Father to Be Page 2

  But apparently someone else had other ideas.

  He’d barely made it to the bottom of the church steps after the Sunday morning service, when a woman approached. She was pretty, slender, not too tall. She wore a shapeless white dress that reached almost to the ground and an earnest expression that only young children and innocents could pull off. She managed. Her long hair was tied back, and her hands were clasped around the handle of an oversize attaché case. “Dr. Grayson? Can I have a moment of your time?”

  The Winchester sisters had invited him for dinner, as they did every Sunday, and he’d rather not keep them waiting, but he could spare a few minutes. In Bethlehem a person always made time for someone who needed it. That was one of the reasons he’d moved there. “Sure,” he said, gesturing to a stone bench nearby. “I have a few minutes.”

  She seated herself on the bench, opened the attaché, and rummaged inside for a business card. “It’s a generic card—I don’t have my own yet—but you can call me Noelle.”

  The card was familiar—raised black ink on white stock, the state seal, the social services address at the courthouse. That office had been closed down since before he’d moved to town, and all of Bethlehem’s social service needs had been handled out of Howland. Apparently, that was changing.

  He tucked the card into his pocket. “What can I do for you, Noelle?”

  Once again she rummaged inside the case, this time pulling out four five-by-seven-inch photographs and arranging them on the bench. Kids, he could see from where he stood. Kids in trouble. A knot began forming in his stomach.

  “These are the Brown children—Caleb, Jacob, Noah, and Gracie. She’s five.” Earnestness gave way briefly to a smile as she gazed at the last photo. “They live a few miles east of town—or, at least, they did. Their mother left them about two years ago, and their father disappeared six weeks ago. They’ve been on their own since then.”

  J.D. slid his hands into his pockets and refused to look at the photographs. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The temperature was comfortable, the sun was shining, and after dinner with the Winchester sisters, he was going to hang eighteen sets of cabinets in the kitchen of his new house. It promised to be a relaxing, productive day, as Sundays should be, and he didn’t want to spoil it with conversation about kids whose parents had thrown them away.

  But he was a psychiatrist. He listened to a lot of conversations he didn’t want to hear. He heard things that should never be imagined, dealt with the aftermath of things that should never be done. He’d lived the aftermath. If he couldn’t handle it, then he should find a new job.

  “Where are the kids now?” he asked, careful to keep his voice even, his tone strictly professional.

  “They were taken into custody Friday night. They’re at Bethlehem Memorial for physicals and observation.”

  “And you want my observations.”

  She looked startled. “Oh, no, Dr. Grayson, not at all—at least, not just yet. The children are fine. They’re ready to be placed in their foster home.”

  The relief he felt shamed him. Tomorrow he could deal with unwanted, abandoned kids, but not today. Not on one of his regular put-J.D.-back-together days.

  “Then, what do you want from me?”

  Her forehead wrinkled, as if she were puzzled that he hadn’t figured it out yet. “Why, we want you to provide that foster home.”

  Surely he hadn’t heard right. There was so much more to assigning a child to a foster home than this. There were interviews to conduct, investigations to begin, home visits to attend to. All the preliminary work on prospective volunteers completed, so they would be approved and ready when a situation arose. He was certainly not one of those volunteers. Hell, as a psychiatrist, he would be the last person he’d approve for it.

  “Look, I’ve worked with social services enough to know that this isn’t how you do business. People have to volunteer for this. They have to undergo a thorough investigation. You can’t just choose someone and dump the kids on him.”

  His argument didn’t faze her at all. “You’re right, Dr. Grayson. This isn’t how we normally do business. But this is a special case. And we’re talking a short-term arrangement—a few weeks, not more than a month. That’s all.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  That didn’t faze her either. “Not me, Dr. Grayson. The children.”

  She gestured to the photographs, and this time he couldn’t help but look and notice details. The anger in the oldest boy’s eyes. The other boys’ fear. The girl’s old-beyond-her-years solemnity. Good-looking kids whom nobody wanted. Rejected by their mother, then their father. Destined for a bleak future and probably children of their own to neglect and abandon, who would then face the same future or worse. A vicious cycle … unless someone stopped it now. He knew it could be done with the right home, the right parents. But his wasn’t the home, and he certainly wasn’t the parent.

  “You know nothing about me.”

  “To the contrary. I took the liberty of making a few inquiries. You don’t have an arrest record. You’re not in debt. You have an excellent work record. The hospital administrator says you’re a brilliant psychiatrist. Even the nurses adore you. Your landlady calls you an ideal tenant. You don’t drink. You don’t drive recklessly. You’re reliable, trustworthy, and you’re in church every Sunday morning—though the pastor says he wouldn’t mind seeing you a few other times when the doors are open.” She took a deep breath, then smiled gently. “For now that’s all we need to know.”

  For now. Did that mean later there would be a more extensive background check? Later they might delve into all the nooks and crannies of his past?

  He shook his head. “I’m a single man with a full-time job. I can’t do justice to four children with my work schedule.”

  “In a town like Bethlehem, you’ll have no trouble finding neighbors to help out. And we don’t discriminate against single parents, Dr. Grayson. Your marital status has nothing whatsoever to do with your parenting ability.”

