Father and Child Reunion

“Rio Redtree.” Yanking at the knees of his khakis, he crouched down in front of the curious child and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Molly.”

Molly grinned and, doing what she thought people did when they went through this routine, laid her small hand in his broad palm.

As long as her mom was around, no person was a stranger. So it wasn’t her daughter’s behavior that gave Eve pause—even when Molly screwed up her nose at his last name and said she didn’t know people could be named after colored trees. It was Rio’s manner that was so unexpected.

It had been her experience that men, unless they were already familiar with children, tended to treat any human in the three-feet-tall range with either ambivalence, suspicion or a combination of both. Certainly, she’d never suspected Rio would seem so comfortable around a child. Not given how certain he’d been about never wanting any of his own.

Confusion joined trepidation as Molly, noticing the ring he wore, took his hand in both of hers and turned it over. Rio didn’t seem to mind her interest. Nor did he seem in any particular hurry to get back to what he’d been so interested in just moments ago. As he explained the shapes etched in the heavy silver of the ring, Rio seemed as intent on the child as the child was on him.

“The symbol here is Cheyenne. And this one is Arapaho. The feather is important for lots of reasons, and the three blue circles,” he explained, scanning her delicate features after he’d pointed out what he was talking about, “are a symbol of the Arapaho people.”

“What’s Cheyenne and Rapa…what is it?”

“Arapaho. They’re the Indian tribes of my parents.” His glance moved over her pigtails, taking in her hair’s deep sable color. “Arapaho men used to tattoo the circles on their chests, and the women would tattoo a single circle right there.” He touched his index finger to the center of her forehead.

Molly giggled. “What’s a tattoo?”

“Come on, Molly,” Eve cut in, curving a protective hand over one small shoulder. “You know who’s here now, so go back to your movie.”

The little girl looked up at her mom, her head tipping backward. “But I want to know what a tattoo is.”

“It’s like a drawing on your skin,” Rio continued, never taking his glance from the little girl.

“Mommy won’t let me draw on myself.”

The way Molly’s cupid’s bow mouth drew up in one corner when she frowned made Rio smile again. He couldn’t help it. The kid was a charmer.

He sat back on his haunches, watching the child’s somber expression turn animated once more when he agreed that moms could sometimes ruin the really fun stuff. The women at the wedding had been right. Eve’s daughter was, indeed, a tiny little thing. Delicate, dainty. Dainty, that was, except for the chokehold she had on her cyanotic stuffed bear. She had her mother’s azure eyes and the same engaging smile. But there was a familiarity to the rest of her features that had him feeling as if something heavy was sitting on his chest.

That familiarity wasn’t there because of her mother. As Eve was so fair, he didn’t think it likely that Molly’s dusky skin and nearly black hair had come from her gene pool. He had no idea what Eve’s father had looked like, but the surname Stuart did not conjure up an image of a swarthy man. As for Olivia, the woman had been pale as milk. If it weren’t for all the time Eve’s brother, Hal, had spent on the slopes last winter and by his pool this summer perfecting his tan, he would have looked the same. What Rio recognized in the apple-cheeked child was the resemblance she bore to his youngest nieces. And to him. She had the same defined cleft above her upper lip and dimple in her chin.

He was thinking she might as well have a sky blue circle tattooed on her forehead when Eve finally snagged the little girl’s attention long enough to tell her she needed to say good-night to him and finish her movie.

“Don’t sit too close to the television,” Eve called as Molly, having done what she was told with little more than an exaggerated sigh, disappeared around the corner.

Casting a furtive glance in Rio’s direction, Eve hoped to heaven she wouldn’t sound as nervous as she felt.

“Once she starts with questions, it’s hard to get her stopped. You wouldn’t believe the questions she was asking the gardener yesterday. Now, where were we? Oh, yes,” she said, hurrying on, easing the death grip she had on the address book. “I’ll bring a copy of this to you tomorrow. Okay?”

She was speaking to stone. Rio’s attention was still fixed on the doorway, his stance rigid. Though she could see only his profile, it didn’t appear that what she’d said registered at all.

