Father to Be (37 page)

“We ’preciate everything you done. We—we liked being here. ’Least, me and Gracie and Noah did.”

J.D. swallowed hard. “I liked having you here.”

Jacob’s eyes appeared twice their normal size and were swimming with tears. “We’re real sorry Caleb lied. It was nice bein’ a family with you. We wish—” The first tear slipped free, and he turned and raced down the stairs.

Kelsey stepped into the doorway, then looked back. “I’m sorry about this.”

How could the woman he’d made love to just last night
sound so cold tonight? Surely she didn’t believe— She’d sworn she didn’t believe Caleb’s lies, but maybe
she
had lied. Maybe she did believe him capable of hurting a child. Maybe she knew so damned little about him, thought so damned little of him. Maybe last night had meant nothing to her … when it had meant the world to him.

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t bear to see what was on her face, what was in her eyes. “Don’t do this, Kelsey.” His voice came out low and choked, but it was the best he could manage. “They belong here. They belong with me. Please … 
please
don’t take them.”

“I can’t leave them. You know that.”

No, she couldn’t. Especially not with Stephanie and the utter senselessness of her death guiding her.

“Where are you taking them?”

“I—I can’t tell you that.” At least she had the grace to sound embarrassed about it. “J.D.—” But she thought better of what she was about to say, closed her mouth, and walked out.

He heard the engines start, heard the cars drive away, followed by his father’s slow, disheartened steps on the stairs. At last he reached the top and came inside, closing the door. Bud walked straight to J.D., put his arms around him, and held him tightly. “It’ll be okay, son. Everything will be okay.”

There had been a time in his life when his father’s word was gospel. If Bud said everything would be fine, then, by God, it
would
be fine. But that time was long gone, and this was never going to be okay, and if he ever considered caring about someone again, he’d just shoot himself and avoid the heartache.

After a long time J.D. let his fingers relax, then lifted his arms to hug his father. “It’s been a long day, Dad,” he said wearily. “If you’re getting tired of the sofa, I’ve got four
beds avail—” He couldn’t finish the word, couldn’t say anything else at all.

They stood there a long time, then Bud turned away and wiped his eyes, blew his nose. “I don’t mind the sofa. Let’s get some rest, son.”

They walked down the hall together, then separated at the living room. J.D. flipped on the hall light as he passed, got to his bedroom door, then returned and shut off the light. The kids were gone. There was no need for the night-light.

He didn’t undress. He just lay atop the covers and stared at the ceiling. The living room light went off. The sofa creaked as Bud settled in. A car passed by on the side street. His heart pounded.

He’d gotten what he wanted in the beginning—the kids were gone. Unfortunately now he knew he’d only
thought
that was what he wanted. Now that they were gone, he wanted them back. He
needed
them back. He needed to know that they were asleep in the next room, that Gracie had her stuffed animals, that Noah hadn’t put his pajamas on backward, that a light was left on for whichever one was afraid of the dark.

Damn Noelle for giving him the kids, and damn Kelsey for taking them away.

And he could damn himself for not trying harder with Caleb. For not heading off this problem before it occurred. He’d known Caleb resented his closeness to the other kids, had known he’d look for some way to get J.D. out of their lives. Any kid who watched TV, heard the news, or talked to other kids knew that an accusation of abuse was quick, easy, and effective. He should have been prepared for it.

But it still threatened to break his heart.

And Kelsey was likely to finish the job.

Turning onto his side, he picked up the phone and
dialed her number. She answered on the third ring, sounding wary, suspicious.

He knew all the things he wanted to say.
Tell me you’ll let the kids come home again. Promise you’ll help me get Caleb back. Tell me you believe me. Tell me you know me better than that. Show me that last night meant something to you.

But he couldn’t find the right words to give voice to one request—to one plea—and so he said nothing. He lay there, listening to the hum on the line and the soft sound of her breathing, and his fingers tightened till his knuckles turned white, and he said nothing.

She didn’t say anything either, not after that first hello. After a full minute, maybe two, she hung up. She’d known it was him, and she’d had nothing to say.

Wearily he hung up too.

