The Surprise Holiday Dad Read online

  Now everything was about to change. He had a son, and he refused to let anyone stand between them.

  Except that you have no idea how to be a father. Daryl hadn’t been much of a role model, acting more like a buddy than a parent. And in Pine Tree most of Wade’s socializing had been with other bachelors.

  Well, he intended to learn. There were books and the internet and, he hoped, some long-dormant instincts.

  A few blocks farther, he turned into an apartment complex and parked in a visitor’s spot. Carrying his laptop, his guitar and a duffel bag containing essential gear, he followed a path to the manager’s unit.

  Carefully, Wade twisted the knob. His father, who got free rent by handling caretaker duties in addition to his job as a mechanic, had promised to leave his place unlocked rather than be awakened this early.

  The instant the door opened, the smell of beer hit him. He stopped, uneasy. His father had a tendency to go on occasional drinking binges, punctuated by periods of sobriety. Daryl always claimed he could control his drinking, and despite serious doubts about that, Wade realized he had no power to run his father’s life.

  He was reaching for the light switch when he heard a snore. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Wade made out his father sprawled on the couch, sitting with his head thrown back as if he’d fallen asleep while watching TV. A couple beer cans littered the coffee table, but the TV was off. It must have a sleep setting.

  Morning light, faint as it was, proved unkind to Daryl Hunter. Even at this angle, Wade could see the pallor of his father’s skin, the red veins in his nose and the thinning hair. Some of that might merely be signs of age, but—quick mental calculation—his dad was only fifty-two. At roughly the same age, the police chief in Pine Tree looked healthy and fit. Or had until he’d gained a few worry lines over the layoffs.

  Stepping softly to avoid disturbing his father, Wade headed into the bedroom. The smell of unwashed sheets gave him pause. He hoped this was a weekend spree rather than an indication that his father’s condition was deteriorating.

  Daryl had left his career as an Orange County deputy sheriff years ago, supposedly because he hated the shift schedule, although later Wade had wondered if alcohol had been a factor. Then he’d worked for a while at Grandpa Bruce’s detective agency, Fact Hunter Investigations, but Daryl and Grandpa had butted heads. Not surprising considering Bruce’s rigid nature, which was one reason Wade wouldn’t consider applying there now.

  After depositing his cases on the carpet, he went out to his car and brought in his large bag and bedroll. In the living room, Daryl had shifted position and was now snoring full force.

  Wade unrolled the sleeping bag on top of the bed and took off his shoes. As he lay waiting for sleep, he conceded that two things had become obvious.

  He should forget about trying to find a job through his father’s contacts; if Daryl was drinking heavily, a recommendation from him was more likely to work against Wade than for him. Also, the sooner he found a job and his own apartment, the better.

  * * *

  BY NOON THE rackety-rackety sound of skate wheels outside put an end to Wade’s sleep. Irritated, he prowled out of the bedroom and said a quick hello to his father, who nodded from the small kitchen table. Daryl had poured himself a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice.

  “Sorry, no welcome party.” His father gave him a shaky smile. “Extra key’s on the hook there. Bottom left.” He indicated a Peg-Board.

  “Thanks.” Wade took it and went to shower, using the towels he’d brought. Then he stripped the bed, collected dirty towels and a box of detergent and went next door to the complex’s laundry room to start a load. Since he’d taken over this chore at thirteen following his parents’ divorce, the process felt familiar.

  Back at the unit, Daryl had gone out, leaving a note that he was showing an apartment to a potential renter. Wade poured some cereal and checked his email while he ate. The attorney had confirmed a meeting at his office tomorrow with Dr. Cavill. The messages said she was willing to grant a supervised visit with Reggie on Tuesday, the boy’s birthday.

  A supervised visit? The hell with that. Wade didn’t appreciate having this lady boss him around, and he didn’t plan to wait two days to see his son, either. Nervous energy surged through him. My boy. Although he didn’t yet have a sense of Reggie’s personality—how could he?—he felt a connection deep in his gut, a longing that he’d strained for years to deny. He was angry, too, at the woman who’d put him in this position and at himself for yielding.

