Baby, Come Back (2 page)

Hope House's front door invited him to enter; he did and crossed to the reception desk. The long-haired teenager manning the desk didn't look up. He wore ancient jeans, a threadbare, tie-dye T-shirt and state-of-the-art headphones. Using pencils for drumsticks, the boy pounded out whatever frenetic tune those headphones were blaring just for him.

“Excuse me,” Hayes said, moving his hand across the boy's line of vision.

The boy jerked his head up, grinned and popped the headphones off his ears. “Yo, man. What's up?”

What's up?
Hayes arched an eyebrow. “I'm looking for the therapist's office.”

“That's Miss A. Her office is back there. See?” The boy stood and pointed.

“Is she in?”

“Oh, yeah.” The teenager plopped back onto the chair. “She's always in.”

Before Hayes could even murmur his thanks, the teenager had returned to his headphones and imaginary drums. Hayes shook his head and started in the direction the wouldbe musician had indicated. He supposed he should be grateful— his son could look and act like that. His son could be spending his days here instead of with...his pregnant girlfriend.

Hayes swore silently. How could Jeff have gotten himself into this situation? Jeff, a National Merit scholar? An all-state athlete? Good God, how could he have been so careless?

Like father like son.

Hayes pulled his mouth into a tight, grim line. How could he judge his son? He'd been much older when the same thing had happened to him. Supposedly wiser. But he and Alice had been lucky. Disaster had been averted by nature.

Lucky.
The thought moved through his head, and he twisted his lips. He didn't feel lucky. Not then. Not now. In fact, most times he didn't feel anything at all.

Hayes passed a group of teenagers arguing over a poem, a girl sitting at an easel sketching, past another who appeared to be meditating. When he'd called and questioned Hope House's director about Sheri Kane and her place here, the director had described theirs as a program that used creative self-expression as a vehicle through which troubled teens learned to cope with their problems. Whatever the hell that meant. All he cared about was getting a handle on Sheri Kane so he could take care of Jeff's problem.

He found Alice's office. The door stood ajar. She faced the single window, her back to him. He gazed at her, his mouth suddenly dry, his heart beating fast. Everything about her called to his sensory memory. The curve of her hip, encased now in light-colored denim, reminded him of how his hand had fit over it, as if made just for him. He recalled the feel of her skin, soft, warm, incredibly smooth. The silky sensation of her whiskey-colored hair against his fingers. Lord, how he'd loved to bury his face in it after they'd made love. It had always smelled sweet, like springtime.

Hayes swallowed, fighting against the memories, against the overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He couldn't dispel it, not completely, and frowned. He wouldn't allow himself a trip down memory lane. He wouldn't allow himself, even for a moment, to question the decision he'd made twelve years ago.

As if sensing his presence, Alice turned. Her eyes met his. In that moment he saw that she had changed.

The girl had become a woman.

Hayes skimmed his gaze over her. Some of the changes were subtle, others blatant. Her face bore the signs of maturity, of experience and self-confidence. Her mouth seemed fuller, her figure more lush. The blush of girlhood had been replaced by the bloom of womanhood.

Hayes released a pent-up breath. Twelve years. It had been twelve years since he'd last seen her. Since he'd held her in his arms. Since he'd tasted her mouth, her sultry sweetness.

Twelve years since he'd broken her heart.

She'd never forgiven him. He saw it in her eyes— a trace of vulnerability, of hurt. Of accusation.

Even though he couldn't blame her, he felt bereft, as if he'd lost something really special. Something magical.

He called himself a fool. “Hello, Alice.”

She inched her chin up a fraction, and he almost smiled. He remembered that gesture vividly. She'd been forever popping that chin up in defiance or anger. Or when hurt. He wondered which the gesture was in response to now. For she'd changed in another way; now she possessed the ability to hide her real feelings.

“Hello, Hayes.”

“Surprised to see me?”

“No.” She folded her arms across her chest. “The director mentioned that you called. I figured you'd show up sooner or later.”

Hayes stepped into the office, scanning it as he did, taking in the obviously donated furniture, mismatched and worn, the chipped and peeling walls, the desk, haphazardly piled with books, assorted papers and file folders. He brought his gaze back to Alice's. “Then you know why I'm here.”

“To inquire about Sheri Kane.”

He slipped off his cashmere coat and tossed it over a chair. “I understand you're her therapist.”

“We prefer the term ‘counselor' here. It makes the kids feel more comfortable.”

