Baby, Come Back (4 page)

“Jeff's going through a crisis right now,” she said softly. “He's growing up. Facing the prospect of graduation, of going to college in the fall. He's becoming independent. Or trying to. That's hard.” She caught herself reaching out to touch him again and twined her fingers together. “To top it off, now he has to adjust to the idea of becoming a father himself. Give him this moment. He's here. He's safe.”

For long seconds, Hayes gazed at her, considering, weighing his options. He nodded. “Okay. I'll leave him in your care. But I want him home by midnight.”

She smiled, relief spiraling through her. “Fair enough. I'll talk to him and—”

The door swung open, flooding the porch with light, illuminating Hayes's tense face. Alice turned, even though she knew without a doubt who stood behind her. She took one look at Jeff's expression, and her stomach sank. This was not going to be pretty.

“Before either of you say anything,” she said quickly, “try to—”

“I should have known,” Jeff interrupted, furious. “I should have known you wouldn't take me at my word. I said I'd be home directly, but you had to come chasing after me.”

“That was over an hour ago, son. Exactly how do you define ‘directly'?”

“You tell me. You try to tell me everything else I should do and feel.”

Hayes made a sound of disgust. “Give me a break. You want to be treated like a man? Act like one. A man is only as good as his—”

“Word,” Jeff filled in, mimicking his father. “A man takes responsibility for his actions. A man is strong and never gives up or makes excuses. I've heard all this a million times.”

“Really?” Hayes took a step toward his son, eyes narrowed. “Could have fooled me, young man.”

“Go to hell.”

Jeff wheeled around and strode inside. Hayes stormed after him, catching the door with the palm of his hand, aware of Alice following close behind.

He reached the living room and stopped in surprise. Sheri sat on the couch, a throw pillow clutched to her stomach. He glanced back at Alice questioningly.

She lifted her shoulders. “She's staying with me.”

“Hello, Mr. Bradford,” the girl squeaked, obviously terrified.

Hayes struggled to hold his anger at Jeff in check. He forced a stiff smile. “Hello, Sheri. You're looking well.”

“You mean she's looking pregnant,” Jeff spat, clenching his fists.

Hayes swung his gaze toward his son, his eyebrows lowered ominously. “I did not mean that. I meant she's looking well.”

“Don't, Jeff,” Sheri pleaded. “Leave it alone.”

“Stay out of this, Sheri. It's between me and my dad.” He laid a hand on her shoulder as if to relieve the sting of his words. “You didn't know she was staying here, did you? Where did you think she was going to go after she got kicked out? Because of you. Because you couldn't leave well enough alone.”

Hayes grimaced. “I didn't mean to mess things up for you, Sheri. That wasn't my intention at all. I'm sorry.”

The girl's eyes filled with tears, and Hayes's chest tightened. For nothing more than an apology, she actually appeared grateful. Like a stray puppy exuberant over the tiniest bit of kindness or attention, even when offhand.

“That's okay, Mr. Bradford,” she whispered. “It wasn't your fault.”

“It was his fault, Sheri,” Jeff countered, furious. “He can't stand that you and I have each other. He'd like nothing better than to drive a wedge between us. Isn't that right, Attorney Bradford?”

“I've had enough of this,” Hayes said, making a slicing motion with his right hand. “You're my son. You live under my roof. I expect you home in thirty minutes.” He nodded at Sheri and Alice, then started for the door.

“Hey, Dad,” Jeff called. Hayes stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder at his son. “When I telephoned, didn't you question why I was here? Did you think I'd just come to visit your old girlfriend, the one you dumped because you thought she was too much like Mom?”

Hayes sucked in a quick, sharp breath, his son's words ricocheting through him, making him feel as if he'd just been punched squarely in the gut. He shot a glance at Alice; she, too, looked as if she'd been slapped.

He swore silently, battling for control. He didn't want Alice hurt again. He didn't want her dragged into his and Jeff's problems. Unfortunately, Jeff didn't have the same compunctions.

Grasping the doorknob, he said, “Thirty minutes, son. No more.”

Hayes let himself out. As he snapped the door shut behind him, he drew in a deep, painful breath. His son's words had hurt. Just as Jeff had intended when he'd hurled them at him. His son had known just where to strike to inflict the deepest, bloodiest wound.

Had Jeff learned that from him? Hayes wondered. Had his son watched him, listened and absorbed, just as he had with his own father? And would he end up in the same place at thirty-nine years old, alone save for an all-consuming career and a son who despised him?