He dozed fitfully through the early morning hours. After his run he showered and ate the breakfast Bud had cooked, then went to the phone. Mitch Walker had filled him in on what to expect. The police department would conduct an investigation, then make a report to the district attorney. If there was no finding of abuse, that would be the end of it for J.D. There would be no charges filed—but there would also be no children. He would be removed from the foster parents roll, which meant he wouldn’t be eligible to take the kids when their current emergency placement ended.

If there
was
a finding of abuse, charges would be filed and there would be a hearing. He would still lose the kids, and maybe a whole lot more.

Either way, Mitch had recommended that he hire an attorney first thing that morning, J.D. had protested that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He was
innocent.
But sometimes, Mitch had pointed out, when a case involved kids, innocence was no defense.

There were only two lawyers in Bethlehem. Since Alex
Thomas was the kids’ court-appointed lawyer, that left Jillian Freeman. He called her office, arranged to meet her at nine, then hung up to face his father’s scowl.

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” Bud said vehemently. “You tried to help that boy, and they’re punishing you for it. Any fool can see he’s lying.”

Though J.D. fervently hoped so, his shrug was casual. “He’s a kid. You can’t be too careful when a kid’s safety is at stake.”

“Anyone who knows you knows you’d never do something like that.”

Again J.D. hoped so—but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t swear that Kelsey knew.

After finishing his coffee, he drove downtown. Jillian’s office was across the street from the courthouse in a Victorian house that had been converted to a quilt shop on the first floor, offices on the second. He climbed out of his truck and glanced across the street, his gaze automatically going to the third floor windows that looked in on Kelsey’s office. Was she there at her desk, swept up in plans to tarnish his reputation and quite possibly destroy his life?

Actually, no. She was standing in front of the courthouse. Her hair was down except for a few strands on either side, gathered and pinned in back, and her frilly, feminine dress was made from fabric that resembled a Monet watercolor. She paced back and forth, clearly waiting for someone. Mitch? The D.A.? Judge McKechnie?

As if she’d felt his gaze, abruptly she turned and looked straight at him. Even with the street between them, he could see the color rise in her cheeks—could see the softness disappear and the defenses go up. When she slowly, deliberately, turned her back to him, it was apparent whose side she’d taken in this ugly mess.

He felt as if he’d been betrayed.

Jillian was waiting in her office. She was a few years
older than him, divorced with three kids, and one tough lawyer. Like him, she’d come to Bethlehem from somewhere else—like him, for a reason. He didn’t know what it was and didn’t care.

She invited him to sit. He chose to pace. As he walked the length of the office, he sketched out the bare bones of the case. He finished his story and the pacing at the window, watching as Kelsey shook hands with Mary Therese, then led the way inside the courthouse.

“So you admit to grabbing the boy,” Jillian said at last.

“Once. Only once.”

“Which shoulder?”

He stopped to think. “Right.”

“And this was in the hallway. When you went into the bedroom with him, did you touch him?”

He closed his eyes. The question made him feel sick. He had asked other people questions of that nature before, but he’d never dreamed that someday he would be on the receiving end of the suspicion. “No, I didn’t. We stood on opposite sides of the room. I was never closer to him than ten feet.”

She asked a few more questions, then swiveled her chair around to face him. “You came here about a year and a half ago from Chicago, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Is there anything in your past that might count against you if there’s a hearing? Any legal trouble, disciplinary problems with your job, personal problems?” She cleared her throat. “I’m not trying to pry, J.D., but I can guarantee you that if there’s a hearing, the state’s going to find out everything there is to know about you. I don’t like surprises in court. I want to be prepared.
Is
there anything?”

He stared out the window for a long time, vaguely
aware of the grim reflection looking back, then finally replied, “Yeah. There is.”

He drew a deep breath, but the ache in his chest didn’t ease. It wouldn’t, not until he was finished, not until this whole mess was finished.

Maybe not even then.

H
uffing from the exertion of climbing the stairs, Mary Therese followed Kelsey into the office, set her briefcase and handbag on the desk, then plopped into the orange chair before fixing her gaze on Kelsey and saying, “Run that past me again, will you? I think my heart was pounding so loud that it played tricks with my hearing.”

