Apprentice Father (9 page)

Though Cate was far better at dealing with situations like this than he was, Clay knew it wasn't fair to let her handle the tough
questions. So he stepped in, doing his best to imitate her gentle, encouraging inflection. “I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you don't. I want you to stay with me. Would you like that?”

“Yes. We don't like him. He's scary,” Emily responded.

Clay could empathize, but he wanted to hear their version. “How come?”

“He used to come and visit sometimes. But he wasn't very nice. And he never smiled. He told me if I wasn't a good girl, I'd go to hell.”

“He said in hell, people burn. I don't want to burn.” Josh's words quavered as he added his recollections.

Once more, Clay's fury escalated. To instill fear into two innocent children too young to know the meaning of the word
bad
was no less than criminal. But Cate's gentle warning squeeze of his fingers helped him stifle his anger as he struggled to maintain a placid expression.

“You aren't going to go to hell, Josh,” Clay assured him. “And you aren't going to go to live with your grandfather, either, if I can help it.”

“But what if he comes b-back?” Emily's voice caught on the last word.

Based on his father's parting words, Clay suspected that was a probable scenario. But he didn't plan to let the old man have the children. Period.

“You live with me,” he told Josh and Emily in a firm tone. “And your grandfather lives far away. You don't need to worry about him coming back very often. If he does, I'll be here to keep you safe.”

It was a promise Clay intended to keep, and he said it with sufficient conviction to ease the children's tension.

“We like it here with you,” Josh told him, and Emily bobbed her head. “It's the bestest place we've ever lived.”

Clay tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “It's the bestest place I ever lived, too.”

And that was no lie. Though he'd traveled all over the world, lived in exotic lands and in a dozen cities across the United States, he'd always been alone. Having these two children—and the warm, caring woman across from him—in his life had made even his tiny apartment feel like a real home.

As they walked toward his truck a few minutes later holding hands, the children tucked between him and Cate, he vowed to do everything he could to restore to their lives the fragile peace and security they'd just begun to enjoy.

But it wasn't going to be easy, not with the looming threat from his father. And while he'd tried to reassure them, he knew the children were aware of the danger.

Because that night, for the first time in weeks, Josh had an accident.

 

Two weeks later, when Clay noted the caller ID on his office phone, his pulse ratcheted up. Cate had never called him at work before.

Grabbing the receiver, he locked it against his ear.

“Cate?” Despite his efforts to remain calm, alarm nipped at his voice.

“A letter arrived for you today from a Des Moines law firm.”

“Where are the kids?”

“Inside, eating lunch. I'm on the landing.”

“Okay. Go ahead and open it. No sense putting off bad news.”

The sound of rustling paper came over the line, followed by silence that seemed to last forever. “It's written in typical
incomprehensible legalese,” Cate said at last. “But the gist is clear. Your father is appealing to the court for custody, claiming you're an unfit guardian.”

Clay uttered a word that made her gasp.

“Sorry.” He expelled a frustrated breath. “I was afraid this was going to happen. But I guess I was hoping he'd let it go.”

“There's also some stuff in here about your lifestyle that's not very…pretty.”

“I can imagine.” Coiled anger stiffened his words. “My father always thought I led a wild, wanton life.”

“Yeah. It kind of suggests that.”

At her faint response, his stomach clenched. Tightening his grip on the phone, he massaged his temples with his free hand. “Cate, I don't know what's in there. But I can promise you it's greatly exaggerated.”

“They can make an issue of it, though, in court. If this gets that far.”

Clay closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was drag the kids through a court battle. But he couldn't let them fall into the hands of his father, either. “I hope it doesn't come to that.”

“I'm no legal expert, but the stuff in here sounds pretty serious. I think you're going to need an attorney. I'm sure Mark would be willing to help you out.”

Though he hadn't had a chance to talk much to Cate's brother at Easter dinner, the man had struck him as sharp and insightful. “Good idea. I'll give him a call.” Sighing, he wiped a hand down his face and regarded the defective blueprint on his desk. Problems at work, problems at home. Could things get any more complicated?

“Hey.” Cate's gentle, sympathetic voice interrupted his pity party. “Things will work out.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

In truth, what he wished was that she was sitting beside him now, their fingers entwined. Those few minutes a couple of weeks ago, as they'd held hands at the fast-food restaurant, had been an oasis of comfort and calm in the chaos that had become his life. And for a man who had always thought he operated best alone, that brief physical connection had been an eye-opening example of the power of sharing and unity.

“When people are committed to doing the right thing, the Lord can work wonders, Clay.” Cate's earnest encouragement came over the line, instilling a spark of hope. “And no matter what challenges come up, we'll address them.”

We'll address them.

Knowing Cate had taken on his fight as if it were her own did more to uplift his spirits than anything else. “I'll keep that in mind.”

And as he hung up, Clay resolved that he would win the battle brewing with his father.

No matter what it took.

T
he next morning, Mark set a yellow legal pad on the mahogany conference table in his office and took a seat opposite Clay. “I reviewed the document you couriered over. And I have a few questions.”

