Declan

by Chris Keniston

  DJ waited till he was in front of her to slip his sunglasses into his pocket and remove his hat. "'Fraid not."

  "Oh." Her smile slipped just a pinch.

  "Is Christopher around?"

  Color drained from her face and she nodded her head. "He broke his arm horsing around with some friends. Doc said he should take it easy for a couple of days. 'Course that's easier said than done. You know how boys are. Always full of energy." She waved him into the house.

  He smiled and offered a polite nod. "I'd like to ask him a few questions."

  "Of course. Follow me."

  Inside the large den, the twins were corralled in an oversize playpen. One on his feet, gnawing on the padded edges, the other sitting in the middle happily stacking miscellaneous shaped building blocks. So alike and so different. On the sofa, DJ's prime suspect was surrounded with food, drink, and a stack of videos that told DJ the kid was getting the royal worried mother treatment. Well, that would be changing shortly.

  "Christopher, Police Chief Farraday's here to talk to you."

  DJ almost laughed at the stricken look that crossed the kid's face. Busted.

  There hadn't been any need for an inquisition. The kid stiffened his upper lip, lifted his chin, and too quickly said, "It wasn't me."

  Hands on her hips, Mary Brady's gaze narrowed on her middle son. "What wasn't you?"

  And that was that. The kid spilled his guts, and by the time his mother was finished with him, he was pretty much grounded for life, and all DJ had asked was, "How's the arm?"

  DJ suspected that this was either going to be the end or the beginning. By the time Jim Brady made his way back to the house and reminded his son of what was expected from him, the kid had given up the names of his cohorts, agreed to rebuild each and every mailbox, as well as do extra chores at the five homes. And pretty much anything else the homeowners ask of him, for what may prove to be the rest of his underage life. Christopher would either straighten up or if there was a next time, find his way to the inside of a cell.

  For the kid's sake DJ hoped it never came to the latter. Now, back in his office, he downed another cup of coffee, not sure if he would ever be truly awake again. What he didn't get was after parents spent months of sleepless nights with one child, why would they have any more? And his parents had had seven. He shook his head and took another sip.

  "What you need is a nap." Esther stood in the doorway, a covered dish in hand. "I brought you a piece of Frank's blueberry pie. You'll get a nice sugar rush."

  "Until I crash."

  "If you're gonna keep helping the Wilson girl take care of that baby, you'd better get used to sugar rushes. That may be all that keeps you going until they find the parents or the baby graduates high school."

  High school? That had DJ looking up.

  "What? You think a parent's problems stop when the baby sleeps through the night? Lord, no. There's colic." She stopped halfway to his desk. "Does the baby have colic?"

  He thought what colic meant with the ranch animals. "Don't think so."

  "How often is she waking up?" Esther set the dish in front of him.

  "Every. Two. Hours."

  A knowing grin slid across his dispatcher's face. "Gotta love babies." She sighed. "Like I was saying, after they get to sleeping through the night, then there's teething, and walking, and terrible twos, trying threes." Esther stopped and shook her head. "But all you have to last through is a few nights till they find the parents or a permanent home for that little one." She waved a finger at the dish on his desk. "Better eat up. You're gonna need all the energy you can get."

  Several things crossed DJ's mind. First was a newfound respect for single parents everywhere. He understood he was supposed to be staying at Becky's to help. The delusion being that by taking turns they would get more sleep. In fact, all that happened was one would rock or change the diaper while the other heated the bottle. And if by some chance one of them, usually Becky, managed to change, feed, and rock the baby back to sleep on their own, the other one of them was wide awake and alert in case they were needed. He definitely needed to give single parents way more credit.

  Following Brooklyn's instructions for a quick DNA analysis, the infant's swab was sealed and bagged and ready to send off for evaluation. Finn hadn't found anything at the ranch of Ethan's that could easily be used for DNA testing. Though they'd discussed a pair of riding gloves, the chances of making that work were too low. Instead DJ did a swab of his own and figured mitochondrial DNA would at least pinpoint if Brittany was a Farraday. Unless another brother indulged in a little R&R at the marine air base—unlikely with none of the brothers leaving town for more than a few hours in over a year—the only way Brittany's dad could share DNA with D.J. would be if Ethan was indeed the proud papa. So both samples were now ready for the hour of truth.

