BEVERLY BARTON - His Secret Child

He wouldn’t be here now if there was anyplace else on earth where he could hide away and lick his wounds.

Giving the old wooden porch swing a nudge with his hand, he watched it sway back and forth and remembered the summer he’d helped his grandfather build the swing. At that time his brother Jake had already been gone six years and they’d had no idea where he was. Hank had been in the army for a year, and their tomboy sister Tallie had been only fourteen. He had just turned sixteen and his prized possession was a black 1980 Camaro, the car he later wrecked, the night after his high school graduation.

Turning around to face the house, Caleb reached under the cushion in the wooden rocker to the left of the swing. He clasped the house key in his hand. Shaking his head, he grinned. Some things never changed, especially in a place like Crooked Oak, Tennessee. Maybe that was the reason he’d come home, back to where life was uncomplicated and the people were basically good.

Using his right hand, he inserted the key in the lock, then turned the doorknob. The damn thing wouldn’t open. Was it stuck? Had Tallie changed the lock and just forgotten and left the old key under the cushion? Balling his hand into a fist, he gritted his teeth and cursed. Switching to his left hand, he turned the key again and heard a distinct click, then he grabbed the doorknob and notated it. The door opened. Caleb grunted.

The simple things were what bothered him the most because they were the things he often forgot he could no longer accomplish the way he used to. Unlocking a door should be easy, and it was, really. Just not quite as easy as it had been when his right hand had worked properly.

Caleb stared at his hand, then ran his gaze up the length of his disabled arm. Sometimes he wished they’d just sawed the damn thing off. What good was it to him, hanging there, the whole thing, from armpit to fingertips, practically useless to him?

He kicked the door open wide, picked up his suitcase and stepped into the living room. Home sweet home.

A woman’s voice, singing a few lines from an old Lionel Richie hit, drifted through the house. Caleb froze. Who the hell was here? Not Tallie. She was living in Nashville now and married to the governor of the state. Then who could it be? No one else knew he was coming home.

Maybe Tallie had hired a local woman to come in and freshen up the place. Caleb set down his suitcase, retrieved the key, then closed the door and walked toward the sound of the woman’s voice.

“Hello?” he called. “Who’s there?” He hoped whomever Tallie had hired knew how to keep her mouth shut. He really needed a few days of peace and quiet before word leaked out that the hometown celebrity had returned. He was Crooked Oak’s most famous citizen. Caleb Bishop, star pitcher for the Atlanta Braves. At least, that’s who he had been. But not anymore.

“Oh,” she gasped. “I—I didn’t expect you until tonight.”

She stood in the arched opening between the living room and dining room, a tall, rawboned blonde wearing a pair of overalls. He guessed her age to be around thirty. Her cleanscrubbed face looked vaguely familiar.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I meant to be out of here before you arrived. Tallie asked me to air out the place and bring in some supplies. She told me that you probably wouldn’t want to go into town for a few days.”

She looked at him with wide, round blue eyes. All the while she kept babbling away, apparently trying to explain her presence. It was obvious he made her nervous.

“It’s all right.” Caleb looked her over from head to toe. She was a big woman, strong and sturdy and rather attractive in a plain, wholesome way. He was sure he knew her. Why the hell couldn’t he remember who she was? “I’m glad Tallie hired you to take care of things. Will you be coming by a couple of times a week?”

“I beg your pardon?” Seeming surprised by his question, she stared at him with those big, beautiful blue eyes.

“Didn’t my sister hire you to take care of things around here for me?”

“Oh.” Her face reddened, completely obliterating the tiny smattering of Heckles across her cheekbones. “Tallie didn’t hire me. She and I are friends. I got the place ready for you as a favor to her.”

Suddenly, he remembered. “Sheila Hanley! My God, I didn’t recognize you at first.” Sheila Hanley, the girl who’d made it possible for him to pass twelfth grade English, graduate from high school and accept a college baseball scholarship. How could he not have recognized her? She’d grown older and slimmer, and her once-dark blond hair was now sun-streaked, but she hadn’t changed that much. The biggest change was in her dark blue eyes. He didn’t remember them being so cool and void of emotion.

“Sheila Vance,” she corrected him.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. You married Dan Vance and had a kid, didn’t you?” Caleb racked his brain trying to remember anything Tallie might have told him about Sheila over the years. “Sorry about Dan. He was a good man. I always liked him. You and Mike took over his share of the business after he died, didn’t you? How’s Mike doing these days? Your brother was a real pal when we were growing up.”

“Mike’s fine. He’s remarried and expecting his first child. He and I recently bought out Tallie’s share of the business. The garage and tow truck are all ours.” Sheila nodded toward the kitchen. “There’s a barbecue plate for your supper and I brought in enough supplies to last a week. I changed the linens on the bed in your old room and—”

“Thanks, Sheila, I appreciate all you’ve done.” When he took a step toward her, she backed away.

“You’re welcome. I—I’ll let myself out the back door.” She turned to walk away from him.

Caleb called out to her. “Wait.”

She halted, but didn’t face him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first,” he said.

“That’s all right. We’ve both changed a lot in twelve years.”

“Why didn’t I see you at Gramps’s funeral or Tallie’s wedding?” Sheila was one of his sister’s best friends. He couldn’t understand her absence at the only two family events that had been important enough to bring him home.

“I was there, Caleb. You just don’t remember. No reason you should. You flew in and right back out the day of your grandfather’s funeral. I never got a chance to speak to you.” Turning slowly, Sheila faced Caleb. “And the day Tallie got married, you arrived late. Besides, I don’t think you could see anyone except your girlfriend that day. You couldn’t keep your eyes off her.”

The mere mention of Kimberly knotted Caleb’s stomach. He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the pain, but Kimberly’s face flashed through his mind. Brown eyes. Large, laughing mouth. Delicate body. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d been crazy about her. And he’d killed her.

Noticing the sorrow in Caleb’s black eyes, Sheila regretted that she’d said anything about the woman he had loved and lost. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I—”

“It’s okay,” Caleb said. “Kimberly died nearly a year ago. I should be able to handle talking about her. Besides, you’re right. When I brought her home with me to Tallie’s wedding, she was the only woman I could see.”

“She was very beautiful,” Sheila told him. “Everyone thought so. You two made a striking pair. A perfect couple.” She would never forget how ugly and insignificant she’d felt when she’d watched them together—Caleb and the delicately slender supermodel who had been his latest live-in lover at the time. They’d both been absolutely perfect in face and form and so totally “right” as a couple.

“We’re not so perfect anymore, are we?” Caleb rubbed his aching right arm. “Kim’s dead and I’m . . .I’m useless.”