The Trophy Hunter

by J. M. Zambrano

  “I’m not free to say right now. I promise I’ll fill you in when I’m sure of my facts. I owe you, Marge.”

  “Don’t mention it. Just keep up the good work you’re doing for the Clifford kids.”

  “My pleasure. I’ll take as many of those as you can send me.”

  As Diana folded the phone and stuffed it into her pocket she hesitated. If she’d just waited a while longer there would have been no need for this unannounced visit. But she was here and someone inside the house may have seen her. It would look too weird to turn around and leave now. With a nervous shiver, she climbed the gray slate steps to the front door, sorting through the discrepancies in Darren’s stories, wondering how much of the truth Keith and Lori knew. Her sensible self told her that men often opt out of admitting paternity, not into it.

  She felt the quiet of the March evening like a presence as she hesitated at the front door. At eight-forty Lori and Keith would still be up. Doing homework, perhaps. Would Lori be embarrassed to see her after the lipstick incident? More to the point, did Lori even know about the incident? Was it a sick way for Darren to express his displeasure at her refusal to give him legal advice?

  Diana touched the inside pocket of her winter coat. Her prop, the Brandi Flannigan trust instrument, lay tucked inside—her lame excuse for being there.

  Summoning all her courage, Diana rang the doorbell. As the melodic sound of chimes hit her ear, a completely irrational thought hit her brain: Maybe he’s a vampire. That’s why he’s out roaming around at night, leaving his children alone.

  As the door swung open, Diana felt her heart plummet. She forced a smile onto her face and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt.

  “Diana, what a pleasant surprise,” said Rogart.

  Chapter 42

  Diana had expected one of the kids to answer the door. Now, she didn’t know why. Darren was bound to be home some of the time. She glued the forced smile in place, then toned it down a bit. Not too friendly.

  “Hi, Darren. I was hoping I’d catch you at home.”

  He grinned broadly. “Come in. I love surprises.”

  Oh, what big teeth you have, Grandma. She slapped the words right out of her mind. Jesus!

  Diana wavered at the threshold. Darren cupped a warm hand under her elbow and steered her through the door. She could feel the heat from him through her winter coat. Or was the heat her own?

  The interior of the house reminded her of Joe Flannigan’s, but the Rogart home was newer. Then her eyes locked on the near-life-sized painting of Rogart on the back wall of the entry hall. She tried not to stare, but…forget it. The hunk hunkered over his kill in a mountain meadow. His hands held up the head of a huge bighorn ram. The scene of the crime that sent him to jail? Was this the ram? And more to the point, how could he be so brazen as to display it in his home?

  “It’s great, isn’t it?” said Rogart. “Although I think it may flatter me.”

  Not very much in love with yourself. “Uh-huh,” replied Diana. “You commissioned it?”

  Rogart laughed and shook his head. “I’d never be able to afford something like that. It was a gift.”

  Diana read the artist’s signature in the lower left hand corner of the portrait: A. Cruz-Ramos. She nodded and smiled, thinking A. Cruz-Ramos had to be a woman.

  As she walked into a living room that was more trophy-logged than Flannigan’s, she asked, “Where are Keith and Lori? I’d like to say hello to them.” Her left hand fumbled with the trust papers in her coat pocket.

  “Here, let me help you with that.” Rogart stepped forward and proceeded to help her out of her coat. She didn’t correct his assumption, but followed him back to the entry hall where he hung it in a closet.

  Diana peered into a large dining room. An eagle mount watched her from atop a red oak gun case. So much for preserving the endangered. Another observation struck her like a bullet: Felons are not permitted to own firearms. The glass front on the case revealed an assortment of long guns and pistols. Her mouth opened in protest, but she quickly clamped it shut. Don’t go there.

  “Where are the kids?” she asked again.

  “At a sleepover,” said Rogart.

  “A thirteen-year-old and a ten-year-old at the same sleepover?” she blurted. “On a school night?”

  Rogart laughed. “Not hardly. Different sleepovers.”

