Full Contact (16 page)

As much as he disliked the idea, disliked the entire situation, Jay was beginning to agree with Kelsey on that one.

“Does he have any free time next week?” What in the hell was he doing? He wasn't ready to be a father to a troubled kid. He had no plan. No idea.

No home to give him.

“Thursday night, he's free after six. We've got him in a private hockey league and he has practice every day after school.”

“Is he good at it?”

“Not really. But it keeps him out of the house and off the streets.”

Curious, Jay asked, “Whose idea was it that he play?”

“McGuire and his dad came up with it.” McGuire, Kelsey's husband and, once upon a time, Jay's friend. As he recalled, McGuire had played hockey as a kid.

“Has Cole ever expressed any interest in hockey?”

“The only thing your son ever expresses interest in is pot, that damned MP3 player of his and the computer.”

His son. Wasn't Cole Kelsey's son, too?

Not that Jay had any illusions about her parenting. She and his own father had a lot in common—an ability to shove their kids off onto someone else to raise.

Whatever happened to unconditional love?

“I'll pick him up on Thursday at six,” Jay said. “Tell him I'm an old college friend. I'll take care of the rest.”

He didn't know how. Or what good it would do. He
wasn't going to ride off with the boy, no matter what Kelsey thought. Cole was her son. She didn't get to throw him away.

But Jay would have to see the boy sometime. Even if that meant regular visits to Arizona.

He had to keep looking for his father, as well. At one point the man had existed. Jay simply wasn't looking in the right places.

One thing was for certain. Jay couldn't wait around any longer. Greg Richards had paid him another visit that morning and Jay had half expected to be castrated for hugging Ellen. He couldn't move without someone in town watching him. He had to get moving before life in Shelter Valley strangled him to death.

J
AY WAS AT HOME, LOOKING
for jewelers in the Tucson area that had been open for business thirty years before. Monday, after his appointments, he intended to visit every one of them to show a picture of his mother and ask if there were old records of wedding ring sales. Or someone who might remember…

It was the kind of investigating paid detectives didn't have time for. A long shot.

He'd had longer ones pay off.

The phone rang as he finished with the fourth entry on his list. A glance at the caller ID showed Ellen's name.

Was she calling to cancel?

If so, he wouldn't try to talk her out of it. This was her choice, her journey.

“Hello?”

“It's Ellen, am I bothering you?”

Hell, yes, she was bothering him. Every second of the day. And it wasn't all sexual, either. That he could handle. Maybe.

“I'm going over files,” he told her.

“That's what I'm calling about. David found some old church records and he has something he wants to show you. Can you come over?”

“Are you at your mother's?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm on my way.”

The sooner he found his bastard of a father, the sooner he could be out of this town. And if he couldn't get his impulses about Ellen under control, he might be on his way even without finding the man.

 

E
LLEN HADN'T TOLD HER
mother and David about the casino trip. She figured what they didn't know wouldn't eat away at them. She was a grown woman. An adult who had to trust the validity of her own mind—starting with the ability to keep her own counsel where her parents were concerned.

No doubt about it, this was awkward, having Jay in her parents' house when they so clearly didn't want him there. She felt like a recalcitrant kid as she sat in her mother's living room, on the same couch she and Aaron had made out on. The same couch she'd lain on as a teenager with cramps, as an abandoned daughter, as a rape victim, as a young mother grieving her failed marriage. So many ups and downs.

She wasn't a kid. And she'd done nothing wrong.

Jay sat across the room from Ellen. And far away from the folder her stepfather had left on the coffee table. The manila piece of cardboard was not far from where Ellen sat. On purpose.

“I took the liberty of requesting church records from our archives this past week when Ellen told us why you're in town,” David said.

Ellen loved her stepfather—more than she loved her biological one. Even now, while she knew he wanted Jay in another country, David was calm, kind, hospitable
as he faced the man. He was still willing to help. And not only to speed Jay's exit from town.

“I spent a couple of hours going through records,” David said. “We have some birth records as well as records of any marriage that was performed within the church grounds, whether by the officiating pastor or not.”

Sitting forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between, Jay looked between David and the file he now held.

“I didn't realize Jay was already here.” Martha walked in. “You'd think with all of the kids out and the house quiet, I would have heard the voices.”

Her mother was babbling. Which meant she was uptight. Ellen smiled. Patted the couch beside her.

