The Paternity Factor

Two

“Elvis,” Jessy murmured as she stood at the front window and watched Shane’s car pull out of the driveway, “has left the building.” She glanced at her wristwatch, struggling against a sense of disbelief.

It was a little after five o’clock, not quite three hours since she’d arrived.

She asked herself what she’d expected. That Shane would stick around, maybe keep an eye on Chloe while she unpacked? That they’d sit down to some sort of dinner and talk—about his schedule, about who was going to tackle which housekeeping tasks, about Chloe’s wants, needs, likes and dislikes, fears and foibles?

Or, better yet, that he’d suddenly break down and confess he was glad she was there?

Well... Yeah.

The admission prompted a slight, self-deprecating smile. Get a grip, Jessica. You volunteered to do this, remember? It certainly wasn’t Shane’s idea. And if his behavior is any indication, he isn’t exactly overcome with joy at having you join his household.

Of course, now that she’d seen the house in question, she could understand his reticence.

She turned, giving a theatrical shiver as she surveyed the living and dining rooms. Like the rest of the interior, they were done predominantly in white—carpeting, walls, woodwork and blinds. Also like the rest of the interior, they had high ceilings and windows that were strategically located to maximize the various views of the surrounding woods and lake.

Jessy could see that the place had potential. Yet all that white, plus the absolute lack of such personal objects as artwork, keepsakes or photographs—not to mention such fundamentals as furniture—made it about as cozy as a glacier. She supposed she was biased, accustomed as she was to the clutter, color and organized chaos of her classroom, but to her mind it was definitely not the sort of warm, homey place best suited to raising a child.

But then, from what she could tell, Shane wasn’t exactly trying to get himself voted Father of the Year, she reminded herself as she padded across the living room and stepped into the hall.

Jessy shook her head and admitted she didn’t understand it. Not from Shane, who’d been the rock her own childhood had been built on.

After her mother had walked out on them, she, Bailey and their dad had relocated from Denver to Churchill, which at the time had been just another small town outside of Seattle. For Jessy, the move had meant the loss of everything dear and familiar: her home, school and friends, her grandparents and her cousins. Even worse, her father had been extremely bitter about the desertion. He’d shut everyone out and buried himself in his new job, too caught up in his own feelings to pay much attention to anyone else’s.

Bailey, on the other hand, had acted as if nothing had happened—except that he would walk away from the conversation anytime their mom was mentioned. At seventeen, he’d put all his energy into building a new life at his new school with his new friends, and because he was smart, athletic and exceedingly handsome, he’d been almost immediately accepted. That had left Jessy all by herself—bereft, bewildered and lonesome.

She’d heard about Shane for weeks before she finally met him. He’d been Bailey’s new best friend, so she’d known he was captain of the football team and student body president, that he made straight A’s and dated only the prettiest, most popular girls. He’d sounded so perfect, she’d been fairly sure she wouldn’t like him. Not that it would matter. If he was anything like the rest of her brother’s friends, he probably wouldn’t even notice that she existed.

Still, as luck would have it, their first meeting took place following her most disastrous day at school ever. She’d failed her math test, lost her book report, then gone without lunch because her dad had again forgotten to go to the grocery store. Things hadn’t gotten any better when Bailey had failed to pick her up after school the way he was supposed to, either. The class bully had pushed her in a mud puddle on her way home, causing her to skin her knees and tear her favorite dress. And as if that weren’t bad enough, when she finally did make it home, she’d found her brother was entertaining half the football team, while a note from her dad had said he wouldn’t be home until late.

It had been too much. Too proud to cry in front of a bunch of teenage boys, she’d made it as far as the big tree in their backyard before she’d sunk to the ground and let the tears overwhelm her. It hadn’t been pretty. She’d cried until her eyes were puffy, her throat was raw and her nose was runny.

The latter had become a definite problem once the worst of the emotional storm had passed. Hiccuping painfully, she’d been lamenting her lack of a sleeve when a beautifully timbered voice had said softly, “Here. Take this.”

Her eyes had flown open and she’d found herself staring at a wad of fresh tissues, held by a handsome stranger with soot black hair and the kindest, most beautiful gray eyes she’d ever seen.

For a moment all she could do was stare at him. Then, miserably aware he must think she was the biggest baby ever, she’d mumbled a thank-you, taken the tissue and carefully blown her nose, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead she’d just sat there, too mortified to do or say anything.

To her surprise, after a moment he’d sat down beside her, his hard, warm shoulder touching hers as if they’d known each other forever. “Tough day, huh?”

She’d nodded, swallowing around the fresh lump in her throat at the unexpected sympathy in his voice.

“You must be Jessy,” he’d said. “I’m Shane. One of Bailey’s friends.”

“Oh,” she’d said stupidly.