“Counselor, then.” He moved his gaze over the room once more. “I'm not surprised to find you working in a place like this.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You say that as if you think being altruistic is a fault. As if wanting to help someone besides myself is something to apologize for.”

“Not at all.” He arched his eyebrows. “No criticism intended.”

“Like hell.”

“Picking up right where we left off, I see.”

Alice drew in a quick breath, her cheeks burning with color. “We're not picking up anything. You've come about Sheri. Well, I'll tell you what I think. She's a lovely girl, and I'm very fond of her. I don't want to see her hurt any more than she has been already. I consider our relationship privileged, so if you'll excuse me, I have things— ”

She started to brush by him; he caught her arm. “She's pregnant. You knew that?”

Alice looked at his hand, then back up at him, eyes narrowed. “Of course. She told me a couple of days ago.” Alice shook off his hand. “And Jeff's the father.”

“So I understand.”

“Life's funny, isn't it, Hayes?”

Hayes's mouth tightened into a hard line, and he swung away from her, crossing to the window. Alice stared at him, at his stiff back, the rigid line of his shoulders, her heart thundering.

Why had she said that? Why had she opened a door best left shut and tightly bolted? Pain trembled through her. And with it regret, so bitter it left her aching and sad.

Hayes Bradford had been a hard man when she'd known him. Unemotional. Coldly determined. Cynical. He'd been the kind of man who walked into a courtroom and owned it, the kind who strode into a room of savvy, successful men and cowed them.

But she'd seen something soft in him. Something emotional. Vulnerable, even. Some part of him that had needed her.

That hint of warmth, of need, had been extinguished in the intervening years, leaving a man dying of the cold. The truth of that pulled at her, even as she told herself that he'd made his own isolation.

He turned back to her, his expression as if chipped from granite. “Is there any chance that Jeff's not the— ”

“Father? No chance.” Anger moved through her, extinguishing the flutter of sympathy, of empathy. “Sheri is not promiscuous. She and Jeff have been dating for months.”

“Exclusively?”

Alice's cheeks burned. “Yes. Exclusively.”

“You're angry?”

“Offended.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “I don't see anything out of line about my questions. They're questions any parent would ask.”

He'd always thought her too open, too emotional. Had always thought her too reactive.

She cocked her chin. “Then why aren't you asking your son these questions? Or weren't his answers the ones you wanted?”

Something flashed in Hayes's eyes, then was gone. “All grown up, I see. Complete with claws.”

Anger took her breath. She battled to hold on to it, to keep it from showing. “I was hardly a child back then.” But he'd always treated her like one anyway.

“You were nineteen, Alice.”

“Of legal age. An adult.”

“And I was twenty-seven. Already a widower. Responsible for a young son.”

“A son whom I adored. And who adored me.”

“We were emotional and philosophical poles apart.”

But I loved you anyway. So much I thought I was going to die when you rejected me.

Alice pushed the thought away and inched her chin up a fraction more. “Except in the bedroom. Right? I wasn't too young for you there. I wasn't too philosophically distant then.”

“I didn't come here to get into this.”

Of course not, she thought. He'd never cared enough about her to come after her. She stiffened her spine. “And what you did come for is inappropriate for me to discuss. Please leave.”

He took a step toward her, hand out. “These kids are too young to be thinking about marriage, let alone starting a family.”

“By ‘these kids' you mean your son?”

Hayes nodded. “He is my main concern. He's the one I care about.”

“And I care about Sheri.”

“Then help me help them.” Hayes made a sound of frustration and turned away from her. For long moments he said nothing, then he turned back to her, his expression strained. “He's infatuated with this girl. He's not thinking clearly.”

Blood rushed to Alice's cheeks. And what had been his father's excuse, all those years ago? Had he been infatuated? Had he, too, been confused, his thinking muddled?

“So, you'll think clearly for him,” she said, her voice tight with anger.

“It sounds arrogant, but...yes. And I'd like your help convincing Sheri to do the right thing.”

“What you think is the right thing.”

Hayes groaned. “We are the adults.”

Alice crossed to the door and swung it wide. “I'm sorry, but you've wasted your time. I believe Sheri and Jeff are old enough to make their own decisions.”

“If you were a parent, you'd understand.”

Pain at the blow shot through her, and she caught her breath. She had dreamed of being a parent. Once she'd even come close.

Hayes closed the distance between them. Stopping in front of her, he met her eyes. His were dark with regret. “I'm sorry, Alice. I didn't mean to hurt you. Not then. And certainly not now.”

