Secret Dad

“Sit down,” she told him as they entered the dining room. “I’ll have the food on the table in no time.”

Denver hesitated as though he were about to argue, but the aroma of pot roast simmering wafted in from the kitchen and his resistance seemed to melt away. He lowered himself carefully to a seat at the table and she pretended not to be watching him out of the corner of her eye to make sure he made it. Turning, she glanced around the room. Robbie was nowhere to be seen and she set off to find out why.

She found him in his bedroom and took him to the bathroom to wash his hands. He came willingly enough, but he seemed worried about something.

“Mom. Who is that man?” he asked her as he soaped up, his eyes wary.

“He’s my friend,” she told him, turning off the water to hurry him along. “Do you want to come and meet him?”

Robbie frowned, taking his time, washing his hands as though it were a heavy responsibility. “Is he the surprise?” he asked, then shot a quick glance at her face.

She smiled as she turned the faucet back on for a rinse. “Yes. He’s the surprise. I thought you’d like having a man come to dinner. We don’t have men around here very often, do we?”

Robbie shook his head, thinking that over. “He’s awful big,” he said at last.

Charlie laughed. “Yes, he is, isn’t he?”

His freckled nose wrinkled. “Are you sure he likes boys?” he asked her.

“Of course.” She answered without thinking, handing him a towel. “Doesn’t everybody?”

He shook his head vehemently. “No. Mrs. Rathworth doesn’t. She always yells when I go by her house. She tells me to stay away from her yard.”

Charlie became serious suddenly, her head to the side as she gazed at him. “Have you ever gone in her yard?” she asked.

He shook his head. “But some of the fifth-graders did,” he told her as though in confidence. “They picked a bunch of her apples right off her tree.”

“Well, there. You see? There’s usually a reason when someone seems too mean. It’s usually because someone has been mean to them. You have to think about that before you get mad.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably. “Look.” He held up his hands for inspection. “All clean.”

“Clean as a whistle,” she agreed, and they left the bathroom behind.

She led him out into the dining area and introduced him to Denver, who nodded to the boy but seemed to look right through him. Robbie followed her into the kitchen rather than stay at the table with him, and she took advantage of his presence and loaded him up with things to carry back out for the dining table. With help from the microwave, she had everything steaming hot in minutes, and soon they were passing serving dishes and getting ready to eat. Charlie looked over the scene and smiled. Something felt good about it.

“Cheers,” she said, raising her glass of milk to toast the other two.

Neither of them said a word, and they raised their glasses reluctantly, but she didn’t let it spoil her mood. She basked in the glow. This was as close to a family meal as this place had ever had.

And darn it all, this was good.

Four

The pot roast was out of this world. Denver had to restrain himself from closing his eyes as he savored every morsel.

“This meat is great,” he told Charlie, though he did so awkwardly. He wasn’t one who was used to complimenting the chef. “Too bad all mothers don’t teach their daughters to cook like this.”

She laughed. “My mother has never cooked a pot roast in her life,” she said happily, wanting to break into giggles at the thought of her formal, dignified mother in an apron with flour on her nose. “She’s probably not even sure what kind of meat you use.” She put a piece of that very same meat on her fork and regarded it kindly. “But she can plan a menu for three hundred at a charity luncheon, which is something I’ll never know how to do,” she added softly, then flushed, wishing she hadn’t said it. People must think it strange to hear her say a thing like that. She glanced at Denver to see what he was thinking.

Denver swallowed another delicious bite and avoided her gaze, wondering how he’d forgotten. Of course, he knew all about her mother and what kind of people she came from. Charlie seemed so different now, it was hard to keep that in mind.

He glanced down the table and looked at her. She was saying something to her son and it gave him a chance to study her without being noticed. She was pretty and quick-witted and her eyes shone with amusement most of the time. Had she always been this way? Not in his memory. He remembered how she’d looked the last time he saw her, years ago.

It was graduation day at the Arcadana Academy. He’d gone to watch his sister, Gail, walk up on the stage and receive her diploma. He’d been bursting with pride. She’d looked just like the others, tall and slim and beautiful, full of laughter, graceful as a bird. You couldn’t tell she was any different, he’d told himself. You couldn’t see that her father had swung a pickax for a living, that her parents hadn’t been made of money, with generations of breeding and privilege behind them, like the others. Gail looked as though she belonged. That was what he’d dreamed of for her, what he’d worked his tail off to provide for her. And now it had all seemed worthwhile.