  Oh, but it did, J.D. thought bleakly. More than this naive social worker could imagine.

  “I’m a man,” he tried again. “That little girl”—Gracie, five, old beyond her years—“needs a woman. A mother.”

  “She needs you. Trust me on this.” Noelle’s words hung between them, soft, reassuring. “Just a few weeks, Dr. Grayson—that’s all I’m asking of you. The authorities are trying to track down a relative who might be able to take the children. If that fails, then we’ll look for a permanent placement.”

  A few weeks. She made it sound so easy, but if there was one thing kids weren’t, it was easy. They were trouble, frustration, and love, all wrapped together in one untidy package. They brought out the best in a man—and sometimes the worst. They could love you, hate you, break your heart.

  The Brown kids had already had their hearts broken, had already been abandoned twice. They deserved better than that, deserved an adult they could trust, someone they could count on to be there for them anytime, all the time.

  He wasn’t that person. He’d already proved it. If he tried and failed again, he could do the same damage times four, and that was too big a risk to take.

  “They’re good children,” Noelle said quietly. “I won’t deny that they have some problems. You understand the issues of abandonment better than I. You can help them deal with those issues better than anyone.”

  His gaze strayed to the photos again, to Caleb in particular. The boy stared fiercely at the camera, as if daring anyone to come too close. He was angry, bitter, and, no matter how well he hid it, frightened. He needed stability in his life—a safe home, a parent to lean on, a chance to grow up before having the burdens of the world dumped on his thin shoulders. He needed to be average—just another kid living a normal life with loving parents. Not just another statistic.

  Noelle was right about one thing. Professionally, he could help the kids. There hadn’t been any call for his specialty since moving to
Bethlehem—abuse, neglect, and abandonment simply didn’t happen there the way it did in big cities—but he hadn’t lost his touch. He’d simply lost his taste for it. These days he preferred patients who were less needy, whose problems were minor in the scheme of things. Patients who hadn’t suffered unspeakable horrors, whose heartbreak and sorrow didn’t reach right inside him and take up residence. These days he preferred safe patients, and while Caleb, Jacob, Noah, and Gracie Brown might be safe to J.D. the shrink, they presented a definite danger to J.D. the man.

  “Have you tried the Thomases? Alex and Melissa love kids.”

  Noelle gave no sign of hearing the desperation in his voice. “Alex Thomas is the children’s court appointed attorney. He can’t also be their foster father. He agrees that you’re the best choice.”

  “What about the McKinneys? Maggie and Ross have plenty of room for four kids, and she would be home with them all day. Or what about—”

  “They need you, Dr. Grayson.”

  He turned away to face the church. Reverend Howard was locking the heavy doors while his wife and son waited at the car. Everyone else had gone home with their families or with friends. No one had to be alone in Bethlehem on Sunday unless it was by choice. Someone was always ready to offer a welcome.

  “This town has given you a lot,” Noelle said quietly.

  That was true. It had saved his sanity, if not his life. It had given him a place to heal and the acceptance and love to do it. But the process wasn’t finished yet, and taking in those kids—especially Caleb—wouldn’t help it along.

  Neither would turning his back on them.

  He felt a gentle touch on his sleeve, heard Noelle’s voice directly behind him. “It’s not easy to place four children together. You know that. You also know how devastating it can be to children in their situation to be separated. We can’t take those children away from Caleb, or take Caleb away from them. They couldn’t bear it.”

  He fixed his gaze on the cross atop the church. “I have only two bedrooms,” he said flatly, “and one of them is an office.”

  “The children are adaptable. They won’t mind sharing their space with a desk and a few books.”

  That wasn’t the point, he wanted to protest. He minded sharing his office space with four kids.

  But that wasn’t the point either. He rarely used the office, rarely had a case that required after-hours work. The point was, he didn’t want these kids—this responsibility, this danger—but he felt he should take them.

  Felt. God, how long had it been since he’d really, truly felt anything?

  Two years, three months, one week, four days, and fifteen hours, give or take a few minutes. Not that he was counting.

  He tried one last objection. “Don’t you have any qualms at all about placing a five-year-girl with a single man?”

  “Not with you and not with three brothers who fiercely protect her.” A heavy pause. “I’ve always thought it unfair that men are automatically suspect when it comes to children, for no reason other than their gender. Surely you don’t believe a five-year-old boy is safer with the average woman than a five-year-old girl is with the average man?”

  No, he didn’t. He knew too well that abusers came in both genders.

  The sinking feeling in his stomach warned him that he was about to betray himself. He was about to open his mouth and make a decision he couldn’t back away from. No matter how much he wanted not to make that decision, he couldn’t stop it. It was beyond his control.

  He turned to look at her. “All right,” he agreed stiffly. “I’ll take them. But only for a few weeks. No more than a month.”

  A brilliant smile lit her face. “Thank you, Dr. Grayson. You won’t regret this. Well, from time to time you probably will, but not in the long run.” She gathered the photographs and returned them to her attaché. “Judge McKechnie has agreed to give us a few minutes of his afternoon to get the formalities out of the way, then we’ll pick up the children and get them settled in at your place. Shall we go?”

