Daniel's Gift

by Barbara Freethy

  "How was I to know you'd changed your mind?"

  "You could have asked."

  "When, Luke?" Denise looked at him and shook her head. "I hardly see you. At breakfast, your face is buried in the newspaper. When I call your office, your secretary says you're unavailable. At night, you take papers into your den and don't come out until after midnight."

  "I've been busy taking over my father's company. Don't try to sidetrack me, Denise. We've been together. We've made love. The last time, I asked you not to use your diaphragm, you said you wouldn't. What a joke. Obviously, you didn't have to use a diaphragm at all."

  Denise swallowed hard, hating when the truth caught up with her. But she could talk her way out of this. She had always been able to convince Luke that her way was the best way. She tried one last time.

  "You don't want a child, Luke. You're going through an identity crisis, taking over your father's business, moving into your parents' house. That's the problem. Having a child, however, is not the answer."

  Luke placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. With rough fingers, he yanked the zipper into place.

  Denise sighed and walked back to the mirror. She carefully applied her lipstick while Luke finished dressing. Although she pretended not to look at him, she was aware of his every movement, and she wished she could say something to ease the tension between them.

  Luke would not give an inch. He was a hard man, tough, unyielding, closed off. He had a brilliant mind, a gorgeous body, honed by miles of running every morning in the cold, dark dawn -- without her. But then he did so many things without her. As they grew older, they grew further apart.

  They weren't on the same wavelength anymore. Her workaholic, ambitious, money-making husband was turning soft. Although Luke was a rising star in the world of biotech, he seemed to be questioning his decision to take over Sheri-Tech. It was that kind of wavering that would destroy him. She had tried to tell him that he had to stay focused, that he couldn't quit -- not now, not until he was a proven success story.

  Sometimes, Denise didn't think Luke cared about his career as much as she did. And it wasn't just business that came between them. It was their social life, too. Luke avoided parties she desperately wanted to attend, parties where he could make valuable contacts. He turned down opportunities to travel to Paris and London. Now, he wanted children, of all things.

  What in the hell did she want with a child?

  There was no way she was going to change dirty diapers and burp a baby when she could be drinking a daiquiri on a beach in Maui. No, thank you. She had no desire to recreate herself. Luke would just have to get past this fatherly urge of his. And he would. She would see to it.

  "Your mother said we could join them in Maui after Christmas if you like," Denise said persuasively, looking at Luke in the mirror.

  Luke pulled on a clean shirt. "I don't think so."

  "Maybe Aspen with the Willoughbys then. We'll talk about it later." Denise walked to the door. "Are you ready?"

  "I'll be down in a minute."

  "Luke, please."

  "Go, dammit!"

  Luke walked over to the window and looked out at the view, wondering why he felt compelled to stare into space every chance he got. From his hilltop vantage point, he could see the planes landing at the airport. The sight was peaceful, comforting. He had stood at these windows before, reassuring himself that everything he wanted was out there.

  Now, Luke wasn't sure. Maybe he was having an identity crisis. Coming home had triggered old feelings. As soon as he had driven down the Eucalyptus-lined street of El Camino Real and up the hills toward his parents' Spanish-tiled, three-story home, in the exclusive community of Hillsborough located on the San Francisco Peninsula, he had been swept back in time. He was no longer a confident, brash scientist with a keen mind and deep pockets; he was a young man with ideals, with romance in his soul, with thoughts of -- Jenny.

  Luke closed his eyes and sighed, envisioning her sweet face. Jenny, with the laughing brown eyes, and hair the color of dark chocolate. Jenny, with the tender hugs, the sexy smile, and legs that wrapped tightly around his waist. Jenny.

  The memories came back as if they had happened yesterday instead of thirteen years earlier.

  The lights from the airport in front of him grew hazy, turning into the orange flames of a fire, a bonfire on the beach. Through the flames he saw her.