  Which brought DJ back to other thoughts knocking around in his brain. If indeed this sweet baby, and she certainly was sweet, proved to be Ethan's daughter, there was no way in hell Ethan could care for her. Not only was his deployment a problem, but Ethan's swashbuckling nature did not blend well with burping a baby all night long. Which meant, at least for now, someone else would have to care for her. The logical choice would be Aunt Eileen. She certainly knew more about raising little girls than any of his brothers. Probably knew more about it than his dad too. His sister Grace turned out all right, even if she was a bit on the free-spirited side. He didn't doubt his sister's strengths were all Aunt Eileen's doing. Lord only knows how she would have turned out with a bunch of boys bringing her up. Of course, any of his married or soon to be married brothers could take on the job. Not that raising your brother's baby was a great way to start a marriage.

  Scrubbing at his face as though the gesture would be enough to wash away the exhaustion and frustration, he blew out a bellowing sigh and wondered how Becky was holding up with Brittany at work.

  ***

  "At this rate, we might as well stop pretending to get any work done." Kelly swayed with Brittany while Pat, the lab tech, stood nearby waiting her turn.

  And that hadn't taken into account the time Becky had spent introducing her to all the clients in the waiting room, or feeding, changing, and rocking her.

  "How's our girl doing?" Adam came in from the large animal building out back. He'd just finished doing a thorough horse check up for a new family moving into town. One finger sticking straight out, Adam used it to tickle the baby's tummy.

  So far, Brittany hadn’t shared a smile, but instead did a great deal of studying the people around her. While she didn't seem abused or mistreated, no diaper rash or anything else that would indicate she'd been less than well cared for, there simply weren't any contented smiles.

  "You're frowning, Becky." Adam straightened and took a step away from the baby. "Something wrong?"

  "Oh nothing. Wool gathering again."

  "Right." Adam smiled and shook his head. "Are we ordering lunch to eat here or taking the baby to the café?"

  "Word’s out," Pat said over her shoulder. "So it doesn't much matter what you do."

  Of course, Nadine Peabody and her hussy cat Sadie had been the first patient this morning. The woman was second in line to Burt Larson as the best gossip in town. She had barely set foot out the door before neighbors and friends began phoning or popping by to check on the little girl.

  "I'm pretty sure there's a pool going too." Kelly handed the infant off to Pat. "According to Ned from the garage, with those pretty blue eyes, odds are really low on the brown-eyed bachelors in town, but if her eyes start to change any time soon…" Kelly wiggled her brows and laughed.

  The betting pool gave them all something to joke about, but there wasn't anything very funny about it for Becky. Deep down in her gut she felt sure the mother hadn't lied on the birth certificate and this little girl was a Farraday. And if the way Brittany studied everyone who came near was any indication, she would grow up to be a smart Farraday. Maybe even a military pilot like her daddy. "They
don't let stupid people fly planes," she mumbled.

  "What?" Baby on her shoulder, Pat spun around to face Becky.

  "Just muttering to myself."

  "About what?" Pat asked again.

  "We're spoiling her." Becky sure didn't want to repeat what she'd been thinking. "She hasn't been put down for five minutes since we got here this morning. I'm just wondering which one of you is going to be pacing the floors with her when three in the morning rolls around."

  "Did I hear the phone ring?" Pat handed back the baby with a final gentle pat.

  "I guess I should get at least a little bit of work done." Kelly retreated a step, still close enough to gently rub her hand along the baby's downy soft hair, and at the same time keep an eye on Adam as he closed his office door behind him. "But if it means warming up to DJ Farraday, I might be willing to volunteer for a little late night visit." Her voice had intentionally dropped an octave to give the statement a May West affect.

