A Mother's Claim

by Janice Kay Johnson

  More grimly, he thought, To stand by their daughter’s grave? To have to face what she’d done? To meet their grandson’s real mother?

  He gave his head another tiny shake. They were good people. They’d have grieved but also greeted Dana with open arms.

  Sandwiched on the sofa between Nolan and Christian, Dana kept murmuring the right things as her son told her about the friends who appeared in these later pictures. Once, she said, “Wait. Jason? Isn’t he the ax murderer?”

  Christian flushed. “We were just kidding around. It was an accident.”

  Dana slid an arm around him as naturally as if she’d done it a thousand times, gave him a quick hug and took her arm back before he could become self-conscious. “I’m just teasing.”

  The timer went off in the kitchen, and she insisted on helping Nolan get dinner on the table. While they ate, Christian talked more than he had in a long while. She heard about how gross his wound had been and how his scar was more spectacular than any of Uncle Nolan’s. Friends, teachers, Jason’s amazing gaming system, even a slightly shy admission that “some of the guys” liked girls. He and another friend, Dieter, had taken to shooting hoops after school. They thought they’d go out for basketball when they were freshmen. “Because we’re both tall.”

  She didn’t remind him that his father had played college ball. She didn’t have to. Nolan had a feeling that learning about his father’s prowess had had something to do with Christian becoming more interested in the sport.

  This boy Nolan thought of as his son wanted to follow in another man’s footsteps. His father’s.

  Nolan wasn’t proud of the pang he felt.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “YOUR EX CALLED Christian last night.” Nolan’s tone suggested this was only a mildly interesting tidbit. He crumpled his sandwich wrapper.

  He and Dana sat, as they did at least once a week, on the covered patio behind Wind & Waves. She brought lunch when she came to him, while he supplied it when they picnicked at a small community park with a playground and tall trees a block from her office.

  His news didn’t surprise Dana, but it did make her mad. With a sigh, she let it go, knowing even annoyance was irrational. Craig had as much right to build a relationship with Christian as she did. The surprise was that he’d held off this long.

  “Did Christian talk to him?”

  Nolan might not have betrayed any emotion with his voice, but the hard line of his jaw and the glitter in his blue eyes did. “Yes. Or, at least, he listened and mumbled a few words.”

  “Did Craig get mad?”

  “Not sure.” Nolan turned his head, his gaze seemingly following a scarlet sail forming a perfect arch to lift a windsurfer in leaps that defied gravity. “When I asked, Christian just shrugged.”

  Nolan didn’t have to tell her he hadn’t liked that. He obviously felt it was his right to protect her son—a right, she had to admit, he had earned. But it was equally possible he’d felt rejected. As Christian’s father—a man—Craig might seem even more the enemy to Nolan than she did.

  Yes, that made sense. Nolan had said your ex. He hadn’t used Craig’s name. And he’d waited until they’d finished lunch to mention the call.

  “I wondered why I hadn’t heard from him this week,” she said.

  Nolan tapped a beat on the wrought-iron table, then frowned at his fingers. They immediately went still. “Your parents?”

  “They’re more understanding than Craig is.” Although they weren’t thrilled about having to wait to visit.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” Nolan said abruptly.

  “Actually—” Dana glanced at her watch “—I need to get going. I have an appointment at one.”

  Not arguing, he helped gather their trash and walked her to her car. When she reached for the door, Nolan’s hands closed on her shoulders, turning her to face him. Suddenly he was close enough for her to feel his body heat.

  “Friday night?” he murmured.

  Dana nodded, then clutched at her courage. “Why don’t I cook dinner instead of us going out?”

  A flare in his eyes sent a quiver through her. “Good,” he said roughly. “I’ll palm Christian off on a friend.”

  Her son. The reason she had moved halfway across the country. At this moment, she couldn’t summon the tiniest desire to include him Friday. Dana lifted her hand to Nolan’s jaw, the sandpaper sensation against her fingertips blurring her thoughts.

  “Won’t he wonder?” Nolan had sent Christian to friends’ houses three—or was it four?—Friday nights in a row.

  “I’ll have to talk to him.” He stepped closer, pressing her against the car. His left hand flattened on the window, caging her in, while he tipped her chin up with the right. “I’m really looking forward to kissing you without an audience.”

  She tried to turn her head. “Do we have—”

  “Doesn’t matter.” His mouth captured hers, the kiss demanding, lacking the patience he’d given her so far.

  Dana instinctively rose on tiptoe, throwing her arms around his neck and arching against him. A clattering sound had to be her keys hitting the asphalt. She wanted to melt—and she wanted to climb him, too. His tongue drove into her mouth, aggressive and hungry. When she stroked it with hers, he shuddered.

  The next instant, he groaned and ripped his mouth away. He was breathing hard and fast, his gaze heated. “Bad timing.”

  She made a tiny sound of protest. Dropping back to her heels, she rested her face against Nolan’s strong chest. Audience, she remembered. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, a car had just pulled into a close spot. He must have heard it coming.