“Will that be all right?” she asked, trying again.

Seconds passed with the tick of the clock on the desk. Muffled music filtered down the hall from the television. When he finally turned to face her, his eyes settled hard on hers.

“She’s a cute kid.”

Ambivalence sliced through her. “Yes. She is.”

“I don’t suppose you adopted her.”

The statement wasn’t unreasonable. Not given the disparity in looks between mother and daughter. It was Rio’s phrasing that made Eve’s heart kick her ribs. To anyone else, the question might have sounded like simple curiosity. To Eve, it sounded like a process of elimination.

“No,” she quietly returned. “I didn’t.”

“Did you have another Indian boyfriend?”

“No.”

“How old is she?”

“Rio, we need…”

“It’s a simple question.” His tone was mild. Deceptively so. “How old is she?”

The edge of the address book bit into her palm. “Five.”

A muscle in his jaw constricted, tightening the cords in his strong neck and turning his tone utterly flat.

“I was careful, Eve. We always used protection. Always,” he repeated, as if she were going to dispute the fact.

Eve had no intention of doing any such thing. She had no intention, either, of pointing out that protection obviously didn’t always work. Rio was doing a fine job of drawing his own conclusions.

“She’s mine, isn’t she.”

She wished she could read him. She wished something about that frustratingly impenetrable facade would let her know what was going on inside his head. But he kept his thoughts too hidden. Just as he always had.

The Fates, she decided, were truly perverse. Of all the things that had changed in the past six weeks—the past six years, for that matter—Rio’s ability to suppress his reactions seemed the one thing that had remained the same.

“Yes,” she admitted, not sure if she should be relieved or worried by his apparent calm. “She is.”

“How much longer before she goes to bed?”

“She should be there now. Why?”

It was hard enough to gauge his reaction with him facing her; it was impossible for her to comprehend what she was up against when he turned to the night-blackened window.

“Go take care of her. I’ll wait.”

* * *

Molly’s movie wasn’t over, but it really was past her bedtime and she had day camp in the morning. Since Molly loved camp, she offered only a token protest, then, on the way to the stairs, reminded Eve of her promise to leave on the hall light so the monster under her bed wouldn’t get her.

The monster nightmare was new. Hating the thought of her little girl being scared, Eve promised not only to leave the light on, but that she would personally check to make sure the only things under the bed were dust bunnies. When that didn’t completely alleviate Molly’s fear, Eve caved in and tucked the child into her own bed.

Her little girl’s eyes were already closing when, prayers, hugs and kisses dispensed, Eve left the room, leaving the light on as promised.

Rio was right where she’d left him in the study.

He still stood in front of the window, his hands on his hips and his shoulders rigid. Eve didn’t know what he saw beyond the dark glass. Or even if he noticed anything at all. In the reflection, it looked as if his eyes were closed.

Feeling as if she were shutting the gate on a cage, she closed the door behind her with a quiet click and leaned against it.

He didn’t move. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t? Was someone physically restraining you?”

“Of course not. What I meant—”

“What you meant,” he interrupted, wheeling around, “is you wouldn’t.” He kept his voice deliberately low. “All you had to do was say, Rio, I’m pregnant.”

He made it sound as simple as commenting on the weather.

“And what would you have done?” she demanded, regarding his attitude as highly unfair. “Helped me put her up for adoption? Paid for an abortion? You didn’t want children,” she pointed out as something fierce flashed in his eyes. “You told me so yourself when you talked about what you wanted to do with your life. Even if you had wanted them, it’s not as if marriage had been an option. I didn’t know that much about you. Until you mentioned it to Molly a few minutes ago, I didn’t even know what tribes you came from.”

“There’d have been no abortion.”

There was as much possessiveness as moral conviction in his curt pronouncement. She should have found that telling. All she considered was that he’d responded to the only thing that had never been an issue.

“I never even considered one,” she muttered, amazed by how he’d completely missed the point.