She searched his gaze. She didn't want his apologies. Didn't want— or need— his regret. She was doing just fine. And if he hoped for forgiveness, well, some wounds went too deep to heal or forgive.

She narrowed her eyes, pushing aside her hurt, marshaling her anger. “If I were a parent I'd understand? Tell that to the kids I work with here, the kids I try to help deal with the way their older and wiser parents have screwed up their lives and their heads.”

His mouth tightened. “That's different. Those aren't the kind of parents I was talking about.”

“Oh, I forgot. You're one of those infallible, perfect parents.” She drew in an angry breath, then let it out in a rush. “Let's be honest here, Hayes. Your concern has a lot to do with what you think of Sheri. You've tried and sentenced her, yet you know nothing about her. She's intelligent and courageous. And she's been through a hell of a lot. You'd be playing a different tune if Jeff had gotten the daughter of one of your precious senior partners in trouble. Well, I'm not going to help you discriminate against Sheri Kane. Now— ” she indicated the door, her hand shaking so badly she knew he could see “— please leave.”

He opened his mouth, and she fisted her fingers. “Now.”

“Fine.” He plucked his coat from the chair and strode to the door. There he stopped and once again met her eyes. “Are you so sure it's me who's letting preconceived notions cloud my judgment? Are you sure it's me who's discriminating? Think about it, Alice. I'll be in touch.”

A
lice did think about it. In fact, in the three days since their confrontation, she'd been able to think of little else.

Alice gazed out her office window at the gloomy February day. It seemed impossible to her that spring waited just around the corner. Mardi Gras had come and gone; the first scattered azaleas had burst open, both sure signals of spring. And yet the sky remained flat and gray, the breeze cold and edgy.

Come August, she would long for both, but today a bright-blue sky and mellow breeze would be a comfort.

She touched the cool glass with her fingertips. Had Hayes been right? Was she the one who'd let preconceived notions interfere with judgment? Was she the one who had discriminated?

Alice fisted her fingers on the glass, fighting the wave of denial— and anger— that washed over her. The same wave that had washed over her the other day.

Only the other day she'd been incapable of fighting it.

Where had all that anger come from? She'd looked at Hayes and the emotion had bubbled furiously out of her. If she'd been a fraction less civilized a person, she would have lunged at him.

Frowning, she looked out at Hope House's backyard. Two of her kids had braved the unforgiving breeze and sat huddled together on the bench beneath the huge, old live oak that graced the yard's center. The boy and girl sat facing each other, not speaking, just gazing into the other's eyes, obviously smitten.

How long had it been since she'd felt that way? How long since she'd been willing to brave the cold— or anything else— to be with the man she loved?

Twelve years. Twelve long, empty years.

A lump in her throat, Alice swung away from the view and crossed to her desk. She sank onto the chair and rubbed her temple at the headache that hammered there. She wouldn't think about that now; she couldn't. She had other things she needed to focus on. Like her anger at Hayes.

It hadn't been new emotion; it hadn't been about Sheri and Jeff. Not completely, anyway.

And she hated that. Because she hated what it meant.

She wasn't completely over her feelings for Hayes.

Alice sighed impatiently. Of course she was. She'd recovered from his rejection long ago. She no longer wanted or needed him. She no longer loved him.

She was over everything but her anger.

Obviously. She'd been so busy being angry, she hadn't given him the chance to fully explain why he'd sought her out or to express his thoughts about the pregnancy. She'd tried and convicted him without even allowing him a chance to defend himself.

Just as she'd accused him of doing to Sheri.

She prided herself on being a fair person. On being nonjudgmental. She had to give Hayes that chance. She owed it to Sheri. And Jeff.

Alice grabbed her purse and jumped to her feet. She didn't have an appointment scheduled until one, plenty of time to find Hayes and hear him out. Decision made, she strode to the door.

And collided with Sheri as she raced into the office.

“Sheri!” Alice grabbed the girl's arms to steady her. “I'm so sorry. I didn't see you...”

Alice's words trailed off as she took in the teenager's stricken face. Her heart leaped to her throat. “What's happened?”

Sheri burst into tears. “You've got to help me, Miss A. I don't know what to do. He told. He called my father and...he told him that...I'm...” Sheri dropped her face into her hands. “What am I going to do now?”

Alice slid an arm around the girl's shoulders and led her to the battered couch. Gently she eased her onto it, then pulled a chair over to face her. “Calm down, Sheri. Take a deep breath or two and try to tell me what happened.”