  Jenny held a can of Diet Pepsi to her lips and laughed as the wind from the ocean whipped long strands of hair across her wide, generous mouth. She tried to pull her hair away from her soft, pink lips, but it was a futile struggle. Finally, she gathered her hair into a ponytail and tucked it into the back of her sweatshirt.

  Someone told a joke, and Jenny smiled. The man standing next to her, a guy named Frank, leaned down to kiss her. Jenny playfully pushed him away.

  Another laugh. Another smile.

  Jenny was magic, flitting around the group like a firefly, drawing people out, completing the circle with an effortlessness that made Luke feel a sharp pang of envy.

  He didn't belong here, not to this group, not to any group. They suffered his presence, because he was rich, smart, and drove around town in a Mercedes. Even his supposed girlfriend, Diane, was now snuggling under a blanket with Gary Burroughs, another of his supposed friends. Did they care that he was watching? No.

  Luke turned away.

  Jenny stood in front of him, a wispy, slender girl bathed in moonlight. He caught his breath. Up close, he could feel the magic.

  "Why aren't you singing?" she asked.

  For the first time it occurred to Luke that everyone was singing, off-key and half drunk.

  "I don't sing." He attempted to move past her.

  "Neither do I." Jenny fell into step alongside him.

  The sand was moist between his toes. Her arm brushed against his. Goose bumps teased his skin at the innocent motion. His heart began to pound.

  "Do you swim?' Jenny asked.

  Luke looked at the dark waves breaking against the shore. The ocean appeared more than a little dangerous. "I can swim." He raised an eyebrow as he turned to her. "You don't mean now, do you?"

  Jenny grinned, her lips curving delightfully. A dimple creased her cheek, her brown eyes lit with excitement. Luke felt an immediate response, a magnetic force that pulled him closer to her, even when he wanted to walk away.

  "Now," she whispered, taking his hand.

  Her hand felt small, warm, and soft, but he could feel a callous along her thumb. He wondered where it had come from, how it had the nerve to light on a body and a spirit so pure, so giving.

  He had seen Jenny before this night, but always in the distance, always in the center of a circle of people. He had never been alone with her, until now.

  They stumbled down the beach in the shadowy moonlight. At least Luke stumbled; Jenny seemed to float, like a vision. For the first time he wondered if she was real or a figment of his imagination. He turned his head, hoping to anchor reality with the sight of the bonfire. It was gone. The cliff behind them blocked everything from view.

  They stood in a small cove where a circle of rocks created a pool protected from the ocean. Jenny pulled her sweatshirt over her head. Then her shirt. She slid her jeans down long legs, while he watched and waited. Her body was slender, graceful, strong. Her panties and bra were hot pink. A bright flower in a sea of darkness.

  There was no self-consciousness to Jenny's movements, no humility or vanity, just a calm acceptance of who she was and what she wanted to do. He, who was terrified of letting out his real feelings, was intensely jealous of her ability to be so direct, so uncaring of his opinion. Or was she?

  Luke's gaze moved up to her face. She was looking at him, waiting and watching.

  Awareness. Connection. Desire. Each emotion hit him with the same force as the waves crashing on the beach.

  "Are you coming?" she whispered.

  Oh, he was coming all right, here and now.

 
"Why me?"

  "It's not safe to swim alone."

  "Being safe is high on your list of priorities?"

  "I don't have a list of priorities," she said with a smile.

  Luke dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "I'm leaving at the end of the summer. Medical school at USC."

  "I know."

  "My parents both went there."

  "I heard."

  "I'm following in their footsteps."

  "I hope they wear the same size shoes."

  Luke's mouth curved up in a reluctant smile. "I shouldn't be here tonight. This isn't really my thing."

  "Are you finished?" Jenny held out her hand to him. "Come on, a little water won't hurt you."

  "It's not the water I'm worried about."

  "You think too much." She stepped into the ocean with a delighted squeal of joy. It was the most innocent, most appealing, most irresistible sound he had ever heard. Without another thought, Luke stripped off his shirt and pants and followed her into the water.

