ONCE MORE A FAMILY

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  "Think a minute, son. I've explained about the man who had you kidnapped and why. Tomorrow, your mom and I will show you the videos we took of you when you were a baby." The memories he'd locked away came flooding out. "After we took you to the circus on your third birthday, you announced that you were going to be a clown when you grew up. Clowns made people happy, you said. And happy was a good thing. You said your name wasn't Jimmy anymore because that wasn't a clown's name. So your mom and I started calling you Jimbo."

  Something flickered in the boy's eyes before he dropped his gaze. "My name is Steven Allen Wilson. You can't make me say it isn't."

  In spite of the bravado, his lower lip trembled a little, and he clamped it still between his teeth. Grady had to clench his jaw to keep from begging the boy to forgive him for pushing too hard too fast. Patience, he reminded himself. He and Ree had gotten their son through colic and a hellish series of ear infections, and they'd get through this.

  "It's okay to be scared, and it's okay to be mad at me. You can even hate me if it makes you feel better—although I hope you won't, because I love you."

  Jimmy started at that, his eyes widening visibly, as though the concept was foreign to him. Damn, Grady thought, clamping down hard on the need to swear long and hard. Couldn't those pieces of human garbage have spared a few minutes to show a lonely little boy some affection?

  "I love you," he repeated more softly, and with more force, just in case the boy was having trouble getting his mind around the idea. "And your mom loves you, too. So much she was like to die of grief when you were taken from us. Which is why I want you to be real polite when you meet her."

  He waited a beat while the boy absorbed that. While he waited, he told himself it would be all right. He and Ria had had Jimmy for three solid years. Sweet, happy years when the big old house was filled with laughter. Somewhere in the boy's psyche the memories of those years were waiting.

  Still, he wasn't about to kid himself. It was going to take time to get past the lies the Wilsons had fed him.

  Set limits of acceptable behavior and stick to them, the therapist had advised. Children needed boundaries. Especially children dealing with life-altering situations. When everything else was shifting and changing around them, a child needed a lifeline to hang on to. Something solid and reliable. And safe.

  Grady had to admit it made a weird sort of sense. He'd been heading down a long road to some serious trouble until his father had laid down the law. In some perverse way he and his dad had been closer after that.

  But damn it was hard. Instead of playing hardball with the boy, he wanted to snatch up his son and hold tight.

  "Are we straight on this, son?" he asked quietly when, finally, Jimmy met his steady gaze again.

  It wasn't really a nod, more like a flicker of his eyelashes, but pressing the boy for more would only serve to dent the kid's pride. Most likely it was pretty stiff. Had to be, he decided as he stood. The boy was a Hardin, wasn't he?

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Ria heard voices outside her door, then an impatient knock. Her heart started slamming like crazy, and her knees jellied.

  "Oh, God, I thought I was handling this so well, but now … I'm petrified," she whispered, clutching Flynn's arm.

  "Hang in, Sis. It'll be okay." Flynn gave her another quick squeeze, an even quicker grin, and then strode quickly to the door. He paused, braced his shoulders and opened the door.

  Flynn was between Ria and the boy, so all she saw were the frayed hems of faded jeans and boy-size, scuffed high-tops that looked much too big for her baby. Suddenly she couldn't seem to breathe.

  "Hey, Bro, welcome back," Flynn said, his voice rough.

  "Thanks, kid." Grady cleared his throat. "Jim, this big ugly guy here is your Uncle Flynn."

  "Hi-ya, Jimbo." Flynn's voice was very gentle, very gruff. "I sure am happy to see you."

  The boy mumbled something she didn't catch. Apparently Flynn did, however, because she saw him exchange a quick look with Grady who shook his head.

  "Damned if he doesn't look exactly like the picture you sent out," Flynn muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mom is gonna be flat-out amazed."

  "Hear that, Jim? Uncle Flynn here thinks you and me look alike."

  "Don't, neither. I look like my grandpa Wilson. Mama said."

  Mama? she thought as she took a few steps forward. As though sensing her approach, Flynn stepped away from the door. Grady dropped a hand on the boy's shoulder and guided him over the threshold.

