M.J. Rodgers - Baby Vs. The Bar

Children, particularly ones this young, seldom looked like their parents. This one certainly didn’t look like Remy at all. But Louie Demerchant was absolutely right. He did look exactly, uncannily, like David Demerchant.

Until that second—that very second—Marc had not believed it possible. But looking at that little toddler and his antics, he now had no doubt. This boy was his dead friend’s son.

“What are you doing in here!” an angry voice demanded from behind them.

Marc whirled around and came face-to-face with the golden flames in the cinnamon eyes of one very angry Dr. Remy Westbrook.

He had absolutely no idea what to say to her. Louie Demerchant suffered no such hesitation. He bounded forward and wrapped his big arms around the mother of his great-grandson, crushing her to his barrel chest in an old-fashioned bear hug.

“Thank you so much for having him! You don’t know what you’ve done for me!”

* * *

REMY PUSHED AGAINST Louie Demerchant’s chest, trying to free herself from the unwanted, exuberant embrace. But despite his seventy-five-plus years, the tall, silver-and-auburn-haired man proved to be as strong as an ox. She couldn’t budge him.

She lifted her head, ready to demand he let her go, but found she couldn’t when she saw the tears swimming in his moist gray eyes.

Damn.

Louie Demerchant was crazy, of course. But he was obviously sincere. She could forgive this deluded old man who was so desperate to find a great-grandson. But his controlling, pushy attorney was another matter altogether. She deeply resented this impossible position he’d just put her in with Demerchant. Deeply.

After a moment, Louie Demerchant released her and turned his head away, pulling an old-fashioned handkerchief out of his pocket to dry his eyes. Remy immediately faced Marc Truesdale, the real culprit in this awkward assembly.

She kept her tone quiet and controlled, but it took a lot of effort. “If you are not out of here in one minute, I’m calling campus security to throw you out.”

“We have a pass to tour the center,” Marc countered with all the polish of his brassy manner as he stepped forward and fished a paper out of his suit pocket. He grasped her hand and slid the paper into it.

Remy took a deep, startled breath as she felt the bold insistence of his warm touch melting inside her like hot molasses. The physical reaction to his touch infuriated her, but it excited her, too. Very much. Too damn much.

His eyes held hers until she tore them away to look at what he had forced into her hand. She snatched both the pass and her hand from out of his grasp.

She looked at the pass, then at Demerchant, and finally back to Marc. “So now it becomes clear who the mysterious anonymous donor of twenty thousand dollars is and why Dr. Feeson kept trying to delay me in his office.”

“Mr. Demerchant just wanted to see—”

“You don’t have to tell me what Mr. Demerchant wanted to see,” Remy interrupted Marc, her eyes blazing as she tore up the pass. “This paper is worthless. There are no unescorted passes to my building.”

She swung back to face the older man. “Mr. Demerchant, I understand you are in pain over your tragic loss, but you will only invite more pain if you allow yourself to be deluded further. My child is not your great-grandson.”

Louie Demerchant smiled indulgently as he pointed to Nicholas, who was now being firmly held by the male lab assistant on the other side of the soundproof glass. “But he is, Dr. Westbrook. It’s all over his cute little mug. What’s his name?”

Remy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Please leave. Both of you,” she said, far more calmly than she felt. “Immediately.”

“Let me bring by a baby video of David that we had made from an old home movie,” Louie pleaded. “All you have to do is take a look.”

“Mr. Demerchant, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to look at your grandson’s baby video. Even if there is a resemblance between him and my child, it proves nothing. A lot of babies resemble adults who are not their parents. Now, this is over. Leave.”

“Come on, Mr. Demerchant,” Marc said, taking hold of his arm. “We’d best go.”

“But he’s David’s child! He’s my great-grandchild!” Louie protested.

“Mr. Demerchant, I’ll handle this.”

Remy watched as Louie Demerchant reluctantly let Marc lead him toward the door. But just before they exited the room, Marc turned to Remy, his lips drawn back into a charming smile, his cobalt blue eyes icy with intent. “I’ll be back,” he said.

It was a promise. And a threat.

A crazy shiver filled with both excitement and dread ran up Remy’s spine.

She was still listening to the echoes of their shoes down the long corridor and fighting her conflicting emotions, when Phil wheeled herself in from the sign-language room.

“Well, Nicholas has pulled his strip act again and... Remy? For heaven’s sake, you look ghastly. What’s up?”

“Phil, I’m beginning to think a trip out of the country might not be such a bad idea, after all. Do you think you could carry on without Nicholas and me for a few weeks?”

“ You’re considering leaving your work? Remy, what’s happened?”

Remy told Phil about the visit from Demerchant and Marc Truesdale.

“So the old guy thinks Nicholas is his great-grandson. So what?”

“What if he comes back?”

“You throw him out. Remy, the guy can think anything he wants. He can’t do anything about it. Nicholas is yours. You have the right to say who sees him and who doesn’t.”

As always, Phil was right. Remy nodded. But she still worried. Because she had seen something Phil hadn’t. She had seen Marc Truesdale’s eyes when he said he would be back.

* * *

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked the jury, who had returned after less than an hour’s deliberation.

“Yes, we have, Your Honor,” the foreman said.

“And what is that verdict?” she asked.

“We find for the plaintiff, Mr. Louie Demerchant, in the amount of ten million dollars,” the short man with the big nose and receding chin said with a smile.

Louie Demerchant reached for Marc’s hand and gave it a hearty shake as the courtroom erupted in response. The judge rapped for order and got only a halfhearted compliance. She gave up, thanked the jury and quickly adjourned.

“You did a hell of a job, Truesdale,” Demerchant said as they remained at the plaintiff’s table and let the courtroom clear.

“You got that Binick good,” Colin Demerchant echoed as he and his wife, Heddy, came forward to congratulate Marc.

Marc acknowledged the praise with a brief nod in the direction of David’s parents.

“Now, what are you going to do about my great-grandson?” Louie demanded.

Marc had expected the question. But he hadn’t expected to discuss it in front of Colin and Heddy. Marc didn’t have a whole lot of respect for the couple who had ignored their only son for most of his life.

“There’s plenty of time to decide,” Marc said evasively, gathering up his papers.

Louie turned to his son and daughter-in-law. “Why don’t you two go see the woman in Kent who has those eighteenth-century English enamel boxes for sale that you are so eager to add to your collection. I’ve some things to discuss with Truesdale, here.”

“She’s asking fifteen thousand apiece,” Colin said, leaning toward his father. “You’ll cover my check?”

“I will not,” Louie said, his irritation clear. “What do you do with your money?”

Colin’s smile flashed all his teeth, suddenly making them appear as the most prominent feature in his face. “I spend it, of course. That’s what money is for.”