Unexpected Son Page 16

  Michael shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. He wanted to reach out and take the child from her mother’s arms, feel her slim, strong arms wrap around his neck, her warmth cuddled against him, smell the baby shampoo in her hair. The sentiment surprised and alarmed him. God, when had he started wondering what babies’ hair smelled like? Since Sarah, and the idea of family, his own family, came into his life, that’s when.

  “You’re taking this a lot better than your brother,” he said roughly.

  Liza wasn’t in the least perturbed by his gruffness. “Jeff worshiped Dad,” she said, the smile fading away as shadows of old sadness darkened her incredible blue eyes. “And Dad thought the sun rose and set on Jeff.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry. It must hurt you to hear that. Did he ever try to contact you? Ever send you a birthday card or a Christmas present?”

  Margaret Alyssa had produced another handful of corn from her pocket. She held it out to Michael, uninterested in their conversation now that she saw how the geese were starting to swim toward her offering. “Throw it,” she said, interrupting her mother’s question, once more giving Michael a chance to gather himself before he answered.

  “I don’t know if he even knew I was alive.” He threw the corn.

  “Are you just saying that? Or do you believe it?”

  He turned back to her. Liza was almost as tall as he was and lean as a greyhound. She might look like the portrait of the elegant society woman in her living room, but she had a lot of Judson Ingalls’s steel in her. “I believe it. My mother wasn’t a strong person. She let my grandmother pretty much rule her life. And my grandmother never once mentioned my...our father to me. I don’t think he knew.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. Her daughter had wiggled out of her arms and back onto her own two feet, and Liza spread her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant. It helps me a little, too.” He stopped himself from saying more. Liza Forrester was too much like Sarah, too easy to confide in.

  “It will be easier for Jeff and Amanda to accept you when they know that.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I rebelled against my mother,” Liza said, smoothing her hand across the pom-pom of Margaret Alyssa’s hat, “because my father died when I was still very young. I always got along with my dad. He was good to me, but I remember things differently than Jeff and Amanda. I remember my mother was sad a lot of the time. And Dad was almost never home, always traveling on business or attending trade shows, something like that.”

  Yeah, something like that, Michael thought to himself, but he didn’t say it aloud.

  “Look at the geese, Mommy,” Margaret Alyssa insisted, grabbing Liza’s hand and giving it a shake. “Look at them come to eat my corn.” She turned her face up to Michael, all smiles now that she had accomplished what she had set out to do. “Will you come back tomorrow, Mister, and help me feed them again?”

  “I...don’t know.”

  “Mommy, can he come back?”

  “If he wants to.” Liza gave him her dazzling smile again. “After all, he’s part of the family now.”

  “Liza! Maggie girl, are you down here? What are you doing out here this late? It’s way below freezing.” A tall man with a serious expression and dark graying hair appeared on the pathway.

  “We’re here, Cliff,” Liza called, her smile turning private, even more dazzling, as she greeted her husband. “Michael is with us.”

  “Michael?” Cliff Forrester rose from scooping his daughter into his arms.

  “Yes, Michael.” She took a deep breath and held out her hand. “Cliff, I’d like you meet my half brother, Michael Kenton.”

  * * *

  IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT, dark and quiet, but still Michael couldn’t sleep. He padded to the window of the dingy motel room he’d rented just outside of town and looked out onto the deserted highway. God, what a day. He’d started out with the intention of retrieving his tools and his money and then going to ground in this room, and instead he’d come face-to-face with not only Alyssa Wocheck but her formidable father, as well, and had ended the day as a guest at Liza and Cliff Forrester’s dinner table.

  Amazingly, after the initial awkwardness had worn off he’d enjoyed himself. Not that he and his half sister were anything alike, they weren’t, but there was something about Liza, something fresh and uninhibited, that made it easy to be around her.

  “Oh, hell,” he said aloud. “You sound like some pop psychology guru on ‘Oprah.’”