He hadn’t seemed to notice that in addition to being a crybaby, she was also a moron. Instead he’d leaned back on his hands, nodded in the direction of her raw knees and said casually, “So...is there somebody you want me to beat up for you?”

She’d been so stunned by the offer she’d forgotten her swollen eyes and red nose and turned to look at him. “You’d do that for me?”

He’d shrugged, and her heart had felt a little lighter as she’d seen the sudden spark of laughter in his eyes. “Sure. I don’t have a little sister of my own. It would be my pleasure.”

That had been the start of an unlikely friendship that had sustained her through the next ten years. One way or another, Shane had always been there when she needed him. When she’d tripped and broken her wrist at sixth-grade graduation, he’d been the one who’d kept her company while the doctor set the fracture. When she’d gotten braces and grown five inches freshman year, it had been Shane who’d assured her she wasn’t a freak. He’d taught her how to play pool, shoot a basket and cheat at poker. He’d listened when she needed to talk about her mother, and shown up with the world’s hokiest horror movie when she didn’t have a date for the prom. He’d brought laughter and security back to her life and she’d adored him for it.

Like the naive child she was, she’d thought he would be there for her forever. In some romantic, unrealistic part of her mind, she’d believed she and Shane were destined to be together, that he’d wait for her until she grew up. So even though she’d known he was dating Marissa Larson, a petite, ultrafeminine blonde who was everything she wasn’t, she’d been totally devastated when Shane had announced his engagement ten days before she was scheduled to leave for college.

She could smile about it now, but it had taken her a considerable amount of time to put it in perspective and accept that her love for Shane had been a childhood kind of thing. She shook her head, remembering.

Still, it didn’t really matter. Whatever name she put on what she’d felt for him in the past—true love, childish crush, teen idolization—it didn’t change the fact that she considered him one of the best friends she’d ever had.

Or that this was her chance to pay him back for all the years he’d stood by her.

She reentered the family room, where Chloe was once again parked in front of the TV set watching a video. All alone, with her thumb in her mouth and her long silky lashes looking like miniature fans every time she blinked, she was the picture of defenseless innocence. Jessy slowed her pace, startled by the strength of the protective urge that swept through her at the sight of that sweet little face.

A sudden sense of purpose filled her. Shane might have taken off, but Chloe was here—and definitely in need of an adult she could count on. Making her voice light and cheerful, she said, “Hey, sweetie. I was thinking. It’s a beautiful day out.” She approached the child and tried to look reassuring. “How would you like to go for a walk before dinner?”

The toddler glanced over, appeared to consider, then said uncertainly, “’Kay.”

“It’ll be fun,” Jessy promised. “We can take some bread and see if we can’t find some ducks to feed down at the lake.”

The child perked up, climbing to her feet with a sudden look of interest. “Duckies go quack-quack.”

“Yes, they do.” Jessy ejected the video, turned everything off and held out her hand. “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?”

Chloe hesitated, then took a few steps and tentatively laid her soft little hand in Jessy’s. Looking up through her lashes, she nodded.

Jessy’s heart melted, while her resolve hardened. Don’t worry, baby. One way or another, whether he likes it or not, I’m going to chase those shadows from your daddy’s eyes. After all, as Shane himself had taught her, that was what friends were for.

She smiled down at his daughter. “Come on, kiddo. We’re going to have some fun. I promise.”

“Good morning,” Jessy said cheerfully.

She watched with distinct satisfaction as Shane rocked to a halt in the doorway that led from the hall into the kitchen. In the split second before his expression smoothed out, his dismay at finding her already up at such an early hour was obvious.

His lack of composure didn’t last long. “Good morning,” he returned brusquely. Resplendent in a crisp white shirt and a beautifully cut gray linen suit that set off his inky hair and his olive-toned skin to perfection, he came the rest of the way into the room. He set the morning newspaper on the breakfast bar. “What are you doing up?”

She gave a little shrug. “I heard you come in from your run, and since I was wide-awake, I decided I might as well get up and put the coffee on.”

“Huh.” He pulled out a stool, sat and opened the newspaper, effectively dismissing her.

So what else was new? she asked herself, struck once again by the immense change in him. It had been after midnight when he finally came home that first night, and he’d been gone again before seven the next morning, a pattern that had repeated itself in the three days since. Except for a photocopy of his schedule that he left her each morning, Jessy’s chief contact with him was by phone. As if to prove he wasn’t completely irresponsible, he called every day to ask how things were going.

She swallowed a rude sound and turned to watch the coffee as it slowly filled the pot. Although she hadn’t expected him to suddenly decide he was overjoyed by her presence, neither had she expected him to avoid his own home as if it were infested by the plague just because she was in it.

But he had. He was. And she’d had enough. After three days of thinking about it, she’d decided it was time to get tough.

In the nicest possible way, of course.

