Somebody's Baby

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “The law—”

  “Couldn’t have helped until Bo hurt her.” Gloria finished the sentence on a challenging note.

  Marie didn’t argue.

  “Her cancer started spreadin’. I got a job here in Windemere, and I took care of her and Toby, and when she wasn’t gettin’ better, she signed all these papers hopin’ to keep Bo away if he ever showed up.”

  “Which he has,” Sloan added. “If he takes Toby away, no telling what will happen to the boy. So that’s why we’re here, Ms. Foley. Gloria wants to follow Lindsey’s wishes and raise Toby. We both want to keep him safe. Please, help us.”

  Sloan couldn’t sit still, so she paced the floor of Cole’s living room as she told him about the meeting with Marie Foley. “Do you know the woman’s the only lawyer handling cases for children in the DCS for this whole county? And she has a ton of cases, so there’s a long line of people ahead of us. It’s not right, Cole.”

  He sat on the sofa, his arms spread across the back of the cushions, watching her. Dressed in a bright blue tank top and jeans, she looked incredible. However, he was listening and forming his own opinions about Gloria’s chances of keeping Toby—maybe not so good. “We can get a private attorney if need be.”

  “And I will, but I’m hoping Marie can help us. She knows the system, the judges. That’s important.”

  He heard how she had smoothly switched from we to I and turned Cole into someone on the sidelines. He didn’t take it personally, knowing she was used to fighting her own battles—look how far she’d come from her high school days—and Cole didn’t even know her whole story. It was too bad she was mired in this fight. Because of the music nominations, this should have been a time of celebration for her. Instead her time was filled with sorrow for Lindsey and anger at what might happen to Toby. “You know what I do when life gets out of control and I want to calm down?” he asked.

  “Drink?”

  He tossed back his head and laughed. “Not a bad guess, and I may end up there, but I start in the kitchen. I cook.” He rose, took her hand, and walked her around the half wall into his kitchen domain.

  “I can’t cook,” she grumbled.

  “Well, come with me and I’ll give you a lesson. We’ll start with something simple and delicious that only needs six ingredients.”

  She didn’t want to learn to cook. She wanted to rant.

  “We’ll start with a basic comfort food that people think is difficult to make, but isn’t. We’ll go with an Alfredo sauce with linguine this afternoon.” He let go of her hand, started taking pots out of oversized drawers, foodstuffs out of his pantry and fridge. “Real butter, absolutely essential. Heavy cream, fresh Parmesan cheese, garlic, salt, and pepper.” He set the items on the countertop.

  She rolled her eyes. “Really, Cole, I’m not in the mood.”

  “It’s my job to get you into the mood.”

  His dimpled smile kicked up her pulse. She sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to back down. “What can I do?”

  “Fill up this pot with cold water from that faucet at the back of the stove.”

  For the first time, she noticed a hinged spigot mounted into the backsplash. “A water faucet over your stove?”

  “The right tool for the right job. No carrying a heavy pot of water over from the sink.” Once the pot was filled, he slid it onto a burner, drizzled in a bit of olive oil and a toss of loose salt. “If I’d known we’d be doing this, I’d have made fresh pasta. As it is we’ll have to use linguine from the grocery store.”

  She feigned a swoon. “How shall I survive the compromise?”

  He chuckled. “You’d be able to taste the difference, believe me.”

  For Sloan, eating was a simple necessity. She’d grown up on peanut butter and jelly and anything that could be microwaved. She wasn’t sure Cole ever used his microwave oven. She watched him expertly mince cloves of garlic. “Now what?”

  “Melt that stick of butter in that saucepan.” He pointed with his chef knife to a second smaller pot. “Keep the flame low and watch it carefully. Don’t let the butter turn brown.” She followed his directions, and minutes later he tossed in the garlic and further reduced the flame. He handed her a whisk. “Stir from the bottom, keep it moving.” The aromas of butter and garlic smelled delicious. “And I’ll pour in the cream.” He stepped behind her, encircled her with his arms, and began to slowly add the thick white liquid into the butter mixture. “Keep stirring, because when it comes to a low boil, magic happens.”

