His Secret Child (13 page)

It had all happened so fast. One minute they'd been laughing and talking and the next minute their boat had collided with another. Earlier in the day, he'd tried to persuade Wes to let him take over the helm, since his friend and teammate had been drinking heavily. But Wes had adamantly refused. The boat was his, he'd said. And he wasn't drunk!

Wes had died instantly. Kimberly had lived a few hours. The occupants of the other boat, a couple in their mid-fifties, had been killed. Wes's girlfriend, Maddie, had survived, but would always walk with a severe limp. And Caleb had lived. Lived with a useless right arm.

The fire department arrived on the scene shortly after the ambulance and set to work putting out the fire. Once the two young girls were on their way to Marshallton City Hospital, Sheila hooked up the hull of the burned vehicle and pulled the tow truck out of the field and onto the highway. That was when she noticed Caleb standing in the middle of the field. Instinctively, she knew something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

She jumped out of the truck and ran across the pasture. "Caleb? Caleb!"

He didn't respond.

When she approached him, she realized he was coated in sweat and trembling as if in the throes of a fever. Oh, my God! What was wrong with him?

Reaching out, she grabbed his shoulders and shook him soundly. He stared at her with sightless eyes. She shook him again. Harder.

"Caleb! Snap out of it!"

"They all died. Everyone except Maddie and me."

"What are you talking—" Realization dawned. "You're remembering the boating accident, aren't you? The fire and …" She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her embrace. "Caleb, that happened nearly a year ago. You're all right now."

"I'll never be all right," he said, his voice quivering. "Why didn't Maddie and I die, too? I've wondered a thousand times why we lived."

Sheila slipped her arm around Caleb's waist and nudged him forward, prompting him to walk. She led him out of the field and to the tow truck. He hesitated, then when she opened the passenger door, he got inside and waited like a helpless child.

When she realized he was still dazed, Sheila reached over and fastened his safety harness. She removed a clean rag from her pocket and gently wiped the perspiration from his face.

On the drive into the garage, she glanced over at him from time to time. Neither of them spoke. She had no idea what to say to him, how to comfort him. Sometimes a person had to face their demons alone.

When they arrived at the garage, she opened the passenger door. "Go on inside and wait for me in my office."

He nodded agreement and followed her instructions. She took her time unloading the hull of Holder's old truck, all the while wondering how Caleb was doing. She had to think of a way to help him, but she was afraid anything she said or did might simply make matters worse. Obviously, his viewing the wreckage and the fire had brought back bitter memories, forcing him to relive the day of the boating accident—the day his whole world had been destroyed. He had lost his lover and his career that one fateful day. And nothing would ever bring back either of them.

Sheila headed into the garage, but stopped abruptly when she caught sight of her reflection in the window. The afternoon sunshine beamed through the glass storefront of the old building. Good God, she looked awful. Her hair windblown. Her face streaked with sweat and soot. She glanced down at her overalls and saw smears of grease on the bib and dirt stains on the knees.

What difference did it make how she looked? Caleb would hardly notice her appearance. What he needed was her concern and loving care and she could give that to him without being picture perfect.

Sheila found him in the office, sitting in her swivel chair, his head resting on her desk. She laid her hand on his tense shoulder. He turned and buried his face against her bosom. Wrapping her arms around him, she whispered soothing words.

"It's all right, Caleb. I'm here."

He lifted his left arm, encircled her waist and clung to her. She caressed his soft black hair, threading her fingers through the silken strands. For what seemed like an eternity, she stood there consoling him with her touch. Vehicles passed by on the street outside. Church bells announced the time. Three o'clock. A distant train whistle blew. And somewhere in a nearby tree, springtime birds chirped.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sheila asked.

"God, no!" As he stood slowly, he eased his arm up and around her shoulders. "I don't even want to think about it, but I can't make my brain close off the memories."

"The wreck and the fire brought it all back to you, didn't they?"

She focused her gaze on his face, studying his expressions. The pained look that narrowed his eyes told her exactly how he felt.

He took her hands in his and brought her down into his lap as he sat once again. "The whole damn thing was my fault. Kim didn't want to go with Wes and Maddie that day, but I insisted. If I'd just listened to her, she'd be alive and I'd … I'd still be pitching for the Braves."

"You had no way of knowing how that day would end. You can't blame yourself."

"I can and do blame myself," he said. "I knew Wes was drinking too much. I even tried to talk him into letting me take over as skipper, but he wouldn't hear of it. If only I'd given him no choice. I should have knocked him on his butt and taken over. Four people would be alive today if I'd done the right thing instead of the easy thing."

