The Trophy Hunter (24 page)

“I think she’s hungry,” Diana told Rogart.
She stepped out into the hallway. “Where’s her mother?” She asked
the question that had brought her here. But her instincts were in
full flight from the place. She wanted desperately to just take the
child and run.

Rogart looked back at her, that eagle’s gaze
of his still giving her goose bumps in spite of what she knew─or
suspected. Then he smiled enigmatically and replied, “She’s
sleeping.”

“Her baby was crying. No mother could sleep
through that.”

Rogart lowered his head, then steered Diana
toward the kitchen. “Come on. You can give Fawn her formula. Trisha
wasn’t interested in breast-feeding. Afraid it might ruin her body.
How’s that for selfishness?” He shook his head. “Hers is a
different generation from ours.”

The kitchen was as tailored and immaculate as
the rest of the house, so far. It held none of the small, warm
touches she’d observed at Flannigans’. It was as if no woman had
ever lived there. She would’ve loved to have gotten a peek at
Lori’s room.

Rogart took a bottle of formula from the
fridge, put it in a saucepan on the stove to warm. Diana watched
his movements. He seemed entirely engrossed in being a dad.

“I hope your friends at the sheriff’s
department gave my parenting a thumbs-up.” He said the words with a
smile on his lips that did not match the expression in his
eyes.

Diana did her best not to hyperventilate. Why
did it surprise her that he knew? How could she have overlooked his
law enforcement connections?

“I got worried when Jess told me about
stopping by and finding a new baby in the house, but no
adults.”

“You could have called me. I’d have set you
straight.” His voice was neutral as he tested the baby’s milk for
temperature.

“You could have called Jess and told her that
you’d found Trisha,” countered Diana. “Then she wouldn’t have
needed to go to your house.”

“I was sure you’d tell her,” he said. Then,
instead of showing anger, he beamed broadly. “I know you think I’m
a bad father. You’re just doing…what you do. I’m glad to have the
chance to prove you wrong.” He held out the bottle of formula to
Diana. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Hand him the baby and get the hell out of
here.
It’s what Jess would’ve done. Instead she held the infant
closer and accepted the bottle from Rogart. Then she eased herself
into a kitchen chair. Fawn gurgled a couple of times, then settled
onto the nipple, her tiny mouth like a suction cup. She was indeed
a beautiful baby─unwrinkled, pink-skinned. Plump little arms. The
warm, sweet smell of baby powder enveloped Diana like a drug. She
reminded herself that babies didn’t always smell so sweet. More
often than not, they were poopy or wet. Or both.
Did he make
sure she was clean because he was expecting me?

“I don’t resent your checking up on me,” he
said as he removed a plastic juice bottle from the fridge.

She blinked at him, her expression less than
cordial as she watched him take two glasses from a cupboard and
fill them from the bottle.

“Honestly,” he continued, “it’s better to be
overly caring than indifferent.” He placed one of the glasses on
the table in front of her.

Diana frowned slightly as she looked back at
him. “Darren, if you know I initiated the welfare check, then you
also know I’m aware of the baby’s paternity. And you just presented
her to me as your daughter. Why did you…mislead me…before?”

Rogart lowered his head, as if shame kept his
eyes from hers. “I didn’t mislead you.” He took a sip from his
juice glass.

Diana’s hold on the baby tightened
involuntarily. She willed herself to relax. “I know you didn’t
specifically say you weren’t the father, but everything you said
implied─”

“I’m not the biological father.”

“Then why is your name on the birth
certificate?”

Chapter 43

Rogart took his time in replying, as if he
were weighing the words to explain the contradiction. Diana
waited.

“This may not come out right,” he began. She
didn’t help him out. “Fawn’s biological father is dead.”

She filled in the gap of silence quickly.
“Why should that influence you to put your name on the birth
certificate?”

“It didn’t.” He shook his head sadly. “Trisha
listed me as the dad.”

“She could’ve put down ‘father unknown.’”

“But that would lead to assumptions. And the
father was known to her. She didn’t want his name on the
certificate. She didn’t want her daughter growing up knowing she
was the product of incest.”

“Larry…”

He nodded.

