with Caitlin. And if she’ll have me, I’d like to marry her.”
Zack nodded, as though that made perfect sense.
“And I love your daughter, too,” Brett added with a smile. “She’s a great kid.”
“That’s nice to know.”
Brett grinned. “But I hope you like cats and dogs. Emily is real big on pets, but her mother—or rather Caitlin—is allergic.”
Zack returned his smile. “I don’t know much about kids, especially little girls. So I appreciate your insight. And I wouldn’t mind having a pet. It might help break the ice between us.”
“I’m sure it will.” Brett stood and extended a hand to Emily’s father, a man willing to put his daughter’s best interests first.
“Thanks for driving out here,” Zack said.
“I’m glad I did.” Brett shook the man’s hand. “Good luck.”
On the way back to Bayside, he thought about what he’d admitted to Zack.
That he loved Caitlin and wanted to marry her.
It had been the truth. Brett was in this thing for the duration—if she’d have him.
But supporting her was going to be tough, if she didn’t agree to a compromise. And not just because Brett wasn’t up for a fight.
He’d come to the conclusion that Zack Henderson had been wrongfully accused and imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. And he admired the man for wanting what was best for his daughter.
But what if Caitlin refused to recognize that?
Chapter Twelve
Caitlin returned home from the hospital on Sunday evening, eager to kick off her shoes and soak in the tub.
It had been an exceptionally brutal afternoon and evening in the E.R.
Along with the standard broken bones that needed to be set and the wounds that needed to be stitched, a head-on collision on I-5 had sent nine people to the hospital, including the drunk driver who’d caused the tragic accident.
From what Caitlin had gathered, the intoxicated young man, convinced he was okay, wrestled the keys away from a buddy and proceeded to drive home against his friends’ advice. Just minutes later, he entered the freeway, heading north in the southbound lane and struck a van loaded with tourists on their way to Bucaneer Water Park.
The eight people in the van, members of an extended family, were all seriously injured. Three-year-old Kelsey, who’d been held in her aunt’s lap rather than secured in a car seat, suffered a skull fracture.
In order to fit everyone in the van, Kelsey’s mother left the car seat in a smaller rental car back at the hotel, when they’d headed out on a short, five-minute drive to the water park. The poor mother, who blamed herself for her daughter’s injury, had been in-consolable, especially when she’d learned little Kelsey was unconscious and in critical condition.
The father had received some pretty significant contusions to his head and face, but after he’d been stitched up, he was able to sit at his child’s bedside. But the mother, with a broken pelvis and internal bleeding, had been too seriously injured to get out of bed.
When her wails became uncontrollable, jeopardizing her own medical treatment, Luke—Brett’s friend, Dr. Wynters—had sedated her.
The maternal cries finally ceased, but that didn’t stop Caitlin from empathizing with the woman’s pain. She couldn’t imagine a worse heartbreak than to lose a child.
By the time Caitlin had clocked out, the pediatric neurosurgeon had decided to operate.
Even though she tried not to become emotionally involved with the patients who moved in and out of her care while she worked in the E.R., Caitlin had asked Luke to call her with an update.
As she trudged from the carport to the walkway, she kneaded her temples, trying to eliminate the tightness that promised a tension headache was on the way, and whispered another prayer for Kelsey’s recovery. Then she continued to the Blackstone’s door.
While on the porch, she looked across the way to the soft light shining from Brett’s living room window.
That was weird. When had she started thinking about the condo as Brett’s, rather than Greg’s?
She had an urge to give her neighbor a call, to tell him how difficult her day had been and how much her heart ached. To ask for a hug.
But she couldn’t do that, no matter how badly she wanted to. Things had changed between them. And although she loved him, his feelings for her didn’t run anywhere near as deep.
She lifted her hand to ring the bell, but decided, since it was after eleven and Mary usually turned in early, she should knock lightly instead. But when Scruffy barked like crazy, announcing her arrival, she realized be
ing quiet didn’t really matter.
Gerald, who held the squirmy little terrier in his arms, opened the door. “Come on in, Caitlin.”
“Thanks.”
“Looks like you had a rough night,” he said, as he led her to the living room.
Was it obvious just by looking at her? Or had he come to that conclusion because of the time? She supposed it didn’t matter.
“Yes, it was. My shift was more difficult than usual.” She stretched out the kinks in her neck and shoulders. “I hope Emily behaved for you.”
“She was perfect, like always. And just as entertaining.” Gerald nodded toward the green tweed sofa, where Emily slept.
“Good.” Caitlin never ceased to be amazed at the way Emily was growing, the way her personality was developing. What a daily blessing she had become.
“Let me carry her home for you,” her elderly neighbor volunteered.
Caitlin wanted to tell him that it wasn’t necessary. She was eager to hold her child close, to breathe in her little-girl scent. To remind herself that Emily was safe and healthy—and not lying on an operating table or in the pediatric I.C.U. But if she carried Emily, she’d have to fumble with the key at her door.
“Thanks, Gerald. I’d appreciate that, if you don’t mind.”
As they walked to her house, once again she glanced at the muted blue light coming from Brett’s living room window. Was he engrossed in a TV show? Dozing on the couch?
And once again, she scolded herself for noticing, for caring. For wishing he loved her, the way she loved him.
She slid the key into the lock and opened her front door.
After she’d put Emily to bed and had seen Gerald out, she filled the bath with hot water, adding lilac bath salts as aromatherapy.
After nights like this, soaking in the tub in a candlelit bathroom helped to relax her body and ease her troubled mind.
As she turned off the faucet, she decided to leave the door ajar, just in case Emily awakened. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes, when Caitlin hadn’t been the one to kiss Emily good-night and tuck her into bed, she woke up and cried out for her mommy.
