by Brenda Novak
“You already admitted that he did.”
“Fine. I get it. You have to teach him the right things. I’ll bring him something when I come back instead.”
“You mean if you come back.”
“I’m coming back. Have you heard from Ace?”
“No, but his parents called me yesterday.”
“And?”
“Let’s just say they aren’t pleased. But I didn’t expect them to be. Did you mail that...um...test?”
“I did.”
She didn’t respond.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Either way.”
“Maybe for you it’ll be okay. I’m screwed, regardless.”
“Tash—”
“I have to go,” she broke in. “I’m running out of time.”
“Okay.” He said he’d call later and hung up, but he knew she was right. Her life would only get more difficult, no matter who Lucas’s father turned out to be.
* * *
“Hello? Natasha?”
Natasha blinked and returned her attention to the crowded cafeteria, where she’d been having lunch with Aiyana, Aiyana’s son Eli, who helped run the school, Aiyana’s other son Gavin, who took care of the grounds and maintenance, and several teachers, including Cora, Eli’s wife. Instead of utilizing a staff lunchroom, most of the teachers ate with the students. From what Natasha could tell, they enjoyed it—treated the kids almost like their own children. The love and acceptance demonstrated at this school was remarkable, especially because Natasha knew some of the kids did everything they could to prove they didn’t deserve love in the first place.
“Yes?” She focused on Aiyana, who’d been the one to address her. “Sorry. My mind was wandering.”
She’d been thinking about her conversation with Mack this morning. He insisted that he was coming back. Could it be true? Would he return even if he wasn’t Luke’s father? And what would she do if she had to see him very often? How would she ever grow content with being alone if he was always there to remind her of what she was missing?
“I was just wondering how your morning went,” Aiyana said. “I heard you were sort of thrust into the fire when Rand Jenson cut his knee.”
“Yes, I wasn’t expecting to encounter so much blood on my first day,” she joked. “It required seven stitches, but I made the sutures so small the scarring should be minimal. He’ll be fine, as long as he keeps it clean. He’s going to check in with me day after tomorrow to let me take a look at it. I gave him a tetanus booster, too, just to be safe.”
“I didn’t hear about this,” Gavin said. “How’d he cut it?”
“Trying to climb up on some chairs here in the gymnasium to put up that poster.” Aiyana tilted her head to indicate the one advertising the Popsicle and sports day reward for everyone who maintained a 3.5 GPA this quarter.
Gavin’s eyebrows shot up. “He fell?”
“He did. Hit a metal piece on the corner of the bleachers,” Aiyana said. “Mr. Banks told him to use the ladder. He was just being funny, trying to show off for the other members of the student council, and Mr. Banks didn’t see what was going on until it was too late.”
“Tough lesson,” Cora muttered.
“I’m glad it wasn’t his head that he split open,” Aiyana said. “I’m also relieved that we didn’t have to send him to the hospital—and that’s only because we now have a doctor on staff.” The way she saluted Natasha made Natasha smile. Aiyana was obviously trying to recognize her accomplishments and make her feel valued. She suspected Aiyana did the same with the teachers and students—tried to make everyone feel valued and appreciated. But what she’d said made Natasha a little self-conscious. She preferred not to make a big deal about being a doctor and not a nurse. She didn’t want those who might not have clued in to the fact that she was that doctor, the one whose nurse had caused the death of a baby, to realize who she was and why she no longer had a practice of her own.
“There’s nothing like diving right in,” Eli quipped.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Natasha mumbled.
Cora put down the single-serving milk carton she’d been drinking out of. “I hear you have a little boy.”
Relieved at the change of subject, Natasha nodded. “Lucas. He’s six.”
“I have a girl that age and a boy two years older,” Gavin said. “We should get them together for a playdate.”
“That’d be great. I live on Main Street, so we don’t have any other young families nearby.”
Natasha couldn’t help liking Eli, Cora and Gavin. They seemed friendly, easygoing. “Sounds great.” She gave Gavin her contact information before she got up to stack her tray.
