A Dad Of His Own. Diana Whitney
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been invited to follow, he clasped his hands behind his back, rocked impatiently on the balls of his feet. He glanced at his watch, then back toward the basement door. Sounds filtered up. A clunk, a thunk, a rustling scratch, as if something heavy had been dragged across metal.
It was a two-hour drive back to Marin County. If he left now, he’d make it before midnight.
More scraping from downstairs. Nick sidled toward the doorway, peered down the narrow basement stairs. A low ceiling obstructed his view, so he descended the first few steps. Fluorescent lights flooded the room with brilliant illumination. Two more steps, and he stopped in his tracks, stunned by what he saw.
The huge basement had been transformed into a large assembly bay, with supply bins and long counters heaped with fabric. Sheaths of dried weeds and flowers hung from the rafters, and one section was a mailing area, complete with stacks of boxes, tapes and labels. “Good grief,” he mumbled. “You’ve got quite an operation down here.”
Startled, Chessa leaped away from the large dehydrator into which she’d been arranging the carved apples, touched her throat, then sagged against the counter.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Continuing down the steps, Nick glanced around the room, noticing an old sewing machine on a counter heaped with bolts of cloth, and bins of what appeared to be tiny doll clothes. “You actually sell these things?”
“Yes.” Across the room, Chessa completed loading the apples without embellishment. She’d been quiet all day and apparently wasn’t feeling any more talkative now.
Nick sauntered past the mailing area, glancing at a few of the packed boxes, which had been neatly labeled to specialty stores around the country. “A nationwide clientele? I’m impressed.”
She closed the door, crossed her arms and regarded him warily. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Puffing his cheeks, Nick blew out a breath and jammed his hands in his slacks pockets. “I didn’t mean to intrude. You left the basement door open, so I presumed you didn’t mind if I joined you.”
“I always leave the door open so I can hear Bobby.” Her gaze skittered away, settled on a spot in thin air. “He sometimes wakes up during the night.”
“Nightmares?”
“No, not really. He just wants to make certain I’m here.”
Nick regarded a nervous twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Has he ever awakened and not found you here?”
The nervous twitch hardened into a flat, angry line. “I have always been here for my son,” she snapped. “How dare you imply otherwise?”
He managed to stifle a groan of regret at having uttered such an asinine and insensitive comment. “I’m sorry. Of course you have. We both know that I’m the one who hasn’t been here. I can’t change the past. I’m here now, and I intend to be part of my son’s life from this day forward.”
Every trace of color drained from her face. She swayed slightly, and for a moment Nick feared her knees might buckle. As he reached out, she stiffened, held out a hand like a shield. Since she appeared ready to bolt, he dropped his hands to his side and stepped back, giving her space.
She took one deep breath, then another. When she finally met his gaze, her expression was steel hard and determined. “I realize you’ve been put in an untenable position, Mr. Purcell, and I deeply regret it. Please understand that none of this is your fault, but my son is my first and only priority. The longer this goes on, the more deeply he will be hurt. I don’t want you to be a part of his life. In fact, I don’t want you to see him again. Ever.”
For a moment Nick simply stared at her. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
Her chest deflated slightly, as if she’d exhaled all her air at once. The relief in her eyes stung. “I’m the one who is sorry. You’ve been very kind to Bobby, and I appreciate it. I would also appreciate you respecting my wishes.”
“I do respect your wishes. Unfortunately I cannot and will not honor them.”
Comprehension dawned slowly in her eyes, which widened from disbelief into an appealing combination of anger and indignation. “Perhaps you didn’t understand. I do not want you to have any further contact with my son.”
“I understand perfectly.” Nick, too, was growing angry. “But I’ve already been denied nine years of my son’s life. I have no intention of being denied any more of it.”
“Bobby is not your son!” The words were shrill and sharp, shockingly so. Recovering quickly, she clasped her hands, hiked her chin with royal dignity. “I’ve already apologized. I don’t know what else to do. I never meant for you to become involved in this. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined—” Biting her lower lip, she struggled for control. She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Please, just leave us alone.”
Inside, Chessa was shaking so violently she feared she might collapse.
Bobby is not your son.
She’d said it. The words were out. There was nothing she could do to make amends to Nick Purcell for all that she’d put him through, but he seemed a strong man, and despite his shaky start in life, she believed he was a good man, as well. Eventually she would try to explain what had happened. Maybe he’d understand; maybe he wouldn’t. Either way Nick Purcell had always been a survivor.
Bobby was another matter. Her beloved child had wrapped all his hopes and dreams around this man, hopes and dreams that his own mother hadn’t even recognized. Chessa would carve out her own heart to avoid hurting her son, but there seemed no way to avoid it now. For a brief and shining moment, he’d had a dad of his own. Now she had to take that away from him.
He would hate her for it.
Footsteps snapped across the concrete floor, catching her attention. Nick Purcell was leaving. A rush of relief was tempered by a peculiar sense of loss. She wasted no time analyzing that. An interminable night stretched before her, an agonizing night during which she must decide the gentlest way to break her son’s heart.
At the base of the stairs Nick stopped abruptly. “I’ll be here Tuesday afternoon around four. Please inform my son that I’ll meet him at the soccer field, as planned.”
Nick had moved halfway up the stairs before Chessa found her voice. “Wait!”
He favored her with a cool look. “Yes?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?”
“I heard you.”
“Bobby is not your son.”
“This says that he is,” Nick replied, patting the breast pocket into which he’d slipped the copy of Bobby’s birth certificate. “You’ve done a fine job raising our child, Chessa. After all these years, I can understand why you wouldn’t be pleased by the prospect of sharing him. But share him you will, or our lawyers will meet in court and the truth will be laid bare.”
The truth. Laid bare. In court, where her son would be devastated by it
Chessa couldn’t let that happen. Not now, not ever.
Nick’s gaze burned straight into her soul. “Do we understand each other?”
Somehow she managed to lift her chin a notch to keep it from quivering. “Yes, we understand each other.”
“Tuesday, then. You’ll tell him?”
“I’ll tell him.”
With a curt nod Nick strode up the stairs. A moment later Chessa heard the front door open and close. Only then did she sag against the drying counter and allow the tears to flow.
All these years she’d believed her secret was safe. She hadn’t realized how desperately her son wanted a father, nor could she possibly have imagined how desperately Nick wanted to be one.
There