A Mother's Claim

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Like she’d done during that first visit.

  Although she wasn’t sure why she cared. On a wash of more guilt, she knew that wasn’t true; back then Craig had grieved just as she had. She had never felt the same about him again after he had also lashed out at her, but in other ways he’d been a rock. People mourn differently. How many times had she read that, been told the same? Men were more likely to take refuge from grief in anger. Craig had loved their baby boy, too.

  Christian mumbled something even she couldn’t make out and thrust the phone at her. She took it.

  “Craig?”

  “I take it he doesn’t want me to come out there.”

  “I don’t know.” She winced at the echo of their son’s favorite response. “I think he has a lot to deal with, Craig. Can we talk about this later?”

  He grumbled and growled but eventually agreed that he could wait. Call over, she set the phone on the table and looked at Christian.

  “What did you think?”

  All the animation had left his face. He ducked his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Have a cookie.” She pushed the plate toward him.

  He ate two, guzzled the rest of his cola and said he had to go. Dana swallowed her protest and walked him to the door. “Thank you for visiting,” she said.

  He slipped his other arm through a strap so that his pack rested between his shoulder blades, picked up his bike and pushed it across the lawn. When she called goodbye, he hesitated at the sidewalk, turning his head. “I guess I’ll see you.”

  Not until she felt the sting in her sinuses as she watched him pedal away did she realize how much sadness underlay her exhilaration.

  She had always known his body might be found someday, that her only resolution would be having the opportunity to bury her little boy. What nobody ever said was that finding your miracle also meant being confronted with how much you’d lost.

  Her son could just as well be some random neighborhood boy, reluctantly compelled to be polite to this strange adult.

  He’s not your baby anymore. How right Nolan had been.

  * * *

  “SO ONCE SHE had you alone, she made you talk to your father.” Newly awakened anger in Nolan’s blood reached a simmer.

  Christian hunched in that disconcerting way he had taken up since the revelation about his background had been sprung on him. Hair that shouldn’t have been long enough somehow succeeded in veiling his expression. “Well, not like made.”

  Nolan’s teeth ground together. Damn that woman. He’d trusted her. The deal was, he cooperated, she held off her ex. Instead, the second she got Christian alone, she’d pressed him to talk to the bastard.

  Of course, Craig Stewart hadn’t actually threatened Nolan directly. Who knew how much of what she’d told him was true? Her ex-husband’s supposed determination to sue for custody could have been nothing but a tool she’d used to worm her way in.

  “You do your homework.” Nolan turned off the oven. “I won’t be gone long. Dinner will only take half an hour or so when I get home.”

  “Wait.” Christian jumped up, the straight-back kitchen chair rocking. “You’re not going to her house, are you?”

  “She broke her word to me. Yeah. I intend to talk to Ms. Stewart.” Dana was a nice woman; Ms. Stewart, who knew what she was? He sure as hell didn’t.

  “But it wasn’t like that!” Christian cried.

  “Homework.” Nolan grabbed his keys and wallet out of the basket on the counter and stalked out the door.

  The drive took less than five minutes. He could get anywhere in Lookout in under five minutes. His once-large world had shrunk in many ways.

  He slammed to a stop in front of her small house, killed the engine and strode to the front porch, where he leaned on the bell.

  Dana opened the door almost immediately, looking rumpled and relaxed in a way he hadn’t yet seen. A snug T-shirt and skinny jeans let him see every curve. Had she maybe put on weight since her first appearance in town?

  Didn’t matter.

  “Nolan.” She peered past him. “Is Christian with you?”

  “No. I came to talk to you.”

  Her face tightened. The happiness, or maybe only peace, evaporated, leaving her skin stretched tight over her cheekbones and her eyes big and wary.

  “All right,” she said slowly, and let him in.

  Still feeling the slow burn, he stopped in the middle of the living room, cluttered with boxes, and faced her. “I thought we had an understanding.”

  Her expression was now icy cool. “I thought we did, too.”

  “And yet the minute you get Christian alone, you have him talking to your ex. The guy you told me is pushing to go to court. Who is looking for any nugget of information he can use to persuade a judge Christian can’t be left with me.”

  She simply didn’t react, which infuriated him further. Hyped on adrenaline, his body was combat ready. He leaned toward her. “So either you’re colluding with him to go behind my back, or you were playing me. And that tells me he isn’t the threat.”

  Anger sparked in her gray eyes. Folding her arms was the only giveaway that his aggressive body language might have caused her to feel defensive. “Craig is Gabriel’s father. Neither you nor I has the right to deny him the chance to talk to his son. The son who was abducted from us by your sister.” Her voice sizzled by the end.

  “You and I both know you can’t prove that. We don’t know how Marlee ended up with Christian.” He leaned on the name, furious to have been driven to defend Marlee’s indefensible acts.

  Strung tight, Dana appeared too thin again. He’d swear he saw ghosts in her eyes. “I suppose you’ll blame me next. If I hadn’t left the window open, none of this ever would have happened.”

  Pissed to the max, he came closer than he wanted to saying something unforgivable like, Seems you think I should. Whatever she’d done today, she didn’t deserve that kind of blow.