“Isn’t that a pretty big load to take on when
you’re having trouble supporting your own kids?”

Rogart moved closer, touched baby Fawn’s head
gently. “I think I’m up to it. If I know Trisha, she’ll move on and
never look back. My kids…my other kids are already attached to
Fawn. I can’t let them know the truth. They might accidentally hurt
Fawn with that knowledge some day.”

Diana felt the baby stop suckling and wriggle
in her arms. She looked down and saw that Fawn was sleeping. “But
you just told me,” she whispered.

“Because I know you’ll never do anything to
hurt Fawn. Or any child. I know you, Diana.”

“What if your paternity is challenged? DNA
testing will prove the baby’s not yours.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Who’s going to
challenge it? Larry Strickland is dead. Someone would have to come
forward and claim to be the father. You know, like with Dannilynn,
Anna Nicole’s baby?” He shook his head sadly. “No one wants this
child but me.”

She felt her throat tighten with emotion. To
relieve the feeling, she took a small sip from the glass in front
of her. Who wouldn’t want this baby? “Not many men would do what
you’re doing,” she finally said. As the words left her lips, she
felt a wave of vertigo disrupt her equilibrium. With one arm still
cradling Fawn, she grasped the kitchen table.

“Diana, what’s wrong?” Rogart’s brow puckered
as he moved toward her.

His face danced before her eyes, not quite in
focus. “I’m not sure,” she answered. It was as if all her
conflicting feelings were on a collision course within her
head.

Then, as suddenly as its onset, the dizziness
was gone. Rogart’s face hovered near her own. The intensity of his
gaze was no longer disconcerting, but seemed to reflect genuine
concern for her welfare.

“It’s alright. It’s passed…whatever it was.”
She shook her head when he offered the glass of juice. “No thanks.”
The thought of a cold drink was unappealing. But she smiled up at
him as she felt the baby’s warmth through her sweater.

Rogart smiled back, then reached down and
touched her cheek. “I knew I was right about you,” he said.

Though the dizziness was gone, a feeling of
confusion remained with her, like an aftertaste.
Have I been so
paranoid that I’ve misjudged this man? Am I still mired down in
postpartum depression?

The sleeping infant’s warmth infused her
being. It felt so right, holding this child. It felt
so…
permanent.

Shock waves ran through Diana as she
considered this possibility. She quickly rose from the chair,
careful not to jar the child. “I have to go.” Her hands shook as
she handed Fawn back to Rogart. She saw him watch the trembling
that intensified as their hands touched when he took the baby.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You
look a little queasy. Did you have dinner?”

She hadn’t, but nodded anyway. Lying could
become addictive, she thought. But the idea of consuming food in
his house made her nauseous, in spite of her changed perception of
him.

Rogart walked her to the door. She got her
own coat from the closet and put it on. As she felt the bulk of the
trust papers, she withdrew them and put them on a table. “I almost
forgot,” she said sheepishly.

“I will see you again,” he said simply. She
had the feeling that he’d have kissed her if he hadn’t been holding
Fawn. “Call me when you get home,” he said. Shifting Fawn to the
crook of his left arm, he leaned toward her and pecked her lightly
on the cheek. “Promise me you’ll call when you get home.”

She nodded as she twisted the door knob. Part
of her wanted to reach back and touch the baby again. Another part
of her ached for more of Rogart. She hurried through the door
without looking back, as fresh, cool air filled her lungs. Had it
really been so stifling in there? The house was clean to a fault,
but something unfamiliar that made her think of disinfectant had
crept into her nostrils and overpowered the baby powder scent.
Diaper pails went out with the advent of disposable diapers, didn’t
they?

Diana drove with the windows partly open. But
her head didn’t clear completely. Visions of what could be, if she
let him into her life, charged at her out of that dark corner of
her mind where she’d stuffed all the baby things. The dead baby
things. The nursery, the stuffed animals, the furniture that she
hadn’t had the guts to watch being carried away.

What could be? She felt the baby in her arms.
Her mind raced ahead. First tooth. Preschool. First day of
kindergarten…

Brakes screeched. Diana blinked and saw that
she’d just run a stop sign. Observing that she hadn’t provoked road
rage in the other driver, she pulled to the side of the road,
rolled up the car window and tried to gather her wits.