  Still, it was the truth. He had felt at home with Liza and her husband, quiet and reserved though Cliff Forrester was. And then there was Margaret Alyssa. The child was amazing, at least to him. It took real guts to be the parent of a four-year-old. It hadn’t taken him more than fifteen minutes in the little girl’s company to come to that conclusion. Did he have that kind of guts? That kind of stamina? Having a child meant being in for the long haul.

  Making a commitment. A lifetime promise.

  The traits that Sarah had accused him of lacking.

  Was he taking the easy way out? If he didn’t want the things Sarah wanted—a home, a family, stability and a sense of community—what was he still doing here?

  He wasn’t under arrest. Supposedly, he wasn’t even under suspicion. He could leave right this minute if he wanted to, Brick Bauer’s warning to the contrary. But he was still here. Why? Was it really to learn all he could about the man who had fathered him?

  Or was it because of Sarah?

  As soon as his heart whispered her name her image sprang to life in his mind’s eye. He could feel the silky texture of her hair beneath his fingers, smell the sweetness of her perfume, feel the warmth of her body pressed close to his.

  Michael slammed his fist against the wall, making the window rattle in its badly caulked frame. He was only fooling himself if he denied that the real reason he was still in Tyler, Wisconsin, was Sarah Fleming. Because deep down in that scared and hidden part of him, he wanted to take the risk he’d never taken before. He wanted to give himself unconditionally, and for the rest of his life, to ensuring the happiness of another human being.

  But he couldn’t make that commitment. Not yet. Not until he was sure of himself. Sarah was wrong about one thing. It wasn’t her he couldn’t trust. It was himself. Until he was convinced he wasn’t flawed beyond redemption, wasn’t as weak and self-pitying as his pliable young mother or as self-serving and unprincipled as his dead father, Sarah was better off alone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “YOU’RE GOING ALL out decorating for Christmas this year,” Sarah observed as she unwound her scarf from her neck and stuck her gloves in the pockets of her parka. She paused for a moment, letting her eyes sweep across the brightly painted play area of TylerTots. Already chains of red and green construction paper looped around the walls. Cutouts of snowflakes made a paper blizzard on the partitions that separated the toddler area from the preschoolers’ space. “Where are you planning to put the tree?”

  “I’m thinking of hanging it from the ceiling,” Angela Murphy confessed as she took Sarah’s coat. “It’s the only safe place.”

  Sarah laughed as she was meant to. The low ceiling in the church basement would afford safety to only a very short tree. “Actually, we’re going to make ornaments tomorrow and decorate the tree on Wednesday. Jonas Phillips is coming later this evening to set it up.” She hung Sarah’s coat on a line of child-height hooks along the far wall.

  “What about Michael Kenton? Didn’t you ask him to do the job?” Michael was still in the church’s employ, although he’d moved out of the apartment days before.

  Angela’s mouth firmed into a thin line. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I still do not feel that Michael Kenton is the right person to have working at TylerTots. Especially now.”

  “Why? Have you h
eard something more about the fire?” When Angela gave her a sharp look, Sarah realized she’d let her own turbulent feelings escape into her words.

  “You do know there’s an arson investigator in town?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said. The weight of the knowledge had been like a stone in her middle all day. “I’ve heard.”

  “We already know the fire was set.”

  “There’s been no official announcement.”

  “Be realistic, Sarah. A fire of that magnitude doesn’t just happen. Someone had to have started it.”

  “We don’t know that for certain.”

  “Sarah...I know you’re supposed to give everyone the benefit of the doubt—it’s part of your job. But Michael Kenton just looks too suspicious to me. I’m sorry, but that’s the way I feel, and until someone can prove otherwise, I’d just as soon he didn’t set foot in TylerTots.” She changed the subject. “Come on back. Glenna and her mother and two or three others are already here. Liza Forrester might drop in later. I really appreciate your offer to help price donations for the bazaar. It’s always good to have more than one opinion on what to charge.”

