His Daddy's Eyes

by Debra Salonen

  “What would your fiancée think about your changing professions?” Sara asked.

  Before Ren could answer, Bo’s noisy arrival signaled an end to their intimate talk. Sara told herself she was only asking because of what it might mean to Brady, but a part of her knew she was curious for other reasons. Foolish reasons.

  BO TOSSED A MATCH on the pile of charcoal, then jumped back. The minute he’d walked in he’d felt something just as combustible between Ren and Sara—even if they pretended otherwise. He shouldn’t have been surprised—things had been brewing all afternoon. Overly casual stares. Contrived accidental touches.

  He’d debated about getting involved or minding his own business the whole time he was shopping. Basically, except for giving Ren a hard time about Eve—who wasn’t a bad person, just not the right person for Ren—Bo stayed out of people’s romances. But this was different. Sara was an innocent; she wouldn’t last a minute in a Bishop sea—not with Babe and Eve circling.

  “Sara, shouldn’t you wake Brady? Ren promised to help him fish some more.”

  Sara bolted toward the bedroom, and Ren followed Bo into the kitchen.

  “Something bothering you?” Ren asked.

  “Yeah, there is. You said you were coming by today so Sara could get to know you better. I want to know how much better.”

  Ren’s eyes narrowed. “I like her. Is that a crime?”

  “Depends on who’s the judge.”

  Ren gave him a steely stare, then turned away to catch Brady who barreled past like a runaway pumpkin.

  “Whoa, kiddo, slow down you’ll scare the fish.” He picked up the little boy and smiled. Both sets of midnight-blue eyes flashed with joy, and Bo felt himself chagrined with envy.

  Ren hiked Brady to his hip, then gave Bo a stern look and muttered, “Stay out of this, Bo.”

  A minute later Sara emerged from the bedroom and joined Bo at the counter. He started to hand her a tomato, but stopped. She looked at him questioningly. Her nose was a little sunburned, her hair windblown. She looked sixteen. He wanted to warn her not to get involved with Ren, to arm herself in any way possible against a possible attack from Babe, and to prepare herself for Ren’s inevitable victory.

  Instead, he asked, “What kind of salad dressing does the kid like?”

  “WHEN BO WOULD COME HOME with me for holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter—he and Dad would take off and disappear for hours. Drove my mother crazy.”

  “Now, you can’t pin that one on me,” Bo argued. “Babe has always been crazy. Larry was just too nice to point it out, and she’s got you pussy-whipped.”

  “Baloney.”

  “Gentlemen,” Sara interjected, thoroughly regretting her innocent question that had somehow turned best friends into antagonists. “Whose turn is it to push?”

  After dinner, they’d walked to a nearby playground, where the three adults took turns entertaining Brady. Bo took over swing duty from Sara.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled under his breath.

  Sara sat down on the empty swing beside Brady’s and watched the little boy’s face light up with joy as Bo cautiously pushed him. “So,” she said carefully, “the bottom line is you were roommates in college, you spent holidays together—Bo partied, and Ren was the dignified one.”

  A pair of hands touched her waist, making her jump. “Pretty close,” Ren said softly, gently giving her a push. “After graduation, Bo stopped drinking, joined the police department and eventually became a PI. I went to law school.”

  Sara lifted her feet and closed her eyes, reveling in the unexpected sensations.

  “And Ren continued to be his dignified self—except for one small indiscretion, which is how we all came to be here tonight.”

  Sara, caught up in the dual pleasure of Ren’s touch and gliding upward, let Bo’s comment drift past her. She used her legs to pump higher, anticipating the solid warmth of Ren’s hands against the small of her back when she returned to earth.

  “What about you, Sara?” Bo asked. “Who was your best friend growing up?”

  Maybe the freedom of near flight made her answer with uncharacteristic candor. “Julia.” The name seemed to float on the air, as if Sara had conjured up her presence. “My father died when I was three, and my mother had a problem with alcohol, so mostly it was Julia who took care of me. She was part mother, part best friend.”