  It worked. The old catch phrase, Why don't you come up and see me some time, shot instantly to mind and Becky was none too pleased about it. Not that she had any interest or claim in DJ, but…but what?

  "You're frowning again." Kelly looked up at her friend.

  No buts. She didn't like Kelly teasing about DJ and she didn't need a reason to not like it. "I thought you had some spreadsheets to get to."

  "So much like your grandmother," Kelly mumbled on her way back to the front desk.

  Growing up, Becky had hated being compared to her mother or grandmother. Two bossy women. By the time she was out of high school, it struck her that the women in her family were strong, kind, dependable and respected and loved by everyone around them. Including by her. Being compared to her grandmother now was just about the best compliment she could get.

  With Brittany asleep on her shoulder, Becky reluctantly eased the infant onto the cradle pad in the break room and resisted the temptation to lay down beside her and catch a few winks of her own. Now would be a good time to check in with Grace.

  Sitting down at the nearby computer, she pulled up the messaging program and hit chat. Blinking a few times, she'd almost closed the program and lay her head on the desk when a ding had her springing upright.

  Bright smile and all, Grace appeared on the screen. "Well, hi stranger."

  It had been quite a few days since they'd spoken. "Pot calling kettle black. I'm not the one up to my eyeballs in textbooks."

  "Ugh," Grace groaned. "Don't remind me. Have I mentioned how much I hate tests?"

  Becky laughed. "Since pre-school."

  "We didn't have tests in pre-school." Grace rolled her eyes. "Remind me again why I thought law school was a good idea."

  "Seriously? You're asking me that now?"

  This time Grace was the one to offer a muffled laugh. "Okay, so I'm just whining a little. What has you online in the middle of work day?"

  "A baby."

  Grace’s eyes circled wide and her face took up the whole screen as she leaned forward. "You're pregnant?"

  "No. You have to have sex to get pregnant."

  "Okay," Grace eased back in her chair. "You had me there for a minute. So why are you online?”

  "There really is a baby. I'm the temporary foster parent."

  "Ah." Grace bobbed her head. "Now it all makes sense. And explains the rings under the eyes. You look like hell."

  "Gee, thanks." Obviously none of the brothers had contacted Grace to update her on what was going on, and Becky didn't feel comfortable spilling all the beans. "She was left on the police station steps."

  Scowling, Grace sprang forward again. "In Tuckers Bluff? Do we know who the worthless mother is?"

  Becky shook her head. "Only a name. She's not from here."

  "How do you know her name?"

  "She left a birth certificate and release of parental rights."

  "Sounds pretty tidy." A rap on the door sounded and Grace looked down to the corner of the screen. "Crap, I'm late. Have to run. Tell big brother to shoot me a copy of the papers and I'll take a look at them. See if they're on the up and up."

  "Will do." Becky waved at the computer. Grace waved back and then the screen went black.

  Rubbing her eyes, Becky blew out a sigh, her forehead resting on the heels of her palm.

  "I know how you feel." DJ’s voice carried from the doorway. He'd spoken softly, but the deep timbre carried easily. "I gather she's behaving."

  Becky nodded. "Hard not to with all the attention she's getting."

  "You'd think she was the Second Coming the way word is spreading around town." He stepped closer to watch the sleeping baby.

  "Everyone loves a good mystery. Whose baby is she? Why was she left in Tuckers Bluff? Is the mama local or the daddy or both? Lots of questions. Same ones Grace asked."

  "You spoke?"

  Becky nodded. "Just for a few minutes. She was running late. I told her about the baby but not about Ethan.

  "What did she say?"

  "For you to send her the papers the mother left and she'd see if they were on the up and up."

  One side of his mouth tipped up with amusement. He was most likely thinking the same thing she was. Sometimes it was hard to picture free-spirited Grace as a by-the-book-lawyer.

  "I don't know what I would have said if she'd asked too many questions."

  DJ looked from the baby to Becky. "I sent the samples overnight. We'll have some information soon."

