Gavin's Child

There was no relief to be found there. On the contrary; it was like going from the frying pan into the fire. Gavin stood in Sam’s darkened bedroom doorway, a small, slightly shabby teddy bear clutched in his hands. The look on his face stopped her in her tracks.

“The boy—your son…his name is Sam?” he said carefully.

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“How old is he?”

“He was two on January the second.” It was a year to the day after they’d been married; less than seven months after the Colson gates had slammed shut, destroying their marriage.

“So…” He glanced down at the stuffed animal. “He is mine, isn’t he, Annie?”

He didn’t mean the teddy bear, and she knew it. Just as she suddenly understood that, despite the stillness of his posture, the blankness of his expression, the lack of inflection in his voice, he wasn’t nearly as indifferent as she’d supposed.

Yet it never occurred to her to lie. Not because she still cared about him, she was quick to reassure herself. Other than a knee-jerk response to his undeniable physical attractiveness, she didn’t have any feelings left for him at all. Not after what he’d done…

No; she was doing this for Sam.

No matter what she felt, her child deserved a chance to know his father.

“Yes, Gavin.” Outside, the breeze had died down; her voice seemed to hang in the sudden silence. “Sam is your son.”

His head jerked up. A tremor went through him. Something flashed in his eyes, something fierce and primitive. In the next instant his control disappeared like smoke in a hurricane. “Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he. demanded harshly. He closed the distance between them in two explosive strides, not stopping until the toes of his boots struck the ends of her tennis shoes. “What were you trying to do—pay me back for calling it quits?”

“No!” He was so close she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “No, of course not!”

“Then what?”

She told him the only part of the truth she could. “You made it clear you didn’t want a wife. I didn’t think you’d want to be bothered with a child!”

“Yeah?” His face worked as he stared down at her. “Well, you thought wrong! Dammit, Annie, if I’d known you were pregnant, it would’ve changed everything!”

Even though it was what she’d expected he’d say, it hurt.

Yet it was a survivable pain, she realized slowly. Three years ago it would have destroyed her, but not now—not after everything else she’d been through.

She lifted her chin and gave an eloquent shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn you.” Gavin wheeled away and stalked over to one of the windows, where he braced a hand against the sash and stood staring out at the deepening twilight.

She sighed, but her voice when it came was level. “I didn’t do it to hurt you.” To be honest, she hadn’t known she could hurt him. “All I can say is that it’s in the past. We have to go on from here.”

The cotton-covered muscles in his back flexed. “Yeah? That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t missed out on your kid’s entire life.”

A half dozen retorts trembled on her tongue, chief among them a pointed reminder of where he’d been the past few years. But she swallowed it and the others, afraid to tread any deeper into the past. This was hard enough as it was. “So what is it you want?”

He turned, his blue eyes hard. “What the hell do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

“I want to be a part of my son’s life.”

Annie bit back an automatic refusal, determined to remember her vow to put Sam’s interests first. Still, now that the moment was at hand, it wasn’t quite so easy to say the words that would allow Gavin access to her child. She took a deep breath. “All right,” she said finally. “I’m sure we can work out some sort of schedule for you to visit—”

“Visit?” He shook his head. “No. I’ve already missed too damn much. I’m not missing any more.”

Her breath froze in her lungs. “Then what?”

“Hell, I don’t know!” He looked around, as if the answer could be found lurking in the corners. A curious expression suddenly moved across his face. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Sam?” The clock struck six, its muted chime marking off the hours. Her heart sank. She was now officially late. “He’s at the sitter’s.”

Gavin frowned, as if only now registering the significance of having encountered her earlier out on the porch. “Why? Did you just get home from somewhere?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, then dropped her hand. She hadn’t even worked her shift, and already she was exhausted. “No, I was just going out. As a matter of fact, I’m late. Do you think we could table this until tomorrow?”

“No.”

A small spark of desperation flared inside her. Though she didn’t think Clia would fire her just for being late, she didn’t want to find out. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. “Please. It’s clear we’re not going to settle anything tonight.”

“The answer’s still no.”

“But why?”

He smiled, completely without humor. “Why do you think?”

It took her a moment to correctly interpret the distrustful look in his eyes. She sighed. “You think. If I were going to take off, I would’ve done it a week ago. I swear I’ll be here tomorrow. Maybe by then we’ll both be calm enough to talk this through and decide what’s really best for Sam.”

Amazingly, the mention of their son’s welfare did the trick. The suspicious gleam in his eyes flickered out, although his expression remained cool and probing. He searched her face. “What time tomorrow?” he asked finally.

The breath she hadn’t known she was holding sighed out. “How about noon?” This wouldn’t seem like such an ordeal after a few hours sleep, she told herself firmly. They would be able to work something out, something adult and civilized.

“The boy—Sam—will he be here?”

“Of course.”

He continued to give her the same piercing stare before he nodded abruptly. “All right.” He started for the door, only to rock to a stop after a few feet and look back at her over his shoulder. “But I’m warning you, Annie. Don’t even think about running. Now that I know about my son, I’d find you.”

With that he turned and slammed out the door.

Annie stood staring after him, not certain what she wanted to do more—yell, plead, throw something, or sink to her knees and cry until she didn’t have any more tears.

In the end she did none of those things. She didn’t have time for histrionics. Instead she grabbed her things, turned out the lights and ran for her car.

The Palomino Grill was located off Interstate 25, at the end of the freeway ramp that led to the little town of Mountainview. It was open around the clock and looked considerably better at night than during the day.

Its floor plan was simple. Booths lined three of the four walls, tables dotted the center space, and an open-ended counter with padded swivel stools stretched the length of the kitchen. An old manual cash register topped a glassfronted counter that was filled with the usual assortment of gum, candy and antacid tablets. Garish red-and-black carpeting, sun-faded red curtains and a jukebox crowned with a decade-old display of dusty plastic geraniums completed the decor.

Annie was an hour and a half past the end of her regular shift when she dropped the tray of dirty dishes. There was a ringing crash, interspersed with the tinkle of breaking glass and the clatter of bouncing cutlery.