Carol Voss - Instant Daddy

The little guy pointed to himself. “Jake.”

“Jake? Then Jake it is.”

“Tomut.” The boy held up a small toy for Peter to admire.

Peter took a step closer.

Jessie shot between them, eyes flashing. “What do you want?” She stared at the bag in his hand.

He raked his hand through his thick, short hair and decided to lay it on the line. “I need a cheek swab from each of you for DNA testing.”

“DNA testing?”

“You and Clarissa were identical twins, so you have the same DNA. A sample from you will strengthen the DNA test probabilities.”

She shook her head. “I need to talk to my lawyer before I agree to that.”

He frowned. “I think we both know a DNA test is just a formality. But it will clear up lingering doubts. I’d like to take samples back to Madison with me. Will you call your lawyer? I need to get on the road soon.”

She chewed her pretty bottom lip.

“I phoned my attorney,” he said. “He told me I have a legal right to my son.”

She shot him a scowl. “Do you know anything about kids?”

Absolutely nothing. But… “I’m a quick study.”

“I’ll take that to mean you don’t know about kids or the practicalities of having a toddler in your life.”

He rubbed his forehead, which had begun to throb. “Jessie…I’m still getting used to the fact that my son exists. Practicalities might take me a little while.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is sarcasm the best you can do, Dr. Sheridan?”

“Sorry. I’ve been caught a little off guard here.”

“And I haven’t?” She blew out an impatient breath.

“Pedo.” Jake held up the toy again.

Jessie turned to the little guy. “Mommy’s talking to Peter right now, sweetheart.”

“No.” Jake shook his head. “Pedo. Tomut.”

Giving Peter a warning look, she stepped aside.

Peter strode over and squatted to peer at the blue engine Jake held in his chubby fist. “Nice train.” He pointed at the mural. “Just like the picture.”

“Tomut.”

Peter looked up to Jessie. “I think we need an interpreter.”

She swallowed as if forcing down a bitter pill. “He’s saying Thomas—the name of his favorite engine.”

“Thank you.” He tried to smile. No doubt coming face to face with Jake’s dad had to be a shock for her. Maybe as much of a shock as Peter finding out he had a son.

Jake reached out and fingered the colorful tie hanging loosely around Peter’s neck. “Putty?”

“Putty,” Peter agreed, whatever it meant.

“He thinks your tie is pretty,” Jessie offered.

“Oh…pretty.” Peter glanced over his shoulder at her. “Thank you.”

“Nana? Weesa?”

Peter squinted, unable to decipher who or what Nana and Weesa were.

“Nana is his gramma and Lisa is the woman behind the counter out front,” Jessie explained. “He’s asking where they are.”

Jake looked from Jessie back to Peter and broke into a big grin.

Peter laughed, the sound unfamiliar to his ears. “You know we’re talking about you, don’t you?”

Giggling, Jake whirled, toddled over to the low table and began pushing his engine around the track, chattering away in a dialect that had no resemblance to language as Peter knew it.

It appeared the boy’s curiosity about Peter had been satisfied. Peter stood and turned to Jessie. “He’s an alert, intelligent little boy. Obviously, you’re doing an amazing job with him.”

“Thank you.” She frowned as if unsure she could trust his sincerity. “I don’t want him to hear us.” She walked across the room.

Peter followed her.

She stopped and turned to him. “Clarissa said Jake’s father was unavailable and had no interest in being a father.”

A little too close to the truth?

“Are you married?” she asked.

He almost laughed. When would he have time to get married? “Clarissa and I spent one night together. I’m too dedicated to my research to have time for relationships. Clarissa knew that. Maybe that’s what she meant.”

“Too dedicated to be a father? That’s the way she felt about being a mother.” Jessie’s sad eyes told him she’d never understand her sister’s decision.

“So she left the baby with you and your parents to raise and went back to New York as if he didn’t exist?”

Jessie shook her head. “She never pretended he didn’t exist. You’re not being fair.”

“I’m not being fair? Clarissa wasn’t fair to any of us.”

“Not fair?” Jessie’s blue eyes narrowed. “She gave me the most precious gift she could have given me.”

Peter opened his mouth to remind her Clarissa had no right to give the baby away. But Jessie’s vulnerable admission struck an empathetic chord inside him, and he swallowed his words.

Jessie let out a breath. “Do you have family?”

“Family? Why?”

“What’s going on here?” The woman in the graduation audience he’d identified as Mrs. Chandler hustled into the room.

“Nana!” Jake squealed, pointing with delight.

She strode over to the boy, bent and gave him a hug, then turned to Jessie. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Jessie answered curtly.

Peter blinked. Jessie wasn’t even fooling him that she was all right. Did she think she could fool her mother?

Apparently not. Like a mother bear protecting her young, Mrs. Chandler focused distrusting blue eyes on Peter. “Why are you here?”

Even with disapproval written on the older woman’s face, there was no question where her daughters had gotten their Nordic beauty. “I’m sorry to upset you, Mrs. Chandler. I came to Noah’s Crossing to honor Clarissa and to express my deep sympathy to you and your family.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Chandler’s hand fluttered to her throat, but her direct gaze didn’t falter. “Are you his father?”

“Yes, I believe I am.”

Shaking her head as if she had trouble believing him, Mrs. Chandler turned and walked to the stove. She jerked open the oven door and set a big pan on the counter with a thud. “Where were you when Clarissa needed you?”

Might just as well be blunt. “She didn’t tell me she was pregnant.”

“What?” Mrs. Chandler’s head shot up.

“I didn’t know.”

She glared at him as if she could see straight through him. “Dear Father in heaven…” Her lips continuing to move, she bent her head over her work, lifted a huge hunk of meat from the pan to a cutting board, slid a knife from a large holder on the counter and began slicing.

Peter had never seen anybody wield a knife so fast. In light of her obvious distrust, he was relieved she was carving the meat and not him.

The thunk of the knife pausing, Mrs. Chandler nailed him with her gaze. “Why would she not tell you she was pregnant?”

He wouldn’t allow his gaze to shift away. “Well…she knew I’m dedicated to my work.”

Mrs. Chandler heaved a heavy sigh. “Sounds familiar.” Her tone one of resignation, she began slicing meat at the speed of sound again, as if the practical task helped her make sense of things. “You two must have made quite a couple.”

“We weren’t a couple,” he clarified.

Both women’s questioning gazes flew to his face.

“What I mean is…we…were together only once. I…don’t have time for anything but my work.” Face hot, he shut his eyes. And his mouth. There was no way out of the hole he’d dug himself into. He sounded like he’d used and abandoned the daughter and sister these women loved. Only he and Clarissa knew what happened, and no way was he going to try to explain the situation to her mother and sister.

Mrs. Chandler tore a piece of tinfoil off a roll and began wrapping meat in it. “Just what do you want, Dr. Sheridan? What are you doing here?”