The coffeepot gave a last sputter, indicating it was done. She looked over at Shane. “The coffee’s ready. Would you like a cup?”

He was silent a moment, then glanced up. “Sure.”

She got a mug from the cupboard, filled it with coffee, added some creamer and set it down beside him.

“Thanks.” He went back to the paper.

“You’re welcome.” She took a moment to study him, taking in the firm line of his freshly shaven jaw, the inky blackness of his thick eyelashes, the latent sensuality of his mouth.

He shifted, raising the paper higher and she glanced away, feeling the oddest little ache. Giving herself a mental shake—what was that all about?—she crossed to the other counter and went back to the batter she’d been putting together when he walked in. She checked the recipe, added the last few ingredients, then picked up the bowl and a wire whisk and began to stir. After a few moments, she turned. Resting her backside against the counter, she glanced at Shane. “I hate to bother you,” she lied, “but I have a favor to ask.”

“Yeah? What?”

Although she couldn’t see anything except his hands and the top of his dark head, she sensed his sudden tension. “Well...I wondered if you’d mind if I got my table and chairs out of storage and brought them over. It’s not that I don’t like eating at the counter,” she explained. “It’s just that it’s the wrong height for Chloe’s high chair and meals would be so much easier if—”

“Jessy.” The paper came down and he regarded her impatiently. “You want a table? Fine. Call Robinson’s. Tell them to send something out and have them put it on my account.”

He had an account at the furniture store? She bit her lip, resisting an impish urge to ask him why, if that was the case, the house was emptier than a pauper’s wallet. While the old Shane would have come back with a smart remark of his own, she was pretty sure the new one would stiffen up like a starched sheet hung out in a hot breeze, and she wasn’t quite done with him yet.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Would it also be all right to get one of those rocker-recliners so I’d have someplace to read to Chloe?”

“Get whatever you want,” he said flatly.

“Okay. Great. I’ll do that.”

“Good.” As quickly as that, the paper went back up.

Thoughtfully she set the bowl down on the counter, got the margarine out of the fridge and the syrup out of the cupboard. She poured the latter into a measuring cup, then checked the light on the waffle iron, which indicated it wasn’t quite ready. Picking up her coffee mug, she once more faced the breakfast bar, “Shane?”

“What?”

“There’s something else I’d like to ask.” She smothered a smile as she heard him sigh a second before he lowered the paper again.

One straight black eyebrow slashed up in question. “What is it now?”

“How would you feel about painting Chloe’s room?”

He frowned. “What’s the matter with it the way it is now?”

“It’s just so...bland. I’d like to add some color, maybe do a wallpaper border, just...brighten things up. Make it more suitable for a small child.”

For a moment he looked as if he were going to balk. Just as quickly, however, his face smoothed out, returning to its usual indifferent mask. “Fine. Pick out the paint and I’ll get somebody in to do it.”

“Don’t be silly,” she protested. “I’ll take care of it. I like to paint.”

He shrugged. “Do whatever you want.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “Great. I’ll do it Saturday then—if you’re free to watch Chloe?”

His expression grew even more shuttered. “Sure.” He started to go back to the paper, then reconsidered. “Is there anything else?”

“Well... As a matter of fact...”

“What?”

“Would you like some breakfast?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

“Oh. Okay.”

With a rustle of newspaper, he returned to the day’s headlines.

Jessy didn’t say a word. On the contrary, she turned serenely around, set down her mug, flipped up the top of the waffle iron and poured in a puddle of batter. She replaced the top, picked up the syrup and put it in the microwave to warm.

In seconds the kitchen was filled with tantalizing aromas.

She pretended not to notice, just as she continued to ignore Shane. Instead she set a place for herself at the counter, poured herself a glass of milk and placed it, the margarine and the now-warm syrup within reach. Then she retrieved her waffle, put it on a plate and sat down. Settling her napkin in her lap, she picked up her knife and carefully buttered the warm, golden circle.

Two stools down, Shane had gone very still.

She reached for the syrup and slowly drizzled it across the waffle’s steaming surface. Then she cut off a bite-size piece and popped it into her mouth, unable to completely mask a soft sigh of pleasure at its sweet, buttery taste.

Very slowly, the paper came down. “You didn’t tell me you were fixing waffles,” Shane said brusquely.

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t think I had a waffle iron.”

“You don’t. You were a little shy on cookware, so I brought over some of my things.”

He gave her a long, indecipherable look, then deliberately laid down the paper, pushed back the stool and stood. “I’ve got to go,” he said curtly. He stalked out of the room.

“Have a nice day,” Jessy called after him. She calmly ate another bite, thinking it was too bad he was so pressed for time.

Waffles were his favorites.

Three

When Shane walked in the door after work Friday night, Jessy was curled up on the family room couch, reading a magazine.