“I figured you would.”

“You may not like some of them.”

“I don't like any of this.”

“It's only going to get messier.” Mark picked up a pen and settled back in his chair. “Tell me about your father.”

Clay gave a derisive snort. “He's a joyless, authoritarian tyrant with a twisted view of Christianity who leaves misery in his wake.”

Mark tapped his pen against the palm of his hand. “I'm picking up a lot of hate here.”

“Yeah, well, I don't exactly harbor good feelings about the old man. And he's ill-equipped to raise Josh and Emily.”

“In your opinion.”

Leaning forward, Clay gripped the edge of the table. “It's not opinion. I lived with that man. I
know
what it's like. I wouldn't wish that kind of childhood on my worst enemy.”

Mark regarded Clay with a dispassionate expression. “The court will consider facts, not feelings or conjecture. So let's examine the facts.” He scanned the document Clay had received from his father's attorney. “Your father claims you have no stable home in which to raise the children. Is that true?”

“It depends on how you define stable.”

“How long have you lived at your present address?”

“About three months.”

“Where did you live before that?”

“Indianapolis.”

“For how long?”

“Eight months.”

“And before that?”

“Cleveland. For sixteen months.”

“And your father lives in Des Moines. Does he have a house?”

“Yes.”

“How long has he lived there?”

Clay gritted his teeth. “Forty years. Okay, I get your point.”

“Good. But there's more. Do you attend church on a regular basis?”

“I do now.”

“Since when?”

“Since I got the kids.”

“How about your father?”

“He's gone every week for as long as I can remember. But that doesn't mean he's a good Christian.”

“We're only looking at facts, remember? What are your finances like?”

“I do okay.”

“Would you say you're as well off as your father? Able to provide the children with as many material advantages as he can?”

“I can give them everything they need.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“Okay.” Clay's breath hissed out through his teeth. “From a financial perspective, my father has the resources to give them a more cushy life. But he won't.”

“Prove it.”

A cold knot of fear twisted Clay's stomach. “This isn't looking good, is it?”

“It's not a lost cause. But I want you to know what you're going to be up against if this goes before a judge. Let's talk for a minute about your father's claim that you lead a ‘wild' life.”

“That's a bunch of…nonsense.” Clay changed his choice of noun at the last second.

Mark eyed him. “You're…how old, Clay?”

“Thirty-four.”

“And single.”

“You make that sound like a sin.”

“Depends on the reason. There are implications in this document that in terms of morality, you're a bit on the…shall we say, liberal side. Not the best environment for children.”

“I would never do anything to hurt the children. But I'm not into the commitment thing, either. And marriage is a big commitment.”

“So is raising two kids.” A few beats of silence ticked by as Mark regarded him. “Is there anything in your life a private investigator could uncover that would hurt your case?”

Clay stared at him. He'd never considered the possibility his father would hire someone to dig for dirt. But he wouldn't put it past the old man. “I don't think so. I was in the service for twelve years. I've been employed ever since. I've never had any trouble with the law.”

“I know. I already checked all that out. Just like the other side will,” Mark added, forestalling Clay's protest. “Let's talk about the picture that's emerging.”

“I think I already have a pretty good idea.” Clay wondered if he looked as bleak as he felt.

“Let me lay it out for you, anyway. Your father's attorney will point to the rootless nature of your job and claim you're a drifter of questionable moral character, with no solid religious affiliations and far fewer financial resources than the children's grandfather. Your father, on the other hand, will be portrayed as a churchgoing pillar of the community, with a stable home, solid moral character, significant financial resources and experience in raising children and creating a home.”

“Those may appear to be the facts, but they couldn't be further from the truth.” Clay raked his fingers through his hair. “So where do we go from here?”

“We fight them.”

Clay gave him a skeptical look. “You think we have a chance of winning?”

“That depends on you. How serious you are about keeping the children?”

“Very.”

“Enough to make some significant changes in your life?”

Clay swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Then we may have a chance. First of all, possession is nine-tenths of the law. You're a family member, and you have the children. The court won't take them away without cause before a hearing. And they're not going to find one. I saw the children at Easter. It's obvious they're well-cared for and happy. But now that these papers have been filed, you'll be checked out.”

“How?”

“Expect some visits from a social worker. They'll be unannounced. The intent is to catch you and the children in your daily routine.”

“Okay.”

“Now let's talk about changes. The court is not going to be disposed in your favor if you're moving every few months. You're going to need to think about a job that lets you stay in one place. Are you willing to consider that?”

Although Clay liked his work, he had no particular loyalty to his firm. It was a job, nothing more. And there were other, less mobile jobs for people with his skills and experience. “Yes.”

“Good. How large is your apartment?”

“Tiny. It's an efficiency. I had it before I got the kids.”

“Move. To a house, if you can manage it. Renting is fine, but the court always prefers houses to apartments. It's more important in this case, considering your father is offering a house. If we can demonstrate your willingness to make these kinds of changes for the good of the children, we'll have a stronger case.”