The girl nodded, drew in several shaky breaths, then met Alice's eyes.

“He called and told my dad I was pregnant.” She curled her fingers into fists in her lap. “I should have known he'd do something like that. I hate him so much. I really do!”

Alice frowned. “Who told?”

“Jeff's dad!”

Hayes had called Sheri's father.

Of course he had. After all, he was the “older and wiser” parent.

She swore silently as guilt shot through her. She, too, should have known Hayes would do something like this. Maybe if she had talked to him, listened to what he'd had to say and had offered advice, this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if she hadn't been so emotional, this could have been avoided.

She laced her fingers in her lap. “How did your dad take it?”

“He took it great,” Sheri said sarcastically, her eyes brimming with tears. “Like a real trooper. He called me a...slut and a...a whore. Then he...kicked me out.”

The tears spilled over, even though Alice could see how she fought them.

“Did he hit you?” Sheri shifted her gaze away, and Alice touched her hand lightly. “Did he, Sheri?”

The girl met her eyes. Alice's heart twisted at the despair she saw there. And the courage. No seventeen-year-old should know such pain.

“Just once,” Sheri whispered. “But I turned real fast so he wouldn't hurt the baby.”

Alice caught her breath as anger surged through her, hot and fast, stealing her ability to speak. Body blows to places concealed by clothing was Buddy Kane's modus operandi. The bastard.

Sheri clutched Alice's hands. “I don't have anywhere to go...I don't have...” Tears choked her, and she cleared her throat. “What am I going to do, Miss A.? You've got to help me. I don't know what to do.”

She burst into tears again, and Alice drew her into her arms. With her Hope House connections, she could find Sheri housing at any number of places in the area. She would be well cared for, off the streets, safe and protected.

But that wasn't good enough.

Professional or not, Sheri needed her. She needed more than a roof over her head and three square meals a day. Sheri needed comfort, understanding, guidance. She needed a friend.

Alice smiled to herself. She would have to clear it with Dennis, the director. And he wasn't going to like it. But she knew him well enough to be certain that, after a moderate argument, he would give his grumbling okay.

And if Sheri's bastard of a father so much as darkened her doorstep, she would slap him with abuse charges so fast he wouldn't know what had hit him.

So much for keeping herself from getting too personally involved.

“You're going to stay with me,” Alice said matter-of-factly. “I live alone. I have a guest room.”

Sheri tipped her head back, her tear-drenched eyes widening in disbelief. “You'd do that for...me?”

Alice smiled softly. “How can you even ask that? Of course I would.”

“But— ”

“No buts.” Alice plucked her purse from the floor by her chair. “I have to get permission from Dennis. And from your father.”

Sheri's eyes widened with fear. “But, Miss A., he— ”

Alice patted the girl's hands. “Don't worry, I'll take care of your father. You have your things?”

Sheri nodded, hiccuping, wiping at her wet cheeks. “He chucked them all out in the street. A bunch of the neighbors were out. A few of them...laughed.”

“Great neighbors,” Alice muttered, shaking her head. “You walked here?”

“Hitched.”

“We've talked about that, Sheri. It's dangerous. Really dangerous. While you're living with me, you call me for a ride. No hitching. Got it?”

“Sure, but...I don't want to cause you any trouble, Miss A. I mean, I don't want to be a pest.”

Alice forced an easy smile and hiked her purse onto her shoulder. “You are not going to be any trouble. Come on. I don't have any appointments until one. I'll get you settled in.”

And after dealing with Dennis and Buddy Kane, she vowed, she would see Hayes.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Alice drew her car to a stop in front of Hayes's large, two-story brick home. The stately house occupied an oversize lot in Mandeville's most exclusive country-club community. She'd always thought it looked like a lawyer's home; it reeked of wealth, social position and the understated elegance born of both.

She'd never been truly comfortable here, maybe because his wife had chosen both the house and its decor, maybe because it was so far removed from her own frame of reference.

Either way, she much preferred her restored Cape Cod-style cottage, her eclectic little street with its hodgepodge of neighbors. Here, everybody was the same as everybody else— well educated, wellbred and well employed, and almost without exception Caucasian, Protestant and Republican. Her neighborhood had variety— a lot of variety— and a lot of life and energy.

Alice swung open the car door and stepped out, a flutter of nervousness in the pit of her stomach. The worst that could happen, she told herself, was that Hayes would tell her to butt out. And she hardly thought he would do that, considering he'd come to her first.