"Caleb, you mustn't—"

He grabbed her face in his left hand, cradling her chin in the curve between his thumb and forefinger. "But that's what I'm known for, isn't it? Doing the easy thing. That's how I've always dealt with life's problems—just do whatever's easiest, whatever causes me the least trouble."

"Don't do this to yourself." She covered his hand with hers. "The boating accident wasn't your fault. You are not responsible for those four deaths."

"Oh, I'm responsible, all right." He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. "Just like I was responsible for breaking your heart twelve years ago. I knew you were in love with me. I took your love and your innocence and then walked off and left you. I took the easy way out. I went away to college and never came back. And not once did I even bother to call and … I could have at least called you."

"Let it go, Caleb," she told him. "Let it all go. The pain. The guilt. The regrets. And the fear. You can never change the past, so lay it to rest. All you have is now. Today. This very minute."

"I loved Kim," Caleb said. "As much as the great Caleb Bishop was capable of loving someone. But we both knew it wouldn't last. None of my relationships lasted. I was too selfish. Too self-centered. And the crazy thing was that I always chose women who were just as selfish and self-centered."

Sheila didn't want to hear this—about how much he had loved Kimberly. But if it would help Caleb to talk about the woman, then she would listen.

"How the hell can a woman like you actually care about a man like me?" He rubbed his thumb over her lips. "You're too good for me, honey. You always were."

She kissed his hand, then lifted it from her face and pressed her lips against his. She whispered into his mouth, "I love you. I've always loved you."

"I don't deserve your love," he said. "But, God help me, I want it. And I need it!"

He stared into her eyes and saw the depth of her emotions, the strength of her love, and in that one sweet moment he prayed he could be worthy of this incredible woman. She was so much more than he deserved, like a gift from on high.

While she gazed lovingly into his eyes, he took her mouth in a possessive kiss that told her more than words ever could just how much his body longed for hers. She responded greedily, taking all that he gave and returning in kind. All the hurt and anger of the past week melted inside her like winter snow beneath a springtime sun. She was powerless to resist his desperate need for her, powerless to deny the love she felt for him. She had been a fool to think she had any choice but to give herself to Caleb. She was his, had always been his. And would be his forever.

Nine

Caleb parked his Porsche behind Old Man Pickens's field and searched the group of boys huddled together for a glimpse of Danny Vance. He'd told Sheila he wanted to pick up her son from Little League practice and talk to him about
the situation. The situation
being Caleb and Sheila's relationship. He could hardly tell an eleven-year-old, "Hey, kid, I've got the hots for your mama and she feels the same way about me, so we're going to be making love every chance we get."

What he was going to have to do was find a way to protect Danny from the uncertainties of his relationship with them. He liked Sheila's son a great deal. He truly wanted to be the boy's friend. But he couldn't promise to be a father to him, at least not on a permanent basis. So, he'd just have to walk a tightrope, balancing the negative aspects and the positive, hoping all the while that he wouldn't do anything that would topple them all over into the abyss.

Danny came running toward the Porsche. Caleb threw open the passenger door. "Hop in. I'm your ride home this evening."

"Where's Mom?" Danny asked as he slid into the seat.

"Home cooking supper for us," Caleb said. "She said something about grilling hamburgers. And we're supposed to pick up some brownies from the bakery on our way home."

Danny laid his glove in his lap, then closed the door. "When did you get back into town?"

Caleb spun out of the parking area and onto the highway. "This morning."

"We missed you," Danny said. "I think Mom got upset with you because you didn't call this past week. You should have called her, you know. I heard her crying last night."

Damn! He realized now, if he hadn't before, how truly vulnerable Sheila was to him.
I
love you,
she had whispered repeatedly when she'd fallen apart in his arms.

He'd said the words to a dozen other women. Three insincere little words that he'd used as easily as he had moved from bed partner to bed partner. So, why not just say them to Sheila? She wanted to hear him profess his love the way she had proclaimed hers. But he couldn't tell Sheila he loved her. Not now. Not when, for the first time in his life, he truly understood what those words meant. Commitment. Promises. Sharing. Caring. Forever after.

"Hey, what's the matter with you?" Danny asked. "You've got a funny look on your face."

"I was just thinking about your mother," Caleb told the boy. "I explained to her why I didn't call this past week and she understands."

"Did you tell her you were sorry?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Are you moving to Greenville?" Danny fiddled with the baseball glove in his lap. "Mom said you'd been offered a job as an assistant coach."

"I decided not to take the job," Caleb said. "As a matter of fact, I've decided to stay in Crooked Oak for at least a year."