  With him pressed against her back, his arms around hers while she kept a wire whisk moving, and his warm breath in her ear, magic was already happening—to her. “Don’t let it burn,” he whispered. Too late. Her body was overheating.

  Unable to resist the nape of her neck, he kissed her pale bare skin, touched the tip of his tongue to her earlobe, and whispered, “Perfect. Tastes good too.”

  Her breath compressed, making her feel light-headed. She released the breath, and it came out in a long low tremble. Her heart thumped, the blood racing, searing through her veins. She closed her eyes, tipped her head to give him full access to her neck. He sent a trail of slow lazy kisses from her ear to her shoulder, savoring the journey.

  When the cream cup was empty, he set it on the counter, then ran his hands from the back of her neck, along her shoulders, down her uncovered arms, to her waist, to her hips and across the flat of her abdomen, and just inside the waistband of her jeans. She pressed backward into him, away from the lip of the stove, as desire flared hotter than the blue flame of the burner.

  Cole wanted Sloan Gabriel….He wanted the heat of her mouth on his, the feel of her skin pressed to his. He wanted to explore and taste every inch of her. He wanted her body, but also her heart, her thoughts, and her love. He was foolish to love her, but he did. Game over.

  The stench of burning cream sent them jumping aside. Smoke poured from the pot, its contents turned into a thick brown goo. In one smooth movement he snatched up the ruined saucepan and shoved it into the kitchen sink, where it smoked and sizzled. He turned off the gas flame. Their eyes met. Then they dissolved into laughter, bending-over, unable-to-catch-your-breath laughter. “I failed my first cooking lesson!” she wailed when she could finally get words out.

  “I’m the failure! I’m your teacher!” he countered, wiping laugh tears from his face. Their laughter slowed, faded into chuckles and giggles. “You distracted me.”

  “You distracted me! Do chefs usually kiss their cooking students?”

  His gaze traveled the length of her before settling again on her face. “Every chance he gets.”

  She sobered, knowing she couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t allow herself to tumble into him emotionally. Sex was one thing, but anything else…? Sloan rocked back on her heels.

  Cole watched her pull away, both physically and emotionally, felt himself fall back to earth, and into reality. He turned to the sink. “I think this pot has to be tossed.”

  She moved closer, peered down, put her hand over her heart, knowing she’d hurt him, but her withdrawal was for the good of both of them. “Poor Mr. Pot. I’m sure it served faithfully.”

  Cole’s eyes meshed with hers again. “Yes…faithfully.”

  And she heard the underlying message in his voice. Cole didn’t dole himself out in pieces when he truly cared for someone. He was an all-or-nothing kind of man, while she believed herself as unreliable as a candle in the wind. So much about her he didn’t know. Walking away was her only option. “Cole, I—I—”

  They were interrupted by their cell phones buzzing simultaneously with texts. His phone was closest, and at this moment, Sloan didn’t want to read any texts. He did. “It’s Gloria. She says a sheriff’s car has come to get Toby and take him away.”

  The two of them bolted out Cole’s front door and across the expansive yards between the houses, to where a white-and-green county sheriff’s car was sitting in Lindsey’s driveway. The two of them broke into a run. He w
as much faster, arrived first, and rushed inside the house.

  When Sloan entered, breathing hard, she found Gloria huddled with a crying and frightened Toby on the sofa, and Cole standing between them and a sheriff’s deputy wearing a holster full of frightening hardware. A woman in a black pantsuit stood beside the deputy, cajoling Toby to come with them. Cole and the deputy must have recognized one another, because Cole asked, “Jack, what’s going on?”

  “Please don’t interfere, Cole. I have a court order here saying the boy has to come with us.” He held up a piece of paper. “Signed by a judge.”

  Heart pounding with fear and exertion, Sloan dropped to the sofa on the other side of Toby, hemming him in between herself and Gloria. Toby cowered.

  “You can’t just take him,” Sloan insisted. “The boy’s just lost his mother! Stop, please. We had no warning, no phone call about this.”

  “We don’t call, ma’am. We just show up.”

  “That’s just wrong!”

  “He’s in temporary protective custody,” the deputy said.