Emotion choking him, Hayes crossed the narrow gallery to its edge. Alice's street, with it row of mostly restored cottages, faced the Tchefuncte river. The sleepy river wound its way through the community of Madisonville and beyond, lovely and wild. Hayes stared out at the quiet water, grateful for the dark, for the way the night enveloped him.

He wasn't losing Jeff.

He'd lost him already.

Hayes curved his hands around the gallery railing, fighting the emotion that raged inside him, just as he'd fought it all his life. Only this time he couldn't control it. It barreled through him, leaving him feeling impotent, powerless to battle this thing happening between him and his son.

Hayes heard the creak of the door a moment before the sliver of light fell across the porch, penetrating the darkness.
Alice.
He closed his eyes, drinking in the scent of her perfume, the cadence of her quiet breathing and the way both moved over him like warm water.

“Hayes?”

He turned and met her gaze. She stood with the light behind her, her face in shadow. He sensed rather than saw the empathy in her eyes.

She shut the door quietly and crossed the gallery. When she reached him, she caught his hand and laced their fingers. “Come.”

She led him across the street, to the dark riverbank. For long moments they stood side by side, not speaking, listening to the gentle lap of the water against the shore.

Alice tipped her face up to his. “I'm sorry. I know how much that must have hurt.”

He touched his fingers to her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm. Real. He moved his hands to her hair, rubbing the silky strands between his fingers, remembering.

They had shared only a matter of months of their past and yet in this moment he felt bound to her. Connected, as if Jeff had been theirs and they had shared all their lives. As if they had no secrets from each other.

And it felt good. Damn good.

He didn't question the feeling, but instead let it flow dangerously, languorously, over him. He brought his other hand to her cheek and cupped her face. “You're so beautiful. I always thought you the most radiant woman I'd ever known.”

“Hayes?” she whispered, her voice thick. “What—”

He bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers. Lightly. With a tenderness he'd thought himself no longer capable of. She trembled beneath his hands, and he drew a ragged breath, longing to hold her against him, to kiss her hotly and deeply, to possess her mouth and then, once again and at long last, her body.

Instead he dropped his hands and moved away from her. “What's happened to me and Jeff?” he asked softly, gazing out at the dark water. “What's happened to the boy who looked up to me?” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Do you remember, Alice? He used to seek my approval. He used to think I was...special. Larger than life.”

“I remember,” she murmured.

Hayes's voice thickened, and he shook his head. “He used to call me ‘Daddy.' Now he doesn't call me...anything. Why is he so angry with me?”

She didn't have an answer, he knew. Only he and Jeff did.

With a sound of frustration, he crossed to the very edge of the riverbank. Stooping, he scooped up a rock, then flung it as hard as he could out at the water. It hit and broke the surface, violating the quiet.

“This isn't what I wanted for him, you know.” Hayes looked briefly toward the star-strewn sky, then met her gaze once more. “I wanted everything wonderful for him, and I wanted it to be easy. I wanted it to be perfect.”

She closed the distance between them. “But it's life, Hayes. And it's never perfect. All you can do is be the best parent you know how to be.”

“And when that's not good enough?”

She gazed at him for a long moment, then lifted her shoulders. “Then it's not.”

He laughed, the sound tight with derision. “That's just great. Because no matter how we try, some of us just aren't good enough.”

“You're being too hard on yourself.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” She took another step closer. “We both know the world is full of parents who don't even care enough to try. And there are parents who are more despicable even than that.”

“And that doesn't have a thing to do with the kind of parent I am or the ways I screwed up.” He met her gaze evenly, though it hurt. He would hate it if he saw pity in her eyes or, worse, condemnation. “Isabel never rocked Jeff. She was too caught up in her own unhappiness. Her own pain. After you...were gone, I rocked him. Or tried to. But he didn't want me—he didn't like it when I held him that way.”

Swearing, Hayes swung away from her. “You can't imagine how much that hurt. You can't imagine how—” Hayes bit back the words. “I tried to make up for Isabel's leaving him. For her not loving him. I tried the only way I knew how. But it wasn't good enough. Not by a long shot.”

“But you tried.”

“And failed. Just like I did with Isabel.” He clenched his hands. “She was so unhappy. I should have forced her to get counseling. After the first few times dragging her there, I gave up. And then...and then she was dead.”

“And you believe she took her own life? Even though the coroner ruled it an accidental death? Even though her insurance company paid up?”

“I can't be certain,” Hayes said, rubbing his temple wearily. “But you tell me why else an intelligent, educated woman takes a medicine cabinetful of pills and a stiff drink, then gets into a car. I'll never forgive Isabel for leaving us that way. For leaving Jeff with that terrible legacy.”

