Bachelor Father (2 page)

He’d written to her at boarding school and
they’d been like brother and sister since. Charles and his wife had
come to Molly’s college graduation when her mother and stepfather
“accidentally” scheduled a cruise for graduation weekend. And
Charles had called her immediately when a position at Thayer House
had opened up.

“How are you doing at sorting out the extra
families you picked up from Susan’s caseload?” he asked.

“Okay, but some of Susan’s files seem
incomplete. Must be because she had to take leave unexpectedly
early.”

“Probably. She said to give her a call if we
have any questions.”

“I may do that. Anyway, I’ve contacted
everyone. Brett Cahill—I was just speaking with him before the
storm cut us off—was the last.” She shook her head and smiled
thoughtfully. “It’s kind of sad.”

“How’s that?”

“His sister and brother-in-law were adopting
the little boy, but they both died in a car accident a few weeks
ago. They named Brett as the child’s guardian. From the file, at
least, he seems determined to keep the child. Susan has him
reapplying to adopt Jake himself.” She shook her head. “I don’t
know.”

“What don’t you know?” Charles
asked.

“A single guy willingly taking on the
responsibility of a child on top of the responsibility of running a
business. Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you?”

“Not particularly, but then I have a different
frame of reference than you do concerning family
dynamics.”

“If not odd, you have to admit it’s
unusual.”

“You do what you have to do. Remember, I took
care of Tasha most of her first year.”

“But Tasha is your daughter. Brett doesn’t
have to keep Jake. We have several other couples that would adopt
him in a minute. Besides, your situation was temporary while you
were finishing grad school. Brett’s taking on single parenthood
indefinitely.”

“You don’t know that. He may have a lady all
lined up to be the child’s mother,” Charles said, continuing to
play devil’s advocate.

“I’d feel better about the adoption if he
does.” Molly took off her reading glasses and stacked the papers
from the Cahill file in a neat pile. “Obviously, Susan thinks he’s
parent material, or she wouldn’t have started the adoption. I just
hope he’s not taking on more than he can handle. The novelty of
parenthood may wear off.”

“
Molly.” Charles chastised her. “Parenting isn’t as cut and
dried as that. You don’t like or dislike it, like you might like or
dislike jazz or cold weather. You
are
a parent. I doubt if anyone who
has a child can ever completely forget that.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “Some
people can try awfully hard, though,” she said, thinking of the
note she’d received from her mother suggesting Molly make plans
with friends for the upcoming holidays because she, The Judge, and
Molly’s two half siblings were going on a
family
ski trip to Idaho.

“Charles, not everyone has the happy family
home life you and Linda and Tasha have.”

Charles leaned back in his oversized office
chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Girl, you think I
don’t know that? Before I moved over here to International
Adoptions, I put in almost five years working with teens declared
‘persons in need of supervision’ by their parents and the
state.”

“That’s my point. Parents can and do give up
their kids every day. And I’m not talking about unwed mothers and
their newborns. Look at the number of older kids Thayer House has
whose parents have washed their hands of them, allowing the state
to declare them in need of supervision? Where’s the parental
attachment there?”

Charles shook his head. “What am I going to do
with you?” He pushed away from the desk and stood up. “I think I’ll
call it a day. What about you?”

“It’s only four o’clock.”

“The rain is supposed to change to sleet by
this evening. You don’t want to stay too late or your drive home
will be a bear.”

“Cool your concern. I may not be used to the
snow you all get up here, but Maryland does get its share of ice
storms.”

“Nonetheless, I’m officially closing this
office and sending you home for the day. Anything you haven’t
finished can wait until tomorrow morning. Come on, I’ll walk with
you to your car.”

“Okay.” Molly refiled the Cahill folder in her
drawer and tidied her desktop. Once everything was in place, she
followed Charles to the door. Giving the room a quick perusal, she
flicked off the lights and left for home.

* * *

In contrast to the gray gloom of the previous
day, Wednesday dawned bright and clear, the kind of late fall day
that Molly always found invigorating. The morning sun had melted
most of the ice from last night’s storm. Molly pushed the scan
button as she sped along the interstate highway. A golden oldies
station came on, and she locked it in. The station fit her mood
today—mellow.

Unfamiliar with the New Chatham area, she’d
given herself plenty of time to get to Brett’s. Now, as she turned
on to Route 203, the car clock told her she’d probably allowed too
much time. A check of her rearview mirror showed no one behind her,
so she slowed down to enjoy the scenery. Here and there among the
hardwoods and pines lining the two-lane highway, a tree or two
still held its leaves, the russet color contrasting with the jade
green of the pines.

Molly came around a wide curve to a green sign
proclaiming New Chatham. What a picturesque place. Stately
Revolutionary era homes flanked the white clapboard church,
complete with steeple, and the small elementary school that stood
at the center of town. On the school playground, children enjoyed
what was probably one of their last outdoor recesses of the
year.

One, two, three. Molly counted off the houses.
An elderly woman walking her dog smiled and waved at Molly when she
turned into the driveway and pulled up behind a cherry-red
Jeep.

Before turning off the ignition,
she checked the clock again. Twelve twenty-five. The drive she’d
expected to take her an hour had taken only twenty-five minutes.
She reached in the leather satchel she favored over a briefcase and
pulled out a comb and a compact. Using the rearview mirror, she
fluffed her red gold pageboy and dusted powder over the sprinkling
of freckles that bridged her nose.
May as
well go in
, she told herself.

While she didn’t like putting her families on
the spot when they were already nervous about a home visit,
arriving early did give her an advantage. She got to observe the
families in a more “natural” state before they could put on their
best behavior.