  “With DCS,” the woman added. “I’m Lois Byrd, and Toby must come with us now. His father’s filed a petition for custody and—”

  “His father!” Sloan shot off the sofa. “That man hurt him.”

  Afraid Sloan would get handcuffed and taken to jail, Cole turned the deputy’s attention back to himself. “We can protect him.”

  The deputy shook his head. “I don’t have a choice here, and you know it. Toby has to come for now.”

  “Where will you take him?” Cole asked.

  “To foster care,” Lois said. “It’s a wonderful home with a family of six kids. The dad’s a minister, and both parents are kind and loving, and this is just temporary until you both go before a judge for a custody ruling.”

  Sloan felt helpless and sick to her stomach. She’d been thrust into her former nightmare, but the dark hands weren’t grasping for her, but for Toby instead. “Cole…please!”

  “The law’s the law. He has to go with them.” His jaw was clenched, his muscles as taut as ropes. He dropped to his knees in front of Toby, put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Look at me, buddy.” Toby wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, looked into Cole’s eyes. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do, Toby, and this is one of them.” Toby shook his head. “You and I’ve spent nights camping, so you know how to be brave. You’re going to another campsite tonight, maybe even stay for a few days. I know you can do it, because I know you’re strong and brave and will mind the deputy and Miss Lois and the people you’re visiting with. You weren’t afraid of that tornado, were you?”

  “No.” Toby’s voice was barely audible.

  “Then there’s no need to be afraid now. Plus you’ll get to ride in the deputy’s car. Who knows, maybe he’ll turn on his siren for you.” He glanced up at the cop.

  “I will,” the man said.

  Lois looked at Gloria. “Let me help you pack a small bag for him.”

  Resigned to the situation, Gloria let Lois follow her out of the living room. Sloan felt shell-shocked. And furious. Cole said her name, but she shot him a warning glance and marched out the door to wait in the sunlight. Minutes later the others trooped out of the house, Lois carrying a sports bag and Toby’s bed pillow. The deputy opened the back door of the car, where Toby stopped short.

  Cole came forward. “You can do this, buddy.”

  Gloria knelt, hugged Toby. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.” Her voice quavered.

  Toby climbed into the car, and Lois followed. The deputy got into the driver’s seat, said from the open car window, “We’ll take good care of him. He’ll be safe.”

  They watched the sheriff’s car back out the long driveway, turn onto the road, and head off. Sloan crossed her arms, shivered even in the heat. “Gloria, call Marie.” Gloria hurried back inside the house, leaving Sloan and Cole alone. She had nothing to say to him, and he understood she was being crowded by her own demons, so he said nothing to her.

  In the quiet of the afternoon heavy with the scent of cut grass, from a distance came the promised wail of a siren.

  “So what’s your part in all of this?”

  Sloan and Terri were sitting in a trendy restaurant when the agent asked her question. Sloan, picking at her salad, had been in LA for two days, but her thoughts were still in Windemere. Just that morning Gloria had called to tell Sloan that Marie had filed a petition with the court and that only a single primary judge for child advocacy was on the bench in the county. Backwater town! Sloan had thought. Gloria had sounded upbeat because Marie knew the judge, and he respected her and rarely rejected her petitions. “It’ll take ten business days before Marie and me and Bo and his attorney can go in front of the judge. Bo’s got a court-appointed lawyer, but thanks to you, Sloan, we got the best! Toby’ll be home in no time.”

  Sloan hoped that was true, and was grateful that Marie had acted quickly on Toby’s behalf. Sloan was no miracle worker. Marie would have the honor of that title if she could get Toby home again. “I’m just trying to help,” she told Terri now. “Lindsey wanted Toby to remain with Gloria, but Bo is really trying to muck things up.”

  “He is the boy’s father.”

  “Unfit father.”

  “So it’s personal now?”

  Sloan sighed. “It is what it is.”

  Terri picked mushrooms from her salad with her fork and set them on her bread plate. “I distinctly told the waiter ‘no ’shrooms,’ and yet, here they are.” Terri shoved aside her salad plate and sipped her wine. “I understand your involvement. I’m even sympathetic to it, but you have a performance schedule, some venues already sold out, Sloan. You need to be fully engaged and not trekking back and forth to Windemere.”