  How would the little boy react to meeting his dad after all these years? While it might be awkward, he hoped Vicki’s sister had had the decency to prepare her nephew for this major life change.

  He recalled meeting Adrienne only once. She was blond like Vicki and had barely acknowledged the introduction, muttering an excuse about her busy schedule before brushing past him and out of the house. She’d been in her last year of medical school, as he recalled.

  The lawyer had claimed that Adrienne was unaware that her sister had tried to wreck his career and that he’d made regular child-support payments. Maybe, maybe not.

  By two-thirty the laundry was done. Daryl had returned and gone out again to repair a tenant’s sink, so Wade locked the door and went to his car. From the trunk, he withdrew the toy police-station set he’d bought for his son’s birthday. Although it was a few days early, a gift might help to smooth their meeting.

  Relying on memory, he navigated across town toward the Cavill home. Passing his old hangouts—Krazy Kids Pizza, where he’d celebrated childhood birthdays, the Corner Tavern, where he and his fellow officers used to play pool, even the Bull’s Eye Shooting Range—reminded him that he’d accepted his exile too easily. He’d missed this place.

  As Wade left the commercial area and rolled through quiet residential streets, it hit him once again that he was about to meet the most important person in his life. Vicki had, grudgingly, sent a few photographs after Wade threatened to withhold payments. The last one, which he carried in his wallet, showed a boy of about four, blond, with a couple teeth missing. Cute little guy.

  Now the kid was turning six. At that age, Wade had still had his mother, along with a dad who wore a uniform and carried a badge. Although Wade had sensed undercurrents of tension, he’d trusted his parents to take care of him.

  What about Reggie? The kid must have been stunned and overwhelmed when his mom died. Wade was sixteen when he’d lost his own mother in a small-plane crash three years after she and his father divorced. Although she’d moved away and they rarely saw each other, he’d been devastated.

  If only he’d known about Vicki’s death, he’d have rushed down here. Well, he’d do his best to compensate for that now.

  After a couple wrong turns, he found the cul-de-sac. Picking the right house proved harder than expected. There were several two-story Craftsman structures with wide front porches, none of which matched his memory of fading beige paint and a patchy lawn edged by boxy hedges.

  It had to be the one on the left, almost to the end. Wade recognized that row of sash windows on the second floor with a tiny attic window above. The house had been repainted cream with blue trim and the hedges replaced by blooming bird-of-paradise plants interspersed with hibiscus bushes, fronted by a mixture of miniature roses and colorful annual flowers. The doctor took good care of her property.

  From the porch roof hung a bunting banner, each one of its green triangles displaying a picture of a teddy bear. A cluster of green and white balloons fluttered from one of the supports.

  As he parked, he saw a bouncy little girl and her parents stroll toward the front door. There was something familiar about the mother, who had short stick-straight hair and the low-hipped stride of a cop accustomed to wearing a duty belt. When she glanced toward him, Wade recognized her as Patty Hartman, one of his fellow rooki
e officers from his stint at the local P.D. She carried a wrapped present.

  After making startled eye contact with Wade, Patty waved. He returned the gesture.

  Several more children scampered up the walkway with parents in their wake. They, too, brought gifts.

  Reggie’s birthday might not be until Tuesday, but the aunt had obviously scheduled his party for today. And Wade wasn’t invited.

  Well, he’d just invited himself.

  Chapter Two

  With Anne Murray singing “Teddy Bears’ Picnic” from a boom box on the patio, Adrienne hurried along the outdoor tables, distributing containers of Play-Doh along with teddy-bear molds.

  “I should have done this earlier,” she fretted to Harper Anthony, whose seven-year-old daughter, Mia, was romping with Reggie in the large backyard. “I’m usually better organized.”