  He’s ignoring the school night part. A tide of discomfort rose in her throat. Her cell phone was in the outer pocket of her coat. The coat now hung in Rogart’s closet. How could I have explained hanging on to it? Just in case I needed to call nine-one-one?

  “Can I make you a drink?” he asked.

  “I thought you didn’t drink,” she spit back, too quickly.

  “I don’t drink alcohol, Diana,” he corrected. “I’ve got a slew of natural concoctions from the health food store.”

  “There’s a health food store in Franktown?” Again, too quick. Too nervous. Damn!

  “What is it, Diana? I feel like I’m being interrogated.” He didn’t wait for the answer she didn’t have. “I stock up when I go to Denver.”

  Diana lowered her eyes. “Sorry, Darren. It’s been a hard day at the office. I just ran across your trust instrument and realized that I hadn’t mailed it back to you. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced. It’s in my coat pocket.”

  She thought she caught a slight narrowing of his eyes as he asked, “I thought you said you’d taken it home.”

  “I discovered I was mistaken. It was at the office, so you see—”

  Whatever she wanted him to see was loudly preempted by an infant’s wails.

  Darren Rogart smiled broadly. “That’s why you’re here. I’ll go get her.”

  Diana stood open-mouthed for a second, then followed Rogart down a hall that branched off the dining room. She glanced quickly into the rooms she passed that had open doors. Some didn’t. She could only wonder what lay behind them. The hallway was decorated with hunting scenes and a couple of small animal mounts.

  The baby’s wails notched up in volume, and Rogart lengthened his stride, pausing briefly to switch on a hall light. Then he opened one of the closed doors. “Come on, Diana.” He beckoned to her, his face reflecting a pride and happiness she hadn’t seen there before. The emotions were incongruous with his situation as she knew it.

  He’s beaming like a new father. If he really is the father, I’d think that would be the last thing he’d be doing.

  Diana, still a few paces behind Rogart, heard the baby’s cries subside and turn to gurgling coos. As she peeked into the nursery, the first thing that struck her was the hunting theme repeated. Even in the baby’s room. The stuffed animals that topped table and chest of drawers were real animals. Stuffed. Mounts. A raccoon, a skunk, a baby possum. The furniture was new-looking. Of varnished pine. There was no hint that it was a girl’s room.

  “May I present my daughter, Fawn.” It wasn’t intoned like a question. As he held the tiny girl toward her, she felt her knees go weak.

  One touch and you’re a goner. Every rational ounce of brainpower told her that the situation was unreal—fraught with physical and emotional peril. But instinct was stronger than intellect. She held out her arms and cradled the tiny squirming baby girl in them. The precious rosebud of a mouth opened and closed, making sucking noises. As she bent closer, a tiny hand flailed out and brushed her face, sending a rush of blood to her cheek.

  “I think she’s hungry,” Diana told Rogart. She stepped out into the hallway. “Where’s her mother?” She asked the question that had brought her here. But her instincts were in full flight from the place. She wanted desperately to just take the child and run.

  Rogart looked back at her, that eagle’s gaze of his still giving her goose bumps in spite of what she knew—or suspected. Then he smiled enigmatically and replied, “She’s sleeping.”

  “Her baby was crying. No mother could sleep through that.”

  Rogart lowered his head, then steered Diana
toward the kitchen. “Come on. You can give Fawn her formula. Trisha wasn’t interested in breast-feeding. Afraid it might ruin her body. How’s that for selfishness?” He shook his head. “Hers is a different generation from ours.”

  The kitchen was as tailored and immaculate as the rest of the house, so far. It held none of the small, warm touches she’d observed at Flannigans’. It was as if no woman had ever lived there. She would’ve loved to have gotten a peek at Lori’s room.

  Rogart took a bottle of formula from the fridge, put it in a saucepan on the stove to warm. Diana watched his movements. He seemed entirely engrossed in being a dad.

  “I hope your friends at the sheriff’s department gave my parenting a thumbs-up.” He said the words with a smile on his lips that did not match the expression in his eyes.