He’d hung back after the ceremony, watching her being introduced to the families and friends of other girls. He didn’t want to embarrass her. There was no way anyone would ever confuse him with a blue blood, a fact that didn’t usually bother him. His broad shoulders hadn’t been earned by hours on the tennis court, and his tan was a product of the Sahara Desert, not the country club golf course. His hair was a little too long and his clothes looked a little too rumpled. Though he traveled a lot, his style was too plebeian for the jet-setters, and he had no interest in that sort of thing. But he didn’t want to cramp his sister’s style. It made him happy to see her succeed, to see her fit in.

Suddenly, she saw him and her face changed. With a shriek, she ran to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck, not caring who saw her embrace her rough brother. His heart had filled with love for her, but as he looked back to where she’d run from, he saw the others watching. Charlyne—as she’d been called then—was pointing at Gail and laughing, turning to say something to one of the others, and Denver reddened and pushed Gail away, sure the beautiful but obviously spoiled young woman was making fun of Gail’s brother.

“I just came to see you graduate,” he’d told her gruffly, purposely turning away from Charlyne. “I’ve got to get going.”

His sister had seemed to regret that, her huge eyes filling with sorrow. “Oh, but, Denver, we’re having a dinner at the Chez Sateau. You must come.”

His grin was slightly crooked. She even knew how to talk like the others. He shook his head.

“Can’t. Got an assignment and I’m due at the airport. I’ll see you later in the week, at home. You go on back to your friends.”

He’d looked at Charlyne as Gail walked away. She was looking right back at him, but now she wasn’t laughing. Their gazes met and held for a moment. Denver had hoped she couldn’t see how much he resented her. He pulled his gaze away, turned on his heel, and left for the parking lot.

Now he looked at the woman who had once called herself Charlyne. Her body was fuller, softer-looking, and her angular face had filled in with lovely curves. Where he’d once seen snobbery there was nothing but warmth. It hardly seemed possible that this Charlie was the same woman. He wished he knew what had brought on such a change in the weather.

But he frowned as he savored his last bite of meat. Years of undercover work had developed a strong streak of cynicism in him. People didn’t change that much. Maybe she’d just learned to hide what she really was. Maybe that was all there was to it.

He let the current scene come back into his senses again. Charlie was talking seriously to her son, telling him that no, he was not going to get a rifle until he was much, much older.

“Billy has one.”

“Billy can have a hundred. That is not going to make a difference to us. You’re too young. And guns are disgusting anyway.”

The boy looked at Denver as if he were waiting for him to jump in here, but Denver didn’t have an opinion one way or the other, and Robbie looked away again, disappointed. Denver felt his disappointment and shrugged. There was nothing he could do here. He’d had a rifle by the time he was six himself, but his family had lived in the country. Things were different in those days. He couldn’t imagine giving this infant child a rifle to carry around with him. Charlie was right. The kid didn’t need it.

He had to laugh at the irony, though. Here he was, a man who lived a life where a gun was an absolute necessity, and he didn’t want to see the boy use one. Maybe he was losing his edge. Maybe it was time to start thinking about a life after the dangerous one he’d been leading all these years. “You can’t do this forever,” a friend had said to him only a few days ago. “Go out and find yourself a woman and have a family.” He’d laughed at the time. The thought had been ludicrous. But somehow it didn’t seem quite so funny right now.

Looking across the table, he found the boy staring at him as though he were a specimen that might need dissecting. Before he could look away again, the child spoke to him for the first time.

“Hey, mister,” he said softly, looking a little shy but determined. “Did you ever catch a three-pound golden trout?”

Denver blinked. It seemed an odd question. But then, kids were odd. He never had got the hang of dealing with them. “Can’t say that I have,” he answered gruffly, hoping that would satisfy him.

The boy’s stare grew more intense. “Billy’s dad did,” he said, as though that proved something.

Denver wanted to ask who the hell Billy was, but he stopped himself in time, and luckily, Charlie caught his attention.

“More?” she was asking.

He shook his head. “It was great,” he told her, and it was true, but he was definitely full. He couldn’t remember when a woman had last cooked for him like this. Looking at her, he wished he could tell her how much it meant to him. But on second thought, maybe it would be better to let it go.

She cleared away a few dishes, then settled back in her chair and smiled at him as though ready for the next item on her agenda, and he tensed, ready to run.