Bachelor Father
Traditional Contemporary Romance
By
Jean C. Gordon
Copyright © 2007, 2011 Jean C. Gordon
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Chapter One
“How can he do this?” Molly took off her glasses and set them on the document she’d been reading. Tears blurred the type, and she shook with anger.
Her stepbrother Scott sat on the other side of The Judge’s desk. A few too many “power lunches” had turned Scott’s once athletic body flabby and that, along with a liberal sprinkling of gray, made him look older than his thirty-eight years. “Your mother named Dad trustee of your trust. He’s only following the provisions she put in it.”
Molly picked up a glass paperweight. She had never figured out what Scott resented more, his father having married her “nobody” mother or the fact that she came along with the marriage. Rubbing her thumb across the smooth dome, she tested its weight in her hand, and contemplated using it to wipe the smug look off Scott’s face.
“How much of this was Mom’s idea and how much came from you and your father?” she demanded. “I’m certain this wasn’t in the original trust agreement.” When Mom had married the Honorable—that was a laugh—Judge Douglas Donahue, the only thing she’d asked for Molly was that he help fund a trust to provide for Molly’s education.
“Molly, honey.” Helen Potter, the family’s long-time housekeeper, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Since Helen was more like family than most of her real relations, Molly had asked Helen to join her and Scott. Molly trusted Helen. She had dried Molly’s adolescent tears when her mother’s constant criticisms were too much to bear.
“Scott had nothing to do with the new trust provisions,” Helen said. “The Judge added them after you finished college—as his way of looking out for you way up there in New York.”
Molly bit back a smile. Helen always did know everything that was going on in the household.
“Looking out for me? I’m twenty-six years old. I’ve been on my own for the past eight years.” And alone for much longer than that. “How much looking after could I need?”
Concern darkened Helen’s eyes. “I’m sure The Judge meant well. He—”
Scott interrupted, “Since you insisted on paying for all of your schooling yourself, the trust assets are quite substantial. You couldn’t manage them yourself.”
His words brought a grimace to Molly’s face. That sounded like her Mother. She never would believe Molly—or any woman, for that matter—could manage more than a small weekly allowance. Her mother depended on men for everything; she always had. But Molly hadn’t asked The Judge—she refused to call him Dad—for the whole trust, just enough for the down payment on the condo she was now renting. She hadn’t even wanted to ask for that, but the building management company was phasing out rentals, and she had to either buy or move. Unfortunately, her savings wouldn’t stretch to cover the full down payment.
Helen squeezed her shoulder. “The Judge is helping your mother look after your welfare.”
Molly clenched her fists in anger. “My welfare! He’s using the trust to keep me under his control, even if he can’t stand the sight of me. He summoned me down here to Maryland for his answer, but couldn’t bother to be here to refuse me himself.” Her voice rose half in fury, half in pain. Her mother couldn’t be bothered to be here either. That hurt. She turned to Scott. “The Judge has you doing his dirty work again. How can you stand it?”
“Molly,” Scott said in the honeyed voice he reserved for small children, women, and his hunting dogs. “He was called away on court business. As a member of the law firm that drafted the trust agreement, I’m just verifying what it says for you.”
Molly pushed Helen’s hand from her shoulder, stood, and paced the office. She spun around. “Scott, can he really do this? Require me to marry in order to withdraw any of the trust assets?”
Scott nodded. “The trust stipulates that you have full rights to all of the trust assets on the date you marry or on your thirty-fifth birthday, whichever comes first. Until either of those events occurs, the trust money can be used only for your education or substantial medical bills not covered by insurance.”
She dropped back into the chair and thoughtfully tugged a strand of her red-blond hair. “I don’t understand,” she said to no one in particular.
Helen answered, “Your mother would like you to marry so you’ll have family close by if anything happens to her. I don’t find that at all strange.”
Molly did. Why would her mother be suddenly concerned about her having family? She thought briefly about her two younger half-siblings, the trips her mother and The Judge took with them, and the birthday extravaganzas her mother threw for them. Her mother never even invited Molly to join in these “family” activities.
“If that’s so, why do I get the money when I’m thirty-five, even if I’m not married?”
“Because by then, you’ll be an old maid and really need it.” Scott laughed heartily at his poor attempt at a joke.
Pushing away from the desk again, she walked to the office door. “It seems to have gotten awfully warm and stuffy in here. I’m going for a walk to clear my head. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet some poor, unsuspecting bachelor while I’m out.”
Chapter Two
Brett Cahill stared out at the gray morning, ignoring the computer-aided drafting program running on his PC in favor of watching the rain pelt the window. Drops hit the glass, exploding in sprays that cascaded down the farmhouse window in a sheet of water. A rustling from across the room drew his attention back inside. He looked at Jake sleeping in the playpen. Except for the boy, the month since Kate and David’s funeral had been as blurry as the view outside.