  The ocean was so cold his heart missed a beat. Jenny splashed water at him. He shivered with anticipation.

  "Isn't this great?" she said. "I feel alive, free."

  Luke felt exactly the same way, for the first time in his entire life. That was the only reason he walked toward her, the only reason why he cupped her face with wet hands, and kissed her until a wave crashed over their heads.

  Luke clenched his hands as the memory faded away. The flames from the fire, the dark pool were gone. Jenny was gone.

  That summer had been the best summer of his life.

  Like a thief, he had stolen precious moments with a woman he knew he would eventually leave.

  His plans for the future had been set in stone. Every member of the Sheridan family for three generations had gone into the field of medicine. It was his duty to carry on the tradition. When Jenny came to him with the news that she was pregnant, he panicked. Thoughts of disappointing his parents, his family, future generations of Sheridans made it impossible for him to stay with her.

  In the end, he'd given her five hundred dollars and suggested an abortion. He'd never seen her again.

  Now he was married to Denise, a woman who didn't want children. The irony of the situation hit him hard. He had had his chance to be a father and had walked away. It was too late to wish things were different.

  * * *

  "Ring the doorbell," Christopher Merrill urged Danny as he glanced furtively around the yard. "We don't have all night. My mom gets off work at eight, and if I'm not home by then, I'm in big trouble."

  "Maybe I shouldn't." Danny tilted his head to one side as he considered the matter. His father's large home in the ritzy town of Hillsborough was a far cry from Danny's house by the beach. Even the doorbell looked intimidating, a solid square of gold. Who wasted gold on a doorbell?

  "Come on, Danny, do it."

  "What if he isn't home?"

  "Then he won't answer the door. Stop chickening out."

  "I'm not."

  "Bawk, bawk, bawk," Christopher said, waving his arms like a chicken.

  "I'm taking my time, okay?"

  "You don't have any time left. We still have to get down the hill and catch the last bus to Half Moon Bay." Christopher checked the sports watch on his wrist. "Come on, it's almost six-thirty."

  "My mom is going to be mad." Danny drummed his hands restlessly against his legs. He wished he knew what to do. It had all started so easily, finding the newspaper article, looking up the address, taking the bus over the hill. But now that he was here, Danny wished he were home.

  "Your mom's gonna be mad even if you don't ring the bell," Christopher said.

  "You're right. We're here. Let's see if he's home." Danny pushed the doorbell and held his breath.

  After a moment, he heard the sound of someone unlocking the door. Danny turned to Christopher, suddenly panicked at the thought of seeing his father face-to-face. He started to back away. Christopher put a hand on his back and shoved him up the steps.

  The door opened, and Danny stared into the face of a beautiful woman wearing a tight black evening dress. Her hair was a dark shade of red, her eyes green, like a cat. Her smile faded the instant she saw him. In fact, she looked downright mean.

  "What do you want?" she snapped.

  "We're -- I'm -- " Danny licked his lips.

  "Whatever you're selling, I don't want any." She started to close the door.

  "Wait. Wait." Danny stuck his foot in the way of the door, wincing as the wood bounced off his toe. "Is Luke Sheridan here?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "Who wants to know?"

  "Me."

  "And who are you?"

  "I'm -- I'm -- " Danny looked desperately at Christopher, who simply shrugged. "I'm his kid."

  Her mouth dropped open. "What? What did you say?"

  "I'm his son, Danny. Danny St. Claire."

  "Mr. Sheridan isn't here," she said quickly. "And you must have the wrong man, because this Mr. Sheridan does not have a son, nor does he want one."

  The words hit Danny like a baseball in the gut. Mom was right. Luke hadn't wanted him to be born and still didn't want him. "But -- "

  "Who's at the door?" a man's voice demanded from somewhere behind the woman.

  She shifted as she looked over her shoulder. "Just kids selling candy."

  As the woman moved, Danny looked straight at Luke. Stark blue eyes. Blond hair. Just like his ... Oh God!