  “I hope you know I’ll never say anything like that.”

  Looking brittle, she backed a couple of steps toward the front door. “I have my differences with my ex-husband, but he loved our baby boy, too.” She spoke coolly. “He deserved a chance to hear his voice. What I told you was that I’d persuade Craig to allow us a chance to work out a plan without involving lawyers. I did not promise not to allow Gabriel to speak to his father. And when he’s in my home, he’s my son.”

  Nolan saw red, as she’d no doubt intended. “Then I guess he won’t be spending time with you unsupervised, will he?”

  For a moment, she said nothing, her face so lacking expression he expected it to crack. Then she opened the front door and said, “You need to leave.”

  “With pleasure,” he snapped, walking out. His shoulder brushed her, knocking her momentarily off balance. He hadn’t meant to do that and hesitated, about to turn and apologize when the door closed quietly and he heard the dead bolt engage. Angry at himself as well as her now, he muttered an obscenity and returned to his truck, where he shoved the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it.

  She was right. Goddamn it, she was right. Nothing had been said about whether Christian could talk to his dad on the phone. It was the idea she’d pressured him that had enraged Nolan—and the fear that Craig Stewart would be cold-blooded enough to try to lure an eleven-year-old boy into saying something that would put a weapon into the son of a bitch’s hands.

  Nolan sat unmoving for a long time. The blinds had already been drawn, and as far as he could tell, she never parted them to sneak a look out. He felt sure she wouldn’t let him in again. He was still on edge from the flood of adrenaline, his fingers tight on the steering wheel as if he were strangling it.

  Way to go, he congratulated himself. Now what?

  Swearing some more, he fired up the engine and
drove home.

  Distraught, Christian met him at the door. “Did you get mad at her? Why did you get mad at her?”

  “Because she shouldn’t have encouraged you to talk to him when I wasn’t there.” He explained his fear that Craig Stewart would mine Christian for some detail that the attorneys could spin into poison.

  The accusation on the boy’s face remained. “But she didn’t. I tried to tell you. He called while I was there. I don’t think she wanted to let me talk to him, but she asked me and I said okay.”

  Nolan didn’t so much as breathe. Oh, man.

  Wound tight, Christian cried, “And he didn’t ask me anything like that. He just talked about how happy he was when he heard I was okay, and how he looked forward to getting to know me, and how he’d call another time so my sisters could say hi ’cuz they were so excited to meet me.” His voice grew smaller. “You were the one who said we should be nice. Then you didn’t even listen to me!”

  Nolan dropped into a chair and bent forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers tangled in his hair. Among the guys, he’d always been known as rock steady, the last one to shoot off his mouth or throw a fist. So what had happened?

  He’d panicked, was what had happened. He could never set aside the deep-down, sickening fear that he’d lose Christian. Twenty-four/seven, it stayed with him. Anxiety filled his dreams. First thing when he awakened, he felt the rock in his stomach. Last thing at night, he lay calculating how long he could hold off these people who had a claim to Christian that he couldn’t match. His only remaining mission in life was to keep his nephew safe, and he didn’t know if he could. He’d been primed to blow.

  He gave his hair a last yank and lifted his head, meeting the boy’s eyes. “You’re right. I went off the deep end for no good reason. I’ll make it right with Dana. I promise.”

  “Were you really awful?”

  Now there was a question he didn’t want to answer. He did, anyway. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t give her much of a chance.”

  The brown eyes he’d always believed came from the boy’s father stayed anxious. “I kind of said I shouldn’t have been rude last night, and she said it was okay. Then she made a sandwich for me and gave me some really good cookies and asked whether you’d be worried about where I was.” The speech surprised Nolan. Christian still talked to him sometimes, but he hung out with his friends more, and they played either video games or sports.

  “I was a jackass. You don’t have to tell me again.”

  Christian’s grin popped out, letting Nolan know he’d said the right thing. “Is that swearing?”

  “Probably.” Nolan smiled ruefully. “Actually, it’s an animal.”

  “So can I say ass?”

  “Depends on the context.” Seeing the kid’s mouth open, Nolan said, “And don’t ask. You know what that means.”

  “I’m hungry,” the boy announced.

  Nolan shook his head. “You just finished telling me about the sandwich and cookies you ate.”

  “And a Coke, too,” Christian said with satisfaction. Nolan let him have soda when they ate out but didn’t buy it for home.

  “So how can you be hungry?”

  “I just am.”

  “Fine. You can cut up the asparagus.”

  “Do I hafta eat—”

  Reassured by the standard-issue protest, Nolan said, “Yes,” shutting down any further argument. Rising to his feet, he gave Christian a gentle, reassuring bump with his shoulder—their version of a hug.

  And he winced at the recollection of his bad-tempered display at Dana’s house.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DRAGGING HERSELF OUT of bed the next day, Dana’s mood reminded her unpleasantly of all the mornings before the miraculous phone call.

  She wrinkled her nose at the thought. How ridiculous. Then she hadn’t even wanted to open her eyes. Today she felt a little low, that was all. The pep talk got her into the shower, dressed and to the kitchen.