  Diana did her best not to hyperventilate. Why did it surprise her that he knew? How could she have overlooked his law enforcement connections?

  “I got worried when Jess told me about stopping by and finding a new baby in the house, but no adults.”

  “You could have called me. I’d have set you straight.” His voice was neutral as he tested the baby’s milk for temperature.

  “You could have called Jess and told her that you’d found Trisha,” countered Diana. “Then she wouldn’t have needed to go to your house.”

  “I was sure you’d tell her,” he said. Then, instead of showing anger, he beamed broadly. “I know you think I’m a bad father. You’re just doing…what you do. I’m glad to have the chance to prove you wrong.” He held out the bottle of formula to Diana. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  Hand him the baby and get the hell out of here. It’s what Jess would’ve done. Instead she held the infant closer and accepted the bottle from Rogart. Then she eased herself into a kitchen chair. Fawn gurgled a couple of times, then settled onto the nipple, her tiny mouth like a suction cup. She was indeed a beautiful baby—unwrinkled, pink-skinned. Plump little arms. The warm, sweet smell of baby powder enveloped Diana like a drug. She reminded herself that babies didn’t always smell so sweet. More often than not, they were poopy or wet. Or both. Did he make sure she was clean because he was expecting me?

  “I don’t resent your checking up on me,” he said as he removed a plastic juice bottle from the fridge.

  She blinked at him, her expression less than cordial as she watched him take two glasses from a cupboard and fill them from the bottle.

  “Honestly,” he continued, “it’s better to be overly caring than indifferent.” He placed one of the glasses on the table in front of her.

  Diana frowned slightly as she looked back at him. “Darren, if you know I initiated the welfare check, then you also know I’m aware of the baby’s paternity. And you just presented her to me as your daughter. Why did you…mislead me…before?”

  Rogart lowered his head, as if shame kept his eyes from hers. “I didn’t mislead you.” He took a sip from his juice glass.

  Diana’s hold on the baby tightened involuntarily. She willed herself to relax. “I know you didn’t specifically say you weren’t the father, but everything you said implied—”

  “I’m not the biological father.”

  “Then why is your name on the birth certificate?”

  Chapter 43

  Rogart took his time in replying, as if he were weighing the words to explain the contradiction. Diana waited.

  “This may not come out right,” he began. She didn’t help him out. “Fawn’s biological father is dead.”

  She filled in the gap of silence quickly. “Why should that influence you to put your name on the birth certificate?”

  “It didn’t.” He shook his head sadly. “Trisha listed me as the dad.”

  “She could’ve put down ‘father unknown.’”

  “But that would lead to assumptions. And the father was known to her. She didn’t want his name on the certificate. She didn’t want her daughter growing up knowing she was the product of incest.”

  “Larry…”

  He nodded.

  “Isn’t that a pretty big load to take on when you’re having trouble supporting your own kids?”

  Rogart moved closer, touched baby Fawn’s head gently. “I think I’m up to it. If I know Trisha, she’ll move on and never look back. My kids…my other kids are already attached to Fawn. I can’t let them know the truth. They might accidentally hurt Fawn with that knowledge some day.”

  Diana felt the baby stop suckling and wriggle in her arms. She looked down and saw that Fawn was sleeping. “But you just told me,” she whispered.

  “Because I know you’ll never do anything to hurt Fawn. Or any child. I know you, Diana.”

  “What if your paternity is challenged? DNA testing will prove the baby’s not yours.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Who’s going to challenge it? Larry Strickland is dead. Someone would have to come forward and claim to be the father. You know, like with Dannilynn, Anna Nicole’s baby?” He shook his head sadly. “No one wants this child but me.”

  She felt her throat tighten with emotion. To relieve the feeling, she took a small sip from the glass in front of her. Who wouldn’t want this baby? “Not many men would do what you’re doing,” she finally said. As the words left her lips, she felt a wave of vertigo disrupt her equilibrium. With one arm still cradling Fawn, she grasped the kitchen table.

  “Diana, what’s wrong?” Rogart’s brow puckered as he moved toward her.