He couldn’t believe his little sister was gone—or that he was now the father of a two-and-a-half year old. Brett had tried to accept the words the minister had said at the funeral, that Kate and David were at peace. But he couldn’t imagine how his sister could be at peace without the baby she had cherished so.
The phone rang. He grabbed it before it rang again, glancing quickly at the still sleeping baby. He wished he could have let the answering machine get the call, but he didn’t want to risk waking Jake. As much as he loved the little guy, Brett needed this break.
It was probably Josh or Tina. His friends had been after him to get out and catch a game or a concert, to get back in circulation. Truthfully, Brett had been too bummed out and busy with Jake. Or it could be one of those blasted telephone surveys. He hoped not. He was a sucker for attractive female voices, and he had work he wanted to finish before Jake woke up.
“Brett Cahill,” he said briskly.
“Brett, this is Molly Hennessey from Thayer House. I'm taking over as your adoption caseworker while Susan Green is on maternity leave.”
“So Susan had her baby,” Brett said.
“Babies.” Molly corrected him. “She had twins, three and a half weeks early, which caught us all a little off guard, Susan especially.”
Molly laughed, deep and throaty, bringing a smile to Brett’s lips. After another glance at Jake and at the program still running on his PC, he settled back in his chair. He could use a break from work, too.
“I see we haven’t talked to you since the week after your sister’s accident,” Molly said. “With Susan out, we’ve been understaffed, as usual. How is Jake settling in?”
Brett relaxed even more, enjoying the inviting huskiness of her voice. A little harmless telephone flirtation might dispel the dark cloud of me
mories that had started to creep over him.
“Pretty well. He’s not asking for Kate as much, but he keeps a close eye on the front door, like he’s expecting her and David to walk in at any time.”
“Poor tike,” Molly said, her voice thick with emotion. “Despite all he’s been through, Jake sounds like he’s adjusting. How about—”
A crack of thunder drowned out Molly’s question, and static threatened to take over the phone line.
“Molly, are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“This storm may knock out the phone. It happens all the time. We’re the last phone on the Albany exchange.”
“In that case, before we lose our connection, I need to set up a home visit. Is either tomorrow afternoon or Thursday morning convenient for you? I realize this is short notice and you may have to make work arrangements.”
“Either is good. I’ve pretty much finished all my outdoor work for the year and plan to spend the next few months working at home and spending my time with Jake.” He looked at the pile of paperwork surrounding his computer and the toys littering his office and laughed. “Or, maybe I should say spending my time with Jake and trying to work at home. Getting any work done with active toddler around is more of a challenge than I’d thought.”
“Can I quote you on that in our monthly newsletter? I know some of our mothers would love to have you share that observation with their husbands.”
Brett caught the humor in Molly’s voice. “Nope,” he said. “This conversation is strictly off the record. I wouldn’t want to cast any doubts on my parental capabilities. Besides, think what it could do to my reputation as an all-American male, not being able to handle one small boy.”
“All right,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “But there goes my scoop.”
More thunder rumbled in the background. “We’d better set a time for tomorrow. Why don’t you come about one?”
She doubled checked her calendar. “Sounds fine.”
“Do you know how to get out here?”
“Susan has directions in your case folder. Let me double-check them with you.”
Brett ran his hand through his hair and tried to put a picture with Molly’s voice. It was a little game he liked to play, guessing what people looked like based on their telephone voices. He decided she was a tall willowy brunette. Yeah, definitely tall and willowy with long dark hair.
While Brett admired the woman he’d created in his head, Molly finished reading the directions. He shook the image from his head. Most likely Molly was plump, middle-aged, and married with six kids. Ah, but her voice . . .
“Brett?”
He cleared his throat to answer. “Yes?”
“Oh, good. I thought we’d been disconnected.”
“Those directions should get you here with no problem,” he said hiding his embarrassment. He’d been so busy conjuring up pictures of her, he hadn’t realized she’d stopped talking.
“Terrific. I’ll see you tomorrow about one.” He could barely hear her over the static on the phone line. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have a couple of papers for—”
The thunder crash that shook the farmhouse was so violent, Molly swore she could feel it over the phone line before it went dead. She tapped the disconnect button a few times, and then re-dialed. Nothing. The storm must have knocked out Brett’s phone line. She had wanted to tell him she needed him to finish filling out the new adoption application.
Since Kate and David’s adoption hadn’t been finalized yet, Korean Child Welfare, the Korean adoption agency affiliated with Thayer House was requiring Brett to go through the whole process to adopt Jake himself. It wasn’t enough that Kate and David had named Brett as Jake’s guardian in their Wills.
“Oh, well. I’ll try again later.”
“Did you say something to me, Molly?”
She turned to the affable black man seated at the desk across the room.
“No, Charles, I was talking to myself.”
