Instant Daddy (4 page)

“I think they’ll be happy the Sheridan genes will survive another generation,” he said dryly.

She gave him a serious frown. “You don’t sound as if you know them very well.”

The drugstore bag crackled in his long fingers, his silence answering her.

She pulled to a stop at the intersection and returned waves from people walking home from graduation, umbrellas raised against the rain. She turned to Dr. Sheridan. “Why don’t you know your parents?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “They’re archeologists. They spend most of their time on digs in remote parts of the world.”

“Interesting.” And a relief. It didn’t sound like he’d get much help or support from them, did it? She accelerated.

He stretched his long legs out in front of him until he ran out of room.

She jerked her gaze back to the road in front of them.

“Any chance Jake’s car has a volume control?” he asked. “Those nonsensical rhymes just began a painful third rotation.”

Were the good doctor’s nerves a tad on the frazzled side, too?
And
unused to children’s toys? “I don’t want him to hear the tension in our voices.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“You would have if you knew anything about kids.”

His lips quirked. “No doubt.”

She drew in a momentary breath of victory. But it was too soon to gloat. She still didn’t know much about his situation or who he depended on for support. “Did you travel with your parents when you were young?”

“No.”

Her little fishing expedition would take forever if all she got from him were one-syllable answers. Drawing herself a little taller, she took a left and fired off another question. “Who did you stay with?”

“I lived in boarding schools,” he said matter-of-factly.

She looked at him sharply. Boarding schools? The poor man. “You grew up in boarding schools?” She couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.

He stared out the windshield. “The best boarding schools in the country.”

As if that made it easier for him to be away from his family? “Did your parents
sometimes
take you with them?”

He glanced her way. “Why the third degree?”

She recognized avoidance when she heard it. “Did they?”

He dragged in a breath and let it out. “There’s not much for a kid to do in the middle of the Sahara desert for months on end. And they wanted me educated by the best schools available to better prepare me to contribute to mankind.”

His parents sacrificed him to science? How could they do that? “You must have been lonely growing up with strangers.”

He shrugged as if loneliness was no big deal. “My studies were challenging. There was plenty to do. Swimming, tennis, golf, horses, you name it. I didn’t have time to be lonely.”

He expected her to believe that? “Did you go home often?”

He frowned at her.

“Did you?” She sat straighter. “Go home often?”

“When holidays didn’t conflict with digs.” His tone was flat, uninterested.

Jessie swallowed, unable to comprehend the lonely, disconnected childhood he must have lived. “What about when you were very little? Before boarding school?”

“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.

T
he 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.

“Come on, Jake.” Jessie held up the tinfoil package
her mother had sent with her. “Help me put supper in the oven to stay warm, okay?”

“’Kay!” Jake yelled as if Jessie had given him a very important assignment.

Max let him slide to the ground.

Jessie grasped the boy’s hand.

With a purposeful strut, Jake headed for the house with Jessie gliding beside him.

She was probably leaving so her father wouldn’t have to pull punches. “You will make that phone call?” Peter reminded.

“I will,” she called over her shoulder.

Peter dragged his gaze back to the man on the other side of the work bench.

Her father’s eyes bore into Peter’s until the screen door slammed behind Jessie and Jake. “My wife and I are very proud of both our daughters. But for reasons I’ll never understand, Clarissa felt her research was more important than being a mother. What I want to know is why she found it necessary to keep her baby a secret from you.”

Off and running. “I don’t know the answer to that question.”

Max studied Peter, sadness filling his lined face.

It must be hard to lose a child.

“I could use something cool.” Max strode to the back wall. He pulled a couple cans from an under-counter refrigerator, strode back to Peter and handed him a can of Dr Pepper.

“Thanks.” Peter popped the lid, the hiss of carbonated air filling the silence between them.

Max raised his soda. “To reasonable men.”

Peter could hope. But the steel glint in Max’s eyes warned him to stay on his toes. He raised his can in a
toast, then took a sizable swallow, the liquid cold and refreshing.

