His Child Or Hers?. Dawn Stewardson

doesn’t seem unreasonable,” he said, once he had. “She just wants her son.

      “Just,” he repeated, wearily shaking his head. All she wanted was what had been stolen from her, yet if she got him back…

      “Take it easy,” Travis said.

      “Yeah, I know. I’m not in the greatest shape. I lay awake all last night, thinking, and the more I thought the less I could see how any sort of sharing arrangement would be even remotely feasible.”

      He paused and took a long, slow breath, then continued. “In any event, Doris said that if Natalie and I can’t work things out on our own she’ll recommend someone for us to meet with. Some sort of counselor or mediator. But there’d still be no guarantee we could agree on a plan.”

      “And in the meantime?” Celeste said. “While Natalie’s getting to know Robbie? Are you going to tell him she’s his mother?”

      Hank looked at her, only then realizing he and Natalie hadn’t discussed that. But since she was intent on being part of his life, they’d have to tell him sooner or later. And after they did…

      He ran his fingers through his hair once more, the sense that his son was already beginning to slip away from him gnawing at his insides.

      “HANK?” AUDREY SAID GENTLY. “You might as well get it over with.”

      He glanced across the kitchen table at her and nodded. But then, instead of making the call, he pushed back his chair and headed for the living room—where Robbie was playing with his friend Gary, whose mother routinely left him here while she did her grocery shopping.

      When he walked into the room, Robbie shot him a grin and said, “We’re playin’ trucks.”

      “Yeah, I can see that.”

      As if Robbie didn’t have enough trucks for half a dozen kids, Gary had brought his own backpackful. The floor was wall-to-wall with them.

      “Wanna play with us, Dad?”

      “Thanks, but not right now.”

      “You can have my fire engine,” Gary offered. He was almost a year older than Robbie, and had gotten much more into the idea of sharing.

      “Hey, that’s really tempting,” Hank told him, “but I just wanted to make sure you guys were having fun.”

      He watched them for a minute or two. Well, actually, he watched Robbie. Then he backtracked to the kitchen, where the number of that lab in Englewood was sitting next to the phone.

      “It’s past ten,” Audrey said.

      “Uh-huh.” And the lab people had told him he could call any time after nine-thirty.

      Fleetingly he wondered if Natalie had phoned them yet. Then he told himself she didn’t really need to. She was positive that Robbie was her child.

      Glancing at Audrey again, he thought she looked as if she’d aged overnight. Her hair seemed to have more gray mixed with the brown than it had only yesterday, and she was clearly tired. Of course, she probably hadn’t slept any better than he had the past couple of nights.

      After procrastinating for a few more seconds, he forced himself to pick up the phone and punch in the number.

      “This is Hank Ballantyne,” he told the woman who answered. “My son, Robbie, was tested there yesterday. As was a Dr. Natalie Lawson. I’m calling for the results.”

      “Just a minute, sir.”

      Audrey eyed him while he waited, her expression anxious.

      The woman at the lab finally picked up again. “Mr. Ballantyne?”

      “Yes.”

      “There’s a positive match.”

      She said more, something about his getting written documentation in the mail, but he only half heard the rest of her words because “there’s a positive match” kept repeating in his ear.

      “Thank you,” he said when she stopped speaking. Then he clicked the phone off and numbly told Audrey the news.

      Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Hank, I’m so, so, sorry,” she murmured.

      “Yeah,” he managed. “Me, too.”

      NATALIE HAD BARELY LEFT her motel room since she’d driven back from the lab in Englewood yesterday. She’d been sitting by the phone, waiting for Hank Ballantyne to call. And worrying about what he’d say when he did.

      Or should that be if he did?

      He’d promised he would, as soon as he’d done some thinking about letting her spend time with Robbie. But maybe he’d changed his mind.

      Maybe, instead of phoning, he’d have a lawyer get in touch, because he’d decided that he wouldn’t let her see any more of her son unless a judge forced him to.

      Or he might simply vanish with Robbie. Then she’d have to start searching all over again.

      Closing her eyes, she reminded herself that Rodger Spicer’s report hadn’t painted Hank as the sort of man who’d run. He was the type who’d stand and fight.

      She only hoped he wasn’t going to fight her.

      It would be so much better for Robbie if they didn’t end up battling over him. Yet, if that was the route Hank decided to take…

      Well, if her alternatives were to start legal proceedings or forget about ever seeing her child again, there’d be only one real choice—no option at all. She was just afraid she might not have enough emotional reserve left to carry her much further.

      She’d been running on empty ever since that day in the orphanage. And now that she’d finally found her son, now that she’d seen him…

      She told herself to calm down. Whatever happened, she’d cope. The way she’d been doing for what seemed like forever.

      As she glanced at the silent phone once more it suddenly rang. Her heart slammed against her ribs, then began to race.

      Her throat dry, she answered.

      “It’s Hank,” he said.

      “Yes. Hi.”

      “I called the lab a while ago.”

      “Me, too.”

      Barely breathing, she waited for him to say something more, each second like an hour.

      “We’d better talk again,” he said at last.

      “Yes. Fine.”

      “Is it okay if I come there?”

      She desperately wanted to ask how he’d decided to play things, but all she said was, “Of course.”

      “Good. I’ll see you in ten.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      TELLING HERSELF THAT HANK would be here any second now, Natalie wandered into the bathroom and halfheartedly brushed her hair. It wasn’t even a little less wild after she finished than before she’d started.

      Wash-and-wear hair, her mother always used to call it, a kind way of saying it had a will of its own. An iron will. Over the years, she must have tried to tame it a hundred different ways—none of them successful.

      Eventually she’d given up, and now just left it long so she could at least tie it back out of the way when she was working.

      Hearing the crunch of tires on the gravel, she hurried to the window, in time to see Hank getting out of his Blazer.

      He did not look pleased, but she could scarcely expect him to. Until she’d suddenly appeared, he’d been under the impression she was dead. And she’d bet he wished, with all his heart, she actually