Daddy's Home

who never stopped believing.

Chapter One (#ulink_2e18bd9e-dbff-5ac7-86f3-9d648cf545cc)

“Christopher’s back in town.”

Jasmine Enderlin stiffened at the statement. Keeping a carefully neutral expression on her face, she met her grandmother’s shrewd gaze. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Gram snapped, shaking a wrinkled finger under Jasmine’s nose. “Don’t you pretend I need to spell it out for you. I’m not buying. You know exactly what I’m saying, and you know why. Now, do you want to know the details, or don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered, not even sure Gram would hear her. She released an audible sigh and turned back to the thick olive-colored sweater she’d been folding moments before.

Jenny’s sweater.

Brushing the soft material across her cheek, she caught a whiff of Jenny’s light, breezy scent on it.

She wouldn’t have thought something as simple as the smell of her sister’s perfume would set her off, but for some reason, today it did. Her eyes pricked with tears, and she brushed them away with a hurried swipe of her fist, hoping Gram wouldn’t notice the furtive action.

Why would Christopher come back to Westcliffe at all, and especially now of all times?

As if to answer Jasmine’s unspoken question, Gram shrugged her age-bent shoulders. “He wants his son.”

“What?” She sprang from the bed, tipping a pile of freshly folded blue jeans into a heap at her feet. “What do you mean he wants Sammy? He can’t have him,” she added vehemently, hugging her arms to her chest as if protecting an infant there. Her infant.

A moment more and she would have dashed from the room to snatch up the baby boy sleeping soundly in his bassinet in the next bedroom, but Gram held up a finger in protest. “You haven’t heard the story.”

I know the story, she thought, her heart clenching. Love. Betrayal. Desertion.

That chapter of her life was over, she reminded herself, fiercely determined to remain in control of her emotions. She shook her head to detour the advancing thought, but it came anyway.

Jenny’s dead.

Ugliness folded over her like quicksand. God didn’t help Jenny. He could have, but He didn’t. Guilt stabbed at her conscience, and she briefly wondered if her thoughts constituted blasphemy.

Maybe they did.

But how could she change the way she felt, the way she viewed things? What else was she to think? Three months ago when she hadn’t been able to save Jenny. Not with all her years of medical training, not with so much love that she would have willingly taken her sister’s place.

And God had done nothing.

“It isn’t your fault, my dear,” Gram said as she hobbled over to a high-backed Victorian chair and seated herself with the sluggishness of age. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

Gram, she reflected with an inward wince, had the annoying ability to read her mind. Even as a child when Jasmine lost both parents to a tragic car accident, Gram had known what she was thinking and feeling. Gram had raised her, knew better than anyone what she suffered now.

“Because Christopher came back all of a sudden, after a year away?” she asked, knowing full well it was not the question Gram was answering.

Her keen silver eyes fixed upon Jasmine. If she was disturbed by her granddaughter’s persistent avoidance of the obvious, it didn’t show in her gaze.

“I had my hair set in the salon today,” she said, relating the story as if it were of no consequence. As if Jasmine’s world hadn’t come crashing to a halt the moment she’d heard Christopher’s name. “Lucille Walters came in for a perm. She told me everything she knew. Said since it’s January and all, he’s looking for a new beginning. Clean slate, you might say. Seems he’s bunking with her boys at the Lazy H.”

“He’s rooming with ranch hands?” she asked, surprise sounding in her voice. His parents, like hers, were with the Lord. And as an only child, he had no family to return to. But ranch hands?

“Seems a bit peculiar to me.” Gram raised a gray eyebrow and cocked her head to one side.

Her laughter was dry and bitter. “Yeah, for someone who’s scared to death of horses, I’d say it is.” How quickly the old anger returned to course through her. Righteous indignation swelled in her chest. She embraced it, welcoming the heat that surged through her bloodstream like electricity.

It was her way of dealing with what she couldn’t stand to face. Anger filled the empty spaces, leaving no room for more painful, tender emotions to surface.

It was a welcome relief. “Did you talk to him?” she queried, her voice unusually low and scratchy.

“No.” Gram leaned forward and cupped a hand to her mouth as if to whisper a secret. “But he told Lucille he wants his son.”

“Sammy is not his son!”

Sammy! Would Christopher take him away from her? That sweet baby had given new meaning to her life, given her a reason to live when all she wanted to do after Jenny’s death was crawl into the nearest hole and die.

And Christopher could take it all away. The thought pierced her heart like a stake. Sure, she had the papers that said she was Sammy’s legal guardian, but Christopher was related by blood. She pumped her fists open and closed to release the tension swirling through her.

Oh Jenny. Why did God take you away from us?

“Sammy’s my son,” she said again, more to reassure herself than to answer Gram.

“Not sure the law will see it your way.” Gram’s age-roughened voice broke into her thoughts. Her eyes were full of compassion as she reached forward to squeeze her granddaughter’s hand. “Seems to me Christopher had some part in making that baby.”

Jasmine didn’t want to think about that. “Jenny’s will makes me his guardian. Besides, a romp in the sack doesn’t make a man a father.” She snorted her derision. “He doesn’t deserve to be a father to baby Sammy, as I’m sure the courts will agree. He abandoned Jenny long before his son was born. What kind of a father does that make him?”

Gram held up her hands as if to ward off a blow. “I’m not disagreeing with you, honey. No-sirree! I’m just concerned that he’s going to fight you every step of the way. Mark my words! You know as well as I do that Christopher Jordan is a strong, stubborn man. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

She knew. Better even than Gram did. Once, she’d known his heart and soul. Or at least she thought she had. “He won’t get Sammy,” she vowed, her voice tight.

Gram raised an eyebrow. “Well, girl, I’ve gotta say you can be just as determined as any ol’ man when you put your mind to it.” She chuckled. “My money’s on you.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” she replied with a wry smile. “I’ll fight him if I have to.” No one would take Sammy away from her. No one. He was her baby now. And he was all she had left of Jenny.

Sammy’s cry pierced the gray haze of rage and frustration that flooded Jasmine’s mind. She dashed into the other bedroom and tucked the crying baby to her chest, speaking to him in an incoherent, soothing whisper.

At three months old, Sammy was already well able to make his desires known, she reflected with a smile. Not all the anger in the world could dim the gentle glow of love that filled her heart every time she held this sweet, precious child.

With the palm of her hand, she smoothed the tuft of light brown hair covering his head. He had a cowlick on the left side of his forehead. Just like his father.

Christopher.

She shook the thought away. “Gram, if I change Sammy’s diaper, will you take him for a while? I want to go through the rest of Jenny’s clothes before I quit for the night.”

Gram came around the corner, smiling and cooing as she approached Sammy. “Let’s get you changed, little fellow, so I can take you. Your Mommy needs to get some work done.”

Mommy. Jasmine felt less awkward after three months, but still the term hovered in the corner of her consciousness, taunting her to prove herself. She wrapped a fresh diaper around Sammy’s waist and pinned it securely, barely giving a thought to her actions.

Some things, at least, were beginning to come easier for her.