Danny's face brightened, the left edge of his mouth curving upward when he smiled. "A year? You aren't leaving. You're staying. I'll bet Mom was happy about that. She was so sure you weren't ever coming back."

"I did that once," Caleb said, then cleared his throat when he realized how close he'd come to telling the boy that he'd once walked out on his mother. "I left Crooked Oak, my family and my friends twelve years ago and never looked back. I guess your mom figured I'd do a repeat performance this time."

"But you came back this time," Danny said. "Did you come back because of Mom?"

Okay, here's where the situation gets sticky,
Caleb thought. His relationship with Sheila was too complicated for him to figure it out, how could he expect an eleven-year-old to understand?

"Your mother was part of the reason."
She was the whole reason, but I can't tell you that, can I? If I do, you'll expect something long-term from me
—
something I'm not prepared to give. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"What's the other reason?"

"I, uh, decided I needed more time to figure out my future," Caleb said. "So, I'm going to raise a few cattle out at the farm and restore a couple of antique cars. And I've already leased a building where I'm going to put my baseball-card shop."

"A baseball-card shop!" Danny whirled around, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Do you mean it? A real card shop here in Crooked Oak?"

"Yeah, how about that? Do you like the idea?"

"Like it? Man, I love it!"

"Well, I was wondering how you'd like to help me set things up and—"

Danny practically jumped out of his seat; only the confines of the safety belt held him down. "Me help
you?
You bet. You know I collect cards and I've got every Caleb Bishop card they ever put out. I know a lot about baseball cards. Just ask me anything and I bet I know the answer. I could be a real asset to you."

Caleb grinned, glanced over at Danny and chuckled. He loved the boy's enthusiasm. For a split second Caleb's mind froze on one specific thought. There was a certain look about Danny, a definite resemblance to the Bishop boys.

God, don't go there!
his mind shouted.
Don't start seeing a resemblance that doesn't exist, except in your mind! Danny isn't a Bishop. He's Daniel Vance's son, not yours.

"You could be my assistant," Caleb said as he shook the foolish notions about Danny's paternity from his mind. He couldn't have gotten Sheila pregnant graduation night. He'd used a condom. And even if the precaution had failed, Sheila would have come to him if she'd found herself pregnant. She would have told him. Of course, she would have!

"Me, Caleb Bishop's assistant. Man, the guys are going to be so jealous!"

Caleb pulled the Porsche up in the driveway at Sheila's home, directly behind Mike Hanley's Thunderbird. He killed the motor and turned to Danny. "Your mom and I are going to be dating on a regular basis and you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other."

"Are you asking me how I feel about you and Mom being a couple? Are you asking my permission to be my mom's boyfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that. After all, you've been the man of the house since your dad died and I thought I'd better run things by you, let you know what my intentions are."

"What are your intentions?" Danny crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. "Are you going to marry my mom?"

There it was, Caleb thought.
The
question.

Face it head-on now, buddy boy. Be honest with the kid.
"Your mother and I don't have any plans to get married. We're just going to date each other exclusively. Neither of us will be seeing anyone else. We don't know what will happen in the next year, but one thing I can promise you is that I care about your mom and you. I want us to be friends, Danny, but you've got to realize, up front, that I might not be a permanent fixture in your life. I don't want you thinking of me as a … as a father."

Danny clenched his jaw tightly. "I see." Breathing deeply, he hung his head sadly and stroked the leather glove in his hand. "Caleb, if … if my mom didn't have me … you know, if she didn't have a kid, would you be more interested in marrying her?"

"What?" Caleb studied the boy's face and understood the sincerity of his question.

"Some guys wouldn't want to be saddled with a kid who wasn't their own." Danny gazed directly into Caleb's face.

Damn! Caleb swallowed. The pleading look on Danny's face was Caleb's undoing. He reached over, gripped Danny's shoulder and said, "Oh, son, you're exactly the kind of kid I'd want. Believe me, if I were the marrying kind, I might marry your mom just so I could be your dad." It was all Caleb could do not to reach out and pull the boy into his arms. Every paternal instinct in him came to full force.

"Do you mean it?" When Caleb nodded affirmatively, Danny threw his arms around him, then pulled back shyly. "I'd love for you to be my dad. If … if you were the marrying kind."

Caleb caught a glimpse of Sheila standing on the front porch, watching and waiting. Had she seen the hug? Would she think he hadn't been honest with her son, that he had made promises he couldn't keep?

Caleb turned Danny's cap backward so that the brim covered his neck. "Come on, slugger. Looks like your mom's waiting on us."