Max drank thirstily before he lowered his can and focused a narrow gaze on Peter. “Clarissa and I had our differences of opinion, but she knew what she was doing when she gave Jake to Jessie. Jessie’s the best thing that could have happened to that boy.”

Peter had no argument with that. Just thinking about the love on her face when she looked at Jake made him smile. “She’s wonderful with him.”

“Think about it, Peter. If Clarissa had been a different person, she might have given him to some agency for adoption. You would never have known you had a son. And little Jake would have been lost to all of us.”

Peter could only stare at the man as he absorbed his words. Rather than blaming Clarissa for leaving him out of the loop, maybe he should be thankful for the things she’d done right. He could only imagine how difficult the situation had been for her.

But Max wasn’t finished. “The way I see it…the measure of a man is in how he takes care of his family. If you’re the man I hope you are, you’ll do what’s best for Jake. If you don’t, you don’t deserve to be his father.”

Somehow Max had managed to challenge Peter’s integrity, prod him to live up to it and shame him if he fell short. The man was good. “Of course, I want what’s best for Jake.”

Max took a drink of his soda. “What’s best for Jake is Jessie.”

As if summoned, she walked out of the house, Jake in her arms. “Jake left his musical car out here.”

She was just as pretty in jeans and a green T-shirt as she’d been in her sundress, Peter noted.

“Want a Dr Pepper, Jess?” Her father looked at her expectantly.

She shook her head.

“Did you talk to your lawyer?”

“Yes. He said I’ll have to give you DNA samples eventually anyway, and I’d just as soon do it now.”

“Great. Then let’s get started.” Peter swept the kits out of the drugstore bag he carried.

Max gave him a level gaze. “There’s more to being a father than DNA, Peter.”

“Of course there is.”

“Like feelings, love, commitment. How do you feel about being a father?” Max asked.

Peter laid the kits on the nearby table. “Jake’s great.”

“Yes, he is. But that’s not my question.”

He should have known Jessie’s dad wouldn’t accept a superficial answer. Buying time, he laid out vials, small packages of swabs and labels while he sorted through thoughts he’d been struggling with about what to do regarding his son.

Bottom line? No way could he let Jake grow up without a father, like Peter had. “Jake needs to know his father. I can’t let him grow up thinking he doesn’t matter to me.”

“Fair enough. But think long and hard about how best to accomplish that. As long as you remember what’s best for him, we’ll get along just fine.”

In other words, as long as he remembered Jessie was best for Jake, everything would go smoothly. A not-too-veiled threat if Peter ever heard one. But he admired Jessie’s father for laying it on the line.

Max looked at Peter, obviously waiting for him to be just as straightforward about what he wanted.

Peter’s thoughts began to gain clarity. He wanted more than just to know his son and his son to know him. He wanted the kind of relationship with Jake that Jessie and her dad had.

And if that was what he wanted, he needed to step up to the plate. “Jessie’s fortunate to have you, Max. You’re here when she needs you, and you’re not afraid to go to bat for her. I don’t want to be anything less for my son.”

“What?” Jessie’s eyes went wide. “You want to be a father like my dad? But you have to get back to your lab, remember?”

She was right. He’d been in a hurry to get the DNA swabs so he could get on the road. Slight change of plans. If he was going to be a real father, he needed to get to know his son a little better. “I’ve decided to stay in town the rest of the weekend.”

Unfortunately, the shock on Jessie’s face wasn’t the least bit encouraging.

In the steamy little bathroom, Jake’s shampoo mingled with the subtle spice of Peter Sheridan’s aftershave.

“Make bubbos,” Jake squealed, slapping the water in the tub with both hands.

Jessie rocked back on her haunches to duck a spray of soapy water, a jab in her hip making her wince.

On his knees beside her, Peter took the splash at full force. Laughing, he swiped his hand over his wet face, his arm bumping Jessie’s.