  Joy burst inside her as she whispered his name. The boy jerked his head in her direction.

  "Hello, baby." Her voice was a thread.

  "Say hello to your mom, Jim." Though Grady addressed his son, his gaze was on her.

  Instead of speaking, Jimmy dropped his gaze, determined, it seemed, to ignore her. She understood his feeling all too well. She'd been deposited on her share of doorsteps in the middle of the night, too. As she'd done then, he was shutting out what he couldn't change.

  "Are you hungry?" Mindful of her own miserable unhappiness whenever she'd had to adjust to a new set of foster parents, she kept her tone light and her voice quiet. "I can fix you a peanut butter sandwich or maybe some cocoa and cookies. I have oatmeal with icing." Those had been his favorites. Maybe they still were.

  He looked at her then, his expression closed, his eyes sullen. "You got a bathroom? I gotta take a leak."

  "Remind me to have a talk with you about your language," Grady muttered before Ria had a chance to reply. Beside her, Flynn made a valiant effort to stifle a grin.

  Ria ignored them both. "Through that door there and down the hall, sweetie. Second door on the left. The light switch is on your right."

  Jimmy flicked her a wary glance before heading off down the hall. In the sudden silence, she heard the door close and the lock click.

  "Reminds me of the time you got your mouth washed out with soap for saying something graphic in front of Great Aunt Marvel," Flynn mused, his grin the devil's own. "Mom said you foamed at the mouth for a week."

  "Mom's pulling your chain, Little Brother," Grady muttered before turning to close the front door.

  Tension radiated from him like a dark, smoldering aura. Ria felt it, too, sizzling along her nerve endings, like the feeling she had when a sudden summer storm rumbled in over the lake. It was always that way now, when the two of them were in the same room, which was one of the reasons she turned down more invitations to family gatherings than she accepted.

  As though he felt it, too, Flynn glanced her way and winked. Katie was wrong, she thought. Grady's brother was anything but shallow.

  She thanked him with a shaky grin, but the nervous energy that had been building for hours was making her feel light-headed. So much had happened so fast.

  "Ready for that wine now, Sis?"

  She rarely drank, preferring to experience life exactly as it came her way. It was a fear of losing touch with reality, she suspected. Deeply ingrained by years of watching her mother's slow, painful spiral into a world of black nightmares and euphoric delusions. At the moment, however, a little blurring along the edges of that reality couldn't hurt.

  "A small glass," she decided aloud. "There's an open bottle of white in the fridge. Callie left it the last time she came to dinner."

  "Gotcha." He shifted his gaze to Grady, who had left bags next to the front door. "What about you, slick? I'm pouring, in case you're interested."

  "Maybe later."

  Flynn nodded. "One small white wine comin' up for the lady," he said before heading toward the kitchen, which was at the other end of the long, narrow living room.

  "Sorry we're later than I figured," Grady said when they were alone. "Took me a while to get the truck out of long-term parking. Some joker had stolen my battery."

  Her smile trembled before she compressed her lips. "It's okay. Flynn kept me company. I don't know what I would have done without him."

&nbs
p; "Yeah, he's a real thoughtful guy, my brother. He always sends his girlfriends flowers before he dumps 'em." He rolled his shoulders, then glanced around, more instinct than curiosity, she suspected.

  His rough-hewn textures were the same as before—the chiseled-from-stone jaw, the arrogant cheekbones, the aggressive mouth with the subtle hint of sensuality few woman could resist. The blatant, in-your-face masculinity was the same, too. As fiercely powerful as it had ever been on that sun-washed autumn day when he'd first leveled that beautifully intense gaze in her direction. Yet he was different, too, she realized as his mouth slanted into a brief half smile.

  His thick sun-streaked hair with the unruly waves that taxed the skills of even the most skillful barber was now dusted with silver at the temples. The faint worry lines above the strong bridge of his nose had deepened to permanent creases. Beneath the cocky sweep of this brows, the nut-brown eyes that had once twinkled with irresistible mischief were somber, even guarded, with hints of bitterness and an inward-turning anger in the dark pupils. It was the face of a man who had suffered, and suffered deeply.