  “Once I get in front of an audience, I’ll kick right in and give every stage my all. I’m a pro, remember?”

  “Tomorrow you face TV cameras, so give that your all too.”

  Since her return to LA, Sloan had faced an onslaught of interview requests, all the reporters vying to embellish the angle of her CMA nominations versus losing her sister. A tearjerker. The media loved it and wanted a piece of it, and although Terri had done her best to protect Sloan’s privacy, she had to meet with the media. ABC Entertainment had won the biggest slice of her time because they were carrying the November awards ceremony on their network, and that interview would be taped tomorrow in an affiliate’s LA downtown studio. She wasn’t looking forward to it. “I will.”

  Candles flickered on tabletops, and a low drone of voices surrounded them. A brazier scented the area with smells of sizzling meat. Sloan pushed her almost untouched salad to the side. A waiter appeared, scooped up both salad plates, and refilled Sloan’s water glass and Terri’s wine goblet. Another appeared and placed their entrées in front of them.

  “You listen to the new material CC sent? Do you like it?”

  “Some of it. He said he’ll send others, though.”

  “Well, once you begin working on your second album, you’ll be near Windemere again, and perhaps happier.” When Sloan didn’t respond, Terri added, “Won’t you?” Terri nibbled on a fire-roasted shrimp from her plate.

  “I’m no fan of Windemere, and you know it.”

  “And yet you keep returning. And you’ve yet to deal with the DNA aspect—”

  “Don’t go there, please.” Her whole life Sloan had pictured herself singing and basking in success. The success had come, but not the carefree satisfaction she’d expected. Lindsey, Toby, Gloria, and Cole had set up residence inside her life. “Until Toby’s father is out of the picture, I can’t walk away.”

  “Maybe you can’t walk away from the town, but what about walking away from her gorgeous next-door neighbor? The one you sang to at the concert?” Terri offered a wide-eyed smile.

  Sloan whipped her attention from her food and shot Terri a glare. “It was an act. I focus on someone in the audience at every concert. My fans like it when I sin
gle someone out.”

  “No need to get defensive. I was just asking.”

  Sloan attacked her entrée. A minute later, Terri said, “By the way, the nominations have brought good things your way. Digitals of ‘Baby’ have increased ten percent since the announcement, and it was already selling big.”

  Sloan knew Terri wanted to discuss the nominations. At another time the nod from the CMAs would have sent her into the stratosphere. She was pleased about the nominations, but not optimistic. “I’m up against five great songs and five hot new artists. I don’t expect to win.”

  “ ‘Oh, I’m just so honored to be nominated. Golly gee.’ ” Terri spoke in the breathless voice of pretense used by Hollywood actresses receiving nominations. “That doesn’t sound like the Sloan I first met, hell-bent on winning it all.”

  Sloan wasn’t sure where that version of herself was either. She had six weeks of touring ahead of her, and the awards ceremony the first week of November. And then…?

  “Did I mention you’ve been asked to do a concert in March in London?”

  “London!” Sloan jolted out of her lethargy.

  “As in Great Britain, across the pond, the queen, and her loyal subjects. Yes, that London…another perk from your nomination. You’re going international. We’ll know more after the CMAs.” Terri rolled another shrimp in a buttery concoction, popped it into her mouth. “I never eat like this, but this is so good, too good to deny myself the calories.”

  Memories spilled like water as Sloan thought of her past and present—images of people she cared about, flooding into images of concerts in front of cheering audiences. She loved touring and working with CC to make amazing music, and now London lay ahead. Two worlds. Two universes colliding.

  Terri interrupted the jumble of her thoughts. “I’ll take your silence as a yes for London.”

  “Absolutely, yes.”

  Terri smiled with satisfaction and glanced down at Sloan’s plate. “I brought you here tonight to celebrate, so I’m confused. We’re at one of the hottest restaurants in the city, with cuisine from the kitchen of one of California’s top chefs, and yet you order something as ordinary as linguine with Alfredo sauce.” Terri shook her head. “Sometimes I just can’t figure you out, Sloan.”