by Linda Morris
“Would it work?” She lifted one eyebrow and shot him a don’t-BS-me look. “Okay, can’t blame me for trying, but honestly, it would give me a chance to get to know Jack a little better, and you can’t say you don’t need some help. I may be clueless about kids, but even I know taking care of a baby isn’t easy.”
“I have help. Kendra helps me.” That didn’t address his desire to know Jack better, but hey, she could deliberately miss a point with the best of them. She beckoned to her friend, who was just coming out of the kitchen, mug of coffee in hand. “Have you met my friend Kendra?”
“No, he hasn’t.” Kendra gave him a bright smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“Anyway, I can’t stay forever. I have to go back to Florida sooner or later,” her friend unhelpfully volunteered.
“Thanks a lot, Kendra.”
“No problem,” Kendra said, all singsongy and perky, heading up the stairs.
“Can I come in so we can talk this over?” Paul said.
She moved aside grudgingly and shoved the door open a few inches. “Fine.”
He stepped in and lifted a small gift bag she hadn’t noticed in his hand before. “I brought Jack something.”
“What is it?” She took it from him and eyed it.
“It’s a present. Is he up?”
“Of course he’s up. It’s noon.”
“Don’t be so touchy. I don’t know his schedule.”
She pressed her lips together tightly, determined not to argue. He was right, after all.
“He’s in the parlor, in his swing.”
Paul turned and disappeared into the parlor. Following behind, she tried and failed not to admire the strong set of his shoulders under his baby blue Oxford shirt.
“Hey, Jack. Look what Daddy brought you.” The words caused Willow’s haze of attraction to evaporate quicker than fog at high noon.
“Daddy? Don’t you think we should talk about that first?” She leaned against the sofa, watching Paul kneeling in front of the automated swing that had kept Jack content for the past twenty minutes.
“Talk about what? I’m his father. What else would he call me?”
“I think it’s a little early to be teaching him that, is all.” She crossed her arms, feeling a hard lump of jealousy form, followed by a feeling of total unworthiness.
He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah? Well, I don’t.” He turned back to face his son. “Hiya, Jack-Jack. How are you doing?”
“That’s not his name.”
“It’s a nickname.”
“He doesn’t have a nickname.”
“He does now. How do I get him out of this swing thing? I want to give him his present.”
She sighed. “What is the present?”
“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”
“I want to make sure it’s appropriate. He’s only four months old. Four-month-old babies can choke on anything.” What did Paul know? He’d never been around babies.
“It’s nothing he can choke on. Calm down, for heaven’s sake. Shut off the swing and get him out.”
“Fine.” She turned it off and lifted him out, holding him up to blow a quick raspberry on the soft baby skin peeking out beneath his shirt. He giggled, sending a pang of happiness through her. Jack still loved her as much as he ever did. Just because he’d laughed first for Paul didn’t mean she wasn’t still important.
She had to remember that. Motherhood could be crazy-making sometimes. Nothing had prepared her for the swirl of raw emotions that had accompanied her son’s birth, and it showed no sign of letting up anytime soon.
She plopped Jack down on the floor on his belly. He immediately tested her newfound serenity, ignoring her and straining toward Paul, one sock-clad foot waving at his father.
“Hey, big guy. You know who’s got the good stuff, don’t you?” He laid the gift back down on its side to let him peer at it.
“You’ll have to open it for him. He can’t open presents.”
Paul gave her a look. “I know that. Let him look at the bag for a minute.” After a few moments, he took Jack’s hand in his and helped him grab the tissue paper that stuck out of the top, pulling it free. Jack cackled at the crunch of the paper and Willow couldn’t help but laugh.
He helped Jack tip the bag and slide the contents out: a colorful rattle shaped like a caterpillar from The Very Hungry Caterpillar, along with a copy of the book.
“Does he have it already?” For the first time since he’d come in, Paul sounded uncertain.
“No, he doesn’t. It’s a very nice gift. I loved that book as a kid.”
“Me too. My mom read it to Sarah and me all the time. She even painted a caterpillar like this on my bedroom wall when I was a kid.” His face didn’t change—it was as stoic as usual—but a whiff of pain had crept into his voice.
“You must have missed your mother terribly after she died.”
He nodded. “I did. Growing up without a mother—or a father—is something I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy.” He looked right at her, Jack momentarily forgotten on the floor.
She swallowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I had no intention of letting Jack grow up without a father, once I knew who you were.”
He looked at her for a long time and then dropped his gaze. Picking up the rattle, he waved it in front of Jack’s face. “I hope that’s true.”
Jack grinned and batted the rattle, making Paul smile.
“It is true.” How could she convince him? She’d known there would be a price to pay for withholding the truth from him as long as she did. Obviously they wouldn’t have a romantic relationship—that ship had sailed. Whatever fragile bonds of trust could be engendered by a one-night stand had been destroyed, but maybe they could patch things together well enough to do a decent job of co-parenting their son.
After all, Paul was right about one thing: A child needed a father, even if his presence filled her with all sorts of jealousy and possessiveness she wasn’t really proud of.