Waiting until Martha was seated, David said, “I'm not sure this will amount to anything, but I think it might.” He handed the folder to Jay.

Ellen waited while he looked over the contents David had shown her earlier—a brief record regarding the arrangements for a small private wedding that never took place. And the photo that accompanied it.

“It's her.” Jay's voice was flat. He didn't look up so Ellen couldn't see his expression. “I have a copy of this photo. It was her high school senior picture.”

“I thought she was the same woman in the photo Ellen showed us.” David spoke softly, as well. Reverently. Compassionately.

Because that's how the people of Shelter Valley were. They genuinely cared. Not only about their own, but about anyone who needed help.

“It says that the groom was a no-show.”

“Yes.”

“And the name…this…Jay Donnelly?”

“I'm guessing he's your father,” David said. “Have you ever heard anyone use the name Donnelly?”

“No one in any way related to me,” Jay said. He glanced up, and his eyes, when they met Ellen's, were glinting.

With anger?

Pain?

She couldn't be sure. She only knew they called to her.

“Let's look through your files again,” she said, standing. “See if we can find any reference to a Donnelly. Maybe on the U of A tennis team. Or on Montford's. Or in an article.”

Jay nodded as he rose.

David stood, too. “I'll ask around to see if any of our parishioners remember your mother. She must have had some association with the church if she intended to marry there. There are a lot of folks who worship with us on Sundays who have been doing so for more than thirty years. Someone is bound to remember something.”

With the folder still in his hand Jay turned toward David, offered his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome. I hope this helps you with your search.”

Martha was beside David then. Ellen hadn't even been aware that her mother had left her seat on the couch.

“You went to the University of Arizona, didn't you?” she said to Jay. A stalling tactic. Ellen saw it for what it was. Her mother's mind was spinning, searching des
perately for a way to keep Ellen from going to Jay's house with him.

Ellen wasn't going to let her mother stop her. She was a grown woman. Not a child. She had to demand ownership of her life or lose it forever.

“Yes,” Jay said.

“Until you were arrested.”

“That's right.”

“You only had a year left.”

The muscles in Jay's upper shoulders tightened—a reaction made more noticeable by the sleeveless shirt he'd chosen to wear. “Yes, ma'am.” He didn't disrespect her mother by moving away or heading to the door. He withstood her inquisition.

Because that was the kind of man Jay was.

“Did you go back when you got out? Did you finish? Get your degree?”

“No, ma'am, I did not.”

Ellen hadn't asked. She'd assumed, with Jay's credentials, a college degree had been involved.

“I went to a technical school to train for my trade.”

“With only one year left on a degree?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Ellen tensed, wishing she could get him out of here. She knew what was coming.

Next to protecting their people, the most sacred thing in Shelter Valley was education—
college
education. Montford University not only supported the town, it also trained people who helped change the world. Ellen knew the rhetoric. She'd grown up with it.

And she believed in it, too.

“Well,” Martha said, sending Ellen a pointed glance, “I guess you can always return when you're ready.”

“I have no intention of going back,” Jay said, his voice soft, kind and firm, too. “Formal education is highly overrated as far as I'm concerned. Most parents struggle to cover the thousands of dollars of tuition, books and living expenses. All for classes that a large percentage of the attending students remember nothing about by the time they graduate, let alone once they're out in the world.”

“I don't agree,” Martha said while David gave Ellen a sideways glance that said,
uh-oh.
He knew how adamant her mother was about education.

Because Martha was the only one of the Shelter Valley heroines who didn't have a college degree. She'd married and had children before she'd graduated. In the end, her mother had paid a steep price for that lack of education when she'd been forced to support four children on her own.

“I took a class in Russian history,” Jay said. “I studied—got an A. And I can't tell you one thing about Russian history.”

“It's not necessarily retaining the facts from particular classes that mean so much,” Martha said. “It's the security the degree offers.”

“Which is why so many white-collared people are having their homes foreclosed on while truck drivers are in demand.” Somehow Jay made the statement sound like a lament, rather than a challenge.

“I can see this conversation lasting all night,” David interjected lightly, his hand on his wife's elbow as he led the way to the door.

“Ellen, I just remembered, I brought home a film from the studio that I need you to look at—it's set to air tomorrow. A piece that the students put together
that deals with a family discovering their teenage son is gay. I'd really like your opinion before I show it—”

“Tomorrow's Monday, Mom. It's fine arts day.”