  "Are you okay?" he asked gruffly after bringing his gaze back to her face.

  "A little dazed by the suddenness of this all," she admitted. "But it's a good feeling." She laughed a little and hugged herself. "No, it's a great feeling." She took a stuttering breath. "Oh, Grady, he's so beautiful, isn't he? And so tall. Of course, we knew he'd be above average in height, even with my shrimp size pulling down the mean." She laughed, again, then sobered as Flynn's gentle warning replayed in her mind. "He really doesn't remember us?"

  "Doesn't seem to." Grady directed a quick look toward the hall. "He's scared, Ree. He'll be more relaxed tomorrow."

  "It'll take time, I know that. But we have that now, thank God."

  "Yeah, thank God."

  He lifted a hand to rub at a spot on his belly just above the waistband of his low-slung jeans. Beneath the soft cotton of a dark blue T-shirt, his body was still impressively conditioned. A virile, attractive man in his prime. For a moment she forgot she no longer loved him.

  "He's pretty whipped," he said, dropping his hand to his side. "A storm over the Rockies made us late into O'Hare and we had to run for it to make the flight to Indianapolis. Otherwise I would have called you from Chicago. Given you more notice."

  "Why didn't you call before you left California?" It was one of the questions that had been nagging at her since she'd heard his voice on the machine.

  "I figured it would be easier on you if you only had to obsess for a couple of hours instead of five or six. More, if we got hung up or had a flight canceled."

  "I don't—" She broke off to smile ruefully. "I suppose you're right," she admitted, darting a glance in the direction of the hall. "What's keeping that child, anyway?"

  "Want me to check on him?"

  "No." She frowned. "Give him another minute or so."

  He nodded, then stifled a yawn. "Sorry about that. I've been bunking on a couch belonging to the DEA agent who scared up the lead. Damn near wrecked my back. I was working up an excuse for moving to a motel when the okay came through from Children's Services to release Jimmy in my custody. Three nights of that torture was about all I could handle."

  Grady knew he'd blown it even before her face went still and her eyes clouded. Just when he'd begun to think they could get through a conversation without cutting at each other, he'd screwed up.

  "Three nights?" Her voice was deceptively casual. "When, exactly, did you find out about Jimmy?"

  He had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy the next few minutes worth a damn. "Late Monday afternoon."

  She reflected, then narrowed her gaze. "Let me get this straight. You're saying you deliberately kept my son from me for three days?"

  "Our son. And there were reasons, Ree. Good reasons."

  "What kind of reason could possibly justify that kind of cruelty?" she challenged in a low, angry voice that had Flynn stopping dead in his tracks halfway across the living room, a glass of wine in each hand. A quick warning glance from Grady had him retreating to the kitchen without a word.

  "You can rip at me all you want when we're alone, but right now our son doesn't need any more uproar in his life," Grady said when they were alone again.

  "You're right. What matters now is the welfare of our son and—" She heard the bathroom door open, and broke off.

  Side by side, yet anything but united, they watched the child they'd created in an explosion of mutual pleasure edge into the room. Ria gave a little cry of alarm when she saw the boy's face. He wasn't just pale. He was green. Drops of sweat as large as tears stood out on his forehead.

  Grady's heart kick-started into raw panic as Ria rushed to the boy's side.

  "What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked gently. "Are you sick? Are you going to throw up?"

  "Already did," Jimmy muttered, then slanted her a sideways look that was a mixture of defiance and misery. "I kinda ruined the rug."

  "It'll wash," she assured him as she tested his temperature with a hand to his forehead. Grady caught the quick flash of fear in the gaze she raised to his face.

  "Fever?" Grady asked, his gut twisting.

  "I'm not sure. He's a little warm, but it's a hot night." She smoothed back her son's silky hair, only to have him jerk away. "It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy will make it better."

  "Not my mom," Jimmy grumbled, slanting her a sullen look. It was like acid on an open wound.

  "Something wrong?" Flynn asked as he came up from behind. He took one look at Jimmy's face and frowned. "Uh-oh. Looks like we've got us a sick puppy."

