Carol Voss - Instant Daddy

“I had nannies.”

Jessie shook her head. How did a child function and grow without his parents and relatives to guide him? How did he learn to love himself or others if he didn’t have people who loved him show him how? How would he love Jake? “I have a hard time imagining growing up like that. I’m related to half of Noah’s Crossing.”

“Lucky you.”

She glanced at his serious face and somehow wanted to make him feel better. “I’m sure you’ve made your parents proud.”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

Too quietly. He’d had such a lonely, awful childhood, Jessie’s heart ached for him. But was his childhood the reason he wanted his son? Even if he had no time for him?

He didn’t have a wife. No girlfriend either if he’d been honest about not having time for relationships. But he must have somebody besides his absent parents. Somebody he was counting on for help. “You said you don’t have time for relationships, but you must have somebody.”

He raised a well-shaped eyebrow. “Why are you so interested?”

“Because of Jake, of course.”

“You need somebody to vouch that I won’t be a bad influence on the boy? Is that it?”

“Do you have anybody who would do that?”

Jaw clenching, he settled back in his seat and focused out the windshield again. “Scott and Karen Kenyon.”

“Friends?”

“He was my college professor and has been my friend and mentor ever since. Is that a long enough relationship for you?” He sounded a tad irritated.

Maybe she was finally getting somewhere. “Have you called to tell them about Jake?”

“Not yet.”

“Do they have children?”

“They’d make great parents, but kids aren’t in the cards for them,” he said sadly.

She couldn’t help empathizing with them. But a jolt of fear chased away her empathy. Did he want his friends to raise Jake? “They can’t have children?”

“They have enough on their plates without kids to worry about.”

This wasn’t adding up. If his friends didn’t have time for children, he couldn’t count on them to help him with Jake, could he? “I don’t understand.”

He rubbed his chin. “Scott was diagnosed with ALS—you probably know it as Lou Gehrig’s disease—almost two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Neurological diseases are my specialty.” He crumpled the bag in his hands. “I never dreamed the battle would become personal.” No mistaking the passion in his voice now.

How could she not admire his dedication to his friend? She couldn’t imagine the pressure he must feel to save him. “How is he doing?”

“The disease is taking its toll. But we’ve developed a promising experimental drug. We’re hoping it will help Scott.”

She glanced at him. “I’ll pray for you and your friend.”

His eyes rounded, then narrowed as if he didn’t know how to respond.

“You don’t believe in prayer?” she asked.

He dropped his gaze. “I believe in research.”

Jessie focused on the wet road again. “It seems to me research and prayer would go hand in hand.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you’re looking for answers to heal people. Who better to ask for help than the Great Healer?” She could feel him studying her.

“I never thought about it that way,” he said.

She wanted to tell him maybe he should. After all, the idea of life without prayer was as foreign to her as life without family.

“Does God hear your prayers, Jessie?” he asked softly.

She bit her lip. “I honestly don’t know anymore.” Because if He did, Peter Sheridan wouldn’t be here threatening to take Jake away.

The rain had stopped by the time Peter peered uneasily up the gravel drive to the small Cape Cod where Jessie’s dad waited. Fumbling to unhook his seatbelt, he turned to watch Jessie make a game of unfastening Jake from his car seat, her movements gentle and caring. In spite of her distrust of Peter, there was such a warmth about her, especially when she interacted with Jake.

Could he ever be the kind of parent who showed his son he cared with every move? Given his lack of a role model, he didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t even know if he had it in him to love his son.

Jessie’s questions about his family, or lack of one, were legitimate concerns. If Scott and Karen hadn’t taken him under their protective wings in college, he’d have no one. With his lack in the relationship department, how would he be able to relate to a little boy?

Then there was his research, a demanding taskmaster that took everything he had to give. He lived it, breathed it. He’d focused on ALS research as a result of Scott’s diagnosis. And as Scott’s condition worsened, too many nights Peter slept on the cot in his office rather than making the drive downtown to his dingy, furnished apartment. Even when he had to be away from the lab, he was thinking, planning, solving problems related to his research.

Fine by him. Without his dedication, the experimental drug wouldn’t be ready for testing. The drug that could be Scott’s last chance.

Drugstore bag in hand, he climbed out of the van.

Jessie lifted Jake out of his seat and pushed the door shut. “You ready to meet my dad, Dr. Sheridan?”

“Sure.” A lie. He doubted her father would take too kindly to the man who got his daughter pregnant and hadn’t taken responsibility for her or the baby. Never mind that she hadn’t bothered to tell him. Maybe Peter could hold his own with that fact. “Please call me Peter.”

“Peter,” she repeated, as if trying it out.

He liked the way his name sounded coming from her lips. “What’s your father like?”

“He’s a straight shooter. Protective. A great dad. And he loves Jake.”

Peter heard love and pride in her voice, along with challenge. “Glad you’re not in my shoes?”

She shot him a look that might pass for sympathetic.

Oh well. If talking to her father was the price to pay for a couple cheek swabs, bring him on. With fresh rain making the earth smell new again, Peter followed Jessie up the driveway into a backyard exuberant with flowering bushes and plants. A child’s swing set filled the corner under a tree. The whine of a small motor came from a covered patio running the length of the house and outfitted as an outdoor living area. A muscular, weathered man sat at a workbench, using an electric sander on a long board. Had to be Jessie’s father. “Your dad looks busy.”

“He builds custom furniture in his free time. He has a shop in the garage.”

“Papa!” Jake squealed.

Mr. Chandler switched off the sander and rose to Peter’s height. “Hey, Jake. How you doing, little buddy?”

Jessie walked over to her dad.

Mr. Chandler bent and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Your mother called. Said you were on your way.”

The understanding passing between father and daughter hit Peter like a blow. So much said with just a look. The same understanding Jessie and her mother had shared. Communication real families enjoyed. He couldn’t imagine communicating with his son like that.

Mr. Chandler reached across his workbench to give Peter’s hand a firm shake. “Dr. Sheridan.”

“Peter.”

“Max.”

“I want you to know how sorry I am about Clarissa’s death.”

“Thank you.” The older man shifted his gaze to the ground as if checking his emotions. Then he raised his eyes, held out his arms and Jake lunged from Jessie’s arms to his. “How’s my little buddy?”

Jake gave his grandpa an enthusiastic hug.

Peter found himself smiling at the comradery between the two. It was hard not to smile at just about everything about the little guy.