  “I’m happy to help.” That she was also grateful for an excuse not to spend another lonely evening in her quiet house was a thought she kept to herself. Michael had been gone from her life for less than a week, but she felt as if it had been a year.

  Angela preceded her through the big, unusually quiet and tidy room into the activities area, which had once been a Sunday-school classroom and was now filled with low tables of crafts and needlework that had been donated to TylerTots for their annual Christmas bazaar. Anna Kelsey and her daughter Glenna, as well as two young mothers, were already hard at work cataloging and pricing the items.

  “Hello, Reverend Fleming,” Anna said, greeting her with a smile and a wave. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Kelsey. Please, won’t you call me Sarah?”

  “Thank you. And you must call me Anna.”

  “I’d like that.” Sarah smiled at the other young women. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Reverend Sarah,” Diana Thurston called from across the room. “I was just telling the others I met the arson investigator the insurance company sent to town when he came into the post office today. I’ll bet you saw him too, didn’t you, Glenna? He was at Marge’s this morning, someone said.”

  “I met him,” Glenna admitted.

  “Really? What did you think? He’s a good-looking man. A little old for my taste—”

  “I—I really didn’t notice.”

  “I wonder if he’s married?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Glenna’s tone was sharp. She turned back to her work without another word.

  Anna raised her shoulders in a shrug. “I’m going to have to ask her what that was all about when we get home.” She held up a beautifully crocheted afghan, already priced by the woman who’d made it. She raised her eyebrows when Sarah looked up from the ridiculously low sum on the tag. “Do you agree with the price?”

  Sarah was shocked. “Goodness,” she whispered. “It’s worth twice that much.”

  “I agree.” Anna smiled and picked up a blank ticket to adjust the price.

  Diana had gone right on talking through the exchange. “Annabelle Scanlon thinks this Lee Neilsen person—that’s his name—is going to rule the fire was definitely arson and then the insurance company won’t pay out a cent to help rebuild the factory.”

  “Oh, no. That’s what my dad’s afraid of,” the second young mother, whose name Sarah couldn’t recall, chimed in. “He’s six years from getting his pension. And way too young to retire. He doesn’t know where he’s going to find work if the F and M doesn’t open up again.”

  “Of course, if they find who set the fire, then the insurance company will have to pay the Ingallses,” Diana continued. “That’s what’s important. Finding the man Will Benson says he saw running away from the building.”

  “We don’t know if the man Will saw set the fire,” Anna reminded them, as she and Sarah tied tags to a half-dozen pairs of knitted bedroom slippers, worked in a remarkably ugly shade of green.

  Sarah’s stomach began to churn. She knew what Diana was going to say next—exactly what Angela had said earlier, that she believed Michael was responsible for the fire at the F and M.

  “I think it was that handyman that’s been working around town all month. That Michael Kenton,” Diana stated flatly.

  “Why do you think it was him?” Glenna asked the question that froze on Sarah’s lips as she carefully arranged papier-mâché figures of the Holy Family in a carved crèche.

  Diana looked flustered, a little guilty. “There’s been talk.”

  “I think he did it, too,” the other mother said. “And I’m not the only one who thinks that way.” Sarah’s heart started beating faster as she placed the young woman—Cassie Wiggins, a single mother with a new baby girl, who’d moved back to town from Sugar Creek and had just been hired part-time as a dispatcher at the police station.

  “You mean Brick Bauer thinks he did it, too?”

  Cassie’s eyes grew big as saucers as she realized she’d been indiscreet. “No. No, of course not. I—I’m just repeating rumors that I’ve heard around town.”

  Was she telling the truth, or was Brick Bauer now seriously considering Michael as a suspect?

  “I’ve only met this Michael Kenton once or twice, but he didn’t strike me as a stupid man,” Anna interjected in her usual frank manner. “If he started a million-dollar fire, he wouldn’t hang around to see if he got arrested for it.”