  “Bad location.”

  “Yeah. Damn.”

  They separated, her reluctance reflected on his face. As he greeted someone, Dana stayed tucked behind his big body. When the footsteps receded, she sighed and bent to find the keys.

  Unfortunately, crouching brought her to eye level with the ridge that made loose-fitting cargo pants not so loose. The ache between her thighs intensified. Even as she fumbled with the keys, Dana tipped her head back to find him watching her with a hunger that sent heat running across his cheekbones and his hands fisting at his sides.

  That was the picture she carried with her as she drove away, leaving him standing in the parking lot watching her go.

  * * *

  WEDNESDAY EVENING, CHRISTIAN set the frying pan in the rack to dry. He had KP duty tonight. Just as he grabbed the dishtowel to wipe his hands, his uncle came into the kitchen.

  “You have much homework left?”

  “I’m done.” He’d hurried, because Ryan had slipped him a movie that Uncle Nolan would have probably banned. He intended to take the DVD to his bedroom, where he could watch it on his laptop with the sound low.

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” his uncle said, sounding deadly serious.

  Christian froze. Was this going to be like the last time, when he found out Mom couldn’t be his mother?

  “What?” His voice squeaked, which he hated.

  “Nothing bad.” Uncle Nolan leaned back against the counter. “I need you to know I’ve been seeing Dana.”

  Seeing. Christian frowned. Of course he’d been seeing—Wait. “You mean...” He couldn’t even say it.

  “I do mean.” His uncle crossed his arms loosely, posture relaxed, which didn’t fool Christian for a minute. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

  “She’s my mother!”

  “That’s right. She is.”

  “I thought she was here because of me,” he blurted, then felt himself flush. That sounded like he was jealous.

  “She is.” Uncle Nolan stayed serious, but his voice had softened. “She and I have talked about this. We know we have to stay friends for
your sake, no matter what.”

  “If you break up...” Tension screamed through him.

  Uncle Nolan nodded. “But I don’t plan for that to happen.” There was steel in his voice.

  Christian stared. This was so weird. “What about Ellie?”

  “You never did explain how you know about her.”

  “I hear things,” he said sullenly.

  “You eavesdrop when you think I’m not telling you stuff that I should.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  Uncle Nolan shook his head. “Ellie wasn’t any of your business. I never intended her to impact your life. Dana is different, which is why I am telling you.”

  Christian threw the dishtowel onto the counter in a furious movement. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “I am. Always.”

  “But what if she decides to take me—” He stopped, understanding coming with a pop, like a lightbulb in a cartoon. “You think if you marry her, even my...my father won’t be able to take me.”

  Uncle Nolan had the same look on his face that he did when he didn’t want to let Christian do something but sort of thought he had to. Like...he wasn’t really happy about what he was going to say. But he said it, anyway. “Nobody would be able to take you. We’d be a family, me, you, your mom. It’s the perfect answer.”

  Christian thought about it. Having her living here wouldn’t be that bad. She was a good cook, and...he’d kind of liked it when she hugged him. And the way she listened to him.

  The gross part was that she and Uncle Nolan would share a bedroom. Christian did not want to think about what they’d be doing in there.

  Uncle Nolan wasn’t doing this because he was gooey over Dana. He’d said he would fight dirty to keep Christian with him, and marrying her was how he would do it.

  Guiltily, he asked, “What if you start wishing you weren’t married to her?”

  “Not happening.” Uncle Nolan seemed confident. It was like after the car accident, when Christian was so scared and Uncle Nolan walked in and said, “You’ll live with me from now on.” Nobody would dare argue with him.

  “You haven’t asked her, have you?”

  “No.” He smiled a little. “You have to court a woman. Right now she’d think you were the only reason I was asking.”

  “And she might say no.”

  “Right.” Uncle Nolan pushed away from the counter. “Since we don’t want that, you need to get lost again Friday night.”

  “I’ll call Jason right now.”

  Laughing, Uncle Nolan handed over his phone. “Somehow, I thought you’d be on board.”

  * * *

  DANA HAD GONE all out, cooking a pot roast in her Crock-Pot, using tiny new potatoes bought at a fruit stand and baking biscuits from scratch. A cherry pie, made from local cherries, cooled on the counter. Focusing on the menu had held her nervousness at bay.

  Mostly at bay, she conceded, a little rueful as she listened for Nolan. Now that the biscuits were in the oven, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from the clock.

  At 6:29 p.m. she heard a car stop outside. At 6:30 p.m. on the dot, the doorbell rang.

  If you chicken out, it’s just dinner, she told herself.

  When she opened the door for him, the first thing she noticed was his damp hair. Second was the freshly shaved jaw. For me. The butterflies in her stomach swirled into panicked flight, not calmed by her extreme awareness of him. She should have said something, stepped back so he could enter, but instead she looked at him: the pale lines beside his blue eyes that crinkled with a smile or against the sun, thick, dark lashes, an old scar at the angle of his chin, the bulky muscles of his shoulders and the strength of his neck.

