A Father's Promise

by Mindy Obenhaus

  “Up here.”

  A few moments later, she stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a maroon Texas A&M T-shirt and a pair of slip-on canvas sneakers. With her blond waves spilling over her shoulders, she was about the prettiest worker he’d ever seen.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Well, the plumber finished.” He pointed toward the hole in the floor.

  She tiptoed into the small space.

  “Careful—”

  Before he could finish his warning, her foot caught on a strip of the old flooring, and she lost her balance.

  Wes made a quick side step and managed to catch her. “Sorry, I should have warned you sooner.”

  Her cheeks were red as she straightened. “I’m too clumsy for my own good.”

  With one arm still around her waist, he brushed the hair out of her face. “Clumsy never looked so beautiful.” Or smelled so good.

  Realizing what he’d just said, he let her go. Those were the things that had gotten them into trouble the first time around.

  Regaining her composure, she shifted her gaze from the floor to him. “So, what’s next?”

  He explained his plans for tomorrow. “That reminds me, I haven’t heard you mention what you’re doing for flooring in here.”

  Her eyes went wide. “That’s because it completely slipped my mind.”

  “Which means you probably don’t have anyone lined up to install it, either.”

  “Of course I don’t.” Hands on her hips, she moved into the hall and began to pace. “And whatever I do decide on is probably going to take at least a week to get here.” She groaned, planting a palm against her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

  He hated to see her being so hard on herself. Joining her in the hallway, he said, “All right, let’s just settle down for a second. First question, what do you envision on the floor in this bathroom? Sheet vinyl or something else? I mean, for an application like this, you could do vinyl plank or tile.”

  Stopping, she turned to face him. “Actually, I did have an idea.”

  He lifted a brow, waiting for her continue.

  “I saw this woman on TV who renovates a lot of old houses and she always used those black-and-white mosaic tiles. You know, like the small squares or hexagons.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about. And you’re right, that would look good in here. It’s a small space, and the style would fit in with the character of the house.”

  “Much better than that faux-brick vinyl.” She motioned toward the bath. “But where does one find something like that?”

  “The big home improvement centers usually carry them.”

  “Really? That sounds easy enough.”

  “Yeah.” He checked his watch. “And since there’s really not much I can do here today, we could grab Sarah-Jane and make a run right now. Where is she, anyway?”

  “At her regular sitter’s. But why do we all need to go?”

  “Well, you need to be there to make sure you get what you want, and if Sarah-Jane doesn’t go, I won’t get any time with her, since we’ll likely be gone for a few hours. And finally, I’m the guy with the truck.”

  “Oh.” The way her brow furrowed was dealing a blow to his ego.

  “Plus, if we get the stuff now, I’ll have time to install it myself.”

  Her suddenly hopeful gaze jerked to his. “You can do that?”

  Now she was impressed. “When it comes to construction, there’s not much I can’t do, Laurel. Except those things that require a license, like plumbing and electrical. So, what do you say?”

  “Let me pick up Sarah-Jane and I’ll meet you at the house in thirty minutes.”

  Two and a half hours later, after a fast-food dinner they hoped would keep Sarah-Jane in a good mood, Wes pushed an industrial cart filled with backer board, mortar, tile, grout and everything else he would need to complete the flooring project in Irma’s upstairs bath toward the checkout counter of the home improvement center. Of course, Laurel had to pause at least half a dozen times to look at home decor stuff. Wes didn’t complain, though. He was having too much fun entertaining Sarah-Jane, who was strapped into the seat of a regular shopping cart. She really was a good baby. Always quick with a smile. And the fact that he seemed to be able to do no wrong in her eyes was an added bonus.

  Darkness had already descended over Bliss by the time they made it back to Laurel’s, and Sarah-Jane was asleep in her car seat.

  “I’ll get her,” he told Laurel as she hopped out of the truck. Opening the back door, he carefully removed the straps that kept his daughter safe and lifted her to him.

  With a contented sigh, she snuggled against him, and he couldn’t help holding her a little tighter as they made their way toward the house.

  Laurel ascended the porch before him and unlocked the front door.

  Despite Laurel removing her little shoes and pants, Sarah-Jane remained asleep, even when he laid her in her crib.

  “She must be tuckered out,” he whispered to Laurel.

  “All that excitement. You’re quite the entertainer, you know.” Laurel started for the door, but Wes couldn’t seem to make himself move. Instead, he just stood there, watching his daughter sleep. So innocent. Such a precious gift from God.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been there when he felt a hand on his arm.

  Laurel was beside him again. “I have done this same thing many a time. There’s just something about a sleeping baby that’s so peaceful.”

  His gaze lowered to his daughter. “Definitely.”

  When he managed to pull himself away, they moved into the hall, and Laurel softly closed the door behind them.

  “I’m curious,” he said as they moved into the living room. “How did you come up with the name Sarah-Jane?”

  “Sarah was my grandmother’s name. It means princess.” She gathered a few toys that littered the floor. “However, I like the name Jane because it means God is gracious.” She tossed the toys into a basket before leaning against the end of the sofa. “I felt as though God had been so gracious, allowing me to be a mother to this little princess...” Though her voice cracked, she smiled, blinking repeatedly. “It just fit.”