  “I’d say you’re remarkably well organized.” That was a high compliment coming from Harper’s fiancé, Peter Gladstone, a gifted teacher and sports coach. He indicated the refreshment table with a tray of cut-up vegetables, the teddy bear–themed yo-yos awaiting the guests and the decorated party hats, plates and gift bags. “This is impressive.”

  “That’s due as much to my friends as to me,” Adrienne protested. Through the kitchen window, she could hear newlyweds Stacy and Cole Rattigan bustling about fixing sandwiches.

  Harper and Stacy had been close friends with Adrienne’s younger sister since junior high. Both nurses, they’d done their best to steer Vicki into treatment for her bipolar disorder and her drinking, and since her death had pitched in to babysit Reggie when his regular sitter wasn’t available. They’d also become Adrienne’s allies and mutual support system.

  Harper, who’d volunteered to take pictures today, snapped the two children as they chased a butterfly. “You seem on edge. Is everything okay?”

  “I’ve noticed that, too,” said Stacy, bringing a bowl of teddy-bear graham crackers from the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

  With guests due to arrive any minute, Adrienne hesitated to spill the news she’d kept to herself all week. But it had to come out sometime. “It’s about the adoption. Reggie’s birth father is contesting it.”

  “What?” Harper stared at her in dismay. “That lowlife?”

  Stacy smacked the bowl onto the table. “Where does he get the nerve?”

  “And if he takes my little boy away, I don’t know what I’ll...” Adrienne broke off.

  “He can’t!” Stacy protested.

  “Unthinkable,” Harper added. “If you need money for a lawyer, we’ll help.”

  “So will we.”

  “Thank you.” Adrienne struggled to regain her composure. “I already have an attorney. Unfortunately, he believes Wade has a case.”

  “What kind of case?” Harper’s eyes narrowed.

  “It turns out Vicki didn’t tell the whole story.” Adrienne explained about the checks and gifts.

  “Sending money isn’t the same as being a father.” Stacy’s hand dropped to her abdomen, visibly enlarged with triplets due in four months. “I don’t know how I’d get through this pregnancy without Cole.”

  “A real dad does whatever it takes to protect his kids,” Harper said. “Look how far Peter was willing to go to have children.”

  A widow with a young daughter, she’d donated eggs so that Peter—himself widowed—could have a child by a surrogate. Unexpectedly, the two had fallen in love and were now due to be parents next June. They’d been overjoyed to learn that the surrogate was carrying twin boys.

  Adrienne glanced toward the interior of the house, expecting to hear the bell, which she’d turned on high for today. No one had arrived yet, though, giving her a few more minutes. “I haven’t even told Reggie his father might be here next week.”

  “When are you planning to break the news?” asked Peter.

  “As soon as Wade actually shows up. He’s driving down from Northern California.” Adrienne wanted Reggie to enjoy his party without stewing about his father.

  “Good plan,” Stacy said. “Considering he’s been the invisible man until now.”

  Harper folded her arms. “Maybe he’ll conveniently get lost on the way.”

  That would be a welcome break, Adrienne thought. “Just as long as he signs that legal waiver.”

  The bell jangled. “The happy hordes descend,” Stacy murmured.

  Through the window, Cole waved. “I’ll get it.” Wearing a checkered apron and a dab of chocolate icing on his cheek, he didn’t look like a world-famous men’s fertility expert.

  “Thanks,” Adrienne called.

  She might as well relax and enjoy the party. No sense dwelling on what next week would bring.

  * * *

  WADE SUPPOSED HE shouldn’t be surprised to find a man playing host at the front door. Yet the lawyer hadn’t mentioned that Adrienne had a husband or fiancé.

  Patty’s family had already gone inside, followed by several other groups. The mild-looking fellow kept the door open for Wade, announcing, “Hi. I’m Cole.”

  “Wade Hunter.” No sign of recognition crossed the man’s face as they shook hands.

  Cole’s forehead wrinkled. “You were, uh, invited, right?”

  “Do lots of little boys have stray men crashing their parties with gifts?” Wade wasn’t sure why he felt cranky toward this guy, except that he’d stolen the father’s place today.