He turned to her, his laughing brown eyes concerned. “Sorry. You okay?”

She nodded vigorously, his presence seeming to fill the room.

His gaze softened. “I tend to throw myself into things, I’m afraid.”

She squinted. Too warm, she scooched over to allow him more space.

“Pedo. Chug.”

With an apologetic little smile, Peter turned to Jake and went back to making chugging noises and pushing a plastic tugboat in circles while Jake laughed and clapped and wildly slapped the water.

Grateful that Peter’s focus was back on Jake, Jessie gave her head a little shake. What was her problem? Did she need to remind herself of Peter’s declaration in the backyard this afternoon? He seemed to think he could pull Dad’s qualities out of thin air. Ha.

She had to make him see reality. That’s why she’d invited him to help with Jake’s bath and bedtime ritual—to give him a glimpse of real-life, behind-the-scenes parenting. If he understood being a parent was time-consuming, sometimes heart-wrenching and a lot of hard work, he’d have to understand he lacked the time and the skills to care for Jake.

At first, Peter sat back and watched her play quietly with her son to calm him down before bed. But it hadn’t taken him long to roll up his sleeves and take charge. Now, the front of his white dress shirt was soaked, and his black suit pants weren’t faring much better. But he seemed oblivious to everything except Jake and how much fun they were having.

But right before bed? Not a good idea. The more tired Jake got, the more wound up he became, and the harder it would be to get him to settle down for the night.

Of course, it would give Peter a good dose of one of the challenges of parenting. He needed to get a complete picture. And as much as she didn’t want Jake having a
hard time settling down, maybe it would be worth it if Peter could see he wasn’t up to the job. Struggling to her feet, she grabbed a dry towel and glanced pointedly at her watch. “Jake’s bedtime has come and gone.”

“Hear that, Jake? Time for bed.”

Jake splashed, water flying. “Pedo chug.”

Diversion worked better than going the direct route, but Peter would find that out soon enough. She gave him the towel.

“Thanks. Come on Jake, let’s get you dried off.”

Jake stuck out his bottom lip in his mutiny pose.

Peter looked up at her, amusement crinkling his rich brown eyes. To his credit, he didn’t laugh even if Jake’s pout
was
the cutest thing in the entire world.

Jake slapped the water, sending it flying everywhere again. “Chug, Pedo.”

Peter turned back to Jake, a broad grin on his lips, as if that would help. He held the towel at the ready like he expected Jake to walk right into it. “See? Jessie gave me a big, fluffy towel to dry you off.”

Jake pointed to Jessie. “Mama.”

She smiled.

“Mama,” Peter conceded.

“Chug, Pedo.” Jake grasped the tugboat and jammed it at Peter.

Peter shook his head. “No more chugging. The tugboat’s tired. It needs to go to bed.”

Nice try.

But Jake was beyond listening. He flipped onto his tummy in the water, pushing the tugboat and making his motor sound.

Peter turned to Jessie. “Feel free to step in any time.”

“But you’re doing so well.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” she fibbed.

“Any suggestions?”

“Well…” Maybe she should give him a crumb. “You could offer him his bedtime snack.”

He gave an aha nod and turned to Jake. “How about a snack, Jake?”

Jake kept pushing the boat and making the chugging noise, totally absorbed in his imaginary world.

“Hey, Jake. What do you like for your snack?” Peter tried again. When Jake ignored him again, Peter turned back to Jessie. “Now what?”

“He’s zoned. You’ll have to pick him up and take him out.”

“Will he cry?” he asked softly, probably so Jake wouldn’t hear.

“Count on it.”

“He’s used to you. Maybe you should do it.”

She gave him a lifted eyebrow. “He’ll cry for me, too. Just make it clean and fast.”

Peter put the towel down. Broad shoulders hunched, he leaned over the tub, poised to snatch the boy and lift him out of the water in his large, masculine hands. Strong and gentle, nails clean and neatly cut.