  She started walking before she stopped talking. J.D. watched her with a scowl. “You were awfully sure of yourself, weren’t you?” he muttered, too low, he thought, for her to hear.

  She turned at the end of the sidewalk and smiled again. “No, Dr. Grayson. I was sure of you—sure you would do the right thing. And I was right, wasn’t I?”

  That, he admitted grimly as he joined her, remained to be seen.

  Her eyes gritty from too many miles, Kelsey Malone gave a sigh of relief when she passed the road sign proclaiming that her destination was only five miles ahead. It had been a long journey from New York City to Bethlehem, one she’d anticipated ever since the Department of Family Assistance, formerly the Department of Social Services, had announced that it was reopening an office there. After much consideration—taking stock of her life, which was less than she’d hoped it would be—she’d put in for the job and gotten it.

  There hadn’t even been any competition. Not many people wanted to live in small, remote towns that needed their services only a few days a week. But a town where people treated their children like the gifts they were—a town a good six hours from the city—fitted Kelsey’s current definition of perfect. Now she was almost there, just minutes from her new home, new office, and new life.

  As the road wound down into the valley, the highway became Main Street and cut straight through the heart of town. The quaint shops, the grassy square, the kids skipping out of an ice cream shop with their parents close behind, all combined to stir deep within her a yearning for a place she’d never known, a life she’d never lived. The town was small-town America at its best.

  There was no motel in Bethlehem, just a gracious old inn that exceeded her budget, so she’d rented an apartment sight unseen. She’d shipped her belongings from the city and arranged to meet the manager at three o’clock to trade the key for her deposit and first month’s rent. Unfortunately, it was only a few minutes after two. She’d grabbed a burger at the last gas-up, so she settled on a tour of the town to pass the time.

  Her friends had acted as if she were moving to the wilds, had wondered how she would survive without all the big-city conveniences. She’d reminded them that there was life outside the city—electricity, telephones, even computers—and a leisurely drive through the streets that made up Bethlehem’s downtown proved her right. There was a movie theater, restaurants, a grocery store, a computer-cum-electronics store, and a bookstore—everything she needed to survive. She passed several clothing stores, doctors’, dentists’, and lawyers’ offices, craft shops, hair salons, and gift shops—the icing on the cake.

  Big-city conveniences combined with the ease of smalltown living. On top of that, Bethlehem was definitely one of the prettiest places she’d seen in a long time. Oh, yes, she could live here and love it. Life could be perfect here.

  She pulled into a parking space in front of the first pay phone she noticed, took out her brand-new calling card, and dialed her parents’ home number. In the middle of a summer Sunday afternoon, her father was probably relaxing with a beer in front of the TV while her mother finished cleanup from the family dinner. For most Sundays in her life, Kelsey had been there to help with the cleanup. It gave her a lump in her throat to think that that family tradition was a thing of the past now—at least, for her.

  When Kathleen Malone answered the phone, Kelsey heard the sounds of water running in the background. Without even closing her eyes, she could easily summon a picture of her mother, still wearing her church dress with Grandma Kelly’s ruffled bib apron covering most of it, washing dishes in the sink while the nearby dishwasher served as draining rack. “Hi, Mom, it’s me,” she said, expending extra effort to make certain her voice sounded cheerful.

  “Kelsey! Did you get there safely? Is everything all right? Let me dry my hands so I can get your phone number before I forget. We missed you today at dinner. The table seemed awfully emp—”

  “Mom, I’m fine. I don’t have a p
hone yet—I’ll get that taken care of tomorrow—so you can keep washing dishes.”

  “Well? What’s it like? The town, I mean. Is it everything you’d hoped for?”

  “It’s pretty, Mom. It’s old, but it’s very charming. It sits in a valley with mountains all around, and it’s really lovely. You’d like it.”

  “Was it worth moving halfway across the state for?”

  Kelsey sighed softly. To say her parents weren’t happy about her moving was a slight understatement. She understood their concern. She was their only daughter, and they worried about her. There would be a lot less to worry about with her living in Bethlehem, she’d tried to tell them—shorter hours, a safer environment, less crime, less stress—but they hadn’t been convinced. They wouldn’t stop worrying until she was married, staying home, and having babies, and preferably living only a few blocks away, like her brother, Sean.

  “It’s not so far, Mom,” she said patiently. “You can come visit any weekend, and I can come home from time to time.”

  “You can’t come for Sunday dinner. You can’t come to your cousin Angela’s baby shower this Friday. Of course”—honesty forced Kathleen to acknowledge this—“not being too fond of Angela, you would have found some way to get out of that even if you were here.”

  “Yes, I would have,” Kelsey agreed with a laugh.

  “So tell me all about your apartment.”

  “I haven’t seen it yet. I just got into town not ten minutes ago.”

  “I can’t believe you signed a lease on a place without seeing it first. It could be a dump. It could be on the wrong side of town. It might not even exist. The man could have taken your money and left the state.”