  On her next upward arc, Sara leaned back to view the world upside down. “We fought like you guys—ongoing arguments over nothing, but we always made up. I knew I could count on her for anything, and she knew I’d always be here for her. I don’t know if that made us better sisters or better friends, but we were both.”

  The breeze kicked up, and Sara realized it was nearly dark. “Bombs away,” she called, jumping into the air. “It’s getting late, Brady boy. We have to go. Tomorrow’s a workday.”

  Ren and Bo took turns giving Brady piggyback rides. Sara knew from the tenor of Brady’s shrieks of laughter that she was going to be in for a difficult time getting him to leave. Her head began to ache just picturing the long drive home with a crying, whining child in a car seat.

  “Sara, what if I offered to drive you home?” Ren said, startling her with his empathic abilities.

  “My car’s here.”

  “Bo could pick you up in the morning and have Claudie run him home later. I have an early morning docket, or I’d do it.”

  She looked at Bo, who seemed less than thrilled by the idea. “It’s really not necessary,” she said, sorry she couldn’t put more force behind her words.

  “I know, but you had wine with dinner and it’s a long, unfamiliar drive. What do you think, Bo?”

  Bo looked at Sara intently. She was certain he intended to say no.

  For some reason he said, “Okay. Whatever.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “THAT’S ALL WRONG, lamebrain. If you put that strap there, where does this one go?” one voice snarled.

  “Get out of my face,” the other growled. “How can I see when you’re hogging all the space?”

  Sara took Brady’s hand to lead him away from the Lexus, half expecting it to blow up from the tempers brewing in the back seat. Once Bo had agreed to Ren’s suggestion that he drive her and Brady home, Sara had assumed it would be a simple matter of transferring Brady’s safety seat to Ren’s car, then they’d be on their way. Apparently, she’d underestimated the potent mixture of male ego and technology.

  Brady pulled on her arm, whining to help the men. The little boy had reached his limit even without the undercurrents of tension between Ren and Bo. “What, love?” she asked, trying to calm him with her touch. “No, you can’t help them. They’re having enough trouble as it is.”

  He pushed her hands away and flung himself to the ground, sobbing as though his world were coming to an end. “Brady,” Sara soothed, squatting beside him. “We’re leaving in just a minute.” That promise seemed to upset him even more, although she couldn’t understand a syllable of his weepy diatribe.

  Sara sensed a presence at her side and looked up to see Ren, his concern obvious even given the fading light. “Can I help?”

  She nodded. “He doesn’t get like this often, but he’s exhausted. Just pick him up and let’s get him strapped in the car seat. Is it in?”

  “I hope so.” He lowered himself to one knee, focusing on Brady, who’d rolled onto his back and was kicking his feet against the dusty concrete floor of the parking lot. Eyes squeezed shut, his face almost apoplectic, his tantrum raged. Sara would have been mortified by this public behavior under normal circumstances, but for some reason—maybe Ren’s calmness—she simply watched as Ren picked up her screaming child. Walking beside them, she tugged off Brady’s heavy shoes to keep him from inflicting bodily harm.

  Ren tried cajoling, but the child was beyond words. When they neared the car where Bo stood holding open the rear door, Brady tried to fling himself out of Ren’s arms toward Bo, but Ren held fast. Sara chose not to watch th
e actual wrestling into the car seat. Instead, she gave Bo a quick hug and thanked him for the wonderful day, then slid into the passenger seat of the elegant car.

  A moment later Ren joined her behind the wheel. The noise from the back seat filled the air, but Ren flashed a thumbs-up and started the car. They’d only gone half a mile before Sara groaned, “That’s it. I can’t take it anymore.”

  She unbuckled her seat belt.

  “He’s going to run out of steam eventually,” Ren said, his voice full of concern.

  “I’m afraid he’ll make himself sick before that happens,” she told him. “I think I can get him to calm down now that the car is moving. I have to try.”

  She climbed over the seat as gracefully as possible, careful to avoid touching Ren. She already regretted her decision to ride home with him—his proximity reminded her of his kiss…and the countless erotic dreams it had spawned.

  “Brady, my sweet, remember your fish? Your big fish? Where do you think he is right this minute?”