  Time moved in slow motion, broken by the sudden slamming of the door in Danny's face. The abruptness took him by surprise. He glanced over at Christopher, still dazed. "What happened?"

  "She told us to get lost," Christopher replied.

  "That was him. That was my dad. I saw him."

  "I didn't see him."

  "He was behind that lady. He looked at me."

  Christopher shrugged. "If you say so. But he didn't want to talk to you."

  "He didn't know it was me. She closed the door too fast." Danny reached for the doorbell, then paused as the roar of an engine drew his attention to the driveway. A car pulled up in the semicircle drive, its headlights pinning Danny and Christopher like thieves in the night.

  "Come on, let's get out of here," Christopher urged. "He's got company."

  "I want to see him. I want him to tell me to my face that he doesn't want to be my father."

  The headlights faded into black as two couples got out of the silver BMW. They looked inquisitively at the boys.

  "You can't do it now," Christopher said. "He's having a party. We'll have to come back."

  Christopher grabbed Danny's arm and pulled him down the steps, past the two couples, their fancy car, and the iron gates at the end of the driveway. When they reached the street, Christopher let go. They turned and looked back at the brightly lit house.

  "You know something, Chris, my dad must have big bucks. Look at this place." The house was a three-story mansion, with red brickwork, beveled windows, and a high, sloping roof. The grounds were perfectly landscaped down to the tiny lights placed discretely next to the porch and in the bushes along the driveway.

  Danny felt a sudden rush of anger at his father, fury that the man didn't want him, that Luke had so much when he had so little. His mom could never afford anything extra. And his father was living in this fancy house.

  "I'm going back," Danny said.

  "No, you're not. That lady won't let you in."

  "It's not fair."

  "Yeah, well, as my mom says over and over again, who ever told you life was fair? Move it, dude, we've got a bus to catch."

  * * *

  "Who were those boys?" Luke asked, pulling Denise aside as she motioned for their guests to go into the living room.

  "Just kids, selling something for their school. Did you see Lily's mink? Must have cost a fortune."

  "What were their names?" Luke persisted, driven by a curiosity that he couldn't begin to explain. There was something about the boy on the step -- something di
sturbing.

  "I don't know their names." Denise raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so interested?"

  "The blond kid -- he looked familiar."

  "All kids look the same to me, dirty hair and fingernails, food smeared across their faces, and a strange smell coming from the direction of their tennis shoes."

  Luke sighed, her cutting tone beginning to irritate him. "I get the picture."

  "I hope you do," she said pointedly.

  "Sometimes I don't think I know you at all, Denise."

  "Maybe you don't. I've let you call the shots in our marriage. I've been very accommodating, but not on this point. Not ever."

  "What do you have against children?"

  "Nothing. I just don't want any of my own. I grew up in a houseful of sniveling brats. Those brothers and sisters you think I'm so lucky to have got in the way of everything I ever wanted to do. I always had to stay home and babysit or change a diaper." Her voice trembled with emotion. "I won't do that again, Luke. Not even for you."

  "You should have told me this before."

  "I didn't think I needed to."

  She had a point. He had never considered having a child -- until now -- now that it wasn't possible. Maybe that was his problem. He always wanted what he couldn't have.

  "Why don't you get me a drink?" Denise suggested. "Then, come and join our guests. This is a party. I want to have a good time."

  Denise moved into the living room with a graceful step and a cheerful smile. She would play the role of hostess, loving wife, and adoring daughter-in-law to perfection. No one at the party would ever suspect that they were anything but happy.

  Luke walked past the foyer window and paused. At the end of the drive he could see the two boys in the shadows. They were hovering, not like kids selling candy, but kids on some sort of a mission. He looked over his shoulder at Denise. She was talking to his mother.

  After a moment's hesitation, he opened the front door and walked down the drive. When he reached the street, it was empty. The boys were gone. He wondered if they would be back. He wondered why he cared.

  Chapter Three