Paul looked unconvinced but unwilling to argue. “Hey, son. You want to read this book? It’s awesome.” He scooped Jack up and plopped him on his lap and then arranged the book in front of him. He began reading the story, trying to turn the pages, but encountering considerable resistance from Jack, who wanted to grab each one in his chubby fist. “Honestly, Jack, this story is a page-turner, but how can it be one if you won’t let me turn the pages?”
Willow laughed despite herself. “He mostly likes the bright colors, I think. I doubt he’s in suspense wondering how the story will come out.”
“He’s missing out.” He let Jack go at his own pace, examining each page carefully, sometimes exhaustively, before he let Paul turn the page. He finished the last page and held the book out for Jack, who was turning the pages back with intense concentration, eyeing each colorful drawing as drool slid down his chin. “This story has a moral, Jack. Don’t eat a lot of junk food or you’ll get a tummy ache and have to eat a green leaf to feel better.”
“He’s not an insect. He’d just eat a Tums.” Willow sat beside them.
“Hmmm. Your mom makes a good point.” Paul shook the rattle in front of him, but he ignored it, still fixed on the colorful drawings in the book. He dropped it and let Jack continue to examine the book.
Paul had good instincts. He might not know anything about babies, but he watched and learned, responding to what Jack liked and what he didn’t. He’d be a good father.
Too bad good fathers didn’t necessarily make good husbands. She and Paul were a total mismatch.
Once upon a time, a man learning that a woman had borne his child meant a quick trip to the county clerk’s office for a marriage license was in order, but neither of them had even voiced the possibility out loud. Nor did she want to. Time and distance from Tony Raffi had softened her views on relationships, and Lord knew, he and Paul weren’t the same man. Two men couldn’t be more different. Tony had been selfish to the c
ore, while Paul seemed never to think of himself. Everything was about his job, his family, the Thrashers, his legacy.
But was there room in his heart right now for a child and a wife? She doubted it. His legacy and family came first, always.
“About the moving-in thing? What do you think?”
“I’m only going to be in town another week or so.” She nearly had enough material for the profile now. She’d written about his pipe-wrench meltdown days ago. As she’d typed, she’d wrestled with alternating feelings of guilt for making the meltdown public and anger at herself for caring about his PR problems. She was a journalist, dammit. If he made an ass of himself, why should she conceal it for him?
She knew what Nate would say. She owed him the best story she could write. He’d given her a job when no one else would and helped her get back on her feet. How could she omit the juiciest thing that had happened since she’d been profiling the Thrashers? Answer: She couldn’t. The power struggle between Paul and his dad, and the toll it was taking on Paul, was the story.
Still, had the roles been reversed, Paul would never have put anything embarrassing about her online. He was too loyal for that. Too much of a family man.
Trouble was, they weren’t a family. He was her … what? Ex? They’d never been together. He was her baby daddy, to borrow a hideous term. How much did she owe him?
“Whatever time I have with him is better than nothing,” Paul said. “I promise, it’s got nothing to do with anything between us. You two can have a bedroom down the hall all to yourself. I just want to have as much time with him as I can before you leave.”
She read nothing but sincerity in his gaze. That was no surprise. Whatever his faults, Paul could be trusted to tell the truth.
Unlike her. She squashed a pang of guilt and drew in a breath. “Kendra’s been saying she needs to get back home to Florida anyway. Her job can’t spare her forever. What about Jack? Who’s going to watch him while I work?”
“I can help out. What I can’t do, Sarah will. She’s already said she would. I had to practically duct-tape her down to keep her from coming over today. She’s eager to meet her nephew.”
“Sarah knows? How did she take it?”
“Over the moon, of course. I can’t say she approves of you withholding the truth from me, but she’s not holding that against Jack-Jack. Neither am I.”
Willow swallowed. True, he’d been nothing but affectionate toward his son. “Okay. We’ll move in. Kendra will be happy to get back to her life, I’m sure.” Panic flared at the thought of her best friend leaving town, going home without her. Leaving her here to co-parent her child with the unreadable, unknowable man she’d once shared a brief moment of passion with and was now linked to for life.
He smiled, a genuine expression of happiness that lit his eyes. “Good.” He put the book down and shook the rattle in front of Jack. Jack’s eyes flickered toward the sound and Paul moved the rattle closer to let him investigate.
“Once you move in, we can get together and negotiate some kind of custody or visitation agreement, and my child support payments, of course. I talked to a lawyer friend of mine. He says if we can work something out amicably, we don’t have to lawyer up. We can work it out with an arbitrator.”
“A lawyer?” She hadn’t even thought about obtaining a lawyer. Great. She was broker than broke as it was. Home was her parents’ basement, at least for now. How was she ever going to afford attorney fees? “I don’t think I can afford one.”
“That’s what I’m saying. If we can talk things over, negotiate our way out of this, you won’t have to.”
“Out of this?” Her voice rose. That was a revealing choice of words. He might enjoy playing with Jack, and he might even have brought him a nice gift, but he still fundamentally thought of him as something that shouldn’t have happened. A mistake, just like their relationship. “I don’t think this is something we can negotiate our way out of. He’s pretty much here, don’t you think?”