Silence stretched between them for long moments. Alice broke it first. “What he said in there—was it true?” Hayes met her eyes, then looked away. She caught his arm, forcing him to face her again. “Did you end our relationship because you thought I was like Isabel?”

Hayes paused, then shook his head. “Jeff was five. He's gotten confused over the years. He—”

“He had to have gotten the idea somewhere. Is it true?” she asked again. “Did you end it because you thought I was like Isabel?”

For long moments he said nothing, then he murmured. “You know why I ended it. I didn't lie to you, Alice.”

“You thought I was too young.”

“You
were
too young.” He cupped her face in his palms. “You had your whole life ahead of you. You didn't need to be saddled with me or Jeff. With our problems.”

“Saddled,” she repeated, stunned, hurt. “If you actually think that, then you know nothing about passion. About love or the need to connect with other people. I loved you. I loved Jeff. I wanted the responsibility. With all my heart.”

“That was youth talking then. Rose-colored memories now. You wanted to create the perfect little family. But you'd never have had it with me. Because I would never have given you what you needed to survive. To be happy. I'm incapable of it, Alice.”

“Rose-colored memories?” She jerked free of his grasp. “This is such a bunch of bull. Tell me the truth, Hayes. You thought I would never have given
you
what you needed. Isn't that right? Isn't that what you think still?”

“You're wrong. Dead wrong.” He took a step toward her, hand out. “If I could just make you see that, you wouldn't be angry anymore. If I could make you—”

“Just like you want to make Jeff see what's right? Make him believe what you know is correct?” She took a step back, shaking her head. “You've been delivering closing arguments so long, Counselor, you're actually starting to believe them. Well, deliver them to someone else, because I'm not buying.”

She started back to her cottage. Hayes watched her go, his chest tight, a dozen different denials on the tip of his tongue. Did she really believe he'd ended their relationship because she lacked? Because he'd wanted something better?

Didn't she know he'd never had anything better? That going on without her had been hell?

She reached her porch with its welcoming windows, then her front door. Hand on the knob, she stopped and looked back at him.

He couldn't see her face, her expression. But something passed between them, strong and sad. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but his throat closed over the words. A moment later she was gone.

Turning his back to her lighted windows, he walked to his car.

S
ix days later Alice stood in front of her bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on her hair and face. She frowned into the mirror. The days since her encounter on the riverbank with Hayes had been hell. She hadn't been able to put him out of her mind, hadn't been able to forget the few stunning moments when his lips had been upon hers. Those moments had interfered with her work and invaded her sleep. She'd awakened every morning feeling unrested and achy.

She wanted him to kiss her again.

A kiss? Her frown deepened. Could she even call the way he'd brushed his mouth against hers a kiss? His touch had been as light as the whisper of butterfly wings against her flesh. Hardly the fevered meeting found in movies and romance novels.

She picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. And she'd felt faint with pleasure. His kiss had swamped her senses, stolen her ability to speak, to protest. It had stolen her free will.

That lightest of kisses had stolen her last six days.

Alice paused, the brush in midstroke. After twelve years, after he'd broken her heart, Hayes could still move her with no more than the faintest of touches.

Why? Why this man and no other? Did she possess some flaw in her character that made her want to be hurt again? Because Hayes would hurt her. He'd never loved her. He never would.

Love?
She dropped her hand, and the brush slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the tile counter. She didn't love Hayes; she didn't yearn for him to love her. She'd recovered from such silliness long ago.

But she had loved him once, deeply and with all her heart. And he'd rejected her.

And that's what it came down to, plain and simple. It didn't matter if all those years ago he'd thought her too young, or too much like Isabel, or even that she wasn't good enough for him. The truth was, he hadn't loved her. If he had, he wouldn't have let her go.

Why had he kissed her? Why, after all the time that had passed, had he chosen to turn her world upside down with a kiss?

The sex between them had always been good. Great, even. In the bedroom they had never had conflicts; it had been as if they were made for each other.

As she gazed at herself, color climbed her cheeks, wanton and feminine. She swore silently. That wasn't enough for her anymore, she told herself determinedly. No matter how Hayes stirred her physically, she would not open herself for another rejection.

Turning her back on her reflection and telltale blush, she went to the living room to collect her purse and keys. This morning the entire Hope House faculty was meeting to discuss Tim Benson's continued drug problem. Dennis had called the meeting, and she suspected he was going to advise that Tim be dropped from the program. Hope House had a strict nodrugs policy, and Tim had broken it time and again.

Yet she was undecided about how she was going to vote. Which presented a problem. As the counselor on staff, several of the faculty would look to her for a lead.