  “Sorry. It’s just that we haven’t met.” Despite the apologetic tone, Cole remained blocking the entrance.

  “You know all Dr. Cavill’s friends?”

  “Not exactly,” the man conceded. “My wife probably does. Stacy. She’s a surgical nurse at the hospital. Do you know her?”

  Way to act like an idiot, Wade. “Afraid not.” He decided to cut to the point. “I’m Reggie’s father.”

  Still looking puzzled, Cole moved aside. “I didn’t realize... Come on in. The party’s in back.”

  The scents of chocolate and cinnamon reached Wade the instant he stepped into the foyer. Quite a charming change from his father’s place, as were the bouncy music and cheerful voices drifting from the depths of the house. His mood lifting, he followed Cole.

  Glancing into the living and dining rooms that opened off the hall, he saw comfortable, well-maintained furniture, with bouquets of flowers that he guessed came from the yard. Everything appeared tidy and fresh.

  With a twist of longing, Wade recalled the house where he’d lived before his mother left. More modest than this one but just as inviting, it had smelled of lemon oil and baking. He’d hurried in after school each day, eager to eat his snack and spill the day’s events to Mom.

  Not that last year, though. Once he entered adolescence, Wade recalled with embarrassment, he’d become surly and quick to rush off with his friends. No wonder his mother hadn’t believed he’d needed her any longer.

  Now, passing the staircase, he entered the family room. Judging by the view through the bay window, most of the action was on the patio. “I’d better go check on the food,” Cole said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “My pleasure.” Wade stayed where he was, not quite ready to plunge into the mix of people outside.

  He was alone in the den except for two school-age girls who stood near the window. They seemed to be debating whether to take their stuffed animals outside and risk getting them dirty. Boys would never argue over something like that, Wade thought in amusement.

  “Mischief wants to run around,” said the shorter of the pair, a little charmer with elfin features. “He’s restless.”

  “He should follow Roar’s example.” Her taller companion, a graceful African-American girl, cradled her lion. “He’d rather watch the others and write about them later.”

  “I guess that’s okay.”
The first girl clutched her well-worn bear. “Mischief, we can play later, okay?”

  The girls set their little pals in the bay window facing the yard and darted out through the kitchen. Following, Wade spotted Cole hovering near the oven.

  “I’d forgotten that boys this age still have girls as friends,” Wade remarked.

  “Berry and Kimmie are stepsisters,” Cole said, as if answering an unasked question. “Took them a while to warm up to each other, but now they’re best pals.” A timer rang. “Excuse me. That’s the gluten-free cupcakes.”

  “Gluten-free cupcakes?”

  “Some of the kids and parents have allergies.”

  Wade wondered how people kept track of such things. He’d have bought a cake at the store and been done with it.

  Moving through the sunny kitchen, he stopped by an open slider window to take in the scene. A handful of adults gathered on the patio while children galloped on the grass and walkways. Among the three or four little boys, he couldn’t tell which was Reggie.

  He ought to recognize his own son. Thanks to Vicki, he couldn’t.

  Behind them a vegetable garden still flourished in October. Wade identified squash, peppers and a stubborn tomato plant. Nice touch. His mom used to raise herbs and vegetables, too.

  Returning his attention to the patio, he noted a gift table. Should have wrapped this thing, he reflected. At least he’d attached a card.

  After setting the box on the pile, he tried to pick out Reggie’s aunt among her guests. Definitely the pretty blonde woman with her hair pulled back, although those coveralls didn’t fit his image of a starchy professional. Why was she hiding in such a shapeless garment? It failed to disguise her attractive figure, however, just as the no-frills hairstyle didn’t detract—much—from her lively face, intelligent light green eyes and full mouth.

  Wade registered the instant she recognized him. Disbelief flashed across her face, then disapproval, yielding at last to a painful attempt at a smile. Well, if she’d invited him, she wouldn’t have received such a shock.