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“You just did.”
Damn.
“I recently found out that a child resulted from that night.” He paused. Swallowed.
What mattered was doing the right thing when you were faced with the situation.
“His mother didn’t want me to know.”
“Why not? You’d think she’d want support if nothing else.”
“She’s married.”
“You slept with a married woman.”
“She wasn’t married at the time.” He stood, turned to face her, his expression more shadowed now than ever. Straining to see in the dark, she could tell that he’d shoved his hands in his pockets. “She was engaged to be married, but I didn’t know that.” One foot on the bench, he continued, “I’m not proud of myself. It was just…one of those things.”
She understood. She’d had one. Once. Right before she met Thomas.
“But the point is, the boy’s mine. I’m his father. And I am not going to be able to live with myself until I can be a proper father to him. If that means child support and nothing else for now, then fine. But my son is not going to grow up thinking his father didn’t want him.”
She believed him.
“So tell her that.”
“I did. She didn’t thank me for the problem I was causing. It seems she told her husband the child is his.”
Life could be surprising and full of unexpected coincidence. At a time when Valerie’s faith in men was at an all-time low, this decent, honorable man had dropped into her life. Ironically, she was helping a friend, albeit a distant one, with a situation that was the reverse of his. But while Susan fought for the right to have her son’s father raise him, her manipulative and controlling ex-husband claimed that he was the father. This man, who’d apparently first made an effort to get to know his seven-year-old daughter when she lay dying in a hospital, had already shown that he had no idea what fatherhood was about. For him, trying to prove that he was the child’s father was a means of control, of asserting ownership over the ex-wife who’d walked out on him.
Susan was so distressed by the man that in those long, agonizing conversations they’d had during the month or two she and Valerie had consoled each other, she’d never even called him by name. It was usually “the bastard.” Or sometimes “the jerk.” But then, Valerie very seldom called Thomas anything other than “my husband,” or most often, “the boys’ father.”
And here was Kirk, a decent man with no other goal than to be accountable for his actions. He was a man so conscientious of his obligations, so driven by the need to do the right thing, he couldn’t tolerate being denied that possibility.
Susan’s situation had been depressing V
alerie, reminding her far too much of her life with Thomas. Not just because her husband was responsible for the death of the other woman’s daughter, but because Thomas had been the same type of negligent father as Susan’s first husband. He’d gone to his grave never having known the two remarkable children he’d had.
If ever a man was the antithesis of her ex-husband, it was Kirk Chandler. And still, Valerie was not, absolutely not, going to fall for him. However, she wasn’t averse to having some of her faith in humanity—particularly the male variety—restored.
Finally silent, Kirk sat back down beside her.
She turned toward him, cursing the darkness that wouldn’t let her read his expression. Or let him read hers…
“I’m guessing the husband is named as the father.”
“Yes.”
“Arizona law is pretty clear about the significance of that, but if you’re willing to go to the wall on this, I’ll do what I can to help.”
“I’ve already called an attorney, prepared to do whatever is necessary. I’d appreciate any and all help you can give me.”
Intimacy engulfed them. Much more intense than before. And he wasn’t even touching her.
IN HIS CUSTOMARY JEANS and flannel shirt, Kirk was leaning against the wall outside Steve McDonald’s office at six-thirty the next morning.
“You’re in early,” the sandy-haired ex–baseball player said.
Kirk held up a paper bag. “I brought you a doughnut.”