She plucked her purse from beside the coffee table and rummaged through it for her keys. She was torn between wanting to help the boy and admitting he needed a different, more rigorous kind of program.

She paused in her search. Sheri's uneasiness about Tim had continued to bother her. Did some of the other kids feel the same way Sheri did? Had they picked up on something she'd missed in her weekly sessions with Tim? Something dangerous?

For the program to work, the kids had to feel safe at Hope House. The faculty had worked to create a comfortable, nurturing environment. For some of these kids, like Sheri, it was the first time they'd experienced that kind of environment. If one student made the others feel uncomfortable or threatened, the program would fail.

She found the keys and started for the door. She worried what would happen to Tim if they let him go. To Tim it wouldn't matter that he'd repeatedly broken the rules or that he was unhappy in the program; he would see it as a rejection. And so many people in his life had already rejected him, including his family. Tim Benson was a deeply troubled young man.

The phone rang, and Alice glanced quickly at her watch. Although behind schedule, she went back to catch it, thinking it might be Dennis or another of her Hope House colleagues. “Hello,” she answered, glancing at her watch again.

Nothing. Just dead air.

“Hello,” she repeated. Again no one responded, although she heard breathing on the other end. Chill bumps raced up her arms, and she dropped the phone back into its cradle. Someone had been on the other end of the line, hanging there, listening, waiting.

It wasn't the first such call she'd had in the past couple of weeks.

Silly, Alice told herself, rubbing her arms. She was being silly. The caller had dialed a wrong number and hadn't been polite enough to say so. It happened all the time.

Sure. Rubbing her arms again, she slipped into her jacket and started for the door. As she reached it, the phone rang again. Even though she told herself she was overreacting, she didn't make a move toward it. It rang a second time, then a third. Her machine picked it up on the fourth ring.

And her foster mother's cheery voice floated through the house.
“Hey, Alice. Where've you been? Give me a call.”

As the machine clicked off, Alice made a sound of self-directed amusement. So much for mysterious callers. She let herself out of the house. She would return Maggie's call after the meeting. And they would have a laugh at Alice having been afraid to answer the phone.

* * *

Hayes swung his car door open and stepped out into A Coffee and Pastry Place's parking lot. The coffeehouse's windows glowed warmly in the fading light, beckoning him.

As Alice beckoned him. Now. As she had all week.

Swearing softly, he slammed the car door. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Over the past seven days, the things they'd said to each other had replayed in his mind over and over. And with them, the way she'd looked at him the moment before she'd walked away. Bruised and angry.

He'd wanted to call her back, had longed to drag her into his arms, to capture her mouth with his.

Hayes tipped his head back, his face to the purpling sky. He never should have kissed her. Never should have given in to the temptation of her sweet mouth.

That one brief touch had sent his sensory memories spinning into sharp focus, his control slightly out of reach. Lord, but he'd loved touching her. Holding her. Making love with her.

He flexed his fingers. Dammit. He wished it were as simple as sex. He was no roving adolescent; he could keep a lid on his libido. The truth was, he wasn't sure why he was here, why he'd been unable to stop himself from seeking her out.

He'd told himself he wanted to talk about Jeff and Sheri. That he needed her help. He was honest enough to admit the teenagers didn't have a thing to do with it.

He'd called her house; Sheri had informed him that Alice had gone to A Coffee and Pastry Place to visit with her foster mother. So, like some infatuated adolescent, here he was.

Hayes frowned and started across the narrow, tree-lined parking lot. Had he come for forgiveness? Some sort of absolution?

If so, this would be the place to put their ghosts to rest. They'd met here. He'd been a fledgling lawyer, still reeling from his wife's death, overwhelmed with the prospect of being a single parent. She had been a college freshman, home for summer break, working here at her foster mother's coffeehouse. She'd been bursting with enthusiasm for life, excitement at facing the future, with idealism.

One night business had been particularly slow, and she'd done what he'd kept himself from doing for weeks— started a conversation. She'd asked what he was reading, then laughed when he'd told her.
“Proust?” she'd repeated. “Lighten up, reading's supposed to be fun.”
He'd taken her suggestion, and the next time he'd come in, they'd had a lively discussion about Stephen King's ability to scare the socks off even the most jaded of readers.

One thing had led to another.

Hayes shook his head and climbed the raised cottage's front steps and crossed the porch. It seemed so obvious to him now why he'd been drawn to her, considering what had been going on in his life. He'd fed on her energy, her enthusiasm and idealism. She'd filled an empty space inside him, a place that had ached to be filled.

A place that still ached.

