Instant Daddy

He rubbed his chin. “Scott was diagnosed with ALS—you probably know it as Lou Gehrig’s disease—almost two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Neurological diseases are my specialty.” He crumpled the bag in his hands. “I never dreamed the battle would become personal.” No mistaking the passion in his voice now.

How could she not admire his dedication to his friend? She couldn’t imagine the pressure he must feel to save him. “How is he doing?”

“The disease is taking its toll. But we’ve developed a promising experimental drug. We’re hoping it will help Scott.”

She glanced at him. “I’ll pray for you and your friend.”

His eyes rounded, then narrowed as if he didn’t know how to respond.

“You don’t believe in prayer?” she asked.

He dropped his gaze. “I believe in research.”

Jessie focused on the wet road again. “It seems to me research and prayer would go hand in hand.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you’re looking for answers to heal people. Who better to ask for help than the Great Healer?” She could feel him studying her.

“I never thought about it that way,” he said.

She wanted to tell him maybe he should. After all, the idea of life without prayer was as foreign to her as life without family.

“Does God hear your prayers, Jessie?” he asked softly.

She bit her lip. “I honestly don’t know anymore.” Because if He did, Peter Sheridan wouldn’t be here threatening to take Jake away.

Chapter Four

The rain had stopped by the time Peter peered uneasily up the gravel drive to the small Cape Cod where Jessie’s dad waited. Fumbling to unhook his seatbelt, he turned to watch Jessie make a game of unfastening Jake from his car seat, her movements gentle and caring. In spite of her distrust of Peter, there was such a warmth about her, especially when she interacted with Jake.

Could he ever be the kind of parent who showed his son he cared with every move? Given his lack of a role model, he didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t even know if he had it in him to love his son.

Jessie’s questions about his family, or lack of one, were legitimate concerns. If Scott and Karen hadn’t taken him under their protective wings in college, he’d have no one. With his lack in the relationship department, how would he be able to relate to a little boy?

Then there was his research, a demanding taskmaster that took everything he had to give. He lived it, breathed it. He’d focused on ALS research as a result of Scott’s diagnosis. And as Scott’s condition worsened, too many nights Peter slept on the cot in his office rather than making the drive downtown to his dingy, furnished apartment. Even when he had to be away from the lab, he was thinking, planning, solving problems related to his research.

Fine by him. Without his dedication, the experimental drug wouldn’t be ready for testing. The drug that could be Scott’s last chance.

Drugstore bag in hand, he climbed out of the van.

Jessie lifted Jake out of his seat and pushed the door shut. “You ready to meet my dad, Dr. Sheridan?”

“Sure.” A lie. He doubted her father would take too kindly to the man who got his daughter pregnant and hadn’t taken responsibility for her or the baby. Never mind that she hadn’t bothered to tell him. Maybe Peter could hold his own with that fact. “Please call me Peter.”

“Peter,” she repeated, as if trying it out.

He liked the way his name sounded coming from her lips. “What’s your father like?”

“He’s a straight shooter. Protective. A great dad. And he loves Jake.”

Peter heard love and pride in her voice, along with challenge. “Glad you’re not in my shoes?”

She shot him a look that might pass for sympathetic.

Oh well. If talking to her father was the price to pay for a couple cheek swabs, bring him on. With fresh rain making the earth smell new again, Peter followed Jessie up the driveway into a backyard exuberant with flowering bushes and plants. A child’s swing set filled the corner under a tree. The whine of a small motor came from a covered patio running the length of the house and outfitted as an outdoor living area. A muscular, weathered man sat at a workbench, using an electric sander on a long board. Had to be Jessie’s father. “Your dad looks busy.”

“He builds custom furniture in his free time. He has a shop in the garage.”

“Papa!” Jake squealed.

Mr. Chandler switched off the sander and rose to Peter’s height. “Hey, Jake. How you doing, little buddy?”

Jessie walked over to her dad.

Mr. Chandler bent and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Your mother called. Said you were on your way.”

The understanding passing between father and daughter hit Peter like a blow. So much said with just a look. The same understanding Jessie and her mother had shared. Communication real families enjoyed. He couldn’t imagine communicating with his son like that.

Mr. Chandler reached across his workbench to give Peter’s hand a firm shake. “Dr. Sheridan.”

“Peter.”

“Max.”

“I want you to know how sorry I am about Clarissa’s death.”

“Thank you.” The older man shifted his gaze to the ground as if checking his emotions. Then he raised his eyes, held out his arms and Jake lunged from Jessie’s arms to his. “How’s my little buddy?”

Jake gave his grandpa an enthusiastic hug.

Peter found himself smiling at the comradery between the two. It was hard not to smile at just about everything about the little guy.

“Come on, Jake.” Jessie held up the tinfoil package her mother had sent with her. “Help me put supper in the oven to stay warm, okay?”

“’Kay!” Jake yelled as if Jessie had given him a very important assignment.

Max let him slide to the ground.

Jessie grasped the boy’s hand.

With a purposeful strut, Jake headed for the house with Jessie gliding beside him.

She was probably leaving so her father wouldn’t have to pull punches. “You will make that phone call?” Peter reminded.