Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  “The grandmother is having second thoughts about establishing paternity, wants to draw it out. She’s grieving and has become very attached to the child to help her get through the loss of her daughter. And while raising a little kid at an age where one is either in retirement or just about to be can be daunting, the emotional turmoil that woman must be going through right now can’t be underestimated.”

  “So she’s using Peter as some kind of emotional security blanket?”

  “That’s one way to put it. And when you think about it, can you blame her?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “But the problem is that she’s probably becoming more and more attached to the child as time goes on and the child will start naturally looking to her as a substitute parent.”

  “And to the exclusion of me,” Prent said with a sigh.

  “This is not a good situation. It’s tricky.”

  “And I don’t want to do anything to upset Peter even though I want to see him and have him with me.”

  “Exactly. What worries me is that we haven’t even established paternity. Elizabeth Minton has come up with a bunch of excuses not to do the test.”

  “Wait—you’re saying now that grandma may be deliberately putting me off to gain an upper hand as far as custody goes?”

  “It’s a possibility we have to consider,” Cord said with a frown.

  “So what does this mean?”

  “We need to file a paternity action here in Van Winkle County to establish your paternity. According to the statute, we can file here because you’re located here.”

  “Damn,” Prent said, “that would get the news out to the world in a hurry, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry about that, but it’s bound to happen sooner or later. The main thing is that we need to protect your rights while balancing Peter’s best interests. It’s important for him to have time with his grandma now. But he can still have that while adapting to having a father in his life for the first time. This isn’t a zero-sum game where one side takes all.”

  “Have you told them you’re going to do this?”

  “No, only dropped hints. But Elizabeth’s no fool. She understood what I was getting at without having to put a deadline on her.”

  “If we do this, I want you to work on getting me some time with Peter,” Prent insisted. “I’ll get counseling first, pay for their counseling, whatever they think has to be the setup before I can meet with him and be with him. But this has to happen, Cord. I have to meet my son. He needs to know who I am, that I’m here for him, that I want to be with him and that he has a home with me.”

  “Before we can do anything like that, we first have to file the paternity petition. That’s not a complicated document, but once filed, the situation could get complicated. I can’t predict the reaction we’ll get from grandma once it happens. She could wake up and realize that she needs to engage with us, or she could dig in her heels and make things worse. But once we’re before the court, we’ll at least have a bit of power behind us after paternity is established. We can have the judge involved, if necessary, in custody and visitation issues. I’m hoping those matters can be resolved without resort to a lot of motion practice. That gets messy, expensive, and way too emotional.”

  “But from what you’re saying, that’s where we could be headed anyway.”

  “And that leads me to another point. If you haven’t told your family about Peter yet, you need to do so.”

  “I’ve only told Miranda,” Prent said.

  “How’d that go?”

  “Better than I could’ve possibly imagined. I thought it was the end of whatever we did have, but she completely understood. Even gave me the name of a few counselors and walked with me through the house, pointing out potential kid dangers, helped me pick out Peter’s bedroom.”

  “So when’s the wedding?” Cord joked. “Or did you two already tie the knot and are keeping that a secret for now? I’m assuming you’re not letting that woman get away from you, especially after everything you two went through to get back together.”

  “Nothing more that I want to do right now, other than meet my son,” Prent admitted. “And if Peter weren’t a factor, you’re right—we’d probably be married already or at least engaged again. But I can’t do that to her right now with the paternity issue hanging over me—over us. I think she senses that, because I haven’t proposed to her again. And I was doing that pretty much every time I saw her until we got back together, ironically enough. I know that whatever answer she gives me the next time I ask is the real, final answer. And if she says no… well, that’s it for us.”

  “And you still have to deal with telling your family about Peter,” Cord said. “It’s great that Miranda’s supportive. But what about Davina and Kurt?”

  “Mom will be shocked but fine. Kurt will have a fit.”

  “Then you need to have those difficult conversations soon. I don’t know if you want to speak to a counselor before or—”

  “No,” Prent said, “I’m a big boy. I need to be able to at least confess this.”

  “Then get to it, and with your permission I’ll file the petition by the end of the week.”

  Prent agreed, and Cord informed him about some of the procedure and that the judge on the case would be Judge Cara Forrest, the district judge who covered both Craig and Van Winkle Counties. Prent only vaguely knew her after appearing before her on a traffic ticket which was dismissed.

  Prent left Cord’s office not exactly happy but with the feeling that at least things were moving forward. Once he was sitting in his car parked on Main Street in Littleham outside Cord’s office, he called his mother and said he’d be dropping by for lunch with takeout from Maggioli’s. The next call he made was to Miranda.

  Although they had spoken every day, he hadn’t seen her since leaving for his last buying trip several days ago. He’d gotten into town late the previous evening, and as much as he wanted to crash at her house (he’d driven straight through Bourbon Springs on his way back), he figured she wouldn’t appreciate a social call at three in the morning.

  “Didn’t think I’d catch you,” he said warmly.

  “You’re lucky. Just between patients.”