  Her singsong voice seemed to reach him. He stopped crying and looked at her, although his huffing little sniffles continued like a broken train. “I bet he’s home with his mama under the water. I bet he’s telling her about the nice boy he met today. The nice boy who let him go.”

  Brady’s bottom lip shot out, and he looked ready to cry again, so Sara hurriedly added, “You’re such a good boy, Brady. I love you. Someday when you’re bigger you’ll be swimming in the river and that fish—he’ll be bigger, too—will look up at you and tell his buddies, ‘Hey, guys, that’s my friend, Brady.’”

  The nonsense made Brady smile. She took a moistened towel packet from the backpack and wiped the streaks of dirt, tears and ketchup from his face. “Should we sing Ren our night-night song?”

  Brady suddenly looked up, as if remembering the other adult in the car. He waved to Ren, who apparently caught the motion in the rearview mirror and waved back. “How’ya doing, Brady? Time to sleep?”

  Brady responded by asking if Ren was going to sleep at their house so the two of them could play in the morning. Sara felt herself blush.

  Fortunately, very few people aside from Sara could understand Brady. “He wanted to know if you’d read him a bedtime story,” she ad-libbed.

  “Sure, big guy. Anything you want.”

  Yawning, Brady reached out and took Sara’s hand. “Mommy sing.”

  Sara laid her cheek against the soft padding of his seat. In a low, soothing voice, she softly sang the lullaby Brady liked best. He popped his thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes. Sara closed her eyes, too, intending to rest them just a second or two.

  “Sara, wake up.” Ren’s voice was gentle. “I need your authorization to get in.”

  Sara sat up, startled by the bright lights outside the car. She realized in an instant where she was—the back seat of the Lexus, parked at the Rancho Carmel security gate. “Oh, my gosh, I slept all the way. Oh…” she groaned.

  The rear passenger window slithered down. “Don’t worry about it. We’re here now, so check us in.” His tone was kind, almost amused.

  She swallowed her embarrassment and leaned out the window to wave at Clark, the night guard. He handed Ren a visitor’s pass, and Ren pulled ahead.

  “So, where to?”

  She directed him to her house. At night, the rambling, angular building didn’t look quite as hideous as it did by day. As soon as he was parked in the driveway, Sara scrambled out and dashed to the door to unlock it and turn on lights. Before she could return for Brady, Ren was there, child in arms. “Lead the way,” he said.

  Brady’s nursery was the one room in the house Sara liked. She flipped on the light switch and pointed to the crib nestled in an alcove replete with skylight.

  “Leave him on his back. I need to change his diaper and put on his jammies,” she said, taking both from a built-in dresser.

  “Won’t he wake up?” Ren asked, his low whisper sending crazy messages up her spine.

  “I doubt it. He was wiped out.”

  “So were you,” Ren said softly, moving aside to give her space.

  His closeness made her nervous. “I know, but I still can’t believe I zonked out like that. How rude! I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be. You needed the rest. I’m glad I was there.” He moved away a step. “Besides, I’d had a pretty hectic day myself. The drive gave me time to think.”

  Sara didn’t ask about what. As she changed Brady, Ren walked around the spacious room. “Great room,” he said, studying the mural on the walls. “Who did the paintings?”

  “Julia found a struggling young artist from Sac State. She lived here for six months while going to school. It’s Julia’s design.”

  Ren whistled under his breath. “Your sister was very talented.”

  “Yes,” Sara whispered back. “But her true talent was nursing.”

  She kissed Brady and turned him on his side, tucking his stuffed elephant beside him.

  Sara motioned Ren to follow. “How about a cup of coffee? It’s decaf.” At his nod, she led the way to the kitchen. A vast, humorless room, its steel-and-chrome motif resembled the control panel of a space capsule.

  “Wow, can this thing get us to Mars?” Ren asked, looking around.

  Sara laughed. “Amazing, isn’t it? State-of-the-art everything. Hulger always bought the best.”

  Ren walked to the wall of glass at the far side of the breakfast nook, where Sara and Brady ate all their meals. He cupped his hands on either side of his head and looked outside. When he looked back, his face remained impassive, but Sara knew what he was thinking.