  His face danced before her eyes, not quite in focus. “I’m not sure,” she answered. It was as if all her conflicting feelings were on a collision course within her head.

  Then, as suddenly as its onset, the dizziness was gone. Rogart’s face hovered near her own. The intensity of his gaze was no longer disconcerting, but seemed to reflect genuine concern for her welfare.

  “It’s alright. It’s passed…whatever it was.” She shook her head when he offered the glass of juice. “No thanks.” The thought of a cold drink was unappealing. But she smiled up at him as she felt the baby’s warmth through her sweater.

  Rogart smiled back, then reached down and touched her cheek. “I knew I was right about you,” he said.

  Though the dizziness was gone, a feeling of confusion remained with her, like an aftertaste. Have I been so paranoid that I’ve misjudged this man? Am I still mired down in postpartum depression?

  The sleeping infant’s warmth infused her being. It felt so right, holding this child. It felt so…permanent.

  Shock waves ran through Diana as she considered this possibility. She quickly rose from the chair, careful not to jar the child. “I have to go.” Her hands shook as she handed Fawn back to Rogart. She saw him watch the trembling that intensified as their hands touched when he took the baby.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You look a little queasy. Did you have dinner?”

  She hadn’t, but nodded anyway. Lying could become addictive, she thought. But the idea of consuming food in his house made her nauseous, in spite of her changed perception of him.

  Rogart walked her to the door. She got her own coat from the closet and put it on. As she felt the bulk of the trust papers, she withdrew them and put them on a table. “I almost forgot,” she said sheepishly.

  “I will see you again,” he said simply. She had the feeling that he’d have kissed her if he hadn’t been holding Fawn. “Call me when you get home,” he said. Shifting Fawn to the crook of his left arm, he leaned toward her and pecked her lightly on the cheek. “Promise me you’ll call when you get home.”

  She nodded as she twisted the door knob. Part of her wanted to reach back and touch the baby again. Another part of her ached for more of Rogart. She hurried through the door without looking back, as fresh, cool air filled her lungs. Had it really been so stifling in there? The house was clean to a fault, but something unfamiliar that made her think of disinfectant had crept into her nostrils and overpowered the baby powder scent. Diaper pails went out with the advent
of disposable diapers, didn’t they?

  Diana drove with the windows partly open. But her head didn’t clear completely. Visions of what could be, if she let him into her life, charged at her out of that dark corner of her mind where she’d stuffed all the baby things. The dead baby things. The nursery, the stuffed animals, the furniture that she hadn’t had the guts to watch being carried away.

  What could be? She felt the baby in her arms. Her mind raced ahead. First tooth. Preschool. First day of kindergarten…

  Brakes screeched. Diana blinked and saw that she’d just run a stop sign. Observing that she hadn’t provoked road rage in the other driver, she pulled to the side of the road, rolled up the car window and tried to gather her wits.

  Why was she fighting Rogart off now? Had her whole perception of him been erroneous? He wanted to see her again. He’d confided in her, made her part of the secret they would both carry to protect an innocent child. Why did this terrify her more than the thought that he was a womanizing liar? Was she programmed to expect deception from her partner?

  I will not be this person. I have choices.

  * * *

  As Diana let herself into her house, then reactivated the security alarm, she had regained some sense of calm. Life with Rogart and his children was a possibility she might allow herself to explore. Then she remembered that he had a wife out there somewhere. Maybe. Brandi Rogart could be a fugitive from justice. And when she was apprehended, what kind of man would Darren be if he didn’t stand by his wife?

  Diana looked in the fridge. Even the smell of food turned her off. Like when she was first pregnant. Tig rubbed around her, begging. She pulled off pieces of leftover roast chicken and put them in his dish; then she went upstairs to shower.

  As she pulled sea-green satin pajamas from a bureau drawer, she eyed the bedside phone. His request for her to call him was probably just a courtesy. He really didn’t expect her to call, did he? But it was thoughts of Brandi Rogart out there somewhere that kept Diana from picking up the phone.