Why was she fighting Rogart off now? Had her
whole perception of him been erroneous? He wanted to see her again.
He’d confided in her, made her part of the secret they would both
carry to protect an innocent child. Why did this terrify her more
than the thought that he was a womanizing liar? Was she programmed
to expect deception from her partner?

I will not be this person. I have
choices.

*****

As Diana let herself into her house, then
reactivated the security alarm, she had regained some sense of
calm. Life with Rogart and his children was a possibility she might
allow herself to explore. Then she remembered that he had a wife
out there somewhere. Maybe. Brandi Rogart could be a fugitive from
justice. And when she was apprehended, what kind of man would
Darren be if he didn’t stand by his wife?

Diana looked in the fridge. Even the smell of
food turned her off. Like when she was first pregnant. Tig rubbed
around her, begging. She pulled off pieces of leftover roast
chicken and put them in his dish; then she went upstairs to
shower.

As she pulled sea-green satin pajamas from a
bureau drawer, she eyed the bedside phone. His request for her to
call him was probably just a courtesy. He really didn’t expect her
to call, did he? But it was thoughts of Brandi Rogart out there
somewhere that kept Diana from picking up the phone.

*****

At first she thought the jangle of noise was
an alarm clock. Morning already? No, much too dark. Through a haze
came the realization: she didn’t have an alarm clock. As she
reached for the phone, her hand encountered something warm and
moist. She flipped on the bedside lamp and recoiled. “Damn it,
Tigger!” The half-eaten remains of a field mouse lay on her satin
comforter.

The phone rang again as she missed a beat. In
the lamplight she scanned the caller ID box. Unknown. She picked up
the phone, not even attempting to keep the annoyance out of her
voice. “Hello.”

“You didn’t call,” said Rogart, his voice a
hoarse whisper.

Diana let her breath out slowly, hoping he
wouldn’t hear the ragged edge to it.

He continued before she could formulate a
response. “I thought maybe…it was because…you knew…” He seemed to
grope for words. How un-Rogart, she thought.

“Knew what?” Annoyance constricted her
throat.

“I can’t lie to you anymore, Diana.”

“Lie about what?”

“I know you felt it.”

Felt it?
All the wrong connotations
came tumbling through her thin veneer of propriety. Diana curled
under the warm, slippery, satin sheets, and imagined Rogart in her
bed.
Damn!

“Darren, what are you trying to tell me?” She
hoped she kept the desperation at bay. Was his wife back? That had
been her last conscious thought before drifting off: Don’t make
plans, even in your head. He still may have a wife out there.

“You knew she wasn’t here. Like you said, no
mother could ignore her baby’s cries.”

Diana straightened up in bed, now fully
awake. “You’re talking about Trisha?”

“She was gone when I got home yesterday. The
kids said somebody picked her up in a truck.”

“Wait a minute.” Diana reprocessed Marge
Lane’s call. “Your kids told Children’s Services that the baby’s
mom was with you.”

“That’s right. They told Jess the same thing
when she was here. They were afraid that if they told the truth,
Fawn would get put in foster care. That’s my fear, too.”

“But you’re the father, at least on the birth
certificate.”

“Without a mother in the home, the picture
changes. You pointed out some of my problems. I’m not sure my home
would pass muster without Trisha. And the DNA. What if somebody did
decide to compare mine to Fawn’s?”

“Have you reported Trisha missing?”

“You know as well as I do that they won’t
take any action until she’s been gone forty-eight hours. She’s
barely eighteen. Sombody’s decided that’s an adult. Go figure.”

“Is there a chance she’ll call you? She can’t
just abandon her baby.”

“That’s what I love about you, Diana. You
never think the worst of anybody.”

Did he just say…love?
Diana shook her
head.
An expression, nothing more.

Rogart continued, “Believe me when I tell you
Fawn is lucky she wasn’t dumped in a trash can. What can you
expect? Trisha’s parents never showed her the simplest affection.
She doesn’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. She won’t call.
She didn’t even take the cell phone I got her.”