  “Yes, it does.” He longed to touch her, to let her know she wasn’t in this alone. Instead, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Has Rae ever told you that Jane was our mother’s name?”

  Laurel straightened, her composure returning. “Now that you mention it, yes. I’d forgotten. Probably because it didn’t mean as much then, but now...” She paused before looking up at him, blinking. “Wes, God’s hand has been all over this baby’s life, even when we were unaware.”

  “Yeah. And He brought me here, to Bliss.” He studied the curve of her face, the freckles that dotted her nose. “You know, I’ve never forgotten you, Laurel. At the most random times, something you said or did would play across my mind.”

  “Like when I ordered you to bring me a Coke?”

  He couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, I’ve thought about that one a lot. But you didn’t order me—you were very polite.”

  “I still can’t believe you actually bought the drink yourself and brought it to me.”

  “Seeing you sitting there with your feet dangling in the pool in your tailored dress told me that you were not some high-powered exec who was used to getting her own way.”

  Standing, she tilted her head, watching him with such an intensity it nearly took his breath away. “What did it tell you?”

  “That you appreciated the simple things in life. That you didn’t take things too seriously and you liked to have fun.”

  “Wow, you’re good.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “It’s a gift.”

  “I thought construction was your gift.”

  “Can’t a
guy have more than one gift?”

  “I think you have plenty, Wes Bishop. Including being a wonderful father.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you’re a man who genuinely cares and views being a part of his daughter’s life as a privilege, not an obligation.”

  “It is definitely a privilege.” Staring into her gray-green eyes, his throat clogged with emotion. Just knowing that was how she saw him meant more to him than she would ever know. And the feelings he had for her, the ones he’d been trying to squelch ever since that first day he saw her in the street, rose to the surface, refusing to be contained any longer.

  He forced himself to look away. He wasn’t worthy of Laurel’s praise, any more than he was worthy of that precious little girl sleeping down the hall. Yet that hadn’t stopped him from falling in love with his daughter. Now he was dangerously close to falling for her mother, too.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  Taking a step back, he said, “I need to run that stuff over to Irma’s before it gets too late.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Laurel set Sarah-Jane in her playard late the next afternoon, then headed into the kitchen to fill her sippy cup. Wes would be here soon, and that concerned Laurel even more than the ominous gray clouds gathering to the west. While she wasn’t able to make it over to Irma’s today because of work commitments, that hadn’t kept her thoughts from drifting to Wes and their conversation last night.

  She’d meant what she said about him being a wonderful father. She just wished she had kept that particular thought to herself, because the look in his eyes had nearly been her undoing. Coupled with that little stumble she’d taken at Irma’s...

  Filling Sarah-Jane’s cup with water from the dispenser on the refrigerator, Laurel recalled the feel of Wes’s strong arms around her and the way he made her feel safe, protected. The same way he had that night two years ago. No one else had ever made her feel like that before.

  A knock at the front door startled her. She quickly put the lid on the cup and passed it to her daughter on her way through the living room where Wes, no doubt, stood on the other side of the door. Pausing, she drew in a deep breath. Lord, help me to keep these crazy, mixed-up emotions in check.

  When she opened the door, though, the man on her porch wasn’t Wes. He was older, tall, thin and clean-shaven with short gray hair. Hands in the pockets of his sharply creased medium-wash jeans, he looked nervous. And, while she couldn’t put her finger on it, there was something familiar about him.

  With Sarah-Jane safe in her playard, Laurel stepped into the humid air, pulling the door closed behind her. “Can I help you?”

  He simply stared at her for a moment before saying, “Are you Laurel Donovan?”

  “Yes.”

  The man’s faded green eyes teared as a smile quivered at his lips. “My name is Jimmy Donovan.”

  Laurel felt her own eyes grow wide. Her nostrils flared as a jumbled ball of emotions slammed into her gut. Her breathing intensified. “Get out of here.” Every muscle in her body tensed. How dare this...this—

  “Please, let me—”

  “No!” The word spewed from her mouth with a vehemence she’d never experienced. “I don’t believe you.” She dared a step closer, fists clenched. “What are you? Some kind of sicko? Have you been stalking me, gathering information so you can blackmail me or something?”

  “No, I would never...” Lines creased his tanned brow, and he appeared confused. Panicked even. Yet he made no effort to move.

  Fortunately for her, she spotted Wes’s truck easing toward the curb. He’d take care of this pathetic excuse for a human being.

  “You wait right there.” Taking two steps back, she pointed toward the stranger, as though her finger alone would prevent him from fleeing.

  To his credit, the guy looked genuinely freaked out as she motioned with her other hand for Wes to hurry.

  Thankfully, Wes caught her drift, slammed his truck into Park and practically ran toward her, taking the porch steps in a single leap. “Is there a problem?”

  “This—” she wagged her finger at the stranger “—this...jerk says he’s my father.”

  Looking as though he’d pummel the guy if he made one wrong move, Wes cast a wary glare at the man. “State your business, sir.” Suddenly Laurel was thankful Wes was a military man.