  “Well, I heard he did it once before,” Diana returned. “And now everyone knows he’s Ronald Baron’s illegitimate son.”

  Oh God, Michael’s secret was out. Sarah’s head jerked up, and she stared at Diana for one stricken moment before dropping her gaze to the baby bootees she was pricing.

  “What?” Angela demanded, her eyes as big as saucers. “What did you say?”

  The room grew silent. From the corner of her eye Sarah saw Glenna McRoberts exchange glances with her mother, but neither of the Kelsey women said a word.

  Diana nodded, waving a ceramic reindeer donated by a local craftswoman. “He’s Ronald Baron’s love child. Liza and Jeff and Amanda’s half brother. Can you beat that?”

  “Who told you that?” Sarah asked, using every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep her expression from giving away her true feelings.

  “Tisha told Moira Schweinhagen. In strictest confidence, of course, but then Moira told her husband, and you know what a terrible gossip Pat is. It’s all over town. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it. Surely you have, Anna, with Johnny being the foreman at the F and M and all.”

  “Yes, I heard it. But I didn’t think it warranted any discussion,” Anna said in a tone that conveyed her distaste at the subject matter.

  “I think it’s incredible. Like some kind of soap opera. And if you ask me, it makes him look guilty as sin.”

  “Diana, what a way to talk. And in a church, too.”

  “Christian forbearance aside, I think you’re also forgetting that in this country a man is presumed innocent until proved guilty,” Sarah said quietly.

  “I just wish they’d find out who did it. Everyone in town is scared the Ingallses won’t start the factory up again,” Cassie said with tears in her eyes. “I’m worried about my dad’s health. He’s just sick about the situation.”

  “We’re all worried in that respect,” Anna conceded. “No one more so than Alyssa Wocheck and her family. But that’s no reason to start talking like a pack of vigilantes. Have faith, right, Sarah?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said, swallowing a knot of fear that had lodged in her throat. She was not going to be able to let this go on much longer. She better than anyone else knew Mic
hael was not responsible for setting the fire at the F and M. She’d kept silent this long only because he had asked her to.

  She had to talk to him, persuade him to let her speak before these rumors got out of hand. Even though it would break her heart to see him again.

  * * *

  IT WAS AFTER eleven when Sarah locked the door to the church basement and stepped out into the frosty December night. Her back ached and her shoulders were sore from bending over the low tables for so many hours, but they had priced all the donations for the bazaar and stored them on high shelves along the wall so that they would be out of the reach of curious little fingers until the big day arrived.

  She walked quietly in the shadow of the old building, beneath the skeletal branches of the dying maple, her soft-soled boots almost soundless in the frosted grass. The colored lights draped over the branches of the big pine by her front door glowed softly in the darkness. Tomorrow Jonas and Randy were going to bring out the big crèche and place it in front of the church. And she mustn’t forget to stop by the florist and pick up the wreath for the door. Maybe if she kept busy enough, found enough things to do, she could be this tired every night and fall asleep before she could start thinking of Michael, missing him, aching for him.

  She saw him before he saw her.

  Michael. She said his name silently, the word no more than a breath of smoke on the air.

  He was sitting on the back steps, his back to the metal railing, his face in profile. Sarah looked up and down the street, but his pickup was nowhere to be seen. Had he walked all the way from the motel where she’d learned he was staying?

  “Michael?” This time she spoke his name aloud.

  He turned his head to look at her, but even though the moon was high and bright, she couldn’t make out his features.

  “Hello, Sarah.”

  She stopped a few feet away, steeling herself against the sudden shiver of pleasure that hearing him say her name produced deep within her. She had known this moment would come, sooner or later, and foolishly she had thought she was prepared, could deal with his nearness and the longing that ran through her veins like liquid fire. She had been wrong, terribly wrong.