  “Just finished talking to Cord,” he said. “We’re going to file a petition to establish paternity by the end of the week.” He told her in general terms what was happening and why.

  “I’m sorry you have to take this step and make it public,” Miranda said.

  “Has to be done. I’m relieved and excited. Now I have to tell Mom and my uncle.”

  “Good luck, and I mean that. Not being facetious.”

  “I know. Thanks. And when the hell can I see you again, woman?” he said, changing to a much happier subject.

  “How about dinner tonight?”

  “Anywhere you say. I’ll pay, drive, cook, whatever you want me to do.”

  “You know I’m a simple girl. How about The Windmill?”

  “Wish you’d let me take you somewhere fancy, like The Cooperage. Actually, it’s such a gloriously sunny day I’d love to take you for a picnic. It’s like springtime out there, almost sixty degrees. Damned nice after all that ice. Won’t see weather like this again for months, most likely.”

  “You can take me to The Cooperage and on a picnic in the very near future, I promise. But for tonight, let’s just do The Windmill.”

  Prent told Miranda he would pick her up at six, ended the call, and steeled himself for the next thing he had to do.

  Talk to his mother.

  After sitting in his car and briefly collecting his thoughts, he walked to Maggioli’s to place a takeout order. During the wait, he shopped for children’s furniture on his phone and found the contact information for the jeweler who had made Miranda’s original ring as well as their wedding rings. Time to start thinking about a new engagement ring.

  His order arrived, and he took the bags of food to his car, carefully placing them on the floor of th
e passenger side. Thinking he might need one more thing to help make the encounter with his mother run just a little bit smoother, Prent turned around and went back inside Maggioli’s in the hopes that the bourbon cheesecake was available that day.

  And maybe he’d buy a few extra pieces for when Miranda came back home.

  Home.

  His home.

  Their home.

  On the doorstep of the restaurant he stopped, stunned and amazed at his new circumstances.

  A son.

  A wife.

  A life.

  At last he was growing up.

  “He’s where?”

  “Golfing up in Bourbon Springs,” Minerva said. “Can you believe it? I bet he didn’t think you’d be here today. That’s probably why he snuck out.”

  Prent had returned to the cooperage offices after his long lunch experience with his mother, ready to tell Kurt about Peter. Although his mother had taken the news well, it had still been a long, emotional ordeal as his mother moved through shock to anger (at not knowing for so long) to delight.

  He briefly considered waiting to tell Kurt but knew he needed to be the one to deliver the news about Peter. He didn’t want his uncle to hear about the reality of a new relative from his mother or the passing comment of an acquaintance.

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Prent collapsed into a chair in front of Minerva’s desk and ran a hand over his sweaty face.

  “Hon, you all right?” Minerva asked him and pulled her chair closer to her desk. “You look mighty tired. Miranda okay?”

  Prent smiled. “She’s wonderful. Fortunately, she’s not what I’m worried about right now.”

  “Care to share?” She tilted her head in a way that invited confidence.

  Prent rose and closed the door, then returned to his chair.

  “Let me tell you about a little boy named Peter,” Prent began, enjoying the brief look of confusion which passed across Minerva’s face as he began his story.

  19

  When Prent had called early and said he’d meet her at The Windmill, Miranda was confused.

  “I’m at The Cooperage here in Bourbon Springs right now, at the golf course. Dropped by here for—something,” he stammered. “I’ll explain when I get there.”

  Happy that she’d see him earlier than anticipated but not pleased that they wouldn’t get to exchange a few hot kisses in the privacy of her house before dinner, she said she’d be there soon. But Miranda found herself agitated and upon getting into her car realized she was suffering from no small degree of sexual frustration.

  Now that she was back together with Prent, she had been enjoying the best sex of her life.

  The fact that they’d reconciled just as he had to do a lot of traveling and her schedule had gotten a little crazy—all those missed appointments and surgeries had to be rescheduled due to the ice storm—was ironically frustrating. Now that she wanted him more than ever and had surrendered to the fact she was still deeply in love with him, circumstances had conspired for the past few weeks to keep them apart for long stretches of time.

  Yet perhaps it was a case of the heart and body growing fonder with absence. She had missed him terribly during his buying trips, despite the numerous calls and a litany of steamy texts they’d sent each other.

  The parking lot at The Windmill contained only a smattering of cars on that dark, cold Thursday night. She spotted Prent’s vehicle at once. He’d secured the booth opposite the door, at the other end of the diner.

  One glimpse told her he was not in a good place.

  She walked briskly to meet him, and he smothered her with a tight hug, followed by a too-quick kiss. He’d already ordered hot chocolate for them both. After she shrugged out of her coat, Miranda picked up the warm white stoneware mug and wrapped one frigid hand around its girth. She moved her other hand across the table, and Prent clutched it tightly, his lips pressed together.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Easy part first,” he said, frowning into his own mug of cocoa. “My mom is absolutely beside herself at the idea of being a grandmother. Once she got over the initial shock, all she did was cry for fifteen minutes. First it was tears of anger because she didn’t get to see Peter as a baby or toddler. She stopped sobbing long enough for us to eat, but when we got to dessert, she got all happy and started crying again. She began rattling off all the things she wanted to do for him. She actually got up from the table, got a pad of paper, and started making a list.”