Determined to be reasonable, she reiterated what he’d conveniently overlooked. “You didn’t want children,” she repeated. “I asked you once how you felt about them and you made it perfectly clear that they were fine for other people, but not for you. Kids hold a person back, you said, and nothing was going to stop you from getting where you were going. You were positively driven, Rio. You had to graduate and get a job on a paper and work your way up to the city desk. For all I knew, you had plans for a Pulitzer and a move to the New York Times. If it didn’t have to do with your career, it wasn’t in the equation.”

Rio didn’t deny a word she said. As implacable as ever, he planted his hands on his hips and stared at the nap in the carpet while he wore down the enamel on his back teeth. She’d never known him to let anything stand in his way. From the moment she’d met him, he’d known exactly what he was going to do, and when; what he wanted for himself—and what he didn’t want. That confidence was one of the things she’d admired most about him. Especially when back then, she’d had so little confidence in herself.

When she’d first met him, she’d been a slightly overwhelmed, seventeen-year-old college freshman. Rio had already finished three years of college in two and was cramming his senior year into six months. She didn’t doubt he’d finished right on his schedule, either. According to her mom, he’d been the youngest intern ever hired onto the Herald’s staff.

“You knew what you wanted,” she repeated, thinking of how quickly a person could learn to stand on her own when she had to. “But I didn’t. I was seventeen, Rio. I hardly knew what I wanted to major in, much less what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. The way I saw it, we were in a situation that wouldn’t work for any of us. It was best to go away and give the baby up for adoption.”

She’d been seventeen.

Rio wasn’t sure why that made him wince. Grappling with the knowledge that he had a child, he didn’t try to figure it out. He was a reasonable man. He prided himself on his objectivity, his ability to see both sides of a story—and he knew for a fact that he’d done everything in his power to remain objective about Eve. But any sense of perspective he’d had was forever gone. She hadn’t believed he would do right by her. She’d doubted his integrity. Rather than trust him to work the problem out with her, she’d chosen to run away from him. At the moment, her distrust and deceit were all he could think about.

Tension vibrated from him like sound waves from a tuning fork.

“That’s very compelling, Eve. Except you didn’t give her up.”

“I didn’t plan to keep her. I didn’t,” she repeated, because he so clearly didn’t believe her. “But when I saw her, I couldn’t bear to part with her.” She didn’t know how to describe to him what she’d felt. Or even if it would matter. “I even thought you might change your mind about children if you saw her yourself.”

Had there been any room for Eve to back up, she would have done so by then. As it was, with her back pressed to the door, there was nowhere for her to go. Hating the position she found herself in, resenting him for putting her there, she deliberately tipped up her chin.

She didn’t understand the accusation in his eyes, or the anger he held so tightly in check. Those were things a man who’d felt cheated would feel. She would have understood if he’d been indifferent to what he’d just discovered. Or if he’d felt threatened or skeptical. She wouldn’t have been surprised had he told her he wanted nothing to do with their little girl. Or if he’d become wary and wanted to know what she expected from him. But she’d never expected him to act as if she’d betrayed him by keeping the child from him.

Unable to bear his accusation any longer, she hugged her arms to her chest and moved to pace between the desk and the door.

“I tried to call you after she was born,” she said, her voice strained. “You have no idea how much courage it took to finally make that call. I think I picked up the phone twenty times before I actually pressed all the numbers.

“It had been between semesters,” she recalled, wanting him to know this even if it didn’t matter to him. Now that he knew about Molly, she wanted everything out in the open. It was the only way they could get over the past and do what was best for Molly. “I’d tried to call you at your apartment, but after a couple of days of getting no answer, I figured you’d gone home for the break.”

She hadn’t been sure where “home” was exactly, other than on the reservation northwest of Grand Springs, but she finally got a number for his mother. Only, when she had asked for him and his mother had asked who she was, any thought Eve had of sharing the news of their daughter died right there.

“Your mom said she didn’t want me to talk to you anymore. It seemed you had a new girlfriend.”

I must ask you to leave my son alone, Eve Stuart. You are not of our people, and Rio knows his obligations. My son has a nice Indian girlfriend now.