She grabbed her satchel and stepped out of the
car. Taking a deep breath of the crisp fresh air, she walked up the
flagstone path to the brick red door. The rambling old farmhouse
was just the sort of house she’d want if she ever had a family. But
for now, she’d be happier with her condo—if only she could figure
out some way to keep it.

Molly rapped the brass doorknocker sharply. A
minute went by and no one answered. She looked for a doorbell
before rapping the knocker again. Still no answer. Why didn’t
people have doorbells? Brass knockers looked nice, but doorbells
worked so much better.

She reached for the knocker a third time. The
door whipped open, startling Molly off balance. Instead of grabbing
the brass knocker, she grabbed a fistful of soft flannel shirt
backed by a very solid chest.

“What—” Brett glared at her hand.

A hot flush of embarrassment washed over her.
She let go and stepped back, struggling to regain her composure.
The dismissive head-to-toe once over he gave her didn’t help.
Neither did the fact that the man she was accosting was gorgeous in
that dark, chiseled, outdoorsman way.

“Whatever you’re selling. I’m not interested.”
Brett started to close the door.

“Wait. Mr. Cahill? Brett?” Molly hesitated a
moment until the man nodded.

“I’m Molly Hennessey—from Thayer
House.”

He pulled back, opening the door wider.
“You’re not what I expected,” he blurted. “The satchel, I thought .
. . please come in. Is it that late already? I’ve had a heck of a
morning.”

Bang, bang,
bang
. “Unca, Unca, Unca.”

“Jake!” Brett all but yanked her into the
house, slamming the door behind her. “Make yourself at home. I’ll
be right back.” He headed to the back of house, deftly skirting a
large toy Jeep and a Big Wheel cycle.

The front door opened directly into a large
living room. From the age of the home, she imagined it was once two
rooms, a family living room and a more formal front parlor. She
took off her jacket and laid it on the back of one of the
tapestry-covered side chairs.

It was easy to see the kind of morning Brett
had had. In addition to the Big Wheel and Jeep—just like the one in
the driveway, she noted—numerous other toys were scattered around
the room. A half-full laundry basket stood in front of the couch, a
variety of unfolded little T-shirts, overalls, and socks strewn
around it.

Walking in the direction Brett had taken,
Molly came into the dining room. A vacuum cleaner was poised ready
for action next to a pile of graham cracker crumbs. Blueprints
covered the oak table. A half-full coffee mug sat dangerously close
to the table edge. Molly surmised Brett must have been trying to
get some work done while watching Jake through the wide archway to
the front room.

Brett met her at the open doorway to the
kitchen, a squirming, lunch-coated Jake in his arms. His face full
of fatherly pride, he said, “This is Jake.”

Brett held the chubby, dark-haired toddler as
if he was his prized possession and grinned like a little leaguer
who’d just hit a grand slam to win the series. Laugh lines accented
the look of expectancy in Brett’s brown eyes. A single dimple
flashed in his left cheek.

Despite her profession, Molly hadn’t had much
hands-on experience with small children. She reached for
Jake.

“Hi, Jake. Do you want to come see
me?”

The baby turned his face into Brett’s shoulder
peeking out at Molly with one eye.

“He’s a little wary of women.” The look on
Brett’s face seemed to say he was in agreement with Jake on that
score.

“That’s not surprising,” she said. “In Korea,
he would have spent most of his time with his foster mother, and
all of a sudden she was gone from his life. Then, to lose your
sister, too. Jake probably feels betrayed. He may be taking out his
anger on all women.”

An insistent scratching at the kitchen door,
followed by a loud howl, interrupted Molly.

“Humpf,” Jake said, straining to get down and
out of Brett’s grasp. Once he’d accomplished his objective, Jake
took off into the kitchen with Brett close behind.

“Humphrey . . . the dog,” he explained to
Molly over his shoulder. “He’s at the back door.”

Curious, Molly trailed behind the guys. No
sooner had she stepped into the kitchen than the biggest horse of a
dog she’d ever seen accosted her. Before Brett could grab his
collar, Humphrey jumped up and put his paws on Molly’s shoulders,
nearly knocking her over with his weight.

Relax; don’t let him know you’re
scared. Dogs can sense when you’re afraid.
She silently repeated the litany over and over.

“Humphrey!” Brett roared.

Jake laughed and shouted, “Humpf.”

The dog looked at Brett, and Molly would have
sworn he smiled, if dogs could smile.

She stood statue-still until Brett lifted the
dog's paws from her shoulders.

“Bad boy. Lie down.” Humphrey whined at
Brett's reprimand and slunk under the table.

Touching her shoulder, Brett asked, “Are you
all right?” Humphrey’s really very gentle. He just doesn’t realize
how big he is and that not everyone is as happy to see him as he is
to see them.”

Molly shivered, whether from relief or from
Brett’s unexpected touch she wasn’t sure. Demonstrative people made
her uneasy.

“What is he?”

“The general consensus is that Humphrey is a
cross between a golden retriever and a Russian wolfhound. We got
him at the Humane Society. He was the runt of the
litter.”

“He's certainly, uh, friendly.”

“That's a polite way to put it. Actually, his
exuberance can be a real pain. He thinks he's a person and expects
to be included in all family activities.”

“Someone else seems to think Humphrey's a
member of the family,” she said pointing at Jake who was under the
table sharing a dog biscuit Humphrey had found
somewhere.

“Jake, yucky.” Brett crouched beside the table
and reached for Jake, the plaid flannel of his shirt stretched to
the limit across his wide shoulders. Having those shoulders between
her and the dog was reassuring.

“Can you hand me the washcloth on the table?”
Brett asked, reaching back.