The bell went off, and the students flooded toward the exit. Natasha didn’t have to be back in her office at any specific time. She just had to be on campus and available, in case she was needed, so she hung back and let everyone else go first. Aiyana, who was also waiting, pulled her aside.
“I wanted to tell you that we’ll be getting a new student soon,” she said. “His name’s Austin Forester, and he’s fifteen.”
Since Natasha didn’t know any of the students yet, besides the boy who’d cut his knee and a girl who’d started her period and needed feminine hygiene products and a little reassurance, she didn’t understand why Aiyana would call her attention to this new student. But she smiled and nodded. “Okay. Will he be one of our boarders?”
“Yes.”
“It’s so early in the summer. Isn’t that an unusual time to take in a new boarder?”
A pained expression claimed her employer’s face. “Not at this school. That’s the problem. Austin’s been removed from his home and is now a ward of the state. So he’s going to need all the love and care we can give him.”
Natasha tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’ll be happy to do my part.”
“I know you will. I just wanted to warn you because...he’ll have some scars and other injuries I’ll need you to take a look at.”
Natasha’s lunch suddenly sat heavy in her stomach. “You mean he’s a victim of abuse.”
“Yes. We see that more often at this school than you would at any other, of course. And from what I hear, his case is...rather severe.”
Natasha felt herself tense. “I’m sorry.”
Aiyana squeezed her arm. “So am I. But we’ll take care of him.”
After the death of the Grossman child, Natasha was terrified of losing another patient. Working at New Horizons seemed like the perfect stopgap in so many regards, but could she handle what she might see here? Would it be too much for her?
Or would it give her the opportunity to truly help children as she’d intended from the start?
Thirteen
Dylan didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous. He knew he’d have to persuade Kellan, who could be just as stubborn as he was—after all, he was an Amos and Aaron was arguably the most stubborn among them—that they could still be a family. And as if that didn’t promise to be difficult enough, he’d have to do it with the Rinehardts, who were people he no longer liked, looking on. He’d never been one to share his private business. But he had to do what he had to do, and if he’d realized anything through this, it was that he’d do whatever it required to get his son back.
“You ready?” Cheyenne murmured as they parked in front of the house.
He leaned forward to see around her, wondering if the Rinehardts were gazing out their front window, watching them, right now. The sun was reflecting off the glass, so he couldn’t tell. “Yeah.”
“You think Kellan will talk to us?” she asked. “He’s been pretty resolute. Hasn’t accepted anyone’s call, except for Mack’s.”
Kellan had even ignored Aaron, but that actually made Dylan feel better instead of worse. Although Kellan didn’t yet know it was Aaron who’d sired him, Dylan co
uldn’t help fearing that Kellan would suddenly decide he wanted to go live with his “real” father once he learned who that was.
Fortunately, the way Aaron had acted last night had convinced Dylan he’d never allow it, that he’d insist on being just an uncle and tell Kellan he had to deal with the parents who were raising him.
Dylan got out, shoved the car keys in his pocket and stalked around the car, where Cheyenne joined him. After smoothing her dress, she squared her shoulders and slipped her smaller hand in his.
When he kissed her knuckles, she looked up at him, startled by the gesture but also clearly relieved. He knew showing his commitment would make her feel better, but he needed that contact and reassurance, too. They would hold tight during this storm, would not break apart and lose each other—no matter what.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for forgiving me.”
“How could I not?” he muttered. “You know how much you mean to me.”
Even though she smiled at his response, he could see there was still plenty of apprehension in her eyes. “Everything will be okay,” she said.
She was trying to convince herself as much as him. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together.”
They didn’t have to knock. Mr. Rinehardt—Carl—opened the door just as they reached the top step. “Come on in,” he said.