  "It's probably the flu," Ria said as she got to her feet. "Our clinic's been jammed with cases. But just to be on the safe side, I'd better give Kate a call."

  Grady took a breath. The knot in his belly was on fire again. "Think we should give him something, just in case he has a fever?"

  Ria considered. "Let's take his temperature first. Kate will want to know how high it is."

  "Right. Okay." He stuck his hands in his back pockets, then pulled them free again. "Maybe we should dunk him in water, like you used to do when he had those ear infections."

  Ria considered, then nodded. "You run the water while I call Katie. Make sure the water's not too cold, though. No more than tepid." She shot a glance toward the canvas satchel by the door. "Are those his things?"

  "Yeah. I bought him the basics for the trip. I figured you'd want to take him shopping. You always got a kick out of that kind of stuff."

  Her lips curved briefly. "He'll be more comfortable in his jammies." In charge now, she glanced at Flynn. "The thermometer's in the medicine chest in my bathroom."

  "Which one's yours?"

  "Through the bedroom at the end of the hall."

  That answered one question, Grady thought as he scooped his son into his arms. Ria and Flynn weren't sleeping together, if he didn't even know where her bedroom was. Not yet, anyway. And if he had anything to say about it, not ever.

  * * *

  Grady had taken his share of punishment. More than most, he figured, mopping his dripping face with one of Ria's fat yellow towels. And damn near all of it deserved. He figured he'd even skated on a few things. Most times he'd managed to tough his way through. Losing Jimmy had been a hard one to take. Losing Ria had come close to breaking him.

  This time God in His infinite wisdom had come up with a real lulu to test this poor sinner's patience. Feeling a lot like those martyrs he'd learned about in Sunday school, he swiped the towel over the worst of the puddles on the floor and considered the bit about reaping and sowing. That, he decided, was Jimmy. His father's son right down to the bone.

  Tell him to sit, and he stood. Tell him to stop splashing and he drenched the bathroom. Payback in spades.

  The Big Guy in the Sky had to be laughing big-time, which Grady figured he deserved. He was just grateful no one else was watching.

  He tossed the towel aside, thought longingly of the rookie cops who
jumped when he even breathed in their direction, and told himself there was more to being a good parent than a ready willingness to die in defense of your family.

  Limits, he reminded himself. Tough love.

  He sighed. Suck it up, hotshot. Get it done. He narrowed his gaze at the kid glaring at him from the pale yellow tub. The kid who looked anything but sickly at the moment.

  "Splash me one more time, and you'll be eating this washcloth," he warned, putting just, enough bite in his normally quiet voice to get the kid's attention.

  The boy sneered. "Go to hell!"

  Grady counted to ten. Then added a few seconds before grabbing the washcloth again. "The doctor said twenty minutes in tepid water, you're damn well getting twenty minutes. Now shut up and enjoy it."

  "I'm not a baby," Jimmy complained, jerking away from the washcloth.

  "Then stop acting like one," Grady said with the last of his patience. He'd come close to losing his temper a dozen times in the last ten minutes.

  Sick or not, his son needed a reality check, and soon. He winced inwardly at the thought of his father's reaction if he'd pulled some of the stuff Jimmy tried on him. Like jabbing him in the gut with a bony elbow when he'd tried to help the kid out of his shirt.

  His belly was still aching.

  He checked his watch and bit off a sigh. Five more minutes.

  "You used to like your bath," he said as he reached for the shampoo on the ledge surrounding the tub. The memory stabbed, reminding him of the years they'd lost. All those sweet times they should have had, all the laughter and cuddles and father-son talks, gone forever.

  He felt his breath catch. Someday maybe, in the far distant future, he might find a way to forgive himself. At the moment he simply didn't know how. So all he could do was try to make things right from now on.

  "You, uh—" He paused to clear the thickness from his throat. "You had a basket of toys we kept under the sink. Rubber ducks and boats, stuff like that. Your favorite, though, was a boxlike thing with all kinds of doors and buttons and dials that attached to the side with suction cups." He tried a smile and got a bored look.