“Oh, right.” Martha grimaced. “The film doesn't air until Tuesday.”

“I'll be by to look at it tomorrow after work. I'm sure you've seen it and know it's fine. I'll be okay at Jay's house, Mom. He's not a rapist.”

Martha's grin almost broke Ellen's heart. Her vivacious, energetic and solid-as-a-rock mother was struggling. “I was pretty obvious, huh?”

“Yep.”

“I'm sorry. Go with Jay. You're good at research—you catch all the little details. You always did.”

“I won't hurt your daughter, ma'am.” Jay could have left through the door David was holding open. He didn't. He stood directly in front of Martha.

“I hope not. She's been hurt too much.”

“I know. I give you my word, I will do all I can to help her then be on my way.”

Martha nodded. It was obviously the best she could do.

For Ellen, it was enough.

 

“I
THINK IT'S BEST IF
you don't come with me,” Jay said as soon as they were outside the Markses' home.

Mouth open, Ellen stopped in her tracks. She looked…hurt.

“I— The hug last night… I want you, Ellen.” He shrugged. “I promised your mother I wouldn't hurt you. So I don't think it's a good idea for us to be alone together at my house.”

“You're not a rapist, Jay.”

“I know that.”

“If anything were ever to happen between us, which it won't, I would have to agree to it, wouldn't I? And if I agreed, where's the problem?”

“I won't physically hurt you, but that's not what your mother's worried about.”

“So, you're going to hurt me—what?—emotionally? How are you going to do that? If I cared about you enough to be emotionally hurt by you, how would you stop that?”

“You're not the type to have casual sex, Ellen. And if something happened…” This was not going well. At all. To make matters worse, he'd seen a twitch at the front curtains. Someone inside was watching them.

“Now you're like my mother and the rest of Shelter Valley, thinking you need to protect me from myself? I will get hurt again in my life, Jay. God, I'm hurting right now with my son away with his father and me here alone. But at least I'm living. Feeling alive.”

“If we had sex, I couldn't treat you anymore.”

“And if anything ever happened between us, I wouldn't really need your treatment anymore, would I?”

Feeling as though he'd been involved in some kind of bizarre foreplay, Jay gave in and let her join him. He would have liked to believe that he was doing so because she was a good researcher and he didn't want to hurt her feelings, but feared he'd allowed her to come home with him simply because he wanted her there.

After a thorough examination of the documents, they found nothing that showed a connection between anyone named Donnelly and Tammy Walton or Tammy Billingsley. Jay was beginning to doubt that his mother's
name had ever been Billingsley. She'd been born Tammy Walton. His aunt had buried her as Tammy Walton. His mother had never been married. That was pretty clear.

The research session a bust, Ellen left without so much as a handshake.

Jay took a dip in the pool, although it did nothing to cool him down.

 

J
AY DROVE TO
T
UCSON ON
Monday afternoon, where he canvassed jewelry stores and turned up nothing. After his visit with Ellen's stepfather the night before, he'd expanded his search of jewelry stores in business thirty years ago to any stores within a hundred miles of Shelter Valley, and that had also netted him a big fat nothing.

So far he hadn't found any connection between his mother and Shelter Valley, other than the picture from the tennis match and arrangements for a wedding. So he'd keep looking. She'd been there. Chances were, she'd left a trace someplace.

Or maybe the man who had gotten her pregnant had.

Had his paternal gene pool been from Shelter Valley and not Tucson as his aunt had claimed? Was that why she'd been so insistent he not attend Montford?

So who was this loser who had impregnated his mother then cut out right after Jay was born, giving up all rights to him? Who was the fiend who had left his mother so destitute that she had been forced to live in lower-income housing, placing her at risk to the sick asshole who had broken in one afternoon, raped and murdered her? Where was Jay's father when his mother had needed protection?

Not being a man, that much Jay knew.

And what about him? Was he really any better than
the man whose blood ran through his veins? Had he ever stayed in one place or committed to one person in his adult life—other than the eighteen months he'd been incarcerated and had had no choice but to stay put?

He had known about his own son's existence for more than a month and he hadn't even gone to meet the boy.

He woke up in cold sweats even contemplating having the kid live with him.

But there was one major difference between him and his old man—Jay was going to do what it took to be there for his kid. Somehow. He was a wanderer. Not a deserter.