  “Big, huh?”

  “Did it come with a zebra and giraffes?”

  Sara burst out laughing. She didn’t stop until Ren touched her shoulder. “Sorry,” she said, wiping the corners of her eyes. “Most people say things like, ‘Were all those rocks here or did you bring them in?’”

  She lowered her voice. “Do you know what? Hulger did have the rocks moved in. They cost a fortune. Julia almost divorced him over it.”

  When the coffee was ready she handed him a cup and directed him to what Hulger had called his “Valhalla.”

  “Oh,” Ren said, lifting his chin to take in the massive fireplace of rock and mortar. “That’s some fireplace.”

  Sara sat down on one of the leather couches, arranging a multicolored throw so her legs weren’t touching the white leather. She disliked the feel of the cold leather against her skin.

  Ren, who was also wearing shorts, didn’t seem affected by the modernist leather-and-chrome sling he chose to sit in. “This décor doesn’t suit you,” he said, sipping his coffee.

  Sara smiled at his diplomacy. “I know. None of the furnishings are mine. I was living in a three-room apartment before I moved in here. My stuff is stored in one corner of the garage.” She pictured the small pile of boxes and half-dozen antiques she’d been carefully acquiring—none of which would have jibed with Hulger’s taste.

  “You don’t have to live here, do you?”

  She took a deep breath. “I often think about moving, but it’s complicated. Like I told you, I moved in because I thought this would be less stressful for Brady.” She shook her head remembering those hectic, heartbreaking weeks after Julia’s death. “It was pure chaos after the accident. I had two funerals to plan…Hulger’s parents came from Denmark. You can’t imagine how crazy it was.”

  Sara could tell by his frown that he wanted to ask her something. She took a guess. “You’re wondering if I heard any of the speculation about the accident, aren’t you?” His brow crinkled as he nodded. “People will always talk, Ren. Even at the memorial service I heard someone say Hulger drove the boat into a rock on purpose, but that isn’t true.”

  “You sound pretty sure.”

  “For one thing, the inquest ruled it an accident, but above that, I knew Hulger. He was selfish, brash, impulsive and temperamental, but, above all, proud. He would never have given Julia the sat
isfaction of getting to him.” She massaged the muscle at the base of her neck. “Maybe that doesn’t make sense to you, but it does to me. Hulger was a very vocal, demonstrative person—he could rant and rave like a two-year old, but within seconds of blowing up he’d be smiling, acting the congenial host. That was one of the things that drove Julia crazy.”

  “So you think he might have been caught up in the heat of the moment and missed seeing the rock, but that he didn’t purposely aim for it,” Ren said, keeping his gaze on her face.

  “Exactly. He worshiped Julia, and he loved this stupid house. Plus, he was very good at his job. He had a great future ahead of him. I know he’d never have committed suicide. Never.”

  “What kind of father was he?”

  Sara took a drink of coffee; it tasted bitter. She rose. “I’m going to freshen this up. How ’bout you?”

  He shook his head. The look on his face told her he knew she was avoiding his question.

  “I’ll be right back.” She’d never particularly cared for her brother-in-law, but she didn’t think it prudent to speak of his shortcomings to Ren. Maybe Hulger’s petty jealousy—even toward his baby son—could be used against her in court.

  Plus, it didn’t help matters that she was feeling more and more attracted to Ren as a man. Her friends would be horrified if they knew she felt drawn to him—his kindness, his flaws and especially his touch. Sara hated to admit it, but she liked Ren Bishop.

  REN ROSE AND WALKED around the vastly unattractive room. What a horrible house! Poor Sara, he thought. The more he learned of her sister’s life, the easier it was to picture Julia escaping to Tahoe for a weekend of fun and games. The man who had designed this room was looking to impress people, not enjoy life.

  He paused before a painting. Ren recognized the artist’s scrawl but not the work. The unframed canvas of grays and browns sported a diagonal dissecting streak of red.

  “Hulger paid a fortune for that painting,” Sara said, joining him.

  “Hulger was an idiot,” Ren said shortly.