  Becky wasn't sure how she felt about that. A huge part of her liked the idea of Ethan having a reason to come home and stay home. Another part of her wondered if he would simply take Brittany away closer to his base. Or maybe track down the mother and marry her. Of all the options, the latter made the most sense. The Farradays were fiercely loyal. Proud and honorable rolled easily off anyone's tongue when talking about the family. As old fashioned as it sounded, doing the right thing would be exactly that for a Farraday. Even Ethan. Then there was always the remote possibility that the mother had lied. Had simply put the name of the nicest guy she'd slept with on the birth certificate and hoped for the best. Becky wished she knew more about the woman.

  "I notified social services." DJ lowered his voice even further, as though afraid the baby might hear and be offended. "As expected, they're swamped, but we can expect a visit from the county in the not too distant future."

  "How soon do you think?"

  DJ shrugged. "Could be tomorrow as easily as it could be next month. I'm hoping whenever the county sees fit to get heavily involved, it's after we know if she's a Farraday."

  "What about the mother? Will they need to contact her?"

  Shaking his head, DJ ran a hand behind his neck and looked up. "The last envelope contained a voluntary termination of parental rights."

  "Boy," Becky turned her attention to the sleeping baby, "she really doesn't want her daughter, does she?"

  "I think that was pretty clear when she left Brittany in a box alone on a doorstep," DJ snapped.

  Becky sucked in a breath. She wasn't used to snarky responses from him or his brothers. All the years she'd spent hanging out with Grace at the Farraday house, and as often as she and Grace harassed or pranked them, not once had they barked at her.

  "Sorry." DJ blew out a heavy sigh. "I'm a little tired."

  "I was just thinking about the time Grace and I painted Adam’s toenails while he was sleeping."

  One side of DJ's mouth tipped upward.

  "When he woke up and realized his toenails—and most of his toes—were shocking pink, he went after you and Connor."

  "I remember," DJ said. "He had me pinned against the wall by the collar when you two came into the room and Grace asked if he didn't like the color."

  "That's when I said, I told you to use red." Becky couldn't stop from smiling. Her memories of growing up with the Farradays felt like home. "Adam looked at us with our fingers and toes painted red and pink, then letting go of your shirt took a step toward us, squatted, and very calmly for a sixteen-y
ear-old said, please don't do that again without asking."

  DJ shrugged. "Adam always tried to be the reasonable one."

  "So did you." She wondered if he'd remember what she was thinking about.

  His eyes narrowed a moment before recollection hit. "Ah. The eye shadow." The other side of his mouth tilted up to even out his smile. "You were older then. Six, I think."

  Becky nodded. "When you woke up—"

  "Because Adam and Brooks were laughing so hard," he added.

  "Yes. You didn't get angry, you let us put blush and lipstick on you too."

  "It made sense. You both were having fun and it wasn't like Adam or Brooks could laugh any harder." He chuckled and shook his head. "And thank God there were no cell phone cameras in those days."

  "True."

  "I’m sorry I snapped. With everything else going on, this situation is fraying on my last nerve."

  "Anything I can help with?"

  He glanced at the baby and up at her. "You already are." His cell sounded. "Farraday."

  Becky couldn't hear who was on the other end.

  DJ squeezed his eyes, mumbled shit and turned on his heel. "Have Reed meet me and then call Brooks. I'll be there in a minute."

  The way DJ had already crossed the office at a brisk pace, Becky knew whatever was happening, it wasn't good. "Be careful."

  DJ spun around to face her. She had the distinct feeling he'd forgotten she was in the room. He nodded and tore through the waiting room and out the door.

  "Where's the fire?" Kelly asked.

  Becky shrugged.

  "Oh my God." Pat came running from the back. "Polly from the Cut and Curl just called. Jake Thomas has gone berzerk. He's locked himself in the feed store." Pat sucked in a deep breath, scanning the area. "Where's Doc?"

  "Exam room 2." Kelly waved a thumb over her shoulder.

  "I need to tell him about Meg."

  Adam opened the exam room door in time to catch Pat's words. "What about my wife?"