“I guess it would help if I had a wife, too, wouldn't it?” Clay's mouth twisted into a humorless smile.

“No question about it. Do you have someone in mind?” When Clay did a double take, Mark flashed him a smile. “Just kidding. I don't think you have to go that far. After all, your father is only offering a single-parent household, too.”

“So what do I do next?”

“Wait for the social worker to visit. Rent a house. Start putting out feelers for a different job.” Mark rose and held out his hand. “I'll be in touch.”

Clay's head was spinning as he returned the man's firm clasp. “This isn't going to be easy, is it?”

Tucking his pen into the pocket of his jacket, Mark gave him a steady look. “Most things worth fighting for aren't.”

 

Cate was waiting at the door when Clay walked into the apartment that night. She'd hoped the meeting with Mark had gone well, but the weary droop of Clay's shoulders wasn't encouraging.

“What did he say?”

Dropping a roll of blueprints on the couch, Clay checked over her shoulder. “Where are the kids?”

“In the bedroom. Playing an educational video game on your old laptop.”

He let out a long, slow, breath. “Your brother is one tough interrogator.”

A wry smile tugged at her lips. “He's always been like that. You should have heard him giving my boyfriends the third degree when I was in high school. And his technique has only improved with age.”

Clay's mouth twitched. “All I can say is, I'd hate to be on a witness stand with him asking the questions. Let's sit for a minute.”

She moved to the couch and he perched on the chair, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he leaned forward to clasp his hands. After giving her a quick recap, he shook his head. “I'm willing to do everything he suggested, but I'm not sure it will be enough.”

“It has to be. I can't believe anyone would send those children to the kind of environment you describe. Not after all the sacrifices you're making to do what's best for them.”

“That's the odd thing.” He shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “I don't feel as if I'm making any sacrifice at all. I feel as if I'm getting way more out of this deal than they are.”

Cate smiled. “It's amazing how two little kids can worm their way into your heart, isn't it?”

“The kids aren't the only ones who've managed to do that.”

At his unexpected comment, Cate's smile fled. And as their gazes locked, what she saw in his dark eyes rocked her world.

It was attraction, pure and simple. More potent and powerful than anything she'd ever seen in the eyes of the man she once loved.

The silence between them began to pulse with a tension that had nothing to do with the custody issue. And it intensified when Clay reached over and took her hand.

Cate stopped breathing.

From the beginning, she'd felt a strong pull toward this man. And it seemed the feeling was mutual. But she suspected Clay's attraction was based on appreciation. She'd bailed him out several times with the kids, and he was grateful. Gratitude had led to liking. But those didn't add up to an attraction that lasted. To love. They added up to a recipe for hurt. She'd been on the receiving end of feelings masquerading as love once. And she had no desire to repeat the experience.

Summoning up every ounce of her willpower, Cate pulled her hand away with a gentle tug. “I need to check on the children.”

To her relief, he let her go. Perhaps he was already regretting his impulsive gesture, she speculated.

But when she took a quick peek at him before ducking into the hall, his expression was pensive rather than chagrined or embarrassed. As if he was trying to figure out why she'd retreated—or was planning his next move.

Both of which made her decidedly uncomfortable.

 

A week later, a plaintive wail pierced the night, yanking Clay back from the brink of sleep.

It was Emily. Again.

Adrenaline pumping, he swung his feet to the floor and
covered the distance to the children's bedroom in a few long strides. She was thrashing on the bed, in the throes of a nightmare. A bad one.

Josh, on the other hand, remained sound asleep, oblivious to his sister's distress. The kid could sleep through anything, Clay marveled, shaking his head as he leaned over to brush the hair back from Emily's flushed cheeks. “It's okay, Emily. You're okay,” he soothed.

Although he kept repeating that mantra, it had little effect. Recalling how she'd clung to him during the daylight episode, he picked her up and cradled her in his arms, hoping that would help.

But when her whole body began to twitch and she clutched at him convulsively, his panic escalated. The first time Emily had had a meltdown, Cate had come to his rescue. But he was on his own tonight. And he had no idea what to do.

Maybe he should sit on the couch, he reasoned, heading toward the living room. That had worked before. Except then, Emily had been awake and gripping his neck, not asleep and writhing in his arms. This was a different scenario.

He sat and tried rocking her, murmuring comforting words, but that seemed to agitate her more—until all at once she began to mutter and fight against him, exhibiting amazing strength for such a tiny thing.

Realizing he was getting nowhere, Clay gave her a gentle shake, trying to awaken her. It took several attempts, each a bit more vigorous, but at last she awoke with a gasp, her eyes wild, her body rigid.

“Emily, it's okay.” Clay said the words slowly, in a gentle tone, “You're safe. You're with Uncle Clay. You just had a nightmare.”

He stroked her back, emulating the rhythmic motion Cate had
used during the last episode, until at last her body went limp and she collapsed against him, sobbing.

“I—I was afraid he was going to h-hurt her.” Emily hiccupped, gulping air.