Hesitation washed over Rio’s expression. Jaw working, he pulled a deep breath. Seconds later, his thoughts seeming dark and distant, his displeasure expanded. “She never told me you called.”

That didn’t surprise Eve. What did, was that she could still remember how hurt she’d been. Focusing on the bookshelf, she told herself she’d had no business feeling that way. She had left him. He’d had every right to move on to someone else. But the fact that Rio hadn’t denied the truth to what his mother had said somehow made the hurt seem fresh all over again.

That made no sense at all, she told herself, and concentrated on what had been truly important about her conversation with Rio’s mother, for it had revealed an obstacle she hadn’t even realized existed.

“I didn’t think she had,” she quietly concluded. “But what your mother said made it pretty obvious she wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of a half-breed for a granddaughter. It seemed to me that if you understood the obligations she mentioned, you might not have been too thrilled, either.”

Eve hugged herself tighter. “I remember picking up Molly after I’d hung up the phone and trying to pretend I’d never seen her before. I knew she was darker than I was, but to me, she was just my precious baby and everything about her was beautiful. I hadn’t thought about the color of her eyes or her hair or her skin. All that had mattered was that she had ten fingers and ten toes and she was healthy.”

She’d been blind to so much, she thought, aware of his shadow covering her. Too much. “Your mother made me realize that you probably wouldn’t have seen her the way I did, and that you had responsibilities to what she’d called ‘your people.’ That was when I realized how little I truly knew about you.”

He’d come up behind her. She could feel him. But she wasn’t prepared for the feel of his hand on her shoulder, or the heat in his eyes when he turned her to face him.

“My mother was out of line saying what she did. And she had no business keeping your call from me. But you never should have left to begin with. You knew all that mattered.” Defense marked his tone. Bridled anger etched his features. “My heritage is important to me. So is my family. But I decided a long time ago that neither the tribe nor my family was going to dictate my life.”

“You never told me that. You rarely talked about your family, and you never mentioned your heritage at all. How was I supposed to know how you felt if you never told me?”

“You knew how I felt,” he insisted. “I cared about you.” His heated glance swept her face, the source of his anger eluding her completely. “I don’t know how I could have made that any clearer.”

Nothing she said was getting through to him. Upset as she was, that was her only thought before she felt his hands clench her shoulders. His thumb swept downward, edging lightly along her collarbone, and his hard gaze dropped to her mouth.

He was close enough that she could feel the heat and tension radiating from him. Close enough that she could almost feel his body pressing against hers. But it was the motion of his thumbs that destroyed her attempt to make him understand, and left her feeling completely exposed.

He’d once had the habit of tracing her collarbone when he’d been about to kiss her. He’d be trying to make a point, or telling her about something that had happened that day, and his thumbs would do what they were doing now. Inevitably, his hands would slide up into her hair and he’d settle his mouth over hers, turning her knees weak and her blood to steam. He would kiss her hard. Or sometimes he was so gentle she’d want to cry. But, always, she never wanted him to stop.

The memory shouldn’t have tugged so deeply. The weight of his hands shouldn’t have felt so familiar. But what should have been bore scant resemblance to what was.

“I think we both need some time,” she said, not caring how unsteady she sounded. “This is…” Dangerous. Foolish. Irrational.

“Yeah,” Rio muttered, seeming to understand what she couldn’t articulate. “This isn’t good.”

He stepped back, disquiet etched in his angular features as his hands slipped away. He pushed one through his hair, backing up another step. “I think I’d better go. We’ll talk about this…about Molly,” he amended, “later.”

Eve started toward the door.

Not trusting himself around her any longer, Rio held up his hand. As jarred as he felt, he was surprised it wasn’t shaking. “I can find my way out.”

He didn’t remember what Eve said, or if she said anything at all before he walked through the brightly lit foyer, past the long entry table with its matching vases and out the front door. He wasn’t sure he recalled getting in his Durango and starting it, either—though he’d obviously done both because, within the minute, he was driving into darkness, heading nowhere in particular except away from the Stuart house.