“Oh, come on. You know that’s not what I meant. I mean, you know. I’m willing to do the right thing. I’ll help out financially, and I want to be a part of his life. We can make the best of a bad situation.”
“A bad situation,” she repeated. “I’ve never been anyone’s ‘bad situation’ before.”
“Oh, come on. I didn’t mean it like that.”
She shook her head. “Oh, I know.” But did she?
No doubt, Paul did see it as a bad situation. He was married to his job and his legacy. A son was something he didn’t have time or energy for. When she’d first gotten the results of her pregnancy test, she’d seen it the same way, but now, it had been a long time since she’d viewed Jack as anything other than a blessing.
Maybe someday, Paul would come around to her way of thinking.
Until then, they’d be making the best of a bad situation.
Chapter 10
“I want to take him fishing with me.”
“Fishing?” Willow stared at Paul. They were sitting on the edge of the patio, watching Jack roll around on a blanket spread out on the lawn. He reached down and grabbed his left foot, letting out a joyful gurgle at the accomplishment.
“Yeah. Every boy should go fishing with his dad.”
Her mouth dropped. Was he crazy? “He’s four months old. He doesn’t care about fishing.”
“So what? We can make a day of it, all three of us. We can rent a boat out on Raccoon Lake. We used to do it all the time when I was a kid. My grandpa always took me fishing for stripers. It’s a family tradition.”
A fishing trip with a four-month-old was nuts. Nuts, but harmless, she supposed. They’d moved into Paul’s place a few days ago, and she had to admit, having another parent around to share the burden of child care made things easier.
Still, the thought of them going out, all three of them together, was discomfiting. It was too much like something a normal family would do. They weren’t a family. They were two near-strangers bound by the child they’d made together. Big difference.
“The Thrashers have a Michigan road trip coming up.” She grabbed at the excuse desperately, but instantly realized it was perfect. Paul would never let the team go on the road without him. “Don’t you need to go?”
“I asked Sarah to fill in for me.”
Willow stared. He was letting the team go on a multi-day road trip without him? Was this the same Paul Dudley, the one who lived and breathed for the Plainview Thrashers? “She agreed? She doesn’t even work for the team anymore.”
“She was thrilled. She always wanted more involvement with the team, remember?”
“Your father is okay with that?”
“I didn’t give him a choice.” The grim tone told her everything she needed to know about how that conversation had gone. Not a surprise. Few conversations with Walter Dudley seemed to go well.
Paul had broken the news about Jack to his father the day before. No matter how hard Willow had needled him, he’d been closemouthed about Walter Dudley’s reaction. The man had said some awful things, no doubt, but Paul wouldn’t tell her what they were.
He had shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It only matters that I told him.”
She’d dropped the matter, unwilling to push it further.
Still, the new grandfather hadn’t asked to meet his grandson. That made his feelings as clear as any stream of invectives would have. Sarah had been over for several visits, cooing and cuddling Jack, eagerly embracing her nephew. None of them had commented on Walter Dudley’s absence. Willow didn’t understand it. In her family, no thoughts went unshared for long, especially by her mother. The Dudleys were different, though.
For them, apparently, the most painful things went unspoken and unaddressed.
She’d moved into Paul’s house last week, after dropping Kendra off at the airport. She’d tried to keep things light so Kendra wouldn’t worry about her, but she’d been unable to hide the tears that rose in her eyes when they hugged good-by
e.
Kendra held her at arm’s length, brushing a falling tear from her cheek. “Paul wants to make it work. Give him a chance.” Willow had nodded, knowing Kendra was right.
She’d been trying to follow through on that and, so far, it had been okay.
Okay. Not great. Paul worked hard and was quickly learning the ins and outs of caring for an infant. She couldn’t deny the bond that was forming between father and son. Not that she wanted to deny it, exactly, but the transition from single mother to co-parent was tougher than she’d expected. She wasn’t used to having to listen to someone else’s opinion about her child.
She struggled mightily with her jealousy whenever Jack reached for his father instead of her. Jack undoubtedly had an affinity for his father. It was almost like he knew, somehow, that this strange man who’d appeared suddenly was someone special to him. How could that be? She’d carried Jack for nine months and cared for him since birth. How could he prefer his father?
One night, Jack had cried out in the middle of the night and fussed and fussed as she’d tried to console him. He’d quieted only when a bleary-eyed Paul had stumbled into the room in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and taken him into his arms, holding him against his bare chest and stroking his back until he’d fallen back asleep. Paul had walked him back down to the travel crib she’d put beside her bed and eased him down, miraculously without waking him.
When Paul straightened, he looked at the rumpled sheets in her empty bed, and she wondered if he’d drawn the right conclusion. She’d been tossing and turning every night since she moved in, knowing he lay in his bed only twenty feet away. In his boxers, Paul looked the very essence of a sleep-rumpled, sexy, desirable man. She could barely pull her eyes away from the defined curves of his pecs, trailing down to a hard plane of stomach that called out to be explored. It would be so easy to let him into her bed. Regardless of how difficult things were between them, he wouldn’t turn her away. She knew that much. They had an electric connection that seemed to survive any conflict unscathed.