  “What does she want to do for him?”

  “Get him a swing set for her backyard, a bunch of clothes, a pony—”

  “A pony? She might want to try just taking him to the movies or the park first.”

  “I know, I know,” Prent said. “I talked her down. I don’t want Peter to think he’s some little prince.”

  “Even though that’s exactly what he’ll be once he comes to Littleham.”

  “I’m going to have to be very careful she doesn’t spoil him.”

  “Like you could stop that.”

  “No, I’m serious,” Prent said. “It wouldn’t be good for him. Just look at me. Got everything I wanted and nothing I needed, like several good knocks upside the head when I screwed up.”

  “You eventually got those. They’re called hard knocks, right? And I’d say you turned out just fine.”

  “Yeah, but look how long and how much crap I had to go through to grow up. Lots of hard knocks. Lots of bruises, lots of others hurt,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  “I’m sure your mom will be a perfect grandma and you’ll be a perfect dad.”

  “Thanks. I showed her the few pictures I have of him. She immediately went and got some old photo albums, and we started comparing. Miranda, the kid looks so much like me when I was little. It’s amazing.”

  “I bet your mother was delighted.”

  “Ecstatic. In the meantime, I did give her something to do, knowing that she needed to have an outlet other than gossiping.”

  “Again, like you can stop that,” Miranda said. They both leaned back as the waitress arrived with menus and waters and then left.

  “I know, but I put her talents to use. I told her that I need some help getting furniture for Peter’s room. She was all over that. Said she’d be by tomorrow to get measurements of the room and start looking at furniture.”

  “She’ll go overboard, you know. Get the race car bed or some kind of wacky bunk beds with a built-in play set or something.”

  “That would be funny to see!”

  “I’m serious. Those things exist.”

  “Sounds like I need to have a talk with Mom about what to get.”

  “You’d better, or Peter’s room will look more like a playground than a bedroom,” Miranda warned.

  The waitress returned to take their orders. Miranda got a hot turkey sandwich on sourdough bread, and Prent got a burger and fries. The waitress highly recommended two new pies: bourbon almond chocolate chip and bourbon raisin chess.

  “So telling your mom was the easy part of your day?” Miranda ventured.

  Eyes down, he shook his head and clenched his hands on top of the table.

  “After I told my mother, I went to work to tell Kurt. Turns out he was golfing up here today at The Cooperage. I couldn’t believe it—the one time I really needed to talk to him, and he’s actually not in the office. Anyway, I tracked him down just as he was coming back from a round of golf with Bruce Colyard, Mr. Hensley, and that doctor you know, that Brad guy.”

  “Brad Byrd? I talked to him today on the phone. Sounded like he was outside.”

  “That’s where he was,” Prent confirmed with a nod. “Anyway, Kurt was surprised to see me, to say the least. I wanted to talk to him as soon as possible after telling my mother,” he explained and paused to take a sip of cocoa. “So I tell him I need to talk to him, that it’s important. I guess he thought it was an emergency with the business he immediately detached himself from the group. We were in that
little snack shop at the golf pro shop. The group had gone in there to get coffee or in Kurt’s case some straight Garnet.

  “We went to another side of the café, away from his golf buddies. At first he was just mad at me for interrupting his golf outing. Then I tell him about Peter. Got a nasty lecture about responsibility, life changes, all that crap. But that’s not the worst of it. After all that, he calls me over to the table where his friends are sitting, says he just wants me to say hello. I do that, but after the round of handshakes and brief how-are-yous, he tells everyone what I just told him! I know that I can’t keep this under wraps forever, but I don’t even really know those guys and Kurt just told them like it was nothing more than talking about the weather!”

  “He humiliated you,” Miranda said sadly.

  “And after I walked away, he caught up, saying he said he wanted to talk to me about Peter. I refused and left. I don’t want to be around the man.”

  “And yet you have a cooperage to run together,” Miranda said.

  Prent nodded, averted his eyes, and sipped his cocoa.

  She wanted to ask whether he thought Kurt was somehow trying to push him out of the business, but that was not her business. Money and his work, while topics of very general conversation, were not comfortable areas for her even though she knew she needed to tell him about her decision to go into practice with Brad Byrd.

  Fortunately, the tenseness of the moment was broken by the arrival of the waitress with their food, and they both dug in. Instead of talking about Kurt, Prent described his last buying trip. He spoke with excitement although he admitted he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the next trip.

  “Too much going on at home,” he explained. “I’d rather not be away from you or the paternity case.”

  The food was unusually good, but Miranda thought that she might have been extra hungry due to being so tired. Her work days along with her extra clinic duties were knocking a lot out of her lately. And when she thought of the clinics, her next worry was about Saturday and her trip to Commonwealth Cooperage.

  If Kurt was so willing to embarrass Prent, what might he be willing to do or say when it came to her?