He felt as if he’d just taken a gut punch. Only, at the moment, he wasn’t sure which was more accountable for the sensation. The white heat he’d felt rip through him at the thought of kissing her, the fact that he’d almost done something like kiss her in anger, or the realization that he had a child.

A child.

He was a father.

The night air rushing in his open window smelled of pine and dew. He sucked in a lungful of it, seeking to calm the thoughts careening through his mind. But calm wasn’t going to come easily to him. It never did. Had it been daylight, he’d have headed for his lot and exhausted himself hauling wood or hammering a few pounds of nails. But it wasn’t light, and though he would have preferred physical activity for the escape it offered, he’d have to settle for being still.

He found himself heading for his lot, anyway, seeking solace in the only place he ever found it anymore.

Two Falls Lake was fifteen minutes out of town and a million miles from civilization. There were several lakes in the area, but this one was too small and too inaccessible to be popular. At night, even Rio didn’t attempt the hike down to it, so he left his SUV in the clearing near the skeletal frame of his cabin and made his way to the outcropping of rock overlooking the still, black water.

The moon trailed a wide band of light across the glassy surface of the lake. Walls of enormous firs rose up like solemn black sentinels, dwarfing everything below them. There was nothing to be heard here but the sigh of the wind, the occasional yelp of coyotes and the inner voices a man couldn’t silence.

He shoved his fingers through his hair, too agitated to appreciate the stillness. Any other time, he could have forced himself to concentrate on the night sounds. Not now. All he could think about now was that Eve had been pregnant when she’d left years ago.

The thought that had made him wince earlier came rushing back to him. The fact that the protection they’d used had failed was a moot point. So was his mother’s interference. Indulging his anger with her would only dredge up resentments he never allowed himself to think about, anyway. There was no changing what was done. Yet, what bothered him most was that Eve hadn’t only been pregnant—she’d been seventeen and pregnant. Had he ever given any thought to her age when he’d known her?

He couldn’t have, Rio decided, or he’d have considered just how dangerous sleeping with her could be. To him, she’d just been Eve; the person who’d never questioned his goals, who’d looked up to him. The one person who had finally allowed him to believe in himself. Looking back now, he’d been light-years older than she was—even though he’d only been nineteen at the time. But, then, Stone Richardson, his detective friend, had once told him he’d probably been born old.

Rio drew his hand down his face and blew out a breath. Dear God, he thought, she’d been jailbait. On top of that, her mother had been the mayor, as close to “society” as people came in Grand Springs. His home once had been a trailer on the reservation, and he’d possessed nothing but a determination to escape the specter of his father and a fire in his belly for a dream no one wanted him to pursue. It was a miracle Olivia hadn’t had his sorry hide thrown in jail.

There were spirits to be thanked for that, he was sure. He just wasn’t sure which ones handled that sort of thing. Anyway, he was more concerned with what had happened than with what hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted a child. Not then. Not now. The problem was figuring out what to do about the daughter he’d just discovered he had.

* * *

It was late afternoon the next day before Eve heard from Rio. As it was, she didn’t actually talk to him. She was at the women’s shelter dropping off boxes of clothing when he called, but he’d left a message on her mom’s answering machine. It was the only message on the recording.

“Eve, it’s Rio. I’m tied up for the next few days. If you wouldn’t mind dropping the photocopies of your mom’s address book and calendar off at the newspaper, I’d appreciate it. Stick them in an envelope with my name on it and leave it at the desk inside the main door.” There was a pause, a long one that seemed to indicate there was something else he needed to add. Something about his daughter, perhaps. But “Thanks” was all he finally said.

Eve listened to the message again and glanced at the photocopies and the address book she’d just placed beside the photo of Molly that Olivia kept on the corner of her desk. Eve and Molly had made the copies while they’d been out.

He’d be tied up for a few days, he’d said.

If she were to give him the benefit of the doubt, she had to admit he might need a little time to come to grips with what he’d learned last night. Anyone would. A man didn’t wake up one morning realizing he was the father of a child he’d known nothing about without feeling a little shell-shocked. But his message hadn’t said a word about Molly….