Kelsey sat down behind her desk, folded her hands on the desktop, then lowered them to her lap. “I want to be removed from this case.”

“That’s what I thought you said. Why?”

“I can’t take part in an investigation where I
know
the person being investigated is innocent.”

“Seems to me like that’s one you would most particularly like to be involved in.” Mary Therese’s gaze narrowed. “How do you
know
?”

“I know J.D. He wouldn’t do what Caleb’s accused him of.”

“I know J.D. too—known him a lot longer than you have. But I’m not so sure he wouldn’t do it. People surprise you, Kelsey. You learned that your first year in this business, or should have.” Mary Therese made an impatient gesture. “I’m shorthanded already. If I remove you from this case, then that means
I
have to take it over. Give me a reason to do that.”

Kelsey knotted her fingers together, exhaled loudly,
and, with heat rushing into her face, blurted out, “I like J.D.”

“Honey, I’d wager there’s not a woman in this county who hasn’t fancied herself half in love with the man. Heavens, look at him. He’s handsome, funny, smart, a doctor, and he’s got a body to die for, and money to boot.”

Kelsey cleared her throat, forced her fingers to relax, forced her gaze to remain steady on her boss. “Well, I’d wager there’s not another woman in this county whom he’s fancied himself half in love with.” Unless he’d lied.

Mary Therese’s expression turned serious as death. She got up, closed the outer door, then Kelsey’s door, then returned to rest her palms on the desk. “He’s told you that?”

Kelsey nodded miserably.

“A man doesn’t generally say things like that without having a reasonable expectation that his feelings are returned. Are they?”

Her nod this time was slighter, less noticeable.

Mary Therese paced to the opposite end of the office. For a moment she stood in front of the file cabinets, her head bent. When she turned again, she looked angry, but the anger was under tight control. “How far has this gone?”

“We … um …” Kelsey wet her lips. This wasn’t right. The private details of her life were supposed to remain private. They weren’t meant to be laid open for examination by others, to be judged and condemned by others.

But when she’d chosen to have an affair with one of her clients, she’d given up the right to privacy. She’d opened herself up to examination, judgment, and condemnation.

“You slept with him, didn’t you?” Mary Therese was tight-lipped. Disappointed.

Kelsey nodded once. “I never meant for it to happen. I’ve been doing this job for twelve years, and I’ve never been the least bit interested in any client, but with J.D., it was just … so right, and—”

“It was just so
wrong.
You can’t do that, Kelsey! You just can’t—” Mary Therese came back and sat down. “Well, hell. Are you going to marry him?”

“I—” Alone in her bed Wednesday night, Kelsey had dared such dreams of the future. After the scene in the hospital corridor the night before, she couldn’t even convince herself that they shared a future. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I hope something comes of it. I hope you didn’t risk your career for a short-term fling.”

Oh, God, she hoped so too.

Her boss sat silent for a time, then reached a decision. “I’ll tell you what, Kelsey, because I
am
so shorthanded, I’m going to keep you on this. We’ll handle it together, because everyone deserves someone who believes them on their side. When it’s over and all this is settled, then we’ll look at the matter of your … relationship. Of course, until this is settled, I expect you to keep your distance from J.D. Fair enough?”

More than fair. Kelsey was relieved to accept the offer.

“Now, get me those files—oh, here they are.” Mary Therese picked up the records Kelsey had taken home with her last night and brought back again that morning. “J. D. Grayson. Did you find out what the J.D. stands for?”

The innocent question freshened the pain Kelsey thought might never go away. “No, I didn’t.”

“Probably something simple like John David or Jimmy Dean. Or maybe”—looking up, Mary Therese grinned—“his father was named Jay and his mother was named Dee.”

“His father’s name is Bud,” Kelsey said. “At least, his nickname is.” She didn’t add that he was a very nice man who’d made her feel welcome—at least until last night, when he’d looked at her with such disappointment as he’d carried Noah to her car. He hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t asked how she could do this to his son, but she’d read the accusation in his eyes. She’d felt the disapproval in his silence.