  He looked at her, too, his eyes darkening and a muscle jumping on his jaw. But when she gulped and said, “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you standing on the doorstep,” he only smiled and walked in.

  “Smells good,” he said easily. Before she could retreat, he dipped his head and kissed her lightly, his hands running up and down her arms.

  Dana fled for the kitchen. Under his amused gaze as she fussed over getting the meal on the table, she rhapsodized about the fruit market she’d discovered and how much produce was grown locally.

  “There’s a reason the Willamette Valley seemed like the promised land to so many settlers,” he commented, obviously willing to cooperate.

  “We’re not in the Willamette Valley, are we?” As if she cared.

  “Let me take that.” He removed the heavy Crock-Pot from her hands and set it in the middle of the table. “No, our climate is a little more arid, but we’re close enough. Some of that produce isn’t grown right here. We’re best known for our orchards.”

  At the sight of the biscuits, hot from the oven, he made a pleased sound. Dana realized the effort she’d put into this meal hadn’t been only to distract herself; she was ridiculously happy to see him dish up and start eating. She’d loved feeding Craig when they were first married, but cooking just for herself was nothing but a chore.

  Nolan ate voraciously, no surprise given that he’d admitted to not having lunch. He had been shorthanded, with his afternoon part-timer calling in sick.

  “She was probably late writing a paper due tomorrow,” he said with a tolerant shrug. “It happens. I use a lot of college kids, but they’re generally reliable.”

  Although they hadn’t yet run together, he knew she tried to get out at least three times a week and suggested some trails she might not have discovered. “Evenings or weekends, I often use the high school track. Nobody minds. I avoid pounding the pavement. My knees took enough wear and tear humping heavy packs in mountainous country.”

  “I’ve read that soldiers these days carry something like a hundred pounds in gear.” She couldn’t imagine.

  “More like a hundred and thirty, forty pounds,” he said, sounding unconcerned, “between the body armor, gear, weapons, pack.” He buttered another biscuit. “I’m a big guy. It was easier on me. If we were trying to move fast, I’d add extra to help out a smaller guy.”

  Why did she suspect he had always loaded himself down to help his teammates? A man who’d let his career go in a heartbeat because the boy he believed to be his nephew needed him, Nolan Gregor was a born protector. She could so easily see him throwing himself over a grenade to save others. She shivered, knowing he’d be willing to die for other people, grateful that his intense, protective drive had instead led him to take early retirement.

  Guessing he would rather she not verbalize any of that, she limited herself to “You weren’t kidding about that wear and tear on your knees, were you?”

  “Backs go, too.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  He’d speared a potato with his fork but didn’t lift it to his mouth. “Sometimes,” he said after a minute. “Mostly the other guys. I don’t have friends here of the same caliber.”

  “Have you stayed in touch?” she asked softly.

  He took the bite, maybe to give himself a moment. “Sure.” Pause. “It’s tough when I hear about the casualties. There’s some guilt.” Those big shoulders moved, not so much in a shrug as in discomfiture.

  “If you’d been there, you might have died instead. Or too.” Her throat felt tight.

  His eyes held hers. “Could be I’d have saved someone else. Kept us from making a mistake.” His mouth quirked. “You don’t have to tell me how arrogant that sounds.”

  Smile trembling, she shook her head. “Confident.”

  He laughed. “Is there a difference?”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  She watched him mull that over. “Of course there is,” he said finally. “Every service has leaders who think they know it all. Foul-ups are always someone else’s fault. Men die, the colonel gets promoted to general.” His a
nger was quiet but unmistakable.

  “You must have known some cocky young guys, too.”

  “That’s swagger, not confidence. If they survive a first mission or two, they get over it.”

  “Were you ever...?”

  “Cocky?” At close quarters, his grin was devastating. “Now, come on. You know me. What do you think?”

  His sense of humor was contagious, and she said, “Of course you were.”

  “And I’m one of the survivors.”

  Dana wanted to know more. His wartime experiences were a big part of what made him the man he was. But she knew if she asked, he’d respond with more of the usual funny tales. The gut-wrenching stuff, the loss of friends, the experience of killing, he would choose to tell her someday or he wouldn’t.

  And that presupposed this relationship endured, became something intimate enough for him to want to open himself to her. And even then she knew there was a lot he would never talk about.

  “Another helping?” She nudged the handle of the ladle toward him. “If you don’t put some more away, I’ll be eating it for days.”

  “You know—” he rubbed his belly “—I think I may be at capacity. Guess I should have brought Christian after all.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said with mock seriousness. “He wouldn’t have left me any leftovers.”

  “Kid can eat,” Nolan agreed. His voice changed, deepened. “Can’t say I wish he was here, though.”

  “No,” Dana whispered. She cleared her throat. “No.”

  “Dana—”

  Nervous, she interrupted. “I have cherry pie for dessert. And ice cream if you want it.” Oh, heavens—she sounded like an upbeat waitress confiding the day’s specials.