She sat upright as he came into the room. Pushing her glossy mane of golden brown hair off her face, she sent him her usual friendly smile. “Hi.”

He tossed his keys onto the counter and loosened his tie with a jerk. “Hi, yourself.”

He realized he sounded surly, but he didn’t particularly care. The whole damn day had been horrible. He’d overslept and missed his morning run. The rain that had threatened for two days had commenced at exactly the same time he’d had a tire blow out on the freeway. When he finally arrived at the office, damp, disheveled and late for an important meeting, he’d learned that Grace, his secretary for the past three years, had fallen in the shower and broken both arms. Topping things off, a shipment meant for Minnesota had gone to Missouri, one of his major suppliers was having financial problems and the truckers’ union was making noise about a possible strike.

Now here he was, home at last Or at least, he thought it was his home, he amended, taking a swift look around. In the time since he’d left that morning, it appeared he’d acquired an oversize rocker-recliner, several occasional tables, a pair of table lamps and a richly patterned Persian rug for his family room, plus a sleek dinette set that now occupied a space next to the windows.

Following his gaze, Jessy said mildly, “The furniture came.”

“Yeah. I noticed.” He was in no mood for small talk. It was after eight, he had indigestion from the too-spicy pizza he’d eaten for dinner and he was dead-dog tired. All he wanted was to be left alone, to have a little quiet time to get his head together before the whole damn thing started all over again in the morning. Not that he expected her to care.

“You’re home late.” She drew up her legs and looped her arms around them.

“Yeah.” He’d gone by the hospital to take Grace some flowers and wound up spending more than an hour assuring her she didn’t have to worry about her job, the hospital bill, or anything else. “I guess I should have called.”

“No problem,” she said easily. “Have you had dinner?”

“Yeah.” He picked up the mail and began to sort through it.

She was silent a moment. “Tough day?”

“You could say that.”

“I’m sorry. It must be the rain. Chloe had a bad one, too, poor little thing. It wore her out. She was out like a light by seven-thirty.”

He set down the mail, which except for an invitation to one of his best customer’s wedding was mostly flyers and bills, and turned to face her. “Well, I’m not far behind her. I’m going to go for a short run, then turn in, okay?”

It wasn’t a question so much as a declaration of his need for space, but she nodded anyway, her eyes very blue in her tranquil face. “Fine by me. I’m going to finish this article and then watch a movie. Enjoy your run.” That said, she curled up, propped her head on one hand and went back to her magazine.

Shane remained where he was for a second, feeling off-kilter and not liking it. Turning on his heel, he started out of the room, only to grind to a halt halfway across the floor. Exasperated with himself, he slowly retraced his steps. “Listen,” he said without preamble, certain that the next few minutes were going to be about as pleasant as the rest of his day. “I almost forgot. I have to fly to Dallas tomorrow. One of my suppliers is having some cash flow problems. Can you handle things with Chloe?”

Jessy looked up, studied his face for all of two seconds and said, “Sure. Don’t worry about it.” She resumed reading.

He stared at her finely drawn profile. That was it? No muss, no fuss, no major upset? “Okay then,” he said, feeling inexplicably irritated.

She nodded but didn’t look up, and after a moment he turned and left the room, his annoyance growing with every step. He stopped briefly to look in on Chloe—the kid was flat on her back and snoring noisily—then changed out of his suit and into some sweats, and went for his run.

It was still light out, so he started out on the wide, well-maintained path that circled the lake. Later, he’d take one of the many offshoots and come back along the road to the house, but for now the wide vista of silvery water suited his mood.

For the first mile or two he tried not to think. He concentrated instead on the even ebb and flow of his breathing, the cool slide of the rain against his skin, the firm feel of the running path beneath his sneakered feet.

At some point, however, he began to brood about his exchange with Jessy. What was her problem, anyway? Why did she have to be so damn accommodating? It wasn’t normal—not for a female. She was so rational, so reasonable, so calm and sensible. She acted just like a guy.

Only she wasn’t a guy, he reminded himself impatiently. She was Jessy, the motherless little buddy he’d practically adopted back in high school. And for all her lack of pretension, her penchant for dressing in T-shirts and shorts, for going without makeup and wearing her hair simply, there had always been a kindness about her, a sensitivity to other people’s feelings, that was markedly feminine. So, too, was the way she’d always looked up to him, treating him as if he were some sort of paragon or, better yet, her own personal knight in shining armor who could do no wrong.

Shane grimaced. Now, that was a laugh. A real man wouldn’t care that the child he loved wasn’t truly his. He’d be able to get past his wife’s betrayal, to get on with his life instead of merely going through the motions—

He clamped down on his thoughts, his stomach twisting with the familiar self-disgust. He’d been over this ground so often he knew every futile twist and turn, every useless bump and bend. No matter how often he considered it, or how much he wished things were different, that he could be different, it changed nothing.