  The stranger lifted his hands in the air. “My name is Jimmy—James—Donovan. I’m not here to make any trouble. I hired a private investigator to find my daughter, Laurel. You can check my ID and the returned letters I sent to her mother.”

  Laurel’s heart squeezed, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “You have letters?”

  “Yes.” He kept one hand in the air while the other slowly reached for his back pocket.

  Laurel shot a glance at Wes, who closely watched the man’s every move like a lion ready to pounce.

  The stranger’s hand was shaking as he held out a small stack of envelopes.

  Wes snatched them, giving them a quick once-over before passing them to Laurel.

  Looking at the top one, she saw her mother’s name, along with her grandmother’s address and the words Return to Sender. Whether it was from the implications of these letters or the thunder rumbling in the distance, a shiver skittered down her spine.

  With both hands again in the air, the stranger said, “My wallet with my ID is in my other pocket.”

  Wes didn’t hesitate to retrieve it.

  Confusion swirled through Laurel like gathering storm clouds as Sarah-Jane squawked inside. Could these letters be real? And what would it mean if they were?

  She looked at Wes. “You okay for a minute?”

  He nodded, pulling the man’s ID from his wallet.

  With a parting glance, she escaped inside, knowing she was not about to expose Sarah-Jane to this man Wes had in check. At least, she hoped he did. But considering how fit Wes was, her concern was probably for naught.

  Moving around the sofa, she saw Sarah-Jane standing at the edge of her playard, holding on to her cup.

  “What is it, baby?” Laurel set the envelopes on the counter and grabbed the small bowl of fish crackers. “Are you hungry?”

  Her wide-eyed daughter did the “more” motion.

  Even in the midst of this momentary crisis, Laurel couldn’t help but smile. “I love you so much, baby.” She kissed her daughter’s head then handed her the bowl.

  As Sarah-Jane plopped back down, curiosity pinged through Laurel’s brain. What if this man was her father?

  Retrieving the letters, she riffled through the small stack. Every one of them was postmarked thirty-two years ago. She would have been Sarah-Jane’s age.

  Setting the others aside, she opened the first envelope, pulled out a sheet of yellow legal paper and read.

  “My beloved, Brenda. I miss you more than you will ever know, and I can’t wait for you and Laurel to join me. I know I messed up but, thanks to your mother, I’m back on my feet. I’m working in the oil fields and am making more money than I ever imagined.”

  Something stopped her then. She again looked at the envelope.

  Return to Sender. The writing was her grandmother’s. She picked up the other four letters. They were all unopened with Return to Sender in her grandmother’s script.

  A sick feeling churned in Laurel’s belly. Had her mother even seen these letters? And if what this man said was true, if he really was her father, where did she go from here?

  Her eyes momentarily closed. Lord, give me wisdom.

  With Sarah-Jane content, Laurel again slipped onto the porch. Wes was still on high alert, towering over the man who now sat on her wicker love seat, his hands in his lap, concern carving deep lines into his brow. And for the first time, she noticed that he looked...frail.

  She drew in a bolstering breath, l
ooking at Wes. “It’s all right.”

  He nodded. “Are you okay if I check on Sa—?” His gaze momentarily shifted toward the stranger. “Our daughter?”

  She appreciated his concern for Sarah-Jane. Not only that, but the way he said our daughter suggested that Laurel didn’t live here alone. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”

  With a parting glance, he said, “I’m right inside if you need me.”

  A multitude of questions played across her mind as she pulled up a chair and sat down opposite the man. She studied him a moment, realizing why he looked so familiar. It was his eyes, though she wasn’t ready to admit how much they looked like hers.

  “If you are my father, why didn’t you try to find me sooner or come back to see me when I was little? I mean, couldn’t you have at least called? Didn’t you want to see me?”

  “More than you can imagine. And yes, I did think about coming back, wanting to reclaim what was rightfully mine.” He shook his head repeatedly. “But shortly after those letters were returned to me, I received another envelope with divorce papers. Your mother had signed them and expected me to do the same.” Something akin to heartache passed across his expression. “It about killed me, but I figured she’d moved on, so I signed them and sent ’em off.”

  Try as she might, Laurel was struggling to understand what he was saying. It was as though she was trying to put together a puzzle with only half of the pieces. “That doesn’t make any sense. You left me and Mom without even saying goodbye.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Is that what they told you?”

  She nodded. “Mom said you went to jail, and when you got out, she never heard from you again.”

  He dragged a weathered hand over his face. “I guess I’d better start from the beginning. That is, if you have time.” He nodded toward the door. “With the little one and all.”

  “She’s with her father.” Laurel had never imagined herself saying that before. Or that she’d be sitting on her porch with a man that could possibly be her father. “And yes, I need to know the whole story.” Not that she was ready to believe everything this stranger said.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he stared out across the lawn as clouds overtook what had been a brilliant blue sky. “Your mother and me, we were young. Fell in love in high school and married before the ink was dry on our diplomas. Of course, your grandmother wasn’t real pleased about the fact that we snuck off to the justice of the peace as opposed to having a formal church wedding. But we didn’t care. We had big dreams for ourselves.”