So why was she nervous? She didn't care what he thought of her or her opinions. She had come to help Sheri; she would say her piece and leave.

The front door burst open and a young man slammed through. Jeff, Alice realized, catching her breath, moving her gaze over him. He'd grown into a handsome young man— tall and slim, with the same long face and hawkish features as his father, the same strong chin and light-brown hair streaked with gold. In fact, the resemblance between the father and son was remarkable.

Hayes appeared at the door. “Jeff, come back here immediately. I haven't finished talking to you.”

Jeff stopped at the edge of the porch and swung toward his father, his fists clenched. “You weren't talking— you were lecturing! I've had it with your orders. And I've had it with you telling me what to do and how to live.”

“I'm your father. I know what's best for you.”

“Is that why you called Sheri's father? Was
that
the best thing for me?” Jeff started down the stairs. “Do me a favor, butt out of my life.”

“Jeff!” Hayes stepped through the door, and the boy paused. “I forbid you to marry this girl. Do you hear me? I forbid it.”

“Forbid?” the boy shouted. “You're not a father. You're a dictator. I'm eighteen, old enough to do what I want. And if I want to marry Sheri, I will.” The boy took the last steps in one bound and headed for the garage.

“Jeff!” Hayes stormed across the porch. “Get back here. Now!”

But as Alice could have told Hayes, Jeff neither paused nor acknowledged his father, and a moment later she heard the gun of an engine and the squeal of tires as the teenager backed his car recklessly out of the driveway and into the street. A moment later the teenager roared out of sight.

Alice returned her gaze to Hayes, to his handsome features, etched with a combination of worry and despair. She drew in a deep breath, torn between conflicting emotions. If she approached Hayes now, he would most likely take some of his anger and frustration out on her. He wouldn't be receptive to her suggestions; he would perceive them as criticisms. If she had any sense, she would climb back into her car and drive off.

She'd never been known for leading with her head, and her heart told her that Hayes needed her. He needed an impartial opinion, some sensible advice. His relationship with his son looked to be out of control, and she'd bet her master's degree that he knew it.

Jeff needed her, too. Alice thought of the small, sweet boy she had once cradled in her arms, and her heart twisted. She hated to see him hurting this way. Hated to see him and Hayes at such odds. They needed each other.

Alice started up the flower-lined walk. Foolish or not, appreciated or not, she would offer her opinion and advice. And maybe she would be able to help.

Hayes hadn't moved from his position at the edge of the porch; he still gazed in the direction Jeff had disappeared moments before. As she approached, he turned to her and the unhappiness in his eyes tugged at her heartstrings. She drew in a steadying breath and reminded herself that she'd come to help Sheri and Jeff.

She stopped at the bottom of the steps and tilted her face up to his. “Hello, Hayes.”

“Alice,” he murmured, his jaw tightening. “I suppose you heard all that?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop.”

“But you did anyway.” She didn't reply, and he glanced at the street once more. “So now you know the awful truth. My son hates me.”

“Actually,” she said softly, “I think he loves you very much. That's why he's so angry.”

“This isn't a good time, Alice. I'll call you.”

Even though he tried, he couldn't quite hide his pain, his frustration. And he hated that, Alice knew. Because he hated weakness, and he perceived emotion as weakness. He always had.

He would like her to leave him alone, give him time to compose himself, to box up and pack away his emotions. To hell with what he would like. She wasn't about to give him the chance to put his armor back into place. She wouldn't be worth her salt as a counselor if she did.

“I remember Jeff as a little boy,” she murmured. “He was so sweet. So cuddly. I used to sit for hours and rock him. Do you remember?”

Hayes's mouth tightened and he didn't reply, but Alice could tell by that very stiffening that he did remember. And that it stung. Badly.

She laughed lightly, although the effort hurt. “Truthfully, I liked it as much as he did. Maybe more. I guess we both needed love.”

Hayes made a sound of impatience. “Is there some message for me in this little trip down memory lane? Or are you just making small talk?”

Alice looked him in the eye. “He's still that same little boy, Hayes. He needs love. He needs affection.”

“Meaning I don't give it to him.”

“Meaning you handled that all wrong.” The breeze blew her hair across her cheek; she swept it impatiently away. “He's eighteen years old. Too old to drill with orders and expectations. He needs understanding. He needs you to sit down and talk with him, man to man. Like equals. Like friends.”