  The scene with Nolan had erupted out of nowhere and wasn’t fun. So what? Nothing—nothing—would ever be as bad as imagining her baby boy tortured, dead in a shallow grave, scrabbling for food in a filthy apartment while his abductor was out scoring a hit. Oh, she’d thought of every possibility and then some.

  Instead, Gabriel had been loved. Raised to be a boy who felt guilty because he’d been ungracious to her. Guilty enough, despite his mixed emotions about her, to apologize.

  He’d been right here, eating food she’d given him. He was skinny, energetic, bright eyed and surprisingly sure of himself, considering the turmoil he had lived through the past few years. Whatever happened, whether she ever set eyes on him again, she had this much.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and announced, “Nolan Gregor can go leap off a tall bridge.” There were a couple of bridges available in Portland that would do just fine. “So there!”

  At least she’d stood up to him yesterday. He’d ruined her evening, but then, wasn’t that what he intended?

  Uncertainty gave the hand lifting the coffee cup to her mouth a faint tremor. So, okay, she was a little worried. And to think he was the one who’d persuaded her that staying friendly was best for Gabriel’s sake. Christian’s sake.

  She gave her head a small shake. She was confusing even herself.

  Tempted to drive down to Wind & Waves, march up to its proprietor and say, What the hell?, Dana decided to wait twenty-four hours. Give tempers time to cool. Well, his temper; hers was righteous.

  Back to unpacking.

  She marched to her bedroom and opened one of the tall boxes that held her work wardrobe on hangers suspended from a narrow rod. She began transferring them to the closet. Not a wrinkle to be seen. Amazing.

  The doorbell rang.

  Dana had quit hoping for a friendly neighbor. Since she knew exactly two people in Lookout and one of them was presently in school, that left...Nolan Gregor.

  Or maybe someone serving her with a summons from him.

  Deeply reluctant to face either scenario, she groaned and headed for the front door, anyway. Avoidance was useless.

  Her caller was, in fact, Nolan. Wearing camouflage cargo pants and a coordinating tan T-shirt, he might have just wandered by from a base in Afghanistan. Too bad she couldn’t help noticing how that T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders and powerful pectoral muscles, and even those sacky pants reminded her how very male he was.

  “Mr. Gregor. I see you dressed for battle,” she said drily.

  “What?” He frowned and looked down at himself. A flash of discomfort showed on his face. “I just grabbed from my drawer.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “The subconscious has a way of speaking.”

  “I wear stuff left from my army days. That’s all.”

  “Okay.” She continued to block the opening. “Was there something you forgot to say last night?”

  “Yeah.” His stance was military, too, feet far enough apart to make him appear braced. But his very blue eyes held regret. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry.” The echo was senseless but all she could come up with.

  “Can I come in?”

  Dana thought about it while he waited with apparently unending patience. “Fine.” She held open the door and stepped back. He passed her, stopping a few feet into the living room. Close, in fact, to where he’d stood yesterday while he blasted her. His posture remained military formal. Or was it firing-line formal? “What are you sorry about?” she asked.

  “That I was a jerk. That I didn’t give Christian a chance to tell me what really happened before I lit out of the house. That I was...unreasonable.” He seemed to choke on that one but continued, anyway. “That I bumped you on my way out.” The wrinkles on his forehead deepened. “I was being an ass, but that part was an
accident.”

  It was a heck of an apology. Dana’s anger dissolved. That didn’t mean she felt the tentative trust and even liking she had before, but this very inconvenient attraction seemed to be here to stay.

  “Thank you for saying that,” she said finally. “I take it Christian told you Craig was the one to call, not me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that made a difference?”

  He was smart enough to look cautious. “Your point?”

  “My point is that there wasn’t any reason I shouldn’t have called Craig to give him a chance to hear his son’s voice for the first time in eleven years. We’re divorced. He—” She shook her head. No, she wouldn’t say that Craig had abandoned her in her grief. That wasn’t any of this man’s business. “At the moment, he’s behaving decently.”

  Matching knots formed to each side of Nolan’s jaw. “And I’m not?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “The implication was loud and clear.”

  Dana didn’t bother to comment.

  He chewed on his pride for a minute, then bent his head. “Okay. I’ll suck it up and take that.”

  She sighed, knowing she had to relent. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

  “Will you call me by my first name again?”

  She turned and headed for the kitchen, tossing over her shoulder, “You should take what you can get.”

  His low, rough laugh heated the coal of sexual awareness instead of warming her heart. Wonderful.

  As she poured coffee, he said, “When I got home, Christian reamed me a new one. I tell you that since you deserve a moment of triumph.”

  She set both cups on the table, then looked at him. “Is that what this is about? You screwed up yesterday, so I win? But, hey, you have more time with him, so you’re sure to have me beat in no time?”

  “No.” His pained expression appeared genuine. He pulled out a chair but waited like a gentleman for her to sit first. “Okay. I’ve thought in terms of winning and losing. I can’t deny it. For a big part of my life, losing could be fatal. You can’t tell me you aren’t afraid of losing, too.”