Tara Quinn - The Promise of Christmas

Her wine was served. Leslie took a gulp, hoping she’d camouflaged the gesture as a ladylike sip. “For a five-year-old, he’s far too aware of others,” she said.

“You’ve known many five-year-olds?”

Leslie watched him for a long minute, a silent debate playing itself out as she decided how much of herself to let him know.

“I want children,” Leslie said. “Not like this, not now, but I’ve known for quite a while that my career isn’t enough to fill my life forever. I want to be a mother, to be pregnant and nurse and potty-train and…and protect.”

The last word resonated through her system. Or maybe it was just the wine.

“Is there a man who’s part of all this?” It was the first he’d asked about her love life, but she supposed it wasn’t surprising that the topic would come up, considering they were there to discuss becoming parents—or not.

“Well.” She cocked her head, hoping she could pull off the sassy smile she’d conjured up inside. “That would be why it’s still just in the planning stages,” she told him. “But…” She held up a hand, glad it wasn’t shaking. “I am a huge believer in stating your intent and focusing on what you desire, so I visit the day care in my office building as often as I can. There are some five-year-olds there during the after-school hours.”

“So you do have some experience.”

She couldn’t tell if his tone was accusatory, relieved or neutral. “I haven’t actually talked to them,” she said. “I just stop in, look around, make sure there aren’t any kids being neglected….”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re making sure that your employees’ benefits are everything they should be.”

He gave her that look. She’d actually forgotten it—that way he had of looking at her with his eyes warm and hinting at a deeper knowledge, as though he could see right inside her. She’d hated it at thirteen, afraid of what he might see. “Okay,” she said, before he looked any deeper. “Yes, I do regular checks—informal checks—on the quality of our day care because I care about our employees. And their children.”

His head tilted just a bit as he peered at her. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed about that, Les,” he said, no hint of laughter in his eyes, or his voice. “In fact, I respect the hell out of you for it.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that. So she took another sip of wine. This might end up being a three-glass night.

“You’re still planning to accept guardianship of Kayla.”

“Yes.”

“How can you do that?” In that moment, he reminded her of himself as a twelve-year-old boy watching her mother make pancakes. He’d insisted on trying for himself and sent batter flying across the stove when he attempted to flip one.

She frowned. Whether it was due to exhaustion, wine, or just because she was with Kip Webster, Leslie felt unable to keep up the running game of let’s pretend with which she faced her days. “You want the completely honest version?”

“Aren’t you always honest?”

“To a point.”

“Then yes,” he said, leaning forward, arms on the table, as he held her gaze. “I want the completely honest version.”

“I have no idea.”

He sat back, still watching her. She suspected it hadn’t been the answer he’d been hoping for.

“I really don’t know, Kip.” She glanced over as two older couples came through the door, wearing Michigan colors. Their alma mater? Were they local or had they driven in?

Had Cal taught Jonathan the “Go Blue” theme song, as their father had taught them? Would she teach Kayla?

“I just know I have to do this.”

He nodded, dropped his eyes, tore slowly at his napkin. “You’re really going to take her tomorrow?”

“I’d love to find a reason to delay, but I can’t. I have to get back to Phoenix. I’ve already been away too long. And…” She waited for him to look up at her. “It might seem strange, but now that I know I’m going to be her mother, I don’t want to leave without her.”

“What about Jonathan?”

Here came the really tough part. She took a sip from her nearly empty goblet, wishing the table hadn’t been cleared. She could use a few French fries to play with. Some ketchup to dip them in.

“What about him?” she asked, needing to hear his concerns before she attempted to tell him what she’d been thinking.

“He just lost his father!” Kip said. “Wouldn’t it be cruel to snatch his sister away from him so soon? Without warning? Forever?”

“You think it’d be easier for him to lose her six months from now? Will he love her any less then? Need her any less?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I know it’s sudden, but there doesn’t seem to be a good time to break up the only home they’ve ever had. And yet, it’s going to happen. One way or another. Ada is not their mother and as much as she loves the kids, she’s no longer able to raise them. In one sense it seems cruel to prolong this for any of them. Including Ada.”

“Jonathan knows something’s going on.” Kip’s words were so soft she barely heard them.

“He said that to you?” She stared at him, finding it difficult to breathe.

Kip nodded. “He’s sure I noticed that his skin is a lot darker than his sister’s.”

“Oh.”

“At the same time, he was quick to point out that other than her hair, Kayla looks pretty much like us and he asked me if I thought there was any chance you or your mother would take her. He wanted me to know that he didn’t have to come along if that would hurt her chances any.”

Tears sprang to Leslie’s eyes and she didn’t even try to hide them. “What did you say?” she whispered.

“I told him you and your mother are good people and that the color of his or Kayla’s skin would not make any difference to you at all. And I told him I liked his hair because it reminded me of his dad, whom I miss very much.”

She wiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “And you think you aren’t father material?” she asked him before she remembered she wasn’t going to say anything he might construe as pressure to take custody of her nephew. An unwanted guardianship wouldn’t be fair to him, or to Jonathan.

“I have no idea where the words came from,” Kip said.

Silence fell for a moment. The bell over the door tinkled again and a man in his early twenties, wearing jeans and a black parka, took a seat at the bar. If he was looking for some action, he’d come to the wrong place.

“My home is…impersonal,” Kip said next. “Decorated by a professional, cleaned once a week by a professional.”

Was he considering this, then? Her heart pounded heavily.

“I hardly think a child’s happiness would be irreparably damaged by either of those factors.”

“It’s in a gated community that doesn’t allow children.”

Well, that could present a problem.

“Kip?” She wasn’t ready for this. But then, she’d hardly been ready for most of the big events in her life. Starting with her father’s death.

He glanced up at her, his brows raised. He wasn’t classically handsome, but there was something about Kip that had captured her heart at twelve or thirteen and pretty much never let go.

Not that she was the only girl whose heart had been affected by him. Kip’s list of women could rival that of Hawkeye Pierce from all the MASH reruns she used to watch when her roommates were out partying. An especially exciting weekend for her was those thirty-six-hour MASH marathons a local cable station used to run.

“I’ve been thinking….”

He took a sip of what had to be warm beer. “What?”

“I’d like us to talk to Jim Brackerfield. Find out if I can take both kids. I mean surely…” When it looked like he might interrupt, she rushed on. “If Cal gave me Kayla, the court would acknowledge that he found me a suitable parent.”