She and Charles went back a long time, to the camp her mother shuffled her off to every summer from the time she was ten—the year her mother married The Judge. Charles had been the sports counselor her first year. She had given him nothing but grief. She didn't like camp. She didn't like sports. She didn’t like him. Most of all she didn't like herself. But that hadn’t stopped Charles from taking her under his wing. At the end of the summer, she’d cried because she had to leave him.
He’d written to her at boarding school and they’d been like brother and sister since. Charles and his wife had come to Molly’s college graduation when her mother and stepfather “accidentally” scheduled a cruise for graduation weekend. And Charles had called her immediately when a position at Thayer House had opened up.
“How are you doing at sorting out the extra families you picked up from Susan’s caseload?” he asked.
“Okay, but some of Susan’s files seem incomplete. Must be because she had to take leave unexpectedly early.”
“Probably. She said to give her a call if we have any questions.”
“I may do that. Anyway, I’ve contacted everyone. Brett Cahill—I was just speaking with him before the storm cut us off—was the last.” She shook her head and smiled thoughtfully. “It’s kind of sad.”
“How’s that?”
“His sister and brother-in-law were adopting the little boy, but they both died in a car accident a few weeks ago. They named Brett as the child’s guardian. From the file, at least, he seems determined to keep the child. Susan has him reapplying to adopt Jake himself.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?” Charles asked.
“A single guy willingly taking on the responsibility of a child on top of the responsibility of running a business. Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you?”
“Not particularly, but then I have a different frame of reference than you do concerning family dynamics.”
“If not odd, you have to admit it’s unusual.”
“You do what you have to do. Remember, I took care of Tasha most of her first year.”
“But Tasha is your daughter. Brett doesn’t have to keep Jake. We have several other couples that would adopt him in a minute. Besides, your situation was temporary while you were finishing grad school. Brett’s taking on single parenthood indefinitely.”
“You don’t know that. He may have a lady all lined up to be the child’s mother,” Charles said, continuing to play devil’s advocate.
“I’d feel better about the adoption if he does.” Molly took off her reading glasses and stacked the papers from the Cahill file in a neat pile. “Obviously, Susan thinks he’s parent material, or she wouldn’t have started the adoption. I just hope he’s not taking on more than he can handle. The novelty of parenthood may wear off.”
“Molly.” Charles chastised her. “Parenting isn’t as cut and dried as that. You don’t like or dislike it, like you might like or dislike jazz or cold weather. You are a parent. I doubt if anyone who has a child can ever completely forget that.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Some people can try awfully hard, though,” she said, thinking of the note she’d received from her mother suggesting Molly make plans with friends for the upcoming holidays because she, The Judge, and Molly’s two half siblings were going on a family ski trip to Idaho.
“Charles, not everyone has the happy family home life you and Linda and Tasha have.”
Charles leaned back in his oversized office chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Girl, you think I don’t know that? Before I moved over here to International Adoptions, I put in almost five years working with teens declared ‘persons in need of supervision’ by their parents and the state.”
“That’s my point. Parents can and do give up their kids every day. And I’m not talking about unwed mothers and their newborns. Look at the number of older kids Thayer House has whose parents have washed their hands of them, allowing the state to declare them in need of supervisi
on? Where’s the parental attachment there?”
Charles shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?” He pushed away from the desk and stood up. “I think I’ll call it a day. What about you?”
“It’s only four o’clock.”
“The rain is supposed to change to sleet by this evening. You don’t want to stay too late or your drive home will be a bear.”
“Cool your concern. I may not be used to the snow you all get up here, but Maryland does get its share of ice storms.”
“Nonetheless, I’m officially closing this office and sending you home for the day. Anything you haven’t finished can wait until tomorrow morning. Come on, I’ll walk with you to your car.”
“Okay.” Molly refiled the Cahill folder in her drawer and tidied her desktop. Once everything was in place, she followed Charles to the door. Giving the room a quick perusal, she flicked off the lights and left for home.
* * *
In contrast to the gray gloom of the previous day, Wednesday dawned bright and clear, the kind of late fall day that Molly always found invigorating. The morning sun had melted most of the ice from last night’s storm. Molly pushed the scan button as she sped along the interstate highway. A golden oldies station came on, and she locked it in. The station fit her mood today—mellow.
Unfamiliar with the New Chatham area, she’d given herself plenty of time to get to Brett’s. Now, as she turned on to Route 203, the car clock told her she’d probably allowed too much time. A check of her rearview mirror showed no one behind her, so she slowed down to enjoy the scenery. Here and there among the hardwoods and pines lining the two-lane highway, a tree or two still held its leaves, the russet color contrasting with the jade green of the pines.
Molly came around a wide curve to a green sign proclaiming New Chatham. What a picturesque place. Stately Revolutionary era homes flanked the white clapboard church, complete with steeple, and the small elementary school that stood at the center of town. On the school playground, children enjoyed what was probably one of their last outdoor recesses of the year.
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