Heart of the Night

Maybe Dev was right, he thought as he knocked on the front door. As long as Eli had been out of the picture and tucked away in that retreat in Ireland, Scotty had been relatively safe. But once Eli had reappeared on the CHAIM radar last summer, he’d also set himself up for retribution from past enemies because he’d never been one to win friends and influence people. And now that meant his son could become a target. Somehow, he’d have to make Gena see that Scotty was better off with him.

But when she opened the door hard enough to shake the bright red ribbon on the fragrant evergreen wreath, a brooding frown on her pretty oval face, Eli got the impression that Gena wouldn’t listen to any worries he might have.

Gena was fully prepared to slam the door back in Eli’s too-good-looking-for-his-own-good face, but knowing her son was about to come barreling down the stairs, she didn’t do that. This was Scotty’s father, after all. And in spite of her sleepless night, Scotty and Eli both deserved a chance to get to know each other.

“What did you tell him?” Eli said as he muscled past her, then pivoted to glare at her. “I mean, about his father? Does he even ask?”

Gena glanced upstairs, then motioned toward the kitchen. “I never lied to him, if that’s what you’re asking. I have always told him that his father had to go away and that he might not be able to come back.” She looked down at the floor. “He held out hope, I think, that one day he would see his father.”

Eli thumped his fingers on the newel post. “Well, guess what, catin, I’m here now. Time to confess all.”

Gena’s heart did a little pulsing jump. “Eli, please?”

Before she could plead her case, Scotty called out, “I’m hungry, Mom. Did you make pancakes?”

Gena stopped in the entryway, her gaze locking with Eli’s. “Not now,” she whispered.

Then Scotty appeared at the top of the stairs, backpack in hand, his hair rumpled as usual. “Who’s that?”

Gena watched as Scotty sized up the big man standing near the stairs and she also watched Eli’s face transform from a scowling mask of restraint and resolve to a genuine smile of curiosity and awe. And she saw a sudden solid terror in those usually fearless eyes, too.

“This is—”

“I’m Eli Trudeau,” Eli said, lifting a hand toward Scotty, his voice verging on shaky. “I’m a…friend…your Uncle Devon knows me.”

Scotty dropped his backpack and raced down the stairs. “Did you know he’s marrying Miss Lydia? I love Miss Lydia. She sends me things—books, CDs, candy. She’s so funny. Have you heard her accent? She talks slow ’cause she’s from Georgia. I’m gonna be in their wedding.”

Gena watched Eli’s face light up. Wow, the man could be a real lady-killer if he worked at it. Shaking that notion right out of her head, she concentrated instead on trying to decide how to explain Eli’s presence to her son. “Scotty, aren’t you forgetting your manners? Can’t you say hello at least.”

“Hello,” Scotty said, looking sheepish and shy. Then, “Do you know Miss Lydia?”

Eli bent down to eye level with Scotty, then reached out to give him a robust handshake. “Nice to finally meet you, Scotty,” he said, with emphasis on the finally. “I sure do know Miss Lydia. She is the nicest, kindest, most caring person I’ve ever met.”

Gena could tell Eli actually meant those words and that gave her a sense of hope for his bruised soul.

“She’s fun, is all I know,” Scotty said with a shrug. “Are you from Georgia? ’Cause you sound funny like Miss Lydia.”

Eli stood as Scotty rushed by, headed for the kitchen. Then he called, “I’m from Louisiana. Way down south.”

Gena inclined her head. “Better hurry if you want pancakes.”

Eli nodded, then held her arm, his head down as he spoke in a soft whisper. “He’s so…incredible.”

“I know,” she said, tears piercing her eyes. “That’s why I need you to give me some time.”

Eli put his hands in the pocket of his jeans, then lifted his chin toward the kitchen. “I’ve got lots of time. All the time in the world. And I plan on using it to get to know my son.” He stood still for a minute, his gaze moving over her face, then back toward the other room. “But not right now. I can’t…not right now.”

Then he turned and rushed out the front door. For a minute, Gena couldn’t move. She felt trapped between the duty of protecting her son and a mother’s love. And she felt trapped by the brilliant shards of happiness and longing she’d seen in Eli’s eyes right before the panic and the doubt had taken over. Thinking she should go after him, she started for the door.

Then Scotty called out to her. “Mom, I can’t find the syrup.” The phone rang, its shrill tone reminding her that she had a job to do and a son to take care of. No time to feel sorry for the man who’d come here to mess with her life.

Gena stared at the door, then turned to go and help her son, grabbing the cordless phone as she moved through the house.

Eli stood out on the craggy rocks, facing the brisk wind coming in off the gray, churning waters of the Atlantic. He was cold, a gentle shiver moving up and down his body. But the shiver wasn’t from the frigid air hitting his wet face. It was from a dark fear battering his soul.

Wiping at his eyes, he whispered to the wind. “I’m not good enough for that boy, Lord. Not nearly good enough to even lay claim to him.”

He closed his eyes, reliving those precious moments when his son had come down the stairs. Eli’s heart had pounded with pride and awe even while it pumped with trepidation.

“Help me,” he whispered, his words disappearing as the wind carried them out to sea.

Lydia had told him to turn to God when he was afraid or when he thought he might want to seek revenge or retribution. But there was no retribution here. No way to make up for the losses that boy and he had suffered. Scotty would never know his mother’s beautiful smile even though he had the same smile. He’d never hear her pretty Southern drawl. He’d never be able to hug her close and call her “Mommy.” And Eli would never have her in his arms again. Never. But he had his son now. If he could face the tremendous responsibility of that.

“Help me.”

That was the only prayer his trembling lips could form. So he just stood there, frozen and unyielding, staring out at that harsh, brutal water, tears falling like melting snowflakes down his face.

Until he felt a hand on his arm.

“Eli, come inside and let me make you some coffee.”

He jerked away, then turned to stare at Gena. Her dark hair lifted around her face, her eyes were wide with worry. She clutched his arm, her expression full of a sympathy that just about did him in.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted. “I’m so afraid of him.”

Gena moved closer. “He’s just a little boy. But it is scary, being a parent. It’s the kind of love that holds your heart so tightly…well…it’s just hard to imagine life without your child.”

He turned to her then, understanding piercing the cold wall of his heart. “I came here not knowing, not thinking about that. But now I get it. Fools rush in—”

“Where angels fear to tread,” Gena finished.

He touched her hand on his arm, his fingers covering hers. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Then he saw the tears forming in her eyes. “It’s okay. You have a right to know your child. I only ask that you be patient with us. And we’ll try to do the same with you.”

He faced the ocean again. “I’m normally not a patient man.”

“I can tell,” she said, her smile indulgent. “Your son has inherited that particular trait, I think.”

That made him smile. “I pray he hasn’t inherited my other bad traits.”

“Time will tell, won’t it?”

She shivered as the wind picked up.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, turning to take her by the hand.

She nodded, following him back up the slope to the house. “I have scrapbooks—it’s a hobby of mine. You’re welcome to look at them. They show our life—from the time Devon brought him to me until now.”