Ridiculous.

Scowling, Hayes pushed that thought away and entered the coffeehouse. Although crowded, he spotted Alice immediately. She sat at a corner table, her dark head bent over an opened newspaper. As he watched, she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. It refused to be anchored, and feathered over her cheek once more.

The simple gesture transported him back twelve years. She'd done the same thing, with the same results, hundreds of times before. Sometimes he would beat her to it and tuck the hair behind her ear himself. It behaved no better for him than her.

Smiling to himself, he walked over to her. “Hello, Alice.”

She lifted her head and met his eyes. In hers he read the barest hint of vulnerability. Of trepidation. Both served to remind him how much time had passed. Twelve years ago he would have seen expectation in her eyes. And pleasure.

The realization left him feeling bereft.

“Hayes,” she murmured, folding her hands on top of the newspaper.

He moved his gaze over her upturned face, her warm brown eyes and full mouth, her small straight nose and smooth soft skin. His chest tightened. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever known. “What are you reading?”

She hesitated, then lowered her eyes to the paper. “About the boy in Florida who divorced his parents.”

He made a face. “Lighten up. Reading's supposed to be fun.”

“We've played this scene before.”

“It's a rerun. And during sweeps week at that.”

A smile pulled at her mouth, and he had a sense that she couldn't help herself.

“Got a suggestion?”

“Uh-huh.” He reached around her and flipped through the paper until he found the funnies. “There you go.”

She lowered her eyes, then lifted them back to his, hers alight with humor. “The entire page, or one strip in particular?”

“I'm partial to Doonesbury or Drabble. But you might take a look at Cathy.” He motioned the chair across from hers. “May I join you?”

Alice hesitated a moment, then shook her head. “I don't think that would be a good idea.”

“You don't?”

“You here for a reason, Hayes?”

“To see you.”

“Really?” She dropped her hands to her lap. “I can't imagine why. We pretty much said everything there was to say to each other the other night.”

“Did we?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Stop that. I hate when you do that.”

He slipped uninvited into the chair opposite her, smiling at the way she gritted her teeth. “When I do what?”

“I'm the therapist here— okay, Hayes? I know all about leading questions. And I'm not biting.” She arched an eyebrow with a cool arrogance she wouldn't have been able to manage at nineteen. “If there's nothing else, I have things to do.”

He eyed the
Times Picayune.
“I see that.”

“I'm visiting with Maggie.”

He turned his gaze to the service counter and the line of customers, then met her eyes once more. “That's going to be kind of tough, at least for a while.”

Alice sighed impatiently. “Oh, all right, you've got me, Counselor. I'm all ears. To what do I owe the annoyance of this visit?”

Hayes lowered his gaze to his hands. He cleared his throat and met her eyes. “Jeff. And Sheri. Of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated, disappointment moving through her. She called herself a fool. “That is the reason we're speaking after twelve years.”

Something flickered across his expression, then was gone. “Thanks for the other night. For trying to smooth things between me and Jeff. And for helping him. He came home calmer. Less angry.”

Alice shifted her gaze, uncomfortable with his sincerity. With the need she saw in his eyes. It called to her, reminded her of all the reasons they had become involved in the first place. And right now, she didn't want to be reminded of the past, of their months together. The memories were all around her, calling to her. And she was uncertain that she was strong enough to resist them.

“It's my job to help people become less angry,” she said softly. “I'm good at it.”

“If it were just doing your job, Sheri Kane wouldn't be occupying your guest bedroom. You have a big heart, Alice Dougherty.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Sometimes too big. So big she took in coldhearted cynics with eyes that told her things he didn't even believe. “I care about her. And Jeff.”

“I do, too.”

Alice drew in a deep, careful breath. “So, what do you suggest they do about the baby?”

He paused. “In my opinion, they're too young to get married. And I'm not a fan of abortion, legal or not.”

“That leaves adoption.”

“Yes.”

Alice shifted her gaze to Maggie. She stood behind the counter, chatting with customers as she rang up their tabs. Maggie Ryan Adler was the kindest, most loving person Alice had ever known. Maggie had taken her off the streets and into her home, had been interested in her when no one else had cared, had given her love and respect when she'd never known anything but abuse and neglect.

Alice tilted her head. She often wondered what would have become of her without Maggie's kindness, without her love.

Hayes followed her gaze. “Maggie's children are adopted, aren't they?”

“Amanda and Josh. Yes.” She smiled, thinking of the youngsters, of watching them grow and flourish. There had been so much love in that home, such a feeling of security and safety. It was what she had wanted for her own child, the one who had never been born.