Muriel Jensen - Four Reasons For Fatherhood

Susan had agreed without even stopping to consider, certain that nothing could happen to the robust young woman of twenty-one and her twenty-four-year-old husband.

But apparently God hadn’t forbidden, and eight years and three more children later, Susan was having to live up to her promise.

She was more than willing. Becky had been her childhood companion, and, after their parents had passed away, her only tie to family.

She couldn’t help, though, feeling resentful of the boys’ business-mogul/playboy uncle, who hadn’t bothered to get in touch until last night, four days after the accident. Who hadn’t even made it to New Jersey on time for his brother and sister-in-law’s memorial service today. And who now had the boys mesmerized like some London Fog-clad Svengali.

Then he got to his feet and bringing the boys with him, met Susan at the bottom of the steps.

He took Ringo from her and hugged him. The toddler allowed it, though he studied him a little warily.

“Hey, pal,” the man said, “I’m your uncle Aaron. I’m glad to see you got the Bradley good looks, too.” He pinched Ringo’s nose between his knuckles and the boy giggled.

Aaron Bradley’s gaze moved to Susan and rested on her a moment before he spoke, as though he thought he might analyze and understand her first.

It surprised her when she saw the slight shift in his eyes from open friendliness to cautious reserve. Had he been able to read her resentment?

He held Ringo in one arm and offered her his free hand. “You must be Susan,” he said closing his hand over hers. It was large and warm. “We spoke last night on the phone. I’m Aaron Bradley, Dave’s brother.”

She smiled politely. “Yes, I know,” she said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry for yours.” He withdrew his hand and angled his chin toward the church. “I can’t believe I missed the memorial service.”

“Crisis at the office?” she asked. The question had been a little glib, and she saw in his eyes that he’d noted that.

“Fog in San Francisco, actually,” he replied after a moment, his voice quiet and controlled. “My connecting flight got socked in for a couple of hours.”

“Aaron,” a male voice called from behind Susan. “Hi. I’m sorry about Dave.”

Aaron’s grim features brightened into a smile as he extended his hand again. “Micah! How are you?”

A big dark-haired man in a cashmere coat came around Susan to shake hands with Aaron Bradley. “I’m good,” he said. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to see you, but when you weren’t in church, I was afraid something prevented you from coming.”

“I was just telling Susan that my flight was delayed by fog in San Francisco. Susan, I’d like you to meet Micah Steadwell, an old school friend of mine. Micah, this is Susan Turner, Dave’s wife’s cousin.”

Micah took her hand and brought it to his lips to plant a kiss on her knuckles. His courtly behavior was a surprise, but didn’t seem like an act. He was a man, she guessed, with a unique style.

“Hello Ms. Turner,” he said gravely. “I’m so sorry about your cousin.”

“Thank you, Mr. Steadwell,” she replied.

Micah turned to Aaron. “Are you taking the boys home with you?”

Aaron indicated Susan with a jut of his chin. “No, Dave and Becky wanted Susan to have custody.”

Micah nodded. “Of course. Well.” He clapped Aaron on the shoulder. “I own the Knight Club now, near the Princeton Shopping Center. I’d like you and Susan to come as my guests before you go home. I know you don’t feel like partying, but I’d love to treat you to dinner if you have time.”

Aaron shook his head apologetically. “Doesn’t look good. I’ll only be here a couple of days. But I appreciate that you came, Micah.”

“Sure.” Micah shook his hand again and handed him a business card. “We’ll have to stay in better touch. Mom and Ross said to say hello.”

Aaron nodded. “Give them my love.”

“Will do. Bye, Ms. Turner.”

As Micah left Aaron pointed behind him to the limousine, the liveried driver waiting by the rear passenger door. “Susan, let me take you and the boys home.”

She pointed to a man and woman standing off to one side, waiting. “Those are friends of Dave’s and Becky’s who drove us to the church. They’re waiting to—”

He handed Ringo back to her. “You get the boys into the limo and I’ll explain.”

He had covered the few steps to the waiting couple and was already smiling and shaking hands before she could protest. As large drops of rain began to fall, accompanied by a low rumble of thunder, she herded the other three boys toward the limo with her free hand.

The driver, a rotund older man with a cheerful expression, opened the door for them and held Ringo for her while she climbed inside. Then he handed the toddler in.

The boys were immediately pushing buttons opening and closing windows and the privacy panel, turning on the small television, discovering the wine decanter and glasses.

Since she’d arrived in their home, Susan had learned that a mother of four boys should be equipped with eight arms.

She was still trying to reclaim control when Aaron climbed into the limo and sat opposite her. He took the crystal stopper from Paul, replaced it in the decanter, closed the windows, turned off the overhead light, then found cartoons on the television.

The boys were instantly glued to it. Susan scrambled around to buckle seat belts. Aaron glanced at his watch. “Nearly noon,” he said. “Should we go to lunch?”

“Uh…” She had an instant image of the ordeal mealtime had been during the past few days. John ate nothing, Paul ate everything, George made designs with his food, and Ringo preferred to see his food on the floor. And while all this was going on, the boys harrassed each other mercilessly. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Socially, I mean.”

“We’ll go to a fast-food place,” he countered, “where they’re used to dealing with messy kids. And the kids might enjoy the playland thing, get to blow off some steam.”

That was true. “All right.” She glanced at his expensive raincoat. “But you might want to cover yourself in plastic. There’s food over everything when they’re finished eating.”

He shrugged off the warning. “Winston,” he called through the open privacy screen, “Find us a Burger Hut.”

“You got it, Mr. Bradley.”

The boys made a pretext of eating, but once they spotted the maze of wide plastic tubes through which other children chased each other, food was secondary to the desire to join them. Ringo, mercifully, had fallen asleep in Susan’s lap.

“Can we go now, Uncle Aaron?” John pleaded. The other two boys jumped up and down in anticipation.

Aaron deferred to Susan. It was a diplomatic gesture she could appreciate in sentiment, but considering the boys seemed suddenly to revolve in his orbit, it was an empty concession.

But she would have to deal with them when he was gone, so she took control. “Yes, you can, but no punching or kicking or you’ll have to come in. I’ll be able to watch you through the window.”

They nodded in unison, pushing and shoving each other before they even got to the door that led to the covered play area.

AARON STUDIED the young woman across the table from him as she shifted the child from the crook of her arm to lean against her breast. Where her silky black blouse plunged into a V neck, her skin was alabaster in contrast. Her eyes were dark and soft, with shadowy patches under them as though she was very tired. Her cheeks were pink, her lips the color of Chianti, and the whole berries-and-cream look of her was set off by thick dark hair that was caught back in a knot.