Dylan dipped his head politely, but he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t reach out to shake hands. He couldn’t quite forgive Carl for treating him as though it was necessary to act as a mediator between him and his child. It was offensive, but Dylan had to acknowledge that he was a little more sensitive to that sort of thing than most people. He’d been judged and gossiped about for most of his life.
“Kellan? Your parents are here,” Carl yelled, and Maggie, Carl’s wife, came into the living room.
“Hello.” She smiled, but that smile wilted almost immediately. No doubt she could tell he didn’t appreciate the way she and her husband had stood between him and Kellan. “Would you like something to drink?”
Cheyenne squeezed his hand, silently pleading with him to remain civil. “No, thank you,” she said. “As you can imagine, we’re pretty anxious to see our son.”
“Of course.” She glanced at her husband. “Maybe you should go get him.”
Once Carl left, Maggie gestured toward the sofa. “Would you like to sit down?”
That was the last thing Dylan wanted to do. He preferred to take his son so he could speak to him in private. Tell him how much he loved him and that they could get past this. But knowing it would be smarter to play along, at this point, he followed Cheyenne’s lead and perched uncomfortably beside her.
Carl reappeared. Kellan, head bowed, came into the room behind him.
“Have a seat, Kellan,” Carl said. “Do you want anything to drink, buddy? A soda?”
Dylan felt his muscles bunch at the other man’s solicitous tone. He was acting as if he was the one looking out for Kellan.
“Naw.” Kellan peered up at them from under his bangs, but his gaze skittered away as soon as he met Dylan’s eye.
“Can we have a minute?” Dylan had told himself he wouldn’t try to take control of this meeting, that he’d let Carl and Maggie run the show. He didn’t want to risk Kellan refusing to talk to them and going back into the nether regions of the house. Dylan knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from tearing the place apart until he found his son.
Carl looked at his wife, and she looked back at him. “Well, we thought we’d—”
“I just really need to talk to my son,” Dylan broke in, coming to his feet. “He means everything to me, so the past few days have been incredibly upsetting. I hope you understand.”
“But...he tells us he’s not even your son,” Carl said with an accusatory glance at Cheyenne that further enraged Dylan.
“It doesn’t matter what that DNA test indicated. He’s mine. He’s always been mine, and he’ll always be mine.”
“He said something about it being one of your brothers who must’ve—”
“Can I please talk to him?” Dylan broke in again, more forcefully this time.
Looking flustered, Maggie stood up. “Of course. Come on, Carl.”
Carl turned his attention to Kellan. “Do you need me here, buddy?”
Dylan felt his jaw tighten until he thought it might shatter, but, fortunately, Kellan shook his head and the odious Rinehardts left the room.
“Kellan, first of all, I’m sorry,” Cheyenne said. “I want you to know that nothing...inappropriate has ever happened between me and any of your uncles. Aaron donated the sperm that was used to artificially inseminate me. That’s all. I wanted to use DNA that was as close as I could get to your father’s, and Aaron was kind enough to agree to help me.”
“So you didn’t sleep with him,” he said, sullenly.
“No, of course not,” she cried. “I’ve always been true to your father, never wanted anyone else.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“I didn’t see why you needed to know,” she replied. “Even your father didn’t know.”
This made Kellan sit up. “You didn’t know?”
“Not until last night, when your mother told me.”
His jaw dropped. “And you’re not upset? You’re not mad?”
“I was,” he admitted. “It was...a shock. A leveling blow. But...”
“What?” Kellan prompted, his gaze now fastened on Dylan’s face.
“I realized that it’s love that binds us together. And love isn’t dependent on DNA.”
Kellan dropped his head into his hands. Dylan suspected it was to hide tears, so he got up and went over to kneel beside him. “Kellan, listen to me. I was telling the truth a minute ago when I said that you’re mine and you’ll always be mine. My heart could never bear it if you weren’t.”
Kellan dropped his hands, letting Dylan see his eyes, which were, sure enough, growing red and puffy. “I don’t want what I’ve learned to be true,” he said. “I’ve always been proud to be your son. I love you more than anyone in the world. I always have.”
“Then come home,” Dylan said. “Our lives don’t have to change.”
“You don’t think it’s any big deal that you’re not my real father? That it’s...that it’s Wyatt’s dad? Uncle Aaron?”
Dylan squeezed his shoulder. “He’s just the donor. I’m your father in all the ways that count the most.”
Cheyenne knelt beside Dylan and took their son’s hand. “Kellan, I did what I did because I knew how badly your father wanted a child, and that he couldn’t have one the regular way. I should’ve told him, but—”
“She knew it wouldn’t make any difference to me,” Dylan said. That wasn’t the real reason she hadn’t told him, but he felt it was all Kellan needed to know. “So...does it matter to you? Are you going to kick me to the curb now that you know?” He attempted a grin and was heartened when Kellan gave him a watery smile in return.
“Does Uncle Aaron know that I know?”
“He does now,” Dylan replied.
“What’d he say about it?”
“He’s leaving it between us, as he should.”
Carl poked his head into the room. “Everything going okay in here?”
Dylan gave his son a pained look. “Is there any way you could tell Mr. Rinehardt that we got this? And come home, so we can discuss it in private?”
When Kellan nodded, Dylan couldn’t help pulling him into his arms. “I’ve missed you,” he said and was relieved when he felt his son’s arms tighten around him.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
* * *
Mack had gone into work earlier than he’d planned. Since Dylan needed the day off, he’d figured he might as well help out, rather than make Gra
dy and Rod limp by without either one of them, and was glad he did, because once he arrived he learned that J.T. had called in sick. They had other, hourly workers, but they also had so much business they could barely keep up. They’d established such a good name in the auto body industry that they were getting customers from as far away as Sacramento and the Bay Area.
“You heard that Kellan’s home, right?” Rod asked as he strolled into the front office, where Mack was manning the front desk.
Mack shoved the stack of invoices he’d already processed into the appropriate cubbyhole and started to straighten up his workspace. “No. When did that happen?”
Rod put some money into the vending machine, and Mack heard a thunk as a soda landed in the bin. “I had to text Dylan about a car I’m working on, and he told me.”
“I’m glad Kellan’s home.” Mack had known Dylan and Cheyenne had a meeting with Kellan and the people Kellan was staying with this morning, but he hadn’t heard how it went. He’d been curious, but he hadn’t wanted to bother them if they were still dealing with everything. This was a good sign.
Rod popped the top of his Coke and sauntered over. “Why’d Kellan run away? Do you know?”
Mack shuffled things around on the desk again. “Dylan didn’t say?”
“Nope. Just told me not to worry about it, that everything was going to be fine.”
“You know how Dylan is,” Mack said, purposely avoiding eye contact. “Family business is family business.”
“But family business doesn’t usually exclude us.”
“Kellan’s his kid. It’s natural that he’d be protective.”
“Guess so.” Rod took a long drink of his soda. “By the way, Grady said you’re going to open an Amos Auto Body in LA. That true?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Seriously thinking about it?”
“Very seriously.”
“Why now? You’ve been talking about opening your own shop for years.”
Mack shrugged. “I have the money. I’m willing to take the risk.” He could stay in Whiskey Creek and continue getting paid a monthly salary, along with receiving a fifth of the profits on the business at the end of each year. He was making good money; it was difficult to walk away from such a reliable income. Dylan got two shares, since none of them would have a business without him, but Aaron didn’t take a share now that he owned his own location, so Mack received 20 percent even though they split the money between only four brothers. Owning his own location would mean that, just like Aaron, Mack would have to pay a nominal amount each month for the franchise. But he’d get to keep whatever profits the location garnered, so he could potentially do a lot better than he was now. The choice had worked out well for Aaron, which was encouraging. Bottom line, if the economy held, and he found a good location with the right demographics, he’d be better off to own his own shop. However, if the economy tanked